#the marauders

[fircbolts]

Harry & padfoot <3

[outromoony]

Sirius pretends he doesn’t care what people think, but when Remus compliments him, he glows for days.

[imeona]

[moonstruckme]

hi mae you mentioned new girl au asks and so i have arrived!

i've lived alone most of my adult life and while i'm content pretty much all of the time, there is a specific situation where i've wished i had roommates.

it's those days where i've fucked up at work or a friend is mad at me and I miss the bus and have to wait in the rain without an umbrella, and I get home to a completely empty and cold apartment and just start sobbing as soon as i get through the door. during those days i feel like the most pathetic girl in the world and really just wish i could text my roommates to make extra food or turn on a heated blanket or just like, offer a hug lol.

i would love to see how the marauders would react to their new roommate on a shitty day like that, if you feel like writing it <3

Thank you lovely <3

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s all you can do to make it inside. Your throat has been tight the entire last two blocks to your building; your eyes start to burn in the elevator, small puddles of rainwater forming beneath your shoes. By the time you’re fitting your key into the lock, you know you won’t make it to your room. You only hope that no one is home to witness your upset. 

Of course, with three flatmates who all have incredibly varying schedules, that is never the case. 

“Hey!” says James, not immediately visible but evidently having heard the door. “Do you wanna come say something to Mr. Palmer? We’re trying to make him believe in ghosts.” 

You look into his room as you pass by. James is lying stomach-down on his bed above a heating vent situated low in the wall. His smile is all mischievous anticipation. When he looks up at your approach, it falters. 

“You alright?” 

“Who’s Mr. Palmer?” you ask. 

“He’s…” James blinks, sitting up. “He lives below us. Hey, are you okay?” 

You shrug pathetically, pressing your lips together as your eyes burn even more furiously. You take a step back, retreating automatically to your room, but James frowns and opens his arms, beckoning you towards him. It’s too tempting an offer to pass up. 

“What happened?” he asks, rubbing your back. He hugs you like you’ve known each other for years, unreserved in his touching. “You’re soaked, babe.” 

You give a little laugh. “I know.” 

“Did you walk in the rain the whole way to your interview?” 

“I got kinda wet on the way there, then bombed it, then missed the bus coming home.” 

James makes a sympathetic noise. “Why didn’t you just get the tube? Or call one of us to come get you?” 

Your heart warms at the thought that one of your flatmates would have left the flat and taken their own public transportation just to bring you home. “My phone died.” 

“Oh.” James rubs your back again. “I’m sorry, babe. That’s tough luck.” 

You sniffle. You feel bad for crying into the shoulder of this boy who you really only met recently, but the hug actually is helping. You feel half as anxious as you had when you came in, though nothing really has changed. James must just give really good hugs. 

You look over your shoulder when you hear footsteps approaching. Like James, the impishness in Sirius’ expression dies when he sees you. “Good god.” He lowers the plastic recorder he’s carrying. “What happened to you? You’re soaked.” 

What is it with these boys and stating the obvious?

“I know,” you say, using the butt of your palm to wipe your face, “thanks.” 

“James, what’ve you done to her?”

“It wasn’t me!” James holds up his hands. “It was the weather. And the TfL.” 

“Well get the poor thing a towel!” Sirius tosses the recorder onto the bed, stalking from the room. “Christ, I have to do everything around here.” 

You eye the recorder. “Why did he bring…?” 

“We were trying to make Mr. Palmer think he’s hearing ghosts,” James explains. “Thought woodwinds might add to the effect. Do you want tea?” 

Tea, you’ve learned, is how your flatmates sometimes refer to dinner. Most of the time this sounds far preferable to you than the actual beverage. 

“I could eat,” you say. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t leave a trail of water from the door,” says Sirius, returning with a towel. “Here.” 

You take it, not keen on admitting how you wrung the moisture from the ends of your hair before entering the building. Too humiliating. 

You allow James to shepherd you into the kitchen, where Remus is busy with something on the stove. His brow creases with concern at the state of you. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“She missed the bus,” James explains succinctly. 

Remus frowns. “Oh, that’s shit. How did your interview go?” 

Your throat contracts all over again. You try to keep your mouth from wobbling. “Not very good,” you say quietly. 

“I’m sure it was better than you thought,” says James. 

Remus hums his agreement. “I’m making pasta. Would you like any?” 

“But I…” You clear your throat, trying not to seem too pathetic. “I didn’t pay for any of the groceries.” 

He tsks. “Don’t worry about that. Would you like some?” 

James nudges you towards a chair beside the one Sirius has already taken. “Um,” you hesitate, “sure, please. Thank you.” 

Sirius smirks. “And people say the English are overly polite.” 

You don’t speak much. You aren’t in a mood for talking, and Sirius and James do well enough to fill the silence anyways. They don’t seem to mind letting you mope, though after a while their chatter does lighten your mood some. They’re just so at home with each other, it’s difficult to be around them and not feel like you’re home too. 

“Thanks,” you murmur when Remus brings you a plate. 

