kiruupon - Tumblr blog

kiruupon · 1 month

Text

The Marauder's Map

James Potter x Reader

WC: 6.9K

A/N: I feel like every few months or so I rise from the dead to post something, so here is a James fic I started, gods only knows when and have finally finished! Let me know your thoughts because I liked writing for James, I want to more.

Summary: James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter need help for a special resource for their pranks, so who better to go to than the best charms student Hogwarts has to offer- also the girl James seems to be in love with.

---

James was staring at you; you could feel it.

You’ve always had a pretty good sense at telling when people were staring at you, but as you look up to meet James’ eyes for the fourth time today during breakfast before he quickly looks away, your stomach was swimming in nerves.

“Lys, do I have something on my face?” You ask your friend Alyssa as you run a hand across your face, hopefully knocking away whatever has pulled James’ attention from the Gryffindor table to the Slytherin one.

Alyssa furrows her brows but shakes her head. “None that I can see, why?”

You frown. “Potter keeps looking at me.”

“James Potter?”

“Is there another Potter at this school that I haven’t met yet?” You press your lips together as Alyssa rolls her eyes. “Yes, James Potter.”

She rolls her eyes before looking over at James. “I dunno, maybe he fancies you.”

Her words cause your laugh to escape. “Are you mad? You think James Potter fancies me? James Potter?”

“If we keep saying his full name like this, he’s bound to hear and look at us more.” Alyssa says before her eyes find the Gryffindor table again and a frown appears on her face. “Or rather they all will?”

You pause in eating as you keep your eyes on Alyssa. “All of them?”

She tilts her head. “Well, James and Sirius are because they’re sitting on the side of the table that lets them, but Remus keeps turning back every once and while. The only one who hasn’t is Peter- oh, he’s doing it too. Yeah, it’s all of them.” You groan at her words, scooping the last bits of your breakfast into your mouth before hurrying to grab your things. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere they are not.”

James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter watch as you practically run from your table. “You really think she’d help us?” Peter asks as he turns back to his food.

James doesn’t look away from you until you were at the door of the Great Hall, looking at his table in confusion one last time before you’re gone. “I don’t see why not.” He finally says.

Remus chuckles under his breath. “Maybe because you just stared at her throughout her entire breakfast?”

Sirius took a bite of his cereal before pointing his spoon at James, talking through his food. “Yeah, that was creepy.”

James smacks his arm as Remus mumbles a ‘close your mouth’. “Well, I’ll just convince her then.” Remus, Sirius, and Peter all share a look as James leaves the table, knowing this could either end very well, or be a complete disaster.

---

You end your escape in the library, finding a quiet table in the back as you finally let out a large breath and fall into the seat. You weren’t truly finished enjoying your breakfast, but you suppose at least now you can study in the library for a bit, hoping James and his friends focus their sights on someone else for the day.

Unfortunately, by the sight of James Potter sticking his head around the bookcase to your left, you realize that won’t be the case.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” You mutter to yourself and bury your face in your book. When you bring your head up, James stares back at you from across the table, shining his pearly white teeth as if this interaction between the two of you was normal.

“Hello!” He says. You can’t help but just stare at him, blinking in confusion, but you don’t say anything. James’ smile slowly fades, and he clears his throat and furrows his brows. “I thought this would go easier.” He mumbles and you can just barely hear him.

You scoff, dropping your book on the table in front of you. “Okay, I think you’re going to have to try someone else if you want to add stalking to the list of hobbies of you and your merry men.”

James can’t help the upturn of his lips as he leans into the table. “Merry men?”

“Robin Hood?” You roll your eyes. “Robin Hood and the-”

“No, I uh, I get the reference. It’s just- you think I’m Robin Hood?”

This had to be the weirdest conversation you’ve ever had with James.

This had to be the weirdest conversation you’ve ever had.

“Why are you here?” you say slowly and cross your arms, choosing to lean back in your seat to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

James sat up, suddenly remembering why he had “stalking” you, as you put it, all morning. “Oh, uh,” He sucks in a breath. “How are you?”

You groan, throwing your hands in the air. “James Potter, we are 5th years now and have barely talked more than 20 times since day we met. I know you do not care how I am. Now. What. Do. You. Want?”

“We want your help with a prank.”

Now this sounds like James Potter and his “merry men”.

“A prank?” You ask, already skeptical of how you can be of help. “What kind?”

“It’s more of a resource, really.” He rubs the bottom of his face, staring off at your books in front of you in thought. You slap your hand over your books, causing the boy to finally meet your eyes. Your eyes flicker between his two hazel ones.

“Why would you need my help with a resource for your prank? If it’s my house, there are loads of Slytherin’s and some of them might actually be willing to help you.”

“It’s not your house.” He shakes his head. You can’t stop yourself from watching the sight of his curly dark hair falling in front of his face. “You’re the best in our class at charms.”

“Any one of you is just as good as me.”

James shakes his head again, running a hand through his curls, ignoring the curls getting caught on his fingers as he pushes through. “No way. Remember last week? You were the only one in the class who didn’t walk out looking as orange as a pumpkin that lasted two days.”

“That’s because I was the only one who read the book.”

“No, it’s because you’re brilliant.”

You don’t have a response to James’ comment. It was obvious he was just trying to get on your good side so that you’d help with whatever this resource was. You hated the fact that it was working a bit.

You sigh and push your books closed in front of you. “What is the resource?”

James’ face lights up and he quickly moves to the seat in next to you, pulling out a journal from his book bag. “That part is still a work in progress.” He flips through the pages, giving you a few quick glances at pranks he and his friends had come up with previously. You chuckle and shake your head. “Basically, what we are hoping for was a way to find anyone in the castle, wherever they are.”

He must be insane.

“What makes you think this would be something I knew how to do? I’m brilliant, Potter, but I’m not a bloody miracle worker.”

James was about to object as he turns to face you, but instead he just stares at you. Before you turn your head, James takes a sharp breath and pushes his glasses higher on his nose. “Well, we can work on it together. We’ll come up with something.”

“Potter…” you trail off, looking at the scrawled messy handwriting of the boy’s quick thinking on the page in front of you. You close the book. “Look, it sounds interesting. A challenge even, and I love challenges, but I don’t have time to waste with your silly little Gryffindor pranks. You’ll just have to find someone else or do it yourself.”

James wants to object, saying you’re the best person for the task, but you were packing your things into your bag, and it wasn’t until you had almost left the table before he finally says, “We can use it to prank Snape.”

That got your attention.

It wasn’t a secret to everyone in Hogwarts that despite being in the same house, Severus Snape and you hated each other.

Your hand clenches and for a moment, James thinks he might have you. That is, until you turn around with a frown. “Sorry, Potter. Still not interested.”

---

“I told you she wouldn’t go for it.” Remus says, barely looking up at James over the book in his hand.

James just grunts, keeping his glasses from slipping of his nose as he hangs upside off the couch, his curls reaching to the ground. “I don’t understand.”

“Why would she say no?” Sirius asks. He head was laying across Remus’ lap and he tries to annoy the boy while he’s reading by pushing the book away, but Remus is far too used to his antics as he slaps Sirius’ hand away without missing a word on the page.

“Why would she say no!” James’ dramatic throw of his hands causes the other three boys to laugh at him.

They sit in silence for a moment, silently brainstorming where to go from here before Peter speaks up. “You didn’t flirt with her, did you?”

James stays silent.

Remus, Sirius, and Peter can’t help themselves this time as their laughter filled the room, gathering the attention of other Gryffindor’s in the common room as James’ cheeks turn the darkest shade of red that they’ve ever seen.

“Blimey mate, what did you say?” Sirius chucks a pillow at James, and he can’t catch it in time, letting it smack his chest before he moves to sit up.

“Nothing! I swear! I didn’t- I didn’t… I may have flirted just a tiny- a teensy tiny bit.” His voice is quiet at the end of his sentence out of embarrassment.

If James thought his friends laughing at him earlier was bad, it was nothing compared to now. He does nothing but cover his face in his hands, waiting for the sounds to stop.

“What did you say?” Sirius jumps to the couch next to James, throwing his arm around his shoulders and bring him closer to his side.

“Nothing!” James claims, but even he knows it was a lie. He sighs in defeat. “I just- I called her brilliant, that’s it.”

“Oh, Prongs, you might as well have gotten down on a knee and proposed!” Sirius claps him on the back before laughing at his best friend’s humiliation once more. Remus and Peter’s laughter grows with Sirius’ comment. James just shakes his head and heads out of the common room throwing his middle finger up to his friends.

He’d dealt with his friends joking around about his crush on Lily for years, but it was different with you.

That might be because James never told his friends about his crush on you, they just figured it out. Even before James knew.

Walking toward the black lake, wanting to get some fresh air, James stops at the sound of a familiar voice. He ducks behind a pillar.

“Snape, just leave her alone!”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that was your voice. He glances out, watching as you jog over to two other people. One of them obviously being Snape. The other James could barely make out, until Snape takes a step away from her and he realizes that she was your friend from breakfast. There’s an argument that James can’t hear from where he’s standing between you and Snape and Alyssa ducks behind you. You turn around, wanting to walk away with Alyssa before Snape pulls out his wand.

James’ eyes widen and he reaches for his own, only to realize he left it in the common room in his quick leave. He curses himself, hoping you turn around before Snape curses you behind your back. Instead, Snape aims for Alyssa and before you can stop it or before James can sprint out from behind the pillar, Snape is holding Alyssa in the air above the water.

“Put her down!” you yell and point your wand at him. Snape can only snicker before he lets Alyssa fall right into the lake. “Lys!” You yell, knowing your friend isn’t the best at swimming. You jump in to help her out, and by the time you both are back on land, soaking wet, Snape was gone and James was helping you both out of the water.

Once Alyssa was out first, you take James’ outstretched hand soaking his sleeves, but he doesn’t care. He makes sure you’re okay, but he’s stopped when you grab both of his arms, getting him to look you in the eyes.

“I’ll help you with that resource.” You tell him, tired of Snape bullying your friends and you. “I want this to be something that’s going to haunt Snape for years and years to come.”

James can only smile at you.

You smile back.

---

“Ok, just start again from the beginning.” You plead the four boys in front of you as you crowd around a table in the library as the 6th hour of reading resources starts. You’ve never really seen the group of friends really in action of planning their pranks, but keeping up with them as you flip through the library books you’ve all read from the shelves has been really hard.

“We want to be able to know where anyone is at any time.” Sirius says as he lays across the table, kicking his legs up in the air. You nod, looking down at the book pile in front of you as you pick up a book and toss it behind you where Remus is standing to let him put it back on the shelf.

“It only needs to be in the castle.” Peter points out, earning hums from his friends. No use for a prank resource outside of the castle, apparently. You toss two more books back.

“Oh!” You hear Remus say as you flip through pages, he glances over your shoulder, looking at the books you have. “We should have all the secret passages marked on it too!”

You sigh and add 4 books to your discard pile. You’re left with 3 books, each of them potentially having information you knew would be useful to the friend group, you just had to figure out what information.

James slides into the seat next to you and you quickly meet his eyes. James’ sucks in a breath, not having expected to meet your eyes as he sat down. There’s a moment where James almost forgets his friends are in the room and you’re not just helping him. He only grounds himself back to reality when you turn your head, chewing on your lip nervously. “We uh, we were also thinking it can be something only we can use.”

James’ voice was quieter than he normally was, but it didn’t matter.

You knew the perfect spell to use.

“The Homonculous Charm.” You tell the group, turning your book around and showing the marked charm to the others. “You cast it onto a blank parchment, and it tracks where everyone is around the castle, whenever, wherever, and whoever.” The group of boys in front you have different looks of astonishment.

But, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that Remus, Sirius, and Peter were looking at the book in your hands and James, well, he was looking right at you.

You clear your throat, hoping to push the boy’s attention off of you. “All you have to do is cast the charm on a parchment and map the place.”

“Easy!” Sirius yells, giving Peter a high five. “Let’s cast it and get to pranking Snivellus!”

“Doesn’t look like its that easy, Pads.” Remus puts his hand on Sirius’ shoulder as he reads over the page you show them.

You nod your head. “If you want a place to show up on the map, you have to actually cast the charm in the place.” There were 4 groans from the boys, and you hold back a laugh.

“That could take weeks.” James sighs, leaning his head back in the chair. “Do you know how big this castle is?”

“It wouldn’t take weeks, maybe just a few days and I’m sure you guys can do it.” You tell them, pushing on James’ shoulder. James’ frown turns up a little at your playfulness and you’re quick to pull your attention of him. You start to pull your things together and stand up. “Now, if we’re done here-”

“Wait, where are you going?” Sirius asks, tugging on your bag.

You swat his hand off your bag. “Leaving. I helped and now you can prank Snape to your heart’s desire.”

“To our hearts desire?” James questions, standing up to be at your height. His eyes meet yours and there’s a pause in his speech before he practically drags his eyes away, forcing himself to look at the book. “Time would go a lot faster if you helped.”

You guffaw and throw yourself into the seat again. “You have like a million friends. Can’t you trick some of them into helping you?”

“We could.” Peter shrugs and moves to stand on the other side of the table than you, placing it between the two of you.

Sirius threw his arm around Peter. “But then you wouldn’t really get revenge on Snivellus.”

Remus stood next to them, his hands buried in his jeans as he smirks. “And isn’t that what you wanted when you agreed to help?”

James joins them as well, squishing together as all four stare directly at you with various forms of mischief on their faces. “So? What do you say?”

They were right.

Screw them, but they were right.

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “What’s the plan?”

---

Alyssa had been laughing for what seemed like an hour as you both lay on your respective beds. You told her all about your little study session with the boys today and she apparently found it quite amusing what you’ve got yourself wrapped into. “It’s not funny, Lys.”

“Are you mad? You, being forced to spend as much time as you can with your crush and his best mates mapping the entire school to get back at Snape?” She chuckles. “This is the funniest thing that has happened to you since you blew up your book bag practicing for exams last year.”

“I don’t have a crush on James.” You groan, throwing your arm across your eyes, blocking the stray sunlight coming in from the window.

“James?” Alyssa asks seemingly confused. “I was talking about Sirius.”

