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stateofmarauders · 3 days ago

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the misfortune of poetry (and the danger of wanting too much)

wolfstar x reader

summary: “It was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely.” - Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen

or - in which love is mutual, but the space between Remus and Sirius feels impenetrable; and no matter how often their arms open to include you, you still find yourself standing just outside, completely left out.

warnings: emotional neglect, intense arguments, miscommunication, anger issues, overthinking, bipolar-coded reader (is that a thing?), feelings of exclusion, toxic dynamics, low self-worth, crying, unresolved tension, lowk toxic wolfstar that is semi- canon in my opinion, lots of poetic references for some reason, codependency, eventually healthy (?) communication, hurt/comfort, hopeful happy ending.

word count: 5.5k

authors note: yes, i wrote this after finishing a jane austen book bec she is my mother. and yes, this is inspired by tolerate it by taylor swift - my other mother 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 masterlist

Remus has quite the nice hands.

They are a little tanned and large, the bones pronounced just enough to give them a sculptural grace, and the veins beneath the skin travel in subtle rivulets, like tributaries feeding into a great, unseen current.

You do not often look too closely at Remus’s hands — not out of disinterest, but because to study something is to isolate it, to detach it from the whole.

And Remus, in his entirety, has always been too much to disassemble.

But now, you cannot help it. Not with the way his fingers are threaded so deliberately through Sirius’s.

There is something magnetic about it, something almost profane in its intimacy, and it arrests you.

Remus is beautiful. You have always known this, in the way one knows the moon is beautiful: steady, unreachable, and often too luminous to look at directly.

He is beautiful in the mornings when sleep still lingers in his lashes. He is beautiful in argument, when his eyes spark and his mouth holds its line with quiet severity.

But he is most beautiful, you think — painfully and inescapably — when he is in love.

Sirius is laughing. The sound is a rich, unguarded thing, like a fireplace cracking open in winter, throwing sparks into a cold room.

He is bent slightly toward Remus, his face alight with whatever nonsense Remus has just muttered, some ridiculous inside joke that wouldn’t survive under the weight of repetition.

His laughter is a kind of music, unfiltered and utterly golden — and Remus is looking at him as though he has never seen anything so worthy of adoration in his life.

There is a softness around Remus’s eyes that you’ve never been able to summon in him. A quiet kind of hunger, not desperate but devotional, like he’s studying scripture and finding God written in Sirius’s grin.

His hand shifts to press more firmly into Sirius’s side. Their bodies are angled into one another, as if pulled by some gravitational thread, two celestial bodies caught in a dance whose steps were never taught to you.

You remain still, watching in silence. It ought to feel sacred — a private moment unfolding between two people who love one another without question — and perhaps, in some way, it is.

Yet what unsettles you is not the sanctity of their affection, but the ease with which it flows. The seamlessness of it. The instinct that requires no invitation, no effort, and no explanation.

It does feel, in a way that makes your throat ache with its quiet cruelty, somewhat ironic — even amusing, if you could afford to laugh — that this, the tableau of your two lovers, is what renders you hollow.

And still, you cannot look away.

Because Remus is beautiful like this. And Sirius, with his head thrown back and his smile reckless and sincere, is nothing short of radiant.

They are beautiful together. Devastatingly so. Beautiful in ways you’ve never quite managed to be with either of them, and certainly never between them.

There are moments, more than you care to admit, where your presence in this relationship feels like an interruption. Like you are trespassing on something ancient and irreplaceable.

You do not always feel unwanted — they kiss you, they call you lovely things, they reach for your hand — but there is a weight to their history, to the way their names fit together, like syllables in the same breath.

Sirius and Remus. A pairing that rolls off the tongue too easily, like it was always meant to exist.

You, by contrast, arrive in fragments. Sirius and Remus and you. A phrase that stumbles on its own construction, heavy with conjunctions, awkward on the tongue.

It never flows the way it should. It catches in your throat like a phrase unfit for repetition. You whisper it once, as if testing its balance — but it topples mid-sentence, too crowded to stand.

Remus and Sirius and you — wasn’t it even grammatically and poetically wrong? Too many ‘ands’

It sounded like a list that had gone on too long, as if even the English language disagreed with your relationship. As though the structure itself rejected your inclusion.

You wonder, cruelly, if that’s the problem. That even in the syntax of the heart, there is only room for one ‘and.’ One bridge, not two, not three, just Sirius and Remus.

Not Sirius and Remus and you.

You watch them again. You watch as Sirius curls further into Remus, as Remus presses a kiss into his hair, as laughter settles into quiet.

You imagine stepping into that silence, imagine saying something — anything — and feel the phantom guilt of breaking something delicate. Something not meant for your hands.

You wonder if that makes you selfish. Or merely human.

You are still looking when you hear your name, gentled by familiarity.

“Hey, love,” Remus calls, voice soft but sure. “Come here.”

Your name in his mouth breaks your reverie like a sudden gust against still water. Rising slowly, you smooth the front of your skirt as if the act might steady you. Your steps toward them are quiet but deliberate.

You are just approaching the sofa when Sirius rises from it, all unbothered ease and restless movement. He stretches once, dragging a hand through his dark hair, already turning toward the stairs.

“I think I’m going to head to bed,” he says. “Still need to finish that Charms reading.”

He offers Remus a smile, then glances at you, expression light, unknowing. You nod faintly, offering a murmured goodnight that hardly makes it past your lips.

He is gone a moment later, boots thudding gently against stone as he disappears.

You are left standing there, the space Sirius vacated still warm.

Remus looks up at you, a tired smile flickering at the corners of his mouth, and reaches for your wrist with one hand, guiding you down beside him.

He leans against your shoulder with a sigh, heavy and unguarded, as if it has never occurred to him that you might hesitate to hold this weight.

And in that moment — familiar, quiet, routine — you are reminded of every evening Remus has come to sit beside you only when Sirius has been elsewhere.

When Sirius is laughing with James, or gone off to some reckless adventure, or curled in sleep two floors above. That is when Remus finds you in the library. That is when he folds himself into the space beside you, places his parchment beside yours, murmurs something about needing the quiet.

He always arrives in Sirius’s absence. Never in his presence.

And so it is hard not to wonder, here in the afterglow of another departure, whether you have become something of a placeholder — the person he turns to when the world has shifted too loudly around him, when the golden light of Sirius becomes too bright to look at for too long.

He rests his head against your shoulder and says nothing.

Then, after a long moment, his voice breaks the quiet again.

“You always make everything feel still,” he murmurs. “Like I can finally think when I’m with you.”

You nod slowly, eyes fixed on the fire.

“Lucky me,” you say, voice dry as cooled ash.

Remus breathes slowly against your shoulder, his weight growing heavier by the second.

After a while, he shifts just enough to glance up at you. His fingers graze your arm, tender, thoughtless.

“How was your day?” he asks, voice low and genuine in that way of his. “Did you get through Potions all right? You were a bit worried about that assignment.”

You blink once, slowly, as if recalling your own day requires effort. You had sat through lectures, answered questions, smiled where necessary.

You had moved through the hours like someone trying to remember how to exist. Nothing had been wrong, not exactly, but nothing had felt right either.

“It was fine,” you reply, and your voice sounds distant even to your own ears.

Remus hums softly in response, nodding a little against your arm.

Then, as if that were a natural segue, he begins to speak again — this time with more animation and presence.

“I swear, I don’t know what Sirius was thinking today,” he says, his words gathering momentum like a snowball down a slope. “He started arguing with McGonagall over some ridiculous Transfiguration theory he read in a journal — completely misinterpreted, obviously, but he wouldn’t back down. And then he spilled ink all over my notes, again, and blamed James as if that ever works.”

You listen in silence, eyes fixed on the low flame flickering in the hearth.

“Honestly,” Remus continues, shaking his head with a huff of exasperated fondness, “he’s lucky I don’t strangle him some days. But you know him. Always has to be the loudest voice in the room, even when he knows he’s wrong. Merlin, sometimes I think his brain is just a mix of impulse and charm and chaos. But I suppose—”

Of course, you think. Of course it comes back to Sirius.

Even when Remus is beside you, he is never quite with you.

He speaks your name when the room is empty, seeks your presence when silence is all that’s left. But when the noise begins again — when the world rushes back in — it is Sirius who fills his thoughts, Sirius who quickens his voice, Sirius who moves him from stillness into speech.

You do not want to hear it anymore, not tonight.

“I’m tired,” you say, cutting through his words as gently as you can manage, though the sharpness slips through anyway. “I think I’ll head to bed.”

Remus blinks, caught mid-sentence. “Oh—are you sure? I was just—”

“I know,” you murmur, already rising to your feet, smoothing your skirt, the same ritual motions that have always given you the illusion of control. “But I’m really tired.”

He says nothing as you step away from him.

Just as you begin to turn away, Remus lifts his head.

“Don’t forget,” he calls gently, as if it’s an afterthought. “Tomorrow - the library. We’ve barely got classes. We said we’d spend the day together.”

You force a smile that you hope passes for casual. “I won’t forget.”

And then you turn before your mouth can betray you.

You leave the dormitory with your head high and your throat aching. The corridor is empty, lit in patches of gold and shadow. Your footsteps echo too loudly.

By the time you reach your own bed, you are shaking — not violently, not visibly, but in the quiet way that starts from somewhere deep in the ribs and works outward, like grief blooming in reverse.

You sit on the edge of the mattress for a long while, staring at the pale fabric of your blanket, at the delicate stitching in the corner, unraveling from years of use.

You simply lie back and let the darkness close around you.

And then, slowly and quietly, you begin to cry.

Your tears soak the pillow beneath you until the fabric sticks cold against your cheek. You bury your face further into the cotton, as if you might disappear there.

You are so tired of this ache. Of this place you occupy that never quite feels like home. You are always there — you linger in their laughter, in the pauses between sentences, in the space they leave at the table — but you never stay. You never settle. You are never invited fully inside.

It is, you think bitterly, the worst kind of curse. To be almost chosen.

To be almost seen.

You do not wish to be invisible. That would at least offer clarity, a kind of freedom. No, the agony lies in being so utterly visible, and yet never visible enough.

You are always the extra voice in the room, the third name in a sentence that should have ended after the second.

You are never left behind, not entirely — but you are never fully brought along either. You are always remembered just late enough for it to sting.

And beneath the sorrow, beneath the hollow ache in your chest, there is something sharper beginning to rise.

You are angry.

You are angry that they never seem to notice the silence you carry back to your bed. That your absence never disrupts the shape of their joy. That your love is always absorbed, always welcomed, but never truly returned in the way you need.

You are angry that you have made yourself small enough to fit between them, and they have never once tried to widen the space to make room for all three.

You press your damp cheek into the pillow and close your eyes.

And still, even through the tears and the fury, you know you will meet them at the library tomorrow.

***

The morning light is pale and watery as it slips through the curtains of your dormitory, casting long streaks across the floor.

It is not a beautiful day, not in any poetic or dramatic sense, but it is a quiet one, the kind that carries with it the illusion of possibility — the subtle promise that perhaps something small might shift if given just enough space to move.

You sit before the mirror longer than usual.

Your hair has always been left untied, allowed to fall loose over your shoulders in soft waves, untamed and thoughtless.

It is the way you have worn it for years, the way they have always known it. But today, you gather it carefully, pinning half of it back with a delicate clip — nothing extravagant, just a simple tortoiseshell clasp that glints faintly in the light.

The gesture is small, but purposeful. It is not about vanity.

It is about being seen.

You wonder, briefly, what that says about you — that you are trying this hard to be noticed by your own boyfriends. That the act of changing your hair feels like a plea.

You do not like the feeling. It makes you feel foolish, desperate, and pathetic. You feel like a child rehearsing bravery in the mirror, and the thought alone is enough to sour your stomach.

Still, you do not undo it.

You walk to the library with your hands tucked into your sleeves and your thoughts heavy. You arrive on time, just as planned.

You choose a table by the window, where the light can fall gently across the spines of your books and catch the gold in your eyes if anyone cared to look. You wait.

Five minutes pass.

Then ten.

Fifteen.

And then, at last, twenty minutes later, they arrive.

Hand in hand.

You look up from your book, trying not to startle. Sirius grins at you with the effortless brightness he reserves for entrances, and Remus is already leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head, followed by Sirius, who does the same without missing a beat.

“Morning, love,” Sirius says, sliding into the seat across from you.

“Sorry we’re late,” Remus adds, setting down his bag. “We ran into each other back at the dorm and got caught up talking.”

“Mostly laughing,” Sirius says with a smirk.

Your smile is thin. It requires effort.

“I was here twenty minutes ago.”

Remus looks at you, puzzled. “Really? Is it already that late?”

You do not answer. Your gaze returns to your book, though you are no longer reading.

They converse as though you are no more than a quiet presence beside them, their words weaving around you but never quite including you.

The fragility of your composure fractures imperceptibly with each passing moment until the question escapes your lips, soft but insistent.

“Have you noticed anything different about me today?”

Their expressions flicker with mild surprise, brows arching as if parsing an elusive riddle. Sirius ventures a tentative observation. “A new set of earrings?”

Remus squints slightly, clearly studying you now. “Did you get new robes?”

You stare at them both, your mouth set in a line too thin to speak through.

It is Sirius who offers the final blow, with a grin too careless to be cruel but too careless nonetheless.

“Merlin, don’t tell me you finally grew taller.”

Your silence is immediate and deafening.

Remus’s expression shifts first, the corner of his smile faltering as he senses something in the air he hadn’t prepared for.

“That’s funny,” you say flatly. “Really hilarious.”

Sirius blinks, thrown by your tone. “What?”

“Nothing,” you answer, too quickly, too sharply. “It’s just… perfect, isn’t it? You walk in late, hand in hand, and the first thing out of your mouth is a joke about my height.”

His smile falters completely now. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No. Of course you didn’t.” Your voice rises, brittle now. “You never do. You never mean anything. You just talk and laugh like the rest of us are lucky to be standing in your light.”

Sirius leans back slightly, eyebrows knitting. “Alright, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Before you can answer, Remus’s voice cuts in — low and reprimanding. “Why are you talking to him like that?”

You turn to him sharply, and something inside you snaps. “Why?” Your voice breaks on the word, raw and shaking. “You’re asking me why?”

There’s a heat behind your eyes now, one you try to blink away, but it rises too quickly. “Because I sat here waiting for twenty minutes while you two strolled in smiling like everything was perfect. Because I tried. I tried to do something different, to look different, to be seen. And you didn’t even look. You didn’t even notice.”

Your hands are shaking now. You curl them tightly in your lap.

“But sure,” you mutter, voice lower, bitter, “let’s make jokes about how short I am. That’s easier, isn’t it?”

Remus opens his mouth, but you are already standing. The scrape of your chair is sharp against the floor.

“Forget it,” you say. “Just—forget it.”

Remus’s brows pull together. His jaw clenches. “We didn’t forget you. Don’t do that. You’re upset, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Don’t tell me what I mean!” you snap, voice rising now, hot and unsteady.

“You didn’t forget me, fine. You just didn’t see me. You never fucking see me. You two look at each other like the world begins and ends in your goddamn eye contact, and I’m just—what? a third wheel?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Sirius mutters, exasperated, crossing his arms. “You’re making something out of nothing!”

“Nothing?” you repeat, louder now, incredulous. “Is that what I am to you? Nothing? Just someone who tags along, who doesn’t belong in the middle of your golden fucking fairytale? Do you even hear yourselves when you talk? Do you ever stop to wonder what it feels like to be the third person in a story that only had two from the beginning?”

“You need to calm down,” Remus says, voice taut, warning.

“No,” you spit. “No, I don’t. I’ve spent months calming down.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Remus snaps, sharper this time.

The words hit you harder than you expect. It’s the disbelief, the refusal to even try to understand, that breaks you open.

You shove your chair back, the legs scraping hard against stone. “Of course I am,” you say, breath short, eyes burning.

“Because that’s what I always do, right? Make things dramatic, ruin your peace, and remind you that there’s a third person here when you’re both happier pretending there’s not.”

Neither of them speaks. The silence between them is deafening.

You glance from one to the other, and for a moment, you hate how beautiful they look even in their guilt — like they still belong to each other in some unshakable, unreachable way.

“I’m going,” you say, voice low now, but no less steady. “Don’t worry. I’ll get out of your way.”

You do not expect them to follow you.

Yet, as your footsteps echo softly down the cold corridor, you feel the sudden warmth of Sirius’s hand closing around your wrist, firm and insistent.

He pulls you gently back toward the light, the weight of his grip both grounding and suffocating. His eyes search yours, a mixture of confusion and something harsher beneath.

“What is wrong with you today?” he demands, his voice low but sharp. “Why are you acting like this? So full of attitude, snapping at me, storming off just because I made a joke about your height?”

You want to scream at him that this is not about the joke. That it was never just about one thing.

That it’s all of it — the forgetting, the leaving, the looking through you like you’re only sometimes real. The not noticing your hair.

The tears come faster than you expect. Your throat burns, and your voice breaks mid-sentence, jagged with exhaustion and restraint.

“No, no, this isn’t about a joke,” you cry, shaking your head. “This isn’t about my height or something small like that. This is about you both — about how absolutely horrible you can be sometimes.”

Remus steps forward, concern etched deeply on his face, but with an unmistakable sharpness. “Why are you talking to him like that?”

You turn to face Remus, your breath ragged, the anger pouring from you like wildfire. “See? See what I mean? It is always me. Always me. Why are you talking to Sirius like that? Never, ever do I hear ‘why are you treating Y/N like this?’” Your voice trembles, bitter and raw, the walls you have built around your heart crumbling with each word.

“You both keep doing this thing, this constant thing where I am invisible!”

Sirius’s brow knits, his voice defensive and bewildered. “What thing? What is wrong with you? What’s up with you?”

Your voice rises, fracturing now into a scream. “Stop making me feel like I’m crazy! Like I’m the problem! You two are everything, always together, and I’m just… there! You don’t see me, you don’t hear me, and when I try, you shut me down! You make me doubt myself, make me question if I’m imagining it. But I’m not. Everyone notices.”

Remus swallows hard, his hands trembling at his sides. Sirius’s eyes flash with frustration and pain, but your words crack through the room like thunder.

“You both make me feel like I don’t exist, like I’m nothing more than the space between you — not a person, not a part of your world. And that hurts. It hurts so much, you don’t even see it.”

They open their mouths, but you are already trembling, chest heaving, tears streaming unchecked down your cheeks. The rawness of your grief and rage mingles, an unbearable knot of truth laid bare.

“You can’t do that,” he says. “You can’t scream at us like that and walk away without giving anyone the chance to speak.”

You say nothing. You stare straight ahead, eyes fixed on a patch of ivy crawling up the stone wall across the courtyard. You think if you meet his gaze, something in you will fracture again.

Remus continues, slowly. “I know we’ve hurt you. I know there have been days where it felt like we forgot how to show up properly, but—”

Sirius cuts in, louder, voice flint-struck with heat. “This is bloody mental. You’re making us out to be monsters just because we didn’t come to the libary early or whatever!”

You turn, your spine straightening with a sharp intake of breath. “You still think this is about the library or the height joke?”

He shrugs, defensive, biting. “It’s just always something lately, isn’t it?”

Your voice rises without warning. “Always something? It’s always something because you keep giving me nothing to hold on to!”

And Sirius stands now, his jaw tight. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is being invisible in your relationship, Sirius fucking Black!” you shout, your voice cracking wide open again.

“Enough!”

Remus’s voice breaks through everything. Louder than you’ve ever heard it. Loud enough to make both you and Sirius freeze where you stand, breath caught between ribs.

You stare at him. He is standing now too, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. His voice, when he speaks again, is low but trembling with force.

“Just—stop it,” he says. “Both of you. This is not helping anything.”

You take a step back, away from the stone bench, away from both of them. The fury in your chest is cold now, the kind that makes you feel quiet and dangerous.

“I’m leaving,” you say, your voice strangely calm. “I’m done with both of you.”

Sirius’s head snaps toward you, eyes widening as if you’ve struck him. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound escapes. Remus reaches forward before you can take another step, both hands catching you by the waist.

“You are not leaving,” he breathes.

You twist, voice rising again. “Yes, I am. I am done. You don’t get to hold me here after everything.”

Remus grabs you now by the shoulders, not rough, but unyielding. His voice is hoarse with something close to desperation. “Don’t you see I’m fighting for you? Just listen, woman, for one goddamned second.”

You shove his hands off you, your voice a blaze. “Fighting for me? You’ve both been horrible to me. You think loving me means giving me crumbs and calling it devotion. I have been here, over and over again, trying so hard to keep up, to belong, and all you do is look right through me. You think I’m here to orbit you. That I should be grateful just to sit at your table. But I’m not grateful. I’m exhausted.”

“I love you!” Remus shouts, and the force of it knocks the breath out of the air.

You stop. Even Sirius flinches.

Remus steps forward again, eyes fierce, hands trembling. “I love you. I have love for both of you. Do you hear me? Both. You ask who I go to when I’m hurting? You. Who do I turn to when I’m too tired to speak and I just want silence and presence? You. Who sits with me through every bloody full moon, even when I’ve snapped and shut down and disappeared into myself? You!”

You shake your head, tears returning now, thick and relentless. “You only do that because Sirius isn’t there. Because he doesn’t show up for you like that. Because I’m just—just the one who fills the silence.”

“No,” Remus growls, and for once, he does not hesitate. “No. You do it because you’re the only one who can. Because I need you in a way that isn’t a substitute. You think I come to you because Sirius is busy? I come to you because you are the person I trust. You are the one who sees me when I’m broken and stays anyway. And you think that’s nothing?”

He steps closer, and suddenly his voice breaks too. “You think I haven’t noticed you pulling away? You think I don’t lie awake wondering what I’m doing wrong? You think I don’t ache when I see you smile at me like it costs you something now?”

You are crying again, helpless and burning. Your knees want to give, and you don’t know if it’s from the weight of his words or the truth they expose.

Remus does not reach for you again. He only stands there, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him, but not close enough to touch. His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges with the strain of having shouted, but no less full.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Please. Just say it. Whatever it is, say it.”

You try to look at him, but your vision is still blurred. Your body is exhausted from holding the ache in for so long, and it begins to unravel again before you can help it.

The sobs come back without preamble, sharp and sudden, rising from the pit of something ancient in your chest.

“I feel worthless,” you gasp, the words stumbling over your breath, your tears, your shame. “I feel like I could disappear for a week and neither of you would notice. Or maybe you’d notice but you wouldn’t feel it, not the way I do.”

Remus doesn’t speak. He only listens. And somehow, that makes it easier to continue.

“I watch you two all the time. I know I shouldn’t but I do. You fit together like you were carved out of the same goddamn stone. I see the way Sirius laughs when you say something that wouldn’t be funny to anyone else, and the way you look at him like he invented the moon. And I sit there, pretending it doesn’t hurt. I sit there pretending that being near it is enough, but it’s not. It’s not.”

You swallow hard. The taste of salt clings to your tongue. “And I start wondering if maybe I was never meant to be here. Like maybe you let me in out of kindness or guilt or because I happened to be there. But I was never really part of it. I’ve spent months convincing myself I belong in something that doesn’t seem to make space for me. And I feel so pathetic and so stupid for loving you both this much and always feeling like the extra piece.”

There is a sound behind you then — not a footstep, not a breath, just the faint rustle of fabric and weight shifting. You turn your head slightly, expecting more silence, more cold.

But instead, you feel it.

Sirius wraps his arms around you from behind without hesitation, pressing his face into your shoulder like he’s burying something deeper than shame. His voice is choked, muffled in your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

You do not move at first. You do not know what to do with this. But he holds you tighter, as though afraid that if he lets go, you’ll vanish. And slowly, your body stops resisting the contact.

“I didn’t know,” Sirius continues, his voice trembling with something far too raw to be pride. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t notice how far away you were standing, how far we’d pushed you. I thought—I thought you just liked your space. You’ve always been quieter. I never realized that maybe you weren’t being quiet. Maybe you were being quieted.”

His words break something open again. You let yourself lean back into him, not because it fixes anything, but because the weight of being held feels like relief.

Remus sinks down in front of you then, lowering himself to his knees, his hands resting on your thighs like an anchor.

“You were never an afterthought,” Remus says, his voice steady but thick with regret. “Not to me. Not to either of us. But I can see it now — how easily, how thoughtlessly, we made you feel like one. I grew too used to your presence, to your quiet patience, to the way you never asked for more. I mistook your silence for serenity. I thought it meant you were fine.”

“I wasn’t,” you answer, the words barely above a whisper, but unmistakably firm. “I haven’t been fine in a very long time.”

He nods, slowly, like each motion costs something. His gaze doesn’t leave yours, but you can see the glassiness swimming in it. “I see that now. And I hate—God, I hate that you had to fall apart before we finally listened. That we made it so easy to overlook you, even as you stood right in front of us.”

Sirius shifts beside you then, moving slowly as though anything too sudden might cause you to vanish.

He keeps your hand cupped in both of his, and when he speaks, his voice is low — steadied by conviction, though you can hear the shake still hiding in it.

“I see it all, and I am so—” his voice cracks, just slightly, “—so sorry.”

Remus’s hand tightens around yours. “So am I, more than you know.”

Your voice comes slowly, shaped more by guilt than by peace. “I’m sorry,” you say. “For how I said things. I shouldn’t have yelled. I should have just told you.”