He sets a hand on top of your head, a brief solace. “Don’t mention it.” 

The more familiar you become with English accents, the more distinct Remus’ sounds to you. You can hear it in his vowels sometimes, the way he says news or orange, the soft lilt when you try to help him in the kitchen and he tells you to sit down, love. You wonder if he’s from a different area than James and Sirius. You’ll have to ask him sometime. 

“Can I ask for something ridiculous?” you say. 

Sirius raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re always being some degree of ridiculous,” he drawls, in the sort of tone you’ve only recently learned to recognize as teasing, “so why stop now.” 

“Is it, like, treasonous to ask to have actual tea with your tea?” 

James looks delighted. “You want tea?” 

You squirm, oddly sheepish. “It sounds sort of comforting, I guess.” 

He hops up, kissing the top of your head enthusiastically as he goes for the kettle. “We’ll make a Brit out of you yet.” 

[my-castles-crumbling]

name - march 30 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 349

They’d been sitting in the library for a while. Regulus could tell James was bored–he’d finished his own work a few minutes ago and had resorted to fidgeting in his own chair, doodling on parchment, reaching out every once in a while to stroke a hand over Regulus’s cheek or hair. But, adorably, he refused to leave. He just waited patiently as the younger boy finished his essay.

“Hey, Reg?” James asked after a bit, voice a bit too loud for the library.

“Yes, Potter?” Regulus murmured, eyes flickering up from his parchments and back down again.

“What’s the name of that book you really liked? The Muggle one? The one you kept going on about the other day?” James asked, lowering his voice just a bit.

Regulus furrowed his eyebrows and looked at him with confusion. “The Little Prince?” he asked cautiously, shocked that James had even paid attention to his ramblings.

“Hmm, that’s the one,” the Gryffindor nodded. He then stood up and wandered off without another word.

Regulus considered going after him to get an explanation, but he decided that however he was entertaining himself was either not that bad or something he didn’t want to be responsible for. So he wrote a few more lines and had just gotten back into a groove when James returned.

However, the older boy didn’t say a word. He just sat back in his chair and disappeared behind a small book without making a sound.

Regulus looked at the title and almost melted in his chair.

James Potter was sitting next to him in the library and reading The Little Prince. Because he  liked it.

Something soft and warm washed over his body like a warm wave of water, and he beamed at the cover of the book for several seconds before hazel eyes peeked over and James raised an eyebrow at him. “Alright, love?” the older boy asked.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, blushing because he’d gotten caught. “Fine.”

“Good.”

They sat there together for another hour–Regulus writing and James reading–before heading to dinner and discussing what James had read.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Twelve hours - platonic!marauders, james potter

summary: sometimes having observant friends is unfortunate, but now when they've been blind for so long... wc: 0.9k+

When James, Remus and Sirius trudged up to your, Lily and Marlene’s dorm to remind you of your Hogsmeade plans in an hour, they had every intention of knocking on the door. However, when Sirius heard your screeching laughs through the door, he pushed the door open without second thought.

The view the three boys were met with immediately confused them. You were sat on the floor at the floor of your bed, still in your pyjamas, legs bent on the floor, but you were knelt forward as you laughed, clutching your sides. Lily was leaning against her bed, crying tears of laughter whilst Marlene had her gaze stuck on you, pointing a finger at your figure while she laughed.

“It’s not funny,” You cried, though your words contradicted your actions. You reached your hands up towards Marlene, begging “Help me up!” Marlene reached out to help you before she burst into another fit of giggles, leaving you sat hopelessly on the ground.

Remus, ever the protective friend, pushed past his two friends to offer you his hands. Your eyes went wide as you noticed his and the other boys’ presence, but you gratefully took his hands nonetheless.

You winced as you pushed yourself off the ground, a pained noise escaping your chest as you finally balanced yourself on your feet. “Thanks.” You muttered, smiling awkwardly at the three boys now stood in your dorm, before happily sitting down on your bed again. “And we’re back to zero.” Lily wheezed, wiping her tears away.

You chucked a pillow at the red head, who easily dodged it and a silence settled on the three of you as you took in the male presence in the dormitory. “May I ask what’s going on?” Asked Sirius, a confused look on his face, eyebrows deeply furrowed.

“No.”

The simple response was all it took for Marlene and Lily to resume their fits of laughter, but this time you just rolled your eyes at them. “Oh, please tell them!” Pleaded Marlene as she sat down on the bed facing you. “It’s embarrassing!” “It’s a flex.” Retorted Lily. You huffed.

“It’s nothing. My legs just didn’t seem ready to carry me out of bed this morning.” “Morning?” Remus scoffed, glancing at the clock. “It’s barely morning.”

“It’s because the guy she slept with had a massive dick.” “Marlene!” James let out a loud gasp from where he stood in the doorway, previously silent. Your eyes trailed over to him, feeling your face flush hotly. The eye contact between you was intense, but you broke it, shying away from his intimidating gaze.

