obsessions-and-antics

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“I ran away when I was about sixteen. I’d had enough…I hated the lot of them: my parents with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal…my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them…They thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having pure-bloods in charge.”

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Will you take a moment, promise me this That you’ll stand by me forever But if God forbid fate should step in And force us into a goodbye If you have children some day When they point to the pictures Please tell them my name

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make me choose || lilyspottar asked: jily or mad swan

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Hogwarts Subjects → part 1

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get to know me meme ;

1/5 favourite relationships:

James Potter / Sirius Black ( brotp )

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Luminos -- A Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks shot story

He could see her across the clearing. Watched the life drain out of her, almost; watched her fall backwards, down and down until her body hit the floor. It seemed to arch up from the ground, her hand lolling off to the side, fingers outstretched as though reaching for something.

She looked peaceful. And he thought to himself that maybe they could have it — they could still have peace elsewhere; still that whisper of an unwanted romance that filled every part of him; failing to drain out even with the life that left him.

Harry would do it, he thought to himself. Teddy would be okay — he would have a home, he would be loved, he would know that his daddy loved him more than anything. And maybe they’d tell him stories some day of a monster, but for now it was okay. Because they were safe. All of them. And the fight would continue, and Teddy would grow, and only Remus would be gone.

It was becoming hard to hold on. He wondered why she’d disappeared so quickly while he was left staring at his broken life; watching it fall apart at the seams and disappear. With his remaining strength he held his arm out — stretched it to reach hers. But their fingers remained inches apart.

God, he thought to himself. I need more time with her.

And for once in his life, God listened.

———————————

He knew where he was immediately. It was an image that must have come from a distant memory, one hidden in the back of his mind, prodding at him now as he stood there.

He stood there wordlessly staring at the closed door for a few moments, his palms beginning to sweat as he waited in silence. Eventually he gained the courage and stepped up onto the doorstep, reaching out with hesitant fingers and tapping his knuckles against the wooden frame.

It swung open almost immediately. A tired woman stared back at him, black hair in messy locks upon her shoulders, and when she saw the man in front of her she frowned. “Can I help you?” she asked almost curtly, lips slightly pursed as she surveyed him.

He knew what he must have looked like. An old, weary man that was standing on her doorstep, as pale as a ghost and probably more nervous than he should have been. But he smiled, holding his hand out in front of him. “Remus,” he greeted, “Remus Lupin. I’m an… erm… friend of Sirius.”

The woman frowned, glancing at him up and down with an uncertain look on her features.

“His Professor,” he added quickly, forcing a timid smile as he allowed his hand to drop back to his side.

She she continued purse her lips for a moment or two before she softened. “What do you teach, Professor Lupin?”

It felt odd to be called that again. He thought of Harry — wondered how he was doing, though somehow knew that he was and would be okay.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” he said with a slight smile before he lowered his voice. “I’m a part of the Order, too,” he said quietly.

This seemed to be all she needed as she smiled widely and pushed the door open for him. “Andromeda Black,” she greeted kindly, welcoming him into her home. “It’s lovely to meet you, Remus.”

He smiled softly. “You too, of course.” He glanced around for a few moments, eyeing the pictures on the walls with a heavy feeling in his stomach. “You have a lovely home.”

She laughed, waving her hand at him as she led him into the kitchen. “Please,” she said, “it’s a rotten mess and I know it.”

Pulling out a chair for him to sit in, she walked over to the bench and flicked on the kettle. “So tell me, Remus,” she started, glancing at him with light eyes, “how much of a nightmare is that cousin of mine to teach?”

He was unable to stop himself from grinning as he thought about his grey-eyed friend, a warm feeling pooling in his chest as he remembered sitting in the classroom beside him.

“One more shot, Moony,” Sirius would say, dark eyes full of laughter as James snickered beside him. “Let me try to get it in his knickers.”

The memory faded as quickly as it came. The memory of what Sirius had yet to go through replaced it, and he felt his throat tighten and his hands begin to quiver slightly.

“An absolute nightmare,” he responded finally, letting out a quiet laugh. “But I’ve never met anyone with such dedication.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as she leaned down to grab two mugs from the cupboard under the sink. “That’s Sirius for you,” she laughed, glancing back at him. “Loyal as a dog but as downright mischievous as one too.”