Remus shakes his head, immediately, firmly. “You should not have had to,” he says. “You were quiet because we made it easier to be quiet. You don’t have to apologize for reaching your limit. Not to me.”

Sirius runs a thumb across your knuckles, careful, steady. “And even if you had said something earlier, I’m not sure we would’ve heard you. Not properly. We were too wrapped up in each other to realize what we were doing to you.”

You look down at your hands where they are still entwined, and there is a part of you that wishes you could press your palm to your chest and feel only relief.

But healing is never that simple, and love, real love, is not made of apologies alone.

“I still feel… uncertain,” you admit, quietly. “Like it’s going to take time before I believe everything is different.”

“It should take time,” Remus says gently. “You do not need to rush your forgiveness.”

Sirius nods, and though his grip on you does not falter, his voice is soft with understanding. “We’re not expecting this to be fixed because of one conversation. We know we have things to unlearn. And we know it’s going to take work to make sure you never feel like that again.”

And still, there is so much left to say — so much that will need to be untangled slowly, deliberately, over time.

Love is not sustained by a single moment of recognition, nor by comfort given after pain. It must be rebuilt, patiently and entirely, word by word, touch by touch, until it learns the rhythm of three hearts instead of two.

You had once believed love ought to be seamless — that it should move like poetry, fluid and sure, without hesitation or fault. You had believed the fault was structural, that the line simply could not hold you.

But now, you understand.

Poetry bends and love bend. And poets, when they must, rewrite the line.

A sentence can hold as many ‘ands’ as the heart requires.

Perhaps that was the misfortune of poetry all along; that it feels too deeply and assumes it will be understood without having to ask. And perhaps that is the danger of wanting too much; not the wanting itself, but being made to feel that the wanting is the problem.

But the hands holding yours now are steady. The silence is no longer hollow. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you are not the only one reaching across the distance.

“Hey, love?” Sirius’s voice pulls you gently from your thoughts.

You blink, meeting his eyes. His tone is soft, almost unsure, but his gaze is steady on yours.

“Yeah?”

He smiles then, a little sheepish, a little late, but real. “I really like your hair like this.”

You feel the warmth rise to your cheeks before you can stop it.

He did notice your hair, after all.

a/n: sobbing this is so messy and just overall not well but it’s 3 am and i cannot proofread it or edit it. apologies for feeding u guys crumbs ;(

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stateofmarauders · 5 days ago

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are we geniunely serious about this??? what is wrong with you all?

“just had the beautiful idea” OF GROOMING????? GET A THERAPIST BRO THIS IS SO FUCKING DISGUSTING.

#im geniunely so fucking sick

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stateofmarauders · 8 days ago

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THE 1

pairing: sirius black x fem!reader

summary: “if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?”

w/c: 2.2k

link to the masterlist of the series

July, along with August, was the warmest month in Edinburgh. You could easily wear denim jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt as you walked toward the train station at seven in the morning. You wanted to be in London by noon. The air felt fresh, touched by a breeze that hadn’t yet been warmed by the day’s heat. You could have apparated, sure. It would save you hours and money, but you secretly loved long bus and train rides.

There was something comforting about the slow pace. The engine hummed beneath your feet and the landscapes blurred into soft pastels outside the window. No one expected anything from you during the trip. It gave you time to think or to not think. You existed somewhere between destinations, caught in a quiet pause.

You hadn’t been to London in a while—not since Christmas, maybe. Now it was little Harry’s second birthday, and James and Lily were hosting one of their casual summer get-togethers: garden chairs on the lawn, music drifting from an open window, rosé in mismatched glasses. The usual crowd would be there—Marlene, Mary, Remus, Dorcas, and Sirius.

You hadn’t seen Sirius in months.

Not since that strange, awkward night in December when you ran into him outside a Muggle cinema while visiting a relative in London. He’d been on a date, you thought. Or maybe not. You didn’t ask.

You didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to know because you were no longer together. Actually, you were never together. You were just two people reaching for warmth in the middle of a cold, terrifying war. Just friends who kept ending up in each other’s beds, whispering comfort into each other’s skin, pretending it meant nothing.

You both agreed—mutually, rationally, and stupidly—that there was no place for love in war. No room for heartbreak when every day felt like a coin toss.

So it was none of your business if Sirius Black was seeing someone. Or if he took her home. Or if he loved her. It wasn’t your business. It never had been.

And that’s why you didn’t want to admit—not even to yourself—that you, in fact, desperately wanted to know.

You thought about it far too often for someone who had “no claim.”

You thought about the way he laughed when he tried to hide how tired he was. How he looked at you before leaving for a mission, like he wasn’t sure he’d see you again. How he held your hand just once under the table at Order meetings.

Like you meant something. Like it could have been real if the war hadn’t gotten in the way.

The war did get in the way. But now there was no war, and you still weren’t his.

The war was over. Voldemort was gone. Everyone was alive. Yet everything still felt tense, like they were holding their breath, waiting for the dust to settle.

You and Sirius hadn’t defined anything, not really. But when he didn’t come home that night and stayed at James and Lily’s for the third time that week, you snapped.

“I’m not asking you to marry me, Sirius,” you said, standing in the doorway of his flat, arms crossed, heart racing. “I’m just asking for something real. Something that doesn’t disappear the moment things get hard.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I never promised you anything.”

“No,” you said bitterly. “But you made me feel like I could believe in something after everything.”

“I’m not ready for forever,” he said, his voice low, as if that was meant to soften the blow.

“I never asked for forever,” you whispered. “Just now.”

That was the last time you saw him before you left London. No goodbye.

You were gone the very next day.

The mid-summer air felt soft and warm, filled with a quiet sense of celebration. Laughter drifted from the backyard before you even reached the gate. The scent of something sweet, perhaps honey cake or treacle tart, floated on the breeze. You adjusted the gift under your arm and stepped through the garden gate, your heart racing more than you wanted to admit.

Godric’s Hollow had hardly changed. Lily and James’s cottage looked just as it did the last time you visited. It was charming, weathered, and filled with the warmth a house built on love can hold.

You walked across the yard slowly, taking in the colorful paper lanterns hung from tree to tree, the picnic table cluttered with plates and glasses, and the enchanted balloons drifting lazily through the air like bubbles caught in a breeze.

And then you saw Sirius.

He stood by the tree at the garden's corner, his laugh clear even over the chatter. He looked good—annoyingly good, actually. His hair was a bit longer, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his sunglasses rested on his head as if he hadn’t changed at all since 1981. It felt like no time had passed.

But time had passed—months of it.

You hadn’t spoken properly since the fight.

You took a deep breath, tucked your gift more securely under your arm, and moved toward the crowd. James was the first to greet you, arms wide, a big grin on his face. “You came!” he said, hugging you like no time had gone by. Lily followed, her smile softer and more understanding.

“Of course I did,” you replied lightly, and you meant it—even if it was complicated. Especially because it was complicated.

From across the yard, Sirius turned his head.

Your eyes met.

For just a moment, the noise around you faded. It felt like you were standing alone together, back in that space where everything could have gone right.

But it hadn’t.

So you smiled, polite and distant.

And he looked away first.

You were halfway through your second butterbeer, laughing at something Marlene said about James’s attempts at baking (“I swear he used salt instead of sugar; I nearly choked to death”), when you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. That old feeling, like someone had set your skin on fire just by being nearby.

You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” came Sirius’s voice, smooth as ever but a bit more careful than you remembered. Older, maybe. Or just more guarded.

You glanced up from your spot on the picnic blanket. “It’s Harry’s birthday,” you replied, shielding your eyes from the sun as you looked at him. “Wasn’t going to miss it.”

He nodded, hands in his pockets, posture just shy of casual. “Still. Wasn’t sure if you’d want to deal with all of us again. With me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s been nearly two years, Sirius. You think I’m still avoiding you?”

“Aren’t you?” he said, a faint, almost amused glint in his eyes—but there was something else behind it, something unsure and vulnerable.

You didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched—not uncomfortable but heavy, full of everything unspoken.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you said finally. “I just… didn’t know how to be around you after the war. After what we said.”

Sirius looked out toward the garden, where James was holding Harry upside down by the ankles, both of them laughing hysterically. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That fight.”

You could feel it all again—raised voices in the dark, tension sharp enough to split you in two. You asking him what came next now that the war was over, what you were supposed to be. Him shutting down. Saying he wasn’t ready. That you weren’t his future.

You’d left before he could explain. He hadn’t come after you.

“I was scared,” he said now, as if reading your mind. “Everything felt fragile. I didn’t think I could be what you needed.”

You stared at him, that familiar ache blossoming slowly in your chest. “And now?”

He met your eyes. “Now I think I was stupid.”

That made you laugh—a dry, soft, slightly bitter laugh. “Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

Sirius crouched down beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “Probably,” he said. “But I still had to say it.”

You looked at him—really looked at him. The same reckless grin, the same storm-grey eyes, but quieter now. Tired in a way he never used to be. You were tired too.

“But you’re doing good, right?” he added, his voice gentler now. “You look… good.”

“I’m on some new stuff,” you said, smiling faintly, echoing the words you told yourself every morning in the mirror. “Been saying ‘yes’ instead of ‘no.’ Trying not to dig up graves.”

That made Sirius laugh—a real one this time. “Same,” he said, then added, “well, mostly.”

You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say.

Because you were here. He was here. And both of you were different people now.

Maybe in another life, or if just one thing had gone differently, everything would have been different.

But for now, you leaned back on your hands, tilted your head toward the sky, and said, “It would have been fun, though.”

Sirius looked at you.

And smiled like he still remembered exactly how fun it had been.

Later, after presents had been opened and Harry had smashed cake into his hair and Lily had threatened to hex James if he let their son eat frosting straight out of the bowl again, the garden quieted.

The guests thinned out, voices fading into the warm July evening. Children chased enchanted fireflies, and the sky turned a soft peach-gold.

You found yourself by the edge of the Potters’ garden, leaning against the fence, far enough from the chatter to breathe. You didn’t hear him walk up, but, of course, he found you again.

Sirius didn’t say anything at first. He just stood beside you, silent, like he knew you’d let him speak when you were ready.

After a while, you did.

“I used to dream of this,” you said, eyes fixed on the sky. “Not this exact party but something like it. War over. Everyone alive. A backyard. A summer night.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “Me too.”

You hesitated, then added, “I used to picture you in it too.”

He looked over at you. “I pictured you.”

It was quiet again—not tense, just full.

You turned to face him, arms folded over your chest. “Why didn’t you ever write?”

“I thought you hated me.”

“I thought you didn’t care.”

He let out a breath. “I did. Too much, probably.”

You nodded, feeling that sharp sting behind your ribs. “Then why not try again?”

Sirius looked down. Kicked a stone with his boot. “Because I knew I’d mess it up again. I thought maybe you deserved someone steadier. Someone who could give you more than I could.”

You didn’t reply for a moment. The truth was, you weren’t angry anymore. You hadn’t been for a long time. You’d just stopped waiting. Stopped imagining what might have been.

Still, it didn’t stop the ache when he said things like that—like you were a story he loved too much to ruin, so he never read it again.

“We never painted by the numbers,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “But we were making it count.”

He looked at you then, like he remembered everything. Every late night. Every laugh. Every breathless second between fighting a war and pretending you were invincible.

“You were the only thing that made it feel real,” he said. “All of it. The chaos, the fear. You made it bearable.”

You blinked back the sting in your eyes and smiled through it. “You made it unbearable.”

Sirius laughed—a short, sad sound. “Yeah, well. I was always good at that.”

There was so much more you could have said. So many nights you could have brought up. The way he held you, afraid you would disappear. The way he never promised anything, and how you never asked. War doesn’t allow for promises.

Now peace had arrived, but so had distance. Life had gone on without each other.

“Do you ever wonder?” you asked, looking at the garden lights. “If only one thing had been different, would everything be different today?”

“All the time,” Sirius replied, his voice low.

You didn’t ask what he meant. You already knew.

After a while, you both turned back toward the house. You could hear James calling for help with the dishes and Lily lovingly scolding him. Laughter filled the air, glasses clinked, and the last bit of sunlight slipped away.

Sirius looked at you again. “We were something. Don’t you think so?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. We were.”

Then Sirius leaned in and kissed your cheek. It was gentle and lingering, like a goodbye.

Without another word, he walked back toward the light and the people waiting for him.

You stayed for a moment longer, your hand drifting to where he had touched you. It wasn’t closure—not really. But it was something.

Maybe, you thought, as you watched him fade into the glow of the porch light, some loves aren’t meant to last forever.

Some are meant to burn bright and quickly, and then live on as the quiet ache of what might have been.

#fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter angst #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black angst #sirius black fluff

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stateofmarauders · 12 days ago

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I GIGGLED

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stateofmarauders · 13 days ago

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RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

pairing: regulus black x reader

summary: “you left me no choice but to stay here forever”

warning: grief

w/c: 1.2k

a/n: ughhh finally wrote this, i’m sorry for the break yall i hope i’ll be more active here from now

link to the masterlist of the series

————————————————————————

regulus did not come back later that day in november 1979. nor the following week, or the month, or the year.

you waited with a black coffee every morning, and his favorite meal for lunch and dinner, staring at the doorway, in hopes that he just got lost on his way back to you and he was going to be back soon. but every day, you were met with dissapointment. as the world welcomed new year, you knew that you’d never see him again.

but that didn’t mean you accepted it.

“you shouldn’t go,” you said with tears in your eyes as regulus got dressed.

“i have to do this, y/n.” he tried to reain unborthered, but his shaky voice gave him away. “no one’s brave enough to do this. so i will.”

you shook your head, arms wrapped tightly around your middle as if you could keep your heart from falling out. “you don’t have to prove anything to them. you don’t owe anyone your life.”

regulus paused, his back still to you. he ran a hand through his hair, then turned slowly, his eyes glassy and tired. “i’m not doing this for them. i’m doing this for you. even for sirius. for everyone who never had a choice.”

you took a step toward him, hands trembling. “you’ll die.”

he didn’t say anything at first. the silence said enough. but then he crossed the room and cupped your face with both hands, his touch gentle despite the urgency vibrating through his body.

“if I don’t try, I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. and so will you.”

you clutched his wrist, nails biting into his skin. “i don’t need you to be a hero, regulus. i need you here. alive. with me.”

he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “i know. merlin, i know. but maybe this is the only good thing i’ll ever do.”

you shook your head, silent tears falling between you. “promise me you’ll come back.”

regulus hesitated. his thumb wiped one of the tears away. “i promise i’ll try.”

then he kissed you—desperately, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of your breath. it wasn’t soft. it was frantic. terrified. final.

and then he was gone.

you stood in the doorway long after he disapparated, watching the empty space where he’d just been. somewhere deep in your chest, something fractured. and no matter how many days passed, it never healed.

you went back to that last moment with him all over again. you wondered what you could’ve said or done differently and persuase him to stay. but the more you wondered, you camre to the terms that there was nothing that could change his mind. regulus was determined to stop voldemort even if it meant that he’d end up dead. you didn’t know if that made you feel betterr or not.

you would still attend order meetings, pretending that everything is alright and that you weren’t moments away from a mental breakdown. none of your friends knew about your relationship with regulus, only dumbledore was aware. and so, when sirius got the news that his little brother passed away, you had to be strong for him, even though you were barely stitched together. and while he moved on a month later, you didn’t. while the world kept spinning, yours didn’t.

it felt like time got frozen. everyone grew older and wiser, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. you were still eighteen in your fantasy while your body was twenty-five, but still carried the same, and new (after the death of james and lily and sirius being sent to azkaban), wounds. and you still carried him, wherever you went: his rings on your fingers, the polaroid you took of him in your pocket, his voice in your mind, and him in your heart.

it was like that for years. not two, or even five, but nearly twenty.

you eventually opened up to remus lupin one evening in spring of 1990. you told him everything to get it out of your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks as you recalled the memories. remus wasn’t mad at you for not telling him, but he felt guilty that he wasn’t there for you when you were grieving and hurting. you said, “it’s not your fault. i managed to move on by myself.” but that was far from the truth. the truth was, that you talked to him when you were all by yourself, or at least pretending to. that you dreamed of him coming back, or that he never went away. that you fantasised about how different life would be if he stayed. you’d probably be married by now, or even had children. and maybe a cat or two running around your shared home. maybe he’d be affected by the events from the first wizarding war, but he’d be alive, in your arms. and while almost all your - living - friends had these things: marriage, children, pets, home - you kept imagining it.

in quiet cafes when the chair across from you stayed empty. in the corner of bookstore aisles when you caught a scent of something that was similar to what he once wore. in the seconds between waking and remembering. you’d picture regulus with soft lines around his mouth from laughing too hard to your stupid nonsense jokes, or grey in his hair he’d complain about but secretly be proud of. you’d imagine his hand on your back as you hosted your friends for dinner, or the way he’d kiss your forehead when he thought no one was looking.

and even though you knew—logically, painfully—that it would never happen, your heart hadn’t quite gotten the memo.

it stayed there. eighteen. in love. waiting.

there was a particular kind of loneliness in grief that no one warned you about: the kind that’s invisible. it wasn’t loud anymore. it didn’t show up in sobs or screams. it lived in your routines. it became the silence between your words, the weight of your sighs, the smile that never quite reached your eyes. people thought you were okay because you were functioning. you worked. you helped rebuild. you showed up.

but inside, you still sat in that kitchen with cold coffee and two plates set for dinner.

you didn’t tell anyone about the way you visited the black family tomb on his birthday, where he wasn’t even buried because his body was never found. you didn’t tell them you whispered “happy birthday” to marble and silence. you didn’t tell them you still wore the jumper he left in your flat, even though it was far too big and years too old. you didn’t tell them you stopped playing music because every song became about him.

you just lived. sort of.

and you stayed that way—untouched by time, untouched by healing—because some part of you feared that if you let yourself really move on, it would mean accepting he was never coming back. not just in your life, but in memory. in your heart.

you didn’t want to forget the way he made tea. or the way he smirked like he knew the punchline to a joke you hadn’t even told. you didn’t want to forget how he held you like the world was about to end. llike you were the last good thing in it.

so you stayed. frozen. right where he left you.

#fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter angst #regulus black x reader #regulus black #regulus black angst #regulus black fluff #harry potter fluff #regulus black imagine

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stateofmarauders · 19 days ago

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this was pussy wettening

bruised & blessed. himbo!james potter x reader

james comes home bruised and scared you're gonna be mad at him, instead, you just find him extremely hot*. ⋆ 1.7k words

cw: smut. bruises. blood. piv. unprotected sex. praise. "good boy". riding. biting. cursing. nipple play. porn with plot. kinda sub!james. posessive!reader. a bit of degradation if you squint. fem!reader.

a/n: it's literally midnight where I live so sorry for the delay! <3 hope you enjoy it and remember english isn't my first language!

it’s well past midnight when you hear the door closing and the clatter of keys on the table. you sit up from the couch where you’d been curled in a blanket waiting for him. you look at him half-asleep, a little annoyed, and mostly worried.

he’s late.

but when james steps into the living room, your irritation vanishes—because he’s a mess.

his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, lip and a brow split, a bruise forming on his cheekbone, and dried blood streak on his knuckles. the collar of his shirt is yanked sideways, like someone grabbed it and didn’t let go.

“james?” you gasp, stumbling up as the blanket falls to the floor.

“hey, angel,” his voice is rough. “don’t worry, okay? it’s nothing, I-”

“what the hell happened?”

you rush towards him, scanning the damage. his eyes drop to the floor, ashamed. he’s holding his hands together like it’s not a big deal, but you take his face to inspect the cuts there before he can protest.

he exhales, his jaw flexing. “I was out with the guys and some drunk idiot was mouthing off. about how someone like you wouldn’t stick around for long with someone like me. he wouldn’t shut up so…”

he shrugs.

“so you decked him,” you finish, not surprised. you’ve seen him riled before, but never so protective. “you got into a fight.”

he winces, like he’s expecting you to yell at him. “I just- he didn’t have the right to talk like that. I’m sorry, I know it was stupid.”

you blink.

his curls are messy and tangled, falling into his eyes. his arms flexing with anger as if he’s replaying the argument over and over on his head.

“are you mad?” he asks.

of course you’re mad at him, you always tell him he shouldn’t go around fighting people for nothing. it’s irresponsible and reckless, that’s what you always say. but still—you can’t help but notice how hot he looks.

“no.” you finally murmur.

james blinks. “you’re not gonna tell me off? patch me up and lecture me for being stupid?”

“no, not right now.”you shake your head, stepping closer until there’s no space left behind him.

he swallows. “why are you looking at me like that?”

you push him by the shoulders onto the couch without hesitation, until he’s sitting with his hands on his thighs, legs open for you to stand between them.

“like what?” you say, smile twitching. “like I want to jump you?”

he blushes. “yeah, I mean-”

you climb over him, straddling his lap. his hands fly to hold you by the waist.

“I’m bleeding.” he whispers, his breath hitching.

“you’re hot.” you correct him. your fingers tangle on his hair and his eyes close at the contact. “you punched someone for me.”

“just a little punch.” he says, all fake modesty.

you laugh, trailing your hands up his arms. his biceps are thick and warm under your touch, your nails making him shiver. there’s a tension in him, the adrenaline still running on his bloodstream, still burning with energy.

you kiss the corner of his mouth, avoiding the split in his lip. his hands tremble where they now hold your thighs.

“are you sure you’re not mad at me?” he murmurs, as you trail kisses down his jaw to his neck.

“you’re lucky you’re pretty.” you tell him instead. your hips rocking on its own, enough for him to feel it. he groans.

“I love you.” he says, like it’s the only thing he can’t remember.

you pull back to meet his gaze—pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, jaw tight. he’s so beautiful like this. beaten up, a little stupid for you, so hot.

“I love you too,” you whisper. ”but right now I want to fuck you senseless.”

“oh fuck,” he whimpers. “please do.”

you can feel him already hard underneath you. his cock pressing through his clothes into your core.

you kiss him while playing with the button of his jeans, hands a little clumsy when his tongue crashes with yours, ignoring the pain on his lips. he bites and licks, savoring you, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid to let you go.

you sigh into him when you take his cock in your hands. he pulls away with a groan, spit running down his chin. he moans when his hands wander down your body, finally noticing your lack of sleeping shorts.

you pump his cock a few times until precum is coating his tip, your thumb spreading the wetness on his thick shaft, feeling every bump and vein. you can feel how wet you are, your panties soaked with need and desperation.

still on top of him, you prompt onto your knees, your fingers moving to take the already damp piece of clothing to the side. his whole body shivers again, and you accommodate yourself to line him with your entrance.

“please,” he begs. “just- just put it in, please.”

you finally cease his suffering, sinking down onto him. your heart skips a beat with every inch you take inside of you until he’s filling you to the brim.

he lets out a low, broken sound, his trembling fingers brushing up beneath your shirt and toying with your nipples like he doesn’t know where to hold, like he wants to worship all of you at once. his head drops back against the couch when your pussy clenches around him, and your nails bury on his shoulders.

“god, you’re so big.” you hiss, feeling the delicious stretch you never seem to get used to.

you move your hips a little and whine, his meaty, pulsing cock touching that spot only he can find. his hands grab your thighs and start balancing you, up and down, in and out, panting like a dog.

with a strangled moan, he lunges forward, arms wrapping around your torso—and before you can even say his name, his head disappears under your shirt.

you gasp, caught off guard by the sheer need in him. his mouth finds your tits without hesitation, tongue flicking over your nipples, then sucking hard, like he’s starved for it. you arch into him, thighs shaking as the added stimulation sends a bolt of heat down your spine and straight to your core.

his fingers dig into your flesh with such brute force you know there’s going to be bruises tomorrow. you meowl every time your clit bumps—no, crashes, against his body.

“love you s’much.” he groans, babbling the words against your chest.

“there’s my good boy, god, you’re such a fucking mess,” you pant, fingers curling in his hair, tugging his head closer as you grind against him. “can’t even wait till I take my shirt off, huh?”

his voice is muffled, slurred against your skin. “can’t- need you, baby, need your tits in my mouth, need- fuck, you’re so perfect, please-”

you clench around him hard, and he yelps, muffled by the fabric and your chest.

He keeps sucking, desperate and uncoordinated, his mouth sloppy with spit, and when you finally pull him back out from under your shirt, his face is wrecked. lips swollen, chin wet, eyes glazed with the kind of love that burns.

he looks almost angelical in this state, with his chest flushed and a line of sweat running down his neck. he looks so yummy you could take a bite of him.

because the way he’s looking at you—like you’re not just riding him, but owning him—sends a dark thrill through your belly. he fought for you. came home bloodied for you. and now he’s sitting under you, begging for it.

you lean in closer, mouth on his throat. feel the slick heat of his pulse racing under your tongue.

“fuck,” he gasps, hips twitching up into you. “what’re you—”

and then you bite him.

not gentle. not playful.

you sink your teeth into the thick muscle of his neck like you’re branding him.

james shouts, his hands flying to your back, whole body jerking. he whimpers into your ear like he’s falling apart at the seams. “oh f-fuck— baby, what-”

“you’re mine,” you growl, voice hoarse, still grinding down on him with every word. you lap over the mark with your tongue, soothing it only barely. “mine. you think I’m gonna let anyone touch you, look at you, fight you, and not know who you fucking belong to?”

his cock twitches violently inside you. you feel him throb, like he’s right on the edge just from your words, just from the feel of your teeth still resting where you bit him.