“I wasn’t prepared! I’m fine.” You huffed stubbornly, proving your point as you stood up. You swallowed thickly, grabbing the outfit you’d chosen from your bed and stiffly walking over to the bathroom. You heard Marlene cackle, mumbling something about ‘look at her’, and sharply turned to face the group of friends. “I said I’m fine — doesn’t mean I’m not sore!” You yelled at her, before your eyes flickered back to the boy in the doorway.

Unfortunately for you, Remus caught the movement. So did Lily. The girl hummed attentively, her face becoming solemn. Fuck, your friends were too observant. “Who did you say the guy was, again?” Asked Remus. Freezing in place, you felt your ears grow warm. “She didn’t. That’s what me and Marlene were trying to find out.”

“Guys, I feel like I’m missing something.” Sirius muttered. Lily and Remus both sharply turned to look at James, who gulped animatedly, taking a step back. You saw Remus’s eyes squint in suspicious, and the boy in front of him immediately got defensive, opening and closing his mouth before deciding not to stay anything.

Sirius gasped loudly. “James is the guy with the massive dick!?” Marlene screamed at Sirius’s remark in horror, a hand slapping over her mouth as she turned to look at James, whose hands came down to hide his crotch area, which was definitely drawing the attention of the friend group. “Well, you know, we already knew James had a massive cock, but we didn’t he was your-” Sirius cut himself off, pursing his lips.

“So how long has this been going on?” Lily asked, arms crossed over her chest as she looked at you accusingly. “Last night?”

An uncomfortable silence settled amongst you, in which your four friends stood with their mouths agape. Suddenly, Marlene burst out laughing again. “Shit, you shouldn’t even hide it for twelve hours!” “Get out, Marlene!” You screeched, pointing to the door. “Everyone get out!” The five of them stood all at once, making their way out of the door and you sighed, calling out “Not you, James!”

The boy slowly walked back into the room, slamming the door shut behind him before he trotted over to you quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I went that-” “It’s fine. At least they bought the ‘last night’ thing, right?”

James chuckled, his nervous front falling apart as he regained comfort. He tugged at the large shirt of his you wore, nodding in agreement. “Imagine if they were told about the two months.” You shuddered theatrically, smiling at him. “Yeah, let’s save that for when we’re wasted.”

“I’m guessing you’re not coming to Hogsmeade? Mhm, I’ll stay with you then."

“Oh yeah, ‘cause that won’t be suspicious at all.”

“We’ll tell them we decided to talk things out.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. “I’ll meet you in bed then?”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-017, @boromoony

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

this is fucking cute it makes me want to go on a rant about my personal Jily-Jegulus-Pandalily headcanon

ok so this wouldn’t really work in canon but in an au of some sort:

divorced Jily who are still great friends and love each other lots (Lily realized she was a lesbian) and co-parent Harry. That one neighbor with the obnoxious roommates (Barty and Evan) Regulus is no match for Cheerful Single Dad James, similarly: the pretty woman who dresses like a fairy and has a booth at the craft fair/farmers market who Lily recently learned was named Pandora is suddenly everywhere. Cue big family dinners and Harry being raised by the most chaotic family of queers to exist (of course including his uncles wolfstar)

Mama🤲

[outromoony]

Sirius “Remus is effortlessly cool” Black and Remus “I just had a nervous breakdown over the grocery list” Lupin.

[moonstruckme]

hello lovely mae! saw your call for requests and couldn't help but respond - maybe something w wolfstar where it's nearing the full moon and remus only wants sirius for something or other and it hurts reader's feelings? only if it takes your fancy of course, thank you!! <3

Thank you lovely <3

cw: migraine

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

Remus’ pain is making you nauseous. You can’t hear it or see it, but you know it’s there, just on the other side of the bedroom door. You keep glancing that way against your will, the evening news passing in an unnoticed blur on the telly. 

You love the flat you share with your boyfriends, but it feels suffocating on days like today. Too still, too quiet. Haunted by the approaching full moon. Even when you aren’t wanted, you can’t bring yourself to leave. 

You pretend not to have been watching when Sirius steps out of the bedroom. 

“How is he?” you ask as he settles down next to you on the couch. It’s late enough for shadows to wrap themselves around his features, his mouth solemn. You don’t know why you ask; it’s not like he’s going to say good. 

“He’s sleeping,” Sirius replies, his hand finding yours. He kisses your fingers. “How are you, my love?” 

You smile. “Oh, that’s not very fair.” 

“What’s not?” 

“You shouldn’t have to comfort Remus and then come comfort me.” 

“You make it sound so burdensome.” He keeps your hand tucked in his, bringing it to his lap as his thumb runs over your knuckles. “I’m sorry he upset you.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“He didn’t mean it that way.” 

“I know,” you say, “he didn’t mean it any sort of way. It’s really okay. You’re better at it.” 

Sirius doesn’t deny it. He knows as well as you do that, for whatever reason, the scalp massages he gives Remus to relieve his migraines simply work better. Maybe it’s that he’s been doing it longer, or just that he really does have the magic touch, but whenever you try it seems like the physical contact hurts Remus more than it helps him. Best for you to leave them to it.

