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aspxn3 · 21 days ago

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do you write songfics? if yes, could you please consider 'Annabelle's Homework' by Alec Benjamin with Wolfstar? Like, Sirius and Remus in 'Annabelle' and Alec's POVs respectively? just needed the angst-

You know what? I actually do. I have to confess, though: I’ve never listened to Anabelle’s Homework before, and back in high school, I didn’t even do my own homework, let alone someone else’s. So, it didn’t hit quite as hard, but I still gave it my best shot. This is my version of Christmas Day at Grimmauld Place in 1995.

P.S. I know the obvious choice was to go with the Marauders era, but I’m never one to take the easy route so... there you have it.

To you,

with love.

homework

The walls of Grimmauld Place had never been kind, and tonight was no exception. Cold clung to the corners of the halls like cobwebs, and despite the warmth pushed in through roaring fires and overworked charms, the house seemed determined to only tolerate the Christmas lights strung along its bones.

Still, they tried.

The air smelled of pine needles, roast goose, and cinnamon, (Molly’s effort no doubt) to give them something close to normal. Something that might help them forget, even for a night, the way Arthur Weasley had looked under the pale St. Mungo’s lights.

Fairy lights blinked dimly above Fred and George, who were balancing precariously on a ladder, draping golden ribbons across the cracked ceiling. They weren’t laughing quite as loudly as usual, but the effort was there.

Sirius sat on the bottom step of the staircase, levitating enchanted snowflakes mid-air with lazy, precise flicks of his wand.

In the kitchen, Molly was coaxing the potatoes to peel themselves with a gentler tone than usual. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbows, hair pinned hastily back, eyes shallowed, but she hummed as she worked, quietly, as if music might hold the walls together.

Even Walburga’s portrait had gone oddly silent. Sirius suspected it unsettled her to see her house invaded. He didn't mind, he actually counted the silence among tonight’s small blessings.

Soon Fred and George vanished to hang mistletoe that shrieked at anyone who passed under it alone. It was a joke, barely, but it earned a tired smile from Ginny, who was helping Molly in the kitchen with quiet, practiced hands.

Sirius flicked his wand again. A flurry of silver snowflakes danced over the staircase.

He glanced at the grandfather clock.

Remus had said he'd be there in thirty minutes.

It had been forty-two.

The fireplace was being lit when the front door creaked open.

Hermione stepped in, cheeks red from the cold and her hair damp with snow. She looked travel-worn but determined.

“Hello,” she said breathlessly, wiping her boots on the mat. “Sorry I’m late, the Knight Bus stopped five different times for someone who forgot their cauldron.”

Fred, passing through with an armful of wizard crackers, grinned. “Not the worst it’s done. Last year it took Dad to Kent instead of Ottery.”

“Sounds about right,” Hermione muttered.

She didn’t linger. After hugging Molly and giving Ron a pointed look, she turned to Sirius who promptly stood up from his place on the bottom of the stairs.

“Can I go up?”

Sirius nodded. “He hasn’t come out since St. Mungo’s.”

“I know,” she said quietly, and without another word, she disappeared up the stairs, her footsteps soft and swift.

Sirius listened until they were gone.

Sirius glanced at the watch one more time. Remus had said he’d be early, something about beating the storm.

But the snow had started falling three hours ago and hadn’t let up ever since.

Sirius leaned one shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms, staring at the front door like he could will it open.

Maybe he got held up...

A crack from the fireplace made him flinch. Fred shouted something and Molly scolded him.

Sirius closed his eyes briefly, his jaw tightened.

It wasn’t that he needed Remus there. It was just that everything would be easier once the man arrived.

Or at least, Sirius liked to believe that.

A sharp crack echoed through the hall, that unmistakable sound of Apparition and Sirius turned around in time to see as they appeared in the entryway: Remus, brushing snow from his shoulders, and behind him Tonks.

His cousin. His pink-haired, ever-cheerful cousin. And her hand was wrapped tightly in Remus’s.