“I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours,” he moans, delirious. “mark me up, baby, please—fuckin’ ruin me.”

and oh, you do.

you kiss the fresh bruise on his neck like an apology, then ride him hard, fast and filthy and desperate, your nails raking down his chest, your thighs trembling with every bounce. the sound of flesh slapping fills the room, and he doesn’t last long after that. he’s too far gone, too wrecked from the bite, from the way your body milks him with every perfect drag. his whole body is shaking, muscles tight, eyes rolling back—

“holy shit,” he gasps, voice ruined. “you’re- fuck, you’re unreal-”

but you’re still moving, still grinding down onto him, still chasing your own high with ruthless rhythm, and it’s too much.

he looks up at you, voice cracking. “come on me, baby, please. wanna feel it. wanna watch you fall apart on my cock—please, I’ll do anything-”

you clench around him and cry out, hips stuttering, body shaking as you come hard, and james is gone the second he feels it. he shouts, whole body tensing under you, arms locking around your waist as he spills inside you with the most pathetic, desperate, beautiful moan you’ve ever heard.

you finally collapse onto him, both of you soaked and breathless, the bite on his neck already darkening. his skin is hot to the touch, flushed and sweating, and his arms wrap around you tight, like he needs to feel you to keep from unraveling.

“…I’m not gonna be able to wear a shirt tomorrow,” he mumbles after a long pause.

you grin against his shoulder. “good.”

“you’re evil,” he breathes. “you’re—hot, and terrifying, and I wanna marry you.”

you kiss the bruise you made, sweet this time. “don’t tempt me.”

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stateofmarauders · 20 days ago

Text

my girl

sirius black x fem!reader

summary: in which you overhear sirius calling you his girl, like it’s the simplest truth he’s ever known. thus, a lovesick and kiss-drunk sirius makes it his mission to say it again, and again, until you finally believe it.

warnings: fluff, excessive affection, pet names, public displays of affection, mild teasing, soft!sirius who’s so in love, overwhelming sweetness, lovesick behavior, lots of kissing, tooth rotting fluff

word count: 3.1k

masterlist

The thing about dating Sirius Black is that it never quite feels real.

Not in the way people describe disbelief, like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, but in that strange, dreamy sense of stumbling into a story someone else might’ve written—some fairytale stitched with mischief and the kind of heat that lingers in the spaces between words.

It has been a few months now.

Enough time for your friends to stop blinking in surprise every time they catch you smiling at him, enough time for the rumors to die down and the whispers in the halls to quiet to a low murmur—though they never go away entirely when it comes to Sirius.

He is, after all, Sirius Black: loud-mouthed and sharp-eyed, honey-voiced and maddeningly beautiful.

And yet, somehow, he chose you. Or maybe you chose each other, slowly, stupidly,and sweetly.

You know what people must think. That you temper him. That he ignites you. That your silences fill in the blanks he never bothers to pause for. That he, for all his recklessness, somehow found something steady in you.

Which is why you’re heading to meet him now outside of class. Sirius had promised to spend the entire day with you today, as he was lately busy with studying.

You’re almost there when you hear his voice.

It’s not unusual—he talks loudly, as though the air is something that belongs to him, like even his words are allergic to restraint. But it’s the way he says something now that makes your steps falter.

You’re still around the corner, concealed by the stone archway. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

“Sirius!” James Potter’s voice cuts through the corridor, warm and familiar, and it’s easy to picture his wide grin as he strides up to him.

“Come on, padfoot. We’ve got a pitch slot and I need someone to test my latest throw. You still owe me from last week when you ditched.”

Sirius laughs, the sound low and raspy in the way you’ve come to know too well. “Didn’t ditch,” he says.

“Oh, piss off,” James retorts. “You coming or not?”

There’s a pause. You imagine Sirius running a hand through his hair the way he always does when he’s pretending to think, when in reality he’s already made up his mind and just wants to seem dramatic.

“Can’t,” Sirius says finally, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic. “I’ve got a packed schedule today.”

James scoffs, exaggerated. “What, you’ve started revising now? What exactly are you busy with?”

“No,” Sirius replies, too casual, too breezy. And then, with no warning at all, he adds, “I’m spending the day with my girl.”

It hits you like a whispered spell.

Not “my girlfriend,” not your name, not even some half-serious nickname. Just that. My girl.

You’re suddenly aware of everything—of the way your heart is thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape your chest, of the heat crawling up the back of your neck, of the way your fingers have curled slightly into your sleeves like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

You’ve never been someone who takes up space easily, and right now, the sound of those two words fills every corner of your body, makes you feel almost... lit up.

It’s not the fact that he said it. You know you're his girl. He’s told you in the way he tucks his fingers into the loops of your jeans just to pull you closer in the quiet corners of the library.

In the way he lights up when he sees you walk into the common room, mid-sentence with Remus, stopping only to grin like you’ve rewired the gravity in the room.

In the way he sits behind you during study sessions just to braid strands of your hair and mutter things like “beautiful,” and “gorgeous.”

But still—my girl.

You’re fairly certain you and James both made the same face at the same time. That vaguely unhinged, utterly stunned, slack-jawed expression that usually precedes a dramatic spill or a burst of inappropriate laughter in the Great Hall.

Somewhere in your brain, a single electrical wire sparked, and then everything short-circuited.

You could practically see James’s eyebrows lifting halfway to the ceiling, and it’s almost hilarious, almost.

Because you would have laughed—if you weren’t frozen, rooted to your spot like some enchanted statue.

Then came Sirius’s voice again, casual and clear, carrying from inside the classroom, smug in the way only Sirius Black can be when he knows exactly where he’s headed.

“Anyway, I’ve gotta go,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “She’s probably already out there waiting for me.”

James groans dramatically. “Tell your girl I’m filing for abandonment.”

“See you later, prongs,” Sirius calls back, followed by the scraping sound of a chair and the creak of hinges swinging open.

Panic sparks in your chest.

You leap back from the wall like you’ve just been caught with your ear pressed to the keyhole—because, well, you have, essentially—and immediately fumble with your bag, turning slightly so it looks like you’ve just arrived.

And then there he is.

Leaning against the doorframe like it’s something he was born to do. Hair half-tucked behind his ears, tie loose, expression bright and unreasonably happy for someone who got an earful from Slughorn not two days ago.

His eyes find you instantly, like he was already reaching for the sight of you before he even walked out.

“Hi, baby,” he says, voice soft and amused and utterly at home in the syllables.

“Hi!,” you reply, a little too fast.

His brow lifts slightly. “Hi.”

Your heart trips. “Hi.”

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out the kind of laugh that sounds like it comes from his chest. The kind of laugh that should probably be bottled and sold as some form of antidote in your humble opinion.

“You look a little too happy for a Monday, baby,” he says, stepping closer, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head tilted as he studies you. “What’s happening?”

You shrug with deliberate nonchalance, fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. “Can’t I be happy?”

He grins like you’ve just said something precious. “Of course you can,” he says, reaching out to squish your cheeks between his hands so your words are suddenly a little garbled.

“Just wanna know what’s got you extra happy today.”

You mumble something unintelligible, eyes darting away, and he narrows his own suspiciously.

“Hmm?”

You free your face from his fingers and try not to giggle. “It’s nothing.”

“Nuh-uh,” he says, tilting his head with mock offense. “You don’t get to smile like that and then say ‘nothing.’ Come on, tell me.”

You hesitate, toeing the stone floor with your shoe. “I, um. I heard you.”

Sirius blinks. “You heard me?”

“In class,” you clarify, shifting your weight to the other foot and feeling heat crawl up your neck. “When you were talking to James.”

He tilts his head again. “You get happy when I talk to James? That’s new,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles softly across your cheek—his touch featherlight.

His eyes, usually sharp with mischief, are softened now, warm and brimming with a quiet kind of awe.

You swat at his chest lightly. “No, Sirius.”

He laughs again, utterly delighted. “Okay, okay, sorry. What did I say?”

You bite your lip and look away. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Now I need to know.”

You shake your head stubbornly, lips pursed, trying not to smile, but Sirius isn’t fooled.

He takes a slow step closer, tall enough that his shadow stretches over you, the scent of him curling into your breath. The air between you tightens.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, voice pitched low with amusement, grin sharpening like he’s just solved a riddle he’s been working on since breakfast, “Was it when I called you my girl?”

Your face gives you away in an instant.

Your eyes widen, the way they always do when you’re caught off guard, as if your thoughts have leapt too fast for your expression to catch up. Heat blooms high in your cheeks, blooming pink and soft across your skin like sunrise, betraying every effort to stay composed.

“Oh my god,” he says, actually laughing now, hands braced on his hips as if the revelation physically knocked the wind out of him. “That’s what got you all smiley?”

You narrow your eyes, cheeks blazing. “Stop laughing!”

He tries, he really does, but the laughter keeps bubbling out of him, shameless and golden.

You huff and turn on your heel, nose in the air like you’ve just declared a personal war against him.

But you don’t get far.

Before you can take a single step away, he moves—quick and fluid, one long stride and he’s behind you.

His fingers find your waist with ease, curling firmly around your sides, and in one seamless motion, he pulls you back—hard enough to make you stumble slightly—until you're flush against his chest.

He holds you close. So close it feels like you’re standing inside the space between seconds.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” he murmurs, voice lower now, softer, brushing against your skin like silk. His arms slip around you fully, drawing you in again, and this time, you don’t resist.

“Why so shy, baby?” he whispers, tilting his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and tenderness all tangled together.

You pout instinctively, your fingers resting lightly against his chest. “Nothing.”

His brows lift. “No, no. No hiding. What is it?” He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “You are my girl though, right?”

You glare up at him, but your heart is not cooperating.

“You just... never called me that before,” you say, quiet, soft enough that it barely survives the space between you.

Sirius exhales, and pulls you even closer, resting his chin lightly on top of your head.

“Well,” he says into your hair, “You should start getting used to it.”

You don’t even get a moment to tease him back before he’s wrapping his arms around you again, tugging you flush against his chest like holding you is as instinctive as breathing.

He rocks you gently side to side, his chin hooked over your shoulder, and you can feel the quiet grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he speaks.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he murmurs, voice low and warm, like he’s sharing a secret meant only for your ears.

He says it again, and again. Each repetition comes between a kiss to your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin with unbearable fondness, his long hair tickling across your jaw like satin.

“My girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your cheekbone.

Another kiss, this time closer to the corner of your mouth. “My pretty girl.”

You giggle, trying and failing to turn your face away as warmth floods your cheeks. “Sirius, your hair’s tickling me—”

He just smiles into your skin, clearly unbothered. Another kiss, this one slower, more lingering, pressed just beneath your ear. “My favorite person.”

You squirm in his arms, laughing harder now, your hands curled into his shirt as you try to wriggle away, but he only holds you tighter.

“My most favourite girl.”

Each word hums against your skin like a spell.

And you, useless and smitten thing that you are, melt for him completely.

A quiet giggle escapes you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face in his chest to hide the way your cheeks are burning.

You try to squirm away, overwhelmed and giddy, but his grip tightens gently and he tilts your chin up with two fingers, catching your gaze with a look so full of open affection it robs the breath from your lungs.

He holds your face like it’s something precious, like he’s afraid to let it go. His thumb brushes just beneath your cheekbone, featherlight and impossibly gentle, and then he says—quietly, sincerely—

“Can I get a kiss?”

The way he looks at you in that moment, like you’re his whole damn universe, is almost too much.

His long black hair falls into his eyes, the ends brushing his cheekbones, his mouth barely parted.

His eyes are shining, glassy with something deeper than a smile, and he’s smiling anyway, soft and crooked like the words he wants to say are too big to fit in his throat.

There’s a trembling silence where you don’t know how to speak.

Because this is the part no one sees.

This is Sirius Black in love. Not loud, not cocky, not showy or flirtatious. But bare, unshielded, and tender to the point of devastation.

And somehow, it still surprises you—how much he feels.

Because he plays it smooth, always, with his smirks and his swagger and his stupidly charming quips.

But deep down, Sirius is just as flustered to be around you as you are around him. Maybe even more.

He still hasn’t gotten used to saying your name out loud without his heart stammering. Still can’t look at you some days without wondering if you’re a dream made flesh. Still marvels at the fact that when you walk into a room, you’re walking toward him.

He calls you his girl like it’s nothing. But to him, it means everything.

Because you’re not just his girl. You’re his world.

You lean up slowly, your hands resting against his chest like he might vanish if you touch him too fast. Then you press your lips to his, soft and sweet.

He smiles against your mouth before pulling back slightly, his eyes still closed, like he’s trying to savor the moment just a little longer. A beat passes. Then—

“Can I get another one?” he whispers, one eyebrow lifting, that same mischievous edge bleeding back into his voice.

You blink at him. “You’re so—”

But you don’t get to finish.

Because he kisses you again—harder this time. His hand cups the back of your neck, his other arm firm around your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid the world might steal you away if he lets go.

And when he kisses you like that—like you’re his first and last prayer—there’s no doubt left.

Sirius Black is utterly, hopelessly, and beautifully in love with you.

And even if you don’t quite realize it yet — he’s been yours all along.

His lips are still brushing against yours when he pulls back the slightest inch, gaze hazy and wonderstruck, as though he’s only just now realizing that you’re real.

His thumb is tracing absent shapes at your waist, his breath slow and uneven like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your mouth by air alone.

His eyes, dark and warm and barely blinking, drink you in like he’s never seen anything so beautiful. Like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of whatever this is.

And then, of course, he leans in again for a third kiss.

You stop him with a hand on his chest and a breathless little laugh. “Sirius,” you whisper, dragging out the syllables. “You can’t keep kissing me, we have a whole day ahead of us, and we’re still in the bloody hallway.”

He leans his forehead against yours with a groan, dramatic and wounded, as if you’ve just denied him water in a desert.

“But I thought you were my girl,” he says, pout in full effect, lips parted and brow creased with the exaggerated tragedy of it all.

“My girl doesn’t let me kiss her as much as I want? This is unfair.”

You burst out laughing, fully this time, and the sound of it sends a visible shiver through him.

He never gets tired of hearing it, probably never will.

“Come on, Black,” you tease, grabbing his hand and turning on your heel to pull him down the corridor behind you, your fingers threading easily through his.

“I need someone to help me carry the books I ordered.”

At that, Sirius lights up like someone’s handed him a trophy. “Books?” he says, perking up.

“You ordered books and didn’t tell me? That’s a violation of trust. But don’t worry, love—I’ll carry them, all of them. You won’t lift a single bloody finger.”

You glance back at him with a smirk. “Wow, look at you,” you tease, eyebrows raised.

“All manly now, huh? Sirius Black, the knight in shining armor, savior of poor girls with heavy textbooks.”

“I am manly,” he insists, puffing his chest out like an idiot and giving your joined hands a little swing. “And chivalrous and noble and handsome and criminally underappreciated and—.”

You snort. “Okay, I get it!”

But just as you’re rounding the next corridor, Sirius glances down and suddenly stops short, yanking you to a halt beside him.

“Wait—you’re carrying your bag?”

You blink, confused. “Um... yes?”

He gasps so dramatically you’re worried for a moment he might start clutching his chest. “What a horrible boyfriend I am,” he cries.

“Carrying nothing. Letting my girl do the heavy lifting like some kind of untrained baboon.”

You laugh again, shaking your head as he makes a scene of freeing your bag from your shoulder.

“Give me that. No, seriously, give it. I was raised better than this. Even my horrible, bloody mother would’ve scolded me for letting you carry your own things.” – He takes the bag from you with exaggerated care, slinging it over his shoulder – “Granted, she’d probably scold me just for being in public with you, but the point stands.”

You giggle again, unable to stop smiling, as he then reaches for your hand once more, the two of you falling into step like you were made to.

Your hands swing gently between you, fingers warm and safe in his.

And from that moment on, he never stopped.

Sirius Black referred to you as his girl in every corner of the castle, whether you were there to hear it or not.

He’d say it proudly, like the words alone lit something inside him.

And when you weren’t around, you’d better believe he was still talking, still rambling, and surely still flustered.

Cheeks tinted a soft, unmistakable pink, he'd go on and on to anyone who’d listen—usually James—about how smart you were, how good you smelled, how pretty you looked with your nose buried in a book or your hair tied back or when you laughed with your whole body like you did when he tickled your sides.

James, for his part, teased him relentlessly. But Sirius didn’t mind. Not even a little.

You were his girl after all, and he wanted the whole world to know it.

2K notes · View notes

stateofmarauders · 22 days ago

Text

BLOOD & MOONLIGHT (wattpad fanfiction by onyxlovegood on wp)

SUMMARY: Dahlia Black, like any other Pureblood Slytherin girl in the 1970s, is preparing herself to be a good wife and a loyal follower to Voldemort, just like her parents want her to be. But one fateful night, after hearing the news of receiving the Dark Mark in December of that year, she needs fresh air and place to think. So she goes outside the castle after curfew, unaware that a certain magical creature is running loose. She gets attacked and bitten by the beast. It’s the next morning she finds out it was no one other than Remus Lupin, a stupid friend of her cousin. She hates everything that is there to hate about him. Until she doesn’t.

A few shared full moon transformations later, she starts to see him as a friend and it doesn’t take long for her to realize there’s something more going on between them. But love is not that easy, and that’s a lesson Remus teaches her.

DAHLIA BLACK

REMUS LUPIN

ROMANTIC PAIRINGS: Remus Lupin x Female Original Character, Dorcas Meadowes x Marlene McKinnon, Lily Evans x James Potter

WARNINGS: swearing, oc being a werewolf, suggestive themes (later even smut), injuries, deaths.. that’s about it i think

W/C: yet unknown, expected word count is around 100k-120k

EVERYTHING IS WRITTEN BY ME, ONLY AVAILABLE ON MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT @ONYXLOVEGOOD

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stateofmarauders · 27 days ago

Text

IVY

pairing: hermione granger x pureblood!slytherin!reader

summary: “my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you.”

warnings: secret wlw relationship due to homophobia, bit of angst with a good ending

wc: 1.9k

link to the masterlist of the series

___________________________________________

the room of requirement was silent, the rays of light pooling out of the windows down on the floor and on hermione’s dark skin. the only sound were your and hers breathing. you pulled your hand from under the covers and traced hermione’s neck, shoulder, and then down her waist.

you felt her stiffened and seconds later, she turned her whole body around to face her. her eyes opened, revealing the perfect shade of brown you have ever seen. her lips curled into a soft smile at the sight of you, making blood rush into your cheeks.

your fingers got tangled in her hair as you stared at her, your whole world.

“good morning,” she spoke quietly after a minute of complete silence.

“good morning,” you replied back.

then, there was a long pause once again. there was something heavy in the air, something you’d rather not talk about in that beautiful moment.

that in an hour, you’d have to pretend you were strangers.

you sighed, the feeling settling down all over your body. hermione sensed something was wrong, she always did. it seemed like she had ten more senses when it came to you. and she used them all as much as she could.

she slowly took your hand in hers, intertwining fingers, and giving you comforting squeezes.

you smiled sadly as you glanced back up to her eyes. you could tell she needed as much comforting as you did. the situation you two were in was tragic and unbearable. with your parents being strict pureblood supremacists (and homophobes) and hermione being a muggleborn girl, there was no way your family could ever approve or understand.

you wished you had the guts to tell them and run away and never go back. but you didn’t. and hermione never made you feel bad about it.

but you felt horrible either way. the guilt and fear creeping up on you. it was already deep in your bones and you couldn’t shake it off.

the time you two could spend together that day was coming to an end and you’d soon need to say your goodbyes. it felt terrible, not knowing when you two could meet up again.

“we should go,” hermione whispered but you noticed her eyes travelling to your lips before going back to your eyes again.

you cupped her face, deciding to make the most out of the moment. “just few more minutes,” you whispered back and leaned in closer to kiss her. it wasn’t soft as other times, this was more desperate, full of fear and longing. it broke your heart as much as it healed it.

hermione wrapped her arms around your neck and climbed on top of you.

you could not let go of each other.

___________________________________________

you walked into your first class of the day late that morning. when asked about the reason by professor slughorn, you claimed to be studying late into the night and simply fell asleep without setting an alarm. the answer seemed to satisfy slughorn and he let go of the matter pretty quickly, telling you to sit next to daphne greengrass and help her make the potion they were supposed to make.

“studying late, huh?” daphne said quietly, smirking. “i didn’t know a book about history of magic could give you a hickey.”

your eyes widened and touched your neck. did you really have a hickey? you and hermione were careful with that. how is it even possible?

but now, daphne was smirking more as she started chopping some ingredients for the potion. “you do not have a hickey,” she said. “but your reaction tells me that you were with the mysterious person last night since when i went to sleep, you hadn’t come back yet. you have to tell me who it is soon. otherwise i’ll start to think there is a reason you haven’t told me yet.” she paused and glanced at you. “is there a reason?”

you quickly shook your head, eyes still wide. “no reason. we just decided we won’t tell anyone until we’ll be sure it’s going somewhere.”

daphne went back to preparing the potion. “you’ve been sneaking out for almost a year. i’d say you’d know by now.”

you swallowed hard. daphne’s interrogations were the worst thing, especially when it was about hermione, someone you tried so hard to keep a secret.

“we’re going slow.”

“i’m just saying,” daphne continued. “it’s getting quite susp—“

“daphne,” you interrupted. “can we not talk about this right now? let’s just get this potion over with.”

__________________________________________

pretending you didn’t see hermione on the other side of the great hall, in the hallways, in certain classes, on the quidditch pitch as she cheered for gryffindors was really damn hard. you wanted nothing more than to look at her, send her a smile, run to her, hug her and kiss her in front everyone.

and as if that wasn’t enought, your parents decided to announce that you were going to get married to draco malfoy after hogwarts.

you and him were somewhat friendly, but not friends. and you certainly couldn’t imagine being his wife.

you looked at your parents in disbelief, trying to change their minds, trying to think of any other slytherin pureblood boy you could get married to. but, unfortunately, you could not think of anyone else, no matter how much you tried.

when you told hermione, she began to cry. everything was getting too much. the secrecy, the way she couldn’t talk about it with anyone in fear it would somehow get to your parents, and now you were going to be someone else’s wife.

you reached for her hand but she flinched and walked to the other side of the room of requirement. you didn’t approach her as you talked.

“hermione, i don’t want this either,” you spoke so quietly she almost didn’t hear you.

“can’t you.. can’t you just run away? you could stay with me and my family during the holidays. they wouldn’t mind. we could make it work.”

you let out a shaky sigh, tears pricking into your eyes. “it’s not that easy, hermione.”

“this is not easy either, y/n,” she raised her voice. “it hurts. it hurts being without you and now, it hurts being with you too. everything in me aches. tell me, what would you choose; staying and getting married to malfoy and being unhappy for the rest of your life or running away to me and be happy?”

you froze and silence prevailed between the two of you.

she threw her hands in the air in frustration. “you’re choosing the easy way, huh? i should’ve predicted that. you are a coward, y/n, just like the rest of the slytherins.”

you knew the things she said were purely from sadness and frustration, but that didn’t mean it didn’t pain you to hear it. especially from her.”

“you don’t understand my family, hermione, you never could. no matter how smart you are, you have no idea what they are capable of. if i decide to betray them, they could kill me. or go after you.”

“and would you rather die as a hero or as a coward?”

you stared at her, completely frozen. that question – so simple, so devastating – hung in the air like a curse. you opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. what was the right answer? what would even make a difference right now?

hermione’s eyes were brimming with tears, her chest rising and falling too fast. “say something,” she pleaded in a whisper. “please.”

“i don’t want to die,” you said finally, voice raw. “and i don’t want you to die either. don’t you get it, hermione? this is why i can’t choose.”

“i’m not asking you to die,” she replied, shaking her head. “i’m asking you to live. with me. I’m asking you to be brave just this once. brave enough to love me without shame.”

brave. the word hit you like a blow. brave like she was. like gryffindors were. and you hated that she didn’t think you were.

your silence was answer enough.

hermione let out a breath like she’d been punched in the gut. “right,” she said flatly. “you’ve made your choice.” she turned her back to you, brushing furiously at her cheeks.

“no, i– hermione, please don’t walk away—“

“i already did,” she said coldly. “the second i started falling in love with someone who was never going to love me loudly.”

you fliched at that. because you did love her. so loudly that it echoed inside your bones and screamed behind your ribcage every time you had to pretend she was just a classmate. you didn’t know how to love her in front of the world that wanted you to hate her.

the room of requierement dimmed slightly, reflecting the dark weight in your chest.

“i’m sorry,” you said but even you knew it wasn’t enough.

she turned to you. “you said that the last time,” she said, her voice cracking like porcelain. “and i think you’ll keep saying it for the rest of your life.

then she walked out, leaving you standing there with the memory of her kiss on your lips and the taste of regret already blooming on your tongue.