“I saw your face when he asked you to go,” Sirius says, very softly. 

You shrink. 

“It’s okay if you’re upset.” 

You are upset. It’s undeniable in the tight, achy feeling sitting right in the center of your sternum, but you don’t want to be upset. You wouldn’t be if you could help it. 

“I’m okay,” you say. Sirius looks unpersuaded. “Remus is the one who’s in pain.” 

He hums. Thumb moving over the bumps of your knuckles one by one. “He is,” he acknowledges. “He’s asked for a cuddle, though.” 

You give him a look. “You don’t think he really means that.” 

“Do you think I’d come relay the message if I thought he didn’t?” Sirius asks. “He knows there’s no way to get rid of the pain entirely. I think he just wants comfort more than he wants to try for that right now.” 

Your heart throbs for your poor boyfriend. “Why didn’t you stay?” 

“He asked for both of us.” Sirius presses another kiss to your hand. “I’m just selfish is all, I wanted to see that you were alright first.” 

You feel your lips curve slightly. “So selfish,” you say, allowing yourself to be tugged up by your hand. 

You kiss him once on your way to the bedroom, his hand sweet on the small of your back, but when you enter you both only have eyes for one man. 

It’s somehow even quieter in here than the rest of the apartment. The sheets barely whisper as Sirius crawls in behind Remus, slipping his arms around your boyfriend’s waist. You try to be just as soundless getting in on the other side. 

Remus doesn’t open his eyes when the mattress dips beneath you, but you know he’s awake. 

“Hi,” you murmur, softer than soft, with a barely-there kiss to his jaw. 

“Hi,” Remus rasps back. His voice is so coarse with pain your throat tightens at the sound of it. For a moment you think this was a bad idea, you’re making things worse, but then his arm comes around you. Curling you closer to him. You hold him back, brushing against Sirius as you do. 

You’re afraid to say anything more, worried the sound will agitate his migraine, but Sirius asks, “What can we do?” 

Remus sighs. “Just this,” he says, and it sounds like relief. “This is perfect. Thank you.” 

You kiss him again. Gently, meeting Sirius’ eyes over his shoulder. Neither of you have to say it aloud: there’s no place else you’d be.

[my-castles-crumbling]

kick - @wolfstarmicrofic - slightly nsfw - word count: 255

“Hey Prongs? Can you leave the dorm room for maybe…thirty minutes?” Sirius asked sweetly, hands clasped together, eyelids fluttering and eyes wide.

James, however, was not impressed. “Pads, you two just kicked me out yesterday! I actually have homework to do and you know that if I go in the common room I’ll end up getting my arse beat at chess by Pete and not studying at all!”

“C’mon, mate,” Sirius wheedled, and amused-looking Remus standing behind him. “What about fifteen minutes?”

At this, Remus gave a little cough-choke.

But James didn’t budge. “No. I live here, too.”

And then he resumed his studies, oblivious to the way Remus and Sirius exchanged an evil grin and began snogging in earnest not a meter from his desk.

“Eurgh, stop that!” James grimaced, looking up at a strange noise to see his best friends in an embrace.

Neither boys said a word to him. In fact, James’s discomfort seemed to just spur them both on, annoying squelching and sucking sounds emanating from the couple.

“C’mon, guys, that’s fucking awkward…” James tried again, tone more tired and less annoyed. He covered his face with his hand and wished Peter would come save him.

But all that did, apparently, was make Sirius and Remus rise to the challenge even more as they pressed impossibly closer together.

His breaking point was when a little moan echoed throughout the small room. 

“Nope! Absolutely not!” he yelped, standing and nearly-running to the door, hands flailing.

Sirius and Remus still didn’t acknowledge him.

[flower-of-the-sea]

Btw, this is what I imagine the firstborn of The 10 Bllu children to look like

AU where Regulus’ karma is having a son who happens to be the carbon copy of Sirius.

[losver07]

"my child is fine" ma'am your child prioritises memorising every single full moon that happened in 1975 over their schoolwork

[ccccatttta]

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ jegulus socmed au where james gets dared to oppose a wedding and livestream it for his youtube channel.

or: where regulus meets the love of his life twelve seconds before saying "i do"

never let your (almost) wife stop you from meeting your husband.

very shamefully walks in,,,,, i promise ill finish this one quick. ill start posting tomorrow

[sunflowersonatas]

liar, liar: oneshot

james potter x f!reader / fluff / romcom vibes / truth serum shenanigans

summary: James Potter doesn’t mean to confess his feelings. Or overshare. Or humiliate himself in front of the girl he’s in love with. But when a truth-telling potion takes hold, he doesn’t really have a choice.

a/n: recently rewatched liar liar. EXCELLENT MOVIE. even though jim carrey’s face makes me irrationally angry, the plot is so good and heartwarming. this fic was heavily inspired by those vibes, and kinda just that 90s romcom vibe in general! really hope you love it <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻💞

wc: 3963

"You know," Sirius began, his voice thick with scrambled eggs, "if they can't manage to cook bacon properly, they really shouldn’t be serving it at all. It’s practically criminal."

