#maraders map

[nidamae-approvedhpfanfics]

Hermione is Fae come to repair the weak places at Hogwarts per the Bargain her family made with the Founders, she finds far more wrong at the school that must be fixed first.

Completed short story from Hermione's POV, first 5 years are written in summary form.

Sometimes, Hermione is a Muggleborn Witch. Other times, she's something else entirely. She hasn't decided whether or not she'll keep on being Hermione Granger later on.

Once every forty nine years, one of her family enters Hogwarts as a Muggleborn first year. Each of them walks the halls, repairing places where the world has worn thin, and paces the boundaries to be sure they hold. The Fae do not forget their Bargains, will not forget even when humans do.

Language: English Words: 22,276 Chapters: 7/7 Collections: 2 Comments: 4 Kudos: 36 Bookmarks: 9 Hits: 654

Hermione Granger & Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger & Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Viktor Krum, Luna Lovegood, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape

[here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can]

Professor McGonnagall: I am at a loss for words!

freeze frame, record scratch

Remus’ voiceover: Despite being at a loss for words, Professor McGonnagall proceeded to yell at us for the next 45 minutes.

[miryum]

An arranged marriage with James Potter

Something had happened over the summer that made James Potter the most love-sick fool in all of Hogwarts. Purebloods being purebloods, it wasn’t uncommon for children to be paired up early on to secure the bloodline. While this happened mostly between the old-arching Slytherin families, an example being Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, every once in a while, the other houses would participate too. 

Such was the case with James Potter and Y/n L/n. The L/n’s had spanned generations, stretching back to even the Gaunt’s time. But, such as the Gaunt family, the L/n family had run into some bad luck. Stocks didn’t go the way they wanted or something of the sort and now they were in ruining trouble. 

Euphemia Potter was usually one to scoff at arranged marriages, wanting the children to find love for themselves, blood status be damned. However, the L/n’s were good friends of hers and James had written home multiple times about their daughter. From his letters, it seemed as if the two were already dating. It was a perfect coincidence. Euphemia and Fleamont agreed instantly, lifting the weight of a thousand bricks off of the patriarch of the L/n household. 

However, James and Y/n were not dating. Much to James’ annoyance, the only thing between them was his unrequited infatuation towards Y/n. 

So that’s where the pair found themselves at the beginning of seventh year. Y/n L/n trying to fly under the radar and not draw any attention to herself or the new ring on her finger, and James Potter doing everything in his power to show off their relationship and spoil her in front of everyone. 

It began at the start of the year feast. James had an arm around Y/n’s shoulder the entire time. When a third year nervously asked if the two were dating, staring reverently up at James, the boy grinned and looked to Y/n. “I don’t know, love, are we?”

Y/n pushed James’ arm off her shoulder and indelicately said, “no. Take him.” The third year blushed and mumbled their way out of the conversation as James clutched his wounded heart.

During classes, James would loudly correct the professors from Miss. L/n to Mrs. Potter. It earned him wry smiles from McGonagall and Sprout, chuckles from Slughorn and Flitwick, and a cold glare from Y/n. The students all looked a bit confused whenever this happened, but chalked it up to the usual antics of James Potter. 

In the courtyard or by the Black Lake, James would lay his head on Y/n’s lap, even if she pushed him off or was sitting with her knees up. There were roses on her bed and notes in her bag and it got to the point where Y/n didn’t even question how James had snuck into her dorm. 

If Y/n ever went to Hogsmead, James was sure to follow. No matter what she bought, he would pay for. Even if she got frustrated, he would slip the galleons up onto the counter, grinning at the cashier. He wanted to show her that he could provide for her and give her a nice home. As she would walk from shop to shop, he would point out colours of shops, saying, “oh, that would be a good colour for our bathroom. Look at that little cuckoo clock! Y/n, we have to get it.”

He would follow wherever she went, asking what seemed like meaningless questions. Have you ever had any pets? Do you like the country or city better? Any aspirations for your career? What’s a place you always wanted to visit? Y/n thought nothing of it, but to James, her answers were slowly sculpting his future. Would she want a dog or a cat in our home? Where should our house be? I would like the country so our kids could run around more, but we can easily make the city work if she wants. Should I be a stay-at-home dad? Or could we juggle two careers? Where should our honeymoon be? 

Quidditch games were no better, because after every goal the chaser scored – and he scored a lot – he would look to the stands, find his fiancée, and blow her a kiss. Before every match, one of his spare jerseys would be laid out on her bed, a small note attached, begging her to wear it. She never did and he always gave her a pout when he realised it. And God forbid she didn’t go to the games. Once, she had been studying for an upcoming exam and hadn’t been able to make it. James had thrown a fit. Sirius had to drag him away from Madame Hooch before he secured an entire year of detention, but the boy still refused to get in the air. Madame Hooch threatened to start the game and make Gryffindor play a catcher down, but thankfully Remus and Peter had just found Y/n and dragged her to the pitch. The moment James saw her, he beamed and kicked off, broom now in the air. They had ended up winning. James spent the afterparty with his head on Y/n’s lap, arms reaching up to encircle her waist. He continuously reminded her how awful it would’ve been if she hadn’t shown up and only shut up when she began running her fingers through his hair.

And every night, no matter if he went to bed first or she did, James would always go over to Y/n and give her a soft kiss on the forehead and a whispered, “sweet dreams.” No matter where she was, this became a daily occurance in Y/n’s life. At first, she tried to avoid it by sneaking off to the library whenever James began yawning and tossing around the idea of going to bed. But he would find her. She tried the kitchens, hoping he didn’t think to look for her there. But he would find her. She tried being in a group with her friends, in animated conversations. But he would weave his way through the group, step in front of her, and still say goodnight. It was like he had this magical map that told him where she was at all times. It was bloody infuriating. 

Much to James’ dismay, no progress seemed to be made. At least she was staying faithful to her fiancé, the Marauders reassured him as James griped and moaned. He would sling himself onto a common room chair, conveniently in the earshot of his dearest. Y/n would just roll her eyes. 

The majority of Hogwarts didn’t know what to do with them. The girls would swoon when they heard the new thing James Potter had come up with to woo Y/n L/n. The boys would huff and grumble about needing to step up their own game when it came to their girlfriends. James was setting the bar too high. The teachers would sit around, taking time to sip a well-deserved drink, as they complained how if L/n didn’t soon see the boy that was right in front of her, helpless to his love, then Potter was going to have a breakdown.

Yet, Y/n continued to push him away. James could be patient. He had been waiting practically seven years – he could wait a little more, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt whenever she brushed him off. She could’ve said no to the engagement. She could’ve punched or hexed him. It didn’t seem like she truly hated him, more like she was embarrassed and tired of him. 

“I don’t get it,” James said finally one night. He laid out on his bed, long limbs stretching over the place as Peter and Sirius played Exploding Snap on the floor. 

Remus was reading on his own bed. The werewolf sighed, knowing where this was going. “What don’t you get, Prongs?” 

“Why doesn’t Y/n like me?” James murmured, looking at his friends with large, hurt eyes. 

“Mate,” Sirius said. One of the cards exploded, making Peter flinch. “Listen. She likes you, yeah? How else are you able to get close to her? I swear, you were practically on top of her a couple days ago.” He scoffed and laid down a card. 

James groaned loudly and exclaimed, “but I’ve tried everything! Hell, we’re literally engaged! I can’t go through an entire marriage like this. Especially not with the woman I love.”

Peter piped up, smiling sincerely at James. “Hey, I’m sure she’ll realise it soon enough. I think she loves you back. She’s just scared.”

“But I’m me!” James shouted out. “I’m not scary!” He looked around wildly at his friends. “Am I?” he asked pathetically.

“I think if you have to ask if you’re scary,” Remus pointed out, “then you’re not scary.”

Sirius grinned. “Excellent point, as always, Moony.”