You couldn’t help your snort of laughter at her comment. You knew she was joking, and she knew you were harboring secret feelings for the curly dark-haired, glasses wearing boy. “Can I just get some sleep?” You ask her, ignoring the fact it was barely dinnertime. “If I have to stay up all night mapping the castle with them, then I am sleeping now.”

“Fine by me.” Alyssa tells you, chucking a pillow at you before pulling out a book since she didn’t have plans to sleep early. You get smacked by the pillow and send a weak attempt at slinging it back at her before finally heading to bed.

---

“I’m going tonight.” James says to his friends the moment they step into the common room, making sure his voice is hushed. “If Y/N is going, then I’m going.”

His friends don’t bother hiding their laughs. “Mate, as if we would keep you from roaming the castle in private with the love of your life.” Sirius snickers, giving James a little push that has him falling onto the couch. “Besides, you only have the one invisibility cloak and last time we had 3 of us in there, Remus had his hand on my butt.”

“Remus would have his hand on your butt even if we didn’t have the cloak.” James grumbles, feeling Remus smack him in the back of the head. “Ow!” James groans, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. “Am I wrong?” He asks, only to look over and see Remus starting to lay across the couch coincidentally, or not, laying his head on Sirius’ lap.

James rolls his eyes at his best friends before he pulls out his books, thinking he’s going to get some studying in before dinner. “You’re not going to get some sleep?” Peter asks, seeing his friend studying. James shakes his head, knowing if he tried to sleep right now, there would only be one person on his mind.

---

This wasn’t the first time you had snuck out of the Slytherin common room, but this was the first time you were just standing around begging to be caught out of bed. You tap your foot, glancing every direction for any of the boys to come around the corner, but you didn’t see them. You were about to give up, not wanting to be caught by a professor. You had taken one step before James appears, standing right in front of you. His presence scares you and you can’t hold back the scream you release.

James jumps at the sound. He should have figured you would’ve reacted to him taking off the cloak, but he didn’t expect you to start screaming. He jumps forward, covering your mouth with his hand as he presses you against the wall. “It’s just me! It’s James!” He whispers as loud as he can, wanting you to stop screaming but not wanting anyone else to hear. Your eyes flicker back and forth between his and when he was certain you were done screaming, he brings his hand away. He didn’t realize how close your bodies were to each other until you were looking at each other. A moment passes before James clears his throat. “Um, hi.”

The spell is broken as you shake your head, pushing him away gently and slapping his arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? Where did you even come from?”

James chuckles a bit at the situation, gripping the cloak in his hand as he puts his other on your arm to calm you down. “I’ll tell you.” He assures you. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to freak out.”

You just blink in confusion. James doesn’t say anything else before he throws the cloak around his shoulders, affectively leaving him as a floating head. You suck in a breath. “An invisibility cloak?” You had never seen one before. James liked looking at the amazed smile on your face, he hoped he see it again soon.

“Who’s there!” James and you jump at the sound of a professor, obviously looking for the source of your scream from earlier. James was quick to pull you into him, wrapping the two of you in the cloak as you press your body against his. James’ arm wraps around your waist as he keeps the cloak closed and you both watch the professor pass right by, completely unaware of your presence.

James gives it a few minutes before he pulls the cloak off, slowly letting go of your waist. You exhale heavily, taking a step back from James. The two of you stand awkwardly next to each other, neither of you truly knew what to say to each other.

“Nice cloak.” Your voice was higher than you’d like it to be but, in your defense, the closeness you had to James was still high on your mind.

James hoped the night light had hidden the blush on the cheeks that he knew was going to be there. “Thanks- Thank you.” He stumbled through, avoiding looking at you.

You suck in a breath, trying to think of what to say before forcing a smile. “Should we get going?”

“Yep. Yeah, let’s just uh…”

James’ sentence had trailed off, but it didn’t matter as he pulled out a piece of parchment paper from his pocket. You raise a brow at it and cross your arms. “Is that supposed to be for the map?” James nods. “Potter, have you seen the size of this castle? One corridor wouldn’t even fit on that page.”

James frowns. He thought the paper he brought was large enough, but you might have a point. You roll your eyes and take him by the arm to a nearby classroom, knowing the professor kept larger pieces of parchment on hand. James hoped greatly that you didn’t notice how eager he was to remain with your arm locked with his.

“Take this.” You hand James a folded piece of parchment, and being the curious person James Potter was, he let it unfold. The parchment kept unfolding until it was taller than him and then some, hitting the ground with a soft thud. He looks at you, widening his eyes. “You wanted a map.” You remind him. “Let’s just hope this one is big enough.”

---

You let James take the lead with holding the cloak, ready to throw it over you both the moment he needed, and you would cast the spell onto the soon-to-be map. Unfortunately, you both found yourselves quite bored with the task. “How’s Quidditch?” You ask James, desperate for a distraction.

James smiles, glad to talk about a subject he enjoys. “Amazing, as usual. Haven’t lost yet this year.”

You smirk. “Well, that’s because you’ve haven’t played Slytherin yet.”

James has to hold back a laugh. “Please,” you bite your cheek hearing James’ playful tone. “We’ll beat Slytherin next weekend just as easily as we did Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.”

“I don’t know, we got a new seeker. Heard he’s quite good.”

“Better than me?”

You choose to glance at him, and you’re not surprised to see the cocky smile sitting pretty on his lips. This time you don’t fight the smile on your face. “I’ve never seen you play, Potter. How am I supposed to know how good you are?”

James stops walking and it takes you a moment to notice before you stop as well. “You’ve never watched a Gryffindor match before?” James looks as if his head would explode.

“I’ve never even seen a Slytherin match before.” You admit. You would admit only to yourself that you were a little embarrassed.

James just stares at you, his mouth fallen open in pure shock. “You’re joking.” He says before you slowly shake your head. “You’re joking!” You chuckle softly, amused at his response. He shakes his head and starts walking again. “You’re coming. Next weekend, when Gryffindor beats Slytherin, I expect to see you in the stands.”

You can’t help but smile at his comment. “Yeah, we’ll see.” You say, turning down the corridor as you cast the spell again, watching the paper map out the corridor. James smiles and nudges your shoulder softly with his.

“Come on, we’ve got a lot more to map.” He says before the two of you start down the hallway quicker, almost racing each other to the end. You both laugh as you reach the end of the hall, stopping and leaning against the walls as you catch your breaths.

“I so won.” You say to him, despite knowing you didn’t.

James rolls his eyes affectionately. “In your dreams.” He breathes out. You look at him, holding his gaze with a smile for a few moments before the two of you hear a door open down the hall and footsteps coming. James turns the way of the sounds before he pulls the cloak over the two of you, pressing you into the wall again.

You stop breathing as he presses you against the wall, hiding you as a professor walks down the hall, completely unaware of the two of you there. Once they are gone, James and you relax and he lets the cloak fall, but doesn’t move back. It isn’t until you glance down to the map and see something moving. You gasp. “James.” You whisper, holding it up for the two of you to watch as the map shows you the professor moving down the hall, his name remaining on the map until he walks into an uncharted area.

James looks at the map before looking at you. “It works.”

You smile and nod, in shock that this resource was actually working. You couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your arms around his shoulders for a hug if you tried, but you also didn’t try.

James was shocked for a moment before he hugs you back, smiling and blushing over your shoulder.

You pull away a bit embarrassed. “Sorry… I got excited.” You say, stepping away from the wall and from him.

James shook his head with a smile, obviously not minding. He clears his throat and pushes his glasses higher. “Um, should we get back to it?” He says, unable to stop the smile on his face.

You nod, barely looking at him long enough to notice as you start walking again, holding the map up and focusing on it as James and you walk the halls until a few hours before morning.

You yawn for the hundredth time that hour as James does as well. “I suppose we should get back.” James says, running a hand through his curly hair.

You nod, feeling exhausted. “You four can map a few places in the day too.” You tell him during the walk back to the Slytherin common room.

James nods, knowing you’re right. The conversation finds a comfortable low again until you see the Slytherin common room ahead of you, relieved that you and James didn’t get caught. “See you tomorrow?” James asks you, his smile still on his face, only softer. You turn and look at him, matching his smile as you nod.

“Goodnight, Potter.” You whisper, handing him the map.

James takes the map, your fingers brushing lightly together before you drop your hand and he’s left with the tingling sensation of your touch as you turn and walk away. “Yeah. Goodnight.” He says barely loud enough for you to hear as he watches you enter your common room. He swallows thickly and looks down to the map before turning around and heading back to the Gryffindor common room.

When he gets back, Remus and Peter were still asleep, but Sirius wakes up when he hears James comes back. “How was it?” Sirius whispers to James, not wanting to wake up his other friends. James tosses him the map, showing him how much you and him covered in the castle. Sirius looks at the large parchment and the small, yet decent sized for one night, portion of the castle mapped and nods while widening his eyes. “Good job,” He says, putting the map in his bedside table. “but you know I wasn’t asking about the map.” Sirius says with a smirk.

James blushes in the darkness and slips into his pajamas. “It was good.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at James’ simple answer, but he’s not stupid. He can see the blush on his best friend’s face. “Fall in love with her yet?” He teases James who groans, falling into his bed.

James stays silent, closing his eyes. “She hugged me.”

Sirius can’t help the amused chuckle as he lays back in his bed, ready to sleep again. “Well, I better be best man at the wedding.” He mumbles sleepily.

James can’t help but grin, staring at the ceiling above him until he falls asleep as well.

---

The next few days and nights happened similar to the first night, only with different pairs of the 5 of you. Sometimes you wouldn’t map out the castle, or sometimes you’d map it with Sirius or Remus. It took a few days before you and James were given the chance to go together again and unfortunately, the map was almost completed. The two of you had seen each other in the day time a lot as you started to hang out with the 4 boys, but James and you hadn’t gotten a lot, if any, alone time together.

You were leaning against the wall at the Slytherin common room, wondering who you were going with tonight before James’ smiling face pops out of nowhere. You don’t scream like the first night, instead, you match his smile. “So, it’s me and you then?”

“You and me.” James says before offering you his elbow. You roll your eyes with a soft smile and interlock your arm with his. You walk towards one of the last corridors you have.

“We’ll probably finish this tonight.” You say, glancing over at James.

He nods, his smile falling slightly before he looks at you and it returns. “It’s been fun.” He says and you nod. “Is it wrong that I wished we had more to map?”

You think for a moment. “I don’t think so. But we also have been mapping for almost a week straight.” You chuckle. “I think I’m ready to be done with it.” He laughs but agrees. As much as he enjoys this, it will be nice to finally have the map finished. You turn to James and narrow your eyes. “Also, I thought Peter was supposed to map with me today, you have your game tomorrow.”

“I just wanted to make sure you would come tomorrow.” James lies. He did want to make sure you’d come to watch him tomorrow, but he also wanted to make sure you and him would get some alone time again without his friends or yours breathing down his neck.

You laugh at his comment, looking down at the map. “I promise I’ll come.” You tell him, before looking at him the same time he looks at you.

For a moment, with your closeness, the two of you just stand there, staring at each other before James’ eyes move down to your lips.

For a moment, you think he might kiss you.

Until he clears his throat and looks away.

You feel a little embarrassed, but you don’t let it show. You start walking again, James and you falling into a weird silence as James screams at himself in his head. He keep taking glances at you, but you don’t look at him, not until you reach the new corridor and you pull out the map. “Here, help me out?” You say, handing him one of the ends of the map, needing to find the corridor on this map to map it. James takes it and holds it out as the two of you look for the corridor.

“There it is.” James points to where the map had to be changed, adding flaps and such to represent the different levels of the rooms. You pull open the flap and smile when you find the corridor.

“Perfect!” You say before folding the map carefully so you could keep that section free. James helps you, trying to keep his mind from running crazy when your fingers brush again. You cast the charm and James and you continue with mapping the castle. The conversation was simple with him. After the two of you get pass the awkwardness of your moment from before, you found it easy to talk about anything. About your family’s, your friends, your hobbies, your dreams. It seemed James and you didn’t stop talking, just like that first night, until you find yourself in front of the Slytherin common room again.

The Slytherin common room was the actual last place the map needed. The plan always being for you to take it and map it without the need for any of the boys to sneak in like they did with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff common rooms.

“I should be finished by morning.” You assure James as you fold the map and slip it into your robes. He nods, his smile pulling up on one side as he pushes up his glasses.

“Well, you can give it to me at the game. Tomorrow. 9 am.”

You bite your lip as you smile and nod. “Goodnight, Potter. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You whisper before leaning up and kissing his cheek. James just stood there stunned as you chuckle lightly and run off to your common room.

It was only when he hears the door close that he’s pulled from his trance. He calls out your name, but it was too late. He runs a hand over his face, making sure not to touch his cheek you’ve just kissed before he throws the cloak over himself and heads back to his room. He was going to try and get a few hours before his game, but now, he knows he won’t.

---

James was bouncing the next morning as he stands on the Quidditch Pitch, preparing for the game and looking around the stands for you.

“Turns out when you don’t go to any games, you don’t really know where to sit.”

James turns around fast at the sound of your voice, surprised to see you down here and not in the stands. He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks over to you. “I thought you weren’t coming for a moment.”

You smile at him and lean against the wall. “Yeah, I made a promise.” James nods, walking until he was right in front of you and smiling at you. He had sweat in his hair from his pre-game practice and his uniform was a little dirty, but he made it work. You take a deep breath and reach into your bag. “I finished it.” You pull out the map, showing him the completed Slytherin common room before holding it out to him.

As soon as James grabs the map, you pull it toward you, affectively pulling his as well until you put a hand on his shoulder and kiss him. When he doesn’t kiss back, you let go of him and the map, your eyes wide as you stumble backwards a little. “I’m sorry. I- I- I thought-“

But you don’t get to finish your sentence because once James gets over his shock at the revelation that you were really kissing him, he puts his hand on your waist and pulls you back, letting the map fall to the floor as he holds you close and kisses you deeply.

You swear that the stands were cheering for the two of you, not for the game was soon to start.

“Oi!” Sirius’ teasing voice calls out from behind James as you both separate and look behind him, seeing Sirius’ grin as he leans against his broom. “Are we going to play or not?”

James gives him the middle finger as you slap his hand down playfully, keeping his hand in yours. James chuckles and looks back at you before he picks up the map and looks at it. “Why don’t you keep this safe for a bit longer. Wouldn’t want it to fall into someone else’s hands, now would we? You can watch everyone in the castle with this.”