Remus, barely glancing up from the Daily Prophet, replied with practiced indifference, "You say that every morning."

"And every morning, I’m still right," Sirius said, stabbing at a charred piece of bacon with melodramatic flair.

James Potter, seated between them, was only marginally involved in the conversation. The bulk of his attention—an alarming, disproportionate amount—was focused a few seats down the Gryffindor table, where you were nestled beside Lily Evans with a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. You laughed at something she said, a sound so soft and clear that it reached him easily over the low hum of breakfast chatter. James didn’t even hear the joke. The moment you smiled, his brain short-circuited—something sparked, overloaded, and went still.

He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice, took a slow sip, and set it back down carefully. A droplet slid down the rim, clinging to his finger. He wiped it away absently, still looking at you.

There was something specific about mornings and you—a quiet kind of softness. Your hair was still slightly tousled from sleep, your oversized jumper hung loosely on your frame, and your hands gripped the mug as if it anchored you to the table. You leaned in, laughing again, and the sound caught in James's chest like a hook.

You weren’t trying to be radiant. That was the worst part. You didn’t angle for attention—you just had that gravitational pull, the kind of beauty that rearranged a room without asking permission. And James was, academically speaking, utterly and irreversibly besotted.

This wasn’t new. It had been happening slowly, over months—maybe even years. A quiet, resigned sort of yearning that made itself at home beneath his ribcage; a second heartbeat. He realized he was in too deep when he stopped fantasizing about declarations and started yearning for the ordinary. Sharing a table in the library. Catching your eye across a hallway. The occasional accidental touch that felt far too meaningful.

He’d made peace with the ache. As long as he got to see you every day, he could live with it.

Peter nudged him with a mouthful of toast. "Did you finish the Transfiguration essay?"

James’s jaw tightened. He was about to deliver a casual, harmless answer. Something that passed as effort.

Instead, what he said was, "Didn't even open the book."

Silence.

James blinked.

What the hell?

He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t even consciously thought it.

Remus slowly lowered his newspaper. "Come again?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That’s not the James Potter we know and grudgingly tolerate."

James felt a prickling heat crawl up his neck. He tried again.

"I meant to, but I got distracted. By a leaf. Or a bird. Something shiny. I don’t know."

The words tumbled out uncontrollably. He slapped both hands over his mouth, a feeble attempt at containing the damage. His cheeks were already burning, and his eyes darted around as if he could chase the words down and pull them back.

Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe, he warned himself.

Sirius grinned, delighted. "Did you just involuntarily confess to procrastinating?"

James whispered, horrified, "I didn’t mean to. It just—happened. Like my mouth’s operating on its own."

Remus's smile faltered. He looked mildly concerned now.

Before anyone could respond, your voice cut through the moment.

"Did you hit your head this morning, Potter?"

You were looking at him, bemused, your head tilted slightly. You were clearly unaware that James was in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

He turned toward you with the intention of brushing it off—something witty, something safe.

His brain screamed: Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it—

"You're the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I think about your smile at least three times an hour."

Dead silence.

Your eyes widened.

James felt as if someone had suddenly electrocuted his nervous system. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

You blinked, once, then twice, and let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Right. You definitely hit your head."

You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and offered him one last look—a half-smile, curious and a little amused. An unknown emotion flickered in your expression before you turned away.

Gone.

James’s hand froze mid-air, toast still suspended as if caught in a still photograph.

His stomach plummeted.

Across the table, Sirius collapsed forward, laughter shaking his shoulders.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment.

Peter leaned in cautiously. "Mate, what the hell was that?"

James turned to them slowly, wide-eyed and pale. "What did you do?"

Sirius beamed and gestured vaguely to the cluster of goblets in the center of the table. One still held a faint swirl of orange juice.

"This," he said reverently, "is the single best moment of my life."

James’s voice came out sharp and panicked. "Tell me. Now."

Remus hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his paper. "We might have… accidentally tested something. On you."

James stiffened. "Tested what?"

Sirius leaned back smugly. "The pumpkin juice. We brewed a variant of Veritaserum last night. Just for fun. You drank the one we spiked. Or maybe it was the goblet next to it. Jury’s still out."

"Lucky you," Remus added, not meeting James’s eyes.

James dropped his toast. It landed butter-side down with a soft, tragic thud.

He didn’t blink.

"Oh," he said flatly. "Fuck."

James spent the subsequent hours engaging in a masterclass of avoidance tactics. He deliberately skipped lunch, took unnecessarily long routes between classes, and at one point, concealed himself behind a seventh-floor tapestry for seventeen excruciating minutes while you stood just a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Dorcas Meadowes.

It was not dignified. But then again, dignity had abandoned him somewhere between blurting out "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen" and letting his toast fall like a tragic Victorian heroine succumbing to fate.

Remus assured him that the potion’s effects would wear off by mid-afternoon. James clung to that prediction like a drowning man to driftwood, crafting mental versions of the day in which he might make it through without hemorrhaging any further fragments of pride. Yet with each step he took toward the next class, doubt clawed at him—what if the potion lingered just long enough to obliterate his remaining social capital? The uncertainty scratched under his skin, carrying a similar feeling to an irreversible hex.