___________________________________________

TWO YEARS LATER.

the war was over, but you still felt far from whole.

your parents were dead, killed in the last moments of the battle of hogwarts because they didn’t want to join voldemort’s side completely but felt too scared to fight against it.

you ended up not marrying draco malfoy, simply because you didn’t want to, and you had no one to control your life anymore.

you’d thought of hermione often. daily. not just in the battle, but all the moments before too – when you caught the scent of old books, or passed by the room of requirement ruined entrance, or when someone smiled at you with too much warmth and you instinctively pulled away.

you’d seen her name in the prophet, of course. always next to harry’s and ron’s. war heroes. saviours. survivours.

you never reached out. you weren’t brave enough.

until today.

today, you stood on the doorstep of a little bookshop in muggle london, staring at the gold letters on the glass that read crooked spines. you heard from luna luvegood that hermione worked here part time while rebuilding the ministry’s muggleborn protection department.

you almost turned away. you almost ran away and never came back.

but the bell over the door chimmed before you could.

and then she was there. behind the counter. her hair a little longer now, tied back in a loose braid, strands curling around her face. her eyes widened when she saw you—shocked, unreadable.

“hi,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “i wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”

for a long moment, she just stared. and then, slowly, she stepped out from behind the counter and approached you.

“you’re real,” she said softly, almost like she didn’t believe it.

you nodded. “i’m real. i’m sorry i didn’t come sooner.”

“i wasn’t sure you’d come at all,” she admitted.

there was a long, heavy pause between you. the kind that used to live in the gaps between your secret meetings. but it felt different now—older. wiser. less sharp.

“i wanted to,” you said, voice shaking. “every day. i just… i didn’t know how to face you after everything i put you through.”

“i know,” she said gently. “but you’re here now.”

and somehow, those four words were enough to let your shoulders drop and your breath steady for the first time in years.

“i was wondering,” you added, “if maybe… you’d want to have coffee sometime. or tea. or just sit in silence. whatever you want.”

hermione didn’t answer right away. but then she smiled—small, tentative, but unmistakably real.

“i’d like that,” she said. “more than you know.”

#fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter angst #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger #hermione fanfiction #hermione granger angst #hermione granger fluff

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stateofmarauders · 28 days ago

Text

LOOVE THIS

10 things i hate about you || f.w.

summary: rumor has it that you and fred weasley are going out. being the instigators you two are, you decide to play into said rumors. but just how far could you go before you lose sight of the line between fiction and reality?

words: ~7.9k LMFAO I REALLY WENT OVERBOARD HERE

warnings: cheesiness, cliche 10 things i hate about you vibes, both y/n and fred being oblivious idiots. what’s more to love

a/n: you thought i’d avoid writing another fake dating fic? with fred? NEVER. ik there r some fake dating fred fics out there but i swear we need MORE bc this is the best trope ever idc. also made up a name for the school paper cs i forgot if it was a thing in the books/movies lol. reader is an implied gryffindor/ravenclaw but can technically be in whatever house you’d like : )

add yourself to my hp taglist here!

The problem with Hogwarts was that rumors spread through its halls like fiendfyre.

It all started during the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Harry had narrowly caught the Snitch after a Dementor false alarm and carried the team to victory, causing the stadium to explode into ground-shaking cheers. Waves of deep crimson and gold were pouring onto the field and you almost got trampled in the midst of it until someone pulled you into the center.

“There you are—I was looking all over for you,” Fred beamed. “You were watching, right?”

“I was sitting front row…you literally saw me, Fred,” you stated plainly.

“I know, but I wanted to make sure,” he winked at you, sidelining you into a hug. “You look very pretty, by the way. I think my hat looks better on you than me.”

“Anddd there’s the woman of the hour! He couldn’t stop staring at you—almost crashed into the teachers’ section ‘cause of that,” Lee came over and clasped your shoulder.

“That’s what that was all about? Freddie, you need to get it together!”

“Can’t help when you’re as alluring as a Veela,” the compliment rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He then tilted his chin down to kiss your forehead, and you didn’t bother pushing him away despite the fact that he was all sweaty after being up in the air.

A bright flash of light pulled you out of Fred’s embrace, and you blinked to see Colin standing there with a wide grin on his face, camera in hand.

“Just capturing the moment,” the younger Gryffindor said excitedly. “This is gonna be a good one!”

You thought nothing of it until you went down to the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning. You went over to find your Ravenclaw friends, who seemed to be huddled around something, staring at it intensely.

“Oh, hey Y/N!” Cho beamed brightly at you, moving over to make room for you to sit next to her. “Have you seen the latest school newsletter?”

You filled your plate and took a copy of the Hogwarts Daily Digest that Padma gave you. “No…what’s it all about?”

“Check page 3,” she told you. You took a bite of your toast first, pausing as you scanned over the page. At the front and center was a moving picture of you and Fred embracing, him pressing a kiss to your temple, smiles of pure bliss on both your faces. You had to admit that Colin had a way with pictures; so much so that you almost would’ve believed you and Fred were a true couple just by looking at the article.

“So we’re going out, apparently,” you said, taking another bite of your food, “...Interesting.”

“Several students were interviewed about it, and they’re wondering if you guys are,” Cho explained. “With the way he kept looking over at you during the game, and how he was searching for you after it ended.”

“I—I’ve ought to talk to Fred himself, see what he thinks about this—” you spluttered, feeling hot all of a sudden. “I just—we’re not even—”

“But you would be very cute together,” your best friend added. “I mean, you have known each other for how long now? It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone if you were.”

At the end of the day, you went to the library to squeeze in some quiet alone time for reading, curling up on one of the plushy sofas near the bookshelves. You were deep into a mythical book that Hermione recommended, fully zoned in for what felt like forever until the cushion sank a bit, indicating that someone had sat down next to you.

“What do you want, Fred,” you sighed without even looking up from your book. “Come to bother me again?”

He took the book from your hands in response and closed it.

“Hey, I was reading that—” you began.

“I wanted to ask you about the article,” he stated, “don’t you think Creevey’s quite the photographer?”

You scoffed. “If this is about us being a couple, you know we’re not.”

“I was going to suggest something else.”

“And what is that?”

“Given that half the school is talking about us already,” he referred to the whispers in the halls that followed you from class to class, “why not play into the rumors a bit?”

“So you’re suggesting that, what?”

“That we say we’re a couple.”

“...you want to pretend that we’re going out?”

“Why not?”

“That’s insane,” you shot him a glare. “What do either of us get out of it?”

“Practice, of course,” Fred had a proud look on, “but also, why not have some fun with it?”

You stopped and thought about it for a second. He was right—who were you to not want to have a bit of fun? After all, it was just Fred; it couldn’t be that hard to fake-date someone, especially when you had no real feelings for them.

“Fine, but only on one condition.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Promise not to fall in love with me?” You stuck your hand out towards him.

Fred took it and gave it a firm shake, his signature mischievous grin making its appearance. “As long as you don’t fall for me either.”

“Dream on.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a low whisper. “10 galleons says you’ll fall in love with me first.”

“Oh, please. 20 says you won’t even last half as long.”

“You’re on.”

So it began—settling into the whole routine was surprisingly easy. But of course, it was probably easier since you had money on the line; asides from George, you and Fred were the most competitive people in the entire school. You’d do anything for extra money, glory, and infinite bragging rights.

Making it a point to one-up each other, you began to brainstorm ways to really play up the whole “fake girlfriend” thing.

i. the pda competition, part 1

Monday afternoon’s Potions lesson proceeded as always, with Snape’s annoying, drawling voice instructing you on what to do.

Today’s class was boring but ended early, the only downside being that you were assigned a hefty load of homework.

“By the beginning of Wednesday’s class, you shall turn in to me two feet of parchment on the history of Strengthening Solution and its’ properties…” Snape ordered, “...for now, follow the instructions on the board. Ingredients are in the back. I expect the utmost perfection and accuracy…those who fail shall not be tolerated.”

Groaning internally, you headed to the back of the classroom towards the supply cabinets, Fred following close behind. Either Snape was out to get you both or it was sheer luck that had you paired together for this assignment.

“Wait, you forgot something,” Fred called out as you were about to walk away.

You turned around, a snarky reply ready. “What is—”

You didn’t even have the chance to finish your sentence when he grabbed you by the wrist and tugged you into his chest, kissing you square on the lips. You were completely taken by surprise and had no time to react whatsoever.

Low wolf-whistles and “ooohs” reverbrated throughout the entire classroom as you broke apart.

“What was that for?” you hissed.

There was a devilish grin on his face, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it right off him. “Just trying to be a good fake boyfriend, of course,” he whispered into your ear.

“Touch me again without warning and I’ll break your nose,” you said in a low tone, ignoring the heat rising up your cheeks.

“Miss Y/L/N…Mr. Weasley…” Snape said lowly, “...back to your seats, both of you. This is a classroom, not a bedroom. Get to work.”

Several students giggled at this and you huffed, heading back to your seat. You didn’t speak more than a few sentences to Fred for the remainder of the lesson, face still flushed from the sudden incident. He kept stealing glances at you as you worked in silence, adding the ingredients into your bubbling cauldron with careful, precise movements.

“That’s 1-0 to me,” he reminded you. “Better hurry and catch up, or I’m winning those Galleons.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you muttered, uncapping the bottle in front of you and pouring some of the liquid in.

ii. the pda competition, part 2

After Fred had kissed you in the middle of a packed classroom, you were determined to get back at him, racking your brain for ideas.

You sat under a sprawling tree by the Great Lake with Cedric, Cho, Padma, Ernie, and several other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. Somehow, you got lucky and all had matching free periods today, taking the opportunity to have a picnic by the water together.

“A little birdie told me that you and a special someone were going out,” Cedric pointed a finger at you, the other arm slung around Cho’s shoulders. “Now what’s going on?”

“They’ve always been mad about each other, only took them a million years to see it,” Ernie butted in. “Isn’t it obvious? One would think they’re already married at this point, though.”

“Who’s married to who?” you heard someone ask from behind you.

“Speak of the devil,” Ernie said, “there he is!”

“Was going to check on you—see you at supper?” Fred lightly touched your cheek. You nodded blindly, the skin of his hand hot on your face.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

You turned back around to see everyone smirking at you knowingly.

“What?” you questioned, adjusting the collar of your shirt as if nothing had happened.

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Cho laughed breathily, “Ernie was right. It’s like you’re married.”

“Oh shut up, we’re still much too young for that.”

“Not for long!”

Of course the only empty seat at the Gryffindor table that evening was next to Fred, and he made sure that you were sitting as close to him as humanly possible. All it would take was an extra few inches and you’d fully be sitting on his lap. You shook off the embarrassment and snapped back into it, determined to win the bet.

“I missed you all day, you know,” he admitted, placing a dinner roll onto your plate for you. “Where have you been?”

“By the lakes,” you said matter-of-factly. “Where else would I be?”

“With me, obviously.”

“I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Well that hurt,” he pretended to look hurt. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“Second to last,” you joked. “Hey, wait—there’s something on your mouth.”

“Where?” he tried motioning around with his fingers but to no avail.

“Right…here…” you murmured, gently grasping his chin and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lip, tasting a hint of the sweet cranberry sauce he’d been eating on the tip of your tongue. Loud gasps erupted through the Great Hall at the sudden private but public display.

Fred inhaled sharply—he knew you were bold, but like this? For once, the jokester had nothing sarcastic to counter you with and was at a loss for words.

When you pulled away, both yours and his faces were a shade of deep scarlet.

“Cat got your tongue?” you smirked, discreetly slipping a sheet of paper into his back pocket. “That’s 1-1 now, Fred.”

Again, Fred was left speechless.

“I feel like I’m interrupting something very…” Ron coughed, damn near choking on his chicken leg. “Intimate. Scandalous. Very—”

“Shut it, Ronald,” you cut him off. “Can’t a girl snog her boyfriend when she wants?”

More jaws dropped at your reply, and you simply continued eating, a victorious grin on your face. Fred looked down and fished the note out of his pocket, unfolding the smooth parchment to reveal your tidy penmanship.

Now who’s the flustered one? you know where to find me if you need me xx

You were so going to win.

iii. the serenade

You found yourself sitting on the bench watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice—it was Fred’s idea to show up to as many of them as possible to really sell the whole “fake dating” thing. You didn’t mind all that much, as you got bored easily and liked to have a change of scenery every so often while you were studying.

A loud, abrupt screech caused you to look up from your textbook and you winced, covering your ears.

“You’re just too good to be true…can’t take my eyes off of you…” a melodic voice began flowing across the stadium. Confused, you set your book down and stood up, looking around for the source of the noise.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much…at long last love has arrived…”

Fred suddenly appeared from the commentator’s box, holding a microphone. He casually leaned against the pole before sliding down and hitting the bleachers, gracefully making his way down the steps.

“...And I thank God I’m alive…” his eyes remained focused on you, blazing gold and green. “You’re just too good to be true…”

“What the—”

He spun around and pointed at you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a childish grin, “...Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“HIT IT, WOOD!” you heard someone (was that Lee?) yell, and music began blasting from the speakers.

Your friends were eyeing you with delight, fully entertained by the fact that you had absolutely no clue what was happening. Fred continued singing while he sauntered down the bleachers with a grace that you had never seen.

“I love you, baby, and if it's quite alright

I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night

I love you, baby, trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay

And let me love you, baby, let me love you”

A blush coated your cheeks as he finally approached you, taking one of your hands in his and twirling you around. He held your gaze the entire time, eyes alight with what looked like genuine joy and passion. The rest of your classmates joined in as they crowded around you, joining together in one voice.

It was impossible to hold back the smile creeping up your face as Fred continued to sing—he was undeniably charming, and you had to admit, this was well worth suffering a brief loss for.

“Oh pretty baby, trust in me when I say…” the final lyrics left his mouth and everyone burst into applause. He made a show of bowing dramatically and kissing your hand in an exaggerated motion.

You rolled your eyes at the overly extravagant gesture. But deep down, you had enjoyed every second of the impromptu serenade.

Within minutes after it ended, Fred’s musical spectacle was the talk of the school. Students nudged each other in the corridors as you passed by, whispering words of encouragement, saying how they wished for a relationship like yours, and wondering where they could possibly find someone like Fred.

You felt him slip something into your robe’s pocket. Fred had sidled up next to you as you headed up the stairs to the common room, still grinning widely.

“2-1,” he reminded you, kissing your cheek before turning to the Fat Lady and uttering the password. He stepped through the portrait hole and turned back to wait for you, then walked all the way inside. “Better continue that game of catch up, I might just steal the title of ‘best fake partner ever’ from you.”

There’s that beautiful smile, the note read. Keep it on for me, will you?

iv. the nightmare

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, because it was 3:27 a.m. and you were wide awake after barely squeezing in a few hours of sleep.

Nothing you did worked; even the Potion for Dreamless Sleep had failed to keep the nightmares at bay. You didn’t last long before jolting awake, beads of sweat forming at your forehead and chest heaving with raggedy, jagged breaths.

After several minutes of tossing and turning you gave up, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs to the common room. The fireplace was on, indicating that someone was already there—

“Y/N?” Fred turned around from his spot on the couch to look at you. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

You yawned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Finishing an assignment,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sheets of parchment, a vial of ink, and several books were spread out on the coffee table. “You?”

“Nothing,” you lied, sitting down next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t miss the hoarse tone in your voice nor your tear-stained face, stopping what he was doing to fully focus on you. “Now I know that’s not true. What’s bothering you, really?”

“I said I’m fine, just can’t sleep.” You let out a shuddering sigh and attempted to will the tears away, but your vision began to blur. “Go finish your work—”

“Hey.” Fred’s voice was soft. “Come here.”

His arms gingerly wrapped around your trembling frame to envelop you into a tight hug. He reached one hand up to smooth out your hair as you shook with silent sobs, your hands curling into the fabric of his robes as if holding onto him would keep you from slipping away and losing yourself again.

Fred was never one to be patient, but he knew that you just needed this moment free of chaos. So he waited, laying there with you as he continued murmuring soothing words into your ear, gently rubbing your back; he’d wait for as long as he’d need to.

You didn’t know how much time passed until the tears ran themselves dry and your throat felt like it had been scraped raw.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he suggested. “But only if you’re comfortable, that is.”

You hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him. Maybe he’d think you were strange…but seeing how he looked so genuine in that moment changed your mind.

“I lost you…I lost everyone. I watched you die, Fred.” Your voice was cracked and raw, which sent a pang through his chest. The image of Fred’s lifeless body trapped between the rubble flashed across your vision, feeling as if it was wrapping its cold fingers around your throat. “I watched you all die and I couldn’t save you.”

“But I’m alive and well right now, aren’t I?” he assured you calmly, “I’ll be here for as long as you want me around. You’ll have to fight to the death to get rid of me.”

Managing a broken laugh, you looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really. What are fake boyfriends for, anyway?” His hand found its place against your cheek, fingers gently skimming across your skin. You leaned into his touch and let out a sigh, lips just barely brushing over his palm.

“No one’s here, Fred…you don’t need to pretend.”

“I know I don’t.” Any and all traces of half-witted sarcasm were gone; wiped clean off his face. Instead, his eyes were glossed over with concern as they raked over yours. “Figured I could keep you company? Since I didn’t want you to be alone in your head like this.”

“I’d like that.”

He then passed a familiar folded square to you, and you opened it with a smile.

I’m here, whenever you need - F.W

v. the hospital wing run-in

“For Godric’s sake, how many more times will I have to see you in here?” Madam Pomfrey demanded as she hurried around, setting a metal tray by your bedside. “This is the third time this month.”

“Sorry,” you winced as you shifted your injured leg onto the pillow she’d set out.

“What is it this time?”

“I broke my ankle.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Pursing your lips, you elected to tell her the modified version of the story, which was the one where you had tripped while going down the stairs, not the one that included running down the Astronomy Tower after sneaking up there for a dare (the twins’ doing).

She shook her head in disbelief, glancing over the cuts on your face and fixing the bandages around your foot. “You’ll be in here for a few days. We’ll have to regrow the bones in your foot and ankle…my, how someone can break this many bones just from missing a step, I can’t seem to understand…what are all of you doing here?”

You followed her gaze to where Hermione, Ginny, Cho, and Fred were standing by the hospital wing’s entrance, alight with excitement upon seeing that you were awake.

“Guys—”

“Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Weasley, need I remind you that no visitors are allowed at this time! I advise that you all head back,” Madam Pomfrey ordered sharply.

“But we haven’t seen her all last night and this morning! Can we just stay for a minute,” Hermione begged. “Please?”

The older woman sighed as she scanned your friends (and fake? boyfriend’s) desperate, pleading faces. “...Alright, then. Don’t stay too long and for Godric’s sake, let her breathe.”

They immediately crowded around your bed and Fred walked over to your side, crouching down so that you were eye level with him.

“There’s my princess,” his charming persona was back in full force, and he smoothly brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. For what felt like the eleventh time, he was swooping in to kiss your cheek. Not that you were counting. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here,” you winked as you attempted to prop yourself into an upright position, but failed, giving up and flopping back down. “Ow. My foot.”

Ginny pretended to throw up on Hermione, who then elbowed her in the stomach. “Ow!” she yelped. “What was that for?”

“Let’s leave the happy couple alone,” she hissed, and they slowly backed away to give you some space.

Fred pulled up a chair next to your bedside, propping his chin in his hand to stare at you. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean for you to end up with five broken bones.”

“And a concussion, a killer headache, and not to mention dozens of sore muscles,” you grimaced, but felt a slight ache in your chest when you realized he looked genuinely guilty. “I don’t blame you, really. I mean, I was just as stupid and reckless. I definitely could’ve been more careful but I wasn’t.”

“I’m supposed to mess up your lipstick,” he groaned, “not your bones.”

“Someone took ‘public displays of affection’ the wrong way,” you said sarcastically, and then there was a brief moment of silence before you both burst into laughter.

“Damn right he di—OW, Hermione!”

“Gin, let’s go!” With that, the two girls left the hospital wing, leaving the two of you alone.

“Why are you here, anyway? Hermione and Ginny are because they’re my friends, and you’re my—”

“—lovely, charming, undeniably handsome boyfriend, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” Fred finished your sentence for you.

“Right,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I? It seems like you’re always around.”

“And yet, you don’t push me away,” a smile tugged at his lips. “Which clearly means that I’m just that irresistible. I don’t need a charm or some silly love potion to reel you in.”

“Don’t think that because I’m incapacitated, this game is over,” you warned him. “I will beat your arse to a pulp, and you’ll be twenty Galleons lighter. I bet you’re madly in love with me already.”

“Believe what you want, my darling,” he sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. “But we all know I’ve already won this game.”

“Yeah, right. We’re tied now, by the way. That’s for getting me injured.”

“Oi! You can’t just—”

“Shh…don’t come crying to me ‘till you lose.”

He ended up staying overnight.

You didn’t protest at all.

Neither did Madam Pomfrey later that evening after seeing him slumped over on your bed, fast asleep, one hand clutching yours like you were the only thing he had left to lose.

vi. the howler

For once you managed to get to the Great Hall before Fred did. The bloke was always criminally late or ridiculously early to everything; it was almost laughable how there was no in between for him.

He finally showed up just ten minutes before breakfast was supposed to end, breathing hard with his hair all messed up.

“What’d I miss?” he asked you.

“Nothing,” you responded. “Just another ordinary day…”

A gust of wind suddenly swept through the hallway causing the napkins to flutter in the air. A giant grey owl came swooping down onto the table and landed straight in front of Fred, clutching an envelope in its curved talons.

“What’s Errol doing here? We’re not supposed to get our daily mail til’ tomorrow,” Ron gawked, “surprised that he’s here given the number of times he’s collapsed mid-delivery—oh blimey Fred, you must be in trouble! You’ve got a Howler!”

Several Gryffindors around you giggled at this.

With a slight look of confusion and fear, Fred carefully removed the seal on the bright red envelope. Molly Weasley’s booming voice immediately came bursting from the pages.

“FRED WEASLEY, HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU WERE DATING MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW! I AM DISAPPOINTED IN YOU—Y/N dear, if you’re hearing this, I’m very happy for you and hope to see you at the Burrow soon, I’ll make sure to whip up some homemade custard for you—YOU OUGHT TO TREAT HER RIGHT, BOY, OR ELSE! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND I SURE AS MERLIN CAN TAKE YOU RIGHT OUT!”

A silence fell over the entire Great Hall and Fred sat there, in shock. The red envelope folded itself up and then burst into flames, its ashes crumbling to the floor.

“I’ve never seen him turn that red,” George sniggered. “You’re bloody brilliant, Y/N.”

“Y-you did this?” Fred spluttered.

“Can’t say I didn’t,” you hummed, patting his head affectionately. “Your mum was bound to find out, one way or another.”

“And you thought this was the best idea?”

“Aww, is little Freddie all embarrassed?” you teased. “Never thought I’d live to see that day.”

“Quit gloating,” the redhead grumbled. “You haven’t won yet. Better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

vii. the pda competition, part ∞

As it turned out, continuing to slip into your fake relationship only became more fun as the days and weeks dragged on. And being competitive only added to the fun, as you were scrambling to one-up each other.

You often opted to hold his hand when walking from place to place, which wasn’t difficult given that you were almost always with him now and had to sell the idea that you really were together. His hands were rough and calloused from all those hours working on joke shop prototypes, but they were still surprisingly comforting. A way to keep you grounded when your head got stuck in the clouds.

Fred’s signature move was, of course, dropping random kisses on your cheek when you didn’t expect it. Sometimes, when he was feeling bolder than usual, that would change to the tender spot between your ear and jaw, your shoulder, or your nose. And each of those times he made sure they were extra drawn-out and that you were in a crowded area so others would see it. The courtyard. The Quidditch pitch. The classroom (two of those incidents were in Potions, much to Snape’s dismay. He didn’t even bother taking points off due to being too disgusted).

“I have a massive exam today,” he declared loudly to you as you stood in front of his upcoming class together. “I think I’m going to need a kiss.”

“Why?” you scoffed. “What do you need that for?”

“For good luck,” Fred said, “it’s kind of a tradition, isn’t it?”

“You…want a kiss for good luck?” you started.

“I’m waiting…” he sang, face turned slightly in an invitation. You sighed and went up on your tiptoes, doing as he asked. “Thank you. But you have terrible aim…you missed.”

“I fear you’re having way too much fun with this,” you muttered. “Don’t make excuses. My lips are not going near yours unless they absolutely need to now.”

“Oh come on, you know you’re having loads of fun too,” he called out as he walked into the classroom. “Catch you later, sweetheart!”

viii. the butterbeer (alt: the pda competition, part ∞)

It was the day of another Hogsmeade outing and you were hand-in-hand with Fred as you walked down the cobblestone streets together. You had planned to spend the day alone for the most part and join Cho for a meal, but Fred had cornered you at breakfast and insisted you go on a date with him.

“To keep up the façade,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t people find it odd if the castle’s favorite couple wasn’t together?”

You nodded and didn’t protest further; you had no energy to do so anyway. It was far too cold for your taste; you had been dragged out without having time to grab your gloves, blowing hot hair into your hands that were steadily growing numb.

“Love,” he called for you as he took your hands in his, “oh, your fingers feel like ice.”

“No…shit…” your teeth chattered as you attempted to respond steadily. “Might lose ‘em if we don’t hurry up and get inside—”

“Wait one second,” Fred said as you two stopped right outside the Three Broomsticks, wasting no more time in taking his gloves off and handing them to you to put on, while he wrapped his house scarf around your neck. “There. Let’s head in.”

“But—”

“Boyfriend duties, remember?” he winked at you as he pushed the door open, holding it for you to step inside first. “Come on. I think a butterbeer or two’ll warm you up.”