You take the map before shrugging. “Well, almost everyone.”

James furrows his brows in confusion for a moment before sighing and grinning. “You’re the exception, aren’t you?”

You smile and pat his chest. “You think I’m going to give you, James Potter, a map to where I am every moment of the day? You must be mad.” James just grins at you before your eyes widen excitedly. “Oh! Something else!” You say before turning the map over, showing James the cover of the map you created for them.

James was shocked as he looked at it, not knowing I had done something like that for them. He reads the words before chuckling. “The Marauders?”

You blush and shrug. “Figured it was better than calling you lot the Merry Men.”

James hums. “I thought I was Robin Hood?”

“Face it,” You chuckle before joking, “I’m Robin Hood.”

James nods slowly as he puts his hands on your waist again, pulling you against him. “Alright, alright.” He says before leaning towards you again and stealing another kiss which you happily accept. James chases your lips for a second moment as you two separates before he reaches into his bag. “Maybe you could keep something else safe for a bit too?”

You watch him, not knowing what he was grabbing before he grabs out another one of his jerseys and holds it up to you. “James-“

“Wear my jersey.” He interrupts you and you have to look away and smile. He sees the smile before he steps forwards and slips the jersey over your head, helping you get your arms through before stepping back and enjoying the sight.

“Go win your game.” You say to him, reaching forward and squeezing his hand. “I’ll find you afterward.”

James squeezes your hand back before slowly walking backwards with a goofy grin. “Well, you have the map, love. Should be easy.” He gives you wink before he runs off, meeting up with Sirius who throws his arm over his shoulder to tease him.

You laugh as you watch them before heading up to the stands where Remus and Peter were, neither of them surprised to see you in James’ jersey.

And when Gryffindor wins against Slytherin, none of them are shocked to see James point at you in the stands as he smiles.

•

Don't come at me if I don't really know how the charm works, I had a cute idea and went with it lol.

1K notes · View notes

kiruupon · 1 month

Text

King Of My Heart (Body And Soul)~ R. Lupin.

🌷Series Masterlist~

Synopsis: when James and lily died, and your brother was sent to Azkaban, Remus was the only person you had left. Until he left too. What happens when he returns after the events of Sirius's escape, only to find out you have a son? A son that's his. Content Warnings: lots of italics, probably grammatical mistakes, kiss(es), might be ooc idk, child (?), fem reader, italics are flashbacks ( idk), love (ew),mentions of self harm, attempt to suic*de, accidental pregnancy, pregnancy, Established relationship, deals with sensitive topics, angst, use of curse words, slow burn (ish)

Chapter 1- Stranger That I know ( posted 27.02.2024) Chapter 2- Expectations (posted 29.02.2024) Chapter 3 - Helpless (posted 08.03.2024) Chapter 4 - Kings And Queens ( posted 15.05.2024) Chapter 5 (coming soon)

🌷Series Playlist

🌷Main Masterlist

🌷Navigation

🌷Taglist

371 notes · View notes

kiruupon · 1 month

Text

It's Always Been You

james potter x fem!reader

NEW! Series

summary - You've known golden-boy James Potter for as long as you can remember. Though you don't just know him—he's your very best friend. But there's just one problem: you've fallen deeply, madly in love with him. Or two problems, if you count his thing for your friend Lily Evans. As time goes by, all you want is to get over him. Although, James seems set on making that the most impossible challenge of them all.

tags: James Potter x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, pining, unrequited love (or is it), "why are you pushing me away?", some miscommunication, Marauder!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, and a kiss that changed everything.

warnings: underage drinking, some mild cursing, occasional innuendo, she/her pronouns used, no use of y/n

a/n: this story has been a long time in the making ... but I'm very excited for it to be out! I'll be releasing chapters periodically (not on a set schedule) but dw there won't be any long waits -> with that being said, happy reading !! hope you guys enjoy <3 - e

check this out on my ao3!

comment, message me, or send in an ask to be added to the taglist!!

*masterlist

read here:

Chapter 1 ->

Chapter 2 ->

Chapter 3 ->

Chapter 4 ->

Chapter 5 ->

Chapter 6 ->

Chapter 7 ->

Chapter 8 ->

Chapter 9 -> *coming soon ...

390 notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

All's Fair in Love & Chaos

1st instalment ( II - III - IV)

a short blurb style mini-series in collaboration with @unstablereader no real plot, just vibes and comedy.

Synopsis: soulmate au, everyone's soulmate's initials become visible on their wrist when the last person in the bond 'comes of age' (I've left the age ambiguous because their may be mature insinuations later on in the story). As luck would have it, and much to everyone's horror; it appeared that you, Barty Crouch Junior, and Sirius Black were soulmates

poly!DeathStar x fem!reader

The day that every witch, wizard, and wix alike waited their whole life for finally came for Sirius Black; the day that their soulmate’s initials became visible on your wrist.

The mark becomes visible when the last person of your soulmate bond comes of age. For example, much to Lily’s chagrin, the initials J.F.P became visible on her wrist on March 27th, as did the initials L.J.E on James’ wrist.

Much to Sirius’ chagrin, on June 25th, the initials R.A.B became visible on Remus’ wrist, as did the initials R.J.L on Regulus’.

And so it went for the rest of his friends and classmates.

Except for poor Pete, whose wrist adorned the initials of someone who - after much research and triple-checking by all of their friends - clearly didn’t go to Hogwarts.

Sometimes, however, soulmate bonds took place between more than two people, and though it was possible for it to happen among all blood statuses, the odds were higher amongst Pureblood’s.

So when Sirius woke up this morning to a weird burning/itching feeling on his wrist, only to see not one, but two sets of initials, he was feeling pretty chuffed.

That dissolved very quickly, however.

“No…. nononononononono.” He muttered in agony as he saw two people approaching him; one looking almost as horrified as he did and one looking awfully sinister.

“Well, well, well.” Barty Crouch Junior drawled as he made his way to the Gryffindor table, dragging you over with him - seemingly without your consent – by your arm. “I thought it must have been a mistake when I woke up to find out I had a Son Of a Bitch as a soulmate, but alas; here you are.”

“This can’t be.” Sirius whispered disbelievingly, causing Barty to cackle maniacally.

“Oh, but it is.”

Any words that Sirius had died on his lips at the wheezing of his younger brother.

You, Barty, and Sirius all turned to see Regulus hanging from Remus’ shoulder as he clutched his stomach.

“I…I – oh Salazar, I think I finally believe in gods! All of them! Oh…” He stuttered in between fits of laughter.

Sirius looked between him and his supposed best mate, but Remus only looked at Regulus as if Regulus was his most beautiful when he was laughing at the expense of his brother.

Bastards; the both of them.

“Happy birthday, Y/N!” James offered, his face clearly trying to smile though it took on a pained expression in comissery.

“Thank you…” You accepted timidly, eyes darting between the group of people you suddenly found yourself emmersed in.

“Now look what you’ve done, Black.” Barty sneered as if Sirius’ last name was a dirty word. “You’ve worried our poor girl.” He cooed as he pulled you tight into your side, causing you to squeak in surprise.

“I hardly think I’m the one worrying her.” Sirius sneered back.

Barty’s face turned stony. “Just what are you insinuating?”

“Uhm, that you’re certifiably insane?” Sirius responded simply.

“Oh, come now; Junior’s not that bad.” Remus tried to reason; his boyfriend still hanging limply off his shoulder as he tried (and failed) to repress his laughter.

“Not that bad?” Sirius screeched incredulously. “Did you not see what he did to Crawley?”

Peter snorted at that. “Mate, you literally did the same thing to Snape.”

“That was you?” Barty asked in surprise, looking Sirius up and down skeptically.

“Sure was.” James answered on his behalf.

“Huh.” Barty chuckled in thought. “That’s where I- never mind that. I only did that because he groped Y/N’s arse.”

Sirius felt his own face turn stony as he turned his attention to you. “Is this true?”

You seemed to pale at the attention. “Well…yes? But-”

“Ha ha. Black’s just as bad as me.” Barty sing-songed from beside you, looking at Sirius with a look of faux innocence.

Sirius heard a thump, and he looked over to see Remus looking behind the bench where Regulus had apparently fallen in his fit of laughter.

“I – I’ve died, yeah? I’m dead? Fuck, I must’ve done something right in my past life to be rewarded with this. Sirius is – is bonded to Barty Crouch Junior.” He howled with laughter, so uncharacteristic of the young, stoic Black.

“I am not!” Sirius argued petulantly. “I’m bonded to Y/N, Junior just…happens to be there.”

“If you’re only bonded to Y/N, why are my initials decorating your wrist, hm?” Barty asked salaciously, pulling Sirius’ wrist towards him to see the evidence for himself.

“Oh, sod off.” Sirius barked, shoving him aside and offering you an apologetic glance before storming towards the exit.

“Oi! Where are you going, future-Mr-Barty-Crouch-Junior!?” Barty taunted.

“To jump off the astronomy tower!” Sirius called back.

“Ou! We should go watch.” He said, turning to you before following Sirius out. “You should try to do a flip!”

“Oh, Y/N.” Lily cooed after the boys finally disappeared out of the Great Hall. “I’m so sorry.”

You let out a long-suffering sigh as your eyes stayed focused on the place where you last saw your two new soulmates. “If Regulus did something in a past life to be rewarded with this, I must have done something right horrid.”

739 notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘱

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾-𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝟨𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾? 𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝟣𝟫𝟩𝟨. 𝖲𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝖣𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗒. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗍 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈…𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?

Part One wc:5.5k

Part Two wc:5.3k

Part Three wc:5k

Part Four wc:5.5k

Part Five wc: 5.1k

Part Six wc: 6.1k

Part Seven wc: 7.2k

Part Eight wc: 5.6k

Part Nine wc: 6.9k

Part Ten wc: 6.1k (you stay)

Part Ten wc: 6.3k (you leave)

Soundtrack🎶

4K notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

It's Always Been You

james potter x fem!reader

NEW! Series

warnings: underage drinking, some mild cursing, occasional innuendo, she/her pronouns used, no use of y/n

check this out on my ao3!

read here:

Chapter 1 ->

Chapter 2 ->

Chapter 3 ->

Chapter 4 ->

Chapter 5 ->

Chapter 6 ->

Chapter 7 -> *coming soon ...

390 notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

Slipping through my fingers

a series masterlist

Being apart of the sacred 28 taught you many things in life, such as ballroom dancing, Latin, French, Spanish, Greek, fine dining, and etiquette. None of that would prepare you for falling in love with Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. While your relationship blossoms, you run the risk of losing your closest friend, Regulus Black.

Warnings: There are warnings at the beginning of every part, but just in general; angst, cliffhanger, inner demons, self loathing, friendship rifts, bruises and blood (full moon).

Characters:

Poly wolfstar x female reader Platonic Regulus Black x female reader Mother hen/matchmaker James Potter Friends Pandora, Barty and Evan

Reader:

Y/N, she/her pronouns, mentioned to be apart of the sacred 28, Slytherin, no physical features mentioned besides occasional descriptions of clothing.

Main series length: 15.7k

1: Chocolate and wet dog fur – in which you smell Remus’ and Sirius’s scents while learning about Amortentia with Professor Slughorn.

2: Ever since Potions class… - in which Sirius and Remus come to terms with their feelings for you with James Potter’s help.

3: Just maybe – in which Remus, Sirius and you agree to a polyamorous relationship, but it causes a rift in your long-term friendship with Regulus.

4: Broken promises – in which a flashback reveals the depths of your and Regulus connection causing you to talk it over. After an excruciating weekend at home, you return to Hogwarts to find Remus in the hospital wing.

5. Home - in which Remus reveals his secret to you, causing both Sirius and you to reassure him of your love for him.

Blurbs, one shots, and spinoff to come soon!!

Taglist:

@maraudersforlife2005 @xlxnq @1-800-wh0re4reid @liviessun @ae3ther @de-duchess @wolf-phoenix-lover @i-am-grells-pretty-boy @thewitchesofart

Let me know if you’d like to be added!

AN: This was not meant to turn into a series but I can’t help myself.

236 notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

Barty as a Central Character:

The most cunning Ravenclaw (poly!bartylus x Ravenclaw!reader) 🫧 All's Fair in Love & Chaos mini blurb series We can keep him (poly!moonwaterkiller x chaotic fem!reader) BFF Barty to the Rescue (Barty convinces gn!reader to take a break from studying) A Barty Headcanon of mine You're fucking a Potter too!? (barty x potter sister!reader) -> squealer (potter!reader tattles on Jegulus) -> morose manatees (James is told to leave barty x potter!reader alone) This is new (Barty x afab fem!reader fuck for the first time, they swear: 18+) this finding thing (shy!reader hides from Barty's affections) vitamin D (poly!moonwaterkiller x sick!reader fluff) alibi (barty x Potter!reader who enacts revenge against his dad on his behalf) things barty posted to get Treasure's attention (SMAU mood board) unlikely salvation (fem!reader asks a classmate to pretend to be her bf)

Barty as a Supporting Character:

A Man With a Plan series (Remus x whimsical!reader) Hard Softie (poly!marauders x feisty!reader) 🫧🫧 Master Regulus (you & Reg get into a fight, angst with a happy ending) Bitten (poly!moonwater x fem!reader + bff Barty & big brother Sirius) I'm spreading the news (poly!moonwater tell their friends they're pregnant) Sight's Set (poly!marauders x Seer/Slytherin fem!reader)

Barty Cameo's:

Surprise! We're Making Love (smutty one shot with Remus x fem!reader) 🫧 Sibling Squabbles (poly!wolfstar x potter!reader) 🫧 I can fight (poly!wolfstar x fem!reader) He's loved, Sirius (poly!moonwater x fem!reader) The Dancing Queen (poly!moonwater x fem!reader) 🫧 Girl's Night (poly!moonwater x fem!reader) Sun Incarnate Jamie (poly!moonchaser x fem!reader) Our Keeper (poly!jegulus x fem!reader)

🫧 = elle’s favourites

396 notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

Grudges

Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader, Potter!Reader

Warnings: angst!

Word Count: 6.2K+

A/N: Alright listen I am a Lily Evans stan through and through but she does not come across the greatest in this fic

“Stop biting your nails,” Regulus nudged you lightly.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, “I just hope the first term went well for Celeste. I’ve missed her so much.” You rested your head on Regulus’s shoulder.