Remus sighed and gave James a pointed look. “Perhaps, the best thing to do is talk to her. Since she is your future wife, after all.” 

“I do talk to her!” James argued. “I ask her about her day and tell her about our pranks. She- she responds. She’s very sweet, you know, but she never shows any affection.”

“Maybe you’re pressuring her,” Peter commented. “By being all lovey-dovey. You could try being her friend first?”

James didn’t think he could do that. He already thought of Y/n as his wife. He already thought of her as one of his best friends. But what else could he do to get her to feel the same way?

The next week, James took Peter’s words into consideration. Instead of leaving flowers in her dorm, James asked if he could join her in the library for a study session. Instead of blowing her kisses during Quidditch games, he just waved. Instead of envisioning their future, he focused on the present. 

It wasn’t until three weeks had passed that James noticed the results. Y/n began coming to him with some questions on schoolwork. Y/n waved back at Quidditch games, shooting him a thumbs up in encouragement. Y/n wouldn’t fiddle with her engagement ring nervously, as if worried someone would spot it. 

The girl noticed her changed behaviour too. On a random Thursday, when James came to kiss her goodnight, she paused her conversation and whispered back, “sleep well,” angling her body so he wouldn’t have to reach as far to kiss her temple. Soon after, she excused herself from her friends, flustered. Y/n paced around her dorm, twisting the ring back and forth. 

A knock came at the door. “Hey,” James murmured as he pushed open the door. “Are you okay?”

Y/n turned to face him. “You actually care about me, don’t you?” she whispered. 

James couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course,” he replied. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”

She shrugged. “It seemed fake, you know? Like this one big prank to single me out. But then you actually seemed excited and willing to marry me, James. Marriage. This is the rest of our lives and we haven’t even kissed!”

James cracked a smirk. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I can fix that really easily.”

“But you think you’re in this for the long run?” Y/n asked desperately. “For- for the fights? The late nights? The chores? And we haven’t even talked if we want kids or not!”

“Love,” he interrupted her spiral. “Have you thought about the waking up every morning in my arms? The dancing in the kitchen for no reason? The anniversary dinners where I profess my love over and over again?” He stepped forward, placing his warm hands on her arms soothingly. “And if you want, I would love to have mini replicas of us running around, waking us up in the middle of the night because of a night terror. I would love for them to disrupt our dancing in the kitchen by demanding they want to dance too. And I would love for them to groan when they see me being all sappy towards my wife.”

How could any girl say no when James Potter was standing before her, promising her endless devotion? The kiss was slow, James’ lips slowly moving against hers. He revelled in the warmth of her body and how her head tilted to him as he cupped her cheek gently. All short and lovely and sweet, the kisses were exactly how James had dreamed. 

The couple parted and the boy stared down at her. His finger went up to brush her bottom lip before murmuring, “will you marry me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

[daemontargaryenwhore]

Im a snape hater till i die but james was definitely a big part of why he turned out the way he did.They were both awful, but people only ever see one side or another.

[criimsonreg]

i don’t know about y’all, but i wholeheartedly believe barty crouch jr would fucking LOVE 2010s white girl music. barty getting down to kesha or p!nk? ABSOLUTELY???

[aelia-posts]

Sirius Black who constantly steals Remus's jumpers and cuddles up close to literally anyone if they let him, even during the summer months, because he developed nerve damage from being cruciod too much making him feel permanently cold

Regulus who develops the same thing the day that Sirius leaves.

[777heavengirl]

AM - Chapter 1

Snap Out Of It 

Sirius Black x reader Chapter 1/3 Warnings: angst?, smoking, suggestive themes, fwb to lovers word count: 4,684 masterlist

Currently playing: Snap Out Of It by the Arctic Monkeys

Chapters i, ii, iii

Sirius Black does not care. He doesn't care about who you date or hang out with. He does not care that when you smile the corner of your eyes crinkle or that he made you laugh so hard once you actually cried. Sirius does not care that the pink hair clips Remus got you for your birthday matched your lip gloss, as well as the underwear you wore on his birthday. He doesn’t care that you don’t protest when he doesn’t want you spending the night. He doesn’t care that you risked the wrath of Walburga Black by sneaking into the Black household during the summer, just to help heal his wounds as they were so extensive he could not do it alone. He doesn’t care that you always wink at him before your quidditch matches. He doesn’t care that you ditched him to hang out with a no-name blond from-

Sirius didn't want to remember what house he was in, much less his name.

The Gryffindor common room was warm and fairly empty. While the marauders never wasted an opportunity to run around Hogsmeade for a couple of hours, it had been the collective decision, dictated by the foulness of Sirius’s mood, that the lot would stay in the castle today. At least for the first part of the day. It was now 5 in the afternoon.

Remus slapped his book closed, nothing short of exasperated. Although sitting crisscross on the large plush armchair and reading had helped negate the hostile vibrations Sirius had been emitting the past hour, enough was enough.

“If you’re going to pout all day about Y/N’s absence, invite her to Hogsmeade yourself instead next time,”

“Is that where she is? Hadn’t noticed,”

“You are a terrible liar Pads please spare us,” James groaned from the ground, his back against the bottom half of the armchair Remus sat on.

“I don’t know why you think I give a rat’s ass where she is or who she’s with right now,” Sirius knew he was really stretching it now, his tone hadn’t exactly come across as calm and nonchalant. Quite the opposite, his brows had furrowed his face into a scowl and Remus had taken this as his sign to leave, getting up from his chair, James sluggishly crawling into the now empty spot.

“Y/N is not yours Sirius,” Peter frowned at the boy. Sirius’s clenched jaw and hard stare did nothing but spur Peter into rolling his eyes. “You don’t get to be upset when you insist there is nothing between the two of you and then expect her to be at your beck and call,” Peter swiftly got up after, not wanting to even hear what Sirius had to say. They were best mates, but that didn’t mean that any of the marauders wouldn’t tell Sirius Black when he was being an asshole. Peter grabbed his coat from the back of the couch, as he and Remus made a beeline to the common room door, no doubt to make their way to Hogsmeade, enough of the day had been wasted. The fat lady's singing, as she so often fancied doing, perforated the room briefly as the boys opened and closed the door.

“Seriously mate,” James shook his head. ‘You need to snap out of it”. Sirius looked up from his spot on the couch, his legs could now stretch with Peter’s absence and he took the cushion Peter had been hugging to put between his back and the arm of the couch. He couldn't help but stare at the ceiling. James started speaking mindlessly about anything, really, the new prank they wanted to try out, if he should ask Lily Evans on a second date or if it was too soon? I reckon she enjoyed it though. James knew quite well Sirius hadn't been truly listening, but he didn't mind. Not really anyway. He knew his friend quite well, he knew the feelings the boy was trying to repress were bound to bubble up sometime. He had caught Sirius staring at you the entire time you had been at Hogwarts. His eyes trailed after you since you were 11. Since you met on the train.

It wasn't like James didn't know what had been happening recently either. You had been attached at the hip since the ripe age of 5. He was your closest confidant, you joked you were actually cousins. Siblings. He had known about the spirals of conflicted feelings you had fallen on during your fifth year. Much to your own dismay, you liked Sirius Black.

James had a low-key way of encouraging it, even knowing the casanova tendencies Sirius had started to display. The way you bounced off of each other, the jokes, the irony, the stolen glances. The way Sirius's touch always seemed to drift towards you, small pushes after jokes, sweeping you off the ground as you landed, snitch still in your grip. You'd have to be blind to not see the chemistry the two of you had.

Maybe Sirius needed glasses.