His lips curled at the corners. “Couldn’t agree more,” he told her quietly.

After pouring the boiling water and placing tea bags inside each mug, she walked over to the table and placed one in front of him. “Not the best stuff,” she said, nodding at the tea. “Ted’s out of a job at the moment, you see.”

The name caused something to tug at his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She smiled, pulling out a chair and sitting beside him. “Not to worry,” she amended, waving off his words. “Ted isn’t all that bothered. It means that he gets more time with Dora, I suppose.”

His stomach knotted.

“S’pose I better check on her, eh?” Andromeda said, letting out a slight laugh that broke him out of his thoughts. “Always seem to forget I’m a mother when I sit down. Doesn’t happen all too often, you see.”

He smiled slightly and placed his mug back on the table. “Enjoy your break while you have it,” he said, giving her a kind smile. “I’d be happy to check on her if you like.” At her skeptical look, he swiftly added: “Sirius has mentioned her a few times. He seems to care about her rather a lot.”

The woman looked unsure for a moment and then she smiled. “Why not?” she said eventually. “Are you a father yourself?”

His lips quirked ever so slightly. “I have a son,” he said with a small smile, before clearing his throat and looking down at the table. “We call him Teddy.”

Andromeda let out a loud laugh, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him. “What an odd coincidence,” she laughed. “Maybe some day him and Dora will be friends.”

He glanced down at his fingers, his lips curling at the corners into a tender smile. “Some day,” he agreed.

The woman continued to eye him softly for a few moments before she spoke. “Go on, then,” she said teasingly, nudging at him with her finger. “Up the stairs and first door to the right.”

He was unable to stop himself from grinning, and he quickly nodded his head, pushing his chair backwards and standing up. “Right,” he exclaimed, patting down his jacket mindlessly. “I’ll be back in a minute, then.”

She grinned at him, lifting her mug of tea to her lips. “She can be a bit of a nightmare, just so you know.” He simply smiled. “Got a loud mouth on her for a four year old, she does.”

Remus laughed, a warmness pooling in his stomach. “I can imagine.”

With that said he began to climb the stairs slowly, a heaving feeling of anticipation pooling in his stomach as he walked. When he made it to the top he hesitated; fear gripping at his heart, the memory of losing her almost too much to bear.

He had to see her again, though. One last time before they awakened wherever they were to awaken.

He pushed open the door, his heart pounding as he stepped into the room. She was there, of course, playing with her hair from her position on the rug, giggling as she changed the colour and looked at it with her fingers. “Dora,” he greeted softly, and the child glanced up, staring at him in confusion. “I’m Remus. I’m a… friend of your cousin.” At the child’s wide, doe-eyed stare, he rambled on. “You probably don’t even know what a cousin is, do you? Never mind, then. Androme— your, ah, mother sent me up here.” A pause. “What are you… erm… what are you doing there?”

Good Lord, he was awful at this. He briefly wondered whether he would be just as horrible at it with Teddy, or whether it would come naturally. With a tired sigh he reminded himself that it wouldn’t matter.

“Ree-mus,” came a voice, startling him out of his thoughts.

His lips quirked into a large smile. “Yes,” he told her. “You’re very smart, you know.”

The young child grinned at him. “What are you doing here?” she asked him. “Where’s mummy?”

Remus choked back a laugh. “Always the blunt one,” he muttered to himself before smiling and walking over to the girl. “I’m here to play with you. My… is your hair purple?”

Dora giggled, pressing her fingers against her lips as her hair changed to green. Remus let out a dramatic gasp. “Green now? You must be magical!”

The child gave him a toothy grin. “Mumma says I am. Are you magical too, Ree-mus?” she asked him, seeming to soften up to the older man.

Giving her a slight smile, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the cup of water sitting on her bedside. Muttering a spell, the child gasped as the water transfigured into chocolate milk. Scrambling to get herself off the floor, Dora stumbled a bit as she reached for the cup. When she turned back to look at him, beaming, he pressed his fingers against his lips. “Shh,” he told her, smiling behind his finger.

Pressing her finger against her lips, Dora replied, “Shh.”

After she finished her chocolate milk, the young child settled herself down beside him. “Will I be magical like that one day?”

