#sirius black word weaving

[loserboyfriendrjl]

— Antigone, Sophocles / Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov / Famous Blue Raincoat, Leonard Cohen / José Saramago / Clive Barker, The Hellbound Heart

[sunnami]

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts. 

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all. 

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch. 

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day. 

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come. 

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin. 

“Watch out!” 

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face. 

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria. 

“Move!” 

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion. 

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues. 

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you. 

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing.  “Oh, good heavens, what happened?” 

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.” 

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls. 

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant. 

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back. 

THE STORY GOES like this: 

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.) 

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.) 

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world. 

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that. 

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.” 

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.” 

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus. 

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.” 

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?” 

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.” 

With that, she slams the door in their faces. 

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.) 

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing. 

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!” 

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration. 

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?” 

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!” 

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.” 

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?” 

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”  

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.” 

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.” 

Lily glares at him. 

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself. 

Everything is starting to change. 

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot. 

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library. 

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.” 

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger. 

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.” 

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?” 

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.” 

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?” 

“All of them.” 

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?” 

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.” 

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.” 

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.) 

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!” 

Remus hisses his name in warning. 

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!” 

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?” 

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach. 

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?” 

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently. 

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library. 

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and  failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes. 

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”  

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence. 

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?” 

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.” 

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.” 

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup. 

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives. 

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.” 

You snort. 

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”) 

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you.  Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep. 

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people. 

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you. 

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.” 

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.” 

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously. 

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds. 

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut. 

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!” 

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.) 

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough. 

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings. 

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly. 

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.) 

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.” 

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin. 

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw. 

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge. 

It’s Lily Evans. 

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!” 

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath. 

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified. 

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House. 

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.  

And so, the story ends just like that. 

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position. 

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds. 

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.” 

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.” 

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.” 

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.) 

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.” 

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—” 

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and  cross.) 

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.” 

“Thanks.” Remus coughs. 

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere. 

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed. 

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly. 

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright. 

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off. 

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.” 

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.” 

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks.  “So. .  . uh. . . are we okay?” 

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation. 

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.” 

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How  anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often. 

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave. 

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid. 

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?) 

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!” 

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—” 

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!” 

“Pads, shut up.” 

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck. 

Lily chortles. 

Oh. 

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business. 

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.” 

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them. 

Which happens to be right beside you. 

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.” 

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air. 

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.” 

He lowers his arm with a bright blush. 

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you. 

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.” 

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.” 

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook. 

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!” 

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to  ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest. 

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too. 

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather. 

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?” 

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders. 

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak. 

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side. 

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.” 

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest. 

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.” 

“Oh.” 

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away. 

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .” 

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.” 

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—” 

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line. 

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly. 

You let out a deep sigh. 

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness. 

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.” 

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.) 

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his. 

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch. 

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead. 

“For what?” You ask in disbelief. 

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.” 

“What exactly are you going to prove?” 

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.” 

Merlin’s saggy balls. 

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want. 

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you. 

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls. 

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about. 

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.” 

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name. 

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.” 

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears. 

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place. 

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face. 

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—” 

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words. 

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.) 

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.” 

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight.  Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.” 

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower. 

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.” 

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room. 

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed. 

“You came,” He says huskily. 

“I did.” 

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes. 

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.” 

“I know.” 

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace. 

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. 

But no sign of Sirius Black. 

“Miss me, did you, love?” 

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright. 

“Merlin’s tits—!” 

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.” 

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.” 

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!” 

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—” 

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.” 

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.” 

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.” 

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.” 

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!” 

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.) 

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again. 

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him. 

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet. 

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss. 

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.” 

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?” 

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.” 

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—” 

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.” 

Sirius snickers. “How charming.” 

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.” 

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear. 

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.) 

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?” 

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?” 

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.” 

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!” 

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch. 

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone. 

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!” 

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear. 

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime. 

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side. 

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now. 

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—” 

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him. 

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck. 

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.” 

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost. 

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul. 

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice. 

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly. 

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.” 

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.) 

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!” 

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders. 

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.” 

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.” 

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.” 

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband. 

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.” 

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.” 

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?” 

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.” 

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss. 

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.” 

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.” 

BONUS: 

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip. 

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!” 

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter. 

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse. 

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?” 

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?” 

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.” 

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!” 

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department. 

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.” 

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.” 

Harry blinks. “Thanks.” 

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words. 

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?” 

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

[moonstruckme]

Hey! Unsure what happened but I copy+pasted a request into my doc and now it's gone :( Anyway to whoever sent this, thank you!

Request: can i request hurt/comofort with high!reader x buzzed!sirius (or poly!mar whatever you’d like) where reader smokes a little more then she can handle and he takes care of her but he’s like still a little high himself, if that makes sense TT just nice and lovey and dovey!!!!

cw: weed, greening out, mention of vomit/nausea

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

Sirius is trying to be comforting, but he keeps getting distracted by the feel of your back underneath his hand. The muscles of your shoulders are tight, your breathing stilted and your skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat. Sirius can’t stop thinking about how he’d like to rest his face in between your shoulder blades and kiss an adoring line down your spine. He worries it wouldn’t be very helpful. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is quieter than breath, a soft sigh drooping your shoulders as you let your head loll forward. 

Your body starts to list forward with it. Sirius weaves his arm under yours, settling down more comfortably on the bathroom floor and pulling you back against his chest. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses the crown of your head. “I should have warned you about this. I need to remember to be careful with you.” 

Caution isn’t really in Sirius’ nature, but however unwisely, you put a lot of trust in him. The weed you’d smoked tonight was a different strain than the one he’s shared with you before, but he’d forgotten to clue you in. You’d matched him hit for hit, and with your lower tolerance it hadn’t ended well. You’ve been sick more than once. 

“You’re so nice,” you whisper. Your voice sounds tight. Sirius’ chest contracts, worrying you’re starting to get teary. “You don’t have to take care of me, but you are. You’re so, so nice.” Definitely teary now. “I’m really sorry for ruining your night.” 

“Aw, sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your face with something akin to desperation. He already feels like his heart is going to spill right out of his ribcage, and your upset makes it about ten times worse. “You’re not ruining anything. Of course I have to take care of you, you’re my girl, you know? I want to.” 

He peers around you, trying to see your face. You’ve got that same, slightly spaced-out look you’ve had for the past hour, a sad little line between your brows. Sirius reaches up to smooth it out with his finger, and you turn toward him like you’d forgotten he was there. He wonders if this much affection can actually crush his bones to dust. It feels plausible.

“I love you,” he says. 

You sigh, fitting your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. It’s not a happy sound, but he knows it’s not meant for him. “You, too.” 

You take his hand, turning it palm up and tracing the lines in his skin. Your touch is so light it tickles. He has a small scar from a failed attempt at cooking with James when he first moved out, and when you get to it you raise his palm to your lips, resting them there purposefully. 

“Can I have a hug?” you mumble against his skin. 

“Fuck yeah, always.” 

Sirius does the work of turning you around, your own coordination not spectacular at the moment, and your arms curl under his arms, wrists crossing between his shoulder blades. He thinks your hands might be making fists. For his part, he rubs up and down your spine slowly, squeezing intermittently, unsure how much you want. Sirius has always been shit at comfort. He’ll keep trying as long as you let him.

“I don’t like this,” you admit. Your face feels warm where it’s pressing into his shoulder, and Sirius realizes you might be crying again. He hugs you harder. “I can’t think.” 

He feels, very acutely, his heart fracturing. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s awful.” 

“I’m scared,” you whimper. 

“I know, sweet girl.” He may well be crushing you now. If your ribs are breaking, you don’t seem inclined to say anything about it. “You’ll be okay, though, I promise. I’ve got you. Just try to relax, and I’ll take care of you, yeah?” You don’t respond, sniffling. Sirius rubs your back again. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick any more, darling?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 

“Alright, my lovely. Let’s go to bed, okay? You might feel better when you wake up.” 

You hug him tighter. “Thank you for being so nice to me.” 

“Wrong again,” he says, tucking a kiss into your hair. “I’m not nice to you, I just love you too much.” 

[andillneverbethesame]

GUILTY AS SIN?

❥ james potter x fem!reader, sirius black x fem!reader

❥ warnings; emotional cheating, sexual thoughts, self pleasuring

❥ you 'loved' your boyfriend sirius. or at least, you loved him as a friend. but his best friend james. . . he was the one that made your heart skip a beat, he was the one in your wildest dreams.

❥ word count; 4k

❥ a/n; meant to make this more inspired by guilty as sin but whateverr

my ts masterlist pt 1, pt 2

you sat together in a quiet common room, the low hum of the evening settling around you and him. your heart raced as you met his gaze, the warmth of his brown eyes drawing you closer.

he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer on your skin. you could feel the electricity between you two, the pull that had been there for so long, finally undeniable.

without thinking, you leaned in, your breath catching as your lips met softly. his hand slipped gently to the back of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair as he pulled you in deeper, your kiss becoming more urgent, more certain. the taste of him, the closeness — it sent your senses spiriling.

his arm travelled to around your waist, tugging you against him until there was barely any space left between your bodies. you sighed against his lips, feeling the press of his breath mingle with your own. every touch, every kiss felt like it held the weight of everything unsaid between you two.

time seemed to slow, the outside world fading as you lost yourselves in each other. he kissed you deeper and you surrendered to the warmth, the tenderness of the moment, feeling safe and alive in his arms, knowing that you didn't need words to understand what was building between you and him.

you tugged at the hem of his shirt. the weight of his embrace dissapeared as he lifted his arms so you could take it off. once the piece of clothing was lying on the common room floor, you pulled away for a second to admire his body that must have been sculpted by some greek god.

he smirked and took the opportunity to push you so you were lying down on the sofa. he climbed on top of you and once again, connected your lips. one of his hands made its way from the side of your face, through the valley of your breasts until it reached the bow of your underwear, and then—

thud!

you opened your eyes and quickly sat up. you were a bit confused as of your whereabouts but soon realized you were in the marauders's dorm. in your boyfriend's bed.

you turned your head to find the reason of the loud thud and found james potter standing a few steps from where you were. he picked up what most likely fell, a muggle book you began reading a few days ago.

the worst thing? he was only in a towel that hang dangerously low on his hips. he looked just as attractive as he did in your dreams. but this was worse. this was reality. and you had a hard time trying to look away.

“sorry, love,” james said and blood rushed into your cheeks at the nickname. it always did when he called you that, “didn't mean to scare you. i was just wondering what the book is about. sounds interesting.”

“you can have it,” you said without thinking. “borrow it, i mean. if you want.”

james raised his eyebrow. “you're halfway through. i'll borrow it when you're done,” he said and put it back on your (well, sirius's) nightstand.

before you could respond, the door opened and sirius walked in, still in his quidditch uniform. you realized they must have had an early morning practice and that's why sirius (nor peter and remus, who were probably watching them) wasn't there before.

“good morning, babe,” your boyfriend said and pecked your lips. after he pulled away, he eyed james up and down. “why are you naked, prongs? trying to seduce my gorgeous girlfriend? i don't blame you. but back off,” he joked.

james only rolled his eyes, looking like he thought it was the most absurd thing in the entire world and it tugged at your heart. you wished he tried to seduce you.

but would you let him? you didn't know. you would if you weren't with sirius, you were hundred percent sure about that. but yiu, unfortunately, were and she couldn't do that to him. it was his best friend, for merlin's sake.

you forced a smile as you glanced at sirius. “how was the training?”

“good, good,” he replied as he took off the top of his uniform, revealing his slender body. “it'd be better if you were there, though. but i didn't want to wake you up. you looked so peaceful. like you were dreaming about something nice.”

you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. oh, sirius. if you only had a slightest idea what i was dreaming about.

the evening of that very same day, while you were in the shower, you couldn't stop thinking about james. he was on your mind when you turned on the water. he was on your mind when your hand slipped between your legs. you dreamed about him being there with you as she felt the familiar knot building in your belly. and you held back from moaning his name as the knot exploded and your legs shook, and so you just whispered it, over and over until you came back to your senses again.

your face was all pink when you looked into the mirror, realizing you've never touched yourself and thought about sirius. sure, the sex was great. there was no doubt that he was a skilled guy, but it did nothing to the emotional side of you.

you sighed and opened the bathroom door before walking over to sirius's bed. you secretely glanced at james, who was already dead asleep, and wished you could go to him instead.

you slipped into sirius's bed and he turned around to face you. he had that look in his eyes that you knew well. and you shook your head.

“no, not today, i'm sorry,” you spoke and let your head hit the pillow. “i'm not feeling well.”

“oh, okay, that's alright,” he said and wrapped his arm around you. “what's wrong?”

“my belly aches. i think i'll get my period soon,” you lied and you hoped he wasn't secretely tracking your cycle to know you were making this up.

“oh no,” he frowned. “ is there anything i can do?”

you shook your head. “no, that's okay. nothing a good night of sleep can't fix.”

he nodded and pressed his lips to the side of your head. “goodnight, then. you can wake me up if something's wrong.”

“i will. goodnight.”

“goodnight. love you.”

you remained silent for whole two seconds. “love you too.” the taste of the words was bittersweet so you swallowed, letting the guilt eat you up alive.

whatever you tried, you could not turn your mind off and just fall asleep. it was a torture. leading on sirius like that while having more than platonic feelings for his best friend, who probably did not feel the same way about you. that was embarassing. you were ruining your relationship for something that's not guaranteed. and probably not even possible.

sirius was already sleeping when you got out of the bed and decided to go and wonder somewhere else.

the gryffindor common room was dimly lit and you noticed that the lamp next to one of the armchairs was on and remus lupin was curled up in it with a book in his hand.

he looked up at you and then at his watch. his eyebrows furrowed. “it's three in the morning, what are you doing here?”

“could ask you the same thing,” you replied and lied on the sofa opposite to where remus was sitting. “i couldn't sleep. i'm not feeling well.”

“physically or mentally?”

you didn't plan to tell remus, or anyone, for that matter, about your love problems. but you were feeling very vulnerable at that moment and you had no idea what to do.

“mentally,” you responded honestly. and remus only nodded, waiting for you to continue. “have you ever had such bad thoughts that made you think you were a horible person?”

he nodded once again. “i think everyone had these at least once in their life. but there's no such thing as bad thoughts. only your actions talk.”

you wondered what that really meant. you glanced at him and something in his eyes made your heart start racing.

he knew.

“w-wait, do you. . .” you trailed off, hoping for him to get what you mean.

“it's not that hard to see. . .” he answered. “but don't worry, sirius is oblivious. he has no idea. and neither does james.”

you sighed. “you don't think i'm a horrible person? for feeling like that about james when i'm with sirius? cause i definitely feel horrible.”

“i don't think you're a horrible person for feeling like that. but you should not continue whatever this thing is you have with sirius. he deserves to know. and after what he's gone through, he doesn't deserve to be lead on.”

you nodded. “yeah, you're right i need to tell him. but what if james finds out and doesn't feel the same? that'd be just embarassing.”

remus smiled. “trust me, he does feel the same.”

“how do you know?”

“he told me.”

y/n šat up and blinked at him, unsure if she heard that correctly. “he told you?”

that couldn't have been the truth right? you would surely notice if james liked you more than platonically. there would have to be some lingering touches and classes or something. james is the type of guy to show what he feels, especially through physical touch. you would know.

“he told me,” remus repeated. he must have noticed the suspicious look on your face because his next words were, “i'm not making this shit up, y/n. he told me around the christmas holidays while you were over at the potter's mansion. he realized his feelings because he finally admitted to himself he's jealous when he saw you and sirius cuddled up on the couch. he was miserable when he realized he might love his best friend's girlfriend. almost cried the whole night at the thought how this will hurt sirius. what he didn't know is that you love him, too, and that might hurt sirius even more.”