Fred’s hand remained on the small of your back, pressing in gently to lead you to a cozy booth in the back. The added warmth felt quite nice, you thought, but you also wondered how he managed to stay like a human furnace when it the weather outside was so dreadfully cold.

It was hard not to stare at him; catching his gaze every so often while sipping your drink. His hair was all tousled from the frigid winds; you took notice of the way it slightly curled out at the ends, glowing under the hazy yellow bar lights. It was annoyingly endearing how he could look so flawless without any effort and even more so that you didn’t have anything snarky to say.

“Fred, I think we’re being followed…” you whispered as you scanned the near vicinity, fingers brushing against the rim of your mug. There in the far opposite corner sat Padma, Ernie, Cedric, and Cho, attempting to look nonchalant as if they weren’t half-stalking you but they were doing a rather terrible job at it. You quickly looked away.

“So? Isn’t that what we want—for people to see us?” he countered with a tone of confidence. His voice dropped low as he continued to speak to you. “Why don’t we give them a show? No need to be so private.”

Your face burned. “What do you—”

“Not like that,” he chuckled lowly, “what did you think I meant?”

“I…”

Fred paused, then raised his hand and brushed something off your cheek with his thumb. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“Oh, so we’re playing that game now, are we?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

You scoffed quietly and imitated his motion, reaching up to smooth out the crease that had formed between his brows. “Put a smile on your face, why don’t you? You look better that way.”

“I always look good, though.”

“I look better than your greasy arse.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. “I’d like to see you tr—”

Before you could say anything else and before he could stop himself from what he was doing, Fred placed a hand on the nape of you neck and pulled you in, kissing you without another word. All protests left behind flew right out the window (along with your morals, too, you thought) and for a split second, it almost didn’t feel like you were pretending at all.

When you broke apart eventually, breaths a little heavy, neither of you needed to look over to see that your friends were gaping in shock, mouths dropped wide open. Sure, Fred was confident and cocky and you were equally so, but both of you would be lying if you said this didn’t take you by surprise.

“You still keeping track?” His voice still had that low, almost husky tone to it. He was cupping your cheek now, and you let him keep doing so. “There can only be one victor, right?”

“Wouldn’t forget it,” you exhaled. “You think we look convincing enough right now?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

ix. the thunderstorm

The day’s exciting Care of Magical Creatures lesson was cut thirty minutes short due to the heavy downpour that had suddenly came crashing down, bringing with it a booming thunderstorm and soaking all your clothes within minutes.

“Well, that’s it fer today, everyone,” Hagrid announced, “now let’s head back inside, don’ want yeh to catch a cold, we’ll continue when the weather lets up…”

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and flipped the hood on over your head, eyes narrowing as you stared up at the suddenly stormy grey sky. It just had to be on the one day you got to go outside and do something exciting, damn it….

It was freezing, nearly as horrible as that one day in Hogsmeade, and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to simply curl up by the fireplace with Hermione, the Patil twins, and Cho, and talk all evening long. If you could even make it back to the castle in one, unfrozen piece, maybe you’d at least get your hands on some hot chocolate from the kitchens…

A warm hand found yours amidst the strong winds, and all of a sudden you didn’t feel so cold anymore.

As if he had read your mind, Fred said, “how about we sneak into the kitchens and grab something to drink? Hot chocolate, perhaps?”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled and he draped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you into his side. It felt so natural now, like this wasn’t part of some long-standing bet to fool the whole school; as if you were just two best friends trying to keep warm in subpar temperatures. And it was almost too easy to get used to it.

“Oblivious idiots. I told them for years that they’d be perfect together and it’s only this year that they start going out,” George exclaimed from several yards behind, walking side-by-side with Lee Jordan. “Dunno why it took them so long.”

“Love takes time, obviously,” said Lee as he watched Fred lean into your ear and say something, and you giggled lightly in response, “and now, what matters is that I finally have an excuse to make fun of them during Quidditch matches.”

“Oh—good point.”

“And you’ve noticed that he stopped pranking her? Unlike him, isn’t it?”

“Wait…” George paused as he took in Lee’s questions. His mouth formed an ‘o’ in realization. “He’s utterly whipped, that git.”

“What happens when boyfriend duties overcome prankster duties…this is perfect. Professor Flitwick owes me 2 galleons. I called it that he’d fall first!”

“You bet on them?” George squawked. “With Flitwick?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t either,” Lee laughed, “I know you did too.”

The expression on George’s face shifted into one of defeat. “I lost,” he muttered, “I owe McGonagall 3 galleons.”

x. verum exeat (let the truth come out)

The Gryffindor common room was alight with chatter once again. After a long, grueling week of exam revisions, Quidditch practice, and a brutal match to be remembered, Lee and the twins decided that a small celebration was in order. They had originally planned on inviting half the damn school but after arguing with Hermione, had to shrink the party down to just their smaller, usual friend group (they swore up and down that they’d clean up and not get detention like last time, but she wouldn’t buy it).

But you knew that if things had the Weasley twins’ names pasted next to them, they’d be far from peaceful; as far as you could possibly get—no matter how big or small.

“Oh, there you are,” you heard someone say from behind, and turned around to see that it was Hermione.

“Not drinking?”

“Someone’s got to take care of the boys after they go wild, right?” she explained. “Besides…I can’t stand the taste of firewhisky. It burns.”

You offered a tired half-smile and agreed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Hermione seemed to be deep in thought for a moment until she told you, “You’re very lucky, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“To have Fred, that is. To find someone who’s that in love with you, it’s quite rare.”

“Oh, please,” you tried to suppress a laugh, “I told you why we’re doing what we’re doing.”

“And?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at you, “feelings change. Bet or no bet, he cares about you and anyone would be crazy not to see that. Ronald is half-blind and he can tell, too. You can’t possibly tell me that everything you’ve done up to this point has been a lie.”

“It’s meant nothing to me,” you said bitterly. “I hate him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And it doesn’t help that he’s everywhere,” you stopped to take a swig of firewhisky, “and I can’t stand it!”

“Do you not, really?”

“I do, but I—”

“You what?”

“I just hate him!”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think? I hate everything about him!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I hate the way he always tries to compete with me, I hate the way he doesn’t take things seriously, I hate that stupid, annoying little smirk he has on his face half the time I see him—”

You inhaled quickly; it felt like you’d just drank an entire vital of Veritaserum with the way that words were tumbling out of your mouth. Hermione gave you a look that seemed to say ‘Go on,’ so you did, “—I hate the way he walks down to the Great Hall every morning with his annoyingly perfect messy hair, I hate the way he risks freezing his arse off to give me his favorite gloves so that I don’t get hypothermia, I hate the way it’s so easy for him to kiss—borderline snog me like it’s nothing, I hate how this is all just supposed to be a game of pretend, and—and most of all, I hate the way he made me fall in love with him without even trying. I hate the way I don't actually hate him. Not even close, not even a little bit…not even at all…”

“You…really mean that?”

You whirled around to see that Fred was standing right behind you with his hands behind his back, eyes hopeful, and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. “Fred—”

“Y/N, I—”

Suddenly it seemed like the walls were closing in on you from all sides, the room spinning; and then, everything around you jumbled into one chaotic mess of noise and color. Without looking to see either his or Hermione’s reactions, without caring that half the room had stopped to see what was going on, you pushed past your friends and quickly clambered out of the portrait hole.

“What was that about?” Ron’s nose crinkled in confusion. “So much for being a cute couple. Now this is just sad.”

“Will you shut it, Ronald,” Hermione whacked him on the shoulder.

“OW—”

“Stop being so dramatic! Don’t let me catch you drinking even one more shot or I will drag your arse back to bed,” she snapped.

“Pleeeease do, I would lov—ow, ow, OW! OKAY!” Ron exclaimed as she pinched his ear and began dragging him away. “Okay! I’ll leave them alone, I’ll stop…”

Chest heaving and vision blurring with tears, you rushed outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was quiet in the courtyard asides from the faint trickling of water but that did little to calm you down; it was still too loud, too chaotic, too much. Sitting down at the marbled edge of one of the fountains, you tried to catch your breath and balance, but the world still kept spinning…it felt like it wouldn’t stop spinning; for Merlin’s sake. All you wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear forever, or jump off the Astronomy tower and fly off to a distant land. You didn’t want to have to worry about how you poured your entire damn heart out in the middle of the common room about your fake boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend that you realized, with horror, you had begun to develop not-fake feelings for.

A chill ran through you at that moment and you shivered.

Then the feeling of something warm—a thick coat—being draped over your shoulders shook you out of your trance. You instinctively slid it tighter around yourself.

“Thought I might find you out here,” said Fred. You opened your mouth, ready to ask how in Godric’s name he knew where you were at all times when he didn’t even have the Maurader’s Map anymore, but stopped. This was Fred Weasley, and you had spent an unhealthy amount of time around each other over the past several months that he had to have picked up on your little habits. He was more observant than he let on.

“What are you doing out here?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.

“I couldn’t leave you alone outside to freeze, could I?” he asked, sitting down next to you. “What kind of boyfriend would that make me?”

“Please, just…” you inhaled sharply, “I can’t do this. You won. I lost. The game’s over, Weasley.”

“On a last-name basis now, are we? Ouch,” he said jokingly, but dropped the teasing lilt in his voice when he noticed your eyes starting to water. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

“It just isn’t fair,” you whispered, looking down at your feet.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not fair,’” your voice faltered, “you’re not supposed to do that. To do this.”

“Do what?”

“To sabotage the bet. To make me lose track of the scores.”

“Well, I stopped counting, you know,” Fred admitted, tucking a hair behind your hair. “There’s no need to keep track anymore, I think we’ve done enough convincing, don’t you think?”

“But that’s the problem!” your voice cracked as you finally turned to look at him. “It isn’t that I’m probably going to be dozens of Galleons poorer after this. It’s that I’m feeling something I shouldn’t, that…that you made me fall in love with you—”

“Y/N—”

“—I hate the way I care about you far more than I should,” you continued on, “and I hate myself even more for even wishing what we had was real. Because it was all fake, Fred, and you know it. We were faking it, and—”

“Y/N,” he repeated more sternly this time, causing you to stop mid sentence. “Look, I already told you I stopped keeping track. After that night in the common room….that’s when I realized I couldn’t. Lee damn near had to hit me over the head and force-feed me Veritaserum to admit that I was in deep. Galleons and glory be damned, I didn’t care about any of that anymore; it was easy for me to pretend when I was already in love with you.”

“But we weren’t supposed to fall in love, that was the rule,” you sniffed, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I thought we were supposed to follow the rules.”

Fred’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, I think some rules are made to be broken.”

And then, he was closing the gap and connecting your lips in a deep kiss. The gentle motion cut through the chilly evening air, washing over you in a blazing heat that had you melting into a haze of firewhisky, adrenaline, and something that smelled distinctly like a crackling log fire and cinnamon.

You had kissed him multiple times before this, but this one felt different than all the rest. It didn’t feel like you were doing it for show in the slightest; it felt genuine and warm and so real.

And the biggest difference was that you never wanted it to come to an end.

“So?” The grin on his face was palpable; contagious, as you broke apart, “What do you say, we stop faking it?”

“Are you fake breaking up with me?” you gasped and pretended to look surprised. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“I’m asking to real-date you, darling,” he said.

“There’s no money on the line this time?”

“No,” he hummed as he leaned forward to kiss you a second time and pretended to think for a second, “but there might be something else on the line instead.”

“And what is that ‘something else?’”

“You’ll have to wait a few years and see.”

xi. the promise

—FOUR YEARS LATER—

Fred was a great planner, of course. “Brilliant,” Harry would say, “absolutely brilliant.” He might’ve been a jokester, but he was a very organized jokester. He always knew what he was going to do and when.

So when it came to you, he thought he had a plan. He thought he had it planned for years; he was thinking fireworks, extravagant displays in the sky, taking you on a sunset ride across Romania on one of Charlie’s dragons. Something to match your free and daring spirit.

But, the moment ended up presenting itself on its own.

It was an ordinary night with yours and Hermione’s families joining the Weasleys for a quiet weekend at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley was listening intently as Mr. Granger and Harry explained the function of rubber ducks and the Internet in great detail, and the rest of you chatted with your parents, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger by the kitchen counter about post-graduation plans.

Mrs. Granger had made an off-hand, passing comment about how lovely your silver bracelet—the one with charms of yours’ and Fred’s initials and Patronuses dangling from it—looked on your wrist. And then Fred was saying, “I know something else that would look great on her,” and taking a small box out of his pocket and flipping it open, revealing a blinding bright, silvery diamond ring.

Even as shouts of realization and cheers of joy rose up from around the kitchen, the world seemed to fade away into complete silence when he put the ring on your finger and encircled his arms around your torso, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear,

“I told you there was something else, didn’t I?”

tags: @xhanthexzoria @arkofblake @fictionalsimp449 @polar-myst @katelikeslaughs @lmllsl @schlattandcompany

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stateofmarauders · 1 month ago

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PLEASE READ!

hello, everyone. I'm currently on my old phone and that's how I got back into this account. I wanted to inform you that i officially moved to a different account

@stateofmarauders

i will not delete this acc and leave all the fics up so you can still read them. I made a new one for fresh start without all the embarassing things i've written years ago when i was a minor lol (sorry everyone).

however, i wanted to thank you for the beautiful 4 (or so) years and all the love i got for my stories. I appreciate it more than anyone of you can imagine. but things change. i changed and my writing did too and i thought it was time for a brand new start.

if you're interested in my stories, please hop on to my new acc. I'll see you there :)

once again, thank you 💗

- N

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stateofmarauders · 1 month ago

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HAPPINESS

pairings: cedric diggory x fem!reader (past), george weasley x fem!reader

summary: “there’ll be happiness after you”

wc: 2.5k

link to the masterlist of this series

_____________________________________________

it was on june 24th 1995 when your world fell apart.

the last task of the triwizard tournament. everything went good so far with the other tasks so what could possibly go wrong with this one?

when harry potter and cedric finally came back from the maze, you sensed something was wrong. cedric was lying on the ground while harry was above him, his hand on cedric’s chest and he appeared to be… crying?

is cedric..

no, no, no, no.

as the band played music and as everyone cheered around you, no one seemed to be paying attention to the fact that cedric was not moving and harry wasn’t celebrating either. that was until you started hysterically crying, catching the attention of people around you.

you pointed at cedric’s unconcious body and they seemed to catch up on what’s going on too. soon enough, everyone realized cedric was dead and according to harry’s words, he was killed by a certain dark wizard whose name you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

it was just last week that you talked with cedric about your shared future after hogwarts. he wanted to become an auror and to start his training as soon as possible. you wanted to be a healer, so you two wouldn’t need to worry about money as these jobs are well paid. you talked about your wedding, the names of your children, the house you two would buy one day and have two golden retreives running around.

but just like that, your dreams of the future were shattered.

you attended his funeral two days after, but you couldn’t give a speech, knowing that if you did, it would just turn you into a sobbing mess and no one would understand what were you trying to say. but you stayed for another hour after everyone left, just sitting in your chair until you picked up courage to go over his coffin.

his eyes were closed unlike the moment when he landed on the grass in front of the maze. his skin was paler than usual, and he looked somewhat peaceful.

you started wondering if there’s really something after death. heaven or hell? or does your soul get stuck among the living if you’re unlucky?

you knew that if any of it was real, cedric was in heaven without a doubt. but you wished that he heard you.

you sighed as your eyes became glassy and realized that another breakdown was about to ovetake.

“i love you, cedric,” you began as tears started streaming down your cheeks. “i will always love you, please know that. i hope you’re okay wherever you are and know that i will get revenge for what he did to you.”

the world around you was still, with the only sounds being your quiet sobs. the scent of lillies lingered - his favorite, you remembered - but they did nothing to soothe the pain in your chest.

you didn’t want to go back to school. to your dorm. to your bed. because he’d be everywhere. his smell in your sheets, his hufflepuff jumper under your pillow. and everyone would look at you like you might break. and maybe… maybe you would.

but you made a promise - one that cedric would never ask you to make.

revenge.

the word felt weird on the tip of your tongue, but you felt an unbearable need to do something, anything for what happened. even if it meant losing your own life.

“goodbye, love,” you whispered. “but not forever.”

and then you walked towards the castle, slower than usual, a very less whole with cedric cedric’s name carved into every beat of your heart.

the ride to hogwarts the next year was quiet.

you sat alone in your compartment, forehead pressed against the glass as the scottish countryside rushed past in blurs of green and grey. you’d ignored your friends’ attempts to sit with you, to talk, to smile, to pretend everything was okay.

because everything wasn’t okay.

cedric diggory was dead.

and you were returning to the place that took him from you.

hogwarts, once your home and safe haven, now felt like a haunted castle. every corridor whispered his name. every shadow made you think of him standing beside you, tall and warm and steady. but he wasn’t. he never would be again.

and now, to make matters worse, there was a new defense against the dark arts professor.

dolores umbridge.

she stood at the front of the great hall that first night like a toad dressed in pink lace, her voice sugar-sweet but her eyes ice-cold. you didn’t know how someone could make kindness sound like a threat until she spoke.

the rules were endless. the punishments were cruel. you could feel hogwarts shrinking under her presence—less laughter in the corridors, less light in the eyes of students. and you already had so little light left.

one day, umbridge gave you a detention for “excessive sighing”. the next was for looking “distressingly melancholic”.

you almost laughed. almost.

you kept your head down in class. you avoided the common room, took your meals early or late to avoid company, and left the library just before curfew to wander the quiet halls alone. it was easier to stay numb.

until george weasley found you.

it was late one evening, and you were sitting under the stars on the astronomy tower, cedric’s old hufflepuff scarf wound tightly around your wrist. you didn’t hear him approach—just the shuffle of footsteps, and then his voice.

“you know, this is technically off-limits past midnight.”

you glanced up. george weasley. you knew of him, of course—everyone did. the prankster. the troublemaker. the Weasley twin who could turn a whole classroom into a jungle with the flick of a wand.

he didn’t smile when he spoke. he didn’t tease you like he might have last year. he just sat down beside you in silence, his presence loud in the quiet.

“i didn’t think anyone came up here,” you said softly.

“fred and i do. sometimes. when we need to breathe.”

you nodded. neither of you said cedric’s name, but it hung between you like fog.

after a minute, george reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver wrapper. “fizzy whizz?”

you blinked at him, lips twitching despite yourself. “seriously?”

he shrugged. “it’s a start.”

and somehow, it was.

you didn’t say much that night. but he stayed with you until your fingers weren’t shaking from the cold, and when you finally stood up to leave, he didn’t ask questions or give you pitying looks.

he just walked you back to your common room in silence.

and for the first time in months, you didn’t feel completely alone.

after that night, george started showing up.

not in any obvious or overwhelming way. you’d just glance up in the library and catch him sitting across the room, pretending to read a book upside down. or he’d appear beside you in the corridor after class, saying something stupid like, “this hallway’s got the best lighting, don’t you think?” and then walk with you like it was nothing.

he didn’t try to fix you. he didn’t ask how you were. he just… existed near you. and something about that was easier than talking.

you never told him that the nightmares still came every night. that you woke up clutching cedric’s jumper, your heart pounding and your chest tight like you couldn’t get air. you never told him that some days, you skipped meals because food felt like too much. you didn’t have to. he seemed to know without knowing.

one afternoon in late november, you found a tiny paper dragon waiting on your desk in charms. it fluttered up to your shoulder, then exploded into soft gold sparks. no note. no explanation. but when you looked up, george was already looking at you.

he winked.

you rolled your eyes, but your mouth betrayed you with the hint of a smile.

later that week, he found you behind greenhouse three. you were sitting cross-legged in the grass, tears streaking down your face, trying to breathe quietly after seeing a group of younger students laughing together—one of them wearing cedric’s old quidditch jersey.

george didn’t say a word. just sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

you didn’t cry any louder. you didn’t wipe your cheeks.

and he didn’t leave.

still, it scared you.

the way your heart stuttered when he smiled. the way your eyes searched for him in crowded corridors. the way his voice became a soft place to land in a world that felt sharp and cold. it was starting to feel like… warmth. like healing.

and you hated it.

because you loved cedric. because cedric was dead.

you weren’t supposed to feel anything else.

not yet.

not this soon.

so you pushed george away.

hard.

one day in december, when he walked up beside you after transfiguration, you turned to him and said, “why do you keep following me?”

george blinked, taken aback. “i’m not— i was just—”

“i didn’t ask you to care. i didn’t ask you to fix me. i didn’t ask for anything, george.”

his face fell. not dramatically, not enough for anyone else to notice—but you saw it. the quiet kind of hurt, like he’d been punched in the chest and was pretending it didn’t ache.

“i know,” he said simply. “you didn’t.”

you stood there in silence, wanting to apologize, but the guilt in your throat turned your tongue to stone. so you walked away.

and he let you.

weeks passed.

the days grew shorter, the air colder, and hogwarts settled into its usual winter hush — but inside you, everything still felt loud. guilt. loss. confusion. you thought pushing george away would help — that if you stayed away from him, cedric’s memory might settle back into something quieter. less complicated.

but you were wrong.

the silence that followed was worse than anything. because for the first time since cedric died, someone had made you feel something other than grief — and you’d shut the door in his face.

george kept his distance. he didn’t sit by you at breakfast anymore. no more paper creatures landed on your desk. he still smiled when you passed each other in the corridors, but it was a polite smile. careful. like someone gently closing a door so it wouldn’t slam.

you hated it.

and you hated yourself for missing him.

one night in mid december, after a long and miserable dinner where you’d barely touched your food, you wandered the castle alone. your legs carried you without thought, until you found yourself in the astronomy tower. cedric used to bring you here to look at stars — to escape the noise of the castle and whisper dreams about the future that would never come true.

the sky was clear, the stars like pinpricks through velvet. you wrapped your arms around yourself and leaned against the stone ledge, your breath misting in front of your face. for a long time, you stood in silence, head tipped back, eyes burning.

“i always thought the stars looked lonelier in winter.”

the voice behind you made your heart jolt.

you turned slowly.

george stood there, his hands in the pockets of his coat, his face lit by moonlight. he didn’t look smug. he didn’t look angry.

he just looked… sad.

“i didn’t follow you,” he added quickly, holding up his hands. “i come here sometimes too. to think. or, well, to try to think.”

you swallowed. “it’s alright. you don’t have to leave.”

george hesitated, then stepped forward. he stood beside you, leaning on the railing, eyes fixed on the sky. neither of you spoke for a while.

“i’m sorry,” you said finally, the words catching in your throat. “for what i said. i was just—”

“hurting,” he finished gently.

you nodded. “i didn’t want to feel anything else. i still don’t, most days.”

george looked at you, his gaze soft. “I know.”

the wind blew between you, tugging your hair around your face. you let it happen.

“i don’t know if I’m allowed to miss someone and feel something for someone else at the same time,” you whispered.

george was quiet for a moment. then, “i think… if you didn’t still love him, you wouldn’t be you. and i don’t want you to stop loving him.”

your eyes snapped to his.

“i just want you to know it’s okay if you let yourself feel something again. even if it’s small. even if it’s just… this.”

you blinked hard.

tears slid down your cheeks before you could stop them. you looked away, ashamed. but george didn’t flinch. he reached over slowly, like you were a frightened animal, and took your hand in his.

his palm was warm. steady.

you didn’t pull away.

instead, you leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder as the warmth wrapped around you.

christmas came.

you stayed at hogwarts over the break, not ready to go home. to your surprise, so did george.

“you didn’t want to spend the holidays with your family?” you asked him one afternoon as you sat across from each other in the gryffindor common room - where you snuck into, legs tucked beneath you.

he shrugged. “i didn’t want to leave you here alone.”

your throat tightened.

he’d been patient with you — so painfully patient. he never pushed, never asked for more than you were ready to give. he just existed beside you, slowly turning into the first person you wanted to see in the morning and the last person you thought about at night.

on christmas eve, the castle was nearly silent.

the fire crackled softly in the gryffindor common room. you sat beside him on the couch, knees brushing, a blanket shared between your shoulders. you’d been talking for hours — about everything and nothing. cedric’s laugh. george’s pranks. what it meant to grow up in a world that never stopped shifting beneath your feet.

there was a pause.

george glanced at you, voice quieter than before. “do you ever feel like… when you lose someone like that, you lose a part of yourself too?”

you nodded slowly. “every day.”

he hesitated, then gently touched your chin, guiding your gaze to his. “i don’t want to replace him. i never could. but maybe… maybe i can help you find the parts of yourself you thought you lost.”

your breath caught.

you looked at him — really looked at him. and for the first time, your heart didn’t ache with guilt. it ached with something softer. something warmer.

you leaned forward.

your lips met his in a kiss that was hesitant, gentle, and heartbreakingly tender. no fireworks. no desperation. just two people who had carried too much pain, finally letting themselves rest in someone else’s arms.

when you pulled back, George pressed his forehead to yours.

“still with me?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

you nodded.

“i think I’m ready,” you said. “to feel something again.”

and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was happiness.

#fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter angst #cedric diggory x reader #george weasly x reader #george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst

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stateofmarauders · 1 month ago

Note

ugh god

can i get a short lil sumthin sumthin about remus and his girlfriend being academic weapons, sirius and james thinks they're boring bc they've been doing their work in the library for hours but they're actually cockwarming and seeing who'll crack first heheheh 👀👀👀

"Focus, Lupin"

Pairing: Remus Lupin x girlfriend!reader

Synopsis: You and Remus are quite competitive, always going head-to-head in your classes. It’s commonplace to compete for the highest marks. What isn’t commonplace is the sabotage in the form of Remus’s wandering hands.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: well, smut of course! Exhibitionism, possessive Remus, yall are both freaks tbh, cucking? cock warming, riding

A/N: The other marauders have a big fat stinking crush on you but that's neither here nor there until the end of the fic. Sighhh, I go through my marauders mood swings. Your house isn't clear so feel free to pick any of them.

Tags: @yvy1s @innercreationflower

Remus hooks his chin over your shoulder, looking for all the world as if he's just getting into a better position to read his chicken scratch notes, pressing your back even further against his chest. You inhale, clenching around him at the sudden movement. You scoff at his near-inaudible laughter, elbowing him as he chuckles into your neck.

"Quit it." You grumble, quil moving at the speed of light as you furiously write.

"Quit what?" He moves the textbook you're sharing closer, the big hand he places on the page mirrors the one that's settled on your stomach. He spreads his fingers wide like he's stretching them before he drums them along the parchment. You wish you hadn't left your robes in your dorm, at least then you'd have another layer between your skin and Remus's teasing touch.

"You're cheating." You hiss, but that's the most you do to reprimand him. It's your fault you're in this mess anyhow.

Both of you are always the highest scorers in your class. And with the past few exams, you've been getting the same score or beating each other by a point or two. It's bloody frustrating.

You continuously tried to one-up each other in academics, long after you two started dating. He's your rival first, boyfriend second.

At this very moment, before you both sit two half-done papers for your N.E.W.T-level Alchemy class that isn't due for another week, but you get extra house points if you're the first to turn it in.

Which you plan to be, even if half the blood in your brain has traveled down to where you're swollen and soaked. You both sit completely clothed, other than where you're hitched on Remus's cock, knickers pulled to the side.

Of course, the library is empty. It's nine in the afternoon on a Friday. And it was your idea to see whose dedication would overpower their carnal desires.

He laughed you off at first. A soft, dismissive chuckle rumbling from his chest, muffled by the book he barely looked up from. Typical, shaking his head as if you'd said something absurd and that was the beginning and end of it. But you knew him well enough by now to know which buttons to push—and exactly how hard.

"Yeah, right," you sighed, letting your tone drop into exaggerated defeat as you flopped back against his headboard. "Wouldn't be much of a competition anyway."

Remus paused mid-turn of the page. His brows furrowed, eyes flicking to you in sharp suspicion, but you didn't look at him. Not yet. Instead, you stretched out along his bed like a cat, carefully keeping your expression blank as you toyed with the edge of the blanket.

"...And what's that supposed to mean?" His voice was sharp, clipped, but you could hear the curiosity, the irritation. The competitive edge. Exactly what you were counting on.

"Hm? Oh, nothing." You waved a hand vaguely in his direction, settling yourself comfortably against his pillows. You stretched a little more, arching your back like a cat before flopping onto your side. You kept your expression perfectly neutral, but you knew he could feel the smirk simmering beneath the surface. "It's just...well, we both know you'd give in long before me. So there's truthfully no point in even entertaining the idea." You shrugged, all nonchalance, even as you felt your chest flutter at the way his brows drew together. "I'm just agreeing with you, Rem."

His scoff was immediate, sharp and incredulous. You'd earned yourself a full look now, his book lowering just enough to reveal the disbelief etched across his face. “That’s not what I said.”

You shrugged as if it was no concern to you, deliberately looking away like the conversation was already over, knowing full well he wouldn’t let it rest. You flipped onto your stomach, propping your chin on your hands to stare at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Didn’t need to."

You bit your lip to keep from smiling as his book lowered—not abruptly, but slowly, deliberately. One inch, then two—his sharp amber eyes flicking to yours. The forefinger he slipped between the pages made it look like he might still pretend to be reading, but you knew better.

The scar closest to his eye twitched, irritation flickering faintly across his face. Merlin, you always loved how expressive that scar was when he was annoyed. One of his fingers tapped against the book spine resting on his chest, the motion twitchy.

He exhaled through his nose—sharp, like he was trying to keep it together—and finally set the book aside. His movements were precise, controlled, but there’s no hiding the faint flush creeping over his neck or the way the corner of his mouth twitched.

You knew you got him. He tried, and failed, to mask his irritation and it was almost unfair how easy he was to rile up. Almost

He let a long silence settle, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. Finally: “…You taking the piss?”

You let the grin spread across your face this time, sitting up slightly so your chin props on your hands. "M'as serious as the plague, Lupin."

The staring match that followed was something out of a duel, the cogs in his mind clearly spinning. The tension stretched taut between you, thick as smoke, neither of you daring to blink.

His book stayed in his hand for a moment longer, though you saw the exact second he gave up pretending to read. Then, to your satisfaction, he closed his book with an audible thud and set it aside. He shifted, sitting up and leaning forward. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement, and your stomach twisted—just a smidge.

"Go get your books," he said, his voice low and challenging, sending electricity up your spine. "And meet me in the library."

“Oooh, someone's touchy," you said, walking your fingers up his thigh, muscles tensing under your touch. “Formal battlegrounds now, is it? Bold move, Rem. I thought you liked keeping your humiliations private. But if losing in public gets your rocks off, who am I to deny you?"

His lips twitched—an almost-smile that was gone too fast to catch properly. “I’ll be the one handing out the humiliation, thanks.”

"Stakes?" you asked, cocking your head.

"Loser buys the winner chocolate frogs for a week," he said, already swinging his legs off the bed. Then, after a pause, he glanced over his shoulder, smirking faintly. "Or…whatever else I decide."

You pushed yourself up with a wicked grin that matched his, already moving toward the door. “Alright, but don’t be mad when you’re the one giving in first. I know you can’t resist me for long.”

Behind you, you heard him huff a laugh, though it sounded like he was trying to hide it. “Get your books, trouble. Let’s see how well you actually handle restraint.”

You were confident by the end of this week you'd overdose on chocolate frogs. Remus might be brilliant and disciplined, but he’s not immune to distraction. Especially distraction in the form of his wickedly beautiful girlfriend.

Truthfully, it was daft of you to assume Remus would play fair. You mix two people who are as competitive as they are horny and it leads you here, on your boyfriend's lap, surely dripping onto the wooden bench under you.

He hums as if he's thinking over the definition of cheating and if what he's doing right now counts as it—which it does.

"S'that right?" He mumbles into your neck and you almost reach for your wand, honest, "I don't see any cheating here, love. Just good old fashioned studying, just like you wanted."

He thrusts up, and your hand flies up to cover your mouth. You see his quill moving out of the corner of your eye without the aid of a hand. "Cheater," you pant, but don't move to stop him or even continue writing your essay. You allow yourself to enjoy the slow, steady rock of his hips against yours—only for a moment. Every vein and ridge dragging against your hypersensitive walls.

You go to reach back—for support, for a futile attempt at stopping the way he rocks into you, feeling as inevitable as the ticking of time—with your other hand, but are stopped by the quill in your hand. You're reminded, there and then, that winning over Remus is almost, if not just as satisfactory as a hard won orgasim.

You put quill to ink pot, and then, quill to parchment. Remus curses behind you but doesn't stop. Not with you panting and whining behind gritted teeth. Not with you clenching around him like a Grindylow's spindly fingers, tightening with a merciless grip. He doesn’t stop until the familiar voice of his mates cuts through the fog.

"There you two are. Should've known you'd be held up in here weeks before your assignment is done. On a weekend at that—" Sirius trails off as he and James discover the little nook you and Remus have secluded yourselves too, as well as the...odd position you find yourselves in.

It's not that he's never seen you two be affectionate, especially nearing the full moon as it is, but you in Remus's lap like this, a flustered look on your face, well, he's not a dumbass. Something out of the ordinary is happening here.

James on the other hand is none the wiser, brows furrowing in self righteous disappointment.

"We've been looking for you two everywhere. Party's not that far off, you know the turn out will be lethal even if we lost the match to those snakes." There was a foul that should've been called, but wasn't, a sligh that the refs didn't catch. In traditional Gryffindor fashion, they didn't whine about a rematch or about the unfairness of it, and in typical Slytherin fashion, they didn't either. But they needed you two to help set up certain spells only you two knew because, well, you created them. Definitely not because they liked watching the way their best mate's girl stretched and bent as she set up in the Gryffindor commons.

"We know," Remus says, glancing up at the boys before looking back to one of the open textbooks. "The plan's to party the weekend away, yeah? It's why we're getting the assignment out of the way. Sooner you let us finish this," he's slowly sliding his hands up from your knees to your hips, pushing you down with such strength that your stomach clenches, "sooner we can help."

"It's...it's just an essay, Sirius. We'll be done before the Hufflepuffs start," you almost bite your tongue mid-sentence when Remus ghosts a callused finger over your aching clit, playing it off as a hiccup, "bringing the snacks.

Neither of you say anything more as you have a sneaking suspicion that they're going to catch on, chances of you opening your mouth to speak only for a moan to tumble out are high. Remus is quiet because he hopes they do figure it out, either from the audible wetness of your cunt or your eyes rolling back as he makes you cum.

Remus knows they're in love with you and have been since third and fourth year. He's tempted to invite them a glimpse under the table so they can see how he has you stretched around his cock, squirming and wanton. What better way of making sure they know you're his?

And from the way Sirius looks the two of you over, glances down at the table, and raises his perfectly sculpted brows as James begins to ramble at you, there’s no mistaking that Sirius knows. Of course he does. Sirius always knows. His stormy eyes flick down again—deliberate, calculating—as if he’s debating whether or not to call you out. He hums, low and thoughtful, as if weighing the satisfaction of saying something versus letting the moment play out. Instead, he smirks faintly and leans against a nearby bookcase, letting James’s oblivious chatter fill the space.

Remus holds his gaze, unflinching, daring him to say a word. For a brief, reckless moment, he considers sliding his chair back just enough to let Sirius catch a glimpse of how thoroughly he has you. The thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and from the way Sirius’s smirk curves a fraction higher, it’s almost like he knows that, too.

Remus doesn’t full-on smirk when they lock eyes, but it’s a close thing.

"…Right.” Sirius tilts his head slightly, his sharp grey eyes dragging over the two of you like he’s piecing together a puzzle he’s already solved. His gaze flicks down to the table again—just briefly—and then back up to meet yours. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smirk, but close enough to make your stomach drop. “You know, you two really are awful at being subtle.”

Your heart skips a beat, heat rushing to your face as you open your mouth to protest—except Sirius doesn’t give you the chance. He hums thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to Remus, and then back to you, like he’s enjoying the power of watching you squirm. “But don’t think being pretty gets you out of work,” he adds smoothly, leaning in to knock his knuckle against the table. “You’ve got until ten on the dot before I come back and drag you out of here myself.”

James, oblivious as ever, snorts and waves Sirius off. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just mad because we need you for the setup,” he says, rolling his eyes. He jabs a thumb at Sirius, then gestures toward the door. “I told him you’re probably in here studying, because what else would you two be doing on a Friday night?”

Sirius hums again, a low, knowing sound, his gaze locking with Remus’s in a silent challenge. The corner of his mouth curves, just enough for you to wonder if he’s going to say something more—something that will make it impossible to deny that he knows exactly what’s happening beneath the table.

But instead, he lets out a soft laugh, straightening from the bookcase. “Sure,” he drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. “Studying.” His eyes grow bigger as he says it to emphasis just how little he believes that rubbage excuse.

He casts one last look over the two of you, smirking faintly, before turning to leave, James already rambling on about the next Quidditch match as they disappear into the corridor. Relief floods your chest for all of three seconds—before Remus tilts his hips just so, dragging another whimper from you as his cock presses deeper.

You bite your cheek, barely able to return James's wave goodbye before you're digging your nails into Remus's thighs. The same thighs that are currently spreading yours apart. Your skirt rides up, exposing you to the air and his sly hands.

"This," your hips twitch against his as he traces feather-light fingers over your puffy lips, swollen with need. You bite back a whine, huffing harshly through your nose as those fingers move down where the base of his cock sits snugly in you, tubbing slick where you and he are connected. "This is how you're cheating."

"If you're so much better than me, you should be able to focus, no problem, right?" He has an arm wrapped around your waist again, the other flipping pages.

"Fine." If that's how he wants to play, then you are more than game. You lean forward, elbows on the table as you grind your hips back and forth, barely raising off of him before coming back down with your fluttering warmth squeezing around him. "Focus, Lupin. Or, mh, at least try."

"Shhhit. D-dearest, that's not—" he cuts himself off with a truly shameless moan, both hands gripping your waist. He doesn't stop you, no, wouldn't dream of it. Instead, he helps you balance as you move faster, busy chasing your high more than you're focused on sabotaging Remus. "You, your—Merlin, you're bloody brilliant."

At this point, you don't know what'll come first: you, Remus, or Sirius's wrath.

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stateofmarauders · 1 month ago

Text

JUST A LITTLE LONGER

༉‧₊˚. synopsis. you and remus break up because neither of you knows how to be honest about their feelings #flops

༉‧₊˚. tags. remus lupin, remus lupin x reader, angst with a happy ending, hurt to comfort, inaccurate hogwarts layouts, ooc maruaders era characters, lowkey rich!remus lupin, headcanoning him as coming from money i dont give a gaf, plot holes asf

༉‧₊˚. notes. this is my first ever fic and also i wrote it at 3 am and it took me 5 hours i literally have not slept so i apologize for inconsistencies and inaccuracies and also my poor unedited grammar and spelling pls forgive me also the ending and kind of the whole this is so rushed sorry i literally wrote this on my phone while bed rotting pls forgive me

REMUS LUPIN, had asked you out in the winter of sixth year, minutes before you boarded separate trains to go home for the holidays. he'd come running down your platform, coat buttoned to the top, hair a mess, juggling three different suitcases, how could you possibly say no to such a display?

to be entirely honest at that point you had been waiting weeks for remus to gain the courage to ask you out and you said 'yes!' faster than you'd like to admit but you'd live the embarrassment a billion times over if it meant you got to end up with remus in the end.

he had spent months courting you, planning dates and activities and introducing you to his tight knit group of friends, not to mention the years he had already spent pining after you (not that he'd ever confess that truth to you). with all the effort he had put in to getting you to date him you're not sure how you ended up here, like this. seventh year had started off so well, fresh off the train after spending the last week of summer at the lupin estate while remus's parents conducted business overseas. it seemed like you two were more in love than ever before, if that was even possible, so why wouldn't remus just tell you he was a werewolf?

it's nearing the end of november and remus and his friends were off on a 4 day "study group field trip", an excursion that they somehow convinced professor mcgonagall to go along with. you knew what that meant though, it meant that the full moon was coming up and remus would be spending the next couple of days in the hospital wing with only the company of madame pompfrey his aching body. last month it had been an impromptu trip to james's childhood home, the month before the four of them had all conveniently caught the flu and could not see you under any circumstances out of fear of spreading their infection. every month before that since you had begun dating was excuse after excuse, and you weren't sure how much more you could take.

you had become privy to remus's secret two months after your relationship began. you were never stupid, far from it, in fact you were always quite perceptive so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone when you figured out what your boyfriend was trying to hide. it was easy to figure out the remaining players in the game after you uncovered the secret. obviously james, sirius, and peter had known, but it seems along with the three of his closest friends, lily evans was also let in on the confidential matter.

nothing changed for you after you had found out. you loved remus, you still love remus, nothing would ever change that.

so why won't he just be honest with you?

for as long as you could you staved off thinking about it any further than the surface level. you pushed the thoughts and doubts deep inside your mind, never letting yourself steep on it long enough to actually feel bad about it. until now, the christmas holiday was rapidly approaching, just mere weeks away, which also meant that your one year anniversary was just around the corner. your parents had been begging you to bring him home for the holiday, even if just one day could be spared, they just wanted to meet him. all of sudden, all the thoughts you had been avoiding had been pushed to the forefront of your mind.

despite your best efforts, your endless sleepless nights of attempted rationalization, and your undying love for your boyfriend, you could only come up with one answer as to why your boyfriend wouldn't let you in on his inner-inner circle:

he was going to break up with you.

to practical anyone else who knew the two of you, this would never even be thought possible.

but to you? it was the only possible reason.

it all made sense, obviously the marauders would know, they were his lifelong friends, practically his brothers. and of course lily would know, she was james's soulmate. all these people who knew he had let in on his secret were guaranteed to be in his life forever, which could only mean that you weren't.

so that's where you find yourself, on the last day of your boyfriend's montly disappearing act, worn down from the lack of sleep and the excess of worry, dreading the end of your relationship.

if you could have it your way the relationship would never end. you were completely sure that remus lupin was the only man you were ever going to love, but where you saw a future, remus only saw an opportunity to have one last school romance before he got started on his real life.

meanwhile in the hospital wing . . .

"i simply don't understand why you can't just tell her moony?!" sirius was fed up with his friend, the events of the previous full moon fueling his annoyance.

remus rolled his eyes and turned over in the creaky hospital bed, groaning at the added pressure on his bruised ribbed but grateful to be hidden away from sirius's glare.

sirius could just strangle remus right now.

"ughhhh!!! you're so-" remus wasn't looking at him but he knew that sirius was shaking his fists in anger while james and peter looked on amusedly.

james attempted to ease the situation, "alright come off him padfoot, the poor lad's just been through the wringer." his efforts not in vain as sirius mumbled a quick "whatever." before turning away from the trio of his friends.

"he's right though." james added with a tight lip.

this caused remus to roll his eyes once more, "get out." he groaned, clamping his pillow over his ears in frustration.

james lowly chuckled at his distressed friend, while attempting to soothe sirius who had just let out a scoff. peter looked at the pair as if to say 'let me try', before scooting onto the edge of remus's bed.

"remus...as annoying as sirius is," he started, giving sirius a pointed glare, "i think it would help us understand better, if you just told us why you don't want her to know."

when remus remained unmoving and silent under the protection of the pillow over his face, peter shrugged. james and sirius let out a quiet sigh, nearly giving up on an explanation when remus's mumbling cut them off. from beneath his pillow he spoke a brief and muffled statement, unintelligible to even his best friends.

"what?" sirius demanded with a judgemental eyebrow raised.

remus lifted the pillow off his face, tucking it under his head once more. still with his head turned away from the group he sighed deeply, "if i tell her...she's going to leave me."

a silence overtook the quartet. they all knew this had long been remus's greatest fear. flashbacks to nights post-full moons comforting a sobbing and broken remus as he begged for someone to just end the misery that was his existence. he'd long known he was destined for a life alone, bouncing between the couches of his best friends and their future partners and eventual children. this was the way it had to be. until you said yes, your mere presence made remus feel like he was being pulled out of the pits of hell.

but remus wasn't an idiot, he was on the verge of graduating and he had to be honest with his reality. you weren't meant for this life, this darkness, not when you were so kind, so pure. it was never going to last.

"you don't know that remus." peter stated as-a-matter-a-factly. and he meant it too, peter liked you, he really liked you. you had always been nice to him, and funny, and you made a real effort to get along with them, which he knows can be hard. he had faith in you.

remus cut off his mental praise with a cynical laugh, "yes i do."

peter didn't know what to say, he didn't know how to comfort his friend. james thought that he did.

"then she's not the one for you!" james encouraged. it did little to soothe remus's aching heart. somewhere deep inside him remus knew you were, the one for him. he loved you so dearly and he knew you loved him the same, he just couldn't stand the thought of you looking at him differently.

he knew it had to end. but was it so selfish of him to just want a little bit more time with you. seventh year was nearly half way through, remus would let you go after hogwarts, free to live and love like you deserved. he had come to terms with the fact that 10 years down the line when he was long gone that there would be some lucky fella who got you to fall for him bent over a crib carrying a baby with the eyes of the girl he had once loved, so can't he just have you for a little bit longer?

remus had already begun to see the signs. you were pulling away, being more distant. you were never in your dorm, always tucked away in the potions classroom during your free time or checking out books from the restricted section of the library. he knew the end was near.

all of sudden remus had forgotten about the pain of his injuries and could only focus on the pit forming in his chest. he didn't want to talk about this anymore.

his friends had taken note of his sullen face and ceased their talking. he pulled the blanket over his shoulders and tucked his face into the stiff pillow, they got the message.

as they left the room sirius offered a, "we'll check in on you after dinner moony." his promise was left unacknowledged.

three weeks later . . .

less than a month later your worst nightmare came true. six days before holiday break began, six days before your one year anniversary, remus lupin broke up with you.

he had approached you while you were sitting by the great lake, unassuming and oblivious to your impending doom and shattered your entire world without so much as a hint of despair on his beautiful face.

in all your pain and anguish you didn't know what to say, you offered a meek "okay." scared to say more out of fear of bursting into tears.

remus took your lack of words as a clear sign of your impassiveness about the situation. a indicator of your relief to be rid of the burden that was his existence, and he turned away and left you there, sitting on the stont bench, silent tears streaming down your face.

that was five days ago. remus had departed from the school early, to get home to prepare for the arrival of his friends and his next transformation.

you, on the other hand, had retreated to the safety of your dorm room shortly after the incident at the lake and had solemnly left your room since. with practically the entire school soon to be gone home for christmas and a letter sent to your parents explaining that you'd be spending the holiday season at a "friend's" (hiding away in the safety of your bed in the walls of hogwarts) you were looking forward to getting a moment alone.

but then you heard the voices of lily and alice pass by your door, "aren't you just in such despair that your beloved james is going to be away from you for the entire holiday?" alice teased lily who laughed in embarrassment in response.

you suddenly remembered the anniversary slash christmas present you had been preparing for remus for nearly a year.

pratically flying out of bed you dropped to your knees and began digging through the trunk at the foot of your bed. when your eyes locked in on the small and neatly wrapped box at the bottom of the trunk, you hesitated for a moment. pushing down any feelings of doubt and resentment you made your way to the great hall.

you stood outside the great hall, fingers curled around the neatly wrapped gift, your pulse drumming against your ribcage. it felt heavier than it should—more than just paper and ribbon, it held pieces of what could’ve been.

the moment you stepped through the doors, the familiar laughter of james, sirius, and peter met your ears. they were huddled together at their usual spot, carefree as ever. for a brief second, you wondered if remus was already missing them.

james spotted you first, his grin faltering just slightly before he called out, "fancy seeing you here."

sirius turned, one brow arching in curiosity. "i half expected you to hex one of us on sight."

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t quite muster a comeback. instead, you held the small box out towards them. "i—" your throat tightened. "i was hoping one of you could give this to remus."

sirius exchanged a glance with james, his expression unreadable. peter just looked between you all, silent as ever.

james took the box carefully, turning it in his hands. "is this—"

"a gift," you cut in. "it was supposed to be for him before we—well. before everything."

the silence stretched, lingering in the air between you. "you don't have to say it's from me, in fact you probably shouldn't, just say it's from one of you, it doesn't matter to me anyways. just make sure he gets it before christmas." then sirius sighed, shaking his head. "you can pretend it doesn’t matter," he said, his voice softer than you’d expected. "but it does."

you swallowed hard, looking away. "i just want him to have it."

james studied you for a moment before his grin returned—lighter now, but somehow more genuine. "consider it delivered."

relief, bittersweet as it was, spread through you. you met his gaze, offering a small, grateful smile. "thanks, james."

you turned to go, and before you could take a step, sirius called out, "you know, we’re not just his friends."

you glanced back.

"you can talk to us too," he said, a little gentler now. "if you ever want to."

you hesitated before nodding and walking away.

the next day the trio left on the train along with the rest of the school, save for a frw lonely students like yourself, and so began your holiday isolation.

christmas eve day . . .

the fireplace crackled, casting flickering light over the modest living room. outside, a fresh layer of snow blanketed the ground, muffling the sounds of the world beyond the lupins' home.

remus sat cross-legged on the floor, the warmth from the fire settling into his bones. across from him, james wrestled with a particularly stubborn ribbon on a present, while sirius lounged back against the couch, shaking a small box near his ear as if trying to decipher its contents by sound alone. peter had already unwrapped a tin of biscuits and was halfway through his second one.

remus's parents watched them with quiet amusement. hope lupin, ever the gracious host, had insisted on feeding them first, hot cocoa and freshly baked mince pies, before they even touched the presents. lyall, standing near the doorway, looked content just observing, though remus didn't miss the way his father's eyes lingered on him longer than usual, as if already steeling himself for what was to come.

"this one’s yours, moony." james nudged a parcel toward him, his grin wide and eager.

remus hesitated, then peeled the paper back, revealing a thick woolen jumper, the kind you’d expect from an old but loving grandmother, except this one was navy blue with a golden moon stitched into the chest.

sirius leaned over, inspecting it. "practical. warm. a little on the nose, if you ask me."

remus huffed a laugh, running his fingers over the embroidery. "you all planned this, didn’t you?"

peter shoved another biscuit into his mouth and shrugged. "you need it. full moon’s always brutal in winter."

hope’s smile faltered for just a moment, but she recovered quickly, reaching for another gift to pass to james. remy saw the quiet worry in her eyes, no matter how many times they did this, she’d never truly get used to it.

but tonight, for now, they could pretend.