Remus smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be wonderfully magical one day.”

Dora beamed, banging her hands against the carpet. “Lots of chocolate milk!” she exclaimed.

His lips quirked at the corners. “You’ll have to share some with me,” Remus told her earnestly.

The child bit her lip and nodded, before letting out a giggle as her hair changed colours again.

Remus let out a dramatic gasp. “Pink!” he exclaimed loudly, trying to overlook the heaviness in his stomach. Trying not to remember the way she’d looked beside him. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Dora giggled and shook her head. “You’d look silly with pink hair,” she told him through her giggles.

Remus’ lips curled into a large smile as he reached out to touch his hair. “No,” he told her, fighting back a smile, “I think I’d look very pretty.”

Dora laughed again, fingers pressed against her lips. “No,” she told him. “You’re a boy.”

Remus laughed. “A very old one.”

It started happening before he knew what it was. The room began to jumble a little, the paintings on the wall tilting on their sides, the paint on the walls losing their colour. He began to panic a little, looking out at the child in front of him, knowing that he’d been given his chance.

“I have to go now, Dora,” he whispered to her.

The young girl frowned, lower lip jutting out as she sat down beside him. “Will I see you soon?” she asked him.

His lips quirked a little at the corners. “Sooner than you can imagine,” he promised her.

“Where are you going?” she asked as he started to fade.

His throat tight, he pressed his finger against his lips. “Magic,” he whispered. And then her room was gone.

———————————

He was beside her again. Her pink hair was laid in ruffles about her head, wide eyes staring out at nothing. A warm feeling filled his chest as he looked at her, feeling the life fading from him. He could barely hear the sounds of the war going on around him — could barely feel the breeze as it trickled against his skin. Harry would win, he told himself. Teddy will be safe.

He looked at his wife again. Felt his heart fading, the room spinning again, though knew that he wouldn’t be waking up at the doorstep this time — knew that he’d had his chance. And he was thankful for every minute spent with her.

“Sooner than you can imagine,” he whispered to her, stretching out his fingers as his eyes fluttered shut.

Their hands touched and then the life left him.

A/N This was written a little while ago for a friend. It became rushed towards to end, but I hope you all like it! Also a great big hi to all of my new followers, and lots of hugs and kisses to everyone that reads this!

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Having very serious conversations about fictional universes is one of my favorite things to do.

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Flowers -- A James Potter/Lily Evans short story.

She always smelt like flowers. He wondered how she did it; whether she slept in fields of roses at night or maybe kept one by her bedside, but every time that she whispered past him in the halls the lingering scent of flowers would always be left behind.

Sometimes he’d follow her; lean in a little closer when she talked to him in a way that he was sure was highly unsubtle, or brush his hand against hers to see if her skin was as gentle and as delicate as she smelt. It would always fill him with warmth; a rush of heat to his stomach, floating its way up into his lungs and mixing with the air that he breathed in, reaching down to his tingling fingertips. He was sure that she knew that he was undeniably addicted to her scent, was sure that she noticed him lean a little closer, linger a little longer and brush his nose against her red hair when they hugged, always staying too long but arguably not long enough. Sometimes she would stare back at him, her hand pressed gently against his lower back, wandering fingers eliciting fire where she touched, lighting him up from the inside out.

The first time he had kissed her she had smelt like roses. He’d told her so, almost straight after, and she’d blushed as brightly as the reddest one in the garden. She had slapped his arm, telling him to stop being ridiculous before she’d wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging him back down to meet her lips. They’d kissed again after that, and again and again and it had always felt like the softest of touches; fingers tracing patterns in his belly, tickling his insides and filling him with a warm sense of contentment. Her lips lingered like a distant memory, a feeling of breathlessness and euphoria, a taste that left his mouth sweet and his throat dry.

On their first date he had given her a daisy. It hadn’t been planned; instead he’d taken her out for a picnic in a park just away from Hogsmeade, and he’d found one resting just beside them in the grass. They had smuggled Firewhisky and James had consumed almost copious amounts, trying to calm the butterflies that rattled about in his stomach, and had blurted out an atrocious poem that he’d written about her in fourth year before ripping the flower out of the ground and shoving it into her hands.