“he will hate me,” you breathed out and tears began to form in the corner of your eyes. “and james, too, if something happens between us.”

your shoulders began to shook as you let the tears fall down your cheeks. you might have not loved sirius as a romantic partner, but he was a close friend. he made you smile and laugh and he knew your fears and dreams. he was one of the closest people in your life. you did not want to lose him.

remus moved from his spot in the armchairs to the spot next to you on the sofa and put his arm around your shoulders. “there, there, it's going to be okay.”

“i'm horrible,” you sobbed. “am i even allowed to cry?”

“of course, you are,” remus whispered and pulled you close, allowing you to smell the comforting smell he had — books and chocolate (and cigarettes).

you had no idea what you were going to do. but one thing was sure.

you needed to tell sirius.

the next morning, you wake up with a heavy heart, your mind still swirling with last night's conversation with remus. sirius had woken up early, leaving a note on his pillow that he was off to another quidditch practice. you feel both relieved and anxious — it gives you more time to think, but also more time to dread what you need to do.

you can’t keep living this lie, but the thought of breaking sirius’s heart fills you with guilt. yet, what remus said about honesty echoes in your mind. sirius deserves the truth, and if you wait too long, the betrayal will hurt even more.

you get dressed slowly, your thoughts racing. what will you say? how can you explain this without tearing your entire friend group apart? the idea of sirius hating you is unbearable, and the fear of losing james before anything even begins twists your stomach in knots.

as you descend the stairs to the common room, each step feels heavier, as if dragging you deeper into your own turmoil. the room is mostly empty except for remus, who sits in his usual armchair, reading. he glances up when you appear, his expression softening when he sees the dark circles under your eyes.

“you look like you didn’t sleep at all,” he says, closing his book. “did you think about what we talked about?”

you nod, sitting down beside him, feeling the weight of everything about to come crashing down. "i have to tell him. today."

remus gives you a reassuring smile. “it’s the right thing to do. and after that... you’ll need to talk to james.”

your heart stutters at the mention of his name. the mere thought of confronting your feelings for james and what that means for your future — your friendship — makes you dizzy with nerves. you bite your lip and glance toward the portrait hole. you can already hear footsteps and familiar voices outside. sirius and james are returning from practice.

"how am i supposed to face them?" you whisper, more to yourself than to remus.

before remus can respond, the portrait swings open, and sirius walks in, all smiles, his hair messy and damp from exertion. james follows closely behind, laughing at something sirius had said, but the moment his eyes land on you, the laughter fades, and something flickers across his face — a brief moment of tension that makes your chest tighten.

sirius immediately crosses the room and kisses you on the forehead. "hey, love," he says with that bright smile you adore. "you feeling any better today?"

you swallow hard, your throat dry as you try to muster the words that have been festering inside you for too long. “sirius... we need to talk.”

sirius’s expression shifts, the playful grin fading as he sits down beside you. “sure, anything.” he glances over at james, who lingers by the door, clearly sensing the heaviness in the air. james gives a quick nod and mumbles something about taking a shower before disappearing up the stairs, leaving you and sirius alone.

remus, sensing the gravity of the moment, excuses himself with a reassuring pat on your shoulder and slips out of the common room, leaving you with sirius — and the truth you can no longer avoid.

you take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "sirius... there's something i need to tell you. and i’m so, so sorry."

his brows furrow in concern. “you’re scaring me. what’s going on?”

the words lodge in your throat, but you force them out, your voice trembling. “i haven’t been completely honest with you... about how i feel.”

sirius’s confusion deepens. “what do you mean?”

you look down at your hands, unable to meet his eyes as the confession spills from your lips. “i care about you, so much, but... i don’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. and worse... i’ve developed feelings for someone else.”

the silence that follows is suffocating. you can hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears as you finally look up at sirius, whose face has gone from confused to utterly heartbroken.

“for someone else?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nod, your throat tightening. "james."

for a moment, sirius says nothing. he just stares at you, disbelief and pain swirling in his dark eyes. then, slowly, he stands up, running a hand through his hair as he takes a step back, as if needing physical distance from the revelation.

"james?" his voice cracks. “my best friend?”

your tears spill over as you nod again, the guilt overwhelming you. “i didn’t mean for it to happen, sirius. i never wanted to hurt you. i swear.”

sirius clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. he looks like he’s battling a storm inside himself, torn between the love he still feels for you and the betrayal stinging his heart. after what feels like an eternity, he exhales shakily, his voice hoarse. “i can’t believe this...”

“i know. i’m so sorry.”

sirius turns away, his shoulders slumped, and for a moment, you fear he’ll just walk away and never speak to you again. but he doesn’t. instead, he stands there, breathing deeply as if trying to hold himself together.

finally, he faces you again, his expression softer, but still full of pain. “i appreciate you telling me, y/n. i really do. but it doesn’t make this any easier.”

you wipe at your tears, nodding. “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“i know,” he says quietly. “but it’s gonna take me some time to deal with this. to deal with... everything.”

without another word, he turns and leaves the common room, leaving you sitting alone on the couch, your heart shattered from hurting someone you care about deeply.

now, the only thing left is to face james.

you sit there for a moment, frozen, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. sirius’s departure leaves the room feeling colder, emptier. the silence that follows is almost unbearable, and your heart aches for him — for the pain you know you’ve caused.

but there’s no time to wallow in guilt now. you know what comes next.

james.

you stand slowly, your legs shaky as you gather yourself. your mind races as you head toward the stairs that lead to the boys’ dormitory, each step feeling heavier than the last. you pause outside the door, taking a deep breath. it feels impossible — how are you supposed to face him, especially after what just happened with sirius?

after a long moment, you finally muster the courage and knock softly on the door.

“come in,” james’s voice calls from the other side.

your heart leaps in your chest. you push the door open to find him sitting on his bed, still damp from the shower, hair tousled in that familiar messy way. he looks up, his brown eyes locking onto yours, and for a second, the world seems to stop.

you step inside, closing the door behind you, and the air feels thick with unspoken words.

“hey,” james says, his tone softer than usual, like he knows something is off. “what’s up? everything okay?”

you swallow hard, unsure how to begin. your voice comes out quieter than you intended. “i talked to sirius.”

his brows furrow slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes. “about what?”

you take a breath, sitting on the edge of the bed across from him. “about us. about... how i feel.”

james’s eyes widen slightly, and he sits up straighter. his expression shifts, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension washing over his face. “wait, what do you mean? what did you tell him?”

you look down at your hands, unable to meet his gaze. “i told him that i... that i have feelings for someone else.” the words feel heavy, hanging in the air between you both.

the silence that follows is thick, almost unbearable. you can feel james staring at you, his confusion growing.

“who?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, though part of him seems to already know the answer.

you finally look up, meeting his eyes, and the vulnerability you see in them nearly undoes you. “you,” you whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. “i told sirius i have feelings for you.”

james stares at you, completely still, as if the words haven’t fully registered. his mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out at first. finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks, his voice shaky. “me?”

you nod, your throat tight. “i know it’s wrong. i know it’s messed up, and i feel awful for hurting sirius, but... i couldn’t keep pretending anymore. i can’t stop thinking about you, james.”

his breath catches, and you can see the battle waging inside him — the shock, the guilt, the uncertainty. he runs a hand through his messy hair, glancing away for a moment as if trying to process everything.

“i didn’t think...” he starts, then stops himself, swallowing hard. “i didn’t think you felt the same way. i’ve been trying to bury this, y/n. i thought it would just... go away.”

you shake your head. “it hasn’t gone away for me, either. no matter how much i tried, it’s just... always there.”

james leans back slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white. he looks at you, eyes full of emotion, and for a moment, you see the same longing you’ve been feeling reflected back at you.

“what about sirius?” he asks, his voice laced with pain and hesitation.

“i told him,” you say softly, tears pricking at your eyes. “i told him the truth. he was hurt — of course he was. but i couldn’t keep lying to him. not about this.”

james closes his eyes for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he takes a deep breath. when he opens them again, there’s a flicker of hope, but also fear. “this... this is complicated,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair again. “sirius is my best friend. i don’t want to hurt him.”

“neither do i,” you say quietly, feeling the weight of your words. “but i can’t keep ignoring how i feel, james. and... i don’t think you can either.”

he looks at you for a long moment, his hazel eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out what to do, what to say. finally, he stands, taking a step toward you, his hand reaching out slowly. his fingers brush yours, tentative at first, like he’s afraid to fully close the distance between you.

but when he finally does, when his hand wraps around yours, you feel a rush of warmth, a sense of rightness, despite the chaos swirling around you.

“i’ve wanted this for so long,” james admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “but i was too scared to do anything about it. too scared to hurt anyone.”

you squeeze his hand gently, your heart racing as you take a step closer to him. “me too.”

the tension between you is palpable, the air thick with everything unsaid. his eyes search yours, and for the first time, there’s no hesitation — only a quiet certainty. his hand moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“what do we do now?” james asks, his voice full of vulnerability.

you take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “we figure it out. together.”

and then, as if the world had been waiting for this moment, he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that feels like everything you’ve both been holding back. it’s slow at first, tentative, as if you’re both still afraid of the consequences — but then it deepens, and all the longing, all the confusion melts away, leaving only the undeniable pull between you.

when you finally pull back, breathless, james rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he exhales softly. “i’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“me too,” you whisper, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

but as the reality of the situation begins to settle in, you both know this isn’t the end — it’s just the beginning of something far more complicated. there’s sirius, the rest of your friends, and the mess that’s about to follow. but for now, in this moment, you allow yourself to feel the relief, the happiness that comes from finally being honest with yourself — and with james.

whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

[ddejavvu]

james or sirius who refuses to let anyone touch his hair except for reader??? could be nsfw or sfw

"I think it's unfair," James breaks a nearly two minute-long bout of silence, (a rarity on his end), and Sirius groans.

"Not again, mate." Sirius's head turns slightly to stare unimpressed at James, and you tilt it back with one finger, "Just give it up, y'can't mess with my hair."

"But she's just braiding it!" James gushes, pointing at how you're weaving little strands of his hair into two chunky braids down his back, "I can braid! I've been braiding my mum's hair since I could understand the word."

"That's why it's patchy," Sirius leans back to murmur in your ear, and you fumble a pitch black chunk of his hair as you stifle a laugh.

"Hey!" James whacks Sirius on the thigh, "That's for insulting my mum. Come on, mate, she dropped part of it! She's not even good at it!"

Then, because the brown-eyed boy is empathy personified, he turns to you with a sweet smile, "No offense, Y/N. You're good at tons of other things."

"It's useless, Prongs." Remus drawls, piping up from where he'd been silently scanning through his transfiguration notes on his bed, "You're only pissing him off more."

James seems to have forgotten Remus was there, and turns to prop himself up on the side of the man's bed with shiny puppy eyes you're sure got him out of a lot of trouble as a kid.

"What about you, Moony? Yours is getting shaggy," He reaches out for the scruffy strands that line the base of Remus's neck, but the boy stops him with a quick, scarred hand. His grip is strong, and James hisses out a swear under his breath.

"Absolutely not," Remus snaps, "Go braid your own hair, Prongs."

"Fine," James snaps, huffing as he scrambles to his feet, "I will! I'm using your straightener, Pads! I'll give myself the prettiest braid you tossers have ever seen!"

"He's gonna burn his hair off," Sirius bets, throwing a wry glance at Remus who nods, "5 galleons?"

[luna-azzurra]

Ways to hit your readers in the gut

When it comes to writing, there's a profound and mesmerizing way to touch your readers deep within their souls. It's about crafting moments that hit them in the gut, stirring up intense emotions and forging an everlasting connection. Here are some techniques to help you achieve this:

1. Unexpected Loss: Introduce a character who captures hearts, only to snatch them away suddenly. Think of J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series, where the abrupt departure of beloved characters like Sirius Black and Fred Weasley leaves readers shattered, their grief a testament to the power of storytelling.

2. Sacrifice for a Cause: Show a character willingly sacrificing their own happiness or even their life for a greater purpose. Suzanne Collins' "The Hunger Games" portrays Katniss Everdeen's selflessness, volunteering as a tribute to save her sister, evoking empathy and admiration.

3. Unrequited Love: Explore the agony of unrequited love, where hearts ache and souls yearn. Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre" delves into the bittersweet and heart-wrenching tale of Jane's unfulfilled affection for Mr. Rochester, resonating with readers who have experienced the profound depths of unrequited longing.

4. Betrayal by a Loved One: Peel back the layers of trust to reveal the sting of betrayal. George R.R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" series delivers shocking betrayals that shatter readers' expectations, leaving them stunned and heartbroken alongside the characters.

5. Overcoming Personal Demons: Illuminate the struggle against internal conflicts, be it addiction, guilt, or haunting trauma. Anthony Doerr's "All the Light We Cannot See" explores Werner's moral compass during wartime, captivating readers as they witness his battle for redemption and personal growth.

6. Injustice and Oppression: Shed light on the injustices characters endure, igniting empathy and inspiring change. Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird" reveals the racial prejudice faced by Tom Robinson, awakening readers to the urgent need for justice and equality.

7. Parent-Child Relationships: Navigate the intricate tapestry of emotions between parents and children. Khaled Hosseini's "The Kite Runner" unearths the complexities of the father-son bond, evoking a myriad of feelings, from longing and regret to hope for reconciliation.

8. Final Farewells: Craft poignant scenes where characters bid farewell, whether due to death or separation. Markus Zusak's "The Book Thief" gifts readers with heartbreaking partings amidst the backdrop of World War II, leaving an indelible mark of loss and the fragile beauty of human connections.

9. Personal Transformation: Illuminate characters' growth through adversity, offering a beacon of hope and inspiration. Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" narrates Ebenezer Scrooge's extraordinary journey from a bitter miser to a beacon of compassion, reminding readers that redemption and personal change are within reach.

10. Existential Questions: Delve into existential themes that provoke deep introspection. Albert Camus' "The Stranger" challenges readers to ponder the meaning of life through Meursault's detached and nihilistic worldview, prompting them to question their own existence.

With these techniques, you have the power to touch your readers' souls, leaving an indelible impression. Remember to weave these moments seamlessly into your narrative, allowing them to enrich your characters and themes. Let your words resonate and ignite emotions, for that is the essence of impactful storytelling.

[muxshwriting]

swimming

Regulus Black x reader

summary: living two lives as you try to navigate through a war. you and regulus have to try not to get caught while breaking down the barriers of both sides || warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death, there's a war going on || word count: 1114 || masterlist

"Are we sure this will work?"

Regulus holds your hands within his. "Absolutely not. But we have to try."

"Okay."

Regulus reached a hand and knocked on the door of Remus and Sirius’ house, where the Order was currently meeting. A quiet shuffling could be heard inside and footsteps approached the door. It swung open and the person behind took one look at Regulus before thrusting their wand in his face.

"Good to see you too Sirius."

Regulus raised his hands, leaving his wand tucked in his waistband. But he also took a small step sideways, trying to cover you from immediate view.

"You here to kill us Reggie?" Sirius’ tone was sour and cutthroat.

"We’re not here to kill you, any of you. Can we talk?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes, glancing back at you. "Who the hell is she?"

"She’s my- Y/N is-" He stuttered a response, trying to find the best way to word it. "She’s here to help, please?"

"Give me your wands."

Regulus slowly handed his over and you hesitantly did the same. It wasn’t a nice feeling, giving someone else your wand. It was so personal to you, it chose you. You felt defenceless as you entered the house, weaving your way through until you were standing in front of the group.

"What are they doing here?" Someone asked.

"We're trying to get out." Regulus answered for both of you.

Moody scoffed. "There is no out."

"Exactly." Regulus stated. "We're doing what we can and then we're going to die."