James did, however, regret encouraging you. Since April of your fifth year til now, February of your sixth, you had been tangled in Sirius's bed sheets. But not his heart. He wouldn't allow it. And you acted like you didn't either. James held you a good couple of times, as the sobs broke your chest and endless tears poured from your eyes. It isn't his fault Jamie, promise me you won't be mad at him. He couldn't exactly bring himself to let your heartbreak roll off his back, but he didn't want to expose your feelings. So he kept his mouth shut and went to crazy lengths to make sure Sirius wasn't seeing anyone else. Pulling Sirius into crazy unprompted schemes, setting up the girl of the week with someone else, and putting all sorts of spells to lock their door during parties. This one had left them locked out and sleeping in the common room quite a few times. Remus hadn't been happy.

James had tried his best.

Sirius continued to stare up, eyes glazed over as he tried to count the cracks in the ceiling of the common room. He wondered if you were having fun. If the unnamed blond made you laugh. Had you laughed to the point of tears? He doubted it, he looked a bit dull.

Sirius Black did not care that when he asked you if you were going on a date, you blushed, waving off his statement like it was a cloud of smoke.

-

You didn’t want to piss off Sirius. That actually wasn’t the goal at all, because who the bloody hell cares what he thinks? Yet you couldn’t help but think of him while you sat in Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.

He'd hate this place.

The tea shop was a cute place, it frankly was. It was a rather twee location, filled to the brim with bows and frills. You stared holes into the lacy napkins and sugar bowls. You didn't particularly dislike it. It was cute and you had grown to cherish the pinks and bows, that came with what some defined as femininity. But you enjoyed such things in moderation. And in secret. A lacy napkin stuck out slightly from your small handbag pushed down in a hurry. It would be nice for your scrapbook.

It was the date spot for the hopeless romantics. Or the pushy ones too. You didn’t peg Mr. Jacob Brown as one to frequent such places, but you wouldn’t say no to a free meal with a handsome man.

You weren't usually into blondes though.

You shared the same table as him for Potions. Slytherin and Gryffindor were mixed in this class and you had a feeling Slughorn was regretting this fact as the term trudged along. Jacob was not what you expected. He was one of the more quiet ones, if you squinted he reminded you a bit of Peter. Demeanor wise at least. Jacob's kind eyes found it hard to look straight at yours as he caught you after class, you wouldn't have heard him calling you if he hadn't been in front of you. You could feel Sirius's eyes burning holes into the back of your head as he wanted at the classroom's door while you talked with the tall boy. You opted to ignore him as you listened to Jacob stutter out how he'd be delighted if you would be up for going to Hogsmeade with him on Saturday. You didn't need to say yes though,

You did.

His tall stature, golden blond hair, and tanned skin quite contrasted not only your dear friend Peter but a certain boy you were trying painfully hard not to think about. Jacob was quiet and kind, with a knack for exploding whatever was brewing in his cauldron often. But when you met up with him at Hogsmeade, the frigid February air bitting your cheeks, it was like he had come loose, his usually tense demeanor relaxed and warm. He complimented your outfit quite thoughtfully too.

You wondered if Sirius would like it too.

"Did you hear me Y/N?" You blinked, fuck.

"Merlin no, I'm sorry Jacob I got distracted," he lightly chuckled at the apologetic twist in your face "The frills y'know?" you said with a circular motion of your hand. The boy couldn't help but laugh.

"I was just asking if you liked your dessert, you've barely touched it" his lips spread into a small smile as you glanced at the abandoned oversugared pastry sitting in front of you. It wasn't bad, but much like this place, the cloying taste was sticking to your gums.

"No, I did! But maybe we should've shared it I feel like I'm going to go into a diabetic coma," you let out a laugh, standing up, prompting him to do the same. "Do you want to maybe go for a walk?"

His lips split into a wide smile as he dropped the change of galleons onto the table.

"You're a blessing, let's go,"

Maybe this would go better than you had thought.

-

"So?" James wiggled his eyebrows, throwing a look over his shoulder briefly, catching a certain Slytherin staring from the other side of the hall. Jacob turned as red as the Gryffindor table runner. "How was your date with the shy lad over there?"

James could feel Sirius glaring at him from his spot next to you. He hadn't left your side since you came back, an easy smile on your face much to his dismay. You had come just in time for dinner, meeting the boys as they came down.

"it was really good," a smile broke on your face, your hand still felt warm with the ghost of Jacob's. You couldn't help but contrast this new boy and Sirius. The way he asked to hold your hand, Sirius only ever threw his arm around your shoulders, the way he seemed sincere and upfront with his intentions, the way he complimented you at every turn. Genuinely too, his big brown eyes showing nothing but pure kindness.

You struggled to find a time Sirius had genuinely complimented you. One that wasn't from in between his sheets.

"Well don't just spill it all at once," You couldn't help but roll your eyes at James. Impatient fellow wasn't he?

"Well, he took me to Madam Puddifoot's" a collective groan came out of all the boys' mouths.

"So cheesy-" Peter laughed at the thought,

"He's a bloody wanker if you ask me, reject him while we're ahead," Sirius mumbled as he popped a grape into his mouth, regaining his failing appetite. You shook your head, cheeks tinted red. Of course, Sirius would say that. You couldn't even imagine him in that tea shop, much less even considering that you may have liked it. You couldn't help but frown. Although you had a good time, you secretly wished you were out with Sirius instead. You wished he'd compliment you, you wished he'd open the door for you and ask you your favorite flavor of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor bean. You wished he'd hold your hand, you wished he'd kiss your cheek as you said goodbyes. You wished he liked you enough to be bashful at the thought of asking you out.

You wished Sirius would just ask you out.

"Well, I'll have you know I quite enjoyed it," Sirius suddenly didn't feel hungry again, pushing his plate away. "after the abusively sweet dessert caught up with me, we went for a walk," Remus couldn't help but push the plate of food back in front of Sirius, giving him a pointed look.

"We talked a whole lot, he asked me stuff I don't think anyone has ever asked about me before like really detailed stuff," you couldn't help but pause as you thought about it, his interest in the things you liked, your favorite quidditch team, what you thought of your divination class.

"He asked to hold my hand-"

"Who the hell does that?" you failed to notice the kick James sent into Sirius's shins. He kicked back.

"I just haven't had a good time like that in a while, he was so genuine" James and Peter smiled widely, Remus slowly breaking into a smile as well as they all stared at your face. It was obvious you were happy, the way you hadn't stopped repressing a smile, the small bite of your lip as you thought about it more.

James wasn't going to let Sirius ruin it. As Sirius opened his mouth to speak James stepped on his foot as hard as he could.

"We are all very happy it went well," Sirius let out through the pain, and immediately James took back his foot.

"Thanks, Black," you hadn't called him that in ages. Sirius felt his heart clench, as well as his throat. He'd prefer if James stepped on him again.

You didn't last much longer at the Great Hall, waving them goodbye as you went up with Lily and Mary, spilling all the details to them as well.

"You're the bloody wanker Padfoot," James hissed, Sirius rolled his eyes as he pushed his plate of food away. Remus rolled his eyes too. It was like they were taking care of a child at this point.

Sirius stayed quiet, as he rested his cheek on his hand. Eyes looking for the blond on the far side of the Great Hall. He still didn't know which house to look in.

"Don't do anything to the poor boy" Remus frowned, Sirius always had something to bite back with. Always some quip, some remark. But he stayed silent.

Sirius stared blankly at Remus. He didn't know why. But the truth was that he wanted to beat the boy to a pulp. He didn't have a reason. You weren't his, he made sure of that. The kilometer-long distance he put between you and his heart. He didn't have any reason to be jealous, it wasn't his place. There had to be something wrong with the guy.

When he broke your heart you'd run back to Sirius.

-

Sirius didn't care. He didn't care that he could hear your giggles from the other side of the potions classroom as you helped the blond boy. He didn't care that you had disappeared the last two weekends to hang out with him. He heard from Remus you were trying to teach him how to fly. Imbecile.

