#sirius brushing it off

[lulublack90]

Prompt 21 - Speech

@rosekillermicrofic September 21, word count 345

CW - Mention of past abuse (Not described)

Previous part First Jegulus part

It had taken them two weeks to sort out the finer details of their little plan. He and Sirius had met in secret, not wanting the others to find out just yet. He’d told Evan of course, he’d never been able to keep anything secret from him and Evan had cackled himself silly at the thought of Walburga and Orion coming home to find they’d been ransacked. 

Barty was struggling with the fact that he thought Sirius was actually alright. He’d stopped himself and tried to see it from his side. Walburga and the rest of the Black family had tried to force him into being the perfect little heir, but when he’d rebelled they’d beaten him to within an inch of his life. Sirius had shown him the pictures. He hadn’t known quite how bad it had been. He knew he’d left, but not like that. No wonder he hadn’t taken Reg. By the looks of it, he was lucky to be able to get out at all. 

“Hey, er, Sirius, I think I owe you an apology.” Barty grimaced. This was the second Black he’d be apologising to in less than a month. “I thought for years you’d just walked out and left Reg, I had no idea they’d got to you. So I’m sorry, I said a lot of bad things about you to Reg and that might be why he didn’t try and contact you,” Sirius stared at him for a second then shook his head. 

“I didn’t try either. So, no need for the heartfelt speech, as far as I’m concerned, Mother sowed those seeds long before that day, and we played right into it. But jokes on her now.” Sirius winked and went back to what he was doing. 

Barty watched as Sirius expertly used a calligraphy pen to write an invitation to a prestigious party, hours away from Grimmauld Place. “There,” He said with a flourish as he put the pen down and held up the embossed card. Barty grinned wickedly at him. This was going to work.  

[daysofnights]

sirius who almost never gets sick but when he does turns into padfoot so he can go full dog moping in a corner and remus has to bribe him out with cuddles and food

[dismalflo]

loving is easy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ✩ 4.3k words

summary: Being friends with idiots is hard. how long will it take them to realise you and Remus are dating? or a series of events where you become progressively more obvious.

cw: fluff, steamy makeout towards the end but no smut, established relationship

Somewhere between late night study sessions and early morning conversations, you fell in love. To your amazement Remus fell in love with you too, his honeyed words and soft touches taking on a new meaning. What started as quiet,  timid affection bloomed into an all consuming devotion. Happy and safe. 

At the start, you both decided to keep it quiet, nurture it by yourselves with no interruption. But time has a way of slipping past unnoticed, and now the two of you are in deep, and no one else has caught on. It’s not as if you’re hiding, exactly; you and Remus just prefer the intimacy of privacy. And honestly, there’s a quiet thrill in watching how long it takes your friends to figure it out.

The great hall.

The smell of toast and tea lingers in the air as you trudge through the double doors of the Great Hall, hair still mussed from sleep and jumper slightly askew. It’s far too early for the kind of noise James Potter is making, voice echoing off the high stone walls as he waves his hands dramatically about something you don’t have the energy to decipher.

“…and I told her, I don’t care if you hexed my quill, I’m still not going to that—”

He cuts off mid-sentence, eyes flicking past Sirius to you. His mouth snaps shut like a trap. Sirius glances behind him, curious about what could possibly silence James of all people.

You offer a sleepy wave as you shuffle closer, barely catching the way Remus’ head lifts from his folded copy of the daily prophet. His gaze finds you instantly. A slow smile tugs at his mouth, and his shoulders visibly relax, as if just seeing you settled something in him.

“Morning,” you murmur, sliding onto the bench beside him, bumping your knee lightly into his under the table. He shifts just slightly, his hand coming to rest on your thigh in a gentle squeeze, grounding and familiar. You hide a small, content smile behind your cup of tea.

Across the table, Sirius raises an eyebrow over his plate of eggs. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Remus beats you to it, not even looking up from his paper. “Leave her alone, Pads. Some of us don’t spend an hour in front of the mirror every morning.”

Sirius scoffs, flicking a crumb at him. “Jealousy is a disease, Lupin.”

James is still watching you—narrowed eyes, brow slightly furrowed, as if he’s trying to do complex equations in his head. You glance his way, and he startles like he’s been caught.

“You alright?” he asks, eyes flicking briefly to Remus, then back to you. “You look—well, not great.”

You blink at him over your tea. “Cheers, James.” you deadpan, “I’m just tired.”

He opens his mouth to say more, maybe apologize, but Lily slides onto the bench beside you with a rustle of parchment and the kind of purpose only she can manage this early in the morning.

“Did you start the Transfiguration essay yet?” she asks, nudging your elbow meaningfully. “Because McGonagall will have your head if it’s late again.”

You groan, resting your temple against your palm. “Started it, yeah. Finished it? Not even close.”

Lily sighs, long-suffering but fond. “Library after lunch.”

You nod, and the two of you slip into an easy rhythm—first the essay, then weekend plans for Hogsmeade. Remus stays quiet beside you, content to listen, a soft, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

At some point, without saying anything, he sets his paper aside and starts assembling a plate. Two slices of toast, a spoonful of marmalade, a soft-boiled egg, a handful of your favourite fruit. He doesn’t announce it or fuss, just places it gently in front of you, brushing a few stray crumbs off your sleeve with ease.

By then, James and Sirius have resumed their conversation, judging by the rising volume. Lily spots Slughorn across the way and excuses herself with a quick goodbye, already halfway across the room before you can respond.

You turn back to your tea, only to pause. The plate of food wasn’t there before but it’s exactly what you would’ve gotten for yourself. Toast arranged neatly, marmalade on the side. You glance sideways. Remus is already reading again, pretending not to notice your looking.

Under the table, your hand finds his. You link your fingers, gentle and grateful, and when you squeeze, he squeezes back. It’s warm, steady. 

You lean in slightly, just enough so he can hear you over the breakfast chatter.

“Thank you,” you murmur, thumb brushing along the back of his hand.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, eyes still on the paper; but the smile tugging at his lips is unmistakable. Quiet. Fond. Yours.

“It’s nothing,” he says softly, in a way that means everything.

You open your mouth to say something more, because it's not nothing and Remus is the sweetest boy you know, but Sirius cuts in from across the table, dramatically dropping his fork and fixing Remus with a mock-offended glare.

“Why don’t I ever get breakfast made for me, Moony?” he demands, gesturing wildly at your plate. “You’ve known me longer. I’m charming. Handsome. A delight, really.”

Remus doesn’t even look up. He just turns a page.

“Because you’re a right wanker,” he replies, so evenly it takes a beat to register.

Sirius gasps, clutching his chest like he’s been wounded. “The audacity! James, did you hear that?”

James snorts into his tea. “Hard to miss. He’s not wrong, though.”

“I’m hurt,” Sirius insists, turning to you with wide, dramatic eyes. “He used to be so sweet. So gentle.”

You glance at Remus, one brow raised. “Did he?”

The infirmary.

If Remus had to pinpoint the worst part of the full moon, he doesn't think he could. The way his body is violated and his mind succumbs to bestial madness is high up there. Or maybe it's the way his mind is tormented month-round, collapsing from exhaustion afterwards and being plagued with worry for the next. A vicious, never-ending cycle. This time, he thinks, it's waking up the morning after the full moon.

Though he can tell it was a particularly bad one, it’s not the aches and pains. It’s waking to you, curled in an armchair at his bedside, asleep. Remus hates that you worry so much, that it affects you. Your neck is at an awful angle, and there's a faint crease between your brows, even in sleep.

He exhales, the breath barely more than a rasp, and your lashes flutter in response. You shift, not fully awake at first, and then, like something clicking into place, you sit up straighter, eyes flying open.

"Remus," you say softly, already pushing yourself to your feet and crossing the space between the chair and the bed. Your hands find his arm gently, carefully, as though you're afraid even your touch might hurt. "You're awake."

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters before it can fully form. "Unfortunately."

"Don't say that," you murmur, frowning as your hands glide down to check for injuries, the kind that bandages don't always catch.

“I’m fine, dove,” he lies, out of habit more than belief.

You ignore him. “Let me get you some water,” you say, already moving toward the small table where a pitcher and glass had been left. You pour it, return, and sit beside him on the edge of the bed, holding it to him with steady hands.

He accepts it, grateful but quiet, sipping slowly. When he’s finished, you set the glass back on the nightstand with a soft clink.

His brow furrows. “Why are you here?” he asks, voice hoarse but laced with genuine confusion. “You usually come after I’ve woken up.”

You hesitate, brushing a bit of hair away from his damp forehead. “You… woke up early. Just for a little while.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I know.” Your hand stills against his temple. “It wasn’t for long. James came to get me. Said you were–” You glance away for a moment, mouth tightening. “You were in pain. And saying my name. Over and over. Apparently Sirius and Madam Pomfrey had to hold you down to get a calming draught in you.”

Remus goes still. Shame rolls through him like a fresh wave of fever. He looks away, down at the rough wool blanket, his hands balled in the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, the words bitter on his tongue. “I shouldn’t have– I didn’t mean to wake you. You didn’t have to come.”

“Stop being silly,” you say, almost fondly, but there’s a steel thread beneath it. You reach for his face again, gentle but firm, guiding his gaze back to yours. “Of course I came. You think I’m going to stay in bed while you’re in pain, calling for me?”

He starts to respond, some garbled protest forming in his throat, but you cut it off by leaning forward and pressing a quick, sure kiss to his lips.

It’s warm. Soft. Gone before he can even react.

He blinks at you, stunned.

“I’ll always come,” you say simply, your fingers still resting at the edge of his jaw. “You don’t have to be sorry for needing someone, Remus.”

Silence settles between the two of you.

You don’t say anything, and neither does he. It’s not awkward. shifting just slightly on the mattress, curling one leg up under you, you begin brushing the hair from Remus’ forehead again—gentle, patient sweeps of your fingers, like you have all the time in the world. His hair is still damp with sweat, a little tangled, but you don’t seem to mind. You just keep smoothing it back, over and over, letting him rest in the rhythm of it.

Remus closes his eyes. Not to sleep but just to relax. The silence swells around you, filled only by the quiet sounds of the castle waking up; distant footsteps, the occasional creak of old wood, and your even, steady breaths.

Eventually, his voice slips through the hush, barely more than a whisper. “Where are the others?”

You smile faintly. “James is with Regulus. Doing God knows what. Hopefully sleeping.” You roll your eyes, affection bleeding through the exasperation.

That gets a faint huff of a laugh from Remus, which quickly dissolves into a wince. He presses a hand to his ribs.

“And Sirius?” he asks.

You glance toward the door. “Went to get breakfast. Said you’d need something solid, not just Pomfrey’s apparently sad excuse for toast.”

Just as you say it, the door creaks open and Sirius steps inside, a paper bag tucked under one arm and two cups in his hands. The scent of butter and cinnamon trails in with him.

“Speak of the devil,” you murmur.

Sirius pauses when he sees the two of you. You're still perched on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly against Remus’ temple, the other curled in your lap. Remus’ eyes are open now, glassy with exhaustion but softer than they’ve been in days. The two of you are close and something about the look on your faces makes Sirius stop mid-step.

Then he just clears his throat and steps forward, saying nothing about it. “Brought food.”

He places the bag and drinks on the nightstand with uncharacteristic care, glancing once more between the two of you. His gaze lingers on Remus, searching for signs of deeper pain or unease, but seems satisfied by what he finds.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says softly, stepping back. “See you later, Moons.”

There’s a quiet fondness to it.

“Thanks, Pads,” Remus says, voice rough but genuine.

Sirius nods and slips out the door with barely a sound.

-

Sirius finds James exactly where he expects: sprawled on one of the beaten-up sofas in the Gryffindor common room. Less expected is Regulus, curled under James’s arm, head tucked into his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. James looks half-asleep, fingers lazily combing through Regulus’s hair, while Regulus is clearly pretending he hadn’t just dozed off.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake,” he mutters, stepping over the hearthrug. “Is there something in the Gryffindor water this year? Everyone’s getting domestic.”

Regulus lifts his head just enough to shoot him a glare. “You sound like you’re sixty.”

“And you look like you’re two seconds from sucking your thumb,” Sirius shoots back, dropping down onto the coffee table with a dramatic sigh. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, then looks squarely at James.

“You’ll never guess what I just walked in on.”

James, ever patient when Sirius is in a mood, lifts a brow. “Tell me.”

Sirius jerks his chin toward the entrance of the common room. “Remus is awake. Looks like hell, obviously, but that’s not the point. The point is…” He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing meaningfully between the two of them. “Y/N was there. Sitting right beside him. Touching his face. Whispering. Very softly, I might add.”

James frowns. “So?”

“I’m just saying,” Sirius drawls, “it was very couple-y.”

James lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “No way. They’ve been like that for ages, they’re just friends, mate. Remus would’ve told us if they were dating.”

Sirius nods, like that settles it.

Regulus snorts into James’s shoulder.

“What?” Sirius narrows his eyes.

“You two are incredibly dense,” Regulus says without looking up. “They are dating. It’s obvious.”

James and Sirius look at each other, then back at Regulus in perfect unison.

“No offence, Reggie,” Sirius says, raising a brow, “but they’re our friends. I think we’d know.”

“You think you’d know,” Regulus says flatly. “But you don’t. Because Remus is private and stupidly noble, and your friend is just as bad. Do you really think he’s going to announce it over breakfast? What would he even say—‘pass the marmalade, I’m in love’?”

James blinks.

Sirius blinks.

Then they both burst out laughing, as if Regulus is mental.

The black lake.

With the summer months fast approaching, and a week passing since the full moon, the warm weather has called for a relaxing day on the shore of the black lake. You're laid out on a blanket with Remus sat beside you, your head resting on his thigh.

With closed eyes, you can picture the peaceful look on Remus’ face as he reads with his fingers twirling in the ends of your hair.

The sun is warm where it filters through the branches above, casting soft, dappled patterns across your skin. Somewhere behind you, someone splashes into the lake with a shout, followed by a chorus of laughter. But it all feels far away.

You sigh, content, eyes still closed. “If I die right now,” you murmur, “tell Madam Pomfrey I went happy.”

Remus huffs a soft laugh, the vibration of it echoing down through his thigh. “Bit dramatic,” he says, though there’s affection in it.

“Mmm,” you hum, noncommittal. “We’ll see what you say when it happens.”

Another beat of silence. You think he’s gone back to reading–until his fingers pause, then still.

“Everyone’s out of the dorms tonight,” he says casually, “some ravenclaw party, or something.”

You open one eye, peering up at him. “You planning to go?”

Remus shakes his head. “No. I thought maybe… you’d want to come up for a bit. To mine.” His voice dips a little lower. “Just us.”

“I’d love to,” you say simply. “You and me. No interruptions. I’ll finally have you all to myself.”

Remus’s eyes soften. He sets the book aside, turning his full attention to you. “You already have me,” he murmurs.

Your only response is to wiggle your eyebrows suggestively, the grin on your face unmistakably wicked. Remus gives a soft, breathy laugh and shakes his head. “Minx,” he says, voice full of fondness.

You're just about to respond–something equally teasing on the tip of your tongue��when there’s the familiar thunder of approaching footsteps.

Before either of you can move, Sirius throws himself down onto the blanket with a loud oof, landing half across your legs and knocking Remus slightly off balance.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter, even as you’re giggling.

Sirius groans dramatically as you swat at him, your hand smacking against his shoulder with no real force.

“You love it,” Sirius replies, grinning like the absolute menace he is.

Before you can retaliate with some biting remark, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

“Y/N!” Lily’s voice rings clearly through the warm air, her red hair catching the sunlight as she approaches. “You coming to the greenhouses? Marlene’s already started without us and Dorcas is claiming all the best pots.”

You sit up with a groan, shoving Sirius more forcefully this time. He rolls onto the grass with a theatrical oomph that earns an eye-roll from Remus.

“On my way!” you call back to Lily, brushing grass off your legs. You turn to Remus, eyes softening, your hand brushing his wrist. “Later?”

He nods, that quiet little smile playing on his lips. “Later.”

Sirius waves lazily from the blanket, still lounging, and you hear him shout a cheerful “See you later, Y/N!”

The two of you start walking toward the greenhouses, and once you’re out of sight, Sirius suddenly sits up. Remus catches the shift in his mood, the way he straightens, a more serious look crossing his features. 

Then, as if deciding to finally ask whatever's been on his mind, he looks at Remus, his voice quieter than usual. "You two are friends, right?" he asks, a slight edge of curiosity in his tone.

Remus, who’s watching you walk away, doesn’t hesitate. "Yeah. Of course." He’s telling the truth, you might be his girlfriend but you were his friend first and you're his best friend now.

There’s a brief pause, and Sirius nods slowly. He makes a soft sound, tapping his fingers absently on the grass, clearly stewing in his thoughts. Remus knows he’s trying to find the right words, the ones that aren’t too blunt but also get at whatever Sirius is really thinking. After another long stretch of silence, Remus sighs, deciding to make it easier.

“Spit it out, Pads. You're not very tactful.”

Sirius huffs a small laugh, a little awkwardly, before shifting on the blanket. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly conflicted. “I was just thinking,” he starts, “You… fancy her, don’t you?”

The question hits Remus like a sharp poke to the ribs. He looks over at Sirius, surprised at the bluntness, then immediately thinks Oh. He can’t help but chuckle lightly, thinking Sirius has finally put it all together–that he and you are already together.

“Well, yeah,” he says nonchalantly, his gaze drifting back to you. “I do.”

Sirius, however, just stares at him for a moment, blinking in confusion. “You… do?” He asks slowly, his brows furrowing in disbelief. “So, why are you not doing anything about it? Do you need help telling her?”

Remus freezes for a second, eyes narrowing. The warmth in his chest from the thought of you is still there, but now it comes with a pinch of amusement. He opens his mouth to respond, but then quickly closes it. Sirius really has no clue, does he? Remus can’t help but laugh softly, shaking his head.

“I don’t need help, Pads,” Remus says, his voice an easy mix of affection and slight exasperation.

Sirius scoffs, “If this is some mopey werewolf bullshit, I don't want to hear it. You deserve to be happy, Moony.” 

“I am happy,” Remus stresses, “I’ve done all I need to.” he nods at Sirius, hoping that the boy can read between the lines.

“Okay.” Sirius sighs.

The dormitory.

The evening sun casts its last golden rays over the horizon as the two of you find yourselves alone in the quiet of Remus's dorm room. The noises of the day have faded to a dull hum, and it’s just the two of you now–no distractions, no interruptions.

Remus’ heated touch is wandering, hands gripping whatever part of you he can get to. His mouth is warm on your neck, doting but rough, anything else you were thinking of doing tonight quickly erased from your mind. One of your hands is buried in his hair while the other drifts upwards to his neck and jaw. 

“Rem,” you sigh, breathless and lightly pulling his hair to move his mouth upwards. 

A breathy laugh comes out of him, before he captures your mouth with his own. You sigh into his mouth, and he takes it gladly, his hands moving down to your hips shifting you closer in his lap. His eager kissing is warm, acting like a man starved.

You shift your hips, wanting to be closer, feeling him against you. It elicits a groan from one of you, that gets swallowed between you. Remus’ grip on your hips becomes firmer, working to guide you in your efforts grinding against him, and your moans become more frequent for it.

“Fuck,” he pants, pulling back to look up at you, his grip on you not faltering. He shifts a hand to toy with the hem of your top. “Can I take this off?”

“Please.” you reply breathless and he smiles at you planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving your shirt up and over your head. 

Remus moves in again, his mouth mean as it skims across the top of your breasts. It's bliss.

Neither of you notice the door opening until a scandalised gasp echoes through the room. “Bloody hell!” James squeals, immediately throwing a hand over his eyes and turning around so fast he nearly maims himself on the doorframe. “I’m blind! I didn’t need to see that!”

Remus scrambles to wrap a blanket around your shoulder as you shift to move off his lap. Once the blanket is secured, Remus’ hands grip your waist tightly and he looks at you, eyes pleading, begging you not to move. 

Sirius lingers in the doorway, eyebrows shooting straight into his hairline as a wicked grin stretches across his face. “Well, well, well,” he whistles, arms crossing as he leans casually against the frame. “When you said you’d done all you need to, I didn’t think you meant you were shagging her. I thought you were a gentleman, Moony.”

Remus, who’s gone a shade redder than any of the Gryffindor banners, pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders and groans. “Can you both just– piss off?!” His voice cracks halfway through the sentence, and he sounds more desperate than angry.

You stifle a laugh against his shoulder, only mildly mortified but mostly amused.

Remus shoots Sirius a glare, ears flushed pink. “That–that was me telling you she’s my girlfriend, you sod.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, in perfect unison, James–still hiding behind his hand–and Sirius both shout;

“What?!” 

“Alright, alright,” you interrupt, amusement clear in your voice despite the heat in your cheeks. You’re still tucked against Remus, the blanket barely doing its job, and your shirt’s rumpled on the bed behind you. “This is really fun, guys, but could you maybe turn around so I can put my shirt back on?”

James lets out a garbled sound still shielding his eyes. Sirius sighs but obliges. 

“What the fuck,” Sirius mutters, and James echoes it softly, bewildered and still shell-shocked.

You grin as you press a quick kiss to Remus’ lips, gentle, grateful, and a little teasing. He’s still beet red, poor thing, but the moment your lips touch his, some of that panic in his eyes melts into warmth.

Then, with a deep breath and no small amount of dignity, you swing your legs off his lap and slip your shirt back on. Remus helps you straighten it without thinking, hands ghosting over your sides like he can’t not touch you, even in the middle of the world’s most embarrassing interruption.

Once decent, you move to sit beside him rather than on top of him, though you don’t go far. Your knees still touch. Always.

“Alright, you can turn around now,” you call lightly, brushing your fingers through your hair.

James turns slowly, eyes still suspiciously squinted like he’s worried he’ll see something scarring again. He takes in the scene, both of you sitting side by side on the bed, fully clothed now but clearly together, Remus still flushed and you not bothering to hide your smug little smile.

“So…” James begins, narrowing his eyes, “when did this start?”

You glance at Remus, who looks as though he’d prefer the full moon over this interrogation.

“Be honest,” Sirius adds, crossing the room to drop dramatically into the armchair by the window. “If you say, like, last week, I will riot.”

Remus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “October.”

James blinks. “October last year?”

You nod innocently. “Started with studying. Got a bit… distracting.”

Sirius makes a sound like he’s just been betrayed. “You mean to tell me you two have been together for months and didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not like we were hiding it,” Remus mutters.

James gestures wildly. “You were definitely hiding it!”

You exchange a look with Remus, who just shrugs helplessly.

Sirius groans, dragging a hand down his face as if it's all too much to bear. And then, with the weariness of a man forced to admit defeat, he mutters:

“For fuck’s sake… Reg was right.”

Remus smirks, finally relaxed again. “You gonna be okay, Pads?”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius says, already slumping further into the chair. “You’re disgusting.”

But he’s grinning.

James just shakes his head, still in awe. “Next time, just tell us.”

You reach for Remus’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

masterlist <3

[colouredbyd]

We Will Be Okay

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: After days of silence, you’re attacked and left broken. Only then do the Marauders realize what they’ve done. Their apologies remind you that, even in darkness, you're not alone.

w/c: 4.6k

warnings: Angst, emotional vulnerability, emotional hurt, major argument ,mentions of injury / physical harm, guilt , violence (graphic), hurt/comfort

a/n: lowkey more angsty than what i planned :D

part two masterlist

It started quietly. Like most heartbreaks do.