Sirius didn’t move. His stomach twisted so fast it left him winded, like someone had struck him just beneath the ribs.

Remus looked… good. Better than he had in weeks. His face was flushed from the cold, lips pink, eyes shining. His coat was open, and beneath it...

The scarf.

That red scarf.

The same one Sirius had given him for Christmas on their sixth year, hand-knit and horrendously uneven. It still had the tiny hole near the fringe, the one he’d promised to fix and never did. Remus wore it now, wrapped loose around his neck.

Like it was nothing.

Like it was everything.

For half a second, Sirius’s chest warmed with something he didn’t dare name. Not again, not when he knew the consequences of naming that sparkle.

Then Remus turned slightly, speaking low to Tonks, and she laughed at whatever he said. Her shoulder bumping against his, her hand still clasped in his. She looked happy. Comfortable. Like she belonged there beside him.

Sirius’s breath caught. The warmth inside him begin to turned bitter and cold.

Remus stepped forward first, hand slipping from Tonks’s as he did.

“Sirius,” he said, smiling like nothing had changed. Like they hadn’t shared a quiet breakfasts alone in this same house together just hours ago. Like he hadn’t left that morning with only a rushed goodbye and come back holding someone else's hand.

Sirius forced a grin. It felt wrong on his face.

“Cutting it close, Moony,” he said, voice too light. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”

Remus smiled. “I told Tonks we’d be a bit late. There was a delay...”

He moved in for a hug, the same way he always did, but Sirius barely lifted his arms. He let Remus wrap around him, solid and warm, and didn’t let himself lean in. Didn’t let himself breathe.

When Remus pulled back, brow furrowed faintly, Sirius was already turning away.

“Molly’s in the kitchen, I'll go help her,” he said. “I'm sure she could use some help with the wine." He didn’t look back as he disappeared down the corridor, fists curling tighter than his smile ever had.

Sirius ducked into the kitchen and quickly grabbed a tea towel from the counter, rubbing at a clean plate like it owed him money.

Molly glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “That one’s already done, dear.”

He blinked down at the spotless porcelain. “Right.... I was.... Just making sure.”

She didn’t press. Instead, she handed him a bowl of spiced carrots and pointed toward the dining room. “Here, take this through. We’re nearly ready.” Sirius welcomed the distraction.

By the time they’d lit the candles and summoned everyone to the table, Sirius had managed to uncork the wine (though he wasn’t entirely sure where he’d put the cork) and pretended not to hear the low conversation between Remus and Tonks sitting in front of him.

When Harry finally emerged from upstairs, everyone quieted for a beat. His shoulders were tight, eyes shadowed, but he gave a nod when Sirius pulled out the chair beside him.

“There he is,” Sirius said softly, clapping Harry on the back. “Right on time to save me from having to carve the goose.”

Harry gave him a faint smile, one of the first in days, and Sirius held onto it like it meant something.

Conversation resumed in a low hum. Cutlery scraped. Glasses clinked.

Tonks knocked over a salt cellar with her elbow, and Remus caught it mid-tip, steady as always. Their hands brushed.

Sirius poured himself more wine.

Across the table, Fred and George were telling Hermione a story about a Doxy infestation gone wrong in the attic. Sirius tried to laugh at the right moments, but he couldn't concentrate, his eyes kept drifting. He kept watching as Remus leaned in to whisper something to Tonks. How she laughed, a short, delighted sound, and nudged his foot under the table.

Sirius’s fingers tightened around his glass and he poured himself some more wine.

“Bit heavy on the cloves, isn’t it?” he muttered.

Molly looked up, startled. “Oh. I thought it could use the warmth... Arthur always said...”

“No, it’s fine,” Sirius cut in, shaking his head. “Ignore me.”

Remus looked over at that. His expression was unreadable, so Sirius busied himself with his plate.

When the pudding came out, floating and flaming slightly at the edges, everyone cheered and Molly beamed.

Remus stood to help her serve. Tonks followed him, and Sirius poured himself some more wine.