"open mine next," sirius said, tossing a wrapped box at remus. "and don’t be gentle about it."

remus rolled his eyes but did as he was told, tearing through the paper to find—

"merlin," he breathed. "how did you even—"

sirius smirked. "you really think i’d let you go through another transformation without something decent to listen to after? it’s all the best records, charmed to play however you want. figured music would help, even if you’re too out of it to remember much."

remus swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat.

james, clearly sensing the shift in mood, clapped a hand on remus's shoulder. "we know tomorrow won’t be easy," he said. "but we’re here now. and we’ll be there then too—same as always."

the fire had burned lower now, flickering embers casting shadows along the walls as the night stretched on. gift wrappings lay in scattered piles, forgotten in the excitement of the evening, but remus hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. something about nights like these, the quiet and warmth of shared laughter, made the inevitability of tomorrow feel just a little easier to carry.

until james cleared his throat, reaching into the pile of gifts they’d yet to hand out.

"almost forgot," he said, a little too casual, passing a small, carefully wrapped box into remus's hands. "got this for you."

remus blinked down at it, frowning. he hadn’t seen that package among the others earlier, but he tore at the wrapping anyway, uncovering a small glass vial—midnight blue liquid shifting within, thick yet unnervingly smooth.

silence settled over the room.

lyall had gone stiff.

remus stared at the potion, "what is this supposed to—"

"wolfsbane." his father was staring at the potion like it might explode. "where did you get that." lyall muttered, stepping forward, studying the liquid as though willing it to reveal some flaw. "i’ve been trying for years, and every time it’s come with unbearable side effects. this—this isn’t easy to come by, let alone brew properly."

james shifted hesitant for a moment, considering telling the truth, scratching the back of his neck. "oh you know, connections."

remus narrowed his eyes, but sirius kicked at his ankle, distracting him with a smirk. "does it matter? it’s for you. besides what even is it? like some wicked liquor or what?"

lyall shook his head, grabbing the vial and turning it slightly in his palm. "it’s meant to lessen the effects of the transformation. nearly impossible to get right. but this—" he turned the bottle again, watching the way the liquid clung smoothly to the glass. "this is perfect."

sirius opened his mouth, closed it again, then exchanged a glance with james. james stared at the potion, then at remus. then back at the potion.

peter’s eyes widened slightly.

not a single one of them spoke, but the realization settled in like a stone dropped into still water.

but remus didn’t have a clue. neither did his family.

james cleared his throat, easing his grin back into place, as if shaking off the weight of the moment. "well. guess you got lucky, moony. and i totally got jipped, thought i was getting a bargain on some extra concentrated firewhiskey."

remus rolled his eyes, cradling the vial in his palm, looking it over himself now. "yeah. guess so."

hope glanced between them all but didn’t press further.

lyall was still frowning slightly, as if running through the possibilities in his mind.

sirius nudged james sharply. james barely acknowledged it. peter just blinked, staring at the bottle again. the fire crackled, filling the quiet as remus tucked the potion carefully into his pocket, blissfully unaware of the revelation hanging in the air.

outside, the snow continued to fall. inside, the warmth remained, but it carried something heavier now. something unspoken.

the morning after the full moon was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled into the bones of the house. the fire in the hearth had burned low, and upstairs, remus was still resting, recovering.

james, sirius, and peter trudged downstairs, sluggish but grateful for the scent of breakfast wafting through the air. lyall was already at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea, looking like he hadn’t gotten much sleep.

sirius was the first to drop into a chair, stretching his arms above his head. "rough night?"

lyall huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "you lot know all too well that every full moon is. hope and i can't tell you how grateful we are for you guys."

james shrugged, remus was their friend, their best friend, taking care of him was a given, no sweat about it. grabbing a piece of toast, chewing absentmindedly he glanced at lyall. "about that potion—the wolfsbane—"

peter, still half-asleep, perked up at the mention of it.

sirius leaned forward. "you said it was nearly impossible to get right. but you've tried?"

lyall exhaled, setting his cup down. "for years," he admitted. "every time i thought i was close, it turned out worse than before. the headaches were unbearable, the nosebleeds frequent. cramps so bad i couldn’t stand some days. seizures." he paused, shaking his head slightly. "it never worked, no matter how many adjustments i made."

peter swallowed hard. "and you had to stop?"

lyall nodded. "for months. sometimes years. the toll it took, for all my love i couldn't continue."

silence fell over the kitchen only the sound of breakfast being cooked could be heard.

james stared at his toast, unmoving. sirius glanced between them all, brows knitting together. peter looked like he wanted to disappear into his seat.

the realization settled in, slow and heavy.

whoever had brewed that potion hadn’t had years to figure it out. they’d done it recently. quickly.

which meant—

sirius sat up straighter, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. james pressed his lips together, tapping his fingers against the table. peter’s expression tightened, eyes flicking toward the staircase, as if looking up toward where remus was still asleep.

you had gone through hell to make that potion.

the three of them sat with the thought, none of them daring to say it aloud.

lyall sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "whatever miracle brewed that vial, i hope it was worth it."

james forced a chuckle. "yeah," he said, voice quieter than usual. "me too." sirius reached for his tea, taking a slow sip, gaze unfocused. peter didn’t say anything at all.

outside, the frost clung to the windows, the world cold and still.

meanwhile at hogwarts . . .

the hospital wing was quiet, save for the soft clinking of vials and the occasional rustle of parchment as madame pomfrey jotted down notes. you sat perched on the edge of a bed, your posture stiff and hands trembling slightly as you clutched the edge of the blanket.

"you should’ve come to me sooner," pomfrey said, her tone stern but not unkind. she set a steaming goblet on the bedside table, the potion within swirling a pale green. "you’ve been pushing yourself far beyond the limits of a witch your age."

you swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. "i needed to finish it."

pomfrey sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting across from you. "y/n you’ve been receiving treatment for nearly a year now. headaches, nosebleeds, muscle cramps, they could've seriously harmed you."

you nodded, gaze fixed on the floor. "i—i couldn’t stop. not when i was so close."

pomfrey’s expression softened, though her worry was evident. "but darling the appearance spells? hiding the toll it’s taken on you? on your body?"

you hesitated, thinking about the months of cast appearance spells to hide your frail body littered with signs of wear, then nodded again. "no one could know. it was easier to pretend everything was fine."

pomfrey reached out, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "you’ve done something extraordinary, but at what cost? your body needs time to recover. you can’t keep hiding this."

pomfrey studied your face for a long moment, then sighed again, standing to retrieve another vial from the cabinet. "rest. no more spells, no more pushing yourself. if you don’t take care of yourself now, there won’t be anything left to give."

you nodded, your resolve unwavering despite the exhaustion etched into your features. as pomfrey handed you the next potion, you took it without hesitation, the weight of your choices settling heavily in the quiet room.

you’re halfway through choking down the bitter potion when the door creaks open.

"thought i’d find you here."

the voice is unmistakable: smooth, lazy, edged with something sharp beneath its usual confidence.

sirius.

you freeze, setting the goblet down carefully before looking up. he stands at the entrance, arms crossed, gaze locked on you.

madame pomfrey straightens, clearly unimpressed. "mr. black, if you’re ill, i suggest you come back at a reasonable hour."

he barely acknowledges her, his focus never shifting from you.

"i’m fine," he says, but it’s directed at you, not her.

she lingers, exhaling through her nose. "five minutes. then she needs to rest."

once she disappears into her office, sirius steps forward, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

"so," he says, tilting his head, "you look like shit."

you roll your wyes, leaning back against the pillows. "i’m just...tired."

he scoffs. "right. sure. maybe that'd work on another idiot. try again."

you don’t answer.

sirius exhales sharply, pacing at the foot of your bed. "wolfsbane," he mutters. "you brewed it."

your throat tightens. "you already knew that."

he shakes his head. "we didn’t. not until lyall told us how impossible it is to brew."

the weight of his words settles deep in your chest.

sirius watches you for a long moment before he speaks again. "you’ve been practically killing yourself for nearly a year."

you don’t deny it.

"why did you even do all of that—all of this," he gestures to your ailing body, "if you were just gonna let him dump you in the end?"

you jump on the defensive, "you think i wanted to get dumped?" you quip back, angrily.

"well you didn't try very hard not to." sirius accused with a glare.

"oh fuck off sirius." you scoff.

sirius relents, "why didn't you tell him you knew? why didn't you fight for him?" he asked genuinely.

you hesitate for a moment, why didn't you fight for him? "he didn't want me anymore sirius. i can't fix that."

sirius's face flashed in bewilderment. remus lupin? not wanting you? impossible. before he could oppose you continued, "i wanted to give him the chance to tell me on his own time, like he told you and james and peter and even lily for godsake. i wanted him to come to me when he was ready, i didn't want to confront him with it, like it was some kind of accusation. i wanted him to trust me." your voice broke at the end and sirius immediately felt horrible for even slightly raising his voice at you.

"i thought that if i just gave him time, he would, but where he saw forever with you guys, he just saw for now with me. i figured that's why he never told me, what's the point in going through all the agony for some girl he never planned on keeping around anyways."

sirius couldn't believe what he was hearing. how could you be so wrong. he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you till you understood, he wanted to scream in your face that it wasn't true, that your mind was playing tricks on you, planting seeds of doubt about a man who loved you so wholeheartedly that it could kill him, but he didn't. because that wasn't his place, it was remus's.

so instead he grabbed your hand, and sat with you in the silence of the castle for as long as he could before he had to make his was back to his friends.

back at lupin manor . . .

the house is quiet when sirius returns, the cold pressing against his back as he steps through the front door. the fire in the living room crackles softly, illuminating the space with a warm glow.

remus is exactly where he left him, curled up on the couch, blanket draped over his shoulders, looking tired but better than he did last night. his head lifts slightly at the sound of the door closing.

"didn’t think you’d be back so soon," remus murmurs, voice rough with lingering exhaustion.

sirius lets out a short laugh, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "yeah, well. didn’t feel like dragging it out."

remus shifts, turning his full attention toward him now. "how was hogsmeade?"

sirius scoffs, pulling off his coat and tossing it onto the armchair. "didn’t go."

remus frowns slightly. "thought you said you had a date."

sirius hesitates for a fraction of a second, then shrugs, like it’s nothing. "went to hogwarts instead."

remus’s brows knit together. "why?"

sirius exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before moving toward the couch, dropping onto the seat opposite remus. "to see y/n."

remus blinks, surprised. "she didn't go home for the holiday?"

sirius shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "nope. found her in the hospital wing."

remus sits up a little straighter, something unreadable flickering in his expression. "what happened?"

sirius studies him for a long moment before speaking. "she’s been getting treated for almost a year."

remus’s lips part slightly, confusion settling in, in the year that they had dated remus never noticed her even looking vaguely ill let alone getting treated for something. "treated for what?"

sirius sighs, his voice quieter now. "the wolfsbane."

realization dawns slowly over remus’s face, his grip tightening on the blanket draped over his shoulders.

sirius continues, pomfrey said she’s been coming in with all kinds of shit. headaches, nosebleeds, muscle cramps. even seizures."

remus’s throat works, eyes darkening. "she knows?"

sirius watches him carefully. “she's known moony, since nearly the beginning. she did it for you.”

remus exhales sharply, looking away, staring into the fire. "that doesn't make any sense, there's no way she knew and she stayed with me."

sirius can't help but roll his eyes at his stubborn friend, "is that actually true or did you just make yourself believe that? i mean did she actually ever say anything indicative of her being this horrible twisted person you've made her out to be?"

remus is silent.

"you don't get it moony. it's not her. it's me. i'm the dark and twisted one, she doesn't want this sirius. she doesn't deserve this." remus cried out.

sirius was in despair over his friend's anguish, he looked around desperately for something, anything to prove that what he was saying was true, his eyes landed on the vial. he grabbed it, harshly shoving it in remus's shaking hands, "she does want it. and that right there is hard evidence. it works doesn't it? we all know it did, you've never been able to stand the day after a full-moon before let alone walk down the stairs by yourself." he rips the blanket of remus's lap, "she did that for you, without being asked, without being rewarded, and the expense of her own health."

remus looks down at his body, he's felt it all morning, the lessened ache of his bones and the surprising lack of deep cuts in his skin.

"you have got to stop this moony, this wallowing this–this hatred. it's going to kill you. she doesn't deserve this? well neither do you."

outside, the wind howls softly against the windows. inside, something unspoken lingers in the spaces between words, settling deep in the quiet.

one week later . . .

the black lake is still, the surface glass-like under the dull winter sky. the cold bites at your skin, but you don’t move, not yet. you just sit there, staring out at the water, letting the silence stretch.

you hear his footsteps before you hear his voice. the scene is all tok familiar.

“you look well.”

you tense, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of your cloak.

“so do you,” you reply, voice even, measured. you don’t turn to face him. instead, you push yourself to stand, brushing off your robes, ready to leave.

“i got it wrong.” his voice is wavering.

you pause mid-step. slowly, you turn your head just enough to glance at him. remus looks tired. not in the way he did after his monthly ritual, not just physically, but something else lingers in his expression. something heavier.

you don’t ask.

you grip the edges of your cloak tighter, keeping your face unreadable. “about what?”

he exhales, shaking his head slightly, like he’s still sorting through the thoughts tangled up inside him. “about you,” he says. “about—about what you were trying to do.”

you shift, drawing your arms closer to yourself, bracing against the cold.

remus steps forward, just barely, his breath visible in the air between you.

“i didn’t see it,” he admits, his voice low. “not until sirius told me.” he looks at you then, steady and unguarded. “i got it wrong,” he repeats, softer this time.

the words settle between you, raw and honest. you don’t move for a long moment, your pulse drumming against your ribs, your breath short against the crisp air.

then, finally, you speak. "i don't know what you want me to say remus."

"just listen?" he offers.

you don't move, you still don't look at him. he takes it as indication to continue, "i’ve loved you for so long. longer than i even knew what love meant, longer than i ever thought i deserved to feel it. and for so much of that time, i did nothing about it. not because i didn’t want to, but because i didn’t know how much time i had." your face flashes in concern at this.

"with everything i am, this condition, this mind that turns against itself more often than not, i didn’t know how long i was going to last. i didn’t let myself imagine a future, because what would be the point? then seventh year came, and suddenly there was a deadline. graduation. the end of everything familiar. and i figured, why not, right? why not make the most of the time i had left with you? i love you so much, and i wanted to tell you. i wanted to tell you my secret so badly, but you are so pure, so kind, so good, and i was afraid. afraid that if i told you, you’d see me differently. you’d see the monster in me, you'd see what i see in myself, and you would leave. and i know that was selfish—i know. but i just wanted more time. i just wanted a little longer with you before you had to go." tears are streaming down his face at this point, down yours too, you can't bear to look at him, you remaining resolve would crumble, you know it.

"then you started to pull away after november, and i couldn’t–i couldn’t watch you leave. i wouldn’t have survived it. so i had to do it first. i had to hurt you before you could hurt me. because if i broke you, at least i’d know the ending was mine." he stopped, you didn't move, you didn't say anything.

"y/n please. i'm sorry." more silence. and then,

"i'm going to be late for class." and with that you walked off, leaving remus standing there under the cover of a wilted tree, next to the stone bench he had abandoned you on just a few weeks ago.

. . .

two days. it had been two days since remus's display at the lake and he had been moping ever since, much to his roommates dismays.

no one had seen or heard from you since then either. you weren't in your room when james had sent lily to check and you weren't in the hospital wing when sirius had gone to check, and it had remus in absolute shambles.

"she hates me. she hates me so much she transferred schools." he's face down in his pillow, his body limp against the mattress as he groans out his words.

peter scrunches his eyebrows, "we graduate in five months?"

still muffled by his pillow remus replies, "yeah so she must really hate me."

"oh come on you ole sap. don't tell me you're giving up so easily." sirius barked from across the room, peaking his head out from his post-shower routine.

"no i am. i'm giving up. the love of my life hates me and now i'm going to die." remus flips over onto his back and states plainly.

sirius frowns, "what did i say about all this self-anguish bull?"

"i'm only joking mom. kind of." remus replies sarcastically.

he's happy to have his friends in his time of despair, their senseless bickering and blind encouragement gives him hope in his dark and stormy time.

that is until a knock at their dormitory door causes them to all freeze. the four of them look between each other, confused. lily was still in class and sirius's various flings know better than to show up here, so who was at the door?

peter makes the first move, towards the door, hand slowly turning the handle. as the heavy wooden door swings open it reveals, you.

sirius let's out a dramatic gasp and remus nearly burns holes into his head, if only his gaze wasn't so locked in on you.

you brush past peter and make a bee line for where remus is now sat up on the edge of his bed. he holds his breath as you approach him, expecting you to slap him clean across the face.

but you don't, instead, you stop just mere inches in front of him with your hand outstretched.

"my name is y/n y/l/n. i'm a seventh year y/h/n and i'm incredibly talented in potion making." you state.

everyone is confused. remus is confused, but mostly remus is grateful you're even speaking to him. he's frozen in place and when you don't see him moving you shake your outstretched hand and raise your eyebrows.

in a moment of rare intellect from the idiotic boy he snaps back into reality, firm grasping your hand for a shake.

"remus. lupin. seventh year, gryffindor." he finishes, still grasping your hand. you raise your eyebrows again, he tilts his head like a lost and confused puppy.

you decide to throw him a bone and prompt him, "and...?"

it all clicks for him, he knows what you want.

"and i'm a werewolf."

you smile, he smiles.

you turn over the hand of his that has a firm grip on you and apparate a pen into your hand. opening his palm you bend over and write down a number on his open hand.

(+** - *** - ******)

and then you turn to leave, but not before throwing a quick "call me." over your shoulder.

as soon as peter closes the door behind you remus jump up out of his bed. he's pumping his fists in the air while sirius and peter cheer him on.

from his bed, james pipes up, "call me? we're wizards? who the bloody hell is using a mobile phone?"

he's promptly hit square in the face by remus's pillow, knocking the glasses frames clean off his face, "shut up prongs." and peter pats him on the back.

he's absolutely elated. as he falls asleep that night he thanks every single higher being out there for allowing him back into your life. he promises to never grimace at his dad's bad jokes, or make fun of sirius's gala outfits ever again, he swears on everything he has that he will never do another remotely unkind thing again for the rest of his life as long as you are in it.

he knows the two of you have a lot to talk about, and he knows he has a lot to work on himself, but for tonight, he's just happy you gave him a second chance.

204 notes · View notes

stateofmarauders · 1 month ago

Text

My Shampoo Fairy

Masterlist

synopsis: after being brutally rejected by James Potter, the last thing you expected was for him to show up in your common room—grinning, holding a bouquet, and calling you his girlfriend.

warning: cursing and kinda yearner james

i accidentally made him a yearner because i couldn’t stop picturing that one scene of ATJ in kickass LOL

“Sorry, I just don’t see myself liking fairies,” James tells you, right after you’ve finished confessing your long-standing, deeply rooted crush on him—one that’s been quietly blooming since second year.

The two of you are alone just outside the Quidditch pitch. He had just been practicing with the entire Gryffindor team when you suddenly asked if you could talk to him for a moment. A few Gryffindors had gone, “Ooooh,” or exchanged glances with smug, knowing smirks.

It’s no secret that James Potter—Quidditch Captain and Gryffindor’s Golden Boy—has a long list of admirers at Hogwarts. With his easy-going nature, magnetic charm, and that infuriatingly boyish smile, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t found him attractive at least once. It doesn’t help that he’s genuinely good-looking. The only real flaw, perhaps, is that he’s arrogant, a bully, and a bit of a troublemaker. Still, even that doesn’t stop some girls from loving the thrill of “fixing” the bad boy.

You never really expected him to accept or say that he saw something between the two of you. But still, you didn’t expect this to be his response to your confession.

“Fairies?” you ask, confused. “What do you mean?”

Fairies?

What does that even mean?

He visibly looks awkward before scratching the back of his neck and saying, “You know… really beautiful people, but that’s it.”

You stare at him, confused—and now slightly offended. “Pardon?”

Did he just say you had no personality?

He just sighs and mutters, “This is what I mean…” He continues, “You already know what I mean. Don’t make me hurt your feelings more—then you’ll go telling people I gave you some confusing reply.”

He says it, and all you can do is stare at him with the most offended, confused expression you’ve probably ever made.

You couldn’t believe this was real. Sure, you admit it—you knew he wasn’t going to accept your confession. He was most likely going to reject you. But not like this. He was always known as that really nice, one-year-above-you senior. You didn’t expect that this was how he actually talked.

Can someone really be this full of themselves?

To think that if someone got rejected by them, they’d automatically go around badmouthing him?

That was exactly what you remembered happened last year—when you confessed to James Fleamont Potter about your childhood crush on him.

It was short, bittersweet, and you were ruthlessly rejected.

So why, exactly, had one of your housemates just barged into your room saying that James Potter was waiting for you downstairs… with flowers?

You look at her, confused. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I’m serious! He’s been standing there for a couple of minutes now—some students are already starting to form a crowd!” she says, her hand still gripping the doorknob.

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment—your eyes narrowing with suspicion, hers wide with urgency, silently begging you to believe her.

Then, you throw on your student robes and rush out of the room together, heading straight for the common room.

When you finally reach the common room, the first thing you notice is the crowd of students gathered near the door, all looking and whispering about something.

“E-Excuse me,” you say. “Please let me through…” you continue as you try to push past the sea of people.

Did no one have classes today? Seriously.

As you finally make it through, your eyes land on the man of the hour—leaning casually against the wall, one hand tucked into the pocket of his robes while the other holds a bouquet of flowers.

He’s staring down at them, looking at each petal as if counting them. But then, as if sensing your gaze, he lifts his head, turns in your direction, and locks eyes with you. His eyes widen—then he grins and immediately jogs over.

“Fairy! I’ve been looking for you!” he calls, picking up his pace before stopping right in front of you—and wrapping you in a hug, right there in front of everyone.

Shit.

He pulls away, and you just stand there, frozen. You don’t even return the hug—you’re still too stunned to move.

He pouts. “Why didn’t you visit me? I missed you,” he says, then offers you the flowers. “Here. Flowers for my beautiful fairy.”

You take them slowly, glance at them for a moment, then look back up at him—still stunned.

Then, without warning, he cups your face—both hands gently resting just below your cheeks—leans in, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes go wide.

And it’s not just yours. All around you, you can hear it—the gasps, the stunned whispers. Some girls are even tearing at the sight, as if their world had just ended.

James Potter isn’t in some temporary fling, this isn’t a will-they-won’t-they with Lily Evans again.

No.

He has just publicly declared, to the entire student body of Hogwarts, that Gryffindor’s Golden Boy is officially off the market.

He then looks at you, still grinning. “So, what time are your classes again? Want to sit in the courtyard while we wait?”

You look at him, now slightly confused. “Uh…”

Before you can respond, someone running towards you cuts off your thoughts.

“Prongs!” the person yells again, sprinting over—two other boys close behind him. You squint to get a better look, and sure enough—it’s Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew.

James turns towards the voice and, upon seeing Sirius, waves brightly. “Padfoot!”

Sirius finally reaches you, parting through the crowd as he pushes forward. Once he and the others are close enough, all three immediately fix their eyes on James.

“We’ve been looking all over for you,” Sirius says, slightly out of breath. “You’re not even supposed to be out of bed yet, remember?”

Remus and Peter stand on either side of him, also panting, clearly having run all around the school.

James just laughs. “Poppy said I could go early. Said I heal fast,” he says with a grin, flexing his right bicep for emphasis. Then, he casually throws an arm around you. “Also, I wanted to visit my fairy.” He turns to you, smiling as he gently tightens his grip on your shoulder.

His response makes all three of them look at you—each with a different reaction, but confusion is the most obvious. They glance at one another, then at the lingering crowd still watching everything unfold.

“Hey, Prongs…” Remus is the first to speak. “Can we borrow, uh… Fairy? Just for a quick talk. Won’t take long.”

He steps closer as he says it, and James looks at him, puzzled.

“Why? I’ll just come with you guys. It’s not a big deal.”

“No! Uh… Wormtail… has something to talk to you about,” Sirius says quickly, throwing a pointed look at Peter.

Peter stares back, blinking. “I do?” he asks, which earns him a sharper look from Sirius.

“I mean… yeah, I do! It’s kind of a thing only you can help me with, so…” Peter adds, hoping he doesn’t sound suspicious.

James raises an eyebrow at them but eventually shrugs. “Okay,” he says, then turns back to you. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah? We have a lot of catching up to do.” He caresses your cheek gently before winking.

You, still slightly frozen, can only respond with, “Y-Yeah. I’ll see you… later?”

He grins, then walks away with Peter. You’re still watching him when Sirius and Remus come closer—Sirius lightly taking your arm.

“Haha, yeah. Just talk to her later,” Sirius says, waving back at James, who waves one last time before disappearing down the corridor with Peter.

Once they’re out of sight, both boys turn back to you. “Can we talk somewhere more private?” one of them asks, casting a glance at the students still lingering nearby, though the crowd has thinned.

You just nod. “S-Sure. We can go to the covered bridge. No one’s usually there at this hour.”

They nod, and you lead the way—both of them walking silently just a few steps behind. The air between the three of you is tense and awkward, thick enough to cut with a knife.

You still can’t believe what’s happening.

What was up with Potter? Why did Black and Lupin want to talk to you? Why did he call you Fairy when that’s not even your name??