You’d been off all day, and somewhere deep down, you were hoping someone would notice. That maybe one of them—just one—would catch the way your hands trembled when you picked up your quill, or how you hadn’t touched your food since breakfast. But the hours passed like shadows stretching long, and no one looked your way with concern. Not Sirius with his careless charm. Not James with his golden heart. Not even Remus, who could read poetry between the lines of silence, but somehow missed the silence in you.

You weren’t angry then. Not really. You were something smaller, something colder. Disappointment had a way of settling in your chest like frost—beautiful and quiet and cruel. You walked beside them through the halls, their laughter echoing against stone walls, and tried to match their rhythm, but your steps felt wrong, like they belonged to someone else.

You asked them to meet you after Defense. You hadn’t said much—just that you needed them. Your voice had been thin, barely tethered to your throat, but James nodded distractedly, Sirius brushed his lips against your cheek like a promise, and Remus gave your hand a soft squeeze. You held onto that gesture like a lifeline.

They never came.

You sat outside the greenhouse as the sky turned a muted gray, your cloak pulled tight around your knees. The wind bit through the seams. You waited. Five minutes. Ten. Thirty. A full hour. No footsteps. No familiar voices. No Marauders. Only the hollow ache that curled in your stomach like something starved.

When the cold crept into your fingers and the numbness reached your spine, you stood, slowly, as if your bones had aged a hundred years in a single hour. You didn’t cry until you were halfway back to the common room, and even then, it was silent. Just wet cheeks and the burn of being forgotten.

By the time you pushed through the portrait hole, the weight in your chest had turned molten.

They were there, of course. Sprawled across the common room like they had never made a promise to you. Sirius lounged on the couch, his grin lazy and effortless. James was on the floor, tossing a snitch between his hands. Remus sat by the fire with a book open, though his eyes weren’t reading.

Your voice was quiet when it came. “Must’ve been a good practice.”

James glanced up, flashing a bright smile. “Yeah, brilliant actually. Padfoot nearly killed me though, bloody show-off.”

Sirius chuckled, stretching like a cat. “You’re just mad I scored.”

“You never showed up,” you said.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward you, the air around them suddenly heavier.

“What?” James blinked.

“After Defense. I asked you to meet me.”

Remus straightened in his seat. “You said you were fine.”

“I lied.”

The silence that followed was not surprised. It was guilty. The kind of silence that knows what it missed.

“I waited,” you said, your voice thickening. “Outside. For an hour. I was freezing. I was crying. I felt like I was coming apart and I waited because I thought one of you might care enough to come.”

Sirius stood, brows furrowed. “Wait, we didn’t know—”

“You didn’t ask.” The words came sharp, bitter on your tongue. “You didn’t even look.”

James stood too, hands half-raised. “Love, we had practice. You didn’t say—”

“You don’t need me to say anything when Remus limps after the full moon. You’re all around him before he even opens his mouth. When Sirius gets a letter, you can feel it without even reading it. And when James is quiet, you know the sadness before he does. You read each other like scripture. Like something sacred.”

Your voice cracked, but you kept going.

“But me? I’m invisible unless I’m breaking in front of you.”

“No, that’s not true,” Remus murmured.

“Isn’t it?” You looked at him now, the ache in your chest shining through your eyes. “I go silent, and none of you flinch. I pull away, and you let me. I stop laughing, and you just talk louder. Do you know what it feels like to be surrounded by the people you love most and still feel completely alone?”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “You could’ve said something, baby.”

“I did. I said I needed you today. I asked for one thing. One moment. One chance to not have to carry it alone.”

James stepped closer, slower this time, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “You’re being unfair.”

“No. I’m being honest.”

There was a long breath between you. The kind that hangs before something shatters.

“You’re not mind-readers,” you said, looking at Remus again, voice quieter now, more tired than angry.

He nodded slightly, guilt lining his expression. “We’re not.”

“No. You’re not. But you read each other. You always do. You feel it. You respond to it.”

You blinked, and a single tear slipped down your cheek.

“But not me.”

This time, no one spoke. Not to deny it. Not to argue. Not even to explain.

You stood in the middle of the common room, feeling like a ghost in your own life.

And they just watched.

Like they finally saw you—only after you broke.

You didn’t speak to them for four days. You didn’t sit beside James in the Great Hall, didn’t brush shoulders with Remus as he passed you your favorite quill in Transfiguration, didn’t catch Sirius’s eye when he hovered behind you on your way out of class, searching your face for something—anything.

You were polite. Distant. Deadly quiet. A nod here, a murmur there. But nothing real. Nothing kind. No softness left in your gaze, no warmth in the corners of your smile.

It was worse than screaming.Worse than fury.It was absence. And it was killing them.

James had started bringing an extra pumpkin juice to breakfast every morning, still setting it beside him out of instinct, only to watch it go untouched, growing warm while he sat beside it like a boy with no idea how to undo the damage he helped cause. Remus had stopped asking questions aloud. He already knew the answers—or worse, knew he didn’t deserve them. He buried himself in parchment, eyes red-rimmed from nights spent rewriting apologies he couldn’t find the courage to speak, because what words could reach a silence like yours?

And Sirius—he was unraveling. Coming apart at the seams. Pacing the corridors at night like a man possessed, all sharp movements and bitten lips, a storm held barely in check. He didn’t sleep, didn’t speak unless he had to. The glint in his eyes had dulled to something dangerous. He looked like a ghost who couldn’t stop haunting the last place he’d seen you smile.

They tried everything. Notes slipped under your dormitory door—ink smudged with trembling hands, hearts poured into parchment. Waiting for you after class, offering hesitant smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Gentle words murmured like confessions into a silence that refused to give anything back.

But you remained untouched.

Because for once, just once, you needed them to feel it. To feel what it was like to be ignored. To be pushed aside. To ache alone. Even if it shattered you, too.

It happened on the fifth day.

The air had turned bitter, the kind of cold that felt personal—something that clawed beneath your robes and curled into your ribs. The soft amber light of the afternoon filtered weakly through the cracked greenhouse windows, shadows slanting long across the tables as you repotted Fluttering Ferns with numb, clumsy hands. Professor Sprout had given you space, sensing the storm in your silence.

But peace was a fragile illusion. It always was.

By the time you stepped outside, dusk had begun to fall, painting the world in hues of gray and gold. You moved like something hollow, each step heavy, each breath scraped raw against the walls of your chest. You were so tired. So endlessly tired.

Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt. Tired of missing people who didn’t seem to miss you back, at least not when it mattered most.

You didn’t hear the first hex. Not until it was too late.

One moment, you were standing beneath the bare branches, the cold threading through your fingers. The next, a bolt of red light slammed into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs as if the world itself had struck you down.

Your legs crumpled beneath you. The ground rushed up fast, unforgiving, your palms scraping across dirt and gravel as you landed hard. The ache in your ribs bloomed sharp and immediate, spreading outward in shuddering waves. You gasped, but no air came. The world narrowed to a pinpoint, and you blinked rapidly, trying to stay conscious.

A second curse hit. This time your shoulder—a crackling burst of pain that felt like lightning poured straight into your bones. You cried out, or tried to, but it came out a hoarse gasp. The pain was immense, searing through the muscles and down your arm until your fingers went limp.

And then the third hit you like a whip.

It tore through your side, slicing clean through fabric and flesh. You screamed then, you know you did, because it felt like the scream came from somewhere deeper than your throat. Somewhere buried. The pain was bright and brutal, wild like a creature with no name.

Blood soaked through your robes, warm and sticky. It slid down your ribs in rivulets, staining your skin in rivers of red. You tried to reach for your wand, to move, to crawl, but your limbs betrayed you. Your fingers twitched and spasmed, nothing more.

You were trembling. Shaking so hard your teeth chattered. Your body was going into shock, you knew that. Part of your mind screamed to stay awake, but the rest of you just wanted to rest. To close your eyes and let it be over.

Then came the laughter.

It was low, mocking, and cruel.

Rosier’s voice, thick with amusement, cut through the haze of pain. “Isn’t it pathetic?” he sneered, his words slipping into your blood-slicked skin like poison. “The Gryffindor princess thinks she’s untouchable. Thinks the world will bend to her.”

Mulciber’s laugh joined, jagged and dark, ringing through the trees. “She’s nothing without her little pack of fools.”

You tried to turn your head, tried to look at them, but your vision was swimming—dizzy, unfocused. You could taste the earth on your tongue, gritty and sharp, and the world was starting to spin in the most awful way.

The words felt like daggers, slipping between your ribs, cutting deeper than any spell could. You couldn’t even find the strength to lift your wand, to scream. All you could do was lie there, broken, helpless, blood pooling beneath you like a dark promise.

The fourth curse hit your ribs. Something cracked. You felt it. Something inside you gave way completely, not just bone, but something more fragile. Your spirit. Your hope.

You thought of James’s gentle eyes, the way he’d always saved you a seat. Of Remus’s quiet steadiness, his soft laughter. Of Sirius, loud and brave and furious, looking back at you in the corridor, hoping for a smile that never came.

What if this is the last thing they remember of me?

You were just a bleeding body in the woods. Just another cautionary tale. Just another girl the world didn’t save.

“Doesn’t even matter if she dies,” Mulciber sneered. “Who’s going to come for her now?”

But the world had already started to fade. Everything was slowing down. The cold wasn't biting anymore. It was crawling in.

And in that final, terrible moment, you wished—not for a miracle, not even for revenge—but for a hand to hold. 

Just one. To remind you that you weren’t alone.

But no hand came. And the world went silent.

You don’t know how long you lay there. Time ceased to exist, and all that was left was pain, a tidal wave that swallowed every inch of you. The only thing that tethered you to the world was the cold, the bitter cold that gnawed at your limbs, the faint buzzing in your skull, and the odd, rhythmic thumping of your heart.

It wasn’t until the wind shifted, until the first rays of dusk began to curl their fingers through the trees, that the world came back into focus.

And then there was nothing��no air in your lungs, no strength in your body, only a strange detachment. The stars above you were a distant thing. So far away, so far beyond your reach.

It had been four days. Four days of desperate hope that you’d walk into the Great Hall, that you’d knock on their door, or slip back into your usual routine, but you never did. Every corner they turned, every moment of looking into the spaces where you used to be, only made it worse.

James couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. He could barely remember the last time he’d felt anything other than the sharp ache of your absence.

Remus hadn’t said much at all. He’d been quieter than usual, retreating into his books and their shared study sessions, but they both knew—he was spiraling. Not as visibly as James, but you could see it in the way his hand trembled when he flipped through the pages of his Potions textbook or how he would glance at your usual seat at dinner and then look away, like a wound that couldn’t heal.

Sirius? He had become unrecognizable. His smiles were gone, replaced by a constant scowl, and when he wasn’t throwing punches at the walls or muttering under his breath in frustration, he would pace the corridors, muttering your name like a prayer, a curse, a plea. If anyone had asked, they’d have thought he was furious, but if you looked closely enough, you’d see the raw pain underneath it all, the brokenness no one dared acknowledge.

They were walking, not really speaking to each other, not really aware of where they were going. James’s eyes kept flicking to the doorways as though you might suddenly appear from behind one, and Remus’s fingers were twitching with the need to reach out and touch you. Sirius’s hands were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, trying to keep himself together, but everyone could see the storm brewing in his eyes. It was like they were waiting for something to give, for something to break.

And then someone came rushing toward them—a student they didn’t know, pale, wide-eyed, their steps panicked.

“Why are you three here!?” the student asked, breathless, eyes darting back down the hall behind them. There was no greeting, no civility, just the sharp edge of disbelief.

The Marauders stopped in their tracks, confusion rippling through them. “What do you mean?” Sirius asked, his voice hoarse, his brow furrowing. “What’s going on?”

The student’s eyes flickered nervously. “You don’t know?” they said, voice trembling slightly. They looked between the boys, clearly startled by the way they seemed to have no idea what was happening. “She’s in the Infirmary. Everyone knows. Everyone knows.”

James’s heart slammed in his chest. His mind struggled to catch up with the words, but they pierced through him, leaving nothing but a hollowed-out, agonizing ache. “What… what do you mean? Who?” he managed to choke out, but he knew. Deep down, he knew.

“(Y/N)” the student said, their voice trembling now. “She’s hurt. She’s really hurt. Bad. Really bad. They found her out by the greenhouse, half-dead… blood everywhere.”

James’s breath hitched. Remus’s face went ashen. Sirius froze, his hands falling to his sides. The world seemed to go still for a moment, as if the reality hadn’t quite sunk in yet. And then, as if something inside each of them snapped, they turned on their heels, all rushing toward the Infirmary.

Every step felt like a thousand miles.

Sirius, usually the calm and collected one, was the first to lose control. He ran faster than the others, his mind already spiraling. No no no no—the mantra echoed in his brain, a chant that couldn’t stop. He could barely feel the cold stone of the floor underfoot, only the pounding of his heart in his chest as it thudded in his ears.

James’s voice cracked as he called out to you. “Please… please be okay…”

And Remus? He was already half a step behind, his steps hurried but strained. His heart was pounding in his throat as a mix of guilt and panic twisted his insides into knots. I should’ve done more. I should’ve done something.

They reached the Infirmary door, slamming it open, breathless, panic-stricken, and there she was.

The sight of you, broken and bloody, was something they weren’t prepared for. Something they’d never wanted to see.

You were there, lying on one of the beds, pale, drenched in sweat and blood, and the entire room seemed soaked in it. It pooled at your side, staining the white sheets a stark, crimson red. Your robes were ripped, jagged tears in them, and your skin was bruised and battered. Blood was still trickling from a gash on your temple, down your neck, staining your collarbone. Another wound on your side was still bleeding, the cut too deep for any normal healing charm. And the bruises, dark and swollen, bloomed over your arms, your legs, everywhere.

James felt like the floor had just disappeared beneath him.

He stumbled forward, his hands shaking as he reached out for you, but stopped himself, not knowing how to touch you, afraid of making it worse. He was too late. He had been too late. He couldn’t hold back the tremor in his voice as he called out to you, “Y/N, please… please wake up, please… We’re here, we’re here, love…”

Remus fell to his knees beside you, his breath ragged as he looked over every inch of you. The color drained from his face as the realization hit him—he hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t saved you when he should’ve. “I—I should have been there,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. “I should have seen it. Why didn’t I see it?”

Sirius… he didn’t know what to do. His chest was tight, every word in his mind coming out as French curses under his breath. “Putain… non, non, non…” The words came out as angry sobs, harsh and jagged. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry… please, please be okay. I—I can’t lose you. I can’t—” His voice cracked, the rawness of his panic making his chest ache. He reached for your hand, but his fingers were trembling so violently he could hardly make contact. “I should have protected you, damn it…”

And then James collapsed beside you, his whole body trembling. He broke down, tears streaming down his face, his shoulders shaking violently as he sobbed uncontrollably. “I—I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, I never meant to hurt you. Please—don’t leave me. I can’t—I can’t live with myself if you—”

Remus tried to pull James back, his own hands shaking as he gripped his shoulders. “James… calm down, my love, breathe, breathe,” he urged desperately, his voice filled with pain, but his words were faltering, as if his own chest was collapsing in on him. “We’ll fix this. We can fix this—”

But James was beyond hearing. The panic was rising in him, clawing at his throat, choking him, until it felt as though he couldn’t breathe. His sobs were louder now, broken, desperate.

Sirius had fallen silent, staring at you, his eyes wide, frantic, as if he was seeing the reality of your injury but couldn’t believe it. He kept muttering in French under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Mon Dieu… no, this can’t be real. Please, no—not like this…”

The scene was chaos, the air thick with their grief, their guilt, and the blood that kept staining the floor. Their world had shattered, and all they could do was stare at you, broken and bleeding, and wonder how they’d ever put the pieces back together.

It had been a week since the infirmary bled scarlet.

Seven days since your unconscious body was carried in, limbs limp, robes torn and stained the color of mourning. Since your blood had dried beneath their trembling hands, since Madam Pomfrey had pushed them out of the room with a glare sharp enough to cut bone. Seven days since the world tilted on its axis and none of the boys had been able to breathe quite right.

Now, the hospital wing was cloaked in silence. A strange, reverent quiet. The kind of stillness reserved for cathedrals and funerals.

You were no longer on the brink of death—but barely.

Wrapped in bandages, some still stained pink. Salves coated your bruised ribs. A potion-infused cloth was tied gently around your temple. You hadn’t said much since waking. Not to them, not to anyone.

And yet they came. Every morning. Every hour they could.

Sirius would sit by your bedside, speaking in low, broken French, brushing your hair away from your eyes even when they were closed. James paced endlessly, muttering half-formed thoughts to himself, fingers twitching like they itched to hold your hand but feared the weight of your rejection. Remus had taken to reading to you—old poetry, mostly—his voice soft, barely above a whisper.

None of them said the thing they were all thinking: We thought you’d die. And we weren’t there.

The days that followed bled into one another, soft and silent and slow, as if time itself were limping alongside your broken body.

The Infirmary lights were always dim now, flickering like candles at a funeral. The scent of antiseptic clung to every breath. You stirred in and out of consciousness—each awakening a slow crawl through pain. Your body felt like it had been stitched back together with trembling hands and tears. Every breath hurt. Every inch of skin screamed. But you were alive. Barely. Beautifully. Tragically.

And they were still there.

Your boys.

Silent. Fragile. Hollow.

They never left your side, not for a second.

Sirius sat nearest to your bed, always in the same chair, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his fingers tangled in his hair. He didn’t speak, not really. He whispered sometimes, soft little French nothings like prayers he didn’t know he was saying. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red, the gleam in them long extinguished. Once, you caught him reaching out, like he meant to brush a curl from your forehead. But his hand stopped midair and trembled there before falling back to his lap like it weighed a thousand pounds.

James looked the worst, like he hadn’t slept since they found you. His curls were unwashed, his face ghostly pale, dark shadows carved beneath his eyes. He paced most of the time, back and forth in quiet fury, hands flexing helplessly, like there was something he should be doing, could be doing, but didn’t know what. And when he wasn’t pacing, he was crying. Quietly. In corners. He tried to hide it, but you heard it. You always did.

Remus was the stillest, the softest. He barely moved at all. He read aloud sometimes, in a voice that cracked and shook. He fluffed your pillow, changed your bandages, held your hand gently, like it might crumble in his. But his silence said more than any of it. He was unraveling at the seams, guilt eating through him like moths through silk.

The healers came and went. But the boys—your boys—they stayed. And though none of you spoke much, though your voice was weak and their courage was weaker, something lived in the silence. An apology. A hope. A promise not yet spoken.

It was evening again. The sky bled lavender and gold through the infirmary windows.

Remus was the first to break the silence.

“You used to hum when you read,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Did you know that?”

You blinked slowly. It was the first time you’d responded at all.

“I didn’t realize I missed it until it was gone.”

Sirius looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. His eyes were rimmed in red. “I miss everything. The way you laugh. The way you argue with me like you’re not scared of me. Even the way you kick me in your sleep.”

You shifted slightly in the bed, a wince ghosting across your face. James immediately straightened, panic in his eyes. “Do you need Pomfrey? Are you—are you okay? I’ll get her, I—”

You shook your head gently.

He collapsed back into the chair, dragging his hands down his face.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered. “I keep thinking about it—about that night. I keep seeing you bloodied, in the dark, broken, and I—I can’t fix it. I’m supposed to fix everything.”

“You’re not,” you rasped, voice weak and raspy.

The room fell still.

James looked up like he’d just seen a ghost. “What?”

You exhaled slowly. “You’re not supposed to fix everything.”

Sirius stood abruptly. “We didn’t see you. We didn’t hear you. And then we nearly lost you and we—” His voice cracked. “I—I didn’t get to say I was sorry.”

Your eyes found his. And for the first time in days, you saw him. Really saw him. The grief swimming in the gray of his irises. The guilt carved into the sharp edges of his cheekbones.

“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” you whispered.

“We’ll wait,” Remus said immediately. “We’ll wait forever, dove.”

James dropped to his knees beside your bed, forehead pressed to the mattress beside your arm. “I love you,” he sobbed. “God, I love you so much, and I keep thinking if we’d just listened, if we’d seen you, you wouldn’t have been out there alone—”

“I thought about you,” you murmured. “When I was on the ground. I thought about how mad you’d be if I died.”

That shattered something in all of them.

Remus leaned forward, pressing a trembling kiss to your knuckles. “You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to be left behind.”

“I didn’t want to be the girl who needed,” you said. “But I did. I needed you.”

Sirius stepped closer, his voice barely holding together. “I’m so fucking sorry, mon cœur. I didn’t mean to make you feel small.”

“You didn’t make me feel small,” you whispered. “You just stopped making me feel anything.”

James sobbed harder.

And then you reached for them. Shaky, slow, but open.

They came at once. A tangle of limbs and apologies and muffled cries into hospital sheets.

Remus’s forehead pressed to yours. James held your hand like it anchored him to the earth. Sirius whispered every endearment he knew, over and over again, until your breathing slowed.

“I’m not okay,” you said.

“We’re not either,” James replied.

“But we’ll be.” Remus promised.

And in that tiny, broken moment, surrounded by your boys and your wounds and your silence, you believed him. Just a little.

[moonstruckme]

blanket fort - “thank you for picking me up- i know it’s late.” with fwb!sirius maybe? I’m thinking like.. you’re not together but you call him cos you need him and he comes right away <33 do with that what u will hehe

Ahhh thank you mal <3

cw: alcohol, attempted sa (mentioned, not in the scene)

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 969 words

You like it a lot when Sirius calls you his. It’s usually by accident. He calls you lots of things—gorgeous, sweetness, dollface—but never in the same tone as when that incriminating my slips out. My darling, he’d said once, teasing, trying to get you into the shower with him (it worked). Another time, kissing overstimulated tears off your face before they could fall onto his pillowcase, my lovely girl. Sometimes, you think it’s a little pathetic of you—not very feminist, that’s for sure. You like being independent. You aren’t anybody’s. You shouldn't want to belong to someone. But you do, and not just anyone; you want to belong to Sirius. 

So it’s possible that it’s only wishful thinking, when cool fingers brush the hair from your face and you think—you hope—you catch a murmured, “Oh, my girl.” 

Regardless of what you may or may not hear, you’d know the feel of that hand anywhere. 

Sirius is waiting when you unstick your lashes, looking down at you with an amused uptilt to his perfect mouth. He pushes more hair away from your eyes. The surface of the restaurant table feels nice against your cheek. 

“What happened to you, hm?” 

“I don’t know,” you reply drowsily. “What happened to you?” 

Sirius huffs out a laugh. “Well, I was sitting at home thinking about this bird.” 

“Gross. Is she pretty?” 

“Stunning. I figured I’d call her to see if she was thinking about me too, so I did, and do you want to know what she had the gall to tell me?” 

You put a hand under your cheek, angling your face to see him better. You are intensely curious. “What?” 

“She said that if I wanted to fuck her, I had to come and pick her up at the fancy hotel downtown. So, here I am.” He gives you a once-over. “I don’t think we’re going to be fucking, though.” 

You frown. “No?” 

“No, sweetness. Sorry.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” He strokes your cheek, smiling in a way that makes you feel all melty soft. “Hey, stay put for me a minute.” 