Sirius, on the other hand, made it his personal mission to test the serum’s potency every fifteen minutes.

"Prongs, mate, how do you really feel about Filch?"

"He smells like cabbage and despair, and I once dreamt he chased me with a ladle."

Sirius erupted into delighted laughter.

James groaned into his hands. "This is it. I’m going to die of Veritaserum-induced emotional exposure."

"You’ll survive," Remus said, although his tone suggested he was still conducting the risk assessment in real time.

They scraped through Herbology with minimal disaster. James uttered only one vaguely mortifying remark—"She hugged me once and I still think about how she smelled"—which he managed to reframe as a Weird Sisters lyric. Barely.

But Transfiguration? That was a catastrophe waiting in slow motion.

With exams approaching, McGonagall had declared the day a review session, which in practice meant organized chaos. Students clustered at scattered tables, muttering incantations under their breath, cross-referencing spellwork, and trying not to Vanish their self-respect alongside practice objects. James sat toward the back. You were near the front, half-turned toward your group so that he could see the slope of your shoulder and the line of your smile when you laughed.

You were surrounded by Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene—quills scratching, parchment rustling, the occasional gasp of horror as someone’s Vanishing Spell rendered an entire desk legless. James was meant to be revising. Instead, his hand trembled and his heart pounded like it had something to prove.

His notes were illegible. The phrase "turn to smoke???" appeared multiple times, alongside a sketch of a teacup that looked suspiciously like it was weeping. His quill tapped an erratic beat against the parchment.

Across from him, Sirius arched an eyebrow, already grinning.

"So," he said, low and gleeful, just loud enough, "how exactly do you feel about her again?"

James didn’t even look up. The words left him instinctively.

"She’s a walking daydream, and I’ve got about four essays overdue because of her face."

It echoed.

Not quietly. Not subtly. It was loud enough to carry over to three tables in the vicinity

Heads turned. Someone choked on a cough. Sirius bit his fist, shaking with the effort not to fall off his chair.

James froze.

His entire body went rigid—quill suspended mid-air, lungs locked in his chest. It was as if the very fabric of time had paused to acknowledge his downfall.

Then—movement.

You paused mid-sentence. Lily tapped your shoulder with subtle urgency. Dorcas leaned in, her expression intrigued. Marlene glanced over her shoulder with the kind of grin reserved for front-row seats to emotional train wrecks.

You listened. Blinked slowly.

Then—deliberately—you turned.

The entire table held its collective breath.

Your gaze found James’s like a targeting spell—brows raised, eyes wide. Not offended. Not amused. Just... intrigued. Like you'd heard something strange and didn’t know what to do with it yet—but wanted to.

James wanted the floor to open beneath him and deliver him mercifully into the void. He briefly entertained the idea of self-immolation.

But then—you smiled.

A small one. Tentative. Surprised, maybe. But not dismissive. Not cruel.

You turned back around, and chaos resumed. Lily covered her mouth. Dorcas said something that made Marlene snort into her sleeve. Whatever it was, it was very clearly about James.

James stared at the back of your head, wondering if it might offer a second chance if he looked hard enough.

Sirius was wheezing. Remus had buried his face in his hands. Peter knocked over his inkpot in the ensuing shockwave.

James slumped forward with a groan that seemed to exit his soul before his body.

He was, by every available metric, completely and irrevocably screwed.

He had barely taken ten steps from the classroom when a voice behind him called out.

"Potter."

He turned too quickly—jerky and obvious—and almost collided with you as you stepped directly into his path.

You didn’t flinch. You simply stood there, arms folded loosely, head tilted, gaze calm and inquisitive. The corridor had mostly emptied by now, the background noise reduced to the distant echo of footsteps and muffled voices behind heavy wooden doors.

James’s heart performed a complicated sequence of flips before lodging itself somewhere uncomfortably near his throat.

You met his eyes with an unreadable expression—curious, composed, lightly amused. Like you’d opened a door and were standing on the threshold, waiting to see if he’d walk through it.

"Quick question," you said, tone airy but precise. "Was that... about me?"

His mouth opened. Instinct surged to the front of his mind—sarcasm, a joke, maybe even a clumsy attempt at denial. But his thoughts lagged just behind his reflexes, and before he could intercept them, the words had already spilled out.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "And by the way, you’re absurdly pretty. Like—genuinely hard to function around. Painfully so."

Silence fell with the weight of a dropped textbook.

You blinked. Once. Then again.

James stood frozen, every synapse in his body firing off simultaneously, as though his nervous system couldn’t decide between fight, flight, or faint. His ears were burning. His hands twitched at his sides, completely useless.

Finally, you let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t cruel, or mocking. Just surprised. Genuine.

"You’re strange, Potter."

James flailed—just barely—before shoving his hands into his pockets like it might prevent further disaster.