"And when we're 'dead' we'll be free. We could go to France, Northern Italy maybe. Anywhere but here." You spoke up for the first time and Sirius’ eyes seemed to soften as you did but his expression remained serious.

You remembered him from school, a year older than you but infamous throughout Hogwarts. No matter how estranged him and Regulus had become, he always cared, deep down.

Remus asked the question everyone was wondering. "Why now? We're years into this war and now you chose to help us, why?"

Regulus glanced at you, squeezing your hand in reassurance. "We've got a future to think about. If we don't get out now, we never will."

Sirius' expression grew darker, if possible. "Are you serious? You're having in a kid in the middle of a war?"

"We weren't trying to."

He scoffed. "Clearly."

The anger bubbled inside you, threatening to boil over but you held it down. He didn't truly understand your situation, he didn't understand. You had to focus on the forward motion, keeping your head above water. The current would carry you where you needed to go but you had to guide yourself around the rocks and over the falls safely.

"We have a lot of information that will be useful for you all." You finally say, changing the subject. "Just hear us out."

"What kind of information?"

Regulus stepped up. "I can give you a list of Ministry officials that the Dark Lord has in his pocket, some under Imperius curse and some not. There's going to be an assault on one of muggleborn safe havens later this week, targeting those who protect others."

"It's the safe haven in Norfolk, attacking on Friday evening." You supply the specific details to the group who seem to pale further each second. “Six death eaters, they expect it to fall easily.”

"There are death eater recruitment programs wired into the fabric of Hogwarts education, specifically in Slytherin. People may not truly believe in the cause but they don't resist it enough to fully fight against it. For lots of purebloods, it's unthinkable to do what Sirius did, fight against his whole family and do the opposite to what they were raised to do." Regulus explained. "But there are plenty of weaker members who would abandon ship at the slightest notion of it beginning to sink. If you can get those people to leave, the dark forces have much less power than you realise."

"What are going to do now?" Moddy asked, his voice growling and deep.

"No one knows we came here. We'll return home, wait for the call and continue our lives as normal. No one can suspect anything."

"You-Know-Who is a skilled legilimens." He counters.

"Me and Reggie have been perfecting occlumency for many years in preparation for this. No one will know." You reassure them. "Even if they did find out, they'll kill us in an instant. You won't feel any repurcussions from it."

"This can only backfire on us."

When you and Reg get home, the air is palpable. There’s a nervousness between the two of you that you’d never felt before and it only increases the weight on your chest. It feels like a riptide pulling you out to sea. You can fight against it but it will only tire you out and drag you out either way.

"Reggie?"

He hums in response, asking without words.

"Do you think we did the right thing?"

"Yeah." He sighs. "Yeah, I think we did. But we’re not doing it for us, we’re doing it for them." He loops his arms around your waist and holds you close.

"For them." You agree. "I noticed you didn’t mention the horcruxes."

He tenses beside you and you regret bringing up the subject.

"Sorry-"

"Don’t. Don’t apologise." He says. "I don’t know if I should ever tell them."

"Reggie!"

"Would they even believe me?"

"Of course they would." You try and tell him. "We would make them, make them listen, make them believe. It’s the only way we can kill Him for good. Please Reg, we have to tell them at some point."

He nods silently, pressing a kiss into your forehead before pulling away. "Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Regulus didn’t sleep that night, he hardly ever did. The ceiling of your bedroom had become a familiar sight, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the crack in the curtain. His mind ran at a million miles per minute, scheming for the future but telling no one of his plans.

He would hunt His horcuxes by himself, he didn’t want to involve you. When you were close enough to the Order, he would write a letter to Sirius and abandon you in the middle of the night. He didn’t want to leave you, but the war would give him no choice. Regulus would go to the cave with Kreacher, he’d probably die but there would be a fraction of evil destroyed.

You would hate him forever, never forgive him for leaving you but it was worth to change the tide of the war. Regulus would make it worth it. There was no other choice.

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (I) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

Part II / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant, cursing, Kreacher is a little shit

Following the sudden death of Cedric Diggory months before, the magical world flipped on its nose. The Daily Prophet pumped out towers of articles denouncing The Boy Who Lived, dubbing Harry as The Boy Who Lied.

Clever. Seriously, people actually subscribe to read that shit?

Surprisingly, Dumbledore forbid any form of contact with Harry during the summer--Hermione and Ron threw quite the fit after receiving the news. The most unsurprising reaction came from the ex-convict himself, Sirius Black.

Azkaban somehow became even less appealing after having to sit through his meltdown at the dinner table.

Who knew dementors could twist your spirit so far as to make petulant meltdowns a regular occurrence.

If his word was anything to go by, he got the better end of the deal compared to his murderous, psychopathic cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Entirely reassuring.

The inability to rant to Harry via letters, deal with Ron's whining, engage Hermione in her tangents, or sit around Sirius left you with no choice but to venture around on your own.

There was virtually no chance of running into anybody but the twins (who seriously needed their apparating privileges revoked) on your little escapade.

The hallways were dusty and suffocating from the sheer amount of unkempt gothic vintage furniture lining the perimeter. While an uncanny atmosphere of suffering blanketed every centimeter of the walls.

Wandering aimlessly, a sudden pulse of magic combined with your reckless compulsion steers your attention towards a tall, black door. The crystal door knob was dull in the dim light, the keyhole and backing rusting with age.

Clearly, no one has gone into the room in years--decades, even.

The room was located on the third floor of the house, far away from the bedrooms the Weasleys were sleeping in and even farther away from the restless master of the house (who was pacing like a maniac in the kitchen for the nth hour straight).

What's the worse that can happen?

Famous last words (Harry's impulsivity was definitely rubbing off on you).

The door put up quite a fight when you tried to twist the knob, creaking in protest before finally giving way as you pushed with your entire body.

You stumbled in, nearly choking on the cloud of dust that danced up into the air with your ever so graceful entrance. Taking a look around, you came to one conclusion.

The room was utterly boring.

Boxes lined nearly every inch of the floor, the wallpaper peeling and dragging down the walls, and the small window across the room was clouded by dirt. A lone ray of light illuminated a small black dresser table against the wall. Curiously, you carefully weaved around the boxes on the floor and padded towards the dresser.

Just as you reached to pull one of the drawers open, an unsettling prickle ran down your spine. Instinctively grasping at your wand, you spun around only to be met with the opposite wall and more dust.

Quickly scanning the room again, your breath caught in your throat as you locked eyes with a pair of narrowed ones.

It was a bloody portrait.

“Who are you? Who let you in here?”

The boy in the painting seemed only a few years older than you with pin-straight posture and sharp features to match. His voice echoed with firmness, a voice that seemed used to commanding respect and attention.

But Merlin and Morgana…he was divine. So divine that even Draco Malfoy would lose his composure if someone this attractive showed up at Hogwarts.

“No one...I'm no one. Who are you? You look…er-familiar.”

Your last words came out as more of a question as you slowly drank up every detail of his features.

The boy’s eyes narrowed further into a glare, seemingly starting to become irate with your dodgy answer. Before he could retort, a familiar pop sounded through the room and before you could even comprehend what was happening, a familiar house elf was barreling through the boxes and dropping in front of the portrait.

“Master Regulus! Kreacher has failed you! Disgraceful Master Sirius has stolen everything! Oh my poor Mistress!”

The boy seemed taken aback by the sudden intrusion and the rather emotional outburst from Kreacher.

Seriously, could portraits take that many steps back?

Watching for a few more moments with wide eyes, it seemed that nothing the boy was saying was registering to the inconsolable elf.

Going to give the elf and Regulus some privacy, you scampered away and closed the door with much effort and an audible huff.

As you started walking away, a sudden bang nearly snatched your soul out of your body. Spinning around, confusion washed over you as Kreacher struggled to clamber off of the worn carpet, a disgruntled noise echoing around the hall.

Kreacher had just flew into the wall. Did the elf lose some screws and try to become a part of the bloody wallpaper?

“Kreacher? What happened?!”

Before the snippy elf could reply, loud footsteps pounded nearby and a disheveled Sirius bounded up from the staircase, shooting a look of mixed disbelief and contempt at his elf.

“What the hell?! Kreacher what are you doing?! You can’t just leave when I’m telling you to do something!”

Feeling, again, like an intruder to a conversation, you shuffled against the wall and towards the stairs as the house elf snarled at the older man, briefly eyeing you with confusion. Raising your eyebrows, you watch as the elf shoots glances behind him towards the room before popping away from a screaming Sirius.

Rolling your eyes, you say a silent farewell to the mysterious room only to notice the door was no longer there. The area where the door should have been was replaced with nothing more than peeling wall and a dusty wall lamp.

Did you just hallucinate the last 10 minutes of your life?

Apparently not. A few days had passed since your strange encounter with Regulus Black in the disappearing storage room, and you had somehow gained the undivided attention of Kreacher.

It seemed the barmy elf held some newfound admiration for you since you somehow reunited him with the young master he actually liked.

You were nose-deep in a book about Ancient Property Magic from the Black Library when the elf hesitantly approached you.

"Kreacher has a question for the young blood-traitor."

What a punk.

Placing the book off to the side, you rub the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

How did Hermione go on for hours reading in these conditions?

All the words were blending together and your eyes stung from all the damn dust in the house.

"Hello Kreacher. What do you need?"

"How did the young blood-traitor find Master Regulus? Kreacher doesn't know how Master Regulus is here...Kreacher has failed...Master Sirius is a lawless traitor undeserving--"

"Woah! Okay...while I am not too sure about how exactly I found that room. I suppose it is a good thing you have such er--apprehensions about Sirius. I don't think he would appreciate me breaking into one of the rooms here."

Which was entirely true.

Sirius was off his rocker. The combination of being away from his godson, listening to his mother screech every morning, and having to deal with Molly fussing over everyone was working him up the wall.

You felt almost bad for not telling Sirius about Regulus, but he had plenty on his plate and it felt nice to have something to yourself--your own little summer secret.

Granted, it was more accurate to describe it as a dead-pureblood-heir summer quest. Though, not as weird as giving a troll brain damage in your first year at Hogwarts.

Suddenly, you had a great idea.

"Hey Kreacher, want to go exploring with me?"

The house elf was skeptical for most of your trek upstairs, and he looked positively gleeful when you managed to somehow summon the secret door.

Apparently, Kreacher was magically expelled from the room the moment you left. So you were somehow the key to accessing the missing Young Master.

Before you could even caution the elf or come up with a speech for Regulus, the little thing was already flying for the door knob.

"You are back."

Regulus looked all but the same, except more tired than suspicious this time around.

"Yes. I hope you don't mind that I'm here. I have brought Kreacher as an olive branch to show that I am of no threat."

The boy's eyes flicker towards the unusually silent elf, and then pierces you again. Something akin to amusement danced in his eyes and you were almost offended.

You were no Harry Potter, but you weren't magically inept.

"Answer my question from last time. Who are you?"

"My name is Y/N. I don't know how or why this room exists, and it doesn't seem like Sirius has any knowledge of it. But from the looks of it, I'm the only one who can find this room."

"Sirius? He is alive then?"

Your lip quirks at the remark and you turn your gaze to the ceiling, "Yes, but he isn't quite himself".

"What?"

"Azkaban tends to have that effect."

"What?"

"You've missed a lot, Regulus. Like a lot. You're different from what I've heard though, pleasantly so. After all you haven't called me a foul, loathsome blood traitor. Nor have you tried to preach blood purity to me yet."

Regulus considers you for a few moments, eyes imperceptibly running over your expression. It is only for the briefest moment that you see something comparable to respect shine in his eyes.

Kreacher shifts uncomfortably and looked ready to butthead you, but Regulus interrupts the sudden blanket of silence.

"Kreacher, could you give us some privacy?"

The elf looked ready to vehemently protest in a manner similar to how he denies Sirius, but seemed to remember that he actually gave a flying handle about Regulus‘ opinion of him.

"If you wish, Master Regulus. Kreacher will be outside."

The elf pops away and you turn to maintain steady eye contact with the boy, becoming more intrigued with every passing second.

"You are right. I haven't tried to indoctrinate you or denounce your beliefs. I have been here for a long blur of time. I have had the space to formulate my own thoughts and opinions."

"Oh? A death eater finding salvation and seeing the light. Of course it'd be a feat only achievable through death."

"You speak as though we--they are still at large. Are there still death eaters around?" The disbelief flickering across his face spurred you to entertain him with an answer despite your former apprehension towards him.

"Yes. Many are well and alive. Lucius Malfoy prides himself in being able to circumvent the law and maintain his job in the Ministry despite his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Not that it will do him any good. From what I can deduce, the Dark Lord is not very forgiving."

Regulus looks like he's been suckerpunched in the gut, grimacing at every word that passes through your lips.

"You are right. Lucius will be punished for his treachery. I had hoped that the world would be rid of the Dark Lord after my death."

Confusion passes through you in waves as an indecipherable emotion mars his face.

So he wasn't a valiant supporter of the Dark Lord? Then it would seem the rumors that he was killed by the Dark Lord or his followers have some credibility.

"Well, the Dark Lord was gone, so to speak, for a while at least. It is only as of a few months ago did he come back in full form."

"I see."

"You don't seem surprised. Well, he killed one of my friends and traumatized my best friend so I hope you'll give me permission to wring his neck."

"You're quite vulgar."

"I am a saint compared to your brother, and my vulgarity is very much justified."

Regulus hums in understanding and you could almost see a miniscule smile stretching at his lips.

"Well, for your sake, I hope you never have to come face to face with the Dark Lord."

"I don't have much of a choice, he's been trying to eviscerate my friends and I since we were 11."

"Ah...well it would appear that you are to join me in the afterlife soon then."

"You'd like that wouldn't you? But I have no plans on dying anytime soon."

"Shame."

"Sod off. You're fine on your own...right?"

Dumb question, the man is literally stuck inside a painting in an abandoned secret room.

"It does get a bit lonely. But it is only the punishment for my sins."

"Well, I think you're quite swell. So don't worry, I have the whole entire summer to bother you. Think of it as an added layer of punishment."

"If you insist." His words conveyed exasperation, but the boyish smile that lit up his face told you a completely different story.

You couldn't help but admire his expression, committing it to memory because you were sure that his smiles were a rarity.

Pretty.

Wow. You were absolutely screwed.