Staying put feels like all you know how to do. You assume Sirius goes somewhere, but you don’t notice. You blink, and he’s back in front of you, a glass of water in his hand where there wasn’t one before. He gives your shoulder a pat. 

“C’mon, sit up.” 

“M’okay,” you say, even as you do as he tells you. Your head spins once there’s no table to stabilize it. “I don’t need anything to drink.” 

Sirius’ eyebrow flicks up. “Who says it’s for you?” 

“Oh.” You’re strangely put out. “It’s not?” 

“No, it is.” He cracks, grinning. “Just have a little for me, babe. For my peace of mind.” 

You whine as he puts the glass to your lips, but you don’t have much choice. The water presses insistently at your mouth. Sirius holds the side of your face as you take it down, so that’s nice, at least. 

You breathe out after swallowing. You hadn’t noticed your throat hurting before, but it does feel better now. Sirius wipes a dribble from the side of your chin like it’s nothing. 

“I asked you to come here,” you say, “didn’t I.” 

Sirius’ lips quirk. “Demanded was more like it.” You put a hand over your eyes, and he tsks, laughing. “What, lovely, was it a bad night?” 

“Bad date,” you moan. “So boring. Worst conversationalist in the world, I could swear he was trying to get me liquored up.” The smile fades from Sirius’ face. You like this, strangely. You want his sympathy. “He’s staying here, you know. That’s why we met at the hotel for dinner, I was just too stupid to think of it.” 

“He tried to take you up to his room?” he asks. 

You make a wry sound. “Yeah, but he didn’t seem to like when I said I was too drunk to do anything.” 

Sirius skims you over. You don’t know what he’s looking for, or if he finds it, but his expression is uncharacteristically humorless when he nods. “Good girl.” 

You eye him. “Because I’m not having sex with other people?” 

“Because you’re looking out for yourself.” 

You sit with that for a while. You wonder if Sirius would be angry if you had gone up. Sober, that is. You wonder how he’d react if you told him about it later, what he’d think of you sleeping with someone who wasn’t him for a change. What would he think if he knew you only came on this date as an act of desperation? That you’d been so lovelorn, so pathetically hung up on him, that you’d gone out with the first person who made themselves available to you? 

Fortunately, you still have enough of your wits about you to know you’d hate yourself for asking. 

“So,” you say instead, “are you going to take me home now?”

Sirius grins. “I suppose I am.” 

You muster your best grin in reply. “I know how you love to take me home.” 

“Shush, lightweight. Drink your water, then we’ll go.” 

You pick the glass up to appease him. But when you only have a few more sips before leaning your head on his shoulder, Sirius doesn’t complain. 

“Can I ask you something weird?” you murmur. 

“Nothing’s ever stopped you before.”

“You’ll do something for me?” 

“Hm, depends.” Sirius is teasing, but when you fall silent his tone gentles. “What is it?” 

“Call me something nice?” 

You shut your eyes. Just inebriated enough to ask, just sober enough to be embarrassed. You’re sure he’s going to laugh at you. 

Sirius’ kiss lands softly atop your hair. “I’ll call you whatever you want,” he says, in that tone, that soft, incriminating tone, “my sweetheart.”

[acourtofchaos]

YOU CAN HOLD MY HAND IF NO ONE'S HOME | Sirius Black x F!Reader

Summary: When you aren't as good at hiding your relationship as you both think you are. [Fluff. 3.6K]

Warnings: Hidden relationship, very soft sirius, a little suggestive, typical mischief from the other boys

A/N: This is a re-write of a fic I wrote years ago for a character I no longer write for and I thought it'd be cute to turn it into a Marauders fic instead of getting rid of it :)

You woke to warmth.

To streaks of golden morning light that spilled from the windows and left glowing lines across bare legs that were hopelessly tangled with anothers.

There were soft puffs of breath stirring your hair at the crown and the faint smell of smoke and spice tickling your nose with every slow inhale you took in sync with the rising chest you found yourself buried against.

Your face pressed so deeply into the column of his throat that your lashes brushed the skin there when your eyes finally fluttered open.

And yet he tried to pull you even closer when you yawned and pressed your hands to his stomach in an attempt to shuffle yourself back, strong arms winding tight around your waist and the soft scrape of barely-there stubble over your forehead as he dipped his chin and planted a lazy kiss there.

“Don’t go yet.” He rasped, voice low, sleep-thick. "Want to hold you a bit longer before you go rushing off.”

You melted a little at that, your own apologetic kiss laid to the hollow of his throat before you pulled back to meet his sleep-warmed gaze.

Fingers stroking through the mess of his hair like you could soothe away the discontent that grew in both of you when you thought about having to leave his arms, his flat, pretending all the while that you hadn’t created a home for yourself in both.

Because that’s how things were between you and Sirius - how they had to be when this thing between you was a secret kept from the other three most important parts of your lives.

You’d decided together that they couldn’t know yet - Remus, Peter and James.

It was just still so new.

There would be too much pressure.

James and Remus were protective to an almost alarming fault and Peter would probably have a quiet panic attack over the possibility everything could go wrong. The boy who despised even the slightest arguments amongst his friends, fretting himself into an early grave at the thought of being forced to choose a side should it all fall apart.

It made sense to keep things between them until things felt more solid, less fragile than this sweet, tender thing you both held in your hands right now.

There was just times, this moment being one of them, where you wanted nothing more than to say fuck it and let them find out if it meant you could stay in Sirius’ arms that little bit longer.

And he was clearly thinking the same.

For when you stretched and tried to roll to the side, he followed. Catching the hand that had been reaching for your phone before luring it back and pressing it into the mattress whilst he rose above you.

“Where do you think you’re going, love?” He grinned, a little drunk with pride when you shivered lightly before throwing him a rather adorably unconvincing glare.

“We’re supposed to be meeting the others for breakfast and I still need to go home and change.” You huffed lightly, arching a challenging brow when he made no move to let you go. “Unless you want them asking why I’m in the same clothes I wore to the pub last night.”

Your words made his eyes spark, his voice turning silken as he leaned down, lips purposely avoiding your own and trailing tantalisingly slow over the line of your jaw.

“And if they did? What would you tell them, hmm?” He taunted, murmuring. “Would you make up some flimsy excuse like you did last night - let them keep thinking that you're so innocent and sweet, that you don't lie about headaches just so I can get you home and devour you sooner.”

“Are you forgetting we all grew up together?” You laughed breathlessly, loud in the otherwise silence of the room before it caught in your throat as Sirius nipped at your ear. “They already know I’m hardly what you call innocent.”

“Not like I do.”

You groaned when his teeth found your shoulder as he pulled at the collar of your t-shirt, sinking down until you arched like a bow against him before sweeping his tongue across the newly made mark.

You were clinging to him now, fingers buried into the warm skin of his ribs and every thought about getting up and leaving began to drift away like smoke in the wind when he raised his chin, smile sinful, teasing, to watch you as he rolled his hips into yours.

“Jesus, Sirius.” You breathed, an unbidden plea, and he sank down into you to kiss you then. All slow, soft heat as he indulged you, arms caging you in, gentle hands cupping your cheeks.

It made your blood catch light and your heart ache, your head dizzy with each brush of his tongue against yours whilst your skin grew warm and tingly from his body pressed flush against you - the sunlight that poured over you both when the sheets slipped away as you wove your legs around his waist.

A quiet moan slipped from you when he sucked at the pillow of your bottom lip and there was almost another as he drew back to look at you - all darkened eyes, ruffled hair and kiss-bruised lips.

“You make the prettiest sounds I’ve ever heard.” He whispered, voice a little awed whilst his thumb scraped over the arc of your cheekbone.

You grinned, something sweet and golden blooming beneath your ribs that made you glow from the inside, the air feeling warmer as you turned your head to mouth a tender kiss to his wrist. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” He murmured, dropping his head to nudge his nose against yours when your gaze was back on him once again. “Everything about you is so ridiculously pretty, you’re killing me expecting me to just let you leave when you look like that.”

His hand found the edge of your shirt, fingers toying with a hole in the worn fabric before they slipped under to splay across the smooth skin of your belly, his thumb stroking small circles that dipped teasingly beneath the waistband of your underwear.

He watched as your breath hitched, as you shifted beneath him like you were trying to to push further into the press of his hand and then he suddenly leaned back. Eyes twinkling and lips parted before they quirked into a smug grin.

“Speaking of which - isn’t this my shirt?”

Shit.

You'd hoped he wouldn't realise that you'd snatched up one of his when redressing last night. Choosing to forgo your own that was nestled among a few other things of yours in the draw he'd cleared out for you.

There was something about being wrapped up in a shirt that smelled like him, that you swore still managed to hold the heat from his skin despite however long had passed since he wore it.

It felt like safety and comfort.

It felt more like home than any of the dozen places you had given such a title to over the years. And you craved it.

You thought Sirius understood. That he saw it in your face and the flash of nerves in your eyes that stealing his clothes was a step too far too soon, because even when you shrugged, when you tried your best to sound casual and lie that you couldn't find your own, his smile only got wider. Sweeter.

There was a new warmth in his eyes as he tugged at the hem again.

"Yeah?" He asked, grinning brighter than any star in the sky. "Well fuck, gorgeous, maybe I should start hiding all your clothes if it means getting to see you in mine. Looks so much better on you."

A bubble of laughter rose from your chest - bright and airy with relief and something impossibly tender for the boy above you. You wanted to draw him down, kiss him until you were both breathless and drunk from it and feel him press so deeply into you that it would be impossible to tell where one you ended and the other began.

You would have done it if it wasn’t for the sharp ring of a message alert sounding from your phone, the shrill of it puncturing the sticky-sweet haze you’d both slipped into making you flinch.

There was a pout on Sirius’ lips when you nudged at him, your hand a firm and constant obstacle when he still tried to chase your mouth with his own before giving up and falling back into the sheets with a dramatic huff. Hiding his smile with mock offence at the sound of your chuckle.

You bit your lip as you raised yourself up on your elbows and looked at him.

The lazy way he draped himself back, all smooth, tattoo-littered skin against black cotton sheets, grey sweats slung low on his hips and his hair wild from where your fingers had tangled desperately within it. He caught you staring and his lips spread into another shit-eating grin, his tone full of taunt when he winked at you. “You gonna get that or just keep staring at me like you want to fu–”

He spluttered when the pillow crashed into his face, choked laughter erupting from his throat whilst you huffed and rolled your eyes before snatching the phone from the bedside table.

And then they went wide.

Panic flooding through your gut as you attempted to fling yourself to your feet only to get your foot caught in the sheets, flail, and nearly end up in a heap on the floor.

You caught yourself at the last minute, a hand thrown to the wall when you stumbled before searching the room for your jeans.

“James and Remus are on their way here. Right now.” You told a confused looking Sirius, whose gaze swiftly changed from concerned to a disappointed understanding, his body frozen right where he’d frantically risen, arms open and outstretched to catch you if you had fallen. “They asked if I’m nearly at the cafe because they’re on their way but stopping to pick you up first?”

“Shit, yeah, I completely forgot.” He muttered, passing a weary hand over his face before he slipped from the bed after you and in search of a shirt for himself. “They offered because my bike is still in the garage.”

You nodded absentmindedly, eyes still darting along the floor before you spied your jeans partially hidden beneath Sirius’ clothes from the night before, all pooled together from where you’d tumbled into his room, mouths desperate on the others and hands a little too greedy to feel skin to take notice or even care where the things you were wearing landed.

He snorted at the way you lunged for them, the little cry of aha! when you lifted them triumphantly before bending to shove your legs inside them. “I’m just gonna have to go like this.” You huffed and Sirius had to bite down a wild groan when you straightened.

Between your sleep-roughened hair and kiss-swollen lips, the tight jeans and his shirt that, when the collar shifted ever so slightly, showed a brief glimpse of the pretty marks he’d left on your skin. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through this breakfast with his sanity intact. “...let's just hope they don’t recognise the shirt.”

He swallowed hard, shook his head in a daze both in an attempt to reassure you and to rid himself of the feverish need that was rapidly bleeding through his veins once more. “They won’t, it’s not one I ever wore that much.”

And yeah, maybe that was a lie.

But he didn’t want to mention that it had once been one of his favourites and have you decide that wearing it wasn’t worth the risk.

Not when the sight of you in it had something akin to possessive wonder coiling in his chest every time he looked at you, infusing his bones and making his heart swell with it. Racing to an impossible rhythm, a delirious beat of mine, mine, mine.

There was another chirp from your phone and you quickly glanced at it whilst Sirius distractedly rummaged through his drawers, cursing as you located your shoes and yanked them on before reaching for him. “I have to go.” You rushed out, fingers curling around the nape of his neck to drag him into a too brief kiss, his lips only just beginning to part over yours when you pulled back and tried to dash towards his bedroom door.

Only, before you could take another step his hand found itself wrapped around your wrist and then he was tugging sharply, reeling you back into his arms so his mouth could descend upon yours once again - hot and messy. More than a little starved for the taste of you.

And despite yourself you melted, humming happily before you felt him smile against you and the corners of your lips tugged up into one to match. “Sirius, I’ve got to go.”

You laughed when his hand curled around your hip to pull you closer. His voice muffled but no less cheeky when he countered. “Just getting it out of my system before I have to endure the torture of being surrounded by our friends whilst pretending that I don’t want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you whilst you're wearing my shirt.”

Your thighs clenched together at that, cheeks warming as you imagined it. Without meaning to your fingers tightened their grip in his hair, the hand that had rested over his heart curling until your nails bit into his skin and you had to catch yourself as your hips subconsciously rocked against him.

It made him grin like a devil, even more so when you swore, his eyes gleaming with heat, mischief when you flexed your hand straight and pushed yourself away from him.

He let you go without a fight to finally pull his shirt on and chuckled, low and rough, when your narrowed eyes tracked over the tempting fit of it before flicking back to his. “You’re an absolute menace, Black”

“Only for you, doll.”

You snorted at that and turned, still grinning like an idiot when you swung his door open before you screamed in shock. Your hand flying to your chest to cover the place where your heart slammed frantic against your ribs.

Sirius was by your side in an instant, his body surging past yours in a blur to place you behind him, expression hard and dangerous before it morphed into stunned surprise. His brow furrowing and mouth dropping open.

Because at his breakfast table sat James and Peter. Both of them never looking more delighted with themselves than they did in that moment with laughter in their eyes and bright ‘gotcha’ smiles spread wide across their handsome faces.

Remus was busying himself with pulling groceries out of a bag but you caught the way he glanced between both yours and Sirius’ disbelieving expressions before hiding his face, grin soft and his shoulders shaking.

There was a moment of silence where all of you just stared at each other and then both you and Sirius spoke at the same time.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Did you seriously just let yourselves into my flat and sit waiting for us to come out?”

It was James that answered.

Like he’d been bursting with impatience for one of you to ask just so he could, his fingers tapping impatiently against the solid wood of the table before he pointed to you.

“What’s going on is that you’ve been lying to us and now you’ve been caught red handed.” He smirked, entirely too amused by the way you couldn’t even hide your guilty expression before he turned to Sirius and shrugged. “And you gave us each a key.”

Sirius scoffed at that, snarking. “Yeah, for emergencies, Prongs, not to be cr–”

“So you don’t want coffee then.” Remus interrupted mildy, lifting one of the steaming cups from beside him without looking up from where he was setting things up for your apparent breakfast. A spread of pastries and fruits, jams, fresh bread, bacon and eggs and sausages all lined up for him to cook whilst you slowly processed what you had just walked out to.

And just like that Sirius lost some of his guarded edge. He still watched them all and then you with calculating eyes, assessing the situation, looking for hints of discomfort before he softened completely and trudged forward to take the drink, then a second, from Remus whilst you sank into the chair besides Peter.

You expected it to feel awkward but it wasn’t.

There was no anger or accusation from the boys, only curiosity and something soft like joy when they observed the way Sirius drew immediately back to you, one hand placing your drink in front of you and the other resting gently at the back of your neck to let you know he was there.

They hadn’t done this with any other intent but to let you know that everything was fine. That you didn’t have to worry about things changing or them thinking any different of either of you because they would always be happy with whatever you decided as long as it was what made you happy.

And with that knowledge you fully relaxed, easing back into Sirius’ touch. You took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of the coffee, the bacon that hissed and smoked when Remus placed it in the pan and after a large gulp of your drink you turned to the curly haired boy across from you and nudged his leg with your toe. Smiling when his lips quirked and he nudged you back.

“Go on then.” You sighed with a grin, “Where did we mess up - what gave us away?”

James laughed, his features boyish and light with it. “Take a wild guess.” He joked and when you didn’t answer, blinking at him in confusion, he looked at you for a beat, then two, and then at his friend on the other side of the table, shaking his head with amusement. “I told you it looked like they hadn’t even realised what they’d done.”

You glanced at Sirius who looked just as clueless as you, racking your brain for such a memory and coming up with nothing.

“You kissed right in front of us.” Peter finally explained with a quiet chuckle. “Well, it was at the bar - which we had a pretty good view of.”

It hit you then. A little soft and fuzzy around the edges but you could remember Sirius’ hand resting on your hip, the way he'd tucked you tighter against him to avoid getting jostled at the busy bar and it had been second nature. A reflex almost.

You had looked up at him with a sweet smile and the moment you had tilted your chin he hadn’t even thought to deny you, pressing a warm kiss to your lips and then another to your forehead that had made your heart flutter.

You opened your mouth and then shut it again, pressed your palm to your lips to smother the laughter that bubbled up - bright and delirious.

You had both thought you had been so subtle only to discover you couldn’t have been more hopeless at hiding your relationship if you had tried. There was a twinkle in Sirius’ eyes when you turned again to find him watching you, an undisguisable fondness when you reached out and gently punched his arm.

“This is your fault.” You accused, teasing. “You kissed me.”

“And you didn’t stop me.” He winked, far too pleased at the fact to even consider defending his lack of restraint when it came to you.

Before you could argue there was a snort from the other side of you and you twisted to catch James rolling his eyes, an indulgent grin on his face even as he complained. All faux wretchedness and almost enough drama to rival Sirius. “Good god, I don’t think I can handle you both suddenly being this lovey dovey. I think I preferred being in the dark about this.”

It made you laugh when Peter responded before you were able, an immediate quip that had the brunette blushing wildly when he mentioned how he’d rather see this than what he used to innocently walk into in the dorms whenever James had Lily over.

There was warmth in your chest - a champagne fizz type of happiness - when it turned into a competition of swapping embarrasing stories and the room filled with bickering voices and radiant bursts of laughter, when Sirius drew his chair closer and tugged you into his side, fingers drawing lovely, sweeping patterns on your shoulder whilst his voice joined the chaos.

You beamed at Remus, who appeared at your side to place a plate of food in front of you, a little mix of everything that you liked that immediately had your stomach growling.

He returned your smile immediately, eyes crinkling with affection when you thanked him, before he ruffled your hair like he had ever since he had taken you under his wing the first time you met so many years ago.

Forever the protective older brother that somehow turned into a scolding mother the second Sirius dared to reach over with the intent of snatching a piece of bacon off your plate.

There was a flash of metal, a string of colourful curses from your boyfriend when the handle of the fork Remus had been about to pass you rapped across the knuckles of the offending hand.

“Hands off, Pads, you bloody animal. Didn’t you ever learn manners, jesus."

“Me? What about you? You break into my house, hijack my kitchen, and then try to nearly crack a bone over a slice of bacon. Where are your fucking manners, Moony?”

You zoned out the bickering in favour of tearing a chunk of still warm pastry and popping it in your mouth, startled when James’ foot gently kicked yours beneath the table.

His eyes were bright and full of mischief behind his glasses when you frowned at him and you nearly choked when he pointed the coffee-foam covered end of his wooden stirrer at your chest.

"So considering you were still trying to keep it a secret before we surprised you, how did you plan on explaining the shirt?” He crowed. “Because I could swear Pads has one just like it.”

****

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James Potter x reader

synopsis: After weeks of silence and emotional distance, Y/N is forced to confront the feelings she’s tried so hard to bury— feelings for her best friend, James Potter. But when James shows up drunk at her doorstep, broken and desperate for answers, the truth finally comes to light.

wordcount: 2, 876

note: Part II of Cool About It. Angst to fluff.

Y/n had been avoiding James for three weeks now. At first, it wasn't obvious. The kind of thing that barely scratches the surface and could be brushed off as coincidence. Too subtle to raise alarms.

Like how she'd swiftly turn the opposite way the moment she caught a glimpse of his messy dark curls in the distance, or how she suddenly always had something to do— like an essay to finish, a meeting to attend— whenever James was near her. Her once-predictable presence at group hangouts had become a rarity, and somehow, every time James showed up, she just happened to be unavailable.

And maybe James didn't notice it at first. Maybe he was too caught up with Lily— her sudden shift of attitude towards him was too hard to ignore. He was in bliss— floating in a dream he had been chasing for years, too up high to see the way Y/n had started falling from his orbit.

But everyone in his friend group did. Remus, Sirius, and even Peter, who never picked up on these things, had made an offhand comment. "Have you lot seen Y/n lately?"

Still, James didn't piece it together. Or maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he was scared of what it could mean if he did.

Because once you notice someone pulling away from you, it's impossible not to wonder why.

The library was quiet during the late hours. It was almost empty, dim, and, somehow, Y/n found this place comfortable. This area has given her a small amount of peace, offering her some sort of sanity as she can busy herself with the books stacked in there, not really reading it— but just... hiding.

It had become a routine lately. Ducking into corners, finding solitude, telling herself she wasn't avoiding James. She was just... protecting herself. But, of course, the universe won't let her have her peace.

"Y/n!" James called her from behind, panting slightly as if he had run— because he had. His tie was slightly askew, his hair more of a mess than usual, and his eyes were blown wide with something she couldn't really place. Worry? Relief?

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"I've been trying to catch you for weeks." James tried to laugh it off, stepping forward like he didn't know how to stop. "You— you've been ghosting me."

"I've just been busy," She answered, too quickly. Too quietly.

James gave a short, breathy laugh. "Right. Of course. Busiest girl in the whole world. Too busy for after-school meetups, for Hogsmeade strolls, for movie nights, for me."

Y/n's heart stung, but she didn't let it show.

"I was just about to head out," She insisted, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. "Long night."

"I'll drive you home," James said quickly. Already walking towards the exit like the decision has been made. "It's late."

"James, it's fine—"

"I insist." James smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You seriously think I'd let you go home alone, especially at this hour?"

And she knew, even though her heart was screaming for her to just keep the distance she had so carefully built, arguing would make things worse. So she just nodded and followed him to his car.

The car ride was quiet— at least on her end. James, true to his form, filled the space between them with his usual charm.

"So, what are you even working in there?" He asked, glancing at her. "Don't tell me you've been burying your face in Calculus. That's just sick."

Y/n just chuckled. "No, no. It's a different subject."

James smiled. "Of course. Classic."

And then he went on to tell the latest happenings that had happened when she wasn't around. Sirius had managed to get in trouble again for the third time this month. Remus has been tutoring a freshman who mistook him for a professor. And Lily— Lily made a cheesecake, and James had declared her a goddess.

Y/n nodded and hummed, casually commenting a few sentences from time to time. Her face was polite, yet it felt robotic. And James noticed it.

From time to time, he subtly glanced at her through the rearview mirror. He wasn't the most emotionally intuitive guy, but he could tell something was wrong. Her laughter didn't come as easily. Her eyes didn't linger on him like before.