He hated how domestic Lupin looked as he helped Tonks with the pudding, an almost perfect picture of the traditional British family, missing only the child. Sirius poured himself some more wine.

Across the table, Remus laughed at something Tonks said, his eyes creasing the way they always did when he was genuinely amused.

Sirius stared into the bottom of his glass and he poured himself some more wine. Jealousy curled low in his gut, loud, obvious and obnoxiously. An ache that sat on top of everything, like a bruise he kept pressing.

Then Fred, of course it had to be Fred, grinned over his pudding and said, “So, Tonks… you and Professor Lupin, huh? Is this serious, or just a bit of holiday fun?”

There was a brief silence, and Sirius fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Tonks blinked, surprised, but not flustered. She straightened her shoulders, eyes flicking once to Remus before she replied: “Can’t speak for Remus, but it feels pretty real on my end.”

Sirius’s breath caught wrong in his throat.

He choked, loudly. A cough burst from him, scraping at his chest.

Every eye turned to him. Including Remus’s.

“I’m fine,” Sirius said quickly, his voice hoarse. “Just I... Wrong pipe.”

He pushed back his chair. It scraped the floor too loud, and he winced at the sound.

“’Scuse me.”

He was already halfway down the hall before anyone could speak again. The air felt too thick. His boots scuffed against the floor as he stumbled, catching himself on the frame of the drawing room door. He leaned his weight on the wood. It helped. A bit.

Soon he heard a sound behind him. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Sirius?” Remus’s voice was quiet almost desperate, definitely tentative.

He didn’t answer.

Remus stepped closer. “Are you alright?”

Sirius let out a dry and humorless laugh. “What, choking in front of a full table doesn’t scream ‘fine’ to you?”

“I meant...”

“I know what you meant. I can assure you that I'm perfectly fine.”

A pause.

Sirius stared at the floor, hands gripping the edge of the sideboard like it might anchor him to the room.

He heard the soft creak of Remus’s steps getting closer.

“I didn’t know you’d...” Sirius began, then stopped. His voice felt too big for the hallway. “I didn’t know you and Tonks were…”

Remus didn’t fill the silence.

“You’re wearing the scarf I gave you.” Sirius turned then, half-smiling, but his eyes didn’t match it. “Did you get cold, or are you feeling sentimental?”

Remus’s brows drew in. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That tone.”

Sirius tilted his head, smile sharpening. “What, this one? The one where I sound perfectly fine while my insides are tying themselves into knots?”

“I didn’t come out here to argue.”

“Right. You came out here to make sure I wasn’t going to pass out into the stuffing.”

“Sirius...”

“Are you serious about her?” The words came out before he could stop them. Rough. Sharpened on the edge of something old and aching.

Remus hesitated.

And Sirius hated how much that single pause felt like a blade. In truth, the whole scene cut deep, Remus standing just a few feet away, the red scarf Sirius had given him so long ago still looped neatly around his neck. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Remus said finally.

Sirius huffed, short and bitter. “Maybe just don’t parade her around in the house we...”

“We live in,” Remus finished. “Together, yes. But that doesn’t mean... Sirius, I didn’t think this would… upset you.”

“You didn’t think,” Sirius repeated, his voice low. “Of course you didn’t.”

Remus straightened, jaw tightening. “She likes me... And I like her.”

That knocked the breath out of Sirius more than he expected. He covered it with a scoff. “Well, congratulations. Go shag her in the pantry and call it a Christmas gift.”

Remus frowned, stepping forward. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” Sirius asked, sharp as flint.

“This bitter. This cruel.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer I toast to your blooming romance instead? Maybe charm up some mistletoe and host a bloody ball in your honor?”

“I’m not hiding anything, she knows what I am.” Remus said, voice tight. “This is real. It matters to me.”

Something twisted in Sirius’s stomach. “Right. So it’s serious, then.”

“It is.” Remus said quietly.

Sirius looked away.