Lily had been silent for a few moments, fingers curled around the stem before she’d barked out a laugh. Told him that it was just like him to give her a weed on their first date, that it was almost representative of their tumultuous relationship, and they had both laughed until they were leaning against one another, her head resting against his shoulder and his heart beating so fast that his stomach hurt. She’d reached up to kiss him, his breath full of musky alcohol and sweets, and he’d gladly returned it, her lips tattooing themselves against his.

He could remember thinking that he was done for. Her name was Lily and she smelt like roses and hated daisies and was possibly the most wonderful thing in the world; his very own private garden that he would never be willing to share. And when they said goodbye and he headed up to the room that he shared with his friends he had wondered whether he’d taken a part of her with him, because he could still smell her when he slept that night and she seemed to linger in the corners of his mind, a constant reminder of something wonderful and sweet.

The first time he’d told her that he loved her he’d handed her a poppy. It was a pathetic thing, stem withered from being over watered and petals crumpled from where he’d attempted to straighten them with his fingers, but he’d held it out to her anyway, like the promise of something more than its size and its beauty. When she’d asked him why he hadn’t given her roses he’d told her that he was making his memories of her into a garden in his mind, and she’d looked at him like he was insane before kissing him hard on the lips. And she loved him too — of course she did, even though he probably smelt like piss and smoke and was hardly something decent to look at, and she’d told him so before picking a dandelion from the ground and handing it to him, commenting (with an illusive smile) that maybe she’d make her own garden too.

He hadn’t told her that it would never be as large and as bright as his own, even though the thought was rather prominent, but had instead asked her whether all of the flowers in her garden of him would be weeds, because he found the thought particularly offensive. When she had laughed in response he had grinned so widely that his cheeks hurt, and then she’d reached down and had thrown grass in his face, before running away with her laughter echoing behind her.

He’d chased after her; chased after it all, his entire life with her, the promise of what would come and the memories of what had passed. And a year later, when he had proposed to her as the sun rose on her birthday, he had given her a petunia and made an idle comment about its beauty in comparison to her… erm… rather unfortunate sister, and she’d slapped him on the arm before saying yes, definitely yes, absolutely; yes.

When they had married, her bouquet was full of orchids, and she looked so beautiful that he could barely breathe. Sirius had made a comment about disowning him but he had hardly cared, too focused on watching her walking towards him, each step lingering like a further promise of something everlasting, branding it into his body and his heart. She’d smelt like roses, too, just like she always did, and he was glad that she was something familiar that stood next to him at the start of a new chapter of his life.

He was dead too quickly to think about what flower to give her when she died. His friend had done it for him instead. Lonely and overcome with grief, Remus Lupin had brought lilies to their graves, placing them on the ground where his two friends now laid, hoping that it somehow would put James at peace. His tears had watered the flowers, had dribbled through the dirt, and he’d stared at the cement headpieces for a moment or two before he found the strength to walk away.

Remus hoped that he could smell them, dead as he was, and that they reminded him of his love. But by then it didn’t matter; James had a whole garden of Lily etched into his bones.

A/N I wrote this in November because I needed a break from my NaNo novel (and I was craving some Jily!), and I'd seen the word prompt flowers. I hope you enjoy it, despite how ridiculously corny it is!

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I had to find you, tell you I need you . .

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there is nowhere I can turn…

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Our world has perhaps faced no greater threat than it does today.

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messrs moony, wormtail, padfoot, and prongs are proud to present...

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Harry had the distinct impression that Sirius was the only one for whom James would have stopped showing off.

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Jily/Marauders one shot spoiler

“What on earth are you doing?”

Sirius was sitting on the bathroom floor, sniffing at his armpits when Remus walked in.

“Seeing if I smell,” he said simply, glancing up at his friend mildly. “Reckon I smell like a dead dog?” Remus was too stunned to answer. “’Course, doesn’t help that I have such a nice manly smell. I don’t know how I’m supposed to pass off being a female dog.”

“Well,” Remus said, “I don’t think dead dogs smell like sweat and arrogance, so you were buggered from the start.”

Sirius didn’t respond. “What are you doing here, anyway? Come to admire me shirtless?”

The seventh year blushed. “Get off your high horse, Sirius. I’m here to carry you out.”