She wasn't really there— not in a way she used to be.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning pale. His words kept coming, but his mind was somewhere else. Because no matter how hard he tried to act normal, no matter how casual he played it— this wasn't normal.

Y/n was slipping away. And he doesn't know why.

When they pulled up in front of Y/n's house, the car slowed to a soft halt. The engine hummed between them, the only real sound in the heavy silence. James tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his nerves betraying him.

"Thanks for the ride," She murmured.

James bit the insides of his cheek, then turned to look at her with a forced smile. "Hey— are you free tomorrow? Thought we could grab a coffee or something. Just us."

Y/n hesitated. "I got a study date with Remus."

His smile faltered for a second. "Remus?"

She nodded, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "Yeah. He was supposed to help me with my essay."

James scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Since when do you study with Remus and not me?"

Y/n blinked at him, slightly thrown. "I— I don't know. It just... happened."

A pause stretched between them. James looked away, his jaw clenching slightly. "Right. Cool. I guess he's your go-to now."

There was something laced in his voice, something uncharacteristically sharp. Possessiveness wasn't a shade James often wore— he didn't need to. He had it all. The money, the talent, the looks. People gravitated towards him. That's just how it always been.

He didn't do jealousy. Especially with Remus.

"James..." Y/n said softly, not wanting to stir this into a fight.

"Well, tell Moony not to melt your brain too much. He goes on full professor when he's serious."

Y/n's gaze lingered on him for a bit, weighing him. But she didn't say anything else. She just smiled politely and slipped from the car.

And James watched her walk up to the front door, a small ache in his chest growing heavier with each step he took away from him.

The next day, the diner was buzzing with warmth and chatter; the golden afternoon sun was streaming through the windows and casting a perfect light across the table Lily and James shared.

She looked beautiful— like she always did— effortless in the way she talked, sit, and laughed. Everything he had ever wanted.

But he wasn't really looking at her. He was looking past her— toward the back booth, where Y/n and Remus were seated. And she was laughing. Like, really laughing.

The kind of laugh he hadn't seen from her in the past month. The kind that lit up her face, tipped her head back, made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She slapped her thigh as Remus finished his story like he was the most hilarious person in the world.

James scowled. He didn't even register what Lily was saying. Didn't even pay attention to the food in front of him. His eyes were just trained on them.

The way she leaned in when Remus talked, the way she rested her chin on her hand and looked at him like he was the most interesting person. Like she used to look at him.

And now— now he was noticing everything. The way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. The softness in her voice. He saw it. All of it.

"You okay?" Lily asked, suddenly pulling him out of his thoughts.

James blinked at her. "What?"

"You've been zoning out."

He gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. Sorry, just tired."

Lily raised a brow but let it go.

James looked back at the booth, his heart thudding uncomfortably. Y/n was laughing again, and Remus was now awfully sitting close beside her.

James wasn't used to doing this. The second guessing. The silence. The way his jokes no longer earned a laugh, how his texts were left on read, or worse— replied to nothing, but a cold, distant, courtesy.

It was his fifth attempt this week.

"Hey, there's a new art exhibit in town," He said casually, acting as if his heart wasn't pounding against his chest. "Thought you'd like the surrealist stuff. You know, the one with melting clocks and faceless people? I figured we could check it out together."

"I wish I could, but I got this paper due... and my cat's appointment with the vet later. I'm sorry, James." She smiled apologetically.

She always said sorry. Always with that small, polite smile. The kind of smile you give to a stranger.

And James felt he was slowly becoming one.

The truth was, it was never the art exhibit, or the cafe he invited her over to the day before that, or the time he showed up at her house with her favorite bubble tea and that novel she mentioned in passing months ago. He just missed her.

He missed the way she used to greet him with a smile that warmed his heart. The way she'd bump shoulders with him as he walked her to her class, the little inside jokes they used to whisper under their breaths, the sound of her laugh— God, her laugh.

He missed being her person.

And with each failed attempt, with every gentle excuse, his confidence chipped away. The great James Potter��� charmer, golden boy, team captain— was suddenly unsure. Awkward. Tongue tied.

Because he realized that he was losing something he didn't even realize he had been holding on so tightly. Maybe it had always been her.

So right now, he was slouched in one of the couches in a loud club. The lights were too bright, everyone was chaotic, and the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and alcohol. But he didn't care.

His third drink sat in front of him, and he was already slowly getting drunk. Sirius lounged beside him, watching him with a silent concern as he did not see his best friend spiral like this— not even from Lily.

"You alright, mate?" Peter asked.

James didn't answer at first. He kept staring ahead, eyes unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, answered a bitter, "Peachy."

Peter frowned, but Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder and subtly shook his head— don't push it.

Remus, however, didn't bite his tongue.

"Is this about Y/n?"

The second her name left his mouth, James immediately glared at him, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

"What, d'you know something I don't?" James snapped, voice rising above the music. "Since you're always with her now?"

"She's my friend, James."

"Oh, friend, right. You two study together, hang out alone, laugh like idiots— hell, you even know everything about her, don't you?" James slammed his glass down, the drink sloshing to his sleeve. "She doesn't look at me the way she used to. Doesn't see me. She makes excuses to avoid me. Says she's busy. Tired. Got plans. But then I see her with you."

"Prongs—" Sirius interjected, but James wasn't finished.

He laughed, but it was hollow. Broken. "What did I even do, huh? Why the hell won't she just talk to me?"

"Alright, Prongs. Let's take a breath, yeah?" Sirius place a firm hand on James's shoulder.

But James shrugged it off. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't get it. She was my best friend. Mine." His shoulders slumped as the tears came rolling in. "I just— I just want her back. I miss her."

He sank into the couch, wiping his face the back off his hand like a child. "Call her." He whispered. Then louder, more desperate. "Please. Just call her. Ask her to come. I don't care if she's mad at me or if she hates me. I need to talk to her. Please. Please, please, please." He begged.

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus.

"Alright, I'll call her."

"Hello?" Y/n answered from the other line. The background was filled with a mix of loud music, clinking glasses, and chaos— but none of it made her go still. James. He wasn't speaking coherently. Just broken words, cries, and soft pitiful pleas. "Is that—"

Remus sighed softly. "Yeah. He's... not doing well."

She could hear James's voice in the background— his voice was wrecked and cracking as he said her name over and over.

"What's going on?"

"He's begging for you, actually."

Y/n's heart clenched. "Tell him... I'm glad he's surrounded by people who care about him tonight. But I— I can't come."

Remus didn't respond immediately. "Y/n, he's not himself." He said softly, not to pressure her— never that— but to simply let her know the truth.

"I know," She whispered. "But I can't do it, Remus. For the sake of my sanity, I can't. It's not that I don't care about him. God, I do. But if I go there, I'm scared it'll hurt us even more."

Remus exhaled softly on the other end of the line. "Okay, I understand."

"Please just... make sure he gets home safe?"

"We will. You did the right thing."

Y/n ended the call, and she couldn't help but sit as her legs buckled. The night was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner at the corner of Y/n's room.

She had been staring at nowhere. Thinking. Pondering. She wondered if she even made the right decision of ignoring James. Of falling in love with him.

She hadn't noticed the clock had already struck midnight. Hadn't noticed that it had been an hour since she declined James's request. The guilt was eating her alive, and she couldn't do anything about it.

But then, the doorbell rang.

She didn't move for a moment. Praying it was just the neighbor or maybe a delivery to the wrong address. But somehow, deep down, she knew. Her stomach twisted painfully as she stood up, making her way through the door.

And when she swung the door open, her breath caught in her throat. James stood there. His hair was a damp mess, with sweat clinging on his forehead, and his chest rising and falling as if he had run all the way to here. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and his eyes— oh, his eyes— were bloodshot and glassy, rimmed with tears that hadn't yet fallen.

"James," She whispered softly.

"You didn't care about me at all, did you?" He asked, voice hoarse and quiet. "You just let me spiral."

"What? No! James, I—"

"You ignored me." He stepped inside the house without waiting for her permission. His eyes never left hers. "You stopped talking to me. Pretend I didn't exist. You— you just cut me off like I'm nothing."

"That's not true." She stepped forward, reaching at his hand, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

"I waited. Every day, I waited for you to call back. And you didn't. You just... let me go."

Y/n's throat burned, her hands trembling by her sides.

"I had to." She choked. "James, I had to—"

"Why?" He asked, stepping closer now. His anger melted into confusion and pain. "What did I do so wrong, Y/n?"

"Because I like you." She said, barely a whisper. "I liked you so much it hurts, James. And I couldn't take it anymore. Watching you love someone else while I stand in the corner, pretending it doesn't rip me apart."

James stared at her. Stunned and silent.

She laughed bitterly through the tears. "I was doing it for me. I had to distance myself."

James opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I didn't mean to fall for you. It just happened. And by the time I realized it, it was too late." She wiped at her face and stepped back, motioning at the door. "You should go. Please. Just go."

She turned around, ready to walk away, when James grabbed her wrist gently. And before she could react, his lips were on hers in a deep, desperate, and passionate kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, James cupped her face with trembling hands.

"I was stubborn," He whispered, forehead pressing against hers. "I kept telling myself I didn't feel anything for you. That Lily was all I wanted. And God, I was so wrong."

"James..."

"I love you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. For being blind. But please— let me start over. Let me fix things between us." He kissed her again, almost reverent. "Don't give up on me yet."

"Just don't break me again, James."

And in the silence that followed, he held her like a promise he never planned to let go of.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @lotsostrawberrybear @sweetstrawberrianne

[lumosflairr]

WHAT HE LEFT IN ME - harry j. potter

summary: As Voldemort's influence drives Harry into isolation, Harry grows distant, angry and cruel - pushing away the only girl he's ever loved.

This story contains: angst, Voldemort is alive, sirius lives, harry is distant and rude, fluff at the end so happy ending.

taglist: @ronhazmione @roseidol @h0gw4rtssturn @aouoo

[This fic is LONG!! it contains loads of build up though so i salute to you if you can read this through]

Before everything started to fall apart, Harry had been the kind of boyfriend who held your hand like it grounded him. Like maybe if he let go, he’d float away. He wasn’t always good with words - often fumbling or red-faced when trying to say how he felt, but he didn’t have to say much.

his actions spoke.

He’d sit beside you in the common room with his thigh pressed lightly against yours, fingers brushing, eyes flicking over occasionally like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. He’d shower you in gifts and often you would come back to your dorm with him casually sitting on your bed with fresh picked flowers. The flowers he knew you loved.

He laughed more, back then. Not often - not loud, but just enough to make your heart melt. You’d catch it moments like a wizard chess game against Ron going hilariously wrong or a whispered joke behind Snape’s back, and your personal favorite- when you stole his jumpers and would simply claim it as your own.

Overall, he loved quietly.

He didn’t shout it from the rooftops or have over the top gestures - there was no need to.

You saw it in the way he showed up to your special events, the way he actually listened to you instead of it going in one ear and out the other - which goes with how he remembers every little detail of you down to the bone.

He remembers your favorite books to read in the library in your free time, exactly how you took your tea, even how your eyebrows always furrow and you twiddled your quill on your test lightly when McGonagall gave lectures in words only Hermione could comprehend.

He’d wait for you outside of class even when he pretended he “just happened to be passing by.” His hand would find yours in the corridors, unsure at first, but firmer over time, like he was getting used to the idea of someone choosing to stand beside him.

When you were alone, he was different.

He wasn’t “The Chosen One,” not the Boy Who Lived, Just Harry. Funny, dry, a little awkward sometimes.

Just Harry.

YOUR Harry.

The Harry who would hold you as you both steal kisses under bedsheets and whisper sweet nothings. The Harry who was vulnerable with you, telling you about his dreams to live with Sirius or how his childhood was. Even his fears for the future. He told you things he hadn’t even truly mentioned to Hermione or Ron.

He wasn’t perfect. He could be stubborn and reckless. But with you, he tried. He tried to be better, to be present. And even if he didn’t always have the words, his actions told you everything-

You were safe.

You were Loved.

You truly had a purpose and could be loved.

But that was before.

Before Voldemort’s presence crept under his skin and far deeper in his head - not just in dreams anymore, but in his emotions. The anger wasn’t his, but it settled itself deep into his chest like that’s exactly where it was born and raised. He grew colder without meaning to.

He was always distant. Distracted. Like there was more than just a war going on inside his mind.

The worst part about it?

He stopped trying to protect what he had with you. Because deep down, he didn’t think he could keep it.

It didn’t fall apart all at once.

It unraveled in quiet, small moments where something felt off, but you convinced yourself it was nothing.

The first time he snapped was on a normal Tuesday afternoon in the common room. Hermione was out with Ron at Hogsmeade while you stayed with Harry. You had both arranged to meet there just to enjoy one another’s presence, hoping to find a moment of normalcy. Something where you both can share a smile again.

As soon as you arrived, you noticed him on one of the sofas. His figure slumped over and his eyes focused on the fire burning infront of him. You could feel a knot form in your stomach and a slight ping at your heart from the sight.

“Hey,” you said gently, sliding into the seat beside him.

Harry glanced up, his brows furrowed slightly. “Oh, hey.”

You offered a small smile. “I thought we could study together while we have some time alone to.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

You nodded as you placed your charm books on the table in front of you two gently, trying to ease the tension. “Want to talk about it?”

For a long moment, he just stared at the table, lost in thought. Then finally muttered, “It’s… nothing. Just tired.”

you frowned to yourself. You knew bloody well that wasn’t the case at all, but he was already on edge. You reached your hand out to his, but he snatched it away. Your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth opened slightly as your eyes make their way to his face - confused.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

You blinked. “Snap? What do you mean?”

He looked at you, running a hand through his hair. “I guess… I’ve just been on edge. I don’t want to drag you into it.”

You squeezed his hand. “You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m here.”

He gave you a small, almost sad smile. Not the smile you were hoping would come out of this. “I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes it feels like Voldemort’s closer than ever, and I don’t know how to fight it without breaking everything around me.”

You intertwined your fingers with his and placed a kiss to the top of his head. His eyes met yours and you gave him a smile. you didn’t have to say what words were behind them - he knew.

“im here. you wont break me. i’ll always be here”

It didn’t last though.

The little things began to fall apart.

He stopped waiting for you after class. He didn’t meet your eyes as much when you spoke. When you laughed, he barely reacted — like he hadn’t even heard you. And when he did speak, there was something sharper under his words. Not always. Just enough to make you second-guess yourself.

One morning, you reached for his hand in the corridor between lessons. He let you, but his fingers stayed limp in yours. His grip used to be so sure — like he needed the contact. Now, it felt like he barely noticed. Like you were just there. Like you weren’t holding him steady.

You found him later that night pacing in the common room, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched. He didn’t even notice you at first. And when he did, all he said was, “Don’t start.”

You didn’t even say a word.

It stung the way his guard shot up like a wall between you. And even though he apologized again and again, always just enough to make you stay, something inside you started to ache in a deeper way.

He was slipping away farther and farther and neither you or both of you two closest friends could either.

Its been days, maybe even weeks since then and everything has gone down hill since. Umbridge remained nothing but trouble with her torment towards the students - even staff. You often found dinner to be just Hermione, Ron and you.

You missed Harry. Your Harry. The Harry that would hold you and refuse to let you go. The Harry who would stay up all night if he could just to hear your voice. Now it was like he was invisible.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m gonna go talk to him” You told Hermione and Ron as you stood up from where you sat.

“Don’t be to pushy - he shouted at me earlier im sure Godric Gryffindor could hear” Ron muttered, going right back into his food.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron and spun around to give you a friendly smile.

“I hope it goes well. I’ll be in the common room if you need to talk after”

You gave her a smile and nod as you made your way out the great hall walking your way to the Gryffindor common room.

You looked around for any signs of Harry, nothing.

You sighed and made your way up to the boys dormitory finding Harry and Ron’s shared room.

You raised your fist up to knock, breath shaky as your arm froze. You let out another sigh and knocked on the door. Two knocks.

“Not in the mood for company.”

“Harry, please - Its me.”

Silence.

After what felt like ages, you had enough. You opened his door and watched him as he sat on his bed in his signature blue shirt and some jeans your sure he’s been wearing almost all week.

You stood a few feet away, keeping space.

He didn’t even look at you when you walked in.

“You’ve barely looked at me all week. Let alone speak to me.” You started off slow, your eyes glued to his figure.

“Maybe I didn’t have anything worth saying.”

ouch.

Your face scrunched up in disbelief as you watched him. Cold and lifeless. Eyes glued to his feet as he twiddled them on the floor.

“Harry, something is wrong. And not just Umbridge, or the Ministry, or — or everything. You’re different. You’re not the Harry I know.”

Harry turned to you finally. You were met with eyes that you were sure didn’t belong to him.

cold. lifeless. dark.

“Maybe I’ve changed”

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing. I said something’s wrong.”

“Well, sorry if I’m not chipper enough for you lately.”

Your breath hitched. You were starting to get pissed off and your voice raised slightly higher than it was earlier.

“That’s not fair. I’ve been patient. I’ve been here. Hell - Hermione and Ron don’t even know what to say to you anymore, especially after you lost your mind on Ron. You keep shutting not only me out but our friends from first year and pretending like you don’t care, like nothing matters.”

Harry gave you a look. a dirty one. One that said so many things you couldn’t even explain.

“Maybe nothing does matter”

You felt like you just got a slap to the face. Your fist balled up in anger and pain as you made your way even closer to him, which he returns with a scoff.

“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like—like someone I don’t even recognize.”

He stood up. voice low and cold as he stared at you. An angry expression all over his face. Your heart broke as you looked at him. This was not the Harry you know and love.

“Good. Maybe if you don’t recognize me, you’ll finally stop pretending I’m someone worth fixing.”

You pushed a finger on his chest and gave him a stern look.

“I wasn’t trying to fix you. I just wanted to be here for you. But you keep pushing me away like I’m the enemy.”

Harry grabbed your wrist and shot you a look. You hissed and looked into a pair of unrecognizable eyes.

“Because maybe I don’t want anyone near me! Maybe it’s easier that way! I’ve got enough people to lose without adding you to the list!

His fists clenched around your arm, words sharp and bitter.

“Voldemort’s out there, and he’s looking for me — always. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like he’s closer, like he’s in my blood, and I wake up furious, like his anger is mine. So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to hold your hand and cry about it like some sad little love story.”

Your eyes narrowed as tears threaten to pour out. You yank your wrist away from his grip and shoot him a deadly grin in return.

“You think that’s what this is about? A sad little love story? I’ve been standing here, trying to fight for you, and you’re acting like I’m just some needy extra in the tragedy of your life!”

“You are if you wont stop always getting in my fucking way! Y’ know what? I’m done. This is over. I don’t need to carry you around when you can’t even function properly without me holding your hand. I don’t need this - I don’t need you.”

Harry practically yelled right in your face with his last sentence. The tears no longer threatened to pour, they simply did. You stopped breathing - only for a moment. You searched in his eyes for something - something to let you know he didn’t mean it. He would apologize. Something that screamed “I’m still your Harry!”

You didn’t find it.

“Is that really what you think of me?” your voice shook as you spoke.

Harry remained silent, the stern look on his face not washing away.

Was he serious? This was how things ended? The boy you’ve loved since your second year, the boy who held you like someone would pry you away, the boy who made you truly believe love was made for you and him, had just ending things like that?

“right. got it.” you muttered as you head straight for the door. As soon as it was swung open, you were gone. You ran down the stairs with tears falling down with what it seems like every step you took. As you ran, you barley even noticed how you completely ran past Ronald.

He didn’t even have to ask what happened to know. He felt bloody bad for you - You were both his mates. While Harry was obviously his best, he really felt horrible for you.

When Ron made his way up to his shared dorm, he was met with harry shaking, jaw clenched as he tossed his robes into his trunk. not even bothering to fold them.

Ron walked to his side, sitting on his bed as he just watched Harry for a moment.

Ron took a breath before he spoke..

“That bad?”

Harry paused for a moment, glared at Ron, then went back to tossing things in his suitcase before he spoke.

“It’s fine. We broke up”

“yeah.. assumed that..” Ron coughed, awkward as always.

He didn’t know what to say. He liked Y/N — really liked them. Not just because they made Harry happier, which they did, but because they were one of the few people who treated Ron like Ron, not just “Harry’s mate.” They laughed at his jokes, teamed up with him to roast Malfoy, helped him with homework when he pretended not to care. He’d gotten used to them being around.

And now it felt wrong not to say anything. But it also felt wrong to say anything.

“She really cared about you, mate.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t matter now.”

Ron was baffled at Harry’s response. He knew Harry didn’t actually think it didn’t matter. He saw the two of you everyday and was well aware of how much Harry adored you.

“You don’t actually believe that. You’re just mad. At everything.”

Harry spun around, shooting daggers at Ron.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Ron. You don’t know what it feels like to have him in your head. To feel like you’re turning into something dangerous.”

“Your right, I don’t. What I do know is exactly how it looks when someone’s hurting and pushing every one they care about because they’re scared. I don’t care about how you snapped at me earlier and yelled like bloody murder. But the light of your life is crying her eyes out because of you. I care about that. Pushing not only me and Hermione away, but the girl you would talk about a future with to me won’t solve anything with Voldemort. It’s only hurting you worse.”

Harry’s gaze on Ron softened. His shoulders were now more tense.

‘The light of your life is crying her eyes out because of you.’

The words hit like a punch to the chest — not because they weren’t true, but because they were. Harry sank down on the edge of his bed, his fists clenched in the blanket, jaw tight. He could feel it — the rage crawling just beneath his skin, the familiar cold weight that came with it. Voldemort’s presence, faint but constant, like a shadow just out of sight.

But that wasn’t the part that shook him the most.

It was you.

Crying.

Because of him.

He pictured your face — the way you smiled when he made stupid jokes, the way your fingers found his under the table without thinking. How your voice softened when you said his name like it meant something sacred. How you looked the last time you spoke — blinking fast, voice cracking, like you were trying not to fall apart right in front of him.

He’d done that.

He’d let himself become something that hurt you.

And Ron was right — he’d pushed you away because he was scared. Terrified. Voldemort was always out there, always watching, always closer. And Harry kept thinking that if he distanced himself from everyone he loved, Voldemort wouldn’t have anything to take.

But he never stopped to think about what he was losing in the process.

He thought of what Ron said again:

‘The girl you would talk about a future with.’

He had. On quiet nights. On walks back from Hogsmeade. In the gaps between danger and duty, you were always the person he imagined beside him when the war ended. A future with peace. A future with you.

He’d torn it apart with sharp words and silence and the twisted belief that pushing you away was the same as protecting you.

But it wasn’t.

It was cowardice wrapped in good intentions.

Hermione found you sitting on the floor between your bed and the wall, knees tucked to your chest, face buried in your arms. She didn’t say anything at first. She sat at your side, cross-legged, her hand resting lightly over yours. She hadn’t left since you came back upstairs. She didn’t ask questions at first. She just stayed — offering tissues, brushing hair from your face, letting you breathe.

You didn’t try to speak - you simply just sobbed, the kind of quiet sobs that came from too much held in for too long.

“Im so sorry” Hermione whispered as she rubbed your back trying to sooth you. “Nobody has the right to say things like that no matter whats going on in their lives. None of this is your fault”

Your breath hitched as you tried to somewhat collect yourself so you don’t throw up from all the tears you’ve shed.