A hundred questions circle in your head as you finally near the covered bridge—and just like you said, there’s hardly anyone around this early. When you all get there, the three of you just stand in silence for a few seconds before Sirius finally speaks up.

“So… you’re Fairy?” he says, arms crossed, staring straight at you.

You stare at him before replying, “If you mean my name is fairy, then no.”

He squints, narrowing his eyes at you. “I meant—you’re Prongs’ girlfriend. The one he’s apparently had for a couple of weeks that none of us knew about.”

His words make your eyes go wide, and instinctively, you throw your arms up near your chest, as if that could shield you from the absurdity.

“Whoa! I am not his—or anybody’s—girlfriend. I barely even know the guy!”

“You’re not his girlfriend? Then why did he say you were?” Remus jumps in quickly, eyes narrowing slightly.

You all stare at one another for a tense beat, glancing between faces. And then, all your heads click into the same thought.

“I did not give him a love potion!”

“You love potion-ed my best friend!”

“You gave James a love potion, then?”

All three lines fly out at once.

Sirius pointing accusingly at you, you flailing your hands wildly in protest, and Remus standing there with arms crossed and one brow raised.

“Then…” Sirius stands up straighter. “Who are you to Prongs?” he finishes.

“I…” you start, trying to find the right words. “He rejected me last year, if that counts as being something to him.”

They both stare at you, visibly confused by your answer. You got rejected by James and now you’re his… girlfriend?

“Wait…” Remus says, brows furrowing as something clicks in his head.

“Didn’t Madam Pomfrey say something about possible distorted memories? Since he got hit in the head really hard by that quaffle?” he continues, turning to Sirius—whose eyes widen in realization.

“I’m sorry, but who was hit in the head?” you ask, completely lost.

“Prongs was—last week, during the match with Slytherin…” Sirius says, his tone shifting into confusion. “How do you not know that? It’s been a pretty big deal all week.”

You just shrug. “I’m not a Quidditch fan.”

They exchange glances before diving right back into the earlier conversation, discussing everything Madam Pomfrey had told them—the possible outcomes of James forgetting or misremembering things, how there was even a chance he’d forget his name or his friends entirely. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Only the first part though.

You suddenly cut in, realization hitting you like a train.

“Wait. Are you saying Potter thinks I’m his girlfriend?”

Your voice snaps them both out of the conversation, pulling their full attention back to you.

“Yes—but it’s fine! It’ll just be for a few weeks—” Sirius starts, trying to reassure you that the situation is temporary.

“No way,” you interrupt sharply, immediately turning on your heel to walk away from the madness.

There was no bloody way you were going to pretend to be the girlfriend of the same guy who rejected you. Especially not now, when you’ve finally moved on from him.

They chase after you instantly. “Wait!” they both shout, jogging to catch up to you.

Once they do, Sirius starts again. “It’ll just be until he gets his memories back on his own. We promise.”

“I don’t care. I’m not doing it,” you say, still stubborn, still walking. You turn a corner without slowing down.

Sirius sighs and turns to Remus.

“I just realized this must be why he couldn’t name who ‘Fairy’ was—because he didn’t even know her name at all.”

Remus gives him a look, then replies, “Realize things later. Right now, we’re convincing her.”

And with that, they break into a jog again—just in time to see you turning another corner. You’re speed walking now. You have free period and your classes are done, so you’re heading back to your common room.

“Please reconsider,” Remus calls out. “Madam Pomfrey said it’s not advisable for us to interfere with how he regains his memory.”

You glance at him, before sighing and suddenly stopping—making them nearly crash into each other trying not to bump into you.

“And what is advisable?” you ask, looking at Remus directly.

“That we don’t tell him anything too stressful. Madam Pomfrey said any added pressure might worsen his condition.” he answers calmly.

“And the news that his girlfriend isn’t actually his girlfriend is… kind of stressful. I’d be going insane if I were him,” Sirius adds with a shrug, which earns him a glare from you.

He shuts his mouth, then offers a sheepish smile.

You look at the both of them, arms crossed—still unconvinced, but clearly thinking it over.

“We’re pleading with you here,” Remus says. “We know it’s a little weird, but honestly—what isn’t weird at Hogwarts?”

“It’ll just be a few weeks. Or days, even! Prongsie does heal fast—according to him, at least!” Sirius chimes in.

You’re still staring at them, and just as you’re about to speak—

“Also, being Prongs’ girlfriend is a title every girl in Hogwarts would die for,” Sirius mutters under his breath, and you immediately glare at him then start to turn around again.

“No, no, no! Come back! I was just joking!” Sirius says quickly, reaching out a hand.

Remus simply watches him, sighs, and rolls his eyes.

This tosser.

You turn back around, staring them both down.

“Fine. But only because Madam Pomfrey specifically said those things,” you say. Then, you continue. “Not because of… that.”

You finish with another pointed glare in Sirius’ direction. He just flashes you a sheepish grin again.

“Fairy!”

All three of you are suddenly interrupted by someone calling you. You glance over Sirius’ and Remus’ shoulders—and there he is.

Your apparent boyfriend.

—

Just a day after that, the news had already traveled all around Hogwarts that James Potter was apparently dating a girl no one even knew existed. And by that, they meant you.

You weren’t known as the smartest, like Evans. You weren’t considered one of the prettiest, like anyone from the Black family. You weren’t even a well-known Hogwarts Quidditch player.

No one knew who you were.

So—who was Fairy?

You weren’t aware of any of this yet. You were just heading out, having just finished getting dressed and about to make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. You told your friends to go on ahead, saying you’d answer their questions another time because you weren’t quite comfortable yet. Truthfully, you just didn’t think it was your place to explain James’ situation.

“Good morning, my fairy.”

The moment you opened the door, the first thing you heard was his voice—the one you now knew far too well.

“Potter!” you exclaim. “W-What… are you doing here?”

You look at him and see him leaning against the wall, just like yesterday. He’s already in his Gryffindor robes, hair still a mess—like he just rolled out of bed.

Has he been waiting for you?

“I’m walking you to breakfast, obviously,” he says with a slight tilt of his head. Then, more pointedly, “Did you just call me Potter?”

You, now slowly walking towards him, glance up. He waits for you to catch up, and the two of you begin strolling together, side by side. His question still lingers in the air. Oh. Should you be calling him something else? Like… what?

“Sorry, uh…” you cough lightly, “love, I didn’t sleep well last night,” you say, deciding on that nickname—because that’s what people in love call each other… right?

He goes quiet. The two of you continue down the corridor towards the Great Hall. There are barely any students around—most of them are already eating. You’ve always been a bit late anyway, so it feels normal to have a few quiet moments before the noise.

Then suddenly, he turns to you with a smirk. “I’m your love now, huh?”

You look at him, confused. “What?”

He grins wider. “Thought you said you weren’t the nickname type? You used to only ever call me James. What changed?” He leans into you, bumping your shoulder like he’s teasing.

“Am I… making you change your ways, fairy?” he whispers in your ear.

Your eyes widened at the way he said it. And before you know it, you shove him away and start walking faster towards the Great Hall. You don’t notice it—but your ears are now the faintest shade of pink.

He laughs at your reaction, finding it adorable, then jogs to catch up.

“Wait for me, love!”

“Sod off, Potter!”

—

You told yourself that you weren’t going to fall for this again.

For him, again.

“And that’s another ten points to Potter!” screamed the Quidditch commentator as James scored once more, causing the crowd beside you to erupt in cheers. You were sitting in the Gryffindor stands because James had asked (begged) you to come. He insisted that the reason he was hit last time was because his “lucky charm” wasn’t there.

Of course you weren’t there. He hadn’t even known who you were.

And yet… you didn’t tell him that. You’d reluctantly agreed, which meant cramming all your homework the night before just so you could make time for James’ game.

“Potter gets the quaffle again, now zooming past the Ravenclaws—will he score another go—He did! Potter scores another goal for Gryffindor! What a game!” the commentator shouted as James’ name echoed across the pitch once more.

James immediately began scanning the Gryffindor stands, eyes darting as though searching for something—or someone. Then he spots you, locking eyes. He then grins and points right at you.

Your eyes widen, and you instinctively shake your head slightly, mortified. James only laughs at your reaction.

“Oh! Looks like Potter is dedicating that goal to someone—who is… his lucky charm?—wait, no, my partner just told me that it’s Potter’s Fairy! Woo!” the commentator cackles, his partner whispering excitedly beside him to clarify just who you were.

The moment the announcement was made, the Gryffindor crowd exploded again. People beside you began pushing playfully at your shoulders, cheering for you, teasing you, all in good fun. James’ “dedicated” goal had now turned you into a minor celebrity. You smiled at them, laughed along with the teasing, trying desperately not to let the heat rise to your cheeks. You were not going to make this a big deal.

You were here to help him recover. To keep your promise to his friends—that you wouldn’t stress him out. That you’d go along with it until his memories returned. And when that day came, you’d forget this ever happened.

That’s what this was supposed to be.

It’s just…

Maybe you were starting to wish it would all be over sooner, because if this went on any longer…

You weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself from falling for him all over again.

—

“How long are you going to write that? It’s been hours,” James complains, watching as you scribble another paragraph for your Potions homework.

“As long as I need to, Jamesy. There’s no time limit when it comes to finishing homework,” you reply, skimming over the last paragraph before adding a transition to connect them smoothly.

He just groans again and lays his head down on the table. The two of you are currently in the library. You’d both just finished classes, and he was about to invite you for a walk around the Black Lake—until you told him you were going to finish assignments that weren’t even due for another three days. He’d grumbled at first, clearly displeased with the idea, but eventually gave in, realizing this was the only way he could spend more time with you.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have practice today. I thought Quidditch was like your number one priority,” you say, glancing at him before returning your attention to your parchment.

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.

“How dare you?” he says. “Spending time with you is my number one priority. Quidditch is only a close second.” He grins at you.

You make a face at his words before looking up from your work, you punch him playfully on the shoulder.

“Eugh! You’re so cheesy!” you say, scrunching your nose at him.

He laughs, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “I’m not kidding. You’ll always be my priority.”

“Pfft—stop it!” you say, punching him again. “I doubt you even know me that well to say things like that.”

His right brow arches. “Oh? Are you challenging me?” He shifts into a mock-thinking pose, arms crossed. “Let’s see… First off—you like doing your homework way earlier than anyone else in your year,” he says, gesturing toward your parchment, making you giggle.

“You… like arriving late to the Great Hall because you enjoy the silence in the hallways when you walk. You like putting your hair in braids when it gets too hot. You love talking about your family—especially your four dogs…” he goes on, and now you’re smiling, looking right at him.

“Now let’s get into what you hate... hmm,” he muses, tapping his chin. “You hate people telling your stories for you—that’s why you never do that to others either. You hate anything too sweet, especially sweet coffee, because in your words—‘that’s not the purpose of coffee!’ he mimics in a high-pitched tone, trying to sound like you, which makes you laugh.

He carries on, “You hate it when someone uses something and doesn’t put it back where it belongs. You hate running out of ink—so you buy ten bottles every month, just in case. And…”

He leans in closer, the space between you two vanishing, and suddenly it’s just you and him, smiling at each other.

“…You hate knowing that I’m right about everything I’ve said so far,” he finishes, grinning at you.

Then, without another word, he leans in—and kisses you on the lips.

You’re the one who pulls back first, both of you staring into each other’s eyes. His hand gently caresses your left cheek.

“I should’ve never rejected you.”

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by what James just said.

“What did you just say?” you ask, now slowly leaning back.

His eyes widened. “I mean—”

Before you can hear another word, you gather your things in a hurry and speed-walk towards the library doors.

“Fairy, wait!” you hear him call out behind you as you rush through the halls toward your common room. Tears are building at the corners of your eyes. Luckily, no one’s around to see it—because if anyone did, you just know this would be all over Hogwarts by tomorrow.

Someone suddenly grabs your shoulder, spinning you around—of course, it’s James Bloody Potter.

He stares at you, eyes pleading. “Please, let me expla—”

“Explain what?” you snap, your voice raising in frustration.

“What I said earlier, it’s not what it sounded like.”

You just stare at him, giving him the chance to explain himself.

“I really, really, really do like you. It’s why I never brought up that… I’ve already remembered what reality is. What you and I actually are,” he says, voice soft, almost desperate. “I know it’s selfish. I know I’m in the wrong…” he trails off.

“But I didn’t want to lose you…” he finishes, his hands now resting gently on either side of your arms.

You just look at him, tears in your eyes as he gazes back at you with those soft, pleading eyes of his. The hallway you’re currently in is quiet—only the two of you, and your voices, would be heard if anyone happened to walk through right now.

You take a breath first before asking, “How long… have you had your memories back?”

He just looks at you, silently begging you not to make him say it. But you shake your head and ask again.

“How. Long. Potter.” You say each word with heavy emphasis.

“…I got them back the night before our game with Ravenclaw,” he admits, still holding onto you.

“Argh!” you push his hands off your arms, clutching your things tightly to your chest as you storm off again—this time faster, heading toward your common room.

“No! Please, just give me another chance—” he calls, catching up to you easily and wrapping his arms tightly around you from behind as you struggle to get free.

“Let go of me, Potter.”

“No. Not until you hear what I have to say,” he insists, still holding you in his arms.

“I’ve already heard what you had to say—and I don’t want to hear anything else,” you say, still struggling.

You can hear his ragged breathing near your ear as you swipe at your tears. “Y-you rejected me… y-you said I-I had no substan—”

“I was wrong. I was so wrong,” he interrupts. “You’re vibrant, sweet, funny, and kind.” His head drops near your shoulder.

“So, so kind… please…”

You try to breathe properly as his words trail off. His warmth surrounds you as he continues to hold you from behind, your tears silently soaking into your hair and robes as you struggle to steady your breath.

“I’ll…” You slowly pull his arms off of you, taking a deep inhale as you try to calm yourself. You turn around to face him, and see that his eyes are red now too, his breathing heavy. You swallow hard before speaking, “I can’t. Not right now… I just… I want some distance between us.”

As soon as you say it, he looks like he wants to object—but then he sees your state. He takes a few more deep breaths, trying to ground himself.

He reluctantly nods. “Okay. Take all the time you need.”

—

It had been a few weeks since that day.

As you predicted, rumors had indeed started swirling around Hogwarts about your supposed breakup with James Potter. The theories varied, most suggesting that James simply wasn’t enamored enough to stay—though you were convinced those were mostly crafted by his more obsessive fangirls.

Just like James had promised, he gave you all the time and space you needed to clear your head before speaking to him again. Still, every now and then, he’d send you a letter just to remind you that he was still waiting. Sometimes, you could feel his eyes on you from across the Great Hall, the Courtyard, the Library... even while walking the hallways. And yet, every time you glanced in the direction of his gaze, he was already looking elsewhere.

You were now walking towards the Quidditch pitch, remembering that James once told you they held practice every Friday after classes. When you finally reached the changing rooms, you approached a player whose name you didn’t know and asked if he could call James for you. He looked confused at first, then his eyes widened slightly as he seemed to recognize who you were, nodding quickly before rushing off.

As you waited outside, you heard a chorus of playful “Ooooh!” followed by James yelling, “Buzzer off, you wankers!”—which was followed by a round of muffled laughter and teasing.

He appeared moments later, scanning the area before spotting you tucked in a corner.

“Hey…” he greeted you with a smile.

“Hey,” you replied, smiling softly back at him.

There was a pause, just a few seconds of quietness before—

“So…” you both began at once.

“Oh no, you go first,” you said quickly.

“No, you go. I’ll just listen,” he insisted, nodding for you to continue.

You smiled again before glancing at the ground, your hands slightly clammy from nerves.

“I’ve thought about it and…” you started, “I think we should move on from everything that happened.”

You raised your head to meet his gaze. James was watching you closely, giving you his full attention.

You continued, “It’s not fair for either of us to stay hung up on a ‘relationship’ that started from something as absurd as memory loss. We both deserve to go through all the cute little things—the awkward first dates, the late-night talks, the butterflies—before being in a real relationship. I don’t want either of us to miss out on that. I’m really sorry.”

You finished your piece and waited. You were bracing yourself for disappointment, maybe even denial—but instead, James just smiled.

He nodded. “I respect that,” he said. “And I hope the person you confess to—or the one who confesses to you—makes you just as happy as I was when I was with you.”

You smiled at that, and almost instinctively, you stepped forward to hug him.

He hugged you back.

A few seconds passed before you both pulled away, exchanging goodbyes. You wished him luck with practice, and he cheekily wished you luck on your walks, which made you laugh.

As you walked away, your heart felt light and a little heavy all at once—happy but sad, calm but kinda conflicted. That was, until you heard that familiar nickname again.

“Hey! Fairy!”

You turned around, surprised to still see James standing in the exact spot you left him. His hands were cupped around his mouth as he called out across the pitch. You tilted your head, confused.

“What is it now, Potter?”

He grinned. “I like you! And I want to get to know you more—over butterbeers in Hogsmeade!!”

Your smile faded, your eyes widening.

What?

He kept going, calling out again with a grin that didn’t falter. “What do you say?!”

You stared at him, frozen—your expression stunned, lips parted slightly. He stood there, just smiling.

A few seconds passed before a grin slowly crept across your face. You laughed, the joy bubbling up inside of you as the words finally registered. He kept grinning, watching your reaction. You cupped your hands around your mouth, your voice carrying back to him.

“Absolutely! I’d love to go on a date with you!”

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stateofmarauders · 1 month ago

Text

'TIS THE DAMN SEASON

pairing(s): james potter x muggle!actress!reader

warnings: mentions of murder

summary: “and it always leads to you in my hometown”

word count: 1.8k

link to the masterlist of this series

my small town hasn’t changed much since i left two years ago. only a few small things: brand new benches in the park, a house across the street painted a different color, new cafe next to my old school. but still, it made me wonder, is this still the same town i left behind? am i still the same girl i left behind?

one thing was sure, even if i wasn’t, i still felt the very same way about james freaking fleamont potter. nervous, excited, and nervous again. when i saw him from the window of my room, i hid before he could even catch a glimpse of of me.

james potter. a boy like that is simply unforgettable. his gaze made you weak in the knees. he wouldn’t need to be your type to make you fel light-headed in matter of few seconds. the way he walked, talked, and touched is going to haunt you till the rest of your life. like it haunted me when i was in hollywood.

“y/n!” i heard my mother call from down the stairs. standing there in my room, with my mum calling me gave me some sense of nostalgia, and i smiled.

“yes?”

“the potters invited us for dinner,” she said, and i felt a twist in my stomach. “we’re leaving in about forty minutes.”

forty minutes, i sighed. and no time for mental preparation.

i opened my still unpacked trunk, i knew why i packed a dress for something a bit fancy. it’s long, dark red with spaghetti straps. one of my favourites, as i wore them to my first award show ever. and i won.

i then moved in front of my mirror to do my make-up and hair. i wasn’t really sure why i tried to make me look my best. it couldn’t be for james, because nothing could ever happen with him again. it would only make me miserable and homesick when i went back to hollywood.

but then i saw him when the door of potter’s mansion opened and i threw all my plans out of the window. i rarely saw him dressed in a suit and a tie, and it absolutely made my breath get caught in my throat. i only managed to stare at him while he stared back. he quite changed over the last two year, he loked more mature and his figure told that he has been working out. we only stopped staring at one another when my mother cleared her throat behind me.

we went inside. euphemia potter has again took her time to make the house look christmasy and it warmed my heart. or it was the way my hand brushed against james’s when he walked beside me.

god, i never learn.

euphemia sat me at the table opposite to james and i couldn’t help but curse under my breath. this dinner was going to give me hard time.

“so, y/n,” fleamont began as everyone was sat down, “how’s hollywood?”

hollywood is hollywood. full of fake people who pretend to be your friend only to stab you in your back. and twist it, while they’re at it.

“it’s good, sir,” i smiled, glancing at james for less than half of a second. “but it’s not home.”

james caught my gaze either way and hid his reaction by glancing at his plate.

“well, yes,” fleamont laughed. “i don’t think this little town could make you get to win an award. congratulations again, by the way. we saw the movie in a muggle cinema, you were brilliant.”

i nodded. “thank you, sir. i appreciate it.”

“how’s the war going, monty?” my father asked with the great interest, thankfully changing the topic. “did you find out who the spy is?”

i didn’t listen from now on. i mostly focused on my plate and occasionally making eye contact with james whenever i looked over at him. it was getting too much. the way he looked at me, the way our fingers brushed when we reached for the pot with tea, and the way it was getting too damn hot in there. james was unusually quiet, and it only made me more unsettled.

“y/n, darling?” my head snapped towards euphemia.

i shook my head. “sorry, what were you saying?”

my mother placed her hand on my shoulder. “are you alright? you seem unwell,” she spoke with concern.

“yeah, i’m okay,” i lied and put my fork and knife down. “it’s just really hot in here, don’t you think? would you excuse me, i need some fresh air for a minute.”

and with that, i stood up and walked towards the direction of the main door. once i was outside, i let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of the cold evening air against my hot face. i felt at peace, for a second, until the door opened behind me and james walked out with my jacket in his hand.

“do you wanna go for a walk?” he asked and handed me my jacket wen i nodded.

we walked in silence. not because we didn’t have anything to say to each other, but because we had too many things to say.

“you look beautiful tonight,” james finally said. “not that you don’t look beautiful other times.”

i let out a quiet laugh. “thank you, jamie. you look almost bewitching tonight.”

james glanced at me and wiggled his eyebrows. “bewitching, huh? did i bewitch you, y/n?”

i blushed at his words. obviously, he bewitched. he’s so horibly magnificent and magnetic that it’s unbearable. but i wasn’t going to tell him that.

we stopped at the end of the street, right between the methodist church and the elementary school we attended together before james went to hogwarts.

“i miss those times,” i said quietly. “we used to hang out every day.”

“you know what my favorite memory is?” he asked and i shook my head. “we were ten. and one day, you kissed me in the middle of the hall and then ran away.”

i scrunched my nose in embarassment. i really did ran for my life. james was faster and managed to catch up with me, just to kiss me again.

“i’ve been wondering a lot lately, how different my life could’ve been if i was a witch or if you were a muggle,” i admitted, still looking at the school ahead of you. “it’s like we barely know each other now.”

“the feelings are still there, though, don’t you think?” he got noticeably closer to me.

i turned my gaze to him, our noses were almost touching. “james…” i whispered. “nothing can happen between us anymore..” but my eyes betrayed me as they fell to his lips, and then back onto his eyes.

james tilted his head. “then why are you looking at me like that?”

before i could stop myself, my hands found their way to the sides of his face and my lips crashed onto his, like they belonged there. his arms securetly wrapped aroud my waist to pull me closer, and my fingers tangled in his dark messy hair. the kiss wasn’t wild or lustful. it was gentle, full of unspoken words we never got to say to each other.

when we pulled away, we were out of breath and my cheeks were pink tinted. i desperately tried to ignore the lingering and haunting thought that i’d be only his for the holiday. after that, we will both go our seperate ways.

but the way he smiled at me made me forget everything.

———————————————————————

i stayed in his house that night, tangled in the sheets of his bed. we talked about all the things on our mind, from his friends at hogwarts and mine it hollywood to our darkest and deepest fears and secrets. we talked till our mouths got tired and kissed till our lips got blue. we touched each other like we were sacred and held the other’s hand so tightly like we were afraid the other one might disappear if we let go.

no amount of luxury, awards, and famous men in my bed could compare to this night. i knew it was going to be something to keep me sane as i chased my dreams.

the next day, we slept till noon, just for old time sake. and we didn’t get up till euphemia knocked on the door to tell us that lunch is ready.

for the next few days, james and i fell into a rhyrthm that felt like we’d never parted. we spent lazy mornings wrapped up in each other, afternoons wandering in the quiet streets of our hometown, and evenings sitting outside behind his house, pointing out constellations and whispering secrets. Every laugh, every kiss, every moment felt like trying to carve him into my memory. like if i tried to memorize every little detail, it wouldn’t hurt so much to leave.

but time kept moving, even if i wish it wouldn’t.

on christmas eve, me and james snuck out of the potter’s dinner early and walked to the frozen lake outside town. i remember it all too fell: how the moonlight shimmered on the ice, how the snow glistened as it fell, how our breaths clouded the cold air between us.

“i don’t want this to end,” i whispered, pressing my head into his chest.

he let out a shaky breath, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “neither do i. but you.. you’ve got awards to win and i…i’ve got a war to fight.”

my heart clenched. we knew this had to happen, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“can you promise me something?” i asked and looked up at him.

“anything.”

“promise me to survive and come back to me.”

he tilted his head and sighed, his eyes still on me. “i can’t promise that, y/n.”

my hands travelled to his cheeks and he leaned into my touch. “then promise me you won’t forget this. that you’ll remember that i love you.”

his eyes glistened as his palms cupped my face as if it was the most precious thing he ever held. “only if you promise me that you’ll chase your dreams like the stubborn girl i know you are. and that you’ll remember you always have home here.”

i kissed him like it was the last time — because deep down, we both knew it might be.

—————————————————————-

four years later, a few months after the wizarding world ended and james was murdered, i returned to the same frozen lake. snow fell softly around me as i closed my eyes, remembering every touch, every word, every moment. and for a moment, i swore i could feel him beside me, smiling that boyish smile that once made the world stand still.

#fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter angst #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter angst

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