"No—I mean, not in a creepy way. Or, alright, maybe slightly weird, but not bad-weird. I just think you’re... brilliant. And kind. And I notice when you wear that jumper with the rip in the sleeve because it makes you look comfortable. And I should probably stop talking now."

You looked at him for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. Not unkind. Not amused. Something else—curious, thoughtful. As if you were seeing him clearly for the first time and hadn't yet decided what to make of it.

Your lips curled slightly.

You tilted your head. Evaluating. Deciding.

Then, finally, you smiled.

It was mischievous and warm, soft-edged and self-assured—the kind of smile that could level a person without trying.

"See you in Charms, heartthrob."

You turned and walked away with unhurried confidence, like you knew exactly the mess you were leaving in your wake.

James remained rooted in place, too stunned to move, like the rest of his body hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

Crunch.

Sirius appeared beside him, seemingly conjured out of thin air, munching loudly on an apple with the casual demeanor of someone watching a soap opera.

"You’re done for, mate," he said cheerfully. "She’s gonna marry you."

James emitted a sound that hovered somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze.

Sirius thumped him on the back with unearned confidence. "Better start writing your vows."

Charms was an unmitigated disaster.

James had spent the walk to class muttering desperate prayers to any higher power that might take pity on him. Maybe Flitwick would assign partners alphabetically. Or by wand length. Or perhaps he’d adopt some arbitrary sorting system blessed by divine chance—anything to keep James from sitting next to you.

No such luck.

The universe, as it turned out, had a cruel sense of humor.

You slid into the seat beside him, entirely casual, like his whole nervous system hadn’t just tried to exit his body at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you said simply.

“Hi,” he replied, voice cracking like a prepubescent banshee. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You doing alright?”

He gave a thumbs-up. Then immediately regretted it. Who does that?

Sirius, two rows back, made eye contact and mimed a halo over his head.

Flitwick launched into a lecture on the Cheering Charm, but James only caught every fifth word. Something about “light-hearted energy” and “proper wand movement,” none of which applied to the doom currently devouring his insides. His palms were damp. His quill was trembling slightly. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing under the desk.

You leaned closer, one elbow resting casually on the table as you peered at his parchment.

“Is that supposed to be a diagram of a wand or a tree?”

James blinked at the mess of lines he’d drawn. “It’s—neither. Abstract art.”

You grinned, wide and easy, and he felt it as a punch to the sternum. His heart lurched so hard it practically knocked the air out of him. You had no idea what that smile did to him—how it short-circuited whatever logic he had left.

You turned your attention back to your notes, but your voice was light. Curious. Teasing.

“Do you always talk like this to girls, or just me?”

James didn’t even have time to panic.

“It’s just you. Always been you.”

The words hit the air like a dropped pin in an empty room.

You blinked.

He stared at the table, mortified. His ears burned. He could feel Sirius’s psychic scream of glee from two rows away. He’d said it. Out loud. He’d said it out loud.

But you didn’t laugh, tease, or mock, as he had feared.

You only looked at him. Really looked at him.

Your expression held something quiet. Not surprise. Not pity. Something gentler—measured and soft. A flicker of understanding that warmed rather than burned.

James’s breath snagged in his throat. His fingers curled slightly around the base of his quill as he struggled to keep himself grounded. For one agonizing, wonderful moment, he thought he might cry—out of embarrassment, yes, but also because the moment was real.

And then—

You turned back to your wand.

Said nothing.

Your cheeks were slightly pink, your smile just barely visible as you bent over your parchment again. But you didn’t move away. You didn’t laugh it off. You stayed close, like the moment didn’t scare you the way it terrified him.

James blinked in the echo of it—your kindness, your quiet acceptance—completely undone.

He didn’t hear a word Flitwick said for the rest of class.

After class, James moved quickly—too quickly—trying to pack his things before reality caught up with him. If he kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and exited fast enough, maybe he could outrun the emotional catastrophe he’d spent all day teetering on.

But you didn’t leave.

“James.”

His name stopped him cold. Charms book half-shoved into his bag, his spine went rigid.

Your voice was quiet—not sarcastic, not amused. Measured. Sincere.

He turned slowly, bracing for the worst. You were standing a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, your bag hanging off one shoulder. There was nothing smug about your posture. If anything, your presence felt... gentle. And somehow, that made it harder to bear.

Your expression was hard to read, but it held no sharp edges. There was a softness in your eyes, something patient and open, like you were holding back the question that had been building all class.

“Are you okay?”

The simplicity of it landed with an almost disproportionate weight.

Because you meant it.

James blinked, unprepared. His brain scrambled to summon a joke, a quip—something light enough to float him out of this moment.

But the truth arrived first.

"No," he said. "Not even remotely."

The honesty stunned him. It left his mouth before he could restrain it, like the words had slipped from a part of him he couldn't control. He winced as soon as it was out.

Desperate to recover, he backpedaled.

“I mean—I’m not sick or dying or anything. Just…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Emotionally compromised. Mildly feral. Truthfully unwell."

He offered a crooked smile. It held, barely.