“Celeste sent us about a thousand owls with updates. She’s fine! Plus she’s had Milo with her.” Regulus made a good point. Your daughter, Celeste, had started her first year at Hogwarts at the same time as her cousin Milo.

“Where are Sirius and Remus anyway?” You asked, glancing at your watch, “The train is going to be in any minute now.”

As if on cue, you saw Sirius and Remus running through King’s Cross. Remus was carrying an empty carseat and Sirius was balancing a baby in his arms. They made their way over to your spot on the platform and were breathing heavily.

“Someone,” Sirius panted, “take the baby so I can have a moment to collapse.”

“Give me my delicious little nephew,” you grinned, taking the baby from Sirius and giving his chubby cheek a little kiss, “how are you Teddy?”

Teddy gurgled in response and wrapped a chubby hand around a strand of your hair.

“Why exactly are you two so late?” Regulus quirked an eyebrow at his brother.

“You know how it is, baby stuff.” Remus explained, setting the carseat on the ground and taking Teddy back from you.

“Sirius take too long looking at himself in the mirror?” Regulus chuckled.

��You laugh but it’s under the shroud of wicked jealousy,” Sirius deadpanned.

“Can you believe that our kids are first years! It feels like we graduated just yesterday,” you reminisced, threading your arm through Sirius’ and resting your head on his shoulder.

“They’ll be here any minute now!” Sirius grinned, looking at the wave of students getting off the train.

“Sirius! It’s your turn, Teddy needs to be changed.” Remus was now holding Teddy at arms length, his nose wrinkled.

“Oh no,” Sirius peaked at Teddy’s diaper, “Moony this is a two man job. You guys mind waiting for Milo while we fix this?”

“Go for it,” you waved the boys off. You and Regulus were making idle chit chat until a body slammed into you. You looked down and saw the nicely styled brown and black curls and knew it could only have been your nephew.

“Hi Milo,” you said, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Hey Auntie! Have you seen my dads?” He asked, pulling away and hugging Regulus.

“They’re in the bathroom changing Teddy. Have you seen my daughter?” You responded.

“She’s coming. Her and Harry were saying goodbye to Ron and Hermione at the front of the platform.” Milo shrugged. Your blood ran cold.

“Harry?” You asked. Before Milo could respond you saw Celeste skipping towards you.

“Mum! Dad!” Celeste gave you and Regulus a giant hug.

“Celeste! I want to hear all about your term,” you said with a giant grin.

“Sure Mum! I want you to meet one of the greatest friends I made. He’s actually one of Milo’s childhood friends.” Celeste stepped back and revealed Harry standing behind her. Even if you hadn’t recognized the name you would’ve know that Harry was James’s son. Harry was the spitting image of James, save for his eyes. His eyes were the same color as Lily’s.

“Hi! I’m Harry Potter, it’s nice to meet you Mrs. Black, Mr. Black.” Harry extended his hand to you and Regulus. Regulus had the same gobsmacked expression that you did and he swallowed harshly before saying,

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I understand that you and Celeste have become fast friends.”

“Yes! I’ve known Milo my entire life so he introduced Celeste and I. Milo’s fathers are actually my father’s two closest friends. You might know him, James Potter?” Harry asked.

“Uh, yes. We were in school at the same time as your father.” Regulus said, diplomatically.

“Really?” Harry asked. Before you could continue any further Sirius and Remus returned.

“There’s my godson!” Sirius laughed, wrapping Harry in a tight hug.

“He hugs Harry before he hugs his own son.” Milo rolled his eyes as he hugged Remus and gave his baby brother a kiss on the forehead.

“There’s my boy.” Sirius lifted Milo of the ground in a grandiose show of affection.

“Where are your parents, Harry?” Remus asked.

“Around here somewhere I’m sure.” Harry scanned through the throng of people. He disappeared off and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Alright, love, do you have all your things?” You asked Celeste, running a hand over your daughter’s head, “Regulus grab her trunk.”

“Did you make the Christmas fudge mum?” Celeste asked.

“Three trays of it.” You grinned, pinching Celeste’s cheek.

“Oh Auntie your fudge is the greatest! Dad can we go over to Celeste’s and have some?” Milo asked Remus.

“Why not? You know I have a soft spot for chocolate.” Remus laughed as he tried to juggle both the car seat and Milo’s trunk.

“Give me the baby and give the car seat to Sirius.” You said. Remus went to hand you Teddy but tutted, “Other side, Remus. My shoulder.” You swapped sides and then took Teddy from Remus’ arms and balanced him on your hip.

You were making your way out of the train station when Harry was running back towards you all, a giant smile on his face.

“Alright Harry?” Celeste asked.

“Yeah, yeah. I wanted to introduce our parents. Mr. And Mrs. Black these are my parents James and Lily Potter.” Harry stepped back to reveal his parents. You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“James.” You said, cooly.

“It’s been a while.” James’s tone was as icy as yours.

“Well we should get going,” Lily said diplomatically.

“Yes! Yes. Good to see you. Have a happy Christmas!” Regulus pushed Celeste away before the conversation could progress any further.

Luckily for you all, Celeste forgot all about encounter by the time she got home, had a tin of fudge, and played with her little brother Atlas who had been in private lessons when you all were at the train station. Atlas and Celeste were sleeping peacefully, now, and you were thinking about James as you got in bed next to Regulus.

“Love?” Regulus shook you from your thoughts.

“Yes darling?”

“I was saying that Narcissa called and wants to have tea tomorrow and get all the children together.” Regulus said.

“Oh, sure Reg.” You nodded.

“Thinking about James?”

“You know me so well,” you laughed softly, “it just caught me off-guard…seeing him again.”

“I know. Are you alright?”

“It’s weird, right? Harry and Celeste being friends.” You asked, rubbing your shoulder.

“Yeah, a good weird though. I think we should consider the possibility of telling them that they are related. They deserve to know and it’ll only be worse if they find it out on their own.” Regulus ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“I know you’re right.” You went to bed that night with your thoughts spinning impossibly fast in your brain.

✰

“Oh my God! How can a child so small poop so much?” Remus said in disgust. His entire chest was coated in what had previously been Teddy’s breakfast. Sirius had been walking over to check on Remus, but immediately turned and crept back down the hallway as quietly as he could. “Nice try, Pads! Get back here right now.”

“How did you know I was in the hall?” Sirius asked with a groan, taking over the diaper change while Remus removed his shirt and scourgified it.

“Werewolf hearing, obviously.” Remus rolled his eyes.

“Dads! When are we going to Celeste’s?” Milo asked, peeking his head into the room.

“We’re going to meet Celeste and Atlas at Aunt Narcissa’s house.” Remus responded.

“Oh fuck do we have to go to Narcissa’s? It’s so creepy there.” Sirius complained.

“Really? You aren’t even going to pretend to act like a parent in front of our kid?” Remus rolled his eyes.

“Aunt Narcissa isn’t so bad,” Milo shrugged, “Draco’s kind of annoying though.”

“Of course he is. He’s the spawn of a Black and a Malfoy.” Sirius rolled his eyes at the thought.

“Sirius!” Remus was unfortunately not surprised at his husband’s antics.

“I have a different question.” Milo shook his head, “so you know how Celeste and Atlas are mine and Teddy’s cousins because Dad and Uncle Regulus are brothers?”

“Yeah?” Sirius and Remus weren’t exactly sure where things were going.

“And you know how you two were best friends with Uncle James and Aunt Lily in school?”

“Yeah…” Now Sirius and Remus had an idea where things were going and they didn’t exactly love it.

“Why was I never allowed to have Harry and Celeste over at the same time? And why were things so awkward between everyone at the train station when Celeste’s and Harry’s parents met?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Remus said quickly.

“Yep, Milo, you’re crazy.” Sirius nodded.

“Wait a minute,” Milo’s brain was moving quickly now, “isn’t Auntie’s maiden name Potter? But she doesn’t have a brother…is Uncle James her cousin? Are they fighting? Have they been fighting since before any of us were born? But Auntie always talks about how important family is…did Uncle James do something to break their bond? They must’ve been close since they would have been just a year apart at Hogwarts. And you two are still very close with her and Uncle Reg…in fact Dad I remember you said that Auntie was the person that reunited you with Uncle Reg. So it had to be something really specific between Auntie and Uncle James. Aunt Lily’s face was almost as red as her hair and Uncle Regulus was glaring at Uncle James when we were at the train station so I bet it was something about Auntie marrying Uncle Regulus and Uncle James marrying Aunt Lily. But Uncle James and Aunt Lily got married first so it was probably a fight between Auntie and Uncle James about Aunt Lily!” Milo looked very pleased with himself.

“You’re way off, Milo, it wasn’t like that at all.” Remus said weakly.

“How did you do that?” Sirius was looking at his son now like he was dripping in radioactive waste.

“I knew it!”

“Okay, Milo, listen you can’t tell Celeste or Harry. This is not our information to share.” Remus was very serious.

“Of course, Dad. The secret is safe with me!” Milo beamed.

✰

“Oh my God Ron! How has it taken you this long to cast a communication spell? Fred and George showed it to us like four times before we left for holiday!” Celeste whispered. She was underneath her covers as it was past one in the morning but Milo had sent everyone an owl saying he had an urgent message and needed to talk face to face.

“It was hard, Cel!” Ron tried to defend himself but Harry was laughing too hard to be heard for anyone else on the call to hear him.

“Okay, okay. Milo what’s your news?” Hermione asked, shaking her head.

“I just discovered something big! Something about Celeste and Harry.” Milo said excitedly.

“Does it have something to do with how weird our parents were at the train station?” Harry asked.

“Yes, indeed. Celeste’s mum and Harry’s dad are cousins!” Milo paused to allow the revelation to skin in.

“No way! Why wouldn’t they tell us?” Celeste gasped.

“Apparently they had a really bad falling out and I think it’s because Celeste’s mum and Harry’s mum hate each other!”

“Why would they hate each other?” Hermione asked.

“No idea. But you two are going to have to find out.” Milo grinned.

✰

“So mum,” Celeste asked after you all returned from the Malfoys, “I have a question for you.”

“Sure, love. Did you want any more fudge?” You asked, taking out a tray and cutting off a few pieces.

“Thanks mum!” Celeste took the plate from you.

“Hey Atlas! Do you want any fudge?”

“Yes yes yes!” Your eight year old came running into the kitchen. Atlas looked just like Regulus, dark curls and bright green eyes. Celeste looked more like a potter…more like James, in fact: tanned skin, warm brown eyes, easy smile. Celeste and Harry had looked like twins at the train station. It filled you with an uncomfortable heartache.

“Giving the kids more sugar?” Regulus quipped, helping push Atlas’s chair closer to the table.

“It’s Christmas.” You smiled, “there’s a fresh batch of egg nog in the fridge from this morning if you’d like to join me in a glass.”

“Read my mind, Mrs. Black.” Regulus poured you and him two glasses and you sat at the able with your kids.

“So Celeste, you said you had a question for me?” You asked, leaning back so you were resting against Regulus’s shoulder.

“Are you and Harry’s dad cousins?” Celeste asked. Your back went rigid as Regulus sputtered and choked on his eggnog.

“Why…where did you hear that?” You asked.

“Milo.”

“I’m going to kill Sirius.” Regulus shook his head.

“The truth is, yes, James and I are cousins.”

“Did you have a falling out because you hate Harry’s mum?”

“Oh my god,” Regulus rubbed his temples.

“Who’s Harry?” Atlas asked.

“I do not hate Harry’s mum.” You sighed, “James and I are just not as close as we used to be.”

“You know what,” Regulus stood, “we’re going to Sirius and Remus’s. We can let them explain everything since they felt so strongly about sharing it in the first place.”

“Good idea.” You hoisted Atlas onto your hip, even though he was far too big for it now and apparated as Regulus grabbed firmly onto Celeste’s wrist to apparate them both. You were standing in Sirius and Remus’s living room and you set Atlas down as Sirius entered the room with a blanket and a bowl of popcorn.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius tried to turn on his heel but you grabbed him by the back of the shirt.

“You’ve got a big mouth, Black.” You shoved Sirius down on the couch.

“Moony! Milo! Can you come in here please?” Sirius called as Regulus and Celeste apparated into the room.

“What’s up, Pads?” Remus entered the room, Milo right behind him.

“Hey Auntie,” Milo said shyly, sitting between his fathers on the couch.

“Milo, when we speak to you do you hear words or is it just the Charlie Brown whomp sound?” Remus said with a sigh.

“Sorry,” Milo shrugged.

“We’ll deal with you later. Take your cousins up to your room while your aunt tears me a new asshole.” Sirius sent Milo, Atlas, and Celeste out and then cast a silencing spell over the living room for good measure.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” You said, slapping Sirius on the chest and arms after each word for emphasis.

“Milo guessed it! It was really only a manner of time considering your behavior at Kings Cross.” Remus said with a sigh.

“You’re right.” You flopped on the couch next to Remus and put your head in your hands. Regulus sat down next to you and rubbed your back.

“Do you think it might be time for you and James to reconcile? It’s been ten years since you two last spoke.” Remus asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve been carrying this resentment so long I might feel lonely without it.” You said with a weak chuckle. There was a loud crack in the air and James, Lily, and Harry were standing in the living room.

“Sirius!” James roared, “I’m going to kill you!”

“Milo has another parent! Why do target me?” Sirius threw his hands in the air.

“Kids are upstairs, Harry. Why don’t you join them while we talk?” Remus sent Harry upstairs.

“I think we should have a conversation about how we’d like to proceed. Celeste and Harry are closer than ever and I don’t think any of us have been very fair.” Regulus said with a deep sigh.

✰

“James!” You said in a sing-song voice as you set your book down and settled down on the blanket that James had spread in front of the lake. James, Sirius, and Remus had been taking advantage of the nice day and were studying outside by the Black Lake.

“What is it?” James was pretending to be exasperated but he couldn’t hide his smile. He always had a soft spot for his baby cousin.

“I need your potions notes. We’re brewing liquid luck and Slughorn assigned me a terrible partner.” You said with a sigh.

“Who’d he assign you?” Sirius asked.

“Your little brother,” you said with an eyeroll.