He didn't care that he hadn't kissed you in two and a half weeks. Not since the day the boy had asked you out. Sirius Black was perfectly fine and did not at all care that you ran to hug Jacob after your latest victory. The boy had been waiting for you at the changing room's door even if it had been a win against his own house. Leaving Sirius standing in the middle of the pitch, being dragged inside by James. Sirius didn't care that you were missing from the victory party thrown later that night. He saw your names floating together on the map, they mocked him as he tried to swallow the knot at his throat. The rest of the night felt like a blur, like the entire world flew around him and he remained still.

In the two weeks since the date, you had drifted so far from his grasp. He missed the smell of your hair, you always smelled vaguely of vanilla. It was spicy and intoxicating and he could never get enough of it. He missed your laughter when he made some stupid joke. He missed having you in his arms. He missed how soft and supple your skin was. He missed the way your lips would curl up in a smirk when he said something vaguely snarky, or when they roped you into some scheme that would definitely land the lot of you in detention. The way you rambled on about constellations and everything else that crossed your mind when you sat at the top of the astronomy tower. The way you would rip away the occasional cigarette from his mouth, talking about these not being the muggle habits he should be picking up, you'd always take a quick drag before putting it out.

He didn't care that he felt a pit at the bottom of his stomach for two weeks.

"Do you think he'll ask me to be his girlfriend?" you felt juvenile even asking, your words had been barely a whisper, they hung heavy in the common room as Lily, Alice, and Frank as well as the marauders all lounged around. It was fairly late, so the place lay otherwise empty. Your arms hugged your legs as you sat in the far corner of the couch, staring directly into the fire not wanting to see anyone's face. You usually were overjoyed at spending time like this, with all of your friends. Alice and Frank's relationship had brought the girls closer to the marauders as Frank was already a close friend. You no longer had to divide your time between your friends and James got to be around Lily.

James was delighted, of course, patting Frank's back with an I knew we were friends for a reason Frankie dear, the first time the girls stuck around to hang out.

But you had felt a tension lately, even with Lily and the rest of the girls. Like they were hesitant about your blooming relationship. Like they all knew something you didn't. Like they were waiting for some other shoe to drop. The smiles Lily shot your way as you talked about the boy and how well he treated you, were the same type of smile she used to give Marlene when she was delusional about some girl last term and didn't have the heart to tell her. James looked at you like you might break any minute, nervous to speak about your romantic affair. Sirius was completely avoiding you. You were scared you were reading too much into the compliments, into the attention you were receiving.

The tension came to a close when James spoke, his body was taking up 90% of the couch you were on, and he lay on his side. You knew his eyes stared into Lily's curled form. His foot poked yours as he spoke lowly,

"What makes you think he wouldn't?"

"Well-"

"None of that," Alice spoke up from Frank's arms on the opposite couch. He slowly fed jellybeans into her mouth as she spoke, the varying flavors making her face scrunch up every so often. "you're so lovely, and if he can't see that and commit then I'll blast him to hell myself," Lily hummed in agreement from her spot on one of the armchairs, sleep tugging at her eyelids.

"Cheers to that," Sirius spoke from his spot on the carpet, spread like a starfish in front of the fire. James wanted to kick his head in the fire. Sirius would probably welcome it at this point. He felt a knot form in his throat at your words.

Peter snored from the armchair next to Lily's.

"There's no reason to think he won't Y/N," Remus said softly from his spot also on the floor, his back resting on the front of the sofa seat, directly in front of you. You carded your fingers through his hair, and he shot you a small smile. You felt pathetic. You stared into the fire.

It wasn't as if Jacob hadn't been clear. He was really into you, and every second that he was free he'd find an excuse to be around you. Even when his housemates looked at him like he was mad. You felt a swirl of emotions clawing at your throat, almost to the point that you couldn't breathe. You wondered what Sirius thought. You hadn't talked in so long.

You almost felt bad at taking every ounce of attention Jacob gave you, you felt terrible. Like you were using him. Godric were you using him?

Were you using this poor boy to get over Sirius?

No! you liked him, he was kind and he never smirked nor got under your skin. He didn't laugh at you or drive you up the wall with his winks and smirks. He was nice and kind. He was kind yes. Probably what you liked best, one of his best qualities. And let's not forget how agreeable his face was, his strong features and dirty blond hair. And his parents were Americans! You didn't hear that often…

You thought back to December. When Sirius read to you in French, with your head on his chest and his fingers running through your hair. The grounds had been covered in white, cold seeping in through the windows. The words on the page, although foreign to you, rolled off his tongue with ease. Sirius had joked that this would be your Christmas present. He chuckled as you covered your face when he took out a little red box from his bedside table.

You fiddled with the thin golden bracelet he gave you that Christmas.

You felt like you were fighting back tears.

-

"Thought you'd be in love and giggling on some corner of the castle," Your feet dangled from the top of the astronomy tower, and although the security of the metal bars made sure you weren't going to fall, the lack of ground under your feet made you feel at the mercy of the air. Your fingerless gloves did little to stop the biting cold and your fingertips looked pale but you moved them nevertheless, taking the lit cigarette out of your mouth. Your large jacket and the sweater you had stolen from their dorm helped a bit, but you had sat unmoving for a good thirty minutes. You briefly thought of a professor finding you frozen in place the next morning. "I also remember you saying we shouldn't be picking these habits up hm?"

Sirius sat on the floor next to you, feet also dangling through the metal bars. His own jacket was zipped up to the top and the black leather material shone under the light of the moon. This was a different jacket from the one he used when he rode around on his stupid muggle motorbike. It was big and the leather looked soft and worn. His pajama bottoms couldn't be providing him with enough heat though… That wasn't really your problem, was it?

He took the cigarette from your fingers taking a drag.

"Not like you ever listen to me Black,"

"I hate it when you call me that," Sirius passed it back to you, his voice low. The cloud emanating from your lips turned and mixed with Sirius's in front of you. The crescent moon highlighted the swirls of smoke dancing in the air.

"And I hate smoking-"

"Then why are we here?" He hummed as he took the cigarette from you, taking another drag and putting it out on the side of the tower.

"Why are you here?" for the first time since he had arrived you turned to look at him. He did not turn to look back. His side profile was enviable. His defined nose, the plump lips, the way his pearly pale skin contrasted against his coal black hair. It was shorter than usual. His mom had maimed his hair during the two days he passed in his household during Christmas. He was trying desperately to grow it out again. The moon seemed to make him almost black and white. It was like watching a monochromatic film, and you were hooked on it.

You thought of the brown tinge his hair had during the summer months.

"Get bored of the blond yet?" you scoffed, taking out the pack of Player's No 6 cigarettes from your jacket pocket.

"He has a name, not that it matters to you" The ribs of the wheel on the lighter scratched at your thumb as you flicked it quickly, but the flickering warmth made your thumb feel like it was finally shedding a layer of ice. You lit your second cigarette of the night.

You really did hate smoking. You didn't answer his question.

Sirius moved his hand to take the cigarette from your mouth, as you let out the smoke. You moved his hand away, offering the pack instead.

He took the container in his hand and chucked it through the air. You watched with wide eyes as it disappeared through the air, the shadow of night covering whatever hint of where they may have landed. He took the cigarette from your lips and took a drag.

"What is up your ass Black?" you snarled at him, you felt your lips quiver as he finally looked at you one of his insufferable smirks on his face.

"You shouldn't be smoking love, it ain't good for ya," he took another drag and offered you the cigarette once again.

You felt like you were going to blow a fuse. You brought your legs back from the brink, tucking them in and using the bars as leverage to swing yourself up. Your fingers clutched the lighter in your pocket tightly. Sirius stared at the spot you had been sitting at.

"You're such a prick Sirius Black," he finally turned to look at you "You can never let me be happy, you won't even let me have my cigarettes,"

"come on love-" you scoffed, you could feel the hot tears welling up in your eyes.