Sirius grinned. “Bet you’ll love that, won’t you Moony?”

Remus glared. “Hurry up and die.”

At his words, Sirius frowned. “Second time someone’s said that to me today. Bloody awful friends I’ve got, really.” Nonetheless he pulled off his pants (Remus looked away in mortification) and shifted into a large, shaggy black dog. When he was done, he licked at Remus’s hand to notify him.

Sighing, Remus reached down, ignoring the playful look in the dog’s eyes as he pulled him into his arms. “Dear God, your breath,” he said disgustedly, screwing up his nose in disgust. “Keep breathing like that and you’ll pull off the dead dog smell for sure.”

The dog snarled and bared its teeth in response.

“I mean this in the nicest possible way, but hurry up and die. We’re about to go outside.”

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The Story of Remus - a Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks short story.

A/N: this is the result of Pottermore's update and my feels over Remus. Unedited because creying

Remus Lupin's life was not a love story. If the pages were bound together in a book the writing would be in almost illegible scrawls; secrets scribbled along the margins — the things that he could never quite bring himself to say. The cover would show a brooding boy; one with a look about his face that said that he was indescribably lonely; a look that he swore that no one else could see. Maybe his mum would be there. His father. Maybe James and Sirius. Maybe his face would transform as he saw them, would light up and he'd smile for a change. People would look at it and think that it wasn't a sad story, but after the first few chapters they'd realise that they'd been deceived.

And then they'd get to the end of the book, and it would all be her. All be crossed out scrawls of I can't do it and I'll destroy her; I'm a werwolf and I'm dangerous. Maybe he'd write about what colour her hair was that day. Whether it matched her eyes. Maybe the words she'd spat out at him — the whispered looks he'd given her when he swore she was unaware. When his hand had brushed against hers and she'd caught his eye, and the blush on his cheeks when he'd looked away.

There'd be jealousy, of course, about the handsome Aurors that she could quite possibly be dating. There would be things that he would never be proud of — giant writing in capital letters ranting about how she deserved them and how they'd get married. There'd be those small, barely legible scribbles of self-doubt, the I don't deserve her and then I'll never be enough. They'd be crossed out after a few weeks of staring at them relentlessly, because he wouldn't stop thinking them and she would begin to notice.

He'd write about kissing her. Realising that she felt the same way. The absolute joy in his heart when she said the words. Marrying her. Holding her hand. The fear in finding out that she was pregnant. The self loathing and the terror he'd felt when his son was born. The relief at finding that he was not a monster — not like his daddy, no, but like the woman he'd fallen in love with.

How things had felt perfect.

No, his story was not a love story. But damn it… it had almost ended like one.

Because he was holding her hand. Holding her hand and feeling like he was touching everything that she'd touched: his son, his cheek, his heart. And there was that knowledge that he was going to die, that there would be nothing else after this except blackness and yet it didn't seem like the worst part of his life. Didn't quite feel like the end, because while it was the end of Remus Lupin, the man he'd become had only been recent.

He looked at her. Her hair was dark for a change — something she'd always tried to do for their son, and she was staring up at the sky. He wondered idly if she was dead. He couldn't feel the warmth of her fingers, but he couldn't find it in him to cry. Because any moment holding her hand was a dear one. Far more joyful than most of his other moments — those moments filled with despair and loneliness. Even in death she didn't let go. It meant more to him than it should have.

He thought of his son. Thought of how she'd insisted on his middle name being Remus, though he'd argued that being Remus was something that nobody would want to be. But in death he didn't think that anymore. He was rather glad, in fact.

No, Remus Lupin's life was not a love story — it was a story of love. A story of how he'd loved dearly but never felt it in return, a story of how his heart had been mangled and bruised but he'd handed it out anyway. It was a story of misery. Heartbreak. Self hatred, loathing, regret.

But looking at her, he could see nothing else but the ending. So maybe he'd rewrite it some day.

If you opened Remus Lupin's book the start would be scribbled out completely. He didn't need it — he really didn't, because no one needed to know the misery and the loneliness, the self-loathing and the despair. They just needed to know what he knew in that moment — that despite of it not being a love story, he was loved. Dearly.

And God, if he could he'd open it and read it again.