“He’s not… He’s not the same. And I don’t know if he’s coming back. I know its not my fault, but I feel like maybe if I’d have done something differently or- or maybe if i hadn’t just said anything at all.. maybe-”

Hermione cut you off with her own sentence.

“If you said nothing, you’d still be crying over this. You did exactly what you should’ve and I’m so glad you did what was right. With Harry..” Hermione’s voice cut off as she collected herself some as well trying to stand strong in this situation. You two were her closest friends and to her, seeing this go down was worse than what Voldemort could’ve done.

“I think he’s scared. Of what he’s feeling. Of what he could become. But that doesn’t mean it’s your job to carry that weight.”

You leaned into her with a shaky breath as you wiped more tears that fell. You wanted to stop them from pouring but you couldn’t control it.

“I just didn’t want him to feel alone.” you whispered out, voice fading in and out from your earlier cries.

Hermione leaned back into you and spoke up again.

“He knows. Even if he’s too angry to show it right now. He knows.”

You were truthfully so blessed for Hermione. As she brushed the hair from your face and spoke with that quiet, unwavering certainty only she seemed to have, something inside you settled, just a little. The ache didn’t vanish, but it no longer felt like you were drowning alone in it.

They sat there for a long time — no more words, just shared silence. Shared heartbreak.

It’s been weeks since everything with Harry and you went down.

Harry was asleep, but it didn’t feel like it.

He was awake - painfully. His body remained stiff beneath his blankets in the boys’ dormitory. What pulled him under this time wasn’t rest.

It was rage. Hunger.

He could feel the stone floor beneath his coils. He could see through slitted, reptilian eyes. He was gliding through the corridors of the Ministry, low to the ground, every movement silent and precise. He could feel the pounding of a heart, but not his own.

There it was: a man with thinning red hair, dozing in a chair beneath the soft golden glow of a flickering light. Arthur Weasley. Alone. Vulnerable.

“Strike now.”

Without hesitation, he lunged.

Harry felt the impact. Felt the fangs tear through flesh and muscle, tasted blood. There was a weak cry - and Arthur fell sideways, clutching his ribs, blood already spilling across the polished floor. Again, he struck. Again.

And then—

“NO!”

Harry shot up in bed, gasping for air, drenched in sweat. His scream had ripped through the dormitory, waking Ron instantly. The curtains around his bed were yanked open. Ron’s voice was frantic.

Harry - what? What is it?”

Harry was trembling, clutching the sheets. “Arthur… your dad. He’s been attacked.”

“What?!”

“I saw it. I was the snake… I was inside it. I bit him - he’s in the Department of Mysteries. He’s bleeding, he’s dying - Ron, we have to tell someone! Now!”

Ron didn’t hesitate.

——————————————————————————

The guilt didn’t settle. It grew. Even after Dumbledore confirmed that Arthur had been found alive, but just barley - Harry couldn’t shake the feeling crawling under his skin.

He wasn’t just seeing Voldemort anymore. He was connected to him. He had been the thing that tried to kill someone he loved.

The worst part? he enjoyed it.

He kept his distance even more after that.

From Ron. From Hermione.

Especially from you.

Because if Voldemort could use him to hurt Mr. Weasley… what would stop him from using Harry to hurt you? It was no longer a fear. It was a possibility.He told himself that he was right all along, and that he did the right thing by pushing you away from him.

But then he remembered the way you looked at him in the firelight. The way you cried the night he let go. The way Hermione said you weren’t just hurting — you were breaking.

And Harry knew then that Voldemort wasn’t the only one doing damage.

He was too.

Grimmauld place was colder than usual, even with the fire lit crackling infront of Harry. He’d been sitting with the weight of it all — the vision, the blood, the connection. The echo of Arthur Weasley’s cries still rang in his ears.

“your thinking to loud again”

Harry startled slightly. He looked up. Sirius stood in the doorway, his coat draped over one arm, looking every bit the shadowed version of the man he used to be — but there was warmth in his eyes. Concern. Familiarity.

“Sirius..” Harry muttered, “I didn’t hear you come in”

Didn’t need to,” Sirius said, stepping in and sinking into the armchair across from him. “You’ve been looking like that for hours.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re blaming yourself for Arthur being attacked. “I know that look. I wore it for years after Azkaban. And my father, well- he’d have worn it his whole life, if he’d had a heart to break.”

Harry didn’t say a word, just looked at Sirius while he spoke.

Sirius leaned forward, eyes softer now. “You think you’re becoming him, don’t you? Voldemort?”

Harry’s silence finally broke.

“I felt it, What he left in me,” Harry finally whispered. “Through the snake. I saw it happen, Sirius, I was it. And it… it didn’t even feel wrong at first. I felt powerful. I felt… hungry. What if there’s something in me? What if I’m like him?”

Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then, firmly..

“You’re not a bad person, Harry. You’re a very good person who bad things have happened to.”

“We’ve all got both light and dark inside us,” Sirius continued. “What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.”

Harry’s face softened completely before he spoke again, “What if he takes over again and I don’t know it? What if the next time it’s Ron, or Hermione, or…” He couldn’t say your name.

Sirius’s voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “Then you fight harder. And you trust the people who love you to help pull you back.”

He gave Harry a long, meaningful look.

“Including her.”

Harry looked up at Sirius, his eyes glistening with regret.

“I broke her Sirius. She was trying so hard to reach me.. to help me. I pushed her away and treated her like she wasn’t anything to me. But she means so much to me.”

“Then tell her before its far too late.” Sirius stood up and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving it a pat before he walked away.

You heard it all

You didn’t mean to stop outside the door to be fair.

You were just coming downstairs for tea. A simple excuse to escape the suffocating quiet of the girls’ room, where your thoughts kept swallowing you whole.

then you heard his voice.

Harry, the harry who once was yours.

His voice was muffled , low. Fragile in a way you hadn’t heard it in weeks.

Your hand gripped the banister. The flickering light from the hallway sconce spilled just enough through the cracked door that you could make out Harry’s silhouette inside — curled in a chair across from Sirius.

“What if he takes over again and I don’t know it? What if the next time it’s Ron, or Hermione, or…”

or who? you? your breath hitched with the sudden cutoff. You wanted to pry your hands away and go back to your room, you wanted to ignore it and act like Harry still wasn’t your everything while you felt sure you meant nothing anymore. but your body wouldn’t let you. Your hands remained glued to the banister as you continued to listen.

“Then you fight harder,” Sirius said gently. “And you trust the people who love you to help pull you back. Including her.”

You froze.

Her.

Your heart pounded in your chest, pressing up into your throat.

“I broke her,” Harry murmured. “She was trying so hard to reach me. And I shoved her away like she didn’t mean a thing. But she did. She does.”

You blinked hard. Your throat ached.

There it was. The thing you had begged to hear the night he shut down. When his eyes went cold and his words came out cruel, and you left because it hurt more to stay.

But now — alone in that room with Sirius, Harry was saying it aloud.

He still loved you.

He never stopped.

But your knew deep down it wouldn’t be that simple to let him back in. No matter how many times you believed you would let him walk straight back in. His words still stung. Maybe he was still in there — the boy who used to wait for you outside class, tuck letters in your books, kiss you like he thought you hung the moon.

And maybe he’d have a damn good enough apology.

You made your way back upstairs and closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it like it was the only thing holding you upright. The air in the room felt heavier than before, but in a different way. Not suffocating. Just… full.

Hermione looked up from the edge of her bed, where she’d been reading in the golden glow of a low-burning lamp. She sat up straighter the moment she saw your face.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently, putting her book aside.

You nodded too quickly. Then shook your head.

Hermione was up in an instant, crossing the room to you. “What happened?”

“I… I heard him,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Downstairs. With Sirius.”

Hermione’s expression softened. “Harry?”

You nodded again, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “He was talking about the attack. About the way Voldemort… felt through him. He was scared. So scared.”

you and Hermione shared a sympathetic look.

“And he mentioned me,” you added quietly, staring at the floor. “He said he broke me. That I tried to reach him and he shoved me away. But that I mattered. That I still matter.”

The words cracked in your throat while it felt like the words hit you even harder this time. Your breath was short and you were sure you were on the verge of tears.

Hermione ran to you and embraced you in her arms. You wrapped yours around her as your breath became slightly unsteady as a single tear fell.

“I never stopped hoping he’d come back,” you whispered. “Even when I hated him for hurting me. I still… I still loved him.”

Hermione pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “He’s coming back now. Piece by piece. And he’s going to need you — not because he’s broken, but because you’re the one who reminds him who he really is.”

you both pulled away and shared a smile. Though yours faded once again.

“I don’t even know what to say to him when i see him..” you groaned as you smacked your head into your hands.

Hermione let out a little giggle at your actions, pulling your hands away from your face so she can look at you.

“You don’t have to know,” Hermione said. “Just listen to your heart. It’s always known him better than anyone.”

——————————————————————————

The next morning, sunlight streamed faintly through the tall, dusty windows of the corridor, casting a soft golden glow over the creaky wooden floor. The quiet of early morning held the house in a kind of hush, the kind that settles right before something important.

Harry stood outside your door.

He’d barely slept. After Sirius’s words and Ron’s pointed honesty, after Hermione’s quiet look when she passed him late in the hallway - he’d stayed up, thinking. Feeling. Regretting.

really regretting.

Harry knocked on your door. Two knocks.

He heard a quiet shuffle inside. Then the door cracked open, and there you were, hair a little messy from sleep, jumper slipping off one should.

his jumper.

Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met harry’s. His hair was messier than usual. His eyes were tired - not just from lack of sleep, but from the weight he’d been carrying. Still, when he looked at you, something in his expression shifted. Lighter. Softer. Like seeing you was the first deep breath he’d taken in days.

“I was hoping you’d be up,” he said quietly.

You held the door, unsure whether to lean into it or close it again. “I figured you’d come.”

You didn’t mean it to sound bitter — it didn’t, really. Just honest.

“Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?”

You stared at him for a moment. Part of you wanted to close the door and guard whatever was left of your heart. But the rest of you, the bigger part - remembered the sound of his voice the night before, cracked and vulnerable through the door. Remembered Hermione’s words. Remembered love.

“The kitchen’s probably empty,” you murmured.

He didn’t move immediately. Just looked at you like he was surprised you still had space in your heart for him.

Then he followed behind you.

It wasn’t forgiveness. not yet.

The kitchen was quiet when you entered — dimly lit by the weak morning sun peeking through the grimy windows, and empty.

You sat across from Harry at the long table. The space between you wasn’t far, but it felt like it carried weeks’ worth of words left unsaid.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just looked down at his hands. Twisted his fingers together. You noticed the faint tremble in them.

“I, um…” His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t really know where to start.”

You waited.

“I’ve been a right mess,” he said finally. “I was angry. At everything. At Voldemort. At Dumbledore. At the prophecy. At myself.”

You looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, he met your gaze.

“And instead of dealing with it, I took it out on the one person I trusted not to leave.”

Your heart twisted.

“I pushed you because I was scared,” he continued.

“Because Voldemort is looking for me. Because I feel him inside my head some days and it makes me question who I even am. And I thought… if I kept everyone at arm’s length, I couldn’t lose them.”

“But I lost you anyway,”

“I didn’t mean a single bit of the things I said,” he went on. “I only said it all to make you leave. To hurt you before I could hurt you worse. So maybe, you would realize how I don’t want to wake up one morning to you dead because of me. Because of him. What he left in me, i took out on you.”

“I know sorry doesn’t fix everything. But I am sorry. For all of it.”

You sat still, breathing through the knot in your chest.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Harry said, quieter now. “But I need you to know you never stopped mattering to me. You still do.”

You took a fair look at him, you saw the pain in his eyes and how his soul had seemed to be almost entirely sucked out. But beneath it all, you saw him.

Your harry.

The boy who once waited for you outside Potions. The one who snuck you Honeydukes sweets when he knew you were upset. The one who held your hand under the table during DA meetings, because your nerves were louder than your wand.

he was still there. Barely, just barely.. but you saw your boy.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself speak without a wall between you.

“I missed you,” you said softly. “Even when I hated you.”

Harry’s breath caught.

“I hated how much I still loved you.”

He blinked hard, and you saw his shoulders shake just slightly as he nodded. “Me too”

You watched him. Not the Boy Who Lived. Not the weapon Dumbledore needed. Just him.

And still, part of you wanted to reach out.

But part of you didn’t trust your own hands yet. So you stayed still. Let the quiet speak for you. Let him see how much it had cost to be hurt by someone you trusted with everything.

“I know I don’t get to ask this,” he said eventually, “but… do you think you’ll ever be able to look at me the same way again?”

you didn’t answer immediately. You took a deep breath before you answered his question.

“I don’t know,” You answered truthfully. “I want to. Its like a part of me does and always will, but you hurt me in ways i’ve never been hurt. And that takes time.”

Harry nodded. He was looking at you. Really looking at you. Like he used to. his face spread with guilt and shame.

“thats fair”

“I’m not asking you to forget it,” he added, voice a little hoarse. “Just… let me earn your trust again. However long that takes.”

The words sat with you. You didn’t move closer to reach for his hand. You didn’t pull back either. That was enough for you.

So you nodded. Small, but real.

——————————————————————————-

The library was tucked away behind thick, creaky doors, the kind that groaned every time someone opened them. so naturally, you chose it.

You weren’t sure if you came to find them or just stumbled in out of instinct, but there they were: Ron slouched sideways in an armchair by the fireplace, chewing on the end of a Sugar Quill, and Hermione curled up with her knees to her chest, a book resting forgotten in her lap.

They both looked up the second you stepped in.

“You talked to him,” Hermione said softly.

It wasn’t a question.

You sank down into the space between their chairs, curling your arms around your knees.

“I did.”

Ron sat forward slightly, watching you with careful eyes. “How’d it go?”

You breathed out a shaky little laugh. “It was… hard. He apologized. Really apologized. But it doesn’t fix everything.”

“No,” Hermione murmured. “It wouldn’t.”

“But I didn’t shut the door on him,” you added. “And I wanted to. But i looked at him - really looked at him. He’s still Harry.”

Ron scratched the back of his neck. “He’s been different these past few weeks. All that anger. It’s not him, not really. But when he talked about you… it was like that part of him came back.”

Hermione leaned over and took your hand gently in hers.

“You don’t owe him instant forgiveness,” she said, her voice strong but kind. “But you also don’t have to keep punishing yourself by pretending you don’t care.”

Ron gave a half-smile. “For what it’s worth… I think he’s finally learning not to run. That’s got to count for something.”

You nodded slowly ans gave them both a smile, leaning your head against Hermione’s shoulder.

The train ride back had been quieter than usual. No sweets from the trolley. No laughter from younger years. Just the four of you — you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione — pressed into one compartment, bundled in scarves and unsaid things.

It wasn’t the same as it used to be. But that didn’t mean it was broken.

Something between the four of you had shifted — tightened, maybe. Like surviving the weight of December had quietly stitched your threads back together. There were fewer outbursts now. More shared glances, longer silences that didn’t feel uncomfortable, and the occasional smile that felt like a promise that things might be okay again someday.

You and Harry didn’t sit as close as you used to. But you talked. You shared smiles here and there. Things started suddenly looking up.

Strangely enough, there was something comforting about the DA meetings.

Despite everything - the tension in the halls, the fear in the headlines, the ache that still settled in your chest when you looked at Harry too long, even Umbridge.. the evenings in the Room of Requirements brought back hope. Like you had some stability.

And Harry was still a fantastic teacher.

Tonight’s meeting had gone exceptionally well - spells flying, laughter bubbling as Neville accidentally disarmed himself, a round of light applause when Ginny nailed a perfect Reducto. It felt normal. Just for a little while. Like everything you yearned for was finally back.

But when everyone started to pack up, laughing and shaking out their arms, you hesitated. You told yourself you were just reorganizing the spellbooks. But your hands weren’t really moving.

And when you looked up — he was still there.

Harry stood near the back wall, wand loosely in hand, watching the last of the group file out. You told yourself you should just leave and tell him goodnight, but you stayed.

He didn’t say anything right away. He locked eyes with you and just took a slow step closer, the distance between you still careful. Still heavy.

“You’re getting good with Expelliarmus,” he said quietly.

You gave a faint smile, not looking at him. “Well, I’ve had a pretty consistent example.”

He huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Yeah, it’s kind of my thing.”

When you finally turned to face him fully, you saw it — that flicker in his eyes. Longing. Regret. All the things he hadn’t been able to say when the world was falling apart and he was pushing you away with it.

“You’ve been doing better,” you said. “In here, I mean.”

His jaw shifted slightly. “This room’s the only place I feel like I still know who I am.”

You nodded once. “That makes two of us.”

Harry looked at you and smiled. “you’ve always been really talented with spells, you still are”

You arched an eyebrow. “Are you complimenting me, Potter?”

“maybe im finally starting to remember how.”

You smirked. “You know, I still remember the first time you tried to teach me Expelliarmus. You were so serious like you were prepping for a NEWT exam and not just trying to show off.”

Harry let out a laugh - a genuine laugh. The laugh that makes your stomach turn in so many ways. The laugh you’d yearned for and missed more than anything.

The laughter faded into quiet smiles, but neither of you looked away. And in that pause, something else started to fill the room, a kind of warmth that had been missing for far too long. The kind that lived in old memories and late-night talks and the way your eyes lingered on each other now, just a second too long.

“You remember that night after the Yule Ball?” Harry asked suddenly, voice lower.

You tilted your head, curious. “When we snuck up to the Astronomy Tower and you nearly got us caught?”

He laughed again.

“Yeah. That one. You told me you’d hex me right after.’”

“right before you kissed me to shut me up”

“exactly.”

Your heart skipped a beat and your sure his did as well. You both help eye contact, shit. It was just like how it used to be. Harry was never angry anymore. He obviously had his moments, but he hadn’t lashed out. never on you. never came close.

“I didn’t know what I was doing back then,” he admitted, stepping a little closer.

“I don’t think either of us did,” you said, voice softening. “But it still felt easy… back then. With you.”

Harry’s eyes locked with yours. “It could be again. I want it to be.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. You weren’t ready to trust that so easily — but gods, you wanted to. The space between you had vanished without either of you realizing. His hand brushed against yours, tentative, like testing the weight of the moment.

And you didn’t pull away.

“I’m still mad at you,” you murmured.

“I know.”

“And I still don’t forgive everything.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“But…” you stepped closer, your voice barely audible, “I still love you, Harry.”

His breath caught, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you.

“I never stopped,” he said.

Then — slowly, carefully — his hand came up to cup your cheek. You leaned into it before you could think twice.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. It was trembling and quiet and real. All the broken pieces trying to fit back together, not because they were forced — but because they wanted to.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, smiling like fools.

You leaned your forehead against his. “Still an idiot.”

Harry grinned. “Yours though?”

You nodded.

“Mine.”

Spring had finally started to sneak into Hogwarts, soft and quiet. The sun was warmer on your face, the air smelled like blooming grass, and for the first time in what felt like months — you could breathe. Things slowly reverted to how they were. This was how it used to be. But stronger now. Wiser. Braver.

You and Harry lay side by side on the slope near the Black Lake, his hand laced with yours, thumb tracing circles against your skin. His other arm was slung lazily behind his head, eyes half-closed, the wind tousling his hair in that ridiculous, untamable way you’d grown to love again.

Ron and Hermione were a few feet away, bickering over some spellwork, though Ron’s grin betrayed that he was only trying to get a rise out of her. Hermione rolled her eyes and pretended not to smile.

“Feels like the world’s still spinning,” Harry murmured beside you, breaking the silence.

You turned to him. “It always was. You just forgot how to feel it.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and smiled like he used to. The one that reached his eyes, made everything feel steady.

“I don’t think I would’ve remembered without you.”

You squeezed his hand. “That’s what we do, remember? You fall apart, I put you back together. I fall apart, you do the same. It’s teamwork.”

Harry chuckled. “So what you’re saying is… I can’t ever break up with you again or I’ll be tragically incomplete.”

“Exactly,” you said, deadpan. “And I’ll hex you if you try.”

“Romantic,” he grinned, and leaned over to kiss you softly.

You let it linger. Not because it was new, or uncertain — but because it wasn’t. Because it felt like home.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Bed Hopper

Bsf!James Potter x Bsf!Reader

Summary: After creating a tradition of cuddling James before bed, you'd think you'd have the path down by now.

Wc: 1k

Cw: Nothing really, reader is asleep for most of this. Just fluff.

It was late, the boys' dorm. Peter’s soft snores filled the room and remained the only audible sound. James was half-asleep in his bed, waiting for you. He wouldn’t admit that was why he hadn’t fallen asleep yet- he’d convinced himself he was just restless- but the second he heard the soft creak of the dormitory door, his heart leapt like a Quidditch snitch.

You shuffled in, rubbing your eyes and muttering something incoherent about Marlene snoring too loud in your own dorm. Your steps were quiet, soft enough to wake none of the other boys. None except James, whose heart was thudding in anticipation.

But then, to his growing horror, he watched as you padded straight past his bed and crawled into Sirius’s.

His jaw dropped.

Sirius, who had been sprawled out half-asleep, cracked one eye open, taking a moment to register your form now curled up against his side. Then, with the unmistakable glint of mischief in his grey eyes, he smirked.

“Well, well, well,” Sirius whispered, just loud enough for James to hear. “Looks like I’ve been promoted to favorite pillow.”

James shot up, his duvet falling to his lap as he gawked at the scene. “What the-! Oi, what’re you doing?”

“Me?” Sirius replied innocently, though his smirk widened as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not doing anything, mate. She climbed in all on her own. Guess I’m just irresistibly comfortable.”

“Sirius,” James growled, shoving his glasses on his face and throwing back his blankets. He was out of bed in an instant, standing over Sirius with a look that would’ve been intimidating if not for the undeniable flush creeping up his neck. “You know that’s not- she’s just-”

“What? Sleeping? She looks bloody adorable, doesn’t she?” Sirius teased, lightly brushing a strand of hair from your face. Cooing sweetly when your nose briefly scrunched up at the contact. “Reckon I could get used to this.”

“Don’t you dare,” James hissed, his fists clenching at his sides.

Meanwhile, you, blissfully unaware of the brewing chaos, let out a soft sigh, burrowing further into Sirius’s chest. James’s glare darkened, and Sirius, the devil that he was, had to bite back a laugh.

“What’s the matter, Prongs?” Sirius drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Jealous?”

“No,” James lied immediately, his voice cracking just enough to betray him.

Sirius arched a brow, clearly enjoying himself. “Right, so you won’t mind if she stays here, then? I mean, I wouldn’t want to wake her up. Poor thing looks exhausted.”

James’s hazel eyes darted to you, still sound asleep, your fingers curled loosely against Sirius’s jumper. His stomach twisted at the sight, a wave of something hot and uncomfortable washing over him.

“Sirius,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Move.”

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said with a dramatic sigh, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “But don’t blame me when she wakes up and wonders why you’re the one who smells like me.”

James ignored him, carefully sliding his arms under you and lifting you effortlessly from Sirius’s bed. You stirred slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy confusion.

“James?” you mumbled, your voice thick with drowsiness.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he murmured, his voice soft as he carried you back to his own bed. “Go back to sleep, love.”

You hummed in response, your head lolling against his chest as you drifted off again. James settled you onto his bed, tucking the blankets around you before climbing in beside you, his heart still pounding in his ears- it was almost deafening.

“You alright there, Prongs?” Sirius called from his bed, his voice laced with amusement.