"Dont 'love' me, you're so selfish" You could see his jaw clench, his chest rising as he took a deep breath in surprise. "go find yourself someone else to satisfy your needs, you will not keep me in this vicious loop any longer,"

You made to leave but turned back "His name is Jacob by the way, and I am not in love with him but he doesn't make me cry Sirius," he could see the trail of tears down your cheeks, the glow of the moon reflecting off of them. It was like you were crying starlight. He had never hated his name falling from your lips more than he did this moment.

"And that's all you do," he felt the bile crawling up his throat,

"You make me cry."

[slytherinsimp12]

⋆˚࿔ 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙞𝙣’𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝜗𝜚˚⋆

James Potter x fem!reader

You had a one stand with your long term rival, James potter, before Christmas break. Now back at Hogwarts, James becomes more annoying than usual ; cock blocking you from seeing any other guy besides him.

“𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒊𝒏’𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆”

Angst and a very jealous James Potter

(Happy ending)

Author’s note: Hey everyone! This is the clean version of the fanfic/ story. Here is the explicit version.🤭.

Happy reading <3!

The snow covered windows blocked any trace of sunlight from entering the dimly lit Potions class room. The smell of powdered sage and fresh wormwood wafted in the air , creating a perfect ambiance for potion brewing. Students were filled with more energy than usual ; having just returned from Christmas break.

You take a seat at the very front of the classroom, excited for professor Slughorn to start the lesson. All the excitement drains from your face when an all too familiar figure plops down on the seat next to you. His messy black hair covered his forehead, making his Hazel eyes appear brighter and larger.

“Psyched to be back, are we?” James Potter said, flashing you that famous grin of his.

You were dreading this moment since last night; having to see James again after what went down before break. How was he acting so normal?

“What do you want, James?” You asked, annoyed, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“It’s lovely to see you too, y/n. My holiday was great, thanks for asking. How was yours?” He said cheekily.

“Piss off , Potter.” You mumbled.

The conversation was cut short, thankfully, after Slughorn entered the classroom.

You didn’t understand why James was being so nice. He was never exactly unpleasant towards you, but you and James were rivals in all the things that mattered. Whether it was Quidditch or the Grades you got, you both always had to be better than the other in everything you did. This lead to the exchange of snarky remarks now and then , James teasing you whenever he had the chance. Sometimes, he would take it as far as publicly humiliating you in-front of the whole class by playing ‘practical jokes’ on you. That’s why you hated thinking about what happened before Christmas break.

It was way past curfew, and the library was empty , except for an exhausted James Potter , sitting at the table across yours. You made the awful mistake of joining him for a cup of coffee. One thing lead to another, and the next morning you found yourself tangled in the sheets of the arrogant gryffindor boy. However, you thought that was the end of it, neither of you would acknowledge what happened and go back to usual. But, James clearly had other plans.

A month had passed and you noticed the fact that James had gone back to normal. Back to being your annoying rival. Nothing else. You didn’t understand why it bothered you so much. This is what you wanted.

One morning, during breakfast, you received a box of sweets from honeydukes and a bouquet of enchanted flowers that turned into butterflies at your touch.

“Who are they from!” Lily said, jumping with excitement by your side.

“I don’t know… there’s no note.” You said as you blushed uncontrollably.

“Someone’s got herself a secret admirer! I personally think they’re from that Ravenclaw boy, Marcus, she’s been talking to.” Marlene shouted, too loudly for your liking.

At this comment, James’ head jolted up, his eyes meeting yours and his expression almost… hurt.

That evening after dinner, you made your way back to your dorm, when you were greeted by a distressed Marcus. His face was badly beaten, a large bleeding gash was across his forehead and he had an enormous black eye.

“Oh Merlin! Marcus what happened!!??” You yelled.

“Y/n… just to be clear, I did NOT send you any gifts this morning. I think it’s best if we stayed away from each other.” Marcus said, as he practically ran away from you.

“Wait! Marcus! Atleast tell me who did this to you!” You shouted after him, but he was already 10 feet away.

The day after, in charms, a kind boy from Hufflepuff was teaching you the right way to hold your wand while performing a certain spell.

“So you want to hold it at an angle of 45 degrees, whilst making a ‘S’ motion with your arm.” He explained, guiding your hands with his. You couldn’t help but smirk, because obviously he was flirting with you. From the side of your eye, you caught a very irritated… almost jealous looking James, staring daggers at the Hufflepuff boy.

About an hour later, you went to Madam Pomfery to get some ointment for your finger; you nicked it during potions, when you found that kind boy who had just helped you in charms, lying on a bed. His face was swollen ten times the normal size, and his body was shaking uncontrollably.

“Madam Pomfery! What happened to him?” You asked, worried.

“Nasty Hex. He claims one of the Gryffindor boys did it.” She explained.

Weeks went by, but you noticed something extremely unusual. Every single guy from your year was avoiding you. Even the ones you thought were your friends. Something wasn’t right.

“Lily! Wait up!” You called after the red headed girl as she walked to class.

“Hey y/n! How you holding up?” She asked, a pitiful expression plastered across her face.

“How am I holding up? What do you mean?” You sounded almost offended.

“Oh sorry… I thought you noticed by now-“

She countered.

“Noticed what? Noticed the fact that every single boy is avoiding me. Yea. I have bloody noticed that. Do you happen to know why the hell that is? “ I questioned.

“Oh… erm. I really shouldn’t get involved but, James has been beating up and threatening every guy who speaks to you.”

She told.

“You can’t be serious.” You hissed through your teeth.

“I’m sorry, love. I thought you already knew. I’ve got to get to class…. I’ll catch you later!” Lily said, as she walked away.

You were furious. Where ever James Potter was, he better watch out, because you were going to END him. You burst into an empty class room to make sense of everything, and thats when you saw him. James was sitting on a desk, with a few books spread open in front of him.

“INCENDIO” you pointed your wand at his books, setting them on fire.

“What in Merlins name are you doing!?” James shouted, as he jumped up and away from the flames.

“Who the bloody hell do you think you are, potter? You pathetic excuse of a man. Beating up guys who talk to me? It was a one night thing. Get over it. You are NOT my boyfriend.” You said, practically up in his face, with your wand poking at his chest.

“How oblivious are you? It may have been a casual thing for you, but it was not bloody casual for me!” He spat back.

“I sent you flowers y/n…. And you thought they were from someone else… I ache every second that I am not with you. I burn for you y/n…”He whispered, lowering your wand and getting closer.

Whatever gap there was between your faces was closed by James smashing his lips into yours. You gave in. You finally just gave in, and kissed him back.

Why did you have to resist for so long? This is what you wanted. This was secretly what you wanted all along. Now you were regretting everything you just said to him.

Pulling away from the kiss, a soft “I’m so sorry…” escaped your lips.

“I know, love.” James said, as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Next time Potter, be better at expressing your feelings.” You joked.

Wrapped in the arms of the boy you tried so hard to hate all these years, you couldn’t love him more.

(All rights reserved, ©)

[unhinged-as-hell]

Listen to me, listen to me very carefully. Lily would take James last name. Not because she has to, but because she wants to. She's more than happy to take it because she loves the man with all her being.

Yeah James is a simp but Lily is 100% a bigger simp out of the two. James tries to tell her she doesn't have to- that he'll even take hers- but she's having none of it. It is her choice and she made it her way.

[cowboylikemac]

THE WAITING GAME || J.P

a/n: i am honestly not sure how to feel about this but if you love it, i’ll end up loving it. Honestly its giving jeff buckley’s yearning.

summary: James Potter touches you like it means nothing. You feel it like it means everything. Best friends caught in the in-between. Too close to be casual, too scared to be honest. It’s all glances that linger too long, hands that almost hold, and words neither of you are brave enough to say. But how long can you keep waiting for someone who’s already halfway yours?

including: Slow emotional, mutual pining, angst, no explicit content or character death

word count: 2k+

James Potter always touches you like it means nothing.