“Come on,” Remus exhaled lazily, handing you a joint that he’d lit a few moments before, “as far as Slytherins go, Regulus is pretty good at potions.”

“Yeah, yeah he’s a potions wiz. I don’t need him mansplaining potions to me so I need to read up on liquid luck and show his ass up.” You said before taking a long drag of the joint, “This is really good, Remus.”

“Thanks, I did get an O in herbology.” Remus laughed.

“Here,” James was forever organized and was able to locate his notes from last year rather quickly, “use them wisely.”

“Hey Prongs did you tell the young Miss Potter your news?” Sirius asked, taking the joint from you.

“No! What’s your news, Jamie?” You poked James in the ribs playfully.

“Now that Lily and I have been dating for a few months now, I’d like for you two to officially meet.” James said with a grin. Your stomach turned unpleasantly. You had only ever seen Lily in passing, considering you were in Slytherin and a year younger than the Marauders. You hadn’t liked how James had pined after Lily considering she did not make it a secret how she despised him. Sure, James was a bit immature sometimes but he had the biggest heart of anyone you knew. You swallowed all that down and grinned,

“Can’t wait. When are we going to meet?”

“Why don’t you come to the Gryffindor common room tomorrow night?”

“Sounds like a plan.” You grinned. You had to leave the warm sun and your friends an hour later to meet with Regulus to start the potions work. You didn’t care for Regulus. Being a close friend of Sirius meant that Regulus was naturally more haughty towards you and you thought he could be unnecessarily cruel whenever he was around Barty Crouch Jr. To you had been less than pleased when Slughorn had paired you together would be an understatement.

You found him sitting at a table in the corner of the library, bent over a book.

“Hello Regulus,” you said, sitting down next to him.

“Hi. I thought we could start with raiding the greenhouses to find some horseradish. The first step of brewing Felix Felicis is to mix ashwinder eggs and horseradish.” Regulus said.

“I think it’d be better actually to substitute wasabi for horseradish. Apparently it makes the potion more potent.” You said, setting James’ notes out in front of you.

“These notes are brilliant,” Regulus snatched up the page and studied it.

“Thanks, they’re my cousin’s.” You shrugged. You worked for a while with Regulus before walking together back to the Slytherin dorms.

“You know…it’s funny.” Regulus said with a small shake of his curls.

“What is?”

“You and I both have close family in Gryffindor. The Gryffindor/Slytherin mix isn’t super common.” Regulus said.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“We’re not so different are we?”

“I’m nothing like you, Regulus. I’m not cruel.” You crossed your arms. You were at your door now and weren’t entirely sure why Regulus had walked you all the way up to the girls dorms.

“The Felix Felicis takes six months to brew. I bet you’ll be under me by then.” Regulus said with a confident laugh.

“In your dreams, Black.” You said with an eyeroll. You entered your room and huffed but had to admit it was a bit hard to hide your smile.

✰

You were nervous as you ascended the steps up to the Gryffindor common room. You didn’t know what it was exactly but you weren’t looking forward to meeting Lily. You shook the thoughts from your brain as Sirius let you into the common room.

“Remus!” You said with a grin, jumping into Remus’s lap and accepting the joint from him. Lily was perched on James’ lap and she was grinding down on him as they made out like their lives depended on it.

“Break it up, love birds, you have company.” Sirius said, slapping James upside the head on his way back to the couches.

“Sorry,” James said, sheepishly, setting Lily down next to him. James introduced you two.

“Lily, it’s great to finally meet you. The guys talk about you all the time.” You said with a smile.

“Ditto! James always says you’re one of the most important people in his life.” Lily grinned.

“Yeah. James and I are both only children so we really felt more like siblings than cousins.”

“Are you the first Potter in Slytherin?” Lily asked. It was an innocent enough question, Lily could not have known that it had been a sore subject in your family. You were the first Potter in Slytherin. No Potter had been in a house that was not in Gryffindor for over one thousand years. It had been a shock to your family.

“Uh, yes I am.” You tried to hide your discomfort over the question.

“Oh. Good for you.”

“And you’re a muggle born, right?”

“Yes.” Lily’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Good for you.” You responded. The rest of the night passed rather quickly and then James walked you back to the Slytherin dorms.

“So?” He asked excitedly.

“So what?”

“So what did you think of Lily? She’s great, isn’t she?” James was beaming.

“She’s something.” You pursed your lips.

“What do you mean?”

“I hate her.” You said with a head shake. James was shocked. He tried to get more out of you, but you told him you were tired and went to bed. James felt like his brain was in shambles as he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. Only Lily was left, reading a book by the fire.

“Hey love,” James sat down next to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Hi James. Have a good walk?” She asked.

“Yeah, yeah. You liked my cousin, right?”

“Your cousin?” Lily said nervously, “Yeah! She’s quite spirited.”

“Oh my god you hate her, don’t you?” James’s heart felt like it had dropped into his ass.

“I do!” Lily groaned, “But honestly I barely know her. We’ll get together more and more and hopefully we’ll become good friends. It’s clear to me that we both care about you a lot and want the best for you.” Lily said. James could only shrug.

✰

As Lily and James became closer and closer, you started spending less and less time in the Gryffindor common room. You also became closer to Regulus as you continued working on your potions project together. You were finally able to meet Regulus for your final potion check before you submit it as a final to Slughorn. As you made your way down you ran into James.

“Hey! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. I miss you.” James said, slinging an arm over your shoulders.

“I know! It’s just been so busy with classes and finals but I’m about to submit my potions final so that’ll be a huge weight off my shoulders.” You said with a grin.

“We’re going to the Three Broomsticks tonight, why don’t you meet us there? Celebrate the end of potions for the year” James said, “We’ll get properly pissed.”

“That sounds great. Who all is going?” You asked.

“The whole gang! Remus, Sirius, Mary, Marlene, Lily.”

“Lily?” You faltered.

“I know you aren’t her biggest fan but I promise it’ll be fun.” James begged.

“Alright! I’ll see you later then. Have a butterbeer waiting for me.” You called as James reascended the steps. He sent you thumbs up before disappearing around the corner. You walked into the potions classroom and saw Slughorn was peering over your cauldron as Regulus explained away.

“Ah Ms. Potter, nice of you to join us. I was just about to review your potion. I believe you and Mr. Black were assigned Felix Felicis.”

“Yes sir, we were.” You nodded.

“As I was saying,” Regulus said with a quick nod in your direction, “we decided to add wasabi instead of horseradish to the potion in order to increase its potency.

“Very smart.” Slughorn nodded. He mulled over the potion for a full two minutes before nodding. “Outstanding work you two. I knew great things would come from the two of you. Your reward is that you are able to keep the potion. I’m sure you both understand, however, that use of the potion during a Quidditch match is strictly illegal.”

“We understand, professor.” Regulus nodded. Professor Slughorn stalked out of the room. You and Regulus hugged tightly.

“We did it! Do you want the potion? I don’t have any use for it.” You said with a shrug.

“Yeah.” Regulus nodded. He uncorked the vial and swallowed it down.

“What are you doing?” You raised your eyebrow and looked at him.

“I needed it for what I’m about to do.” Regulus said. Before you could ask him what he was talking about, Regulus grabbed you by the waist and kissed you hard. You were surprised at first but then you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

“Oh wow.” You said when you broke apart.

“Will you go out with me?” Regulus asked, brushing his curls out of his face.

“Yeah. Do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks with me?” You asked.

“Yeah I do.” Regulus grinned.

The two of you walked hand in hand to Hogsmeade. It seemed that the Gryffindors had started without you and the group was very, very drunk. Lily was perched in James’s lap again and you tried not to roll your eyes.

“What are you two doing here?” Sirius asked, slurring his words a bit, “I mean…what are you two doing here together?”

“We’re friends, Sirius.” You rolled your eyes. You and Regulus were able to catch up to the rest of the crowd quickly.

“More than that.” Regulus laughed and slung his arm over your shoulders.

“Really?” James narrowed his eyes.

“Why not?” You snuggled yourself deeper into Regulus’s arms.

“He’s a Slytherin. He’s dangerous.” James snapped at you.

“I’m a Slytherin.” You bit the inside of your cheek harshly.

“So you finally made your way over to dark wizards? Guess you really are a Slytherin.” Lily giggled.

“And you’ve proven that you can live up to the stereotype of annoying muggleborns.” You shot back.

“Stop it.” James frowned but it was too late. The storm between you and Lily had been brewing for six months and there was no stopping it now.

“You know what James, I can’t do this anymore. It’s her or me.” Lily crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh come on! Like James is going to pick some girl he’s been dating for less than a year over his cousin.” You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t do this. You both are being unfair.” James said.

“James didn’t tell you? After we graduate, we’re moving in together.” Lily spat at you.

“Make your choice James.” You said coldly.

“No.” James shook his head.

“Fine,” you said, standing and grabbing Regulus’s hand, “I’ll make it for you. Goodbye.” And you stormed off.

✰

There was quite a bit of electricity in the air during the Quidditch final. It was already charged, being a competition between Gryffindor and Slytherin. You and Regulus were both playing as chaser and seeker respectively. This was an important match for you, you were being scouted by four different professional Quidditch teams and the representatives were all in the stands. You still had a year of Hogwarts left after this one but the teams were ready to make an offer that would work around your school schedule.

You couldn’t think about that right now, though. You wanted to stomp Gryffindor into the dirt. Your blood was pulsating in your ears as Madame Hooch blew the whistle to signify the start of the match.

The match was vicious, with you and James diving at each other and playing dirtier than you ever had to before. You were flying next to James and you shoulder checked him rougher than you should’ve. James nearly fell off his broom but he was able to swing all the way around and restabilize.

“That was a cheap shot!” James spat at you.

“Guess I’m just a lousy Slytherin.” You spat back. “At least I’m not wrapped around the finger of a witch with a stick up her ass.”

That was too far, you knew it, but you were too upset to care. James yanked at the back of your broom just as a bludger rammed itself into your chest. You fell hard and Madame Hooch had been too enraptured in a squabble between the Sirius and the Slytherin beaters to notice what was happening until it was too late. You hit the ground hard and heard a sickening crunch sound as your arm was wrenched awkwardly behind your back. You groaned as Madame Hooch started running towards you and blowing her whistle wildly. Before she reached you, though, your broom did and it embedded itself in your shoulder. You were screaming so loud your throat was raw. You tried to grab at your broom with your other hand but realized that the broom had impaled the fleshy part of your shoulder and was anchoring you to the ground.

“Oh my God,” Madame Hooch gasped as she made her way towards you. Madame Pomfrey was hot on her heels and she knelt down next to you. Regulus made his way down to you next. He dropped to his knees next to you and grabbed at your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Then Sirius landed. He took one look at you and promptly vomited into the grass. James was there next, his face paler than it had ever been.

“Alright love, I’m going to move you over to the hospital wing where I’ll give you a sedative and assess the damage.” Madame Pomfrey said. You wished that Madame Pomfrey had given you the sedative before she moved you. You had never and would never again experience such pain. Not when you gave birth, not when you had been a victim of cruciatus curse, not ever. Madame Pomfrey had to move you again to St. Mungos and a team of healers were put together to remove your broom from your shoulder and patch you up.

When you were finally stable again, the doctor who had been presiding over your case made his way to your bedside. Your parents and Regulus had been by your side for the entire four day period.

“It will take time for your shoulder to heal. It faced an unbelievable trauma and even after much physical therapy, rigorous potion taking, and rehabilitation your shoulder will never reach its full, working capacity.”

“So I’ll never play Quidditch again.” You said bitterly.

“Oh darling let’s just be happy that you’re okay.” Your mother tried but you shook your head.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Potter, but no. Playing professionally will not be possible.” The doctor bowed his head.

You refused James’s visits for the next two weeks until you were able to be discharged from the hospital. You were home, laying on your bed and staring at the ceiling. You wanted to rip down your Quidditch posters but you couldn’t extend your arm that far up yet. You were forced to just glare up at them.

“Hey, can I come in?” James asked, knocking on your open door. You looked at him and turned back to stare at the ceiling. “You have no idea how sorry I am. I have never felt more terrible in my entire life. I thought you were going to die,” James had tears in his eyes, “and it would have been all my fault. All over something so stupid. But I’m glad that you’re alive. But I am so so sorry that I cost you your career. If I could go back and erase it, I would.”

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” You said softly and stared at the ceiling until James left the room.

✰

You and James did not speak for four years. He got married and you got married and it was bizarre. All of a sudden you were no longer speaking to your best friend. Good things came out of the situation, though. You and Regulus got married and had a baby. Regulus and Sirius repaired their relationship and Sirius and Remus married and had a baby as well. You and Reg had Sirius and Remus over often, watching the newly one year olds play together.

“I still can’t believe that you named her Celeste.” Sirius shook his head.

“Why? You don’t like the name?” You asked with a soft laugh.

“I just can’t believe you stuck with the celestial theme.” Sirius rolled his eyes. Regulus laughed too.

“It wasn’t even my idea,” Regulus laughed, “my darling bride thought of it. She wanted Celeste for a girl and Atlas for a boy.”

“You really are a Slytherin.” Sirius laughed and gave you a kiss on the cheek before scooping Milo up.

“We should get home and give Milo a bath before bed. I don’t know why people think that having babies is hard. Milo’s a dream.” Sirius shrugged. He apparated out. Remus was about to follow when he turned to you.

“What is it Remus?” Regulus asked.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but James and Lily are in a rough place. James might try to reach back out to you.” Remus said.

“I’m not interested in that.” You said, looking down at your lap.

“I know. Just thought I would give you a heads up.” Remus said with a smile before apparating out.

“Celeste still has so much energy. Should we let her play for a little longer before bed?” Regulus asked, settling into the couch.

“Yeah, why not.” You shrugged. You and Regulus chatted idly for a bit longer before you heard a knock at the door.

“Think that’s Sirius forgetting something?” Regulus asked. You stood up and headed for the door,

“Doubt it. When has Sirius ever knocked?” You laughed. You opened the door and your jaw dropped in shock when you saw James at your doorstep, Harry on his hip.

“Hey.” James said softly.

“James. What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Who is it?” Regulus called from the couch.

“Uh, it’s James.” You responded.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus walked up over to where you were, “I thought you said James but I must have mis-” Regulus went silent.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I, uh, I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk about things.” James said, bouncing Harry on his hip a few times.