“Shut it, Pads,” James muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. His attention was already back on you, your face peaceful in sleep as you curled against him like you always did.

And just like that, the jealousy melted away, replaced with the familiar warmth that came with having you close. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his chest aching with something too big to name.

Sirius gave one last parting shot before settling down himself. “Merlin Prongs, you've got it bad.”

James barely heard Sirius’s last quip, his ears buzzing with the sound of your soft, even breaths. His glasses had slipped down his nose as he lay back, the dim light of the room casting a golden glow across your face. Every little detail of you- your slightly parted lips, the way your hair tickled his arm, the weight of you pressed against his side- flooded his senses, overwhelming him with a wave of tenderness so fierce it almost hurt.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady the pounding in his chest. Merlin, Sirius was right. He did have it bad. But it wasn’t something new; James had felt it for what felt like forever, buried beneath layers of friendship and denial.

But now, as you nuzzled closer in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent against his chest, the feeling clawed its way to the surface. It wasn’t just affection; it was something bigger, something didn't want to name but had always known was there.

James swallowed hard, his arm tightening around you instinctively as if holding you any closer might somehow ease the ache in his chest. It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse. How could something so simple- so innocent- feel so utterly consuming?

He tried to remind himself that you were his friend, his best friend, and nothing more. That’s all it had ever been. That’s all it could be. But the thought felt hollow now, especially with you curled up against him like you belonged there.

“Prongs, you still with us over there?” Sirius’s voice broke through the haze, quieter this time but still teasing.

James didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he pressed his lips to the top of your head in a gesture so soft it felt almost ghosting. His heart gave a painful lurch as he pulled back, his hazel eyes lingering on your face.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, more to himself than to Sirius. “I’m here.”

But as he lay there, watching over you with a look that could only be described as lovesick, he knew deep down that wasn’t entirely true. Because some part of him- some overwhelming, unrelenting part- was completely, hopelessly, irrevocably yours. And that part of him? That part wasn’t coming back.

[marauroon]

I’m in desperate—I mean desperate—need of a Sirius x Reader soulmate AU series written by you. Because oh my God, the idea is just so sweet!

To think that, despite everything—even in the darkest moments of his life—since he was just a little boy, the thought of his one true person waiting for him somewhere out there has been what pushed him through it all. Especially knowing that his parents weren’t soulmates, Sirius has always been absolutely certain that he has to end up with his soulmate. It’s that… or nothing for him so when he starts his Hogwarts journey he’s already on a mission.

── .✦ 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐲. (𝐬.𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤)

sirius black wanted nothing more in life than to find his soulmate, to give himself the life his parents never had. but of course it’s not that easy.

sirius black x fem!soulmate!reader 9.8k angst masterlist.

PART ONE. PART TWO.

CW | mentions of mistreatment in the black family home, soulmates are complicated, antagonistic relationship between lily and james, peter gets some love, a lot of this is from sirius’ perspective

They say the mark fades the moment your soulmate touches you.

A simple, skin-deep magic with depth beyond comprehension. One moment, you carry a patch of ink—some obscure splotch, a fingerprint, a handprint, a streak. The next, it’s gone. Just... gone. The skin is smooth and unblemished where once magic lingered.

The mark doesn’t tell you who, only where—where on your body your soulmate will first touch you. And once they do, once your souls collide in that first, fated contact, the mark disappears. Like you’re whole again. Like you’ve found something you didn’t know you were missing.

No one really remembers a time before their mark. It's always been there—like birthmarks only fate-born. A quiet promise that someday, somewhere, someone will reach for you and the world will shift.

Some people search for their whole lives. Others stumble into it by accident—brushing hands in a corridor, bumping shoulders in a crowd, one drunken kiss on a dare that changes everything. And then there are those who never find it at all.

Or worse—those who refuse to.

Sirius had spent his entire childhood watching the mark on his mother’s right hand.

It was a violent thing. An ink-black smear that twisted over the bones of her knuckles and bled toward her wrist like a bruise. It was always stark against her pale skin—more visible when her voice rose, when her wand lifted, when Regulus flinched and Sirius refused to cower.

Walburga Black was a woman of ancient lineage and granite values. The House of Black didn’t marry for love. They married for blood. For power. For family name. Soulmates were a fairytale whispered by Halfbloods and Muggleborns, a sentimental excuse for weakness.

And so the smear on her hand never faded.

“She should’ve found him,” Sirius had once whispered to Regulus, who was eight and still soft in the face. “Her soulmate,”

Regulus didn’t look up from his book. “She doesn’t believe in them.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius muttered. “She still has one.”

That was what made it worse, really. That somewhere in the world, the one person who might’ve made her less like herself was walking around unaware. That she’d never tried. That none of them did.

He had a mark, too. A broad, dark patch on the front of his shoulder, curling slightly round to the outside of his arm. It looked more like a smudge than anything. Not delicate, not shaped like fingers or palms. Just… mess. Like someone had leaned against him with soot on their hands.

His mother had tried to scrub it off, once.

“It’s barbaric,” she’d hissed, dragging a cloth over his skin with vinegar and spells. “Sentimental nonsense.”

It hadn’t worked. The skin there had stayed marked, warm, stubborn with fate.

And Sirius had made a promise to himself that day. He would find the person who belonged to that mark. He would.

Because he was not going to turn into his mother.

—

The Hogwarts Express smelled like dust and pumpkin, and Sirius was trying very hard not to look as excited as he felt.

He had left. He had left that house, that woman, that family. He was on the train to a castle full of magic and secrets, and he was going to make friends and break rules and maybe even find the person with soot-stained fingers who would touch his arm and make the mark vanish.

He had only just dumped his trunk into the nearest half-empty compartment when a gangly, bespectacled boy stuck his head in and grinned.

“Oi—this seat taken?”

Sirius shrugged. “It is now.”

James Potter flopped down beside him without asking again, closely followed by two other boys: a round-faced, cheerful one who introduced himself as Peter, and a quiet, bookish one with scars hidden behind long sleeves who offered only a nod and the name Remus.

They were only halfway into the journey when the topic—inevitably—arose.

“Soulmarks,” Sirius said, dropping the word into the conversation like a dare.

The carriage fell into a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but loaded — the way quiet feels just before lightning hits. James perked up first, eyes narrowing with interest, then grinned.

“Oh, we’re doing that already, are we?” he said, spinning slightly on the bench so he was facing the rest of them properly. “Right then. Let’s see the lot of yours. Starting with you, Mr Mysterious.”

He pointed at Sirius with an impish grin. Peter gave a small, nervous laugh, and Remus — who had been quietly reading the front page of a Daily Prophet someone had left behind — lowered it slowly.

Sirius hesitated for a second, not because he was shy, but because his mark had always felt like something far too personal to show off, especially under the weight of the Black name. But here, with these boys, he felt the kind of safety he didn’t yet have the words for.

With a shrug, he tugged up the sleeve of his jumper and peeled it back past his bicep. Across the curve of his shoulder — wrapping from the edge of his chest to just past the blade of his back — was a dark smear, like someone had dragged a piece of charcoal across his skin and tried to rub it off before it dried. It was heavy-looking, almost like soot or ash, thick and indelible. Not a handprint. Not a brush of fingers. Just... contact. Weight. Pressure.

“Bloody hell,” James muttered, leaning forward. “Did your soulmate fall on you?”

Sirius laughed — an unexpected, genuine sound. “Haven’t the faintest idea. Maybe they shoulder-barged me. Maybe they crashed into me mid-duel. Maybe it’s a hug. Who knows? Could’ve been anything.”

James hummed, clearly intrigued. “I mean... I suppose you’d know immediately, yeah? The second it happened.”

“Mark fades when it happens,” Sirius replied, tugging his sleeve back down. “Gone. Just like that. You’re ‘whole’ or whatever it is.”

“Romantic, that,” Peter said. “In a weird, sort of terrifying way.”

“Don’t even have to ask about yours,” Sirius said, nodding at James.

James didn’t hesitate. He swept his unruly hair back from his face and tilted his head to the side, revealing the left side of his face — and more importantly, the soft, unmistakable shape of a milky white handprint cradling his cheek. It looked like someone had cupped his face gently, thumb grazing his cheek. It was... tender. Oddly intimate.

Peter chuckles.

“Oh, look at you,” Sirius drawled. “That’s not a soulmark. That’s the prelude to a snog.”

James grinned unabashedly. “Reckon it is, yeah. Imagine, though— first time I meet them, they’re gonna touch my face like I’m some kind of Greek tragedy,”

“Probably to make out with me,” he added with a waggle of his eyebrows, and the entire group groaned.

“Godric help them,” Remus muttered under his breath.

Peter looked slightly self-conscious now that the attention was drifting his way, but when Sirius raised an eyebrow at him, he sighed and turned slightly, pointing at the side of his nose. A small brown splotch marked the bridge, barely the size of a Knut.

“That’s it?” Sirius said.

Peter flushed. “Yes? I don’t know what it means either,”

James leaned in with mock seriousness, licking his thumb and making a show of reaching over. “Sure it’s not just dirt, Peter? Let me—”

Peter yelped and batted his hand away, laughing. “Get off, you tosser!”

Even Remus snorted.

Sirius eyed him then. “What about you, then? Don’t think you’re getting out of this,”

Remus looked suddenly awkward—more awkward than Sirius had ever seen him—and shook his head. “I haven’t got one.”

James looked genuinely surprised. “You... haven’t?”

Remus shrugged. “Not that I’ve ever found,” Not that he’d ever made the effort to check.

“Bollocks,” Sirius said, already rolling up his sleeves again. “Everyone’s got one. It's the whole point, isn’t it?”

James nodded eagerly. “Yeah— we’ll find it. Take your shirt off,”

Peter choked on his own spit.

“Hold your horses, woah—” Remus muttered, clearly flustered.

“Come on, just let us look!” James said. “We’ll be quick about it.”

After several minutes of grumbling and reluctant sighs, Remus finally rolled his eyes and let them have a look—within reason. They checked his forearms, shoulders, collarbones, back, even his calves. Nothing.

“I told you—” Remus started, but Sirius, now unrelenting in his curiosity, stepped closer and squinted at the hairline near Remus’ right temple.

“Hold on,” he said, voice low with interest.

He reached out—gently, and with an uncharacteristic kind of caution—and swept a lock of Remus’ hair back.

There, just along the edge of his hairline, half-hidden by curls, was a thin, chocolate brown mark. Like a thumbprint, just brushing the edge of his temple.

The room went quiet.

“Found it!” Sirius said, triumphantly.

Remus blinked, although, surprisingly, didn’t look all that relieved. “Alright,”

“Told you,” James said smugly, sitting back with a satisfied look. “Everyone’s got one.”

Remus said nothing, but Sirius caught the way his fingers brushed the edge of his fringe, as if somehow wanting to feel it—to acknowledge it now that it was real.

They were quiet for a few minutes after that. Just sitting with it.

And Sirius found himself thinking, strangely, about his mother again—the way her own soulmark had never faded. How it had sat like an accusation across the back of her hand, inky and unmoving, every time she raised it. He’d seen it when she tugged harshly on Regulus’ hair. When she yanked Sirius by the collar. Always there. A reminder of what she could have had.

She had told him once, sneering, “Soulmates are for commoners. Fairytales. Blood comes first. Blood is eternal.”

And Sirius had known, even then, that he wanted something else. Something more.

These boys—these three ridiculous, infuriating, brilliant boys—might not have known it, but they were the first promise he’d ever been given that he might not end up like her. That the mark on his arm meant something real. That someone out there might touch him one day, and the mark would vanish, and the emptiness he’d carried since childhood might finally ease.

He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to spend years hoping for that moment.

And dreading it in equal measure.

—

You’ll never forget the first time James Potter laid eyes on Lily Evans.

It’s early in your first year—just a few days in—and you’re walking with her and Mary down one of the endless, winding corridors of Hogwarts, heading to Charms. Lily’s still got that Muggle-born wonder gleaming in her eyes, even though she tries to hide it behind a proper sense of logic and practicality. She’s talking about the theory behind wand movement, hands gesturing enthusiastically, when it happens.

James Potter, all wild hair and taller-than-he-should-be confidence, rounds the corner with his entourage, Sirius, Remus, and Peter flanking him like a self-appointed court. He spots her, freezes mid-step, and goes oddly quiet.

You notice. You always notice when boys look at Lily. But this one feels different.

Then, James grins. “That’s her,” he says, loud enough for all of the corridor to hear. “That’s my soulmate.”

Lily stops walking. “I’m sorry, what?”

He strides up, not missing a beat. “Your hand, it matches my face,”

She lifts her eyebrows. “It’s the most common soul mark in the world.”

“Just humour me,”

She rolls her eyes—but shows him anyway. A dark mark covering her palm like she’d dipped it in black paint, visible for a fraction of a second before she tucks it behind her again like it’s private. Sacred.

James, however, looks like he’s been handed a prophecy.

“See,” he says, tapping the side of his own face, just under the curve of his left cheekbone. “Perfect fit. You held my face. Or you will. That’s what the universe wants,”

“Or you’re delusional,” she says sweetly. “Ever thought of that?”

You laugh. So does Mary. But James—he just smiles, full of charm and stupid certainty.

From that moment on, James is relentless.

He doesn’t declare it once and then let it lie. No—he tells everyone who’ll listen. Tells Peter, tells Sirius, tells Remus (who already knows but still rolls his eyes every time). Tells older students. Tells a professor, once, though you think he was joking that time.

At first, it’s annoying. Then it becomes unbearable.

Because the Marauders, they don’t just say they believe in soulmates. They act like it means they’re entitled to you.

You and Lily and Marlene and Dorcas and Mary had started off giving them the benefit of the doubt. They seemed harmless enough: loud, yes, but not cruel. But then James began following Lily everywhere— always appearing outside your common room, in the corridors between classes, in the library. And Sirius and the others followed along too, trailing after you girls like a bad smell.

They’d show up outside Potions just to “bump into” you. Or drop casual comments in the Great Hall about how Remus got the highest score on the Defence essay, as if anyone asked. Or make loud boasts about Quidditch tactics, like they were auditioning for a future career in bragging.

You never understood what they wanted. It was clear enough that James was obsessed with Lily, but what about the rest of them?

Remus always seemed more amused than anything, like he was watching a tragic play unfold, one he knew the ending to but couldn’t stop. Peter was just... there. Laughing too hard at every joke James made, like he thought that was the price of staying in the group.

And Sirius— Sirius was different.

He didn’t really flirt. Didn’t boast as much. He mostly watched. With those storm-grey eyes that felt like they were always seeing more than they should. He’d smirk sometimes, or throw in a sarcastic comment, but he was quieter than you expected. There was something behind it, like he wasn’t entirely present. Like his mind was elsewhere, chasing shadows.

You noticed that too. How he’d go still when someone mentioned soulmarks in passing. How he looked at couples in the corridors—the ones laughing with linked hands, whose marks had already faded—with a kind of distant longing that felt too raw for someone so young.

It was almost sad, in a kind of pathetic way.

But none of that excused their behaviour.

The truth was: you didn’t like them. Not really. None of you did.

They were loud and reckless and juvenile. They’d hex Slytherins in the corridor and act like they were defending the moral high ground. They’d shout across classrooms, make up chants, prank students for fun. Once they transfigured all the cauldrons in Potions into frogs, and Professor Slughorn found it hilarious. You didn’t.

You didn’t like being followed. You didn’t like the way they laughed when you were trying to work, or how James seemed to think Lily owed him something just because he’d decided the universe wanted them together.

You’d tried confronting them, all of you.

“I’m not interested,” Lily had told James flat-out one day outside Charms. “No matter what your cheek tells you.”

“But you will be,” he’d replied, infuriatingly smug. “Eventually,”

You’d wanted to hex him on her behalf.

The worst part was how consistent they were. They just didn’t get bored. Most boys would move on after the first rejection—bruised ego, muttered grumbling. But not James Potter. He treated it like a game he was determined to win. Like every protest was just another obstacle the fates had set up to test his resolve.

It wasn’t romantic. It was exhausting.

And the more it went on, the more it began to change the dynamic between the two groups. The Marauders kept orbiting around you, even when it was obvious they weren’t welcome. Even Remus, who you thought might’ve had some basic common sense, proved to be just as bad.

You started changing your routes to class. Started choosing study corners furthest away from their usual haunts. You stopped walking the long way to Herbology because they’d wait for you by the greenhouse and pretend it was coincidence. But no matter what you did, they always found you.

It wasn’t even that they were mean. That might have been easier. They were just... there. Always.

And when they weren’t there, you caught yourself noticing.

It was a strange thing, realising how used you’d grown to their presence. How you’d memorised their stupid voices. How, occasionally, when Sirius didn’t say something clever and cutting in class, you’d feel the absence of it.

You don’t notice it at first—not really. Sirius Black is a lot of things: loud, charming, irritating, surprisingly clever when he wants to be. But what he is most of all is consistent. A constant thorn in your side. An ever-present source of chaos orbiting James Potter’s ego.

So when he starts acting strangely, it takes a while to catch your attention. At first, you chalk it up to more Marauder nonsense. Another prank brewing. Another hare-brained scheme. But then the weeks pass, and the silence stretches, and you begin to realise something is off.

He starts dating. A lot.

It begins in fourth year, the way most ridiculous boy behaviour begins—with no explanation, no warning, no respect for peace. One week it’s Emilia Montague, who has hair like spun gold and a voice that drips honey. Then it’s Jules Macmillan, who calls him “Black” and slaps his arm when he makes her laugh. A week later, he’s holding hands with Evan Rosier’s cousin at the Quidditch pitch.

It becomes a bit of a game, watching the trail of would-be soulmates.

You and the girls make a tally chart in the margins of your notes—Sirius' Heartbreak Count, complete with doodles. Lily calls it “tragic.” Dorcas calls it “desperate.” You’re inclined to agree with both.

He doesn’t seem happy with any of them.

There’s always a flicker of disappointment in his eyes after each kiss. Each failed attempt at connection. Like he’s waiting for something to spark and it never does. You don’t know why it bothers you—maybe it’s just strange, seeing Sirius Black not get what he wants.

What you don’t know, what none of the girls know, is that Sirius is searching.

Frantically, recklessly, hopelessly.

He tries everything. Girls, boys, dates by the lake, snogging in empty classrooms, brushing against strangers in Hogsmeade with his sleeves rolled up, just in case. Every time someone new touches his soulmark—just barely brushing the dark smear on his shoulder—he closes his eyes, waiting for the heat, the light, the magic.

It never comes.

He acts like he doesn’t care. Laughs about it. Brags. But the truth is: it’s killing him. Slowly. Quietly.

Because every time someone skims over that mark and nothing happens, a tiny piece of him breaks off. And he’s terrified there won’t be anything left by the time he finds the right person—if he ever does.

And then Peter finds his soulmate.

It happens at the beginning of fifth year. Quietly, almost accidentally. A Ravenclaw girl named Sybill, who spills an entire bottle of ink across Peter’s lap in the library while reaching for a Divination book. Their hands collide. Her fingers press against the side of his nose to wipe off a splotch of ink—and just like that, the brown mark on Peter’s skin disappears.

The Marauders explode with excitement.

James shouts. Remus claps Peter on the back. Even Sirius manages a grin, saying something like, “About bloody time,” and ruffling his hair.

But it’s forced. All of it.

Later that night, Sirius doesn’t join the celebration in the common room. He doesn’t toast with Butterbeer or tease Peter about marrying her. He disappears without a word. No one sees him until morning.

Peter can’t even bring himself to be annoyed. Not really. Not when he knows the truth.

Because they all know how much Sirius wants it. How much he needs it.

He’s never said it out loud, not fully, but they know. They’ve seen the way he looks at the mark on his arm. The way he flinches when someone mentions his family.

Sirius was born into a house that doesn’t believe in love.

That he used to stare at the stain on his own shoulder and imagine what kind of person would leave a mark like that. He’d lie awake at night thinking of how it would feel when the right hand met his skin and the darkness vanished. He promised himself he’d find them, whoever they were. That he wouldn’t settle for anything less than fate.

But now it’s fifth year, and everyone’s starting to find theirs.

Peter. A seventh-year Ravenclaw. Two Hufflepuff girls from their year.

And Sirius still wakes up every morning with the same mark on his arm. Still hears the echo of his mother’s voice every time he thinks he might be falling for someone who isn’t right.

“You’re a Black. You don’t need love. You need a legacy.”

Remus tries to comfort him, in that quiet, practical way of his.

“Maybe they’re not here,” he says one night as the two of them sit on the roof of the Astronomy Tower. “Maybe they’re a Muggle. Someone you’ll meet after school,”

Sirius scoffs. “And what? I’m supposed to wait until I’m forty to stop being miserable?”

James, bless his heart, tries to be optimistic.

“Maybe they’re in a different year. Or got expelled. Maybe you’ve walked past them and just didn’t notice!”

“I would’ve noticed,” Sirius says. “I always notice.”

And that’s the problem, really.

He notices everything. Every brush of skin, every accidental touch. Every time someone’s hand drifts too close to his shoulder, his breath catches. And every time it’s a false alarm, it hurts just that little bit more.

He stops dating after a while.

Stops pretending it’s fun. Stops trying to turn every crush into a cosmic sign. He goes quiet instead. Withdraws into himself in a way that startles the rest of the Marauders.

You notice too.

At first, you’re suspicious. Sirius Black, not flirting? Not loitering around with James and causing chaos in the corridors? Clearly something’s afoot. You and the girls watch him warily, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for whatever stupid, elaborate prank he’s been cooking up in the shadows.

But it never comes.

He just... stops.

He shows up to class. He does the work (mostly). He still laughs at James’ jokes and joins in on late-night games of Exploding Snap. But something about him feels dimmed. Like someone turned the brightness down and forgot to turn it back up again.

You catch him in the library once. Alone. Reading.

Not just pretending to read while scouting for mischief—actually reading. You don’t even realise it’s him at first, not until he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and sighs, that heavy, exhausted kind of sigh you only let out when you’re tired of your own thoughts.

It’s strange, seeing him like that. Almost... human.

You don’t say anything. But you wonder.

You wonder what it would take to make a boy like Sirius Black lose his fire.

The others don’t know how to help.

James keeps trying to set him up at parties—“You’ve got to give Marlene a go, mate, you haven’t lived!”—but Sirius just shakes his head and makes excuses. Peter walks on eggshells around him now, too guilty to mention Sybill’s name. Even Remus has started watching Sirius like he’s waiting for him to fall apart.

And maybe he is.

Because Sirius is still staring at his soulmark every morning. Still pressing his fingers against the edge of it in the mirror, hoping for something to change. Still half-convinced that the universe has made some horrible mistake and left him behind.

And deep down, he’s terrified that one day he’ll stop believing entirely.

Terrified that he’ll become like his parents after all—loveless, cold, bound to someone he doesn’t care about out of duty or desperation. That he’ll wake up one day with a ring on his finger and still feel empty.

The Marauders try to reassure him, but there’s only so much comfort logic can offer when your heart is breaking.

“Maybe your soulmate’s just late,” Remus says.

Sirius smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe.”

But he doesn’t believe it anymore.

And the worst part is—he thinks maybe he doesn’t deserve to.

—

It starts with one of James’ bright ideas—those three words guaranteed to end in absolute catastrophe.