An arm slung over your shoulder. A hand on your arm when he’s laughing too hard at Sirius. His chin on your shoulder as he reads your Herbology notes upside down. You’ve learned to breathe through it. To pretend your skin doesn’t buzz every time he’s close.

You’re best friends. You don’t ruin that.

But it’s hard.

Especially when he curls up next to you on the Gryffindor common room couch and falls asleep halfway through some dull Astronomy chapter you offered to read out loud. His head is on your chest, soft snoring, lips slightly parted. You don’t dare move.

You also don’t sleep.

You stare at the ceiling for two hours and wonder if he hears how fast your heart beats when he’s this close.

⸻

You get good at hiding it.

The longing. The way you look for him in every hallway, laugh a little louder when he’s nearby. The way you watch his hands, his long fingers, calloused knuckles, a freckle on his middle knuckle you once counted just to distract yourself.

He talks about girls sometimes. You pretend not to care.

“You think Smith likes me?” he asks one afternoon, sprawled on your bed eating half your chocolate stash.

You shrug. “Probably. You’re loud. People notice loud.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Do I?” you joked.

He throws a pillow at you. You throw it back.

⸻

One morning, he’s already at your table in the library when you arrive. There’s an extra quill waiting for you, your favorite fruit chews, and a note folded in half.

“Thought you’d forget your stuff. You always do.”

You roll your eyes but keep the note.

You tuck it in your pocket and read it again three times during History of Magic.

He never mentions it.

⸻

Sixth year feels heavier.

He’s taller. His voice is deeper. Lily Evans finally starts looking at him the way he’s always looked at her. It makes your stomach twist.

You hate that you see it. That he doesn’t seem to care as much anymore. Or maybe he’s just tired of waiting for her, the same way you’re tired of waiting for him.

You sit beside him in Transfiguration and pretend it doesn’t mean anything when your knees touch.

You lend him your scarf one day when he forgets his. He forgets to give it back for a week. When he does, it smells like him.

⸻

You tell yourself you’re fine with this.

This limbo. This almost.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you.

Because how could you? What would you even say?

“I think about kissing you every time you lean too close.”

or something even better

“I feel like I’m falling in love with someone who thinks of me like a place to rest, not stay.”

You’d sound crazy. Mental.

But worst of all— you’d lose him.

So you smile. Laugh. Let him get close, but never close enough.

You wait. And wait. And wait.

⸻

It changes one night in November.

It’s late. Past curfew. You’re both on the Quidditch pitch, lying in the middle of the grass after James dragged you out for “fresh air and perspective,” whatever that means.

You’re lying side by side, his fingers close to yours. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the warmth radiating like a furnace.

He sighs. “Everything feels like it’s moving too fast lately.”

You glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. Lily. School. Life. Everything feels like it’s on the edge of changing and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing.”

You chew your lip. “Maybe it is.”

He turns his head toward you. “What if I don’t want it to change?”

You look at him.

And you say the bravest thing you’ve ever said “Then tell it to stay.”

James blinks.

You keep going, even though your chest feels like it’s caving in. “Sometimes… I feel like I’m standing still and everything else is moving on without me.”

He’s quiet.

And then he whispers, “Mine doesn’t move without you.”

You stare at him. His voice is low. Vulnerable. Like he’s saying more than he knows how to say.

“James—”

“I think about it,” he says suddenly. “Us. Sometimes.”

Your heart stutters. “Oh.”

He laughs softly. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “That you think about it too.”

You look down. “I think about it all the time.”

He’s still. Like he’s scared to move, scared it’ll break whatever moment this is.

But then he reaches out — slowly — and takes your hand.

Just that.

Not a kiss. Not a confession.

Just your hand in his.

And somehow, that’s everything.

⸻

After that night, nothing’s different.

And yet everything is.

He still jokes. Still ruffles your hair. Still falls asleep beside you with a book open in his lap. But now, his fingers find yours under the table. His arm lingers around your waist longer than it should. And when he smiles at you, it’s softer.

You still don’t talk about it.

Neither of you are ready.

But when you see Lily Evans look at him and he doesn’t look back, you feel something loosen in your chest.

You’re still waiting.

But it feels different now.

Like maybe — finally — he’s waiting too.

⸻

(James POV)

James Potter doesn’t know when it started.

Maybe it was fourth year, when you cursed Mulciber for hexing his broom and then shrugged it off like it was nothing.

Or maybe it was fifth, when you fell asleep on his shoulder in the library and slightly drooled on his robes and he didn’t even care.

Or maybe it was always there — this quiet ache that sat low in his chest every time you laughed and it wasn’t at something he said.

He doesn’t know.

He just knows it’s getting harder to ignore.

⸻

You’ve always been his soft spot.

He thinks he hides it well. He teases you like he teases Sirius. Shoves your shoulder in the hall.

But he notices things about you that he doesn’t notice about anyone else.

You chew your lip when you’re nervous, even though it annoys you. You hate coffee but drink it every morning needing anything to wake up. You sleep on your side, always facing the wall. You pretend not to care when people hurt you, but you always go quiet after.

He notices.

He wishes he didn’t.

⸻

When he talks about other girls, he watches you.

He doesn’t mean to — he just does.

Watches how your jaw tenses, how your eyes flick down, how you suddenly start organizing your bag like it’s the most urgent thing in the world.

And every time, he feels like the worst person alive.

Because he wants your attention, but not like this. Not through jealousy. Not through hurt.

But if he asked you — really asked you — what would you say?

⸻

He dreams about you sometimes.

He never tells anyone, obviously. Not Sirius. Not Remus. Definitely not you.

But they’re not always romantic. Sometimes you’re just… there. Laughing in the rain. Sitting on the Quidditch stands. Reading upside down with your foot tapping against his knee.

But sometimes, it’s more.

Sometimes, it’s your hand in his, your lips against his throat, your voice in the dark saying his name.

He always wakes up sweating.

⸻

When he finds you on the Quidditch pitch that night, something in him unravels.

He doesn’t plan on saying anything. Just wanted to be near you. That’s always been enough.

But the way you look at him — like you see him, not the version he pretends to be which only makes it harder to lie.

He says everything without saying anything.

“Everything’s changing.”

“I don’t want it to.”

“I think about us.”

And then your hand in his.

Just that.

It should’ve been too small to mean anything.

But it feels like the start of something he’s been running from for years.

⸻

He doesn’t kiss you.

Not because he doesn’t want to — but because he wants it to mean more than almost.

He wants to be sure. Not of you — he’s always been sure of you. But of himself. Of the version of him that’s not just the Quidditch captain or the loudest in the room or the idiot pining after Lily Evans.

He wants to be the version of him that’s worthy of your attention.

And maybe — just maybe — that version is already here.

⸻

Every time you’re near him after that, his whole body feels wired.

Like if you touched him for one second too long, he’d combust.

He doesn’t tell you this.

He lets his hand brush yours under the table. Lets his fingers rest on your knee when no one’s watching. Lets his shoulder bump yours when he sits beside you, like he can’t stand the inch of air between your bodies.

Because he can’t.

But he still doesn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

Not until you look at him like you know.

Not until he’s brave enough to say the thing he’s never said

“It’s always been you.”

⸻

(Readers POV)

It starts with a glance.

You’re in the corridor, laughing with Marlene, and James is passing by. He looks over his shoulder like he always does, like he’s checking you’re still there. Like he can’t help it.

But then Lily catches up to him and links their arms.

He doesn’t look back.

You laugh a little too loud after that.

Marlene notices. She doesn’t say anything.

⸻

Later that night, you’re curled in a chair by the fire, pretending to read. James flops beside you with a sigh and that familiar look — one part affection, one part restlessness.

“Evans thinks I’ve been distant,” he says.

You don’t look up. “Have you?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe.”

You flip a page. You haven’t read a single sentence.