“Why don’t you come in,” Regulus stepped back to let James in. He lead James into the sitting room where Celeste was sitting on the ground and playing with her toys.

“Thanks, Regulus.” James said as he entered.

“Why don’t you let Harry play with Celeste?” Regulus offered. James set Harry down next to Celeste. “I’ll go make some tea.” Regulus left you and James sitting on the couch in awkward silence.

“Harry looks like you.” You said softly.

“Yeah, yeah he does. Celeste looks like you.”

“Seems like they were fast friends.” You said. Harry and Celeste were curled up, yawning and grabbing at each other’s feet.

“That’s good. It’s good for cousins to be close.” James said.

“I heard things between you and Lily are rough right now.”

“It’s just a rough patch. But I’m sorry about the way things happened. I want Harry to have his cousin in his life. I want my cousin in my life.” James was nervous, you could tell.

“I don’t know if it’s fair to set up Celeste for that kind of heartbreak. Wouldn’t want the kids to get close only to have Harry abandon Celeste for some girl and then nearly kill her.”

“That’s not fair,” Regulus said, setting down the tray with the tea.

“I don’t have to be fair. James cost me everything.” You said, your jaw set.

“I want to start over. Please. I love you, I miss you.” James begged.

“Then why did you choose Lily?” Emotion was cracking through your cold exterior.

“I didn’t!” “You did! I’m your family! You never should’ve chosen her over me.” You said, rising from your seat.

“You never should’ve made me choose!” James screamed back.

“Maybe we should revisit this later when everyone has had a chance to calm down.” Regulus stood between you and James now.

“No. I think you’ve made it very clear. Sorry I tried.” James scooped up Harry and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

✰

“No, we haven’t been fair.” You said, “But I’d like an apology.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry for everything I did to you.” James gushed, grabbing your hand.

“Not from you,” you shook your head, “from Lily.”

2K notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲, 𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰

𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 ☾ 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

chapters inspired by lyrics from "willow" (taylor swift)

incomplete! current w/c: 45.5k

you and the marauders become animagi for remus, despite his protests. you'd follow him anywhere: through the tunnel under the whomping willow, during hospital wing overnights, and even within a burgeoning war. you ruined every one of remus' plans, but it saved his life. (slow burn, angst)

dedicated to the wonderful @emmaev

series playlist

･ﾟ⋆☾*･ﾟ.・。.*゜✭・･ﾟ✫・⋆。.

➊ 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚔𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎

➋ 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎

➌ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠

➍ 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍

➎ 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

➏ 𝚒'𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚜

➐ 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

➑ 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚜

➒ 𝚒 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍'𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎

➓ 𝚑𝚎𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗

2K notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

get back: s. hinata

she thought they were soulmates, until hinata left her for brazil without a second thought. and now that he’s home, hinata won’t stop until he gets her back

main masterlist

pairing: hinata x f!reader

status: ongoing

tags/warnings: exes to lovers, smau, alcohol/drinking, language, slightly suggestive, smoking, arguments, very slight angst buried under humor, probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings

taglist: closed (50/50)

PROLOGUE: step 0: lose her

INTRODUCTIONS: roommates (/threatening)(/evil) | hinata support group

CHAPTER ONE: coming soon

1K notes · View notes

kiruupon · 2 months

Text

❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

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

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.”

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all.

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips.

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly.

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest. “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting.

What a bunch of insufferable fools.

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number.

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.”

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.”

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.”

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock. “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life. “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.”

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.”

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup.

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.”

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.”

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy.

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.”

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards.

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few.

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.)

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire.

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster.

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.”

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother.

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?”

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.”

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?”

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.”

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?”

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks.

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.”

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think.

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance.

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends.

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?”

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?”

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.”

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.”

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work.

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf.

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes.

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance. “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.”

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.)

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless.

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand.

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight.

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins.

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?”

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position.

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children.

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?”

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls.

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally.

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the emptiness of your unbroken charade.

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.)

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots. The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you.

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.”

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?”

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks.

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter.

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably.

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.”

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?”

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!”

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?”

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.”

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?”

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it.

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow.

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear.

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.”

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought.

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion.

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately!

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails.

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must.

What’s wrong?

The question echoes in your head.

Ha!

You scream inwardly, if they only knew!

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor.

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes.

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.”

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!”

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.”

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side.

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second.

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?”

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?”

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.”

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you.

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt.

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.”

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?”

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders.

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms.

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly.

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.”

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.”

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background.

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!”

Turns out, you are not fine.

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen.

—

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly.

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.”

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly.

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin.

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you.

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.”

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius.

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half.

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.”

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds.

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!”

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights.

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!”

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick.

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.”

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.”

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close.

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair.

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.”

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors.

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.”

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.)

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.”

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase.

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.”

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him.

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway.

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling.

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you.

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior.

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?”

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly.

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others.

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern, as well.”

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades.

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.”

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself.

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you.

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?)

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House.

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?”

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.”

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.”

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more:

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!”

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets.

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary.

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?”

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?”

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?”

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.”

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you.

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.”

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.”

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses.

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders.

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes.

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before?

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words.

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them.

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell?

When does duty end? And when does life begin?

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive.

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.”

You want to go to sleep already.

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport.

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.”

You miss your cat.

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.)

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself.

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus.

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument.

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under.

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!”

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms.

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger.

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask.

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters.

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included.

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy.

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva.

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose.

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.)

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena.

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains.

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire.

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!”

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands.

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes.

“Daphne, get away from there!”

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain.

But there is nothing.

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom.

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes.

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.”

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.”

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat.

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.”

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile.

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side.

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you.

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms.

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor.

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever.

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books.

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to.

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic?

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons.

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else.

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!”

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.”

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw.

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated.

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.”

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold.

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time.

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another.

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies.

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you.

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.”

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?”

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare.

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.”

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.”

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye.

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones.

(Hogwarts is the best!)

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival.

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy.

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in.

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”)

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane.

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor.

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S.

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?”

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his.

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing.

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl.

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.”

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.”

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie.

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.)

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her.

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?”

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.”

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching.

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.”

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . . I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly.

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground.

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home.

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak.

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.”

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!”

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.”

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room.

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle.

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents.

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.)

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?”

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.”

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same.

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans.

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain.

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you.

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”)

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time.

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely?

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all.

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders.

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to.

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.”

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!”

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!”

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!”

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!”

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?”

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.”

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life.

You hate her.

You hate her with all your heart.

But even monsters need a heart to breathe.

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor.

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne.

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.)

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks.

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard.

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.”

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death.

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.”

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!”

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation.

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.”

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?”

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word.

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name.

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.”

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills.

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix.

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.)

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours.

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one.

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed.

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams.

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even.

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm.

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him.

Bile rises to your throat.

Tears fall from your eyes.

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.)

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter.

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.”

“I promise. . . you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.”

You pass out in her arms.

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes.

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream.

You are tired.

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give?

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this?

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now.

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you?

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire.

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back.

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit.

Maybe. . .

If you move a few inches forward. . .

If you just fly.

You’d be free.

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.”

I don’t care.

Go away.

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone?

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest.

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with.

You let your weight shift over the window.

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly.

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh.

Maybe tomorrow, then.

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?”

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.”

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.”

You stay silent.

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice.

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.”

You nibble on your bruised lip.

Could you really?

Maybe just this once.

You’re only human, magic as you are.

You take one step forward.

Then another.

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion.

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days.

To do what is right.

To endure.

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then.

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve.

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation.

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother.

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands.

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her.

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!”

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands.

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!”

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.”

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.”

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.”

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake.

“Mum, wake up, please!”

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear.

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s.

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!”

There’s a faint smile on her face.

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor.

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle.

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

2K notes · View notes

kiruupon · 3 months

Text

Daddy’s Duty ( Remus Lupin )

summary: after an exhausting few weeks, remus tells you to go out with your friends and have a good time while he stays at home and takes care of your children

word count: 2k

warnings: mention of babies, loads and loads of fluff

pairing: young!remus lupin x fem!reader

author's note: this is a re-post from my old account, however, I just needed to post it on here again because who doesn't love a bit of dad!remus.

navigation | main masterlist | harry potter masterlist | taglist

Children. Have you ever thought about having them? Of course, you have. There are not a lot of women out there who wouldn’t love to have a child. You always wanted to be a mother. You and your boyfriend, Remus, have talked about having a family of your own quite early in your relationship. Two boys and a girl, maybe even another girl, that was what you have always wanted.

You could see yourself in a house in the countryside where your children could grow up, and you and Remus could grow old. You wanted a big garden where the little ones would run around and play their favourite games. Eventually, they would move out and have their own families, but that wasn’t something you wanted to think about just yet.

Your whole life, you had thought about how it would feel to have your own little, well maybe not so little, family with Remus. Did you write a list of names down? Of course. Did you slightly plan out your next five years? Obviously. But did your plan really turn out the way you wanted it to be? Not in the slightest.

Without even realizing it, you had gotten pregnant. The worst thing was that you had just graduated from Hogwarts. At first, you hadn’t felt any different, but with time you felt more tired and exhausted, and you got overwhelmed by the smallest things. And even though you have always been quite emotional, the tears flowed even quicker.

Remus had wondered what was wrong with you but didn’t question it until he found you on the floor of your small bathroom, a pregnancy test in your hands and tears staining your cheeks. He knew that this only meant one thing.

Now here you were. Six months after giving birth to not just one but two babies. A boy and a girl. After finding out that you were pregnant with not just one but two, you were shocked, to say the least. However, you were the happiest you have ever been. You loved your two angels dearly.

Your initial plan was to marry Remus first and maybe try for children a year or two later, however, you found out pretty quickly that some plans never work out the way they intend to.

The first six months with your beautiful children have been full of happiness and love but also exhaustion and tiredness.

At first, your baby girl and baby boy had slept through almost the whole night and only needed to be fed once. However, that changed quite quickly, and so they woke you and Remus up multiple times a night. Your now fiancee tried to help as much as he could, but whenever they were hungry, and you needed to feed them, Remus sat on your bed, a defeated look gracing his face, knowing that was one task he couldn’t help with. Yet he was always there when diapers needed to be changed or if one of them was fussy and needed some comfort.

He knew that these last couple of months had been quite draining for you, hence he wanted you to have a day off from all mummy duties.

“Are you sure?” you had asked him in the morning, a worried expression on your face while Remus couldn’t help but chuckle. Your two babies were peacefully asleep in their small cribs.

Your fiancee put his hands on your shoulders and leaned in to press a gentle kiss on your forehead, his attempt to wash away the worry.

“I can do this. Now go, have a great day,” he told you with a bright smile on his face.

He kissed your lips lovingly before he pushed you playfully out of the door, giggles leaving your lips as you made your way out of the house, secretly looking forward to spending a day with a few of your closest friends.

“I can do this.”, Remus said one more time, this time to himself, while he started to prepare lunch for the two napping babies. Even now, they were still sleeping a lot which was fine. During that time, you usually got some work done around the house, which would be Remus’ task now, hence he started right away.

Of course, he used a bit of magic here and there. He didn’t know how to properly fold the clothes, hence he used a quick spell to do so. He also washed the dirty dishes and tidied up the living room, which was full of small toys that were scattered around on the floor.

Once he was done, he sat down on the sofa. An exhausted sigh left his lips, but before he could fully relax, he already heard the babies making noises from their room.

He immediately got up from the sofa again and made his way over to the kids’ room. As soon as he saw his children looking up at him, a bright smile placed itself on his lips.

“Hello, sleepy heads.”

He took his kids in his arms, dropping kisses on both of their heads before he walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Remus sat them down on their highchairs. He swiftly turned around and looked for the food he had prepared for them only an hour ago. With his foot, he dragged one of the chairs closer to the twins and sat down in front of them.

“Lunch time.”, Remus happily announced before he sat the two plates down in front of them, two matching spoons in both of them.

He started feeding his boy first, who got way too excited at seeing the freshly made lunch. Remus popped the spoon in the little boy’s mouth before he did the same to his daughter. That went on for a little while until your baby boy decided he had enough and started playing with his food rather than eating it.

“Oh, no, y/s/n. Don’t do that.”, your fiancee said, quickly taking the little boy’s hand out of the food, but there was no use to it. He quickly dropped it back into the plate, and some of the food splashed around, landing directly on Remus’ face.

Your two babies couldn’t contain their laughter, amused at the fact that their daddy had food all over his face.

“You two rascals.”, Remus said, lightly tickling them both on their bellies, which made more giggles erupt out of their mouths.

After lunch was done, and everything and everyone was cleaned, the three of them made their way into the living room and sat down, or rather laid down, on the floor.

“So, what do you want to play with?”, Remus questioned, pulling a few toys closer to the twins.

Your twin girl crawled over to a stuffed animal, a fluffy one she got gifted by one of her lovely uncles, while her brother took a small toy car and pushed it into his mouth. Lately, they were trying to taste everything with their mouths.

Remus watched the two play separately but also with one another, even though just for a short amount of time. He looked at the two of them and noticed how much they had already changed in just six months. Your daughter looked a lot like him, while your son had your nose, as well as your beautiful e/c eyes. But all in all, they were a perfect mix between you and Remus.

The rest of the day went by quite swiftly. The three of them stayed at home most of the time except when they left the house and took a small walk around the area they lived in. After they came back, Remus quickly made some dinner for the twins and for him, his eyes drifting to a clock, wanting to know how late it was since the two little ones had to go to bed soon.

After dinner time, it was bath time. Remus bathed your daughter and son in a small bathtub that was absolutely perfect for them. They fit in it together, hence there was no need for any of them to wait while the other one got washed. Remus could already tell that they were tired and needed their beds. Their tiny hands rubbed at their eyes from time to time, and little yawns left their lips every now and then.

“Time to go to bed loves.”, Remus announced, taking both of them in his arms, pressing a set of kisses on their warm heads while he made his way over to their room.