You’d almost forgotten what they were like at full volume, the four of them together. Sirius has been quiet. James has been distracted by Quidditch. Peter’s been off somewhere playing the role of besotted boyfriend. Only Remus still walks with that same watchful calm, as though he’s just waiting for them all to detonate.

But now, spring has finally settled over the grounds, and apparently that’s all it takes for them to start acting like menaces again. Warm sun. Open skies. Exams far enough away to ignore. The perfect ingredients for trouble.

They pick a Saturday afternoon—when the courtyard is packed. Blankets spread across the grass, books open in sunbeams, students from all four houses lounging about, soaking up the rare spell of warm weather.

It’s almost peaceful.

Until, of course, it isn’t.

You don’t even see the beginning of it. One moment you’re mid-conversation with Lily and Mary, trying to decipher the reading Professor Vector assigned, and the next you hear it—a low, slow rumble that can only mean one thing: a spell misfiring, or worse, succeeding exactly as planned.

A bang. A crack. A distant cackling.

Then—chaos.

Water explodes from the central fountain like a geyser. But it’s not just water. It’s pink. And sticky. And foaming. Thick bubbles rain down in hot, fizzy clumps that stain robes and cling to hair.

Someone screams. Then someone else. People scramble, books flying, cloaks drenched.

The spell races outwards, triggering a domino effect. More fountains erupt. Flowerbeds launch their contents skyward. A tree nearby begins to moo like a cow. First-years scatter. You spot one poor Slytherin girl get absolutely bodied by a rogue jet of foam, which sends her skidding across the wet stone with a shriek.

And you?

You’re drenched. Covered in what smells distinctly like cherry-flavoured soap and glitter. Your scrolls are ruined. Your hair sticks to your forehead. A glob of pink bubbles drips from your left eyebrow into your eye, and it stings.

Mary coughs violently. Dorcas is doubled over, wiping foam out of her mouth. Lily looks like she might start setting people on fire.

And just when you think it couldn’t get worse—someone bursts into tears.

A whole group of first-years huddle near the corridor entrance, some of them crying, others shaking and soaked through. One boy is trying to wring out his bag, which is frothing like a cauldron gone wrong.

That’s when you see them.

James, Sirius, Peter and Remus, standing at the top of the courtyard steps like the gods of mischief themselves, admiring their handiwork. James is laughing. Doubling over with it. Sirius grins behind his hand, not quite as loud but no less smug. Even Remus has a reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though he looks slightly apologetic when his gaze lands on the crying first-years.

But James? He lives for this.

He catches sight of you all below and grins wider, leaning on the bannister like a conquering hero. “You’re welcome!” he shouts, arms wide, as though he’s done the school a bloody favour.

And that’s Lily’s last straw.

You don’t even get the chance to stop her. One second she’s storming forward, and the next she’s standing toe-to-toe with James Potter, fire in her eyes, her wet robes whipping around her ankles like war banners.

“You complete, arrogant, idiotic—”

James’ smirk falters.

“Oh come on, Evans, it was funny! Just a bit of spring chaos. We’re making memories!”

“Memories? You’re lucky you didn’t traumatise those poor first-years! Do you have any idea how many people you’ve covered in Merlin-knows-what? Or if someone sprains an ankle from slipping on your ridiculous glitter spell?!”

James opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks at his friends, then back at Lily. And tries again with a laugh.

“It was just a bit of fun—”

The slap echoes.

You swear the whole courtyard goes silent.

It’s not violent, exactly. But it’s loud. Sharp. Final. James recoils more from shock than pain, hand flying to his cheek where the skin is rapidly turning red. He stares at Lily, wide-eyed, like he’s just seen something completely impossible.

Lily doesn’t wait for a reaction. She turns on her heel and marches away, spine stiff with rage.

You and the girls scramble after her, slipping and squelching through the aftermath. Marlene grabs your wrist before you can get too far.

“Wait.”

“What? We have to catch Lily—”

“No, look,” she hisses, pulling you back a few steps. “James.”

You turn.

James is still standing in place, dazed, fingers grazing his cheek.

But that’s not what Marlene’s pointing at.

You follow her gaze to the spot just beneath his eye. The place you and everyone else at Hogwarts has seen marked for years. The pale, milky-white handprint that always curved over his cheek like a ghost of affection, a sign from the universe that someone, somewhere, would one day hold his face with love.

It’s gone.

Completely.

Not faded. Not lightened. Just—vanished.

Your heart stops. Marlene inhales sharply.

“Oh no.”

Your mouth goes dry. You glance past her, back at the boys.

James is still frozen, his hand touching the cheek Lily slapped. There’s a dazed look in his eyes, like he’s been thrown out of orbit. Sirius is watching him with narrowed eyes, the ghost of a smile dying on his lips.

You feel a chill settle in your spine.

Because if Marlene’s right—if James’ soulmate mark has vanished—then that means...

“Bloody hell,” you breathe. “He was right.”

Marlene nods grimly. “We can’t let her find out like this.”

But it’s too late. Lily’s already disappeared into the castle, trailed by Dorcas and Mary, soaked and furious. And now you have to run after her. You have to get there before the realisation does.

You shove past Sirius’ shoulder as you go.

Deliberate. Sharp.

It’s not just anger. It’s disgust. You don’t even give him a word. Just that one hard nudge as you pass, an unspoken “You’ve crossed the line.”

He flinches.

Not because of the shove—Sirius Black isn’t afraid of a little contact—but because he feels it. The judgement. The disappointment. The thing he’s been trying to outrun since he realised he might not be better than the people who raised him.

You don’t look back.

You sprint through the castle corridors, foam drying on your skin, your clothes damp and clinging. The halls are still buzzing with the aftermath of the prank—students yelling, teachers trying to regain order, enchanted trees mooing somewhere in the distance.

You find Lily inside the girls’ bathroom, gripping the edge of a sink like she’s trying to hold herself together.

Her shoulders shake.

You slow to a walk.

Mary’s rubbing her back. Dorcas is pacing. No one knows what to say.

“She slapped him,” Dorcas says under her breath, half in awe.

“She bloody well should have,” you snap.

Lily looks up.

“Was it too far?” she asks. Her voice is fragile in a way you rarely hear. Like she’s trying to justify herself to the universe.

“No,” you say gently. “He deserved it.”

And it’s true.

You believe in soulmates. You believe in the magic of it—the wonder. But even magic doesn’t excuse cruelty. James Potter can be charming, and brave, and infuriatingly loyal, but today? Today he crossed a line. And you’re not going to let Lily think she was wrong for calling him out.

She nods, swiping a hand under her eyes.

“I just—I’m so tired of him thinking the world revolves around him. Like we’re all just extras in the James Potter show. And I know he thinks I’m his soulmate, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat people like that. Especially not you lot.”

You hesitate.

You glance at Marlene. She gives you a grim little nod.

“Lil...” you start.

She freezes.

“Don’t,” she says.

You flinch. “Lily—”

“Don’t,” she says again, firmer this time. “Don’t say it.”

You fall silent.

Because she knows. Of course she knows. The way James looked at her after the slap, like he’d just had something knocked out of him. The stark paleness of her palm.

She knows.

And you know what that means for her.

Lily Evans has spent the last five years being hunted by the boy who swears she’s destined for him. She’s spent every term, every class, every common room hour pushing back. Standing her ground. And now... the universe is laughing in her face.

She clutches the edge of the sink again, knuckles white.

“No,” she says. “I won’t let it be true.”

Mary reaches for her. “Lily—”

“No. I don’t care if the mark’s gone. I don’t care if he’s supposed to be my other half. He’s selfish, and he’s arrogant, and he doesn’t listen. That isn’t what I want in a soulmate. That isn’t what I deserve.”

None of you argue.

Because she’s right.

James Potter may be her soulmate. But that doesn’t mean he’s ready to be.

—

The dormitory is quiet, in that awful way that happens when something big has happened—something wrong. James lies curled on his bed, the heavy velvet hangings pulled back for once, as if no one quite has the heart to close him off from the rest of them. His shirt is wrinkled, glasses abandoned on his dresser, and he hasn’t said anything in over an hour. Not since he’d stammered his way through the story, not since he showed them the now-unmarked skin of his cheek and murmured, “It’s gone.”

And it is. Gone.

There’s nothing left on his face. Not even a faint outline or shadow. Just smooth skin, still red from Lily’s slap. There’s no magic glow, no dramatic fanfare—just absence. That was the moment, and it’s over.

James stares at the ceiling as though he can find answers in the wooden beams above.

Remus sits nearby, his Transfiguration book forgotten in his lap, watching him with silent worry. Peter’s perched awkwardly at the edge of his own bed, fidgeting with the sleeve of his pyjama top. Sirius hasn’t even changed yet, which is strange in itself. He’s still in his robes, arms crossed, leaning against the bedpost like he’s afraid if he sits down it’ll make the whole thing too real.

“She slapped me,” James says at last, his voice hollow.

No one replies. What could they possibly say?

“I thought—I always thought it would be different. Like... I thought she’d kiss me, maybe. Or—bloody hell, even hug me. I’ve imagined it so many times. My soulmate mark disappearing while she’s holding my face—like in the books, yeah? All romantic. She’d look at me and know.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “But no. She slapped me. She hated me in that moment. That’s what the mark was all along. A physical reminder that my soulmate despises my existence.”

Sirius shifts his weight, looking down at the floor.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Remus says gently. “She was angry. There’s a difference.”

James doesn’t answer. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and takes a shaky breath, but it comes out wrong—hitching, like he’s holding something back and failing.

“I was right,” he says, voice cracking. “All this time. Everyone told me I was wrong, that I was being delusional, but I was right. She’s my soulmate.”

“And now you’re miserable about it,” Peter mutters.

James lets out a choked sound that might be a laugh or a sob or both. “Because she didn’t want to be. Not like that. She touched me for the first time because she was furious. That’s not... that’s not what it’s supposed to be.”

Sirius finally sits. Slowly. Quietly.

He wants to say something. But what? That he understands? That he’s sorry? He doesn’t know what comfort would even look like in a moment like this. He’s spent so long chasing the idea of soulmates, of finding someone who would make everything else make sense, and now that it’s actually happened to James—look at him.

He’s shattered.

Remus slides closer to James and places a hand on his shoulder. “Just because that was the first touch, doesn’t mean it’s the one that defines you both forever,”

James looks at him like he wants to believe that. Like he’s desperate to hold onto something, anything, but the shock is still too fresh.

“I need to lie down,” he mutters, and he does—curling onto his side, facing the wall, his breath uneven. The boys don’t speak after that. The air is heavy, like someone’s cast a silencing charm that chokes instead of quiets.

He cries. Quietly, at first. Then with broken little sounds he tries to smother with his pillow. Until eventually, there’s nothing left in him. He just wilts, tension draining out of his limbs, and within half an hour, he’s asleep—face still blotchy, fists still clenched.

They don’t close his bed curtains.

Remus takes the book off his lap and folds it closed with a sigh. “This is all... bloody grim,” he mutters.

Peter nods. “I didn’t think it would hurt when someone found their soulmate,”

“It doesn’t,” Sirius says, his voice hoarse. “It shouldn’t,”

He stands slowly. Pulls his wand and begins to unfasten the enchanted buttons on his robes, too tired for anything else.

Peter looks up, and the moment Sirius pulls his shirt off, there’s a gasp.

Loud. Audible. Shocked.

Sirius freezes.

Remus sits bolt upright. “What?”

Peter’s eyes are wide. “It’s gone,” he says. “Sirius—your mark. It’s gone.”

Sirius turns to the mirror near his bed so fast it rattles.

And... it is.

The smear that had haunted his shoulder for his entire life—like ink spilled across parchment—is gone. Completely. Clean skin where for seventeen years there had been a swirling mess of fate.

His mouth goes dry.

“No—no, no, no—”

He twists, trying to see if maybe it’s an illusion, or if the mark’s somehow moved, but it hasn’t. It’s not there. Not anymore.

He met them. His soulmate. And he didn’t even know.

He stumbles back from the mirror, breathing fast. “Who—who—?”

But even as he says it, the memory flashes. Hard and hot.

Your shoulder hitting his as you shoved past him on your way to follow Lily. The disgust in your eyes. The sharp tension in your jaw. You hadn’t said a word. But you’d touched him.

And now the mark is gone.

Sirius stumbles backward and sinks onto the edge of his bed.

“Oh, Merlin,” he whispers. “No. No, no, no.”

Peter is watching him with wide eyes. “You never touched her before?”

“I didn’t know!” Sirius snaps. “I didn’t even realise it was you! I mean—her. You know who I mean. I am stressed.”

Remus is still sitting stiff-backed on James’ bed, but his attention has fully shifted. “You’re sure it was her?”

“She shoved me,” Sirius mutters, staring at his shoulder like he could magic the mark back into existence through sheer willpower. “Right after Lily slapped James. Just... barged past me like I was nothing. But she touched me.”

“And you didn’t feel anything?”

“Not at the time.”

“...Do you now?”

Sirius goes quiet. Slowly, he places a hand over his shoulder—over the empty spot where the mark used to be.

It’s warm. But not from contact. From within. A lingering hum of magic, like the echo of something once powerful now stilled. Or maybe it’s just his internal body temperature. He really doesn’t know right now.

“No*,*” he murmurs. “Maybe? I don’t know—”

Peter clears his throat. “Well... you found your soulmate. That’s supposed to be good, right?”

Sirius laughs—short and bitter. “She hates me.”

Peter winces. “Oh.”

“I mean, she doesn’t slap me in public, but she’s made it perfectly clear what she thinks of me and the rest of us.”

Remus leans forward, elbows on knees. “Maybe it’s not what you think,”

“She shoved me, Moony. Deliberately. It wasn’t a stumble, it was on purpose. And she looked at me like I was filth.”

Remus opens his mouth, then closes it.

The dorm is quiet again. Only the soft rhythm of James’ breathing breaks the silence.

Sirius rests his head in his hands.

“I’ve spent my entire life waiting for this,” he whispers. “All the rubbish my family taught me, all the coldness and cruelty—I thought if I could just find my soulmate, it would all be worth it. That I’d finally get to have something real.”

Remus moves to sit beside him.

“But it’s not like I imagined,” Sirius says. “She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t even like me. And I didn’t even know it was her. How could I not know? Isn’t that the whole point of soulmates? That you just... feel it?”

Remus is quiet for a long moment.

“I think,” he says eventually, “soulmates aren’t about one moment. They’re about choosing. About what you do with the bond once it’s formed. Fate puts you in each other’s paths. It doesn’t promise it’ll be easy,”

“I wanted it to be easy,” Sirius admits. “I needed it to be,”

Peter lies back on his bed, eyes on the ceiling. “So did James,”

Sirius glances over at James’ sleeping form—his face slack, the traces of dried tears still visible in the soft light from the window. And suddenly, Sirius feels sick.

They’d both spent so long believing that soulmates would fix everything.

But what if they don’t?

What if the person you’re meant for doesn’t want you back? What if you’re not who they want?

Sirius doesn’t sleep that night. None of them really do.

The dormitory stays dim and heavy, thick with unanswered questions.

—

You don’t realise anything’s changed until you peel off your shirt in the showers that night.

The steam clouds the mirror, thick and cloying, but your reflection is still visible through the condensation. You’re barely paying attention—too wrapped up in the tangle of emotion and disaster that had been the day. You’d barely managed to get Lily back to the dormitory before she’d started crying, silent and furious and heartbroken all at once, like she couldn’t figure out where the anger ended and the betrayal began.

You’d held her hand. Rubbed slow circles on her back. Said all the right things, and meant them.

You’re still thinking about her—about the look on her face when she’d slapped James, the silence that followed—when you glance in the mirror and see it.

Or rather, you don’t see it.

You freeze.

Your towel drops slightly, caught on your elbow as your hand lifts on instinct, fingers brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. Your breath hitches.

Because the mark is gone.

You stare. For a full five seconds, you try to convince yourself that maybe the steam’s playing tricks, that maybe it’s still there and you just can’t see it clearly, but no—your fingers sweep across smooth, warm skin. Nothing. No trace of the strange, smudged mark that’s been with you for as long as you can remember.

Gone. Just like that.

The only thing different today—the only moment it could have been—was in the courtyard, when you’d shoved past Sirius Black with all the venom you could muster and didn’t even look back.

You’d touched him.

Your stomach lurches.

No. No, no, no.

You grip the sink, knuckles whitening.

It can’t be.

Except, it clearly is.

You stand there for a long moment, half-naked and shaking slightly, trying not to spiral. Because if Sirius Black is your soulmate—Sirius Black, who’s been a menace since year one, who charms and pranks and flirts and smirks and acts like the world should kiss the ground he walks on—then what does that say about you?

Nothing. Not yet. This doesn't have to mean anything, not right now.

You inhale through your nose. Count slowly to four.

Then exhale. Focus.

This isn’t the time.

Lily needs you. Lily, who’s just had her own horrible soulmate revelation, whose best moment turned out to be her worst, who is currently lying on her bed pretending not to cry, refusing to talk to anyone but you.

You straighten up. Wipe the mirror with the corner of your towel. Look yourself in the eye.

Whatever’s happening with Sirius—whatever the universe just decided to dump on your lap—it can wait.

You have more important things to deal with.

—

When you return to the dorm, your hair still damp and sticking slightly to your cheeks, Lily’s lying on her side, facing the wall. Marlene and Mary have gone quiet, sitting together on the far bed, shooting you looks that speak volumes.

No one says it. No one has to.

They know too.

You can see it in the way Marlene’s gaze flicks to your shoulder, then back to your eyes. The way Mary’s lips purse like she’s holding something in.

You nod, barely perceptible. They understand. They don’t press.

You cross the room and settle on Lily’s bed without needing to ask. Her duvet rustles as she shifts slightly, and when you place a gentle hand on her shoulder, she doesn’t shrug you off.

That’s something, at least.

You sit in silence for a while. It’s not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Loaded.

Then she says, voice muffled and raw, “He laughed.”

You blink. “What?”

“When I slapped him,” she murmurs, turning slightly to glance at you. Her eyes are red-rimmed, lashes stuck together. “He laughed. I don’t think he meant to, but he did. Like it was funny. Like I was... like he didn’t even get it.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t think it was that.”

“Well, then what was it?” Her voice wobbles. “He’s always made it a joke, hasn’t he? Me. Us. His soulmate thing. Like I’m something he’s already won, just because some stupid magic says so.”

You squeeze her shoulder.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispers. “I didn’t want this.”

“I know,”

“I feel like he’s stolen something from me.”

You press your lips together. “He didn’t mean to,”

“That doesn’t change it.”

You don’t argue.

She sniffles, and you pass her the tissue you’d pocketed from the bathroom on instinct. She wipes her nose, then stares at the ceiling.

“What if this is it?” she asks. “What if this is who I’m meant to end up with?”

Your chest tightens.

“Then the universe has a really shit sense of humour,”

That earns a small laugh—barely there, but enough. Enough to let you breathe again.

“I don’t want to be bound to someone who doesn’t respect me,” she says. “Who thinks everything’s a game. I’m not just a puzzle to be solved.”

“I know,” you say again. “You’re allowed to be angry,”

Lily turns to you fully now, tucking her legs up under the blanket.

“Do you think soulmates are... inevitable?”

It takes a second before you answer.

“No. I think they’re possible. Not guaranteed. You still have to choose each other. Every day. Some people don’t. Some people can’t.”

She nods. “What would you do?”

You hesitate.

And she sees it. Sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait. You’re not—?”

You swallow.

“I found out in the shower,”

“Who?”

You don’t answer immediately.

She sits up straighter, frowning. “Who?”

“Sirius.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, “Oh no.”

“Yeah.”

She flops back against the pillows. “You’re joking,”

“I wish,”

She groans into the duvet, hands over her face. “This is cursed. This whole week is cursed.”

“I know,”

“And you touched him?”

“I didn’t know, I shoved him—”

“Still counts,” she mutters.

You sigh, tipping your head back to stare at the canopy above. “This is my nightmare.”

Lily peeks through her fingers. “Does he know?”

“Probably. If his mark disappeared,”

“Bloody hell.”

You nod. “Yeah,”

There’s a pause.

Then: “Do you think he’ll say something?”

You snort. “It’s Sirius. He’ll probably write a speech,”

Lily doesn’t laugh. Not quite. But her mouth quirks in a way that feels close.

She lies back beside you and you both stare at the ceiling for a while.

The air between you settles. Still heavy, but softer somehow. Shared.

You don’t talk about the future. Or what comes next. Or what you’re supposed to do now that your entire understanding of the world has shifted in a single day.

You just are. Together. Grounded in the now.

And for tonight, that’s enough.

—

It’s weeks.

Weeks of sidelong glances and awkward tension, of group projects rearranged so the Marauders don’t have to work with you lot, of meals taken at opposite ends of the Great Hall, and corridors that somehow feel colder when you pass Sirius Black without a word.

You don’t speak. Neither of you does.

But you look.

More often than you mean to, probably. He’s always there—hovering in your periphery, just beyond the safe reach of indifference. And sometimes, when you do catch his eye across the classroom, across the courtyard, across the common room—your heart stutters. Not romantically. Not even longingly.

Just... confusedly.

Like your body knows something you haven’t given your mind permission to explore.

You haven’t let yourself dwell on it. Not properly. Every time your thoughts edge toward him—toward what it means, toward what it could mean—you feel like you might actually be sick. The whole situation knots your stomach. So you shut it out. Bury it beneath essays and exam prep and Lily’s slow process of healing. You focus on her. On your friends. On anything else.

But Sirius?

He thinks about it.

Constantly.

He obsesses, really.

At first, he doesn’t know why you haven’t said anything. He waits for a confrontation. An insult. A blow-up. Something. But it never comes. You just look through him like he’s a smudge on glass—visible but irrelevant.

So he convinces himself you’re disappointed. Of course you are. He’s a bloody wreck of a person. What kind of soulmate is he supposed to be? The one who hexed half the school for fun and made first years cry in the courtyard? The one who chased flirtation like it was a sport and never stuck around for anything real?

He’s not soulmate material. Not the kind you’d want, anyway.

So he watches you. Quietly. Miserably.

You, meanwhile, do a spectacular job of pretending none of this is happening.

Until, finally—finally—he cracks.

—

You’re walking alone to the library after dinner—quill case tucked under one arm, satchel banging against your hip—and Sirius intercepts you at the stairwell.

He doesn’t say anything straight away. Just blocks the path with one foot planted on the top step, the other resting two steps below.

You eye him, unimpressed. “Can I help you?”

He swallows. Runs a hand through his hair. It’s messier than usual. Less styled.

“We need to talk,” he says.

You glance past him. “I don’t have time—”

“I’m not trying to pick a fight,” he interrupts. “I swear. Just—listen for a second. Please.”

You fold your arms. “Fine. Talk.”

Sirius exhales. “I know you know,”

Your stomach clenches. But your face remains carefully blank.

“I know your mark’s gone,” he continues. “Mine is too. I saw it the night James’ disappeared. And you... you shoved me that day. I felt it.”

You stare at him. Unmoving. Silent.

“So,” he says. “We should probably have a conversation about what comes next,”

A bitter laugh escapes before you can help it.

“What comes next?” you repeat.

“Yes. I mean—if we’re soulmates—”

“If?” you cut in, raising an eyebrow.

He falters. “I meant... since.”