[flusteredmoonn]

my boy only breaks his favourite toys; sirius black

summary: "but you should have seen him when he first saw me," in which he goes from a renowned player, to realising his feelings for her, yet she doesn't quite believe him.

tags: (SFW), fluff, drabble??, fast paced, angst, player!sirius, implied gryffindor!reader (though the house ins't important to the fic), she/her pronouns, third person y/n. partially proofread @cosmicbolter

words: 1.5k+

ttpd tracklist. request.

chanting filled the stands of the school quidditch pitch, as gryffindor and slytherin faced each other in the final for the house cup. the whizzing of the players seemed almost exaggerated as the opposing chants increased the tension through the atmosphere. the points were near even on the scoreboard, with the snitch being the deciding factor in this tournament. anticipation hung in the air as james potter flew around, regulus black on his tail as both searched for the golden snitch above the battle of bludgers between thrown between the two opposing teams.

sirius black peeled away from his position as beater, using the distraction of the snitch chase to hover in front of the crowd, winking flirtatiously to several of the gryffindor women who batted their eyelashes and awed at his attention. the boy limberly dodged a bludger which flew past his head, his long hair fluttering against the current.

that's when she caught his eye. her focus never moving from her fixation on the game, completely ignoring his antics. he followed her eye line, watching as james had caught the snitch. jumping slightly at the sudden noise, he alongside everyone supporting the scarlet team erupted into deafening cheers. gryffindor had won the game. slowly descending toward the turf, sirius joined the rest of his team, grabbing james and launching him up slongside the other players, who jostled him around and celebrating his efforts in securing the teams victory.

the entirety of gryffindor house were allowed onto the pitch, swarming the team in celebration. the team nearly drowned in the praise that their house had showered them with, even professor mcgonagall had made her way onto the field, standing off to the side as she watched the scene unfold. the team finally put james back down on the turf, clapping his back victoriously. chants filled the air, as sirius looked around at the crowd, searching for the girl who seemed too uninterested in him. coming up short, he along with the rest of the lion's players had weaved their way through the excited crowd, moving toward the changing room.

later, in the great hall, an extravagant feast was served. and as he did every year, professor dumbledore insisted that a celebratory feast be held at the conclusion of the quidditch house cup. golden lions on maroon banners were strung up on against the walls, as high as the floating candles display. goblets of pumpkin juice were tossed against each other as the house continued to celebrate their win. the team of green scowled across the hall at the victorious one, bitter over their loss with sour looks on their faces.

sirius rolled his eyes theatrically whilst james leapt up on the bench and made some dramatic speech, dedicating the win to lily. the long haired boy looked down the table, locking eyes with y/n, who tried to hide her amusement. he smiled at her briefly, before pulling james to sit back down. through the rest of the meal, the boy stood, walking away from his friends and toward a small clique of ravenclaw girls who ogled at his presence. the boy made the girls swoon at his charismatic jokes.

y/n, who was observing the situation, rolled her eyes and scoffed. the boy looked over curiously, before leaning back on his elbows and continuing to smirk at the young women.

late into the night, the dinner was called to a close by the teachers who were reluctantly made to supervise the celebrations. several students had already taken leave, off to their dorms for the night, whilst most of gryffindor tower continued to take advantage of the party atmosphere.

y/n had followed a small group of students out the hall as she heard the chimes of the clock, signalling the late hour. she had caught the eyes of sirirus as she walked past his group, with her head down. surprising his friends, he dismissed himself, claiming that the long day had given him a headache that he though was best to sleep off.

with an unconvincing look her strolled away from his friends, a slight spring in his step, "hey, l/n," he spoke, swinging his arm over her shoulder, only for it to be shrugged off.

"what do you want, black," she was entirely uninterested in his antics, dismissing him with an eye roll.

"i just wanted to see how you enjoyed the game, you seemed awfully interested,"

"you seem awfully interested in my enjoyment of the game rather than the game itself," she sassed back, a slight chuckle passing between them both. "and what if i was?" he didn't hesitate to quip back, smirking ever so slightly.

"then i'd tell you to bugger off to someone who wants to swoon over you," she looked at him plainly before speeding up, leaving him watching her walk away, and back to gryffindor tower. she had caught him off guard, leaving him gobsmacked for a beat, before making his way back to the dorms.

the next morning, the boy had actually awoken with a headache. the yelling between james and remus hadn't helped as the bespectacled had woken up still running off of the high from the prior days victory.

"ugh, just shut up, prongs," he threw a pillow at the boy and swiped the curtain on his four poster shut.

"no, mate, we've gotta go down to breakfast soon, hall's about to close," the boy stood up, throwing the pillow back to his friend, who reluctantly swung his legs over the side of his bed to get dressed with a huff.

upon arriving at the great hall for breakfast, sirius had spotted y/n, engulfed in conversation with her friends. smiling to himself, he sat down with his friends, being sure that he would be able to keep an eye on her as he ate. his three friends had obviously caught on to how preoccupied the boy had seemed.

"you good, pads?" remus questioned, trying to figure out which girl his friend was hung up on this time. "yeah, yeah, yeah... yeah, just trying to make sure i didn't leave my transfig work in the dorm, 's'all," sirius didn't even spare the boy a glance, not even hearing his hum in response.

a piece of toast had flown across the table and hit sirius in the chest. "go on, talk to her, mate," james smiled, fixing his glasses and nodding in y/n's direction.

"i dunno what your talking about," he finally drew his gaze away from the girl and looked at his friend, shrugging nonchalantly.

"this isn't the first time you've done this," he clarified, peter, who was sat next to james, nodded along in agreement, a nervous smile on his face.

"later," was all the boy said as he grabbed his satchel, swinging it over his shoulder and walking out the hall. down the hall, y/n had also stood up, yet not with the same energy. she moved in a much calmer manor through the flagstones before turning down the hall toward her first class of the day.

the pair had found themselves in the same corridor. alone. and walking side by side. sirius, upon sensing someone else, looked around, catching a momentary glimpse of the girl.

"oh hey, y/n," he slumped his shoulder's slightly, an attempt to relax his rigid posture. "hey... sirius," she smiled at him kindly, though the confusion still remained evident on her face.

"funny, it's just the two of us here, yeah?" he hesitantly laughed, nervousness practically spilling from him.

"yeah, i thought we had class in here–"

"it's almost like it was meant to be just the two of us," he attempted to smirk, in the same way he would usually chat up someone. "or no one else has left breakfast yet," she laughed slightly, shutting him down.

"what are you trying to achieve here, sirius," she paused, turning to face him and crossing her arms sternly.

"what– nothing!" his tone immediately became accusatory. she raised her eyebrows knowingly at his response. "fine, i wanted to talk to you, maybe.. hang out sometime,"

"like how you usually hangout with women? not interested– sorry," she turned and resumed her walk to class. "you love to womanise, black, i'm not going to indulge that behaviour," her shoes clacked as she called behind her.

"fine! i like you! like i really like you, a lot," she stopped walking once again, and turned back around to face him, her brow quirked.

"so, you trying to chat up these women is you fancying me? pfft," she laughed at him, though her face dropped as she realised he wasn't continuing on as though what he had said was a joke. "oh, wait no, you're serious?"

"well i'd hope so," he laughed slightly, a lopsided grin across his face, "sorry– yeah, i do," his smile turned nervous as her face blanked.

"oh,"

"yeah," an awkward tension stood between them.

"and if i liked you too?" she nervously confessed, taking a small step toward him. his eyes lit up at her response. "i'll give you one chance, and thats it," her voice stern, all of a sudden, catching him off guard.

"well that works for me," he smirked.

[loserboyfriendrjl]

Jayson Greene; “Once More We Saw The Stars” / William Ernest Henley; "Invictus" / Humbert Wolfe;" The Fiddle and the Bow" / Ingmar Bergman, from a letter to Liv Ullmann / Jonathan Safran Foer; “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close”

[yallthemwitches]

Slipping Away

Snape didn't think his life could get much worse---until Lily was falling in love with James Potter right before his eyes. A compilation of 3 particular moments between 6th and 7th year..

(If anyone is curious, I imagine Sirius and Lily are dancing to Fool In the Rain by Led Zeppelin and James and Lily dance to Mambo Sun by T Rex)

Sixth Year

I.The Three Broomsticks was filled to the brim with people. All the Hogwarts houses were present as well as the locals. Even some goblins were seen carrying their own goblets of firewhisky while weaving around at knee height. Severus sat glowering at one of the tables that had been pushed back against the wall to make space for a dance floor. Around him, music burst with a frenetic energy and bodies buzzed to move with it.

He hadn’t wanted to come–the potions NEWTS were coming up and Avery had also given him an extra assignment to create a new curse that would be good enough to get him noticed by the death eaters who had been scouting through the Slytherin house. But he knew she would be here tonight. So he came. 

He wasn’t wrong. Just across the room she stood with a group of her girlfriends in a tight circle. Out of her uniform, she bobbed her hip to the beat making her black corduroy skirt bounce slightly. Marlene McKinnon said something with a smirk and Lily leaned her head back in a laugh. He watched as she compiled her hair on the top of her head in a loose ball and let it cascade down her back in waves. 

He had seen her do this a million times. The way her laugh burst forth. The habit she had to fool with her hair when she was either nervous or feeling a burst of emotion. She used to do those things when he used to talk to her. How could she have learned to do them for anyone else?

Mary McDonald came back from the bar levitating 3 drinks and Lily took hers from midair. Sipping idly, she swerved her body to take stock of the room. She turned about halfway before pausing for a beat and a smile curled up from behind her goblet. Snape jerked his head in the direction of her eyes to see Potter and his friends just across the other way sitting semi-circle at a table that already had a collection of empty goblets. Potter leaned on the back legs of his seat in mid-discussion with his little cult. Sirius let out a barking laugh at whatever was said and picked up one of the goblets to down it with a swift movement. At Lily’s gaze, James looked up, dropped back down into a proper sitting position, and leaned with crossed arms on the table. A small smile pulled at his mouth. 

“I’m imagining it,” Severus conceded. The moment couldn’t have been more than two seconds—there’s no way that with this much bustle and noise…Potter and Lily—his Lily—could be having some sort of moment. 

Lily rolled her eyes and swiveled her body back facing her friend group. The girls talked excitedly to each other and a new song started up. Lily made a little jump and took a long sip from her goblet before setting it on a nearby table. Snape was too far away to hear her words, but he could tell by the change in body language that she was excited by whatever new song was magically blasting into the room. She swayed her hips in time with the beat and with her hands hovering up by her shoulders, snapped along to each drum hit. Marlene snorted and shook her head at her friend. Watching her mouth he could just barely make out Marlene saying, “Merlin Lily, you and that muggle music.” 

Unphased by her friend’s teasing, Lily closed her eyes and mouthed the lyrics to herself. Giving a cheeky wave, she spinned on her heel and walked towards the middle of the dancefloor, still keeping time with her steps. He expected her to stop where others had begun dancing in the middle of the space, but she expertly weaved her way through the crowd and towards the boys sitting on the other side. 

Severus felt his throat dry up. He knew that they had seemed a little friendly these days. It hadn’t been lost on him that she and her friends had started sitting next to Potter and his crew during meals. And after lessons, James would sometimes bound up to keep in step with her, asking about the class. Merely a year before she would have been annoyed by having to talk to the likes of him, but now she let him— even emitting a laugh or two at something he said.  All the years they had spent lamenting about his giant ego and bullying behavior was being thrown out the window the second they stopped spending time together. Mulciber and Malfoy always said muggleborns were supposed to be slimy and disloyal, but she had always been different than that. She was better than the rest of her kind.

Lily stood with her back to him in front of the marauder’s table and continued to sway playfully to the music. Severus craned his neck as far as he could to be able to watch her face. At her approach, Potter sat up straighter and his hand jumped into his hair. Disgusting prick. 

He couldn’t make out her words but he saw the slightest bit of color bubble up on Potter’s face. If Severus hadn’t thought Potter was capable of any other emotion besides being an arrogant prick, he would have thought that he was embarrassed. Potter’s eyes widened a bit, and he spoke something back to her, once again pushing his hand through his hair. Lily slowed her swaying, clearly crestfallen, but quickly pushed past it to perk back up. Sirius turned to James and with a mischievous grin and said something before rising from the table. Lily’s face lit up and she grabbed Sirius’ hand as he followed her out into the middle of the dance floor. 

Snape felt his dinner bubbling up in his stomach. She’s going to dance with Black? He’s almost worse than Potter…

Snape’s only consolation was the look on James’ face. Wide-eyed and pale, James stared blankly at where Sirius and Lily had started dancing on the near-side of the hall. Pettigrew leaned over and started poking James in the face with a smirk and Lupin rolled his eyes and said something pointedly to him, who looked too stunned to hear it. 

Snape whipped his head back to Lily and Sirius. Lily had her arms loosely around his neck and Sirius had his arms wrapped around her. Despite being mid-dance, he could tell that Sirius was holding distance between them, very clearly wanting to establish them from the other dancers who pressed themselves to each other as tight as possible. 

“Potter has his little gang so whipped. He must have called dibs on Lily like she’s some kind of Quidditch prize.” Despite being revolted by the thought, Snape had to admit he was fine with watching Black be more reserved. 

Sirius and Lily swayed together. Despite being a muggle tune, Sirius was able to word all the lyrics along with her. They both continued to dance; belting out the song while the music drowned them out. After a moment, Sirius leaned into Lily’s ear and whispered something with a smirk. He was facing the table where he had left his friends, and his eyes twinkled in the direction of James who had gotten some of his color back but was now carrying an air of frustration and annoyance. Lily leaned her head back and laughed at whatever Sirius’ had said and turned her head to also stare in the direction of the table. Knowing they had his attention, they both simultaneously gave a sly wave and Potter pouted further. 

Lupin leaned over again, and said something curtly to James. James nodded a few times before pushing himself up off the table. He strode over onto the dancefloor and stood next to the two dancers who kept in-tune without hesitation. After some words were exchanged, Lily dropped her arms around Sirius’ neck and Sirius, feigning the air of a dignitary, offered one of Lily’s hands to James with a dramatic bow. Lily rolled her eyes but let James take over in Sirius’ stead.

It was too much for Severus. He already had to watch her dance with one arsehole, and now she was going to dance with the leader of arseholes. He jerked himself up from the table and trudged his way onto the dancefloor. 

By the time he made it to the couple, Lily had snaked her arms around James’ neck and he held her around the waist. They stood much closer than Sirius’ had allowed earlier, with their bodies pressed against one another, and James’ hands making tight contact with her lower back. Both of them had a smattering of blush on their faces and stared at each other with easy eyes. As Snape approached, he watched James lean in close to Lily’s ear and whisper something. In response she scrunched up her face in a playful grin. 

“Can I talk to you?” Severus felt extremely out of place surrounded by flushed and bobbing bodies. He made a quick erratic dodge to not run into another pair of dancers who were whooshing past. 

Neither Lily or James moved out of their embrace. If anything, he could see Lily’s hands tighten around Potter’s neck as she craned around to look at him. 

“No,” she said curtly. She turned back to face James who, despite clearly trying to be on his best behavior, side-eyed him and made a sardonic smirk. 

“Please,” he tried again. 

“Can’t you see I’m trying to enjoy my evening,” she retorted, and started to slowly spin herself and James away from where he was standing. Snape took another step forward and planted a hand squarely on her shoulder. 

“Lily—” But Lily whipped around, removing her hands from James, while James’ eyes narrowed dangerously as he kept one of his hands protectively around her waist. “How dare he stand there like she’s his.” Snape’s mind flooded with anger. 

“She said no, Snape,” James growled out. Around them, people started to stop their reveling to watch the scene unfold. Lily’s friends pushed forward to be closer and from the corner of his eye, he could see that Sirius and Lupin were both standing now with wands in hand. 

“Fine…Fine. Mudblood.” He spat it out at her and turned on his heel. James pulled out his wand, but Lily grabbed at his shoulder, clearly begging him not to react. Snape didn’t look back and stormed out of the front doors and into the rain.

Seventh Year

II. School had started merely weeks ago, but the whole student body was buzzing. When he first heard someone talking about it in the Slytherin common room, he almost vomited on the spot. 

“D’you here? Potter and Evans are together.”

“A head student romance? Bet that keeps their patrols interesting.”

“I heard they saw each other over the summer— Mary told me she even slept over at his—”

“We all knew that one day they were bound to snog, Potter has been after her for years and Evans couldn’t mask her sexual tension with anger forever…”

He didn’t want to believe it. He refused to believe it. But later at lunch there it was. 

They were together. Lily sat leaning into the crook of his arm that encircled her. His other hand rested plainly on her upper thigh and gently squeezed her exposed skin randomly as they both listened to Marlene who eyed them warily but continued with her conversation. 

For head boy and head girl, it was a disgusting display of affection. The Lily he knew would have never been ok with it—he already thought Dumbledore was going mad to let Potter get the head boy position, but now to have him condone this type of behavior?

James lowered his head to whisper something closely in her ear. From even such a distance he could see James’ nose nuzzle against her cheek and Lily let out a giggle. She reached up and playfully grabbed his chin and gave it a little teasing shake before he closed the distance between their lips. 