He laid both of them down in their specific cribs, kissing the twins goodnight before he took a book from the shelf. Ever since you gave birth to your beautiful babies, you made it a ritual to read a short story to them just before they went to bed. They were mostly goodnight stories for children, magical ones, as well as muggle ones. Reading was something you wanted your kids to pick up later on, hopefully as soon as they can read because it has been something you have enjoyed ever since you were a small child.

While reading his bedtime story, Remus didn’t even hear the front door open or the way you walked through the house and came to a stop in the doorway of the twins’ room.

A soft smile graced your lips while you listened to the story your fiancee told the children. They must have fallen asleep as soon as they hit their small mattresses, or else they would still be making some noises.

When the story came to an end, Remus got up from his chair and walked over to the cribs once more, looking down at his two sleeping angels. He had no idea how he got this lucky to have you or the kids in his life, but he was thankful every day.

He put the book back on the shelf before he turned around and finally noticed you standing there, watching him with a loving smile on your lips.

“Hello.”, you whispered as Remus made his way over to you, immediately leaning in to press a soft kiss on your lips, welcoming you home.

He didn’t want to admit it out loud, but he had missed you, even if you were only gone for a few hours.

You took your fiancee’s hand in yours, squeezing it gently before you guided him out of the room, quietly closing the door to the twins’ room so they wouldn’t wake up again.

“How was your day?” Remus asked you while the two of you made your way into the living room, almost immediately plopping down on the sofa where you cuddled up to him, enjoying the warmth of his body.

Remus pressed a sweet kiss on top of your head while he put his arm around your shoulders so your head could find a place on his.

“I had a great time. It felt good to be outside again, but I also missed you three a lot. This was probably the first time ever since the twins were born that we were separated for such a long time.”, you admitted, lifting your head off his shoulder one more time to look into his eyes.

Remus nodded as he lifted his hand up and pushed a strand of your h/c hair behind your ears, his hand then finding a spot on your cheek, his thumb lightly caressing it.

“I missed you too.”, he quietly confessed, leaning in to press his lips on yours again, this time not pulling away right away. Your lips moved perfectly in sync, slight smiles on your lips while you cupped one of his cheeks with your hand, pulling Remus as close to you as possible.

The rest of your evening was spent on your sofa, cuddling and talking before you both went to bed, preparing yourself for the night and the next day.

368 notes · View notes

kiruupon · 3 months

Text

the fake date plot chapter list

Summary: Gryffindors, seventh years, classmates, unrequited love. Just a few things Y/N and James Potter had in common. When a brilliantly dumb plan is hatched the two end up getting something a little different than what they wanted.

Part One 2.3k

Part Two 4.7k

Part Three 4.4k

Part Four 1.2k

Part Five 1.8k

Part Six 1.2k

Part Seven 2.4k

Part Eight 2.0k

488 notes · View notes

kiruupon · 3 months

Text

𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙥 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙊𝙣𝙚

June 21, 1996

You finally did it. Not only did you pass all of your sixth year classes; but thanks to the time-turner Professor Dumbledore gifted you and Harry’s invisibility cloak, you were also able to secretly sit in on seventh year classes as well.

It was tricky. While you were able to sit in the back and take notes under the invisibility cloak, you still had to come back after hours every night to practice the spells and potions on your own. Not to mention you weren’t able to ask the professors for help since you technically weren’t supposed to be learning them yet.

So yes, it was tricky and absolutely exhausting, but it was worth it. With the return of Voldemort becoming more and more obvious, you knew the chances of you returning to Hogwarts next fall for your final year was slim. It’s more than likely that while your classmates are riding the Hogwarts Express for the final time, you and your friends will be Godric knows where, hunting down and (hopefully) destroying the Horcruxes. Which is why you took it upon yourself to learn everything you could, so that you’re prepared for whatever happens.

Aside from doing double the workload, you also snuck into the restricted section of the library more times than you can count, reading everything you thought could be helpful. What can you say? You really don’t want to die.

Wanting to grab dinner with your friends one last time before leaving, you make your way out of the dorms and into the common room.

It’s when you get there that things get weird. Your friends that were lounging around the common room all stop moving, as if frozen in time, before they start moving backwards.

“Guys?” you call out, though they don’t answer.

You watch as they all eventually stand and make their way out of the portrait hole. They do it all while walking backwards, like a film being rewinded.

You stand in the middle of the common room, in absolute confusion as more and more students pass through, all walking backwards as well.

“What the fuck?” you curse aloud.

The longer this goes on, the faster everyone starts to move. Soon enough, you can’t even make anyone out, just vague figures blurring past you. Then it finally hits you.

The time-turner.

You plunge your right hand into your bag, digging around until you feel a cold chain brush your fingertips. Grasping onto it, you tug harshly, pulling out the necklace Professor Dumbledore gifted you, and to your horror, the time-turner is spinning.

“Oh, no,” you cry. You try pushing the button several times but it’s no use. It just keeps spinning around and around.

“No, no, no, no, no. Please, no,” you beg, shaking the time-turner vigorously.

Eventually it comes to a stop, and you sigh in relief.

September 6, 1976

“Stupid thing, I thought you were supposed to make my life easier,” you say to the time-turner before throwing it in your bag again.

“Well, that was scary.” you say, walking around the common room. “But I think everything turned out okay.”

“Except for that.” You stop in front of a calendar posted on the wall, the date reading September 6, 1976.

There’s no way, you think to yourself, shaking your head. This has to be a mistake, right?

You stumble out of the portrait hole and as the door closes, you come face to face with the Fat Lady.

“Hello, lovey!” She greets you. “I don’t remember seeing you before. Are you new here?”

“What’s the date?” you find yourself asking instead of answering her.

“September 6, 1976.” She replies easily. You widen your eyes at that and shakily take a step back. “Oh, don’t worry, dearie. First day at a new school can be nerve wracking, but you’re Gryffindor for a reason, eh?”

You smile weakly at her before turning on your heel and running down the hall. You run out to the courtyard and take a deep breath, the fresh air helping calm you down a bit.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you keep cursing. “Oh, this is bad.”

After a few more breaths, you’re able to calm your racing heart…and hear someone getting scolded.

“-unbelievable. It’s only the first day back and already you boys are giving me a headache. I should’ve known you were up to something; you were too quiet during lunch. If you think I won’t take points just because you’re from my own house you-“

You were walking across the courtyard when the women's focus shifted to you.

“Young lady, where is your uniform?”

Quickly surveying the courtyard and not seeing another girl around, you realize they’re talking to you, and you sheepishly turn towards the voice. You can’t help the relieved sigh that you let out. Professor McGonagall.

You start to make your way towards her, disregarding the group of boys she was previously talking to.

“Why aren’t you in class?” She asks once you’re right in front of her.

“…I don’t really know how to answer that.” you say honestly. “But I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore right away.”

“Whatever it is, I’m afraid it’ll have to wait until he’s back.”

“Well then, I need to speak with you.” you say instead.

If Dumbledore can’t help you, maybe she can.

“Yes, you do.” she says, staring you down before turning to look at the group she was previously talking to. “Once I’ve dealt with these-“

“Professor,” you interrupt, causing her to shift her attention back to you. “Respectfully, can’t you talk with them later? This is important.”

“Oh?” She asks, to which you nod your head.

“If we could please speak in your office…” you trail off.

“Very well,” she says, turning and starting to walk away. You hesitate for only a moment before following after her.

“Who’s that?” you hear a male voice ask.

“I don’t know, but I think she just helped us out so I like her!” Another says with a chuckle.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Professor McGonagall inspects the time-turner before sighing and turning her gaze to you.

“And you’re saying Albus gave this to you?”

“Yes.” you nod, running your hands through your hair, “And I broke it!”

“And I know that’s a reckless thing to do and I know you don’t know me yet but I’m far from reckless.” You urge, “I’ve been attending Hogwarts since 1991 and have been a great student.”

“Miss Y/L/N-“

“I mean don’t get me wrong, sure my friends and I got into a bit of trouble every now and then-“

“Miss Y/L/N-“

“But we’re kids!” you defend, “Besides, we’ve saved the school more times than we should-“

“Miss Y/L/N!” Professor McGonagall shouts, finally getting your attention. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I’m not?” You take back the time-turner and nervously start trying to untangle the chain.

“From what you’ve told me it was an accident. And I’m sure Professor Dumbledore would be happy to help you fix it the moment he’s back, whenever that may be.”

You nod your head, silently. Your chin starts to quiver and you bite your bottom lip in an attempt to keep it together.

“Miss Y/L/N, why are you crying?” she asks, handing you a tissue.

“Because I’m fucked!” you proclaim.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear but it’s just now hitting me how screwed I am.” you cry, dabbing at your eyes.

“I’m stuck in a time I shouldn’t even be alive in, my friends aren’t here because they haven’t even been born yet, I have no family, no money, no home, and I don’t know how long I’m gonna be stuck here and it’s just really-“

“There, there,” She cooes, reaching over to grasp your hand. “Getting yourself worked up like that won’t do you any good.”

“Now, we can’t have you just roaming around the castle grounds, waiting for Professor Dumbledore to return. So we’re going to get you your books, your uniform, and starting tomorrow you’ll be attending class just like everyone else.”

“What? But I already did my sixth year,” you complain.

“Technically you haven’t,” she tells you, laughing when you groan.

“It’s better this way. You have to blend in while you’re here. Besides, if you already did it, then this should go swimmingly for you. Now come along.”

Once you've gotten your books, supplies, and uniforms, Professor McGonagall walks you to your dorm. It’s very late by now, everyone no doubt in bed. So you aren’t surprised when you don’t see anyone in the halls or common room.

“I get the whole place to myself?” you ask excitedly, taking in the huge empty room.

“Normally it’s four to a room, but you’re an exception since you arrived late. Or should I say early?”

Professor McGonagall takes out a few galleons from her pocket and places it in your hand.

“Pocket money.” She informs you, “For Hogsmeade outings or whatever you may need.”

“Thank you,” you tell her sincerely, hugging her tightly. “Nice to know some things never change.”

“Sorry?” she asks, pulling back.

“Oh, um, you tended to mother me in my timeline as well.” you say sheepishly, a blush blooming across your cheeks.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

September 7, 1976

“I don’t understand why you aren’t more concerned.” Sirius says, taking a bit of his toast. “It’s strange.”

“What’s strange,” Remus interjects, “Is that you’re questioning this so much.”

“Why would Minnie just let it go?” Sirius continues.

“She got tied up with something else?” Remus offers, shrugging. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Can’t you just be happy that we didn’t start 6th year with detention?”

“Who’s that?” Peter asks, nodding his head to the right.

The Marauders, and everyone else in the Great Hall, turn their heads to see you standing at the entrance. You’re fixing the strap on your school bag, completely oblivious to the stares you’re getting. Or maybe you just don’t care, James thinks to himself.

Finally done fixing your bag, you look up, only to freeze momentarily when you see everyone staring at you. Your eyes widen just the tiniest bit and you bring a hand up, smoothing out your hair which is styled in loose waves. James can’t help but smile adoringly, thinking your reaction to be incredibly cute.

Taking a deep breath, you hold your head up high and make your way to the Gryffindor table. You walk past the group of four without so much as a glance in their direction and take a seat at the far end of the table; setting your bag on the seat next to you before putting some fruit on your plate.

“I think that’s the new kid Marlene was telling us about in the common room.” Sirius says.

“Hang on, isn’t that the girl from yesterday?” Remus asks, causing all four of them to look at you again.

“As a matter of fact, Moony, I believe it is!” Sirius confirms.

“Should we go say hi?” Peter asks, looking between his friends.

“Mm, I don’t know. We’re not really a welcoming party, Wormtail.” Sirius says, not wanting to get up.

“But-“ James interrupts, “We would have been in detention if it wasn’t for her. So maybe we should?”

“Good point.” Sirius nods, taking a big sip of his drink.

You look up from your plate to see four young men standing in front of you.You look them all over; smiling at the one on the far right. He’s got unruly dark hair and hazel eyes. But more noticeably, he has round glasses, just like Harry’s.

“Cute glasses,” you say in greeting, causing everyone else to chuckle. James however, remains frozen. He blushes furiously at your compliment, before subconsciously readjusting his frames.

“Right, sorry to bother you,” The one with sandy brown hair says. He looks familiar to you, but you can’t figure out why.

“You kind of saved us from getting in trouble yesterday, so we wanted to say thank you and introduce ourselves, seeing as you’re new and might not know that many people yet.”

“Alright,” you smile at him, taking a sip of your water.

“I’m Remus,” he points to himself, causing you to choke on your drink. Your smile immediately drops.

Remus? As in Remus Lupin? Your old professor? Your friend?

“And this is Sirius,” he says, gesturing to the man next to him. He’s got long black hair and gray eyes that you’d recognize anywhere. That’s Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather.

“Next to him is Peter,” you narrow your eyes at him immediately. Peter Pettigrew, that coward, that snake. All the heartache and pain he caused. Because of him Harry grew up without his parents and Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit. Oh, how you want to strangle him. But you can’t. Technically he hasn’t done anything…yet.

But wait a minute. If that’s Remus, Sirius and Peter… You take a quick glance at the one with glasses and your heart drops. How didn’t you see it before?

“…Lastly, this is James.” Remus finishes.

James Potter. Harry’s dad is standing right in front of you and you flirted with him literally a minute ago.

Oh, shit.

You don’t know anything about time travel, but you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t be talking to any of these people. That being said…

“I’m so sorry,” you interrupt, standing abruptly from the table and grabbing your bag. “I have to go. Can we do this another time?”

Before any of them are able to give you a response, you’re already making your way out the door.

The second you reach the courtyard, you run your hands through your hair.

“Fuck! Of course this would happen to me!” you groan, frustrated and annoyed.

You haven’t even been here a full twenty four hours and you’ve already managed to run into your old professor, who ended up being like an older brother to you, your friend's godfather, your friend's actual father, and Peter, the cause of their downfall.

“I can’t completely avoid them because we’re all in the same house, but I can keep our interactions to a minimum.” you tell yourself, making your way to Potions, the first class of the day. “And obviously I can’t tell them I’m from the future.”

Arriving in Potions, you take a seat by the window and pull your book out, before setting your bag down. As more students make their way in, upon noticing you, the new kid, they either smile at you or raise their hand in greeting before making their way to their seats. You smile back at them, or even nod your head in greeting before eventually turning to look out the window. You don’t notice the red haired girl that sits on the table adjacent to yours.