You shake your head. “No. See, this is exactly the problem. You think just because we’ve got some magical cosmic tattoo situation that suddenly we’re meant to be.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Yes, it is,” you snap. “That’s what you’ve always believed, isn’t it? That it would be this grand, perfect thing. That you’d meet your soulmate and everything would just fall into place.”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

You press on.

“Well, I don’t believe that,” you say. “Because just because someone’s your soulmate doesn’t mean they’re right for you. It doesn’t mean they deserve you. And it definitely doesn’t mean you’re obligated to like them.”

Sirius flinches.

You cross your arms tighter over your chest. “And I don’t like you, Sirius.”

The words hang in the air between you. Thicker than fog. Sharper than broken glass.

He stares at you.

You expect him to be angry. To scoff or sneer or shrug you off.

But he just... looks hurt.

Not dramatic. Not performative. Just gutted.

It’s the quiet that does it. The way his shoulders fold in slightly, like you’ve knocked the wind out of him. Like something’s come loose inside his chest.

He drops his gaze. “Right,” he says, softly. “Yeah. Okay.”

You hate how your chest aches at the sight of him. Hate the part of you that wants to apologise, to take the edge off your words, to explain that it’s not really about him, but more about what he represents—the expectations, the fate, the lack of choice.

But you don’t.

Because it is about him. At least partly.

You step around him. “There’s nothing else to say.”

And you leave him standing there, alone on the stairs.

—

He doesn’t sleep that night.

He lies awake in the dormitory, staring at the canopy, James’ soft snores filling the space between the beds.

He replays your words over and over, like a record stuck in a skip.

I don’t like you, Sirius.

He’d spent years searching. Desperate. Starved for the connection his family denied. He thought finding his soulmate would fix him. Would make it all make sense.

But you want nothing to do with him.

And maybe that’s fair.

Maybe he doesn’t deserve it.

But for the first time in a long time, Sirius doesn’t wallow in that thought. He doesn’t spiral, or storm out, or pick a fight with someone just to feel something.

He makes a decision.

He’s going to prove himself.

If you don’t like him, he’ll become someone worth liking.

Not for the mark. Not because fate says so.

But because he wants to.

Because you’re brilliant. Because you didn’t fall over yourself at the thought of being soul-bound to him. Because you called him out. Because you see him, even when you wish you didn’t.

And because something in his chest—something ancient and aching—still hopes.

He’s going to show you he can be better.

He’s going to earn it.

— part two.

[dismalflo]

intervene

Poly!marauders x reader where james is oblivious to being flirted with ✩ 875 words

cw: reader is a lil jealous, fluff, established relationship

"She's obviously flirting with him, Rem," you murmur petulantly from your place on Remus’s lap. You've nestled yourself in a cozy armchair away from the chaos of the party, the two of you being the quieter pair in comparison to your more energetic boyfriends. Sirius had wandered off a while ago to do god knows what, and James—lovely, oblivious James—is standing across the room, completely unaware that the girl next to him is flirting with him. And, of course, you can’t help but glare at her from your spot.

"I know, dove," Remus replies with a lazy smile, pausing to squeeze your waist. His tone turns teasing as he adds, "I have eyes."

You whip your head around to look at him, incredulous. "You—you know? That's it? You're not going to do anything about it?" Your dramatics earn a soft smile from him, as he gently moves his hands to cup your face.

He plants a few quick kisses over your cheeks in an effort to placate you. And it works. You melt into Remus, happy to be doted on. Despite the noisy room full of people, in this moment with him, everything feels peaceful.

"I'm not doing anything about it because he keeps looking over at us and…" Remus’s mischievous glint catches your eye, that familiar spark he and the others get whenever they’re scheming. "Just imagine what Pads will do when he comes back and sees it."” 

Your jaw drops. "Oh, you're mean when you want to be." Despite the words, you cuddle in closer to Remus, and he beams down at you, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter.

"Mean? Me?" He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your temple as he continues to hold you close. "I’m just enjoying the show."

You glance back over at James and the girl. She’s still leaning in, giggling all but ignoring James’s distracted response. A strange mix of protective instinct and possessiveness bubbles up inside you. Just as you’re about to shuffle out of Remus’s lap and go retrieve James, you spot Sirius making his way over to him

You straighten up, suddenly feeling a little more tense. Remus’s arms tighten around you as he notices the shift in your demeanor.

“Here comes trouble,” he murmurs with a knowing smile, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

You can hardly hear the boys from where you’re sat but you do see the over the top fervent kiss Sirius gives James, the smitten smile on the curly haired boy afterwards, and the hardened features of Sirius’ face as he talks to the girl that was flirting a minute ago. Obviously she gets the hint, she walks off in the opposite direction and the two boys walk towards you and Remus.

Sirius arrives looking smug, bending down to give out kisses like he’s handing out gifts

"You’re welcome, poppet," he teases, and maybe your jealousy wasn’t as well hidden as you thought. Remus barks a laugh at your expense. James, still confused, looks from Sirius to you and back again, trying to process what just happened.

"Wait, what—did you—?" James stammers, blinking in surprise.

Sirius grins, savoring the moment. "Oh, I just, you know… intervened," he says with a dramatic flourish, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“She was flirting with you James.” Remus says bluntly, filling in the gaps of James’ knowledge. 

James looks at Remus with wide eyes, his face flushing a bit as the realization hits him. “What? She was? I—well, I wasn’t paying attention, was I?” He scratches the back of his head sheepishly, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation.

You snicker at James’ obliviousness, then glance at Sirius, whose expression is a perfect mix of satisfaction and mischief. “Well done, siri”

James’s expression brightens with recognition, and he grins playfully. "So you sicced the dog on me, you little minx," he teases. "If you were jealous, you could’ve just said so."

You flush embarrassed to be caught and sink further into Remus’ embrace trying to hide from the teasing.

"Oi, I’m not a bloody dog," Sirius interjects, wrapping an arm around James and pulling him closer. "And you seemed to enjoy that kiss, Prongs."

James laughs, leaning into Sirius’s embrace, still a little dazed but clearly amused. "Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly complaining about it," he says with a wink. "And sorry for making you terribly jealous by accident, lovely."

You huff, "It wasn’t terribly—"

"It was, dove," Remus cuts in, his voice teasing as he remembers the dramatic pout you put on earlier.

"My poor baby," James exclaims, leaning over to pepper kisses all over your face, then doing the same to Remus just because he can.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. You can feel the warmth of Remus’ arms around you, his steady presence grounding you as the teasing continues. James leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, and you can’t help but melt a little into him.

Sirius chuckles at the sight of you relaxing, finally breaking from your earlier pout. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he teases, his smirk turning into something softer when you give him a playful shove.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

[yasministration]

disgustingly cute - harry potter

wolfstar!daughter au summary: sometimes, sirius hates that you're dating his best friend's son, but in moments like these, he just cannot deny that you are both so disgustingly cute together. wc: 0.7k

When Sirius slumps onto the couch facing you and Harry, he has to do a double take. A grin tugs at his lips when he takes notice of the view in front of him. At first glance, it would look like you and Harry were being disgustingly cute, as per usual. But now Sirius can see from the way Harry’s hand slowly caresses your back, and the way he struggles to turn over the page in the newspaper he’s reading, that you’re very much asleep.

You’re sat on the couch next to your boyfriend, but your legs are placed over his lap, torso leaning on his chest and head laying on his shoulder. Sirius can only imagine how numb Harry’s arm has gone. “You alright, Harry?”

Your boyfriend’s head snaps up at the call of his name, and he nods to your dad, asking “Yeah, you?”

“I’m just fine. Do you want me to take her off you?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, glancing down at you. He shakes his head as though your dad has asked a ridiculous question. “No, I like her here.” Sirius smiles fondly, tilting his head to the side. Harry lays the newspaper on your legs, flicking over to the next page before lifting it up closer to his face again.

“Did you hear about the Lestrange trials happening in the ministry?”

Sirius ignores Harry’s question, sinking back into the couch. “Has your arm not gone numb yet?” Harry’s face flushes darkly, and he shrugs, the movement small so he doesn’t stir you. He glances down at you, lips tugging upwards into a smile, seeing the way your hand clutches his jumper in your sleep.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind.” Harry’s words are quiet, but Sirius stands up nonetheless, deciding it’s probably best to move you from your boyfriend’s hold. He’s been in his position before, with you falling asleep on his lap, and he knows how difficult it can be to part from your warm skin, no matter how tired his limbs go.

But just as Sirius approaches the pair of you, the door to the backyard squeaks as it slides open, and Lily Potter pops her head into the living room. She stays silent for a short moment, observing the scene, before finally saying “Harry, we’ve got dinner with the Longbottoms soon, remember?”

Harry doesn’t remember. But dinner with the Longbottoms means that he has to part with you. He smiles at your father, who chuckles as he comes closer to you. His hand slides under your legs, the second arm curling around your back.

“Tip her in my direction.” He tells Harry, who straightens up, pushing you directly into your dad’s arms. Sirius lifts you up with so much ease that Harry is almost jealous, and he places you on the other end of the couch, where you immediately curl into a pillow. Harry stretches his arm, grimacing at the feeling of pins and needles as the blood flows back into the limb. He crawls over to where you lay on the couch, brushes your hair out of your face, and places a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“See you later.” Harry tells Sirius, who waves him away, before following his mum out of the garden door. Lily lingers in the doorway even after Harry has disappeared, a small smile on her face. When she lifts her gaze from you to Sirius, it turns into a full blown grin. Sirius rolls his eyes, but the matching smile on his face as he crosses his arms tells Lily he’s just as happy about their kids dating.

Just as Lily pushes herself off the door frame, Remus walks in, clad in a warm sweater. He rubs at his eyes, waking up from a nap of his own, and when he reaches Sirius, he wraps his arms around his husband’s waist. “You just missed the most adorable moment.” Sirius whispers, and Remus lifts his eyes up to meet Lily’s. When he sees the look on her face, he jokingly rolls his eyes, saying “Let me guess. Does it have to do with a certain green eyed boy?”

taglist: @c0ldstvfh, @dlljdhsh, @thenasoneshots, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @5sospenguinqueen, @bluebvrriee, @aouoo, @fandomhoe101, @sharkers00, @blablablacookie, @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @slytherin-princess-x, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @girlontheblock, @5sospenguinqueen, @bluebvrriee, @aouoo, @spider–girl, @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx, @sharkers00

[ddejavvu]

hi!! can i req animagus reader x sirius where the reader accidentally tastes some catnip? thank you <33

"She's tweaking." Sirius decides, and James's brow furrows at the way your limbs twitch discordantly. You'd given a curious sniff to Remus's mum's cat's stash of catnip, and apparently it works on animagi as well, if the way you're rolling around in it is any indication.

"That stuff is strong. My mum only uses it around the holidays when she needs to make sure the cat isn't gonna bite anyone." Remus watches as your tiny, furred paw stomps in the middle of a pile of the stuff, sending it flying in all directions. The muted greenish-brown flakes are starkly contrasting the dark wood stain of the dining table, and James's strong arms shoot out to catch your writhing form when you misstep and your foot slips off of the surface.

"Darling! Be careful," James cries, cradling your furry animagus form to his chest, "We need to get you through this meal in one piece, we're visiting my parents next."

You've been hopping between parents' house to parents' house, avoiding the birthday boy's own family, on what Sirius calls his 'Birthday Tour'. You're having lunch at Remus's after a breakfast with your own family, and you're finishing the day up with dinner at the Potter's. James is right; Euphemia would kill her son if James showed up and told her you'd overdosed on catnip.

You transform back reluctantly, glad for James's support as the lasting effects of the catnip combine with the haze of transformation to make your knees weak and your mind dizzy. You let James cradle you against his chest while Sirius snickers at your spaciness, and Remus sets the lid firmly on the jar of catnip as he brushes the excess towards his mum's housecat.

"No fair." You groan, your voice muffled as you tuck your face into James's shoulder, "Cat gets to get high, but I don't?"

"My mum's food won't taste any better high," Remus levels a smirk at you, "Trust me, Sirius and I have tried. Just breathe through your mouth, darling, and swallow, don't taste."

[godricgryffinsnore]

The Jumper Chronicles ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

summary : When James lends you his jumper on a rainy day, he doesn’t expect to fall helplessly in love every time you wear it—but the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes, it wants its favorite girl in its favorite jumper.

warnings : Intense pining, Secondhand embarrassment (from James being a lovesick fool), Excessive fluff, Friends-to-lovers tension, Mischievous teasing by close friends (The Marauders doing what they do best), Possible risk of swooning due to James Potter in love. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della’s note : Guess what? I am in a writing spree. Not complaining though!!! 😏🤌🏻

word count : 0.7k

main master list <3

banners : @kodaswrld and @cafekitsune

James Potter was in love.

Not the kind of love you slip into gently, like easing into a hot bath. No, James had fallen like a meteor—crashing, burning, utterly destroyed and reborn in your orbit.

And all it took was his jumper.

To be fair, it was a really nice jumper. Gryffindor red, slightly oversized, frayed a little at the sleeves from Quidditch training and the many detentions he'd served with it scrunched beneath his head. It smelled like mischief and cinnamon and something almost boyishly comforting.

You had borrowed it one October morning after a surprise downpour soaked your robes. James—drenched as well, glasses fogged, hair looking like it had been electrocuted—had peeled off the jumper with a cocky, “Don’t say I never gave you anything, darling,” and draped it over your shoulders.

And you never gave it back.

He didn’t ask for it either.

Because the moment you pulled it tighter around yourself, burying your fingers in the sleeves, his soul left his body and hovered somewhere near the ceiling of the common room, whispering, That’s it. That’s my wife.

You wore it everywhere. In the library, curled up on the window seat; on Hogsmeade weekends, the hem hitting just above your knees; at breakfast, where James could barely eat because you looked so stupidly adorable sipping pumpkin juice in his jumper. It was hell. Beautiful, soft, jumper-scented hell.

── .✦

“You’ve got to tell her,” Remus said over breakfast one Saturday, not looking up from his book. “Before you combust. Or cry. Or both.”

“I’m not crying,” James said firmly.

“You were tearing up over your eggs, mate,” Sirius pointed out. “You whispered ‘she even sleeps in it’ like a man watching his true love marry another.”

James stabbed his toast. “She’s warm. I mean—it’s warm. The jumper. She’s probably just cold.”

“You enchanted the jumper to stay warm all the time,” Peter muttered, sipping his tea.

“Shut up, Wormtail.”

── .✦

The breaking point came on a quiet Tuesday evening. You were in the common room, sitting cross-legged by the fire, hair a little messy, nose in a book, sleeves of the jumper covering your hands entirely.

And then—you sneezed. Just a little one. A tiny, adorable thing.

James dropped his quill and nearly passed out.

“Okay,” he mumbled, standing up. “I can’t live like this.”

You looked up, blinking. “Live like what?”

“Like—this.” He gestured at you. At the jumper. At everything. “You. In that. Looking like—like you’re mine.”

You tilted your head. “But I’m not?”

“I mean—no! I mean—yes? Or—Merlin’s pants.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t want it back.”

You blinked. “The jumper?”

“No. Yes. Yes to the jumper, no to me wanting it back. It’s—yours. It's always been yours. Or maybe it was mine until you wore it and now I can’t stop thinking about how you look like home and I’m—oh no, I'm rambling, aren't I?”

You stood, walking toward him, firelight painting your face gold.

“James?”

“Yes?” His voice cracked. He sounded thirteen again.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers along his hand. “Do you want to kiss me, or declare ownership over all my future clothing?”

He blinked. “Is both an option?”

You laughed. And it was the kind of laugh that made angels consider quitting their jobs.

And then you kissed him.

It was warm and awkward and perfect. He smiled into it like a complete fool.

── .✦

The next morning, you came down wearing his pajama shirt.

Sirius fell out of his chair.

Remus choked on his tea.

Peter went redder than a tomato.

James strolled in behind you, smug as anything. “Morning, lads.”

Sirius: “Is it? Or is it the End of Days? Did the world tilt slightly on its axis last night? Because that’s not just the jumper. That’s your Quidditch pajamas.”

Remus: “I’d like to die. Can I die?”

Peter: “You’re unbearable now, aren’t you?”

James just grinned, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing the top of your head. “Get used to it, boys. She’s keeping the jumper—and me.”

── .✦

And from that day on, James Potter never got his jumper back. And he never wanted to.

[my-castles-crumbling]

conflict - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 530

“Hey.”

Sirius had been avoiding this moment all day. Ever since that morning. He and Remus had somehow gone from cuddling together, having skipped class in favor of getting a rare moment alone, to yelling at each other from across the room.

His stomach churned violently at the memory.

He wasn’t sure what’d happened. It was all a blur. And he wasn’t sure it mattered, anyway. The point was that they’d fought. And now…it was over.

“Hey,” he replied hollowly, budging over so the taller boy could sit next to him in the small broom closet he’d been hidden in. “You used the Map?”

“Stole it from James,” Remus replied, settling next to him in the dark, his knee brushing Sirius’s.

“Remind me to kill him,” Sirius muttered under his breath, heart hammering in his chest.

Remus chuckled. “Sirius, we need to talk.”

Ah. There it was. The way all conflict ended. Sure, he and Remus could remain friends after big fights, for the good of the group. But this? This new thing between them was so fragile and big. There was no way it’d survive.

“Go on,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away. He could stay strong while Remus talked, then break down by himself later. Even if he felt like he was full of lead right now. “Just say it.”

“S-Sirius? Wait, look at me,” Remus said softly, and Sirius felt one of those warm, rough hands brush his cheek.

He had to work to choke back a sob. Fuck, he would miss those hands. “Just break up with me, Moons,” he whispered, eyes still closed even as he turned his head towards the taller boy, years slipping between his shuttered eyelids. “I can take it, go on.”

“Sirius, what? I’m not–I’m not breaking up with you! Look at me, baby, c’mon!” Remus urged, thumbs wiping at tears.

Shocked, Sirius opened his eyes, blinking away the still-falling tears. “You’re not?” he asked incredulously. “But we argued. I–I called you a stupid, too-neat berk!”

Remus chuckled, pressing a kiss to Sirius’s forehead so tenderly that more tears formed in his eyes. “And I said you’re as messy as a real dog. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” he shrugged.

Sirius blinked. “Oh. Still?”

The taller boy laughed. “Yes, still! What, you think one argument about you leaving your shoes in the middle of the bathroom floor is going to make me want to break up with you?”

“Maybe…” Sirius trailed off, insecurities tying knots in his intestines.

But Remus didn’t laugh this time. Instead, he moved both hands on either side of Sirius’s cheeks and held his gaze. “Sirius, I want to be with you as long as you’ll have me. Forever, preferably. The only thing that will happen of you keep leaving your shoes out for me to trip on is I’ll banish them so you can’t leave them there anymore. The shoes may disappear, but I won’t.”

Relief flooding through him, Sirius grinned through the last of his tears. “How dare you, Moony? My shoes are expensive. And so very punk!”

But Remus just pressed his lips to Sirius’s, probably to shut him up.

[moonstruckme]

Hi there! I loveee your fics :3 I never read Y/N fics (they’re my guilty pleasure…) is it possible that you could write a Remus! X fem!reader (or even James, I don’t mind) and the reader has had a really bad day, then James or Remus comforts her?

I love your work!!xx

Thanks for requesting!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 889 words

James stops speaking mid-sentence when he hears your key enter the door. He forgets what he was talking about entirely. 

“Oh, that’s pathetic.” Sirius smirks at him from Remus’ lap. “You’ve just perked up like a puppy. Try to retain a bit of self-respect, mate.” 

James is too chuffed to quip in reply. He only raises his eyebrows at Remus, who kisses Sirius’ shoulder and warns his boyfriend in a murmur to be good. Sirius is noticeably quiet when you come in. 

“Hey, angel!” James booms, spreading his arms for you. You drop your bag and walk straight for them. 

“Hi,” you say back, and it’s softer than James’, which isn’t unusual, but it feels even softer than normal. You lie down on the couch to hug him like you’re sick of carrying your own weight. 

“Hi.” James matches your tone, rubbing hesitantly up and down your back. “Alright?” 

“Yeah,” you say, with a breath out that clearly says the opposite. Sirius makes a face, and Remus taps his thigh, signaling for him to get up. They both retreat quietly from the room. You don’t seem to notice. 

“Funny seeing you here,” James hums, running his hand from the hem of your shirt all the way up to where baby hairs tickle the base of your skull. 

It’s a lame joke. You called to ask if you could come over. James said yes, obviously—what else does one say when their beautiful girlfriend wants to come spend the night—but he might have prepared a bit better if he’d caught onto your mood over text. Might have given you a better reception instead of goofing off in the sitting room with his friends. 

You make a low sound, a hum or a shapeless murmur, adjusting your arms around his shoulders to get closer. James takes this cue to maneuver you and pulls your bent knee across his lap so you’re straddling him. He mushes a kiss to your cheek. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” 

You sigh, heavy and tired. Again, there’s that weight you seem to be trying to leave behind. “Sorry. Nothing’s the matter.” You nose the collar of James’ shirt aside, touching your lips to his skin. “I just needed this.” 

“Nothing’s the matter?” he asks. James would never go so far as to call you a liar, but he doesn’t believe you even a little. 

“Just a bad day,” you amend. “I wanted to see you.” 

James’ heart heavies and swells at once. He’s upset that you’ve had a bad day, of course, but there’s also…you wanted to see him. At the end of a bad day, you came to him to make it better. That’s enough to set James aglow for weeks. He feels a renewed determination to do right by you. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, heart pouring from his voice. “Do you want to talk about it? What made it bad?” 

“Just…I don’t know. Lots of stuff.” You sit up in his lap to look at him. There’s a weariness to your expression, and James brushes a thumb over your cheek with intent of smoothing some of it away. It works, a little. You soften. “Can we just relax for a while? Sorry to steal you.” 

“I love to be stolen by you,” James replies earnestly. “Honestly, Sirius and Rem are probably glad to be rid of me. I think they were working up to some, erm, stealing away of their own, you know.” 

Your eyes warm with humor. “Do you feel like a cuddle?” 

He scoffs, standing and lifting you with him. You squeeze your legs tighter around his waist instinctively. “Now I know you must’ve had a rough go, asking silly questions like that.” James kisses your nose, delighted at the little scrunch it does when your lips lift slightly. “Of course I want to. I haven’t turned to stone since you last saw me. Shall we stop by the kitchen first, though? Can’t promise I’ll let you go once we start, and we may get hungry eventually.” 

“Oh, are you a taxi service now?” you ask amusedly. 

“Taxi, weighted blanket, snack courier—whatever you need, angel. I do it all.” 

That little smile remains, but your eyes cloud with something James doesn’t like. “I don’t mean to come here and dump everything on you,” you say, your voice quieting. “My day really hasn’t been so awful. I’ll be alright.” 

“I know you will.” James nudges the tip of your nose with his affectionately. He makes the executive decision that snacks will be necessary, taking you into the kitchen. “It doesn’t have to be awful for you to come to me, lovely. I mean, I want you here all the time, no matter how you’re feeling, but I’m happy to drop my crucial plans of fucking around in the sitting room to have a cuddle with you instead. If you’ll still have me.” 

You watch him hesitatingly. James lets you see what you like—he knows there’s nothing but sincerity to be found, really all he wants is to spend his evening making you feel better. You can hang out with his friends another time. 

“Okay,” you say after a few moments. “Can you get me closer to the pantry? I’d have some digestives.”

“Course. If Remus asks after them, we’ll pin it on Sirius.”