“Do you want to be with her?” you ask, and it sounds calm, but your knuckles are white on the book spine.

James hesitates. “I thought I did.”

You nod, like it doesn’t cost you anything. “Well. Let me know when you figure it out.”

You stand.

He grabs your wrist.

“Wait—what does that mean?”

You don’t answer. You just look at him — really look — and see it: the confusion, the fear, the same ache you’ve been carrying all year.

“You don’t get to hover near me forever, James,” you whisper. “You don’t get to want me halfway.”

Then you walk away.

⸻

( James’s POV )

She’s pulling away. He can feel it.

Not all at once — no, that would be easier. But piece by piece. The long looks become quick glances. The silence between them stops feeling comfortable.

He misses her in the small ways first.

Misses how she always passed him a sugar quill when he fidgeted. How she said “you’re fine” every time he doubted himself — not in the loud, Gryffindor way everyone else did, but in a quiet, real way that actually worked.

He misses her voice.

He misses her attention.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Because saying something makes it real. And if it’s real, it can break.

⸻

Sirius elbows him one day in the courtyard. “You’re brooding. Stop.”

“I’m not brooding,” James mutters, lying badly.

“You look like you’ve just been dumped.”

James doesn’t reply.

Sirius raises a brow. “Wait—did you? Did you and Y/N—?”

“There was no me and Y/N,” James snaps.

But the words taste wrong in his mouth.

Because maybe there was. Just in a way he never had the guts to name.

⸻

That night, he finds her by the lake.

She doesn’t look surprised.

“I figured you’d show up eventually,” she says.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Can we talk?”

She stays silent.

“Only if you stop pretending you don’t know how I feel.”

James stares.

“I’ve loved you since fifth year,” she says flatly. “And I’ve waited. And waited. And you’ve spent every second dancing around it like it might ruin your perfect little world if you say something real.”

James feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

“I never wanted to ruin what we have,” he says.

“Well, you did anyway,” she says. “Congratulations.”

He steps closer. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Her voice cracks. “You don’t get to hold my hand like it means something and then tell people you’re not sure how you feel.”

James opens his mouth. Closes it.

“I wanted you to say something first,” she says quietly. “Just once. I wanted it to be you.”

Silence.

Then James says, hoarse, “I think about kissing you every time I’m near you.”

She goes still.

“I think about how you smell like cinnamon and ink, and how you laugh when you think no one’s listening, and how I started waiting for you at breakfast even when I wasn’t sure why.”

He exhales. “I’ve been in love with you so quietly for so long I didn’t even realize it until I thought I lost you.”

She swallows. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I’m terrified,” he says. “But I’m more terrified of never trying.”

A painfully long pause.

Then, finally, she whispers, “Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it. Like you mean it.”

He steps forward. Takes her face in both hands.

I’m in love with you,” James says. “Not just in the way people say it. I mean in the way where you’re the first person I look for in every room. The one I can’t stop thinking about, even when I’m trying not to.

Then he kisses her.

And she kisses him back.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s everything they’ve held back for years pouring out all at once.

It tastes like relief. Like maybe they were always heading here.

Like they were always going to break just to fall into each other.

leave recommendations in my inbox and check out my masterlist .ᐟ

a/n: i wrote this a 6 in the morning…i am running on fumes

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

[seriousaboutsiriusblack]

James: a guy should mess up your lipstick, not your mascara

Regulus: *wearing a bit of makeup* mess up my lipstick and people will watch your body get scooped from the black lake in the news

James: …

the rest of the marauders:

[siriuslynettey]

not-so-friendly reminder that this Sirius:

wasn’t sent to Azkaban, this Sirius was:

{photo of Gary Oldman from the late seventies/early eighties}

and that this is him after 12 years of agonizing false imprisonment:

and this Remus:

didn’t lose Sirius, this one did:

[fuk0]

[rorashifts]

I need to post it here because I relate so bad

[n-e-t-t]

“Is this because of the Ribbon?”

Marauders-Era | Fluff | Slight Smut (lol oops) | Language

Marauders x F!Reader, She/Her (implied Remus x Reader, with unhinged Sirius vibes), one shot

Wardrobe Malfunctions, Ribbon Kink???Friends to Lovers to Crisis

James Potter cursed your wardrobe as a joke, turning everything you owned into clown costumes right on time for the Hogsmeade trip. Lily Evan’s saves the day, in more ways than one.

—————————————

You weren’t planning to scream bloody murder before breakfast.

But here you were, standing in front of your wardrobe, shaking with fury and dressed in what could only be described as a sexy victorian clown costume, complete with frills, lace, and a corset that audibly squeaked when you moved.

A screech clawed its way out your throat, echoing through the entire Gryffindor Tower like some tragic banshee of fashion betrayal. Several second-years cry. A suit of armor on the seventh floor faints. Somewhere, Filch drops his mop.

You stormed into the hallway in full horror-clown regalia, dragging your wand behind you like a medieval weapon. Doors cracked open. Sleepy heads poked out.

“POTTER!” you bellowed, the frills on your sleeves shuddering with rage.

“I CAN EXPLAIN!” he shouted from two floors down.

“I’M GOING TO SKIN YOU AND USE YOUR CAPE AS A DISH TOWEL!”

—————————

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting on the edge of Lily Evans’ bed, fuming and half-naked.

“I’m going to kill him,” you muttered. “I’m going to drag him to McGonagall’s office myself and tell ‘er James Potter has been smuggling black-market prank curses into the castle.”

Lily was already rummaging through her wardrobe like the goddess of divine intervention she was.

“You’re not killing him,” she said casually. “He’d haunt you. Badly. Like, blood dripping from the ceiling, your shampoo smelling like vinegar, bad.”

You groaned. “I was supposed to be hot today.”

“You still can be.” She turned around holding a soft, floral dress in pale blue. Like right out of an advert for baby powder or laundry detergent. “Wear this.”

You blinked.

Lily raised a brow. “You want to go to Hogsmeade looking like Ronald McDonald’s mistress, or do you want to look like someone Sirius Black would walk into a lamppost over?”

You blinked again. “…I’ll take the dress.”

She grinned. “Thought so.”

—————————

Twenty minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror, unrecognizable.

Soft dress. Babydoll shoes. No smoky eye. Hair half-up, secured with a simple little white ribbon Lily tied with practiced fingers.

You looked like you were about to write poetry in a field and then stab a man behind a rose bush.

You twirled once.

You looked… pretty. In a different way than usual.

And you could practically feel the chaos building like storm clouds outside.

You smiled to yourself.

“Let’s go emotionally devastate four boys.”

—————————

The boys were already waiting when you arrived.

James was showing off his new broom catalogue to Peter. Sirius was lounging on a stone bench like the sun was contractually obligated to shine on him. Remus was reading (shocking), sipping something warm and absolutely not ready for what was about to hit him like a rogue bludger to the groin.

Then you walked out.

Soft dress. Bare legs. Ribbon in your hair. No eyeliner. Lip gloss. Cheekbones from heaven. A literal angel sent to punish them all.

James looks up. Drops his broom catalogue. A look of sheer disappointment and despair in his eyes. “Oh no.”

Peter gasps audibly.

Remus spits out his tea. Coughs. Whispers something that sounds like “fuck” in four different languages. Looks back down at his book like it might physically protect him.

Sirius stands up too fast. Regrets it instantly. Adjusts his trousers like he’s hiding a cursed object. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide. Says nothing. Just vibrates.

“Morning, boys,” you say, voice dipped in honey and war crimes.

James chokes. Lily hits him.

Sirius, dazed. “Where… where did your eyeliner go?”

“I killed it.” You said bluntly.

Peter. “She’s a bloody threat to society. With that… bow?”

You lean over to Lily and whisper. “I feel like I could kill a man. But like… politely.”