Sirius and Marlene broke into a mocking applause at their kiss and James swatted at his mate while Lily blushed deeply. Lily leaned into James’ ear and murmured something, and red sprung up around the bottom edges of his glasses. Lily stood and James followed suit, eliciting suggestive oooohhhs and kissing noises from their friends. James grabbed his and her bag and slung them over his shoulder before wrapping his free arm once again around her waist as they started for the door. 

As they walked, Lily spoke to James with an ease not unlike she used to reserve for him. How many times had he wanted to wrap his arms around her like Potter so freely did now? He felt dizzy as he watched James kiss her temple as they departed, with Lily’s face alight with happiness.

III. 

He had gone down to the potions classroom they used to use in the good days. It was the middle of the night, but he had no better option. He had been working on a new potion technique he couldn’t work on in class. He yearned to talk to Lily about it like they used to. Whenever he was stuck on a problem, she always had something wise to say, as though she was like the half he was missing to be a complete person. 

He hadn’t come down here at night often since him and Lily had stopped talking. He knew how special it was for her to have a safe space, and it was his gift to her to let her have it whenever she wanted to come to experiment at night. Sometimes he would sneak out and wait in the hall, just to listen to the cutting of her knife as she sang along to the music she conjured into the room while she worked. 

He had just finished packing his things when he heard footsteps and voices coming from down the hall. 

“Are you sure the Beatles aren’t wizards? Like has anyone point blank asked them?” said a familiar male voice. 

“I think if they were, we would know by now, don’t you think,” he could recognize her voice from a mile away. His heart sank.

Lily and James turned the corner and started walking towards the open classroom door. Severus clutched his potion kit to himself and cursed silently. Sure, he could hide somewhere in the room, but all it would take is one quick sweep and he would be found. 

He stood frozen within the door as he heard their footsteps approach. He closed his eyes and braced himself, but miraculously they had stopped. He heard the shifting of clothing and a soft groan from James. 

“I thought we were supposed to be watching that other corridor,” James whispered. His voice sounded deep and thick. 

“No, I think we can skip it,” Lily responded back. He had never heard her voice sound like that. It was low and melted into the air. He had never thought you could hear desire in someone’s voice, but there was no mistaking it. 

The two went silent save for the sound of bodies moving slowly and soft moans being teased out of the other. He heard a dampened thump and slithered himself up against the door to carefully peer out into the hall. 

James had Lily pinned against the wall. Their lips moving against each other like they were starving for each other. Lily ran her hands through his hair and curled her fingers into tight fists, eliciting a moan from James. He stood pressed between her legs so their bodies fit together as close as possible. One hand was clasped around her upper thigh and was toying with the idea of pulling her leg entirely up and around his waist for better leverage. The action of their bodies together pushed her skirt to dangerous heights, but she seemed too busy to notice. 

Severus felt like he could die at that very moment. He wanted to stop watching–needed to stop watching, but found that he could not. Lily was flushed, mouth hanging open in a perpetual moan as James lowered his head to her collar bone and attached his mouth like a suction. 

“I love you.” It was barely a whisper, but Severus heard it. By the way it came so easily from her lips he knew it wasn’t the first time she had said it either. 

It felt like his soul left his body. His eyes became unfocused and he felt the urge to sit on the floor. She loves him? Loves HIM? No curse could feel as bad as he felt now. Nothing that had ever come before it could compare.How could she be so blind? How could she fall so low?

James removed himself from her collar which was red from his mouth. He looked at her, beaming. “I love you too, Lils. Merlin. I love you so much.”

And their lips met again. James picked her up and she yelped playfully but obliged to wrapping her legs around his waist and using the wall for support. Severus couldn’t watch any longer. He slid to a crouching position and buried his head in his hands. 

After what seemed like ages, he heard some shifting and Lily’s feet touch back on the floor. 

“I think it’s safe to say our patrols are done.” He heard her say with a giggle. 

“So….my dorm?” Severus wanted to snort at how cocky it sounded, but Lily just laughed. 

“What? You’re going to tell all your mates to fuck off so we can cuddle?” She teased.

“Cuddling? Is that what we are calling it now?” He could just picture Potter’s stupid mouth turning up in a mischievous grin. 

He heard Lily laugh and give him a playful swat. 

“Sure, yeah—I’d like that.” She conceded. And their footsteps disappeared around the corner. 

Severus remained crouched despite their departure, unable to move. Is this what hell is like? Is this what I deserve? He thought about all the times Lily smiled at him; all the times they would laugh as they experimented with potions or talked carelessly by the river about everything and  nothing at all. 

She was gone.Taken. Stolen. Each lovely moment with her slipped away from his mind like being crumbled into dust. All that was left was anger. A deep, encompassing hatred. 

He would get her back. Even if that meant killing the person she loved. Even if that meant becoming her enemy to do so.

[moonstruckme]

Ok James but him and his slytherin girlfriend seem to come out of nowhere and the boys are supportive but are more mad at James for not telling them? Idk I loved your other fic SO MUCH

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: mention of injury, no details or anything though

James Potter x Slytherin!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You hesitate outside the doorway to the infirmary at the raised voices coming from inside. 

You don’t need to be here, strictly speaking. James told you his injury wasn’t bad, and he has his friends to help him if he needs it, but…you can’t settle yourself down. You hadn’t liked the way he’d limped off the field, nor the tiny grimace on his face when Sirius had wrapped a bracing arm under his shoulders. It would be just like James to downplay how hurt he is to make you feel better, and the longer the game had gone on without him the more your guts twisted themselves into knots over the idea that he was in pain. 

You’d seethed at yourself and your stupid soft heart all the way to the infirmary, where now you’re frozen just outside like a coward. Something inside you is coiled tight with tension at the idea of going to see James Potter, on purpose and in public, even though that’s dumb because now everyone at Hogwarts knows about the two of you anyway. Your sappy display on the quidditch pitch made sure of that. But now that you have official and widely-known claim to the girlfriend title, you have just as much right to see him as anyone else. You shove your anxiety back into your stomach where it belongs and open the door. 

As soon as you’re inside, the voices become clearer. “—like this isn’t a big deal. The Prophet’s going to be all over the two of you by tomorrow, and we had to find out with every other fucking bloke at the school!”

“Pads, you don’t think I would have told you if I could?” James sounds exhausted, and something mutinous throbs in your heart. It’s followed quickly by the more familiar twinge of irritation at the use of those moronic nicknames they all have. “She made me promise not to tell anyone, including the both of you.” 

They’re talking about you. Of course they’re talking about you. What else could possibly be more important after James has fallen a good twenty feet off his broom than his dating life? This is why you hadn’t wanted to tell people. Hogwarts wears away at private lives like dementors at souls, and the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin is too strong for your relationship with James to have any hope of remaining untainted once the gossip mill got ahold of it. 

Your instincts are screaming at you to turn around and leave before they catch sight of you, but you force yourself to keep walking. If you start letting what people think about you and James affect you now, you’ll never be able to get past it. 

Remus is the first to spot you, going still as if you’ve come to hex him, but James’ face splits into a lopsided grin that has the knots in your gut loosening very slightly. 

“Especially you,” you say to Sirius as you brush past him, perching by James' pillow and weaving your fingers into his curls. There’s a wrap around his middle. It’s very hard to appear calm and blasé when you feel like you’re going to rupture something if he doesn't promise you he’s okay right this instant. “You’d have had all of Gryffindor talking about us within an hour.” 

Sirius bristles but visibly shoves his temper aside, his voice matching your coolness as he says, “If I’d told anyone, Y/L/N, it would have been to inquire about whether anyone’s noticed you gathering ingredients for amortentia recently. James doesn’t keep things from us. Artificial infatuation is the only explanation for why he’d tolerate you and your secrets.” 

“Oi,” James says, but you pat his head placatingly. You can fight your own battles. 

“That how you got this one?” you jut your chin towards Remus, who’s looking somewhat entertained as he watches the two of you spar. “If I’m ever in need of the recipe, Black, you’ll be the first person I come to, but I don’t need to resort to such measures myself.” 

Sirius glowers at you, and James sets his hand on your shoulder just as Remus wraps a pacifying arm around his boyfriend. “Alright, I think that’s enough,” the taller boy says in his usual calm manner, and though Sirius is still tensed for a fight, he allows himself to be drawn into Remus’ side.

James nods in agreement. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys, really. I thought I’d get a chance to before everyone found out, but…” He turns up his palms helplessly. “Things didn’t go as planned.” 

“We’ll get over it,” Remus says, Sirius quietly fuming beside him. “Won’t we, love?”

Sirius looks up at Remus' face, which is clearly a mistake, because he softens like butter in the sun. “Yeah, yeah, just gimme a bit,” he grumbles halfheartedly. “Anything to keep our Prongsie happy, right?”

James beams, so clearly relieved at the settlement of the conflict that you feel a bit guilty for participating in it. He kisses you on the cheek, chuckling against your skin. “You stink.” 

“Some of us stuck around to play the whole game,” you reply.

“Ouch,” James says, but he’s grinning. “Couldn’t really help that, could I?”

You give him a look to let him know you haven’t forgotten how his negligence had gotten him hurt. “Debatable.” 

You hear Remus chuckle but don’t take your eyes off James’ face, inspecting it for signs of the pain you suspect he’s hiding. “How bad is it really?” you ask, softening your voice even though there’s no chance of his friends not hearing you. 

James worries his lip, big brown eyes looking into yours guiltily. “Pomphrey says I broke three ribs and bruised my tailbone pretty badly. Minor concussion, too, but nothing serious.” 

Sounds serious enough to you. You ghost a hand over the back of his head as if you’ll be able to find and fix his hurt. He leans into your palm though, so it’s not for nothing. “I’m sorry I walked away out there,” you all but whisper. “I should have stayed with you.” 

James eyebrows pinch together. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he promises just as softly. He knows what it costs you to talk like this in front of people, like you’re turning yourself inside out for them to judge and stab at as they please, but James has no such reservations. He dots a kiss, feather-light, at the top of your cheekbone, wrapping an arm around you protectively. “Thanks for coming, I mean it.” 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, and in my fucking quidditch gear,” you say in your normal voice, attempting to banish the heavy mood. As if your heart isn’t still beating, hummingbird-fast and fragile, in your throat. “We both need to change and shower, and then you should rest. Did Pomphrey say you could leave?”

James nods, still looking at you like you’ve cracked open in his hands (he might be right; it feels like you have, and it wouldn’t even be the first time today). He rubs your upper arm affectionately, but his voice is easygoing when he says, “Yup, I’m good to go.” 

Sirius steps forward, as though to remind the two of you that he is, in fact, also present. “Great. We’ll walk you back to the room.” 

You turn to him, not quite ready for your time with James to be up and aching for the opportunity to dote on him in private. “That’s okay, I can take him.” 

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “You can’t even get into our dorms.” 

“Please, like Gryffindor’s riddles are so perplexing.” 

“I don’t need an escort,” James interjects. He pushes himself up with a grimace. 

You halt him with your hands on his shoulders and Remus says, “Don’t be stupid, Prongs, you can barely walk.” 

“I’ve got him,” you say firmly. Sirius stares you down, but you don’t flinch from his stony gaze. You know he doesn’t trust you. You don’t think he’d willingly trust any Slytherin. Since you’ve been at Hogwarts, the talk in your house has always been that Sirius Black shuns his family because they’re all Slytherins. Although James assures you there’s more to the story than that, it’s still obvious to anyone that he considers his friends his true family. He won’t entrust just anyone with James’ safety. But maybe that’s one thing you can agree upon. 

He must see something of this in your face, because after a minute Sirius relents, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “I wanted to stop by the kitchens anyway.”

James is looking between the two of you curiously, aware that something has transpired but not quite sure what. 

You don’t give Sirius a chance to change his mind. “Alright,” you say, gripping James' forearms and helping him to stand. “Let’s go, pretty boy.” 

James drapes his arm across your shoulders gamely, and the two of you start out the door. “I don’t think that’s the insult you think it is.”

[luvrsinn]

synopsis: walking home together after a party

sirius black x gn!reader

the night sky is clear and devoid of stars. with no cover to hide, the moon's light illuminates the path. sirius hums a tune that seems born from the night itself, it fills the silence on your walk home and so is a welcome reprieve. there is a comfort in the way his hand entwines in yours.

"i love you," sirius declares suddenly. he's said it a million times before, but your heart still skips a beat. you turn your head, and his grey eyes hold your gaze.

the remnants of the party linger on your face. the lipstick you wore is now a mere whisper of colour. your mascara is smudged. yet, he looks at you with such reverence it makes you feel special.

"whenever you walk into a room, i sense your presence. i did tonight; when remus and i were smoking under the awning. and i know you do too," it was true. something deep within you always knows of his arrival before your eyes do. it is something innate, something you feel deep in your bones, and words fail you when you wish to describe it.

"it's as if our very atoms recognize each other," you reply. you think maybe it is an absurd answer, but sirius smiles anyway.

his free hand wipes the glitter on your cheek. the slight autumn chill kisses your neck, soothing the sudden warmness coursing through your body. your eyes glitter with all the love you wish to express in that moment.

"perhaps they do," he says, the words weaving themselves into the fabric of the universe.

he takes your face in his hands and kisses you, soft and slow. he is a star, all-encompassing, bursting with light and love.

[sayoneee]

☆ LET'S DANCE

slughorn decides to play matchmaker for the day, leading to your public humiliation (2.4k)

contains: idiots in love. very loosely based on the david bowie song. swearing. possibly ooc sirius. bit of an existential crisis ig. slughorn. sirius has jokes (bad ones). not proofread

kashaf’s note: havent posted in ages hopefully u like this

YOU LONGED FOR summer’s embrace, and the warm reprieve from the demands of school, yet you are afraid of what it might bring. the longer you try to savor the last of your sixth year, and dream of the carefree hours under never-ending sunlight soon within your grasp, the harder it becomes to ignore the continuously grim headlines of the daily prophet presented at the breakfast table every morning. even amidst your friends’ laughter, the looming shadow of anti-muggle-born propaganda pushed forward by unseen hands propels them to dissect and debate on almost molecular levels, each point characterized by a bite or a clang of a fork. 

the end of your sixth year brings unshakeable exhaustion as constant vigilance weaves itself into everyday life within the ancient walls of the castle, adding to the suddenly rigorous course load attempting to prepare your year for their upcoming n.e.w.t.s. hogwarts, once a haven, now demanded a watchful eye on every staircase and dark corridor, as the hallways echoed with ghostly rumors and whispers found their homes on the staircases. 

“mare, stop tryna murder slughorn with your eyes; he might catch on,” you hissed at mary under your breath, elbowing her discreetly, as you try to appear focused on slughorn’s lesson. 

“maybe he’ll learn his lesson and stop splitting us up,” mary responded resolutely, never once breaking eye contact with the balding pudgy man who, in a horribly clichéd fit of inspiration, had begun assigning partners to brew amortentia in the double-potions period you had been blessed with today.  

the somewhat impulsive decision of “james potter and lily evans” had you and mary turning to each other, eyebrows raised as you wondered quite how thick slughorn could be. in general, no one knew what was going on between james and lily. at this point, you surmised neither did they. they had had odd bouts of camaraderie, quickly replaced with civil hostility, resulting in a continuous loop of poorly disguised affection or hatred, like a roulette wheel deciding which lily and james to match up each day. 

you prayed to merlin, hoping whatever disastrous infliction that had befallen slughorn for him to pair james with lily would not contagiously affect his decision for you, and that slughorn would come to his senses and let you spend the amortentia lesson with your sanity intact. alas, merlin had no such qualms about leaving you to fend for yourself as the anticipation you felt when slughorn called your name quickly soured to horror when he followed it up with none other than “sirius black”.

despite the number of mutual friends shared—after your friend groups warmed up to each other this year—the two of you had never gotten along. you’ve since chalked it up to his propensity for being aggravating without rhyme or reason, seemingly driven by an inherent desire to extract reactions. his words, laced with a mirth hard to ignore, are like finely crafted spells designed to unravel your patience. the rest of the school’s population are able to dismiss him, but your inability to ignore him has become something of an enigma.

feeling sirius’s presence next to you, without turning to face him, you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “am i gonna have to remain vigil over our cauldron in case it blows up the minute my back is turned?” 