You do, however, notice a certain Slytherin, as he clears his throat loudly to get your attention. Turning away from the window and gazing up at the man, it takes you all of three seconds to realize who’s standing in front of you. You’d recognize that pale blonde hair and smug smirk anywhere. Malfoy. Not Draco, but Lucius.

“Do you need something?” you ask, staring up at him from your seat.

Movement behind him catches your eye and your attention shifts momentarily as you see the Marauders walking up behind him, probably trying to get to their seats.

“You’re in my seat.” Lucius growls at you.

“That’s funny,” you say, brows furrowed as you inspect the desk before looking up at him again. “I don’t see your name anywhere on it.”

There are several amused snickers in the class as Lucius continues to stare you down.

“Sit somewhere else.” he orders.

“I would rather die.” you answer, smiling sweetly at him. You hear someone gasp in the background, probably not used to hearing someone speak to him that way.

“I sat there yesterday.” he informs you, you nod your head in faux concern. “And I will sit there again today. Move.”

Releasing an annoyed sigh, you scoot your chair back, causing Lucius to grin victoriously. That grin disappears, however, when instead of gathering your belongings, you kick your feet up on the desk.

With you having no intention of moving, Lucius moves your feet off the desk before staring down at you.

“It’s your first day here, so I’ll let it go this one time. But I’d advise you to not cross me again.” he sneers at you.

Sitting up in your chair, you dust off your desk before neatly placing your hands on top.

“And I’d advise you to find a seat,” you tell him, sarcasm evident in your tone and your smile. “Class is about to begin.”

With a final huff, Lucius stalks past you, kicking somebody else out of their seat before he sets his things down.

I can see where Draco gets it from, you think to yourself with a roll of your eyes.

“That was so cool, the way you stood up to Lucius like that.” the red headed girl says, before putting her hand out to introduce herself. “I’m Lily. Lily Evans.”

You gotta be joking, you think to yourself as you shake her hand, with a smile that you hope doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

“Nice to meet you!” you say, dropping her hand.

“And you are?” she asks, looking at you expectantly.

“Y/N.” you tell her.

“But between saving us from detention and telling off Malfoy, she’s becoming my hero.” Sirius interjects with a wink in your direction as the boys all take their seats, which happen to be surrounding the desk you chose.

So much for keeping our interactions to a minimum.

At that moment, Professor Bartholomew walks in and begins going over that day's lesson.

“Y/N.” Lily whispers after a few minutes.

“Hm?” you ask, turning to look at her.

“Do you need a quill?” She asks.

You look at your desk, completely empty except for your textbook.

“Oh. Shit. I guess I do.” you say, turning back to her sheepishly.

Lily giggles softly before handing you a quill, an inkwell, and a roll of parchment she had on her desk.

“Thanks, Red.” you smile appreciatively at her. Lily smiles at the unique nickname you give her, nodding her head before turning back to the lesson.

While Professor Bartholomew goes on about the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, you sit at your desk, staring out the window. You’re lost in thought, wondering if you’ll be able to get back home. Will Dumbledore even know how to fix the time-turner? What if he can’t help you and you’re stuck here?

“Now, why would one want to induce a sense of inexplicable, irrational happiness? Anyone? Miss Y/L/N?”

“To cure uncontrollable sobbing.” you answer, turning your gaze away from the window and facing the professor.

“Yes! Very good, my dear!” he nods, happy that you got it right.

“And are there any side effects to this potion?” he asks the class.

You hear the rustle of pages being flipped back and forth, the students desperately trying to find the answer.

“No? Nobody? Miss Y/L/N?” he calls to you again, “Perhaps you know the answer to this as well?”

“Excessive singing and nose tweaking.” you tell him, causing him to clap.

“Excellent work! Ten points to Gryffindor!” Professor Bartholomew announces, before going over the ingredients needed for the potion.

“How does she know that?” Lily whispers to James, causing him to look up from his notes. “Her book isn’t even open.”

James looks over at you and sure enough, your book is still closed. Your arms are crossed over your chest and you’re gazing out the window again. James shrugs at Lily before getting back to his notes but still glances at you occasionally.

When the bell rings, you hand the unused parchment, quill and ink back to Lily.

“Guess I didn’t need it,” you shrug when she looks at you confused. “Thanks anyway, Red.”

With that, you pick up your book, putting it in your bag as you make your way out the door.

James doesn’t even realize he had been staring after you until Remus comes up behind him.

“Are you gonna sit there all day or what?” he asks James, already making his way towards the door.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Hello my gorgeous Lily flower.” James greets the moment he sits down for lunch. “Did you miss me?”

Lily groans in annoyance, tossing a bread roll at his head before starting to pile food onto her plate.

“How many times have I told you not to call me that? And I didn’t miss you at all! Tosser…” she complains, scowling at him.

When James doesn’t respond, Lily looks up, only to see him staring towards the Great Hall entrance. Lily sees you standing at the entrance and then quickly turns towards James again, who’s still staring. She shares an amused look with Remus before the latter shrugs his shoulders. You’ve only just walked past them when Lily calls out to you.

“Y/N!”

Stopping in your tracks, you slowly turn around, seeing Lily waving her arm to get your attention.

“Come sit with us!” she says, smiling when you make your way back to them.

“Move it, Potter.” Lily orders, shoving James. “I want her to sit next to me.”

Grumbling, James crawls under the table, and pops up on the other side, sitting between Sirius and Remus.

“Hey, Red,” you greet, before smiling to the boys sitting across from you. “Gentlemen.”

“Oi that’s not fair!” Sirius immediately starts complaining. “How come she gets a nickname and we don’t?”

“Shut it, you big baby.” Marlene scolds, “I don’t want you to scare her away.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” Remus says, smiling at you, “Didn’t you see how she went head to head with Lucius?”

“That’s right!” Dorcas gasps, “He was in your face and you didn’t even flinch. How did you do that?”

Everything you’ve gone through with your friends flash through your mind. Your heart aches at the thought of them, wondering if you’ll ever see them again.

“Guess I just don’t scare easily.” you say with a nervous laugh, running a hand through your hair.

“Well it was brilliant. You’re brilliant,” Lily says, linking her arm with yours. “And you’re my friend now, okay?”

This is a bad idea, you think to yourself. Nothing good can come from befriending Harry’s parents. Say no. Say you don’t want any friends. Say you don’t need any friends. Whatever you do, don’t say-

“Okay,” you tell her with a nod.

Fucking idiot, you think to yourself.

Lily claps her hands excitedly before piling food onto your plate for you, only to stop when Sirius clears his throat.

“Oh, right. We’re a package deal,” Lily says, gesturing to the group of friends.

You shrug at that before taking a bite of your food.

Lunch passes with no incident. Everyone is so kind, welcoming you to the group easily. When they say something you don’t get, they explain the inside joke so you don’t feel left out. It’s nice. They’re nice.

You think James can be a bit much. Sure he’s been making too many jokes, but even he seems friendly enough, so you try not to roll your eyes when he opens his mouth for the thousandth time.

Eventually Lily stands, pulling you with her.

“Where are you going?” James asks, brow furrowed as he stares at you.

“We have Alchemy next.” Lily says, causing Marlene and Dorcas to stand as well. “It’s a bit of a walk, might as well get a head start.”

“Oh, oh,” James splutters, “Well, um…have a good class…”

Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas look at James in confusion. Hell, even Remus, Sirius and Peter look at James funny. The only person who doesn’t, is you; and that’s only because you haven’t known him long enough to know how completely out of character that is for him.

“You too,” you say instead, waving at them all with a beaming smile.

The four of you walk away, leaving the boys amongst themselves.

When James looks up again, there are three sets of eyes on him.

“…What?” he asks, looking at his friends.

“Have a good class,” Sirius mimics him, making his voice light and airy. “What was that?”

James clears his throat awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as he gets his bag.

“Nothing.”

“What about you frozen earlier, staring at Y/N?” Remus asks, smirking at his friend.

James stands up, fixing his hair as he does.

“That was nothing too.”

“Are you sure?” Peter presses, joining in on the teasing. “Couldn’t help but notice you were making more jokes than usual today. Why’s that, Remus?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Wormtail,” Remus answers smugly, “Could it be that someone has a crush on the new girl?”

“Oh, piss off! I was just being nice!” James defends.

With that being said, James turns on his heel and heads to his next class, leaving his friends behind. He hopes his face doesn’t look as red as it feels.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Walking out of History of Magic, your last class of the day, you raise your arms above your head and stretch. You only make it a few feet when you hear a voice call out to you.

“You’re a far way from home, aren’t you?”

You turn around immediately, eyes wide as they step out of the shadows.

“Professor Dumbledore!” you greet, “You’re back!”

“Yes, I was told I had a special guest waiting for me.” he says with a gentle smile.

“Shall we speak in my office?” he asks, walking with you through the halls. “I believe you have quite a story to tell, don’t you?”

You smile sheepishly and nod your head. Once you both arrive at the third floor, Professor Dumbledore stops in front of a huge griffin statue. He utters the password, sherbet lemon, before the statue begins to rotate, allowing you to access the hidden staircase.

The moment you’re both seated, you start telling Professor Dumbledore everything.

You tell him how you got your acceptance letter to Hogwarts in 1991, and all the trouble you’ve found yourself in over the years. You tell him about your friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. You tell him about Voldemort, and everything that happened at the triwizard tournament. Finally, you tell him about the time-turner.

Eventually, he holds his hand out to you. “May I see it?”

You scramble to find the time-turner, digging through your bag before eventually fishing it out. Professor Dumbledore inspects it in silence for a few moments before nodding his head.

“Well?” you ask anxiously, “Do you think you can help me?”

“It won’t be easy..” he starts.

“But can you?” you interrupt excitedly. “Can you fix it and send me back to my time?”

“I will do everything in my power to help you.” he confirms with a nod, causing you to smile.

“In the meantime, you should continue attending class as usual.” he tells you.

“Okay,” you nod, happy at the possibility of you going home.

“And do try to stay out of trouble.” Professor Dumbledore warns. “That group you've befriended seems to gravitate towards it.”

At the mention of them, your smile drops.

“That’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about…” you tell him, nervously toying with your fingers. “That group of people, I… I know them.”

“Oh?” Professor Dumbledore asks, looking at you curiously.

“I know what happens to them, it’s terrible,” you confess. “Most of them end up dead only months after turning twenty one.”

“That’s a heavy burden for you to carry by yourself, but you have to.” he tells you solemnly. “They’re only kids now. Telling them what their future holds will only lead to heartache.”

“So what am I meant to do?” you ask, sniffling. “Keep my mouth shut? Lead them to their deaths with a smile on my face?”

“Be their friend,” he tells you with a shake of his head. “And remember you’re here for only a moment. What good will come of this? Of you, telling them of their future, knowing you can’t change it? Knowing that as soon as the time-turner is fixed, you’ll go back to your time and leave them behind.”

“It’s not right,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It’s not fair to them.”

“I never said it would be,” Professor Dumbledore says with a sigh, “But I wish it was.”

Eventually you leave his office and take a walk to clear your head, desperate to make sense of all of this.

Professor Dumbledore is going to try to repair your time-turner, to help get you back to the year 1996. You don’t know how long this could take. It could be one week, it could be one month, it could be three months, it could be never.

You know Professor Dumbledore is right. No good can come from telling them the truth, but can you keep it from them? Sure, now it isn’t a problem. You’ve only known them a day. But you know eventually the guilt will start to eat at you.

When you finally make it to the Gryffindor entrance, it’s been hours since your last class finished. You walk into the common room and see the Marauders sitting amongst the couches.

“Hey!” Sirius greets. “Missed you at dinner, where’d you run off to?”

“Oh, uh…Professor Dumbledore wanted to see how my first day went, being new and all,” you stutter. “And afterwards I just went for a walk. Guess I lost track of time.”

They all nod, accepting your lie easily. Peter fills you in on what you missed; and soon the others are joining in, laughing about the backfired spell a second year tried.

Standing there, watching these four boys laugh together as they tell you a story, you realize you can’t do it. You can’t be their friend while knowing what their future holds. It’ll break your heart, spending your time with them, watching them fall in love, and make plans for their future, knowing they all end up dead. Feeling your eyes start to water, you quickly excuse yourself.

“Yeah, that’s great. It’s actually been a long day for me so I’m gonna go.”

You’ve only just started climbing the stairs to the girls dormitories when a soft voice calls out to you.

“Y/N?”

Frozen, you take a shaky breath and wipe your eyes before turning around. James is standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at you with concerned eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod, forcing yourself to smile. “I just forgot how bad my allergies get in the fall.”

James just continues to stare at you, before eventually nodding. He knew you were lying, and you knew he didn’t believe you. But he was kind enough to leave it alone and for that, you were grateful.

“Here.” he says, reaching into his robes and pulling out something wrapped in a napkin before handing it to you.

Unfolding the napkin, you see three small blueberry scones, stacked atop each other.

“…Why?” you finally ask, gazing up at him. It’s not like you guys are close. You’d only known him a couple hours. James just puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs.

“You missed dinner.” he says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You feel your eyes tearing up again at his kindness.

“Thank you,” you tell him, genuinely before turning around and making your way up the stairs.

“You’re welcome,” James says, even though you’re long gone.

When he turns around, once again his friends are staring at him.

“What now?” he asks with a roll of his eyes, sitting on the arm chair again.

“What was that?” Remus asks, already knowing the answer he’ll get.

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t seem like nothing,” Sirius objects, “Seemed like a sweet moment between you and the new girl.”

“Her name is Y/N,” James corrects, “and there was no moment. She wasn’t at dinner, so I saved her some. That’s all there is to it.”

“You’ve never saved me dinner,” Sirius calls out, “What about you, Moony? Has he ever saved you dinner?”

“Can’t say that he has,” Remus tells him with a shake of his head. “Wormtail?”

“I’ve never gotten dinner from James.”

“Alright, alright. Enough of that” James says, picking up his textbooks.

“Just answer me this!” Sirius calls out, stopping James before he was going to leave. “Have you ever brought food specifically for Lily?”

“You’re a prick.” James says, flipping him off before climbing the stairs, ignoring his friend's laughter.

The answer is no, he’s never done that for Lily before either.

3K notes · View notes