For a second, neither of them moved. The silence buzzed, loud with everything Sirius wasn’t saying. Their eyes met for the first time in the night and Sirius hated how easily Remus could read him. Their eyes met for the first time that night, and Sirius hated how easily Remus could read him.

Remus let out a bitter breath, his voice low and trembling. “You don’t get to be angry about this. Not after everything. Not after you looked me in the eye and thought I was a traitor. I trusted you, always, and you were the first to turn your back on me. And now you think you have the right to feel hurt?” He shook his head, jaw tight. “You don’t get to play the wounded party now. Not after all the times you hurt me."

Sirius voice faltered when he admitted. “I thought you knew.”

Remus’s brows furrowed. “Knew what?”

Sirius opened his mouth. Closed it. He couldn’t say it. Not now. Not when Remus was standing there in that scarf and smelling like frost and warmth and someone else’s future.

“Forget it,” Sirius muttered.

“Sirius...”

“Just forget it,” he said again, already turning. “You’ve made your choice.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. His footsteps echoed hard against the staircase as he climbed, two steps at a time, until the shadows swallowed him whole.

Sirius stormed into his room, slamming the door shut with a thud that rattled the frame.

He paced once, twice, then sat hard on the edge of the bed, palms digging into his knees. His breath came fast, shallow. He wanted to scream, really scream, into the mattress or into the past, it didn’t matter. But he didn’t. Not here. Not now. He’d already made enough of a scene. He needed to compose himself and go back downstairs to pretend that nothing happened.

The room was cold and bare. With a flick of his wand and a murmured incantation, the fireplace sparked to life, flames licking at the darkness. He watched them catch and rise, hoping the warmth might chase away more than just the chill.

His hands curled into fists. He felt ridiculous. Exposed. Like he’d ripped open his chest in front of Remus and gotten exactly what he deserved in return: nothing. A flat line. A quiet rejection. A reminder that some bridges stay burned.

The knock on the door was soft.

He didn’t look up.

“Go away, Remus,” he said hoarsely. “I’m done.”

A pause. Then, gently: “It’s not Remus, dear. May I come in?”

Sirius blinked. Molly.

He sighed through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Sure. Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Molly Weasley stepped in, holding a chipped teacup in one hand. She looked smaller in the light of the flames. She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him the way a mother might, quietly, as if trying to decide whether to scold or comfort. She looked at him in a way his mother never had and that was enough to make his walls begin to crumble.

“I brought you some tea,” she said softly. “It’s nothing fancy. I thought you might want something warm.”

Sirius nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Thank."

She crossed the room, set the cup down on the nightstand, then hesitated before sitting beside him on the bed.

“I take it dinner didn’t end quite how you hoped.”

That pulled a dry laugh out of him. “What gave it away? The dramatic exit or the yells at the drawing room?”

Molly smiled faintly. “Both, I think.”

Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, staring at the floor.

“I made a fool of myself,” he said.

“You didn’t,” she replied gently. “You were upset.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve been upset since 1981.”

Molly watched him for a long moment, arms folded gently, voice soft as she said, “That’s an awful long time to stay upset, dear.”

Sirius didn’t answer. He only stared at the fire, the flickering orange light painting the hollows beneath his eyes.

Her gaze drifted upward, toward the mantle. She stood up and walked towards it, then up closer she could see a single framed picture. Her fingers brushed lightly across the silver frame. “May I?” she asked, nodding toward the photo.

Sirius gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t mind.”

She picked it up. In the photo, two boys stood shoulder to shoulder: Sirius with his arm slung casually around Remus’s shoulder, both grinning in that unguarded, sun-drenched way teenagers do when they don’t yet know how much they’ll lose. Remus’s cheeks were flushed in the image Molly noticed.

She then turned to Sirius, photo still in hand. “You and Remus… were you really close?”

Sirius gave a ghost of a smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. “James was like a brother to me. We were loud. Reckless. Two sides of the same coin.” He paused. “But Remus… Remus was different.”