“as flattering as it is to hear you admit that you’ve been watching me over the years—” here, you let out a derisive snort, causing sirius to pause, and raise his eyebrows at you in challenge, “when have you seen me jinx my own cauldron?” he continued, a smirk tugging at his lips as he loosened his tie even further. 

you groaned, finally making eye contact with him, unsurprised to see that all-too-familiar glint in his grey eyes, “can we please just get this over with already?”

in your six shared years of schooling, you have always distantly conceded him to be handsome, his features falling into the realm of casual observance amidst the whirlwind of classes, and quidditch matches. yet, the way he stares down at you in this moment stirs something within you, the unfamiliar fluttering awakening a newfound awareness. 

his locks of black hair fall delicately in his eyes, as if afraid to obstruct your view. the silver gleam of his piercings catch the glow of the potions bubbling around you, an intricate constellation along the curve of his ears—a bold declaration of his rebelliousness. the smile tugging at the corners of his lips is enigmatic, as if he’s aware that he’s just shifted something fundamental between you. 

“aren’t you moving a little too fast?” sirius continued when you turned to him confused, “take me out to dinner first.” 

you glared at him as understanding dawned on you, “i’m literally going to murder you if you don’t shut up, i swear to merlin.”

“aren’t you kinky?” 

you spin around, pointing your wand at his jugular, watching his adam’s apple bob up then down as he threw his hands up in surrender, an easy-going grin gracing his features, “woah there, guess i touched a nerve, huh?”

you know he’s baiting you, you know his talent for finding weaknesses and exploiting them all too well, but you can’t help yourself when it comes to him, falling into the trap carefully set out for you, biting out a retort before you’re aware of it, “you won’t have any nerves left when i’m done with you.”

sirius grins, no—bares his teeth at you, wolfishly, and suddenly you understand all of james’s dog-related jokes over the years. 

the two of you remain uncharacteristically quiet for the remainder of the potion, you’re surprised by sirius’s begrudging help, and soon enough, you’re sliding the last ingredient in. 

the potion looks right to you, with the mother-of-pearl sheen slughorn gushed about for all of the class period, but you can’t tell because your senses were invaded by the distinct smell of cologne causing you to wrinkle your nose as you eyed sirius apprehensively. 

he seemed to be having the same predicament as you currently, perfect brows furrowed in thought as his eyes glance over the potion. 

“i can’t tell if we did it right,” you venture. 

“me neither,” he shrugs, “all i can smell is your perfume—by the way, did you have to use the whole bottle?”

“i could say the same for you—the room reeks of your cologne, asshole.”

“more like your perfume—”

“i literally ran out this morning—”

“because you dumped the whole bottle on yourself?”

“literally pot calling the kettle black—”

“i am a black—”

“i literally hate you so much—”

a sharp, disapproving cough splits the two of you apart, not only had your argument grown embarrassingly loud in its procession, but it had also orchestrated a gravitational pull between the two of you. the result had been proximity that bordered on the intimate, your personal space evaporating until you were mere inches apart. the ignominy of being publicly seen at sirius black’s throat was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed after slughorn’s unexpected interruption.

slughorn’s rotund figure regards the two of you with a mixture of curiosity and mild exasperation, his mustache twitching slightly in rhythm with the exaggerated rise and fall of his breath, “my dears,” he begins, his tone a blend of genuine concern and theatrical flair, “what seems to be the problem? your potion appears to be brewed successfully, i can see the characteristic smoke spirals, and the mother-of-sheen pearl.”

flushed with embarrassment that seems to spread through you like a fever, you mumble your response lowly, “sorry, professor, but we couldn’t tell because of external factors.”

the air in the room seems to thicken as the collective gaze of your classmates turns toward the two of you, their eyes capturing the awkwardness with an unabashed curiosity that makes you wish you could use a time-turner to escape this particular moment of public humiliation.

slughorn’s hearty laughter fills the room like a boisterous charm, “oho, i see the problem now, my dear,” he addresses you, his eyes crinkling with amusement, “tell me, what do you smell in the amortentia?”

his words hang in the air, and the room's atmosphere has shifted from tense to expectant.

confused, you play with the hem of your skirt as you wonder the relevancy of his question, your gaze flickering uncertainly, tracing patterns in the stone floor as you respond, “um, cologne, leather, and brownies, professor.”

the room, for a moment, becomes a canvas of uncomfortable silence, and you're resolutely avoiding making eye contact with anyone else in the room.  

satisfied with your response, slughorn pivots his attention to sirius, a gleam of intrigue dancing in his eyes, "now you, my boy," he encourages, his voice a velvet stroke, "go on, tell us what you smell."

a twist of surprise clenches within you as you expect sirius to brush off the request, to summon a sarcastic remark as his defense. yet, to your astonishment, he complies, his fingers raking through his hair, “perfume, shampoo, and petrol, professor."

slughorn nods sagely, his lips curving into a satisfied grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. he claps his hands together once, the sound a punctuation to his assessment. the atmosphere in the room has shifted from suspenseful to charged, every student suspended in the tension of his next words.

"my dears," he addresses the class with the air of a professor on the brink of a profound lesson, "you smell each other in the amortentia, that is your problem."

the previously stifling silence is breached as the dungeon is painted with a symphony of snickers. the air seems to vibrate with laughter, and there's even a bold wolf whistle, which you're almost certain is courtesy of james. yet, amidst this collective amusement, all you can feel is disconcertment, the weight of attention heavy upon you.

as if merlin himself takes pity on your predicament, slughorn's laughter ripples through the room, warm and infectious, as he claps his hands together again, “my young scholars, it's time for practicality. bottle your amortentia, label it, and kindly leave it on my desk before making your exit."

with that, your hasty exit from the dungeon turns into a veritable escape, as you shoulder your bag against your side. every nerve in your body screams for invisibility, to become nothing more than a background figure. however, as you weave your way through the corridors, hoping to dissolve into the anonymity of the crowd, you're struck by sirius black’s unwavering dedication in trailing behind you despite each step you take further into the deepening throng of students. 

just before you can approach the fat lady’s portrait, a hand closes on your elbow and a startled gasp escapes you as you are abruptly yanked into a hidden alcove, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. your eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, but before you can react, a large hand firmly pressed against your mouth, thick silver rings digging uncomfortably against your lips. glaring at your kidnapper, you folded your arms across your chest. 

acutely aware of the proximity, of the scent of cologne now much fainter than in the dungeons, you wait with a mixture of frustation and curiosity. sirius leans as far back as the alcove will let him, which is not much, but at least he’s no longer lurking over you like a predator staring down its prey. 

“the fuck do you want?” you could care less if you smelled him or if he smelled you in the amortentia, because as far as you’re concerned, the two of you can continue to dance around each other in the way you have perfected over the years. in your delicate ballet, he is the master of light-hearted jests flickering like fireflies in the summer dusk, and you are the recipient of his playful pranks and ceaseless banter, carrying an unspoken agreement, holding onto the game you both secretly treasured. 

its predictability is comforting, the way his remarks are as reliable as the rising sun, and your laughter feels like a shared secret between only the two of you. the amortentia's revelations feel like an unnecessary intrusion, an attempt to place confusing labels on your little game.

“go out with me,” sirius levels a roguish grin at you, his grey eyes dance with the mischief you are so accustomed to seeing. 

all you want is to say yes, to revel in stolen glances, the exhilaration of shared laughter, the brushing of your fingers together, and strolling carefree across the castle grounds, but your world isn’t one satisfied by teen romances. it’s one where every word and connection is scrutinized under the weight of a society where love and friendship are tainted by its fixation on blood status. 

you cannot bring yourself to look into his eyes, twinkling with genuine interest, feeling a pang of bitterness as you consider the reality of your world. to say yes would be to risk both your safety and that of your friends, and who knows if the ensuing conflict would leave either of you unscathed. 

“i can’t,” you still cannot bring yourself to look him in the eye as you deliver this unseen rejection with a bittersweet smile, torn between longing for normalcy and the harsh lessons you’ve learned with every picture and name added to the growing list of victims. 

“why not?” sirius asks, confusion coloring his features, as he searches your gaze, attempting to make eye contact. 

you don’t know how to explain without seeming as if you’re getting ahead of yourself, thinking of the distant future, but you try anyway, wringing your hands together, “we don’t know what’ll happen in a year or two, sirius. we don’t even know if we’ll be alive after we graduate.”

his hands cradle your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye, the cool press of his metal rings against your burning skin is soothing, “i’m asking for right now,” he continues, softly, gentler than you have ever known him, his gaze holding yours in quiet intensity, “for you to live for yourself—”

the uncertain future shapes into one of possibility, and so, without conscious thought, you surge forward to kiss him, clumsier than you would have liked, and messier than you have ever known, but it feels right. 

“so, that’s a yes for hogsmeade this weekend?”

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, translate, plagiarize or claim any of my works as your own.

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (see full series list here)

1994

"What's going on? What's happened?"

Cornelius Fudge appears, staring down pale and appalled at the scene below him: Harry sobbing and choking, face dirty, robes torn and tattered with a blood-soaked sleeve from a deep gash stretching down his forearm, clutching Cedric Diggory's dead body tightly in a white-knuckled grip.

"My God — Diggory!" Fudge whispered. "Dumbledore — he's dead!"

With screams and gasps and mutterings, these words are repeated over and over throughout the stadium: "He's dead."

You try not to look at Cedric's lifeless face as tears prick your eyes and spill over the edges, dripping down your cheeks as your breaths come in rapid succession. You watched Cedric grow from a small, shy, excitable eleven-year-old into a strong, kind, and genuine young man...and now he's dead. Lying cold and still on the damp, dewy grass. His life has been cut short before he even got the chance to live it.

"Harry, let go of him," Fudge urges, reaching out to pry him from Cedric's limp body, but Harry refuses to let go.

"Harry..." you place your hand as gently as possible on Harry's cheek, brushing away the dirt and grime with your thumb. "You're hurt, dear, come with me."

"He wanted me to bring him back," Harry mutters shakily. "He wanted me to bring him back to his parents..."

"You have, Harry. Let him go, his parents are coming now..." you say softly.

Dumbledore bends down and raises Harry from the ground, setting him on his feet. He sways, leaning all his weight on one leg — the other, you notice, is covered in shiny red blood, and you hurry to place his arm over your shoulder, helping to hold him up.

"He'll need to go to the hospital wing!" Fudge says loudly. "He's ill, he's injured — Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here, they're in the stands..."

"I'll take Harry," Moody says gruffly, appearing at your side. "I'll take him — "

"No, Dumbledore wants him to stay here..." you protest, while Fudge sweats profusely beside Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore, Amos Diggory's running...he's coming over...don't you think you should tell him — before he sees — ?"

Around you, girls are screaming, sobbing hysterically and you support Harry's weight with your own. "You're alright, Harry, you're safe now. Breathe in and out..."

You move to tap Dumbledore. Harry needs to get out of here, he needs medical attention, he needs to get away from the noise and the crowds and the maze.

Harry moves suddenly and you feel his arm being pulled from around your shoulders.

"Harry?"

You look around, but all that's around you is several students, some crying, some screaming, some looking around in fear...

"Harry!"

Standing on your tip-toes, you finally spot him on the far outskirts of the bustling crowd, being half-pulled, half-carried out of it by Moody. You breathe a sigh of relief that he's being taken to the hospital wing by another teacher and seems alright, and you turn to go back to tell Dumbledore...when you stop.

Something eats at your gut, every instinct in your body telling you that Harry's still not safe. You watch as Moody's limping form carries Harry further and further away from you...but something still doesn't feel right. Moody is sensible — he wouldn't take Harry away from you the other teachers when Voldemort could very well be near. He wouldn't take him out of Dumbledore's sight.

So why is he doing that now?

Panic starts to overwhelm your body as you attempt to weave through the frightened crowd, ordering students aside.

"Out of my way, please!" You yell, doing your best to push the students out of the way as gently as possible, without hurting any of them.

"What happened, professor?"

"Is Cedric alright, professor?"

"Professor!"

After what feels like an age, you finally emerge on the other side of the crowd, chest heaving. Get to Harry. You have to get to Harry, keep him safe.

You run up the stairs to the entrance hall, clutching your wand tightly, going as fast as your legs will allow.

Hospital wing, that's where you're going —

You race up the spiral steps, your lungs burning as you make it to the top and throw open the doors, only to find it empty, save for a few sick students resting in the beds.

"H...Harry...?"

No response.

Feeling panicked and overwhelmed and utterly sick, you dash down the stairs once more and into the entrance hall, where you miraculously find Dumbledore, Minerva, and Snape.

"H...Harry with M...Moody..." you pant, breathlessly, keeling over. "Not in...h...hospital wing."

"I know, professor," Dumbledore says. "Come, swiftly, let us check his office."

The four of you make your way down the corridors, before coming to a stop outside Moody's office.

Without even checking if it's locked, Dumbledore produces his wand and yells, "Stupefy!"

With great splintering and crashing and a flash of red light, the door to Moody's office is blasted apart. Moody's thrown backwards onto the office floor. Seething, Dumbledore steps into the office, placing a foot underneath his unconscious body and kicking him over onto his back so that his face is visible.

You go straight to Harry, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders at the sight of him unharmed. "Come along, Harry," you say quietly, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "You need to go to the hospital wing..."

"No," Dumbledore says sharply.

"Dumbledore, he ought to —" Minerva agrees, her thin mouth twitching as though she's about to cry. " — look at him, he's been through enough tonight — "

"He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand," he says curtly, wand still pointed at Moody. "Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why."

You look at Harry's trembling form, transfixed on Moody in a state of utter disbelief and reluctantly, you nod, keeping your hand on Harry's shoulder protectively, making sweeping motions with your thumb in an effort to bring a semblance of comfort to the boy.

"Moody," Harry says. "How can it have been Moody?"

"This is not Alastor Moody," Dumbledore says quietly. "You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew — and I followed."

So someone really has been impersonating Moody this whole time — with Polyjuice Potion, no doubt. Everything starts to click in your head, despite how shocked you feel. This explains why he acted as though he didn't know you, didn't call you by name, didn't treat you with the same respect he used to...

Dumbledore bends down over Moody's limp body, putting a hand inside his robes, pulling out the hip flask and a set of keys on a ring. Then he turns to Minerva and Snape.

"Severus, fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here."

He's sending her to get Sirius, and you feel a soft wave of calm wash over you for just a second, knowing that he'll be near. If either Snape or Minerva find these instructions peculiar, they don't show it. Both turn at once and leave the office. Dumbledore walks over to the trunk with seven locks, fitting the first key in the lock and opening it. It contains a mass of spell books.

He closes it, places a second key in the second lock, and opens the trunk again, this time revealing an assortment of broken Sneakoscopes, some parchment and quills, and what looks like a silvery Invisibilty Cloak.

You and Harry watch as Dumbledore places each key in their respective locks, reopening and closing the trunk until finally, he places the seventh key in the seventh lock and throws open the lid.

Harry lets out a cry of amazement and you gasp. You peer into what looks to be a pit and, lying on the floor below, is the thin and starved form of the real Alastor Moody. His wooden leg is gone, the socket that usually holds his magical eye is empty, and chunks of his hair are missing.

"Is he alright?" You ask in worry, and Dumbledore climbs into the trunk, dropping onto the floor beside him, bending over him.

"Stunned," he answers. "Controlled by the Imperius Curse — he's very weak. Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Throw down the impostor's cloak — he's freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger."