—————————

You walked out of Honeydukes holding a small bag of sweets and a dangerous amount of confidence. The soft skirt of Lily’s dress swayed with every step. The ribbon fluttered in the breeze like a personal attack. People stared. Whispers followed you like perfume. Some poor fifth year tripped over his own feet and hit a lamp post.

You didn’t even notice. You were too busy existing.

James, eating a Fizzing Whizbee too fast to avoid having to speak keeps muttering to himself, “She’s literally a clown. She’s a clown. I cursed her into a clown. What is this. What IS this?”

You leaned over. Smiling. “Say it, Potter. I wore your curse better than you expected.”

James softly spoke, staring into the void. “You wore it like vengeance and sugar. I regret everything.”

Sirius walks two paces behind you like a guard dog who keeps forgetting his job.

Keeps looking at your legs and then up at the sky like it might smite him. At one point, you laugh too loud and he walks into a flower cart. Full impact. Petunias everywhere.

Lily was far from pleased.

Remus has gone full “rebooting Windows 95”. His mind going that quickly that he thought of something that hadn’t even been invented yet. He stares for too long. Blinks twice as often. Keeps looking down at his shoes like they hold the answer to why his friend looks like a blooming poem.

“Remus, you alright?” You ask over your shoulder, canines on show.

Remus, lying through his teeth. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be? This is fine. Everything is fine. The air’s just different today. Wetter. Wetter air.”

Sirius butts in, flower petals in his hair. “You’re sweating.”

Remus snips. “It’s the dew point, Sirius. Read a book.”

—————————

When they returned back to the castle, Lily is half-crying, half-wheezing on her bed while you pace around still in the dress, arms flung wide like you’re giving a monologue on a west end stage.

“I felt like a woman, Lily. Like a 1950s housewife who hides arsenic in the lemon drizzle.”

Lily, wheezing. “You BROKE them.”

“I liberated them.”

“I didn’t even know Remus had tear ducts.”

They collapse into giggles. Ribbons and victory strewn everywhere.

Meanwhile, in the boys dorm,

Sirius is laying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it just told him he’s going to die alone.

James, from the corner. “You okay, Pads?”

“She wore a ribbon, James. A ribbon.”

Remus. “It was… nice.”

Sirius sits up violently. “It was spiritual.”

Peter. “Do you think she’d let me be her footstool? Like in a respectful way?”

Remus. “Shut the fuck up, Pete.”

—————————

The next morning, you walk into the common room like it’s just another day. Casual. Hair tied back. Smoky eye back on. She’s back, baby.

But the ribbon?

It’s dangling from your fingers. The same one from yesterday. You’re chewing gum and humming something vaguely catchy.

Remus is on the couch, book open, legs crossed like he’s got composure and dignity left in his life.

He’s wrong.

You flop down beside him, legs tucked under you like a cat. You fiddle with the ribbon now, twisting it between your fingers.

“I was gonna give this back,” You say, holding it up, “but then I thought… you’re sentimental, right? You’d appreciate a relic of the day I emotionally dismantled you all.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t dismantled.”

You smiled. “You sneezed into your Butterbeer when I winked at you.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks back at his book like it’s going to save him.

Then—you take his wrist.

No warning. Just gentle fingers and firm intention. And you start tying the ribbon around it. Soft. Precise. A little bow.

“Now you can be the pretty one today.”

You don’t think anything of it. You just grin and pat his hand before hopping up to go bother James about the latest Quidditch drama.

Remus sits there. His own voice talking to himself in his already damaged physique.

Oh my God. She called me pretty. She tied the fucking ribbon. Like fucking bondage. Girly, feminine bondage. I can never take it off. This is a relic now. This is a horcrux of lust and longing. I’m going to die in this fucking ribbon. I’m so fucking touch starved-

I just—did I—did I actually—

Oh no.

I JUST BUSTED IN MY TROUSERS.

WHAT THE FUCK. WHO AM I. I AM A MONSTER.

Sirius, from across the room, squinting.

“Why is Remus sitting like he just got hit by a Confundus and an orgasm at the same time?”

“She touched him. With the ribbon.” Said Peter.

Sirius. “WE NEED TO BAN THE RIBBON.”

—————————

You’d already left for class when James strides up to Remus, parchment under his arm, halfway through a random conversation. “Moony, come on, we’re gonna be late for—why are you sitting like you’ve just committed a felony?”

Remus doesn’t even look up. Just mutters:

“No.”

James. “No?”

Remus, faint, distant. “I can’t go. I’m sick. I have… I have diarrhoea.” Great one Remus absolutely brilliant well done where’s the fucking confetti?

James blinks. “Mate. Are you okay?”

Remus, dead serious. “It’s violent. Sudden. I don’t want to talk about it.”

James. “We literally have five minutes before Flitwick locks the door—”

Remus, more intense now. “James, I’m actively unwell.”

James, visibly concerned. “Should I—should I get Pomfrey? Is it the full moon stuff? Do you need your calming draught?”

Remus, eyes wide, sweating. “NO. No. No Pomfrey. Just—just leave me. Let me die in peace.”

James, whispering as he walks away. “Is this what happens when we let him read Austen before bed?”

—————————

You’re outside the classroom, twirling your wand, looking mildly annoyed.

“Where’s Remus?”

James stopped next to you, frazzled. “He said he has diarrhoea.”

You still your fingers. “Since when does he announce it?”

Sirius, in a grim, yet oddly husky tone. “Since you tied a fucking ribbon on him like he’s your little house-elf boyfriend and called him pretty.”

Peter, quietly. “He hasn’t moved since. It was… intimate.”

—————————

Remus Lupin has locked himself in the bathroom. The door is warded. The windows are fogged. He has not emerged in 42 minutes.

Rumors are rampant. Lily knows. Marlene knows. The Fat Lady knows. Peter thinks he’s died. James thinks he’s having a nervous breakdown. Sirius knows exactly what happened, and is considering sending him a sympathy potion with a little umbrella in it. And an invitation.

And you?

You’re done playing games.

You stomp up to the bathroom door, arms crossed, expression set to “emergency nurse meets furious ex-wife.”

“REMUS. MOONY. HELLO. Is this because of the ribbon?! They’re saying it’s the ribbon?! I’m- I’m sorry Remus-“

“NO. I HAVE FUCKING DIARRHOEA, SWEETHEART. IT BURNS. PLEASE JUST PISS OFF, YEAH?!” Shouted Remus, muffled through the door and his own self loathing.

James, from down the hall. “Love, just walk away. He’s not coming back from this.”

Sirius, leaning casually against the wall. “He’s never been this dramatic. And this is a man who wrote a ten-page essay on how his tea went cold too fast last week. On the different places the drafts come through the stonework, right up against the coffee table-“

“Was it the ribbon?” You snipped at Sirius.

“Oh, sweetheart. That boy came unhinged the moment you tied it. That ribbon saw more action than anyone in this castle. Apart from me, of course,” Sirius spoke through his smirk.

Remus, screaming, somewhere between humiliation and actual death. “I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKS!” His voice broke.

You yelled through the door.

“Just say it, Lupin! Say it was the ribbon! Say it and I’ll bake you a chocolate pie!”

“FUCK YOUR PIE!”

—————————

Remus finally emerges. Disheveled. Pale. Emotionally bankrupt. More than usual.

The ribbon?

Still on his wrist.

It was like his limp never existed, the way he all but teleported down the hall.

Sirius leaned into you real close, his smoke breath on your ear as his eyes bite into the back of Remus’ head. “Teach me your ways, please?”

James walked up.

“I can’t believe I accidentally created this timeline by charming her wardrobe. I am a god.”

………………………………

Sorry about this okay byeeeeeeee

[criimsonreg]

y’all ever feel like you’re a mix of like 27 different marauders characters? like i feel like im james but also barty but also evan but also regulus but also sirius but also remus but also marlene but also lily but also pandora