He walked towards where Molly was. He readhed for the photograph, and Molly handed it over wordlessly. He looked down at it as if it were something sacred, thumb tracing the curve of Remus’s laugh-frozen jaw.

“He was the best part of me,” Sirius said at last, voice quiet. “My sense. My patience. Every good thing I wanted to be.” His eyes flicked to hers. “And never was.”

Molly stepped slightly, studying him. “Do you like him?”

The room was silent except for the pop of the fire. Sirius stared down at the photograph. Lying would have been easier. Safer. But he was so very tired of hiding, of swallowing things that burned their way down.

So instead, he didn't. He didn’t look at her as he said it.

“I’ve loved him,” he said softly. “Since we were fourteen. Maybe longer. I don’t know when it started. Just that it never really stopped.”

Molly watched the way Sirius fingers tightened around the frame like it was all that tethered him here.

“It must be hard, then,” she said gently, “having Remus and Tonks around.”

Sirius let out a slow breath, as if trying to exhale something sharp from his lungs. “It is.” He paused. “I want to be happy for him. I swear I do.” His voice cracked, almost inaudible. “But I can’t. I’m too selfish.”

Molly tilted her head. “Then tell him that.”

Sirius gave a short, humorless laugh. “What would be the point? I don’t stand a chance.”

“Why not?”

He finally looked at her, eyes shadowed. “Did you notice that Remus is lefty?”

Molly blinked. “No, I… I hadn’t, actually.”

“Well, he is,” Sirius said, almost absently, like he was telling a story to no one. “After every full moon, he’d be too tired to hold a quill. Could barely stay upright, let alone write essays. So I taught myself to use my left hand. Took me 22 days to get it right. Spent hours copying his handwriting, perfecting the loops and slants until it was spot on.”

Molly didn’t say anything.

Sirius stared down at the photo again. “He never knew how hard it was. Just said thank you and gave me that soft little smile of his. Never asked why I did it. Never guessed it either.”

His voice dropped further, threadbare with memory. “ I never cared about school or bloody essays. But he did. So I cared, because he cared. Because his happiness… it meant something else to me... It meant everything to me.” He swallowed hard. “I lived for his smiles, Molly. The real ones. The ones that crinkled his eyes. I would’ve set myself on fire just to warm his fingers. And he…” Sirius hesitated. “He never looked at me like that. Not once. Not the way I looked at him.”

The fire cracked and settled, shadows dancing along the walls. Molly reached out and hugged him gently not speaking, just grounding him. Letting the silence reach deep where words couldn’t.

“I think,” Molly said softly against his shoulder, “you should tell him. Remus deserves to know someone loved him like that.”

Sirius let out a dry, hollow sound. Not quite a laugh. “What good would it do? I won’t be the last fool who gets hurt doing Remus Lupin’s homework.” He shook his head, something tired and ancient behind his eyes. “He’s happy now. That should be enough.”

Molly moved a little so she could look into Sirius eyes, she seemed like she wanted to argue, but instead she offered, “Do you want me to tell the others you’re feeling unwell? That you went to bed early?”

Sirius managed a small smile. “No. I’ll be down in a second. Just need a moment to... recompose myself.”

Molly gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Alright then. I’ll keep your seat warm.”

He watched her go, the door clicking softly shut behind her. The silence that followed was loud in its finality.

Sirius turned back to the fireplace. The photograph was still in his hand.He traced a finger over Remus’s young face, flushed and grinning like the world had never hurt him. Sirius swallowed. Leaned in. Pressed his lips to the photo, just once, a quiet farewell.

Then, without ceremony, he tossed it into the fire.

The flames caught quickly. Orange licked across their smiling faces. Remus’s grin curled into smoke.

It didn’t matter anymore. Not the essays. Not the glances. Not the red scarf or the thank yous or the way Remus had once said his name like it meant something.

Remus was happy. And Sirius, he wouldn’t live to see July come either way so why worry.

He stood for a long moment, watching the ashes spiral. Then he straightened his shoulders, set his jaw, and walked to the door.

Time to smile again.

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