You breathe a sigh of relief, and grab the fake Moody's cloak to throw it down to the headmaster. He covers Moody in the cloak, tucking it around him, and clambers out of the trunk once more. Then he picks up the hip flask that stood upon the desk, unscrews it, and turns it over. A thick glutinous liquid splatters onto the office floor.

You recognise it instantly. "Polyjuice Potion."

Dumbledore nods. "You see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he's well known for it. The impostor needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair..."

Dumbledore looks down on the Moody in the trunk. "The impostor has been cutting it off all year, you see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done...on the hour...every hour. We shall see."

He pulls out the chair at the desk and sits upon it, his eyes fixed on the unconscious man on the floor. You stare at him too, swallowing harshly. You feel sick, you feel angry. Angry at the impostor for doing all of this, angry for putting Harry in danger, angry that it led to Cedric's death...and you're angry at yourself. How could you not have put two and two together? You should have told Dumbledore the minute Neville showed up at your door, after that first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. You should have told him about that night you found him in the Great Hall after hours...you should have realised.

Before you can think more on this, the face of the man on the floor begins to change. Scars disappear, and skin becomes smooth. His nose shrinks and becomes whole, no longer missing that chunk of flesh. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg falls away as a normal leg regrows in its place, and the magical eye pops out and a real eye replaces it.

You stare at the man before you, pale-skinned and fair-haired...and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips. "I...I don't believe it...Barty Crouch?"

Hurried footsteps outside signal the return of Minerva and Snape, and also Winky the house-elf.

"Crouch!" Snape exclaims, stopping dead at the doorway. "Barty Crouch!"

"Good heavens," Minerva says in shock, staring down at the man on the floor.

Filthy and deshevelled, Winky peers around Snape's legs, her mouth opening wide as she lets out a piercing shriek. "Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?" She flings herself onto the young man's chest, sobbing hysterically. "You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!"

"He is simply stunned, Winky," Dumbledore says calmly. "Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?"

Snape hands Dumbledore a small glass bottle of Veritaserum. Dumbledore bends over the man on the floor and pulls him into a sitting position against the wall and forces Barty's mouth open, pouring three drops inside it. Then he points his wand at the man's chest and says, "Rennervate."

Barty Crouch Jr opens his eyes, his face slack and his gaze unfocused.

"Can you hear me?" Dumbledore says quietly.

His eyes flutter. "Yes."

"I would like you to tell us how you came to be here. How did you escape Azkaban?"

Barty takes a deep, shuddering breath, then begins to speak in a flat, monotone voice. "My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded father to rescue me as a last favour to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother's hairs. She took a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other's appearance."

Winky shakes her head, trembling violently. "Say no more, Master Barty, you is getting your father into trouble."

Barty continues in the same expressionless voice, his tongue darting out to wet his lip grossly. "The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors. My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban. She was careful to drink the Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me."

"And what did you father do with you, when he had got you home?" Dumbledore asks quietly.

"Staged my mother's death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master...of returning to his service."

"How did your father subdue you?"

"The Imperius Curse," Barty replies. "I was under my father's control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and my caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behaviour."

"Master Barty, Master Barty," sobs Winky. "You isn't ought to tell them, we is getting in trouble..."

"Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?" Dumbledore questions softly. "Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf?"

"Yes," says Barty, his eyelids flickering. "A witch in my father's office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father's signature. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She came to investigate. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father arrived home. She confronted him. He put a very powerful memory charm on her to make her forget what she'd found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently."

"Why is she coming to nose into my master's private business?" Winky cries. "Why isn't she leaving us be?"

"Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup," Dumbledore says.

"Winky talked my father into it," Barty answers. "She spent months persuading him. I had not left the house in years. I had loved Quidditch. Let him go, she said. He will be in his Invisibility Cloak. He can watch. Let him smell fresh air for once. She said my mother would have wanted it. She told my father that my mother had died to give me freedom. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end."

Winky continues to sob, her face in her hands.

"It was carefully planned. My father led me and Winky up to the Top Box early in the day. Winky was to say that she was saving a seat for my father. I was to sit there, invisible. When everyone had left the box, we would emerge. Winky would appear to be alone. Nobody would know."

You listen intently, continuing to rub soft circles of comfort into Harry's shoulder.

"But Winky didn't know that I was growing stronger. I was starting to fight my father's Imperius Curse. There were times where I was almost myself again. There were brief periods where I seemed outside his control. It happened there, in the Top Box. It was like waking from a deep sleep. I found myself out in public, in the middle of the match, and I saw, in front of me, a wand sticking out of a boy's pocket. I had not been allowed a wand since before Azkaban. I stole it. Winky didn't know. Winky is afraid of heights. She had her face hidden."

"Master Barty, you bad boy!" Winky whispers shakily, tears trickling between her fingers.

"So you took the wand," says Dumbledore. "What did you do with it?"

"We went back to the tent," he answers. "Then we heard them. We heard the Death Eaters. The ones who had never been to Azkaban. The ones who had not suffered for my master. They had turned their backs on him. They were not enslaved, as I was. They were merely making sport of Muggles. The sound of their voices awoke me. My mind was clearer than it had been in years. I was angry. I had the wand."

Harry's body trembles beneath your hand as Barty continues on.

"I wanted to attack them for their disloyalty to my master. My father had left the tent; he had gone to free the Muggles. Winky was afraid to see me so angry. She used her own brand of magic to bind me to her. She pulled me from the tent, pulled me into the forest, away from the Death Eaters. I tried to hold her back. I wanted to return to the campsite. I wanted to show those Death Eaters what loyalty to the Dark Lord meant, and to punish them for their lack of it. I used the stolen wand to cast the Dark Mark into the sky. Ministry wizards arrived. They shot stunning spells everywhere. One of the spells came through the trees where Winky and I stood. The bond connecting us was broken. We were both stunned."

Winky sniffles, shaking her head and muttering something incoherent.

"When Winky was discovered, my father knew I must be nearby. He searched the bushes where she had been found and felt me lying there. He waited until the other Ministry members had left the forest. He put me back under the Imperius Curse and took me home. He dismissed Winky. She had failed him. She had let me acquire a wand. She had almost let me escape."

The house-elf lets out a shrill wail of despair.

"Now it was just Father and I, alone in the house. And then...and then..." Barty's head rolls sickeningly on his neck, and an unhinged grin spreads across his face. "My master came for me. He arrived at our house late one night in the arms of his servant Wormtail. My master had found out that I was still alive. He had captured Bertha Jorkins in Albania. He had tortured her. She told him a great deal. She told him about the Triwizard Tournament. She told him the old Auror, Moody, was going to teach at Hogwarts. He tortured her until he broke through the Memory Charm my father had placed upon her."

You feel sick.

"She told him I had escaped from Azkaban. She told him my father kept me imprisoned to prevent me from seeking my master. And so my master knew that I was still his faithful servant — perhaps the most faithful of all. My master conceived a plan, based upon the information Bertha had given him. He needed me. He arrived at our house near midnight. My father answered the door."

The smile spreads even wider over Barty's face, mouth wide in sick pleasure. "It was very quick. My father was placed under the Imperius Curse by my master. Now my father was the one imprisoned, controlled. My master forced him to go about his business as usual, to act as though nothing was wrong. And I was released. I awoke. I was myself again, alive as I hadn’t been in years."

"And what did Lord Voldemort ask you to do?" Dumbledore asks.

“He asked me whether I was ready to risk everything for him. I was ready. It was my dream, my greatest ambition, to serve him, to prove myself to him. He told me he needed to place a faithful servant at Hogwarts. A servant who would guide Harry Potter through the Triwizard Tournament without appearing to do so. A servant who would watch over Harry Potter. Ensure he reached the Triwizard Cup. Turn the cup into a Portkey, which would take the first person to touch it to my master. But first — "

"You needed Alastor Moody," Dumbledore finishes.

"Wormtail and I did it."

Your grip on Harry's shoulder tightens slightly but you instantly release it. Peter Pettigrew is finding more and more ways to ruin lives.

"We had prepared the Polyjuice Potion beforehand. We journeyed to his house. Moody put up a struggle. There was a commotion. We managed to subdue him just in time. Forced him into a compartment of his own magical trunk. Took some of his hair and added it to the potion. I drank it; I became Moody's double. I took his leg and his eye. I was ready to face Arthur Weasley when he arrived to sort out the Muggles who had heard a disturbance. I made the dustbins move around the yard. I told Arthur Weasley I had heard intruders in my yard, who had set off the dustbins. Then I packed up Moody's clothes and Dark detectors, put them in the trunk with Moody, and set off for Hogwarts. I kept him alive, under the Imperius Curse. I wanted to be able to question him. To find out about his past, learn his habits, so that I could fool even Dumbledore. I also needed his hair to make the Polyjuice Potion. The other ingredients were easy. I stole boomslang skin from the dungeons. When the potions master found me in his office, I said I was under orders to search it."

"And what became of Wormtail after you attacked Moody?"

"Wormtail returned to care for my master, in my father's home, and to keep watch over my father."

"But your father escaped," says Dumbledore.

"Yes. After a while he began to fight the Imperius Curse just as I had done. There were periods when he knew what was happening. My master decided it was no longer safe for my father to leave the house. He forced him to send letters to the Ministry instead. He made him write and say he was ill. But Wormtail neglected his duty. He was not watchful enough. My father escaped. My master guessed that he was heading for Hogwarts. My father was going to tell Dumbledore everything, to confess. He was going to admit that he had smuggled me from Azkaban. My master sent me word of my father's escape. He told me to stop him at all costs. So I waited and watched. I used the map I had taken from Harry Potter. The map that had almost ruined everything."

"Map?" Dumbledore says quickly. "What map is this?"

"Potter's map of Hogwarts. Potter saw me on it. Potter saw me stealing more ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion from Snape’s office one night. He thought I was my father. We have the same first name. I took the map from Potter that night. I told him my father hated Dark wizards. Potter believed my father was after Snape."

Harry tenses beside you, staring at Barty.

"For a week I waited for my father to arrive at Hogwarts. At last, one evening, the map showed my father entering the grounds. I pulled on my Invisibility Cloak and went down to meet him. He was walking around the edge of the forest. Then Potter came, and Krum. I waited. I could not hurt Potter; my master needed him. Potter ran to get Dumbledore. I stunned Krum. I killed my father."

"Noo!" Winky wails. "Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you saying?"

"You killed your father," Dumbledore says softly. "What did you do with the body?"

"Carried it into the forest. Covered it with the Invisibility Cloak. I had the map with me. I watched Potter run into the castle. He met Snape. Dumbledore joined them. I watched Potter bringing Dumbledore out of the castle. I walked back out of the forest, doubled around behind them, went to meet them. I told Dumbledore Snape had told me where to come.

"Dumbledore told me to go and look for my father. I went back to my father's body. Watched the map. When everyone was gone, I transfigured my father's body. He became a bone...I buried it while wearing the Invisibility Cloak, in the freshly dug earth in front of Hagrid's cabin."

There is complete silence in the room save for Winky's sobs. Then Dumbledore says, "And tonight..."

"I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner," Barty whispers. "Turned it into a Portkey. My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards."

Dumbledore stands up, staring down at Barty with a look of disgust on his face. Then he raises his wand once more and ropes fly out of it, twisting themselves around Barty tightly.

"Minerva, could I ask you to stand guard here while I take Harry upstairs?"

"Of course," Minerva responds, looking nauseous, yet drawing her wand and pointing it at Barty steadily. She glances at you, mirroring your sickened expression.

"Severus, please tell Madam Pomfrey to come down here; we need to get Alastor Moody into the hospital wing. Then go down into the grounds, find Cornelius Fudge, and bring him up to this office. He will undoubtedly want to question Crouch himself. Tell him I will be in the hospital wing in half an hour's time if he needs me."

Snape nods silently and sweeps out of the room.

Dumbledore turns to you and Harry. "Professor? Harry?"

Harry gets up and sways again, shaking violently as his injured leg buckles beneath him. You rush to place your shoulder under his arm, and help him hobble out of the office and into the hallway.

"I want you to come up to my office first, Harry," Dumbledore says quietly. "Sirius is waiting for us there."

Harry nods, a blank expression on his face.

"Take it easy, Harry, it's alright..." you say softly, helping him up the steps. "I've got you."

"Professor," Harry mumbles, "where are Mr and Mrs Diggory?"

You frown, feeling hot tears prick your eyes once more at the mention of Cedric.

"They are with Professor Sprout," Dumbledore answers, his voice shaking slightly. "She was Head of Cedric's house, she knew him best."

You sniffle loudly, feeling your throat start to burn at the denial of sobs. Dumbledore gives the password to his gargoyle and it springs aside, revealing the spiral staircase. You help Harry up the stairs, doing your best to ease his pain, and Dumbledore pushes open the oak door to his office.

Sirius is standing there, waiting. His face is white and gaunt with worry. In one swift moment, he crosses the room.

"Harry, are you all right? I knew it — I knew something like this — what happened?"

His hands shake as he helps Harry into a chair in front of the desk.

"What happened?" His tone is urgent as he looks frantically between the three of you for answers.

Dumbledore begins to tell Sirius everything Barty Crouch said and you sit down, feeling the urge to cry and be sick and to hit something overwhelming you all at once.

Cedric Diggory is dead, Voldemort is back, Moody was kidnapped by Barty Crouch Jr who is actually alive, Wormtail is continuing to help his master, Barty Crouch Sr is dead, murdered by his own son...

You look over at your godson, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion as he strokes Fawkes the phoenix's feathers gently.

"I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry," Dumbledore says.

"We can leave that 'til morning, can't we, Dumbledore?" Sirius says harshly, and you agree with him. He puts a hand on Harry's shoulder protectively. "Let him have a sleep. Let him rest."

"He has been through enough tonight," you say softly. "He can tell us when he is ready."

Dumbledore takes no notice of what you and Sirius have said, however, and leans forward towards Harry.

"If I thought I could help you,” Dumbledore says gently, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."

Harry takes a deep breath and begins to tell you how the Portkey had taken him and Cedric to a graveyard far from the school, where Voldemort's father was buried. He tells you of how Voldemort had no hesitation in ordering Wormtail to kill Cedric, and when Harry tells you this part you feel your lip tremble. You look away, feeling the contents of your stomach attempting to come up, and bite down hard on your knuckles to prevent it. Two single teardrops spring from your eyes and slide down your cheeks, dripping onto your shirt.

He tells of how the Death Eaters apparated among the graves, and how Wormtail slit Harry's forearm with a dagger. At this, Sirius lets out a vehement exclamation and Dumbledore stands up quickly, ordering Harry to show him where Wormtail had cut him. He stretches out his arm, revealing the torn sleeve of his robes and when he pulls it up, the cut on his arm is deep and dried blood crusts over it.

"Oh, Harry..." you say shakily, feeling immensely worried for him.

"He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's," Harry tells you. "He said the protection my — my mother left in me — he'd have it too. And he was right — he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face."

Dumbledore studies Harry for a moment before returning to his desk and sitting back down. "Very well. Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Continue, Harry, please."

He starts to tell you about how Voldemort had tried to cast the killing curse on him and Harry had used the disarming spell to protect himself, and their wands had connected by a beam of light. He stops talking, choking on his words, and Sirius breaks the silence.

"The wands connected?" He says, looking from Harry to Dumbledore to you. "Why?"

You look at Dumbledore expectantly.

"Prior Incantatem," he mutters.

"The Reverse Spell effect?" Sirius says sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"Exactly," says Dumbledore. "Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact," he adds, and he points at the scarlet and gold bird perching peacefully on Harry's knee.

"My wand's feather came from Fawkes?" Harry says, amazed.

"Yes," Dumbledore tells. "Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago."

"So what happens when a wand meets its brother?" you ask.

"They will not work properly against each other," Dumbledore explains. "If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle...a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed — in reverse. The most recent first... and then those which preceded it..."

He looks at Harry interrogatively, and he nods.