Your brows lifted. Not out of judgment, but consideration. You looked at him like his words were puzzle pieces you were quietly fitting together.

“Truthfully, hm?”

James looked away. Embarrassment bloomed hot across his face.

It was absurd how much weight that single word carried. He fiddled with the zipper of his bag as if the act could insulate him from further exposure.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me today,” he muttered. “My filter’s gone. I think something and then—I say it. And somehow, it’s always when you’re standing nearby.”

Still, you didn’t laugh. You didn’t mock. You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you took one small step closer.

And then, without saying anything else, you reached forward and gave the sleeve of his robes the gentlest tug. Just once. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t performative. But it said everything: I see you. I’m still here.

James swallowed hard. His throat tightened, but this time not with panic. Something else. Something quiet. Something close to relief.

You turned and walked away, unhurried, the last rays of afternoon light catching in your hair as you rounded the corner.

The classroom was silent now.

James stood motionless for several seconds before lowering himself into the nearest chair like someone had been holding him upright all day and finally let go. His bag hung off one shoulder, forgotten. His hair fell into his eyes.

He tipped his head back and groaned—long, dramatic, utterly defeated: “I am so fucking doomed.”

The Gryffindor common room was silent—eerily so.

James had barely stepped through the portrait hole when he sensed it. The stillness felt curated, like a scene hastily arranged moments before he entered.

He pivoted to leave, but Sirius materialized in his path, smiling with far too much innocence to be trusted.

“Where are you off to, Prongs?”

James squinted. “Nowhere. Anywhere. Just—not here.”

“Perfect,” Sirius chirped. “Come sit.”

Before James could object, Sirius ushered him toward the fireplace with the gentle coercion of someone leading a lamb to slaughter.

That’s when James saw you.

You were already seated on the sofa, legs folded beneath you, a forgotten book resting in your lap. The firelight danced across your features, softening the angles of your face in a golden glow.

James froze. "You planned this."

Sirius thumped him on the back. "Me? Never. Just a wildly convenient coincidence, right?"

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius said, clutching his chest like he was moved to tears. “Two of my dearest friends. Alone. In the same room. Under the same roof. By sheer happenstance.” He turned to you. “Don’t mind me—I’ll just be over here, not spying and definitely not listening in.”

He took a single, dramatic step back.

“Actually, no. I should go. Destiny awaits.”

James whipped around. “Sirius—”

“Good luck!” Sirius called over his shoulder, already ascending the stairs. “Also, feel free to profess undying love! Or don’t. But you probably should.”

The portrait hole sealed behind him.

James turned to face you. You had closed your book.

“That wasn’t subtle,” you said.

James exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “Not even a little.”

You rose, slow and deliberate. Arms folded—not defensive, but inquisitive.

“One question,” you said. “Why?”

James blinked. “Why...?”

You softened your tone. “Why have you been acting so strange today?”

That was all it took.

“I was dosed with a homemade version of Veritaserum,” James admitted, words tumbling out. “Sirius and Remus spiked my pumpkin juice this morning. For fun. That’s why I’ve been blurting things I’d normally take to the grave. Especially around you.”

He hesitated. Took a breath.

“Even so—I meant every word.”

You didn’t interrupt.

James’s voice quieted, like he was running out of room in his own chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever outright lied to you, not really. It’s more that I’ve been pretending. Like saying 'morning' without letting it mean anything. Sitting near you and pretending I wasn’t waiting for you to notice.”

He let that hang between you.

“I can’t believe it took a bloody potion for me to admit I’m in love with you. I think I’ve known for ages. Maybe since third year, when you lent me your notes and smiled like I hadn’t just failed spectacularly. Or maybe fifth year, when you hexed Mulciber for picking on that first-year and shrugged it off like it was nothing. I’ve carried it for so long it stopped feeling urgent. It just became part of me.”

The fire crackled. James stared into it, hoping he would vanish.

“I didn’t plan to say that either,” he murmured under his breath.

You studied him.

Then, voice barely above a whisper: “You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, completely genuine. “Madly.”

And when you kissed him—softly, surely, like you’d already decided—James forgot how to stand still. One hand found your waist like it had always known where to go; the other hovered, then gently cupped your cheek, as though the moment might dissolve if he wasn’t careful.

Your lips were warm and real, and James felt his entire body lit with quiet flame.

You kissed him like it hadn’t scared you off. Like maybe it had pulled you closer.

When you broke apart—just enough to breathe—your forehead pressed against his.

“You really are strange, Potter,” you said.

James let out a shaky laugh. “You kissed me anyway.”

You smiled. “I suppose I like strange.”

And for once, James Potter didn’t need to speak. But if he had to, he’d spend the rest of his life figuring out the right words for you.

By morning, Remus and Sirius had double-checked the potion’s timeline. It had likely worn off sometime around Charms.

Everything after that? All James.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[boromoony]

She's def giving sweetheart, intelligent, clever and lovely sunshine!

Lily Evans my first attempt at drawing her , is she giving sweetheart, intelligent and iconic?🤭💖🌞✨🌻