"Which means that some form of Cedric must have appeared."

Harry nods again.

"Diggory came back to life?" Sirius says.

Dumbledore shakes his head. "No spell can reawaken the dead. All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand...am I correct, Harry?"

"He spoke to me," Harry says, shaking. "The...the ghost of Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke."

"An echo," Dumbledore says, nodding, "which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared...less recent victims of Voldemort's wand."

"An old man," Harry says croakily. "And Bertha Jorkins and...."

"Your parents?" Dumbledore says quietly.

"Yes."

You exhale shakily at the mention of James and Lily, feeling your body go rigid.

"The last murders the wand performed," Dumbledore says softly. "In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows...what did they do?"

Harry tells you of how the figures that emerged from the wand prowled around the edges of the connection, and how Voldemort almost seemed to fear them. He tells you of how James told him what to do and how to escape, and how Cedric had asked him to bring his body back to his parents.

Tears spill from your eyes and you have to look away, fixing your gaze on a scuff mark in the wall of the office.

"I will say it again," says Dumbledore. "You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it — and you have now given us all that we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace...I presume the two of you would like to stay with him?"

You and Sirius both nod and Sirius transforms into the black dog, walking with the three of you out of Dumbledore's office. When Dumbledore pushes open the door to the hospital wing, you find Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron, and Hermione all grouped around a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey. All of them whip around as your group enters, and Mrs Weasley lets out a kind of muffled scream.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!"

She starts to hurry toward him, but Dumbledore moves between them, holding up a hand. "Molly. Please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him, you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening."

Mrs Weasley nods, looking very white. She rounds on Ron, Hermione, and Bill as though they're being very noisy, and hisses, "Did you hear? He needs quiet!"

"Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey says, staring at the dog. "May I ask what — ?"

"This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while," Dumbledore answers simply. "I assure you, he is extremely well trained. Harry — I will wait while you get into bed. I will be back as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry. I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school."

He leaves, and Madam Pomfrey leads Harry to a nearby bed. Looking around the hospital wing, you spot Moody lying motionless in a bed in the far corner of the room. His wooden leg and magical eye lie on the bedside table.

"Is he alright?" you ask.

"He'll be fine," Madam Pomfrey answers. She gives Harry a bundle of pyjamas and pulls a screen around his bed. While Harry changes, Madam Pomfrey approaches you, speaking quietly.

"Is it true? About Cedric Diggory?"

You take a shaky breath, nodding. "He was so young..." Tears sting your eyes and you feel the dog move to lean against your leg, his warmth comforting as you place your hand on his head gently, stroking the soft fur.

Madam Pomfrey nods sadly, before she walks off into her office. When Harry is finished, you all come around the screen and settle into chairs around the bed, the black dog laying his head on your knees and looking up at Harry.

"I'm alright," he says to Hermione and Ron, who are looking at Harry cautiously. "Just tired."

Madam Pomfrey returns from her office, carrying a small bottle of purple potion and a goblet. "You'll need to drink all of this, Harry. It's a potion for a dreamless sleep."

Harry takes the goblet and drinks a few mouthfuls, and after a few moments he sinks into the bed and his eyes drift closed. You gently reach out and pull his glasses off his face, placing them on the bedside table beside him.

"Professor..." Hermione whispers quietly, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. "What happened?"

"The Professor Moody you had come to know was an impostor," you answer, swallowing hard. "It was Barty Crouch Jr this whole time..."

As quiet as possible so you don't wake Harry up, you relay everything that Barty Crouch told you after drinking the Veritaserum, then you tell them what Harry told you happened in the graveyard. By the end of it, you and Mrs Weasley are sporting identical tear streaks on your cheeks.

"Wait, what's that?"

Mrs Weasley is turned to the door, and stopping to listen, you hear muffled shouting outside it.

"They'll wake him up if they don't shut up!" She hisses angrily, getting to her feet.

"What are they shouting about?" You say quizzically. "Nothing else can have happened, can it?"

You pause to listen again, and then you hear it: the booming voice of Cornelius Fudge, and Minerva angrily shouting at him.

"Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva — "

"You should never have brought it inside the castle! When Dumbledore finds out — "

The hospital doors burst open and Fudge comes striding up the ward, with Minerva and Snape at his heels. You glance back at Harry, only to see he's sitting up with his glasses back on. You curse Fudge for waking him up, he needs his rest.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Fudge demands of you.

"He's not here," you say angrily, getting to your feet. "Lower your voice, you're in a hospital wing — "

The door opens, and Dumbledore sweeps into the ward. "What has happened? Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you — I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch — "

"Oh, there is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!" Minerva shrieks, livid. "The Minister has seen to that!"

Minerva's hands are balled into fists, her body trembling with fury.

"When we had told Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events," Snape starts in a low voice, "he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch — "

"I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!" Minerva fumes. "I told him you would never allow dementors to set foot inside the castle, but — "

"My dear woman!" Fudge roars angrily. "As Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous — "

"The moment that — that thing entered the room," Minerva screams, pointing at Fudge, her voice drowning out his, "it swooped down on Crouch and — and — "

You know what the dementor must have done. The Dementor's Kiss. He is now worse than dead.

"By all accounts, he is no loss!" Fudge bellows. "It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!"

Dumbledore stares hard at Fudge. "But he cannot give testimony, Cornelius. He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people."

"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?" Fudge blusters. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"

"Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore says. "Those people's deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."

Fudge looks like he's just been hit by a truck. Dazed and blinking, he stares back at Dumbledore, spluttering. "You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore..."

"As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you," says Dumbledore, "we heard Barry Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort — learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins — went to free him from his father and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return."

"See here, Dumbledore," snaps Fudge. "You — you can't seriously believe that. You-Know-Who — back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders — but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore...."

"When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort," Dumbledore says steadily. "He witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office." He glances around at Harry. "I'm afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight."

"You are — er — prepared to take Harry"s word on this, are you, Dumbledore?"

There is a moment's silence, which is broken by Sirius growling angrily, baring his sharp teeth at Fudge.

"Certainly, I believe Harry," Dumbledore answers simply. "I heard Crouch's confession, and I heard Harry's account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer."

Fudge glances at Harry before answering. "You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a boy who...well..."

"Who what, Minister?" You say icily. "Go on, tell us, considering you seem to know far more about Harry than any of us."

Fudge glances at Harry again.

"You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr Fudge," Harry pipes up quietly.

Fudge reddens slightly, but a defiant and obstinate look comes over his face and you feel ready to punch him.

"And if I have?" he says, looking at Dumbledore. "If I have discovered that you've been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place — "

"I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?" Dumbledore says coolly.

"You'll admit that he's been having these pains, then?" Fudge says quickly. "Visions? Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly — hallucinations?"

"Listen to me, Cornelius," Dumbledore says firmly, taking a strong step towards the fool of a minister. "Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous."

"You'll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I've never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before..."

"Perhaps because there is no one else with the same curse scar as Harry!" You snap angrily. "Be reasonable, Fudge!"

"Look, I saw Voldemort come back!" Harry shouts. He tries to get out of bed, but Mrs Weasley forces him back. "I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy — "

"Malfoy was cleared!" says Fudge, visibly affronted. "A very old family — donations to excellent causes — "

"Macnair!" Harry continues.

"Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!"

"Avery — Nott — Crabbe — Goyle — "

"You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!" Fudge roars angrily. "You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heaven's sake, Dumbledore — the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too — his tales are getting taller, and you're still swallowing them — the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?"

"Why would he lie? What reason could he possibly have to lie?!" You shriek.

"You fool!" Minerva cries. "Cedric Diggory! Mr Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!"

"I see no evidence to the contrary!" Fudge shouts, his face purpling. "It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!"

"How many more people have to die before you decide to start taking this seriously? Cedric Diggory was seventeen, Fudge, seventeen! He was a child! Open your eyes, you fool, and do something about it!" You roar, feeling your blood boil and hot tears sting your eyes.

"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore repeats calmly. "If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors — "

"Preposterous!" Fudge bellows. "Remove the dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"

"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!" says Dumbledore. "They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard pressed to stop him from regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"

Fudge opens and closes his mouth as though there are no words to express his fury and truly, at this very moment, you feel the same way.

"The second step you must take — and at once," Dumbledore presses on, "is to send envoys to the giants."

"Envoys to the giants?" Fudge shrieks, finding his tongue again. "What madness is this?"

"Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late," Dumbledore says, "or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!"

"You — you cannot be serious!" Fudge gasps, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. "If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants — people hate them, Dumbledore — end of my career — "

"Good!" You snap furiously. "You don't deserve a career at all!"

"You are blinded," says Dumbledore, his voice rising now and his eyes blazing, "by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any — and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now — take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act — and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!"

"Insane," Fudge whispers, still backing away. "Mad..."

And then...silence. Madam Pomfrey stands frozen at the foot of Harry's bed her hands over her mouth. You glare daggers at Fudge, feeling ready to attack the stupid, stupid man.

"If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," Dumbledore says after a moment, breaking the silence, "we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I — I shall act as I see fit."

Dumbledore's voice is calm and level, yet Fudge seems to think this is a threat, bristling.

"Now, see here, Dumbledore," he says, waving a threatening finger. "I've given you free rein, always. I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or hire her" — here, he points at you, and Sirius growls at him " — or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me — "

"The only one against whom I intend to work is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side."

Fudge is speechless. He rocks back and forth on his heels, sweating profusely and shaking his head. Finally, he says, "He can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't..."

Snape strides forward past Dumbledore and pulls up the left sleeve of his robes and sticks out his forearm to Fudge, who instantly recoils.

"There," he says harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it turned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Fudge steps back from Snape, a heavy silence hanging in the air. He swallows harshly, then lowers his voice to a whisper. "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry."

He turns to leave, almost reaching the door, when he stops, and strides back up the ward to Harry's bed. "Your winnings." He takes a large bag of gold out of his pocket and drops it onto the bedside table with a clink. "One thousand galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances..."

He crams his bowler hat onto his head and leaves without another word, slamming the door closed behind him. The moment he disappears, you let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, and Dumbledore turns back to the group around Harry's bed.

"There is work to be done," he says firmly. "Molly...am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?"

"Of course you can," Mrs Weasley answers. She's white to the lips, but she looks resolute. "We know what Fudge is. It's Arthur's fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride."

"Then I need to send a message to Arthur," Dumbledore says. "All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as short-sighted as Cornelius."

"I’ll go to Dad." Bill stands up. "I’ll go now."

"Excellent." Dumbledore nods. "Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry — "

"Leave it to me," Bill says firmly. He claps a hand on both Harry's and Ron's shoulders, kisses his mother on the cheek, pulls on his cloak and leaves the room.

Dumbledore turns to Minerva. "Minerva, I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also — if she will consent to come — Madame Maxime."

Minerva nods and leaves without a word.

"Poppy," Dumbledore says to Madam Pomfrey, "would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody's office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us."

"Very — very well," Madam Pomfrey answers, looking slightly startled, she too leaves.

Dumbledore ensures the door is closed properly, and waits until Madam Pomfrey's footsteps have died away, before he speaks again. "And now, it is time for two of our number to recognize each other for what they are. Sirius...if you could resume your usual form."

The great black dog looks up at Dumbledore, then, in an instant, transforms into the man you know and love.

Mrs Weasley screams and leaps back from the bed, pointing a shaky finger at him. "Sirius Black!"

"Mum, shut up!" Ron yells. "It's okay!"

The look on Snape's face is one mixed of pure fury and horror. "Him!" he snarls, glaring at Sirius. They're wearing identical expressions of dislike and disgust. "What is he doing here?"

"He is here at my invitation," says Dumbledore, looking between them, "as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other."

You nearly laugh. Dumbledore's asking for a miracle. The two men glower at each other with the utmost loathing, neither moving.

"I will settle, in the short term, for a lack of open hostility," Dumbledore sighs, a bite of impatience in his voice. "You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hopefor any of us."

They still do not move, and you roll your eyes, giving Sirius a nudge. "Sirius, you're not a child anymore. It's time."

You hear an agitated whistle of air blow out Sirius's nose before very slowly, still glaring at each other, Sirius and Snape move toward each other and shake hands. They let go extremely quickly.

"That will do to be going on with," Dumbledore says, stepping between the two men once again. "Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher — the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you there."

You feel your heart sink at the thought of Sirius leaving again, and Harry seems to feel the same way.

"But — " Harry starts.

"You'll see me very soon, Harry," Sirius tells him, turning to his godson. "I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don't you?"

"Yeah," says Harry. "Yeah...of course I do."

Sirius grasps his hand briefly, before turning to you.

You smile dryly. "Just can't keep you for longer than a day, can I?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "I must do this."

"I know, I know. I'll see you soon." Placing a hand on his cheek, you give him a quick kiss goodbye before Sirius transforms back into the dog and trots out of the room. You watch him leave, sighing quietly.

"Severus," Dumbledore says, a firm look on his face. "You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready...if you are prepared..."

"I am," Snape answers.

"Then good luck."

With the smallest trace of apprehension, Dumbledore watches Snape sweep out of the room after Sirius.

And finally, the headmaster turns to you. "I ask you to start compiling a list of all the Death Eaters you can remember from before Lord Voldemort's fall from power, and the ones Harry has told us were in the graveyard, even if they are dead, imprisoned or otherwise. Write their name and status for me, and when we reconvene we can consult it."

You nod. "I'll get right to it."

You look back at Harry, before leaning down to hug him tightly. "You have been so brave, Harry. It's time for some well-deserved rest."

And with that, you leave.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

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[howlyourmelancholy]

Amortentia

summary: to her, he is the smell of Amortentia.

warnings: little bit of fluff, little bit of angst, it is SFW

word count: 450

a/n: this came of the blue while i was working one day, like a year ago, and have been sitting in my drafts for a while, while i figured out what i was going to do with this blog and how i wanted to set it up. finally figured out what i was doing, so came back to finish this. sorry in advance for the heartache :(

Sirius Orion Black is many things, and she would describe none of them as simple.

To her, he is the smell of Amortentia.

He is a mystery wrapped in leather, and she longed to understand him. He is a bad boy with a wicked tongue and old-world charm. He is someone who is unravelling because the world is smothering him.

He is midnight motorcycle rides beneath a pitch-black sky and hushed laughter as he snuck her out of the bedroom window. He is the wind in her hair and the adrenaline rush in her veins.

He is whisky-flavoured kisses and nights of endless passion. He is the reason she sees stars at night and why she can’t ever seem to catch her breath. He is dangerous and forbidden, but he is hers.

He is a beautiful soul, so full of love, and a dark fantasy come to life. He is the reason her thighs quiver at night and the reason she cries out for more. He is ecstasy, desire, and love.

He is every heartache and every recovery. He is the safety net that holds her close when the world threatens to consume her. He is the breath of a new day and the reason she smiles each morning.

She had never thought of him as anything else.

He is still the smell of Amortentia.

Except now he is beautiful lies and the broken promises that followed. He is a bad boy who grew into a bad man, whose silver tongue can only weave dark webs, not beautiful spells.

He is the knock at her door, and the authorities standing on her doorstep. He is the ice in her veins and the cause of her heart's skipping beats. He is the reason her world fell apart and the reason she still cries at night.

He is the taste of betrayal lingering on her tongue. He is the reason that she lies awake at night, longing for the past. He is the memory of a decade together—the memory of the future they’d both fought for.

He is the echo of a man she loved so dearly. He is the reminder that even love cannot save people. He is the heartache that brings her to her knees and the smell of roses on their caskets.

He is the cause of waggling tongues and loose lips. He is the reason she gets sympathetic looks every time she enters the room. He is the reason the world is cold, dreary, and oh so dark.

Sirius Orion Black is many things, and she would describe none of them as simple.

He is still the smell of Amortentia.

And she wants nothing to do with him.