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marauder-misprint · 4 months ago

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Mystery Girl

Sirius Black x fem!Gryffindor!reader

5.7k words

cw: pining, bad flirting advice, fluff

You allow yourself to gaze in his direction for longer than usual. Your head is propped up on your hand, elbow resting on your desk, as you tap the tip of your quill to your lip in faux-thought. Professor Flitwick had announced the rest of class was to be used to work on the essay he assigned last class. Yours is about half done. You really should be thinking about what to write next, or looking up more information in your textbook. But, alas, you stare at Sirius with no real thoughts in your head. If anyone asked though, you would say it was just his general direction.

Sirius isn’t even pretending to work. He’s having a full fledged whispered conversation with James, occasionally leaning forward to include Peter and Remus, the latter of which is attempting to finish his essay. You’re a bit surprised that Remus hasn’t finished it already, but with friends like Sirius, James and Peter, getting work done can be a challenge.

Every once in a while, Sirius looks in your direction and flashes you his impish grin. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. You’re close friends; you’re one of the few that knows he’s an animagus. A few too many drinks one night got you that information. He recapped the whole process for you that night, which left you wondering how he managed to go through it all without mentioning it to you. The more you thought about it afterwards, the more you realized that his letters that summer were particularly odd.

You became friends with Sirius during second year when you shared a detention with McGonagall. She had you scraping gum off the bottom of desks while Sirius was sweeping ash off the floor and then mopping and polishing. It was a long and grueling evening for two 12-year-olds. Through complaining and cracking jokes, you managed to survive and a friendship was fostered. It certainly helped that you continued to get assigned detention together over the years.

Somewhere between here and there, you realized that you wanted more than friendship from Sirius, but with him being who he is, you had no way of knowing if your feelings were reciprocated. You buried them as deep as you could. You didn’t want any of your friends, especially the mutual ones with Sirius, to know that you had a crush on him. You’d rather live in the pain of watching him flirt with girl after girl that wasn’t you but have him as a dear friend than live in that same world except have him reject you and never speak to you again.

His wild grin brings you out of your thoughts. He raises his eyebrows as you shiver violently. You look down at your essay, not giving Sirius any attention. You figure he’ll assume you were zoned out, which you were to a point. You don’t let your graze fall back on him for the rest of class, allowing you to miss how he looked back at you several times.

Sirius catches up with you when Flitwick dismisses everyone. Not having worked on his essay, putting his stuff away had only taken him a moment while you carefully place your things into your bag.

“Must’ve had some train of thought going,” he muses, leaning on your desk slightly.

“What do you mean?” you ask, not looking up.

“Could’ve sworn you were staring right at me. I acknowledge you and nothing!”

You hum. “Then, yeah, I suppose. I was trying to make some progress.”

“And did you?” he asks as you leave the classroom and walk together to your next class.

“Not much,” you sigh. “Added a paragraph but it’s still too short. Can’t even bewitch my handwriting to be larger to make it close enough.”

“We can work on it later. I have…” His voice trails off as he looks at the parchment hastily shoved into his Charms’ book. “Half of an introduction.”

You laugh as you gently bump into Sirius. You are mildly surprised that he even had that much done, but once he sits down and actually works on it, Sirius will finish his much faster than you ever could. At least he was offering to work on it with you. That meant you could ask him to look over yours when you finally finished.

---

The common room empties out slowly as students head to bed. You’ve been sitting on the couch since dinner with your History of Magic textbook laying in your lap, open yet unread. Your eyes are unfocused, staring at the dancing flames in the hearth. Every once in a while you pick up sentences from your friends sitting around you. It’s nothing too exciting. The boys are discussing the intricate details for their next pranks on the Slytherins; the girls making plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend. And you were supposed to be catching up on the assigned reading.

It isn’t until Sirius falls dramatically into your lap that you tear your eyes away from the fire to see that everyone else has gone to bed. His dark hair splays across your book as he looks up at you with his stormy grey eyes.

“Did you finish the chapter?” he asks with a lazy smile. “Or were you seeking divine intervention from the fire?”

“Divine intervention,” you reply, lifting his head ever so gently so you could remove your book, close it and set it aside. “The creation of the Being Division in the 1800s by some bloke Stumpy? End me now.”

Sirius chuckles.

“I’m glad Binns didn’t assign an essay on it. Imagine!” he says, making you smile. “There’s that smile. It’s not like it’ll be on an exam or anything.”

“Sirius, you know it will.”

“And you can look at my paper. Or James’. Remus. Peter, wait… maybe not Peter. But Lily and Marlene would be okay.”

“And that’s cheating. It’s one thing on essays, but exams are another.”

“Fine, study. Put in more effort than you need to.”

You ruffle his hair in response, earning you a noise of complaint from Sirius. You are allowed to play with his hair when it involves running your fingers through it or braiding it. Ruffling it and making it messy? Treason.

“Can I… talk to you about something?” Sirius asks as he adjusts in your lap.

“I don’t know… Talking? Us? I don’t think we’ve ever done that before!” you tease sarcastically.

“No, really, love. I need your opinion on something.”

There is something more earnest in his voice that tells you it’s serious. You know he debated saying that it is but knew you would laugh and say that everything is Sirius with him. It was a dumb joke that you couldn’t get enough of.

You nod somberly.

“Yeah, Sirius. We can talk about anything.”

“So… there’s this girl.”

That one sentence is a punch to your gut. He wants to talk to you about a girl? While past girlfriends have come up in conversations before, it was always a fleeting topic, or they were key players in a story, like dates gone wrong. You thought it was understood that your friendship with Sirius avoided each other’s love lives - not that you ever had a boy to talk about with him.

“O-okay,” you manage to say.

“I really like her. I just… I can’t tell if she likes me and the boys are no help.”

“So you’ve come to me because I’m oh-so-experienced in love?”

“I came to you because you’re a girl. How do girls show that they’re interested when they aren’t obviously flirting?”

You poke his cheek as you say, “Used to the obvious flirting, aren’t you?”

He grins up at you. “Obviously.”

“Well, from what I know, they lean in when you talk, laughing at any and every stupid joke you make. When they touch you, they let their hand linger, especially if it’s on your hand or arm.” You demonstrate your point by touching his bicep and giving it a gentle squeeze. “A little more brazen, they’ll compliment you subtly. You should be able to see it in their smile. Maybe they’ll flutter their eyelashes at you if they are bold. Or desperate. They’ll also jump to your side if you’re alone.” You sigh. “Again, you know I’m too experienced with this flirting thing so…”

“Yeah, but you must’ve flirted with guys before. You’re no hermit.”

You exhale out of your nose. “I don’t flirt much.”

“Much! So you do! Your expertise shan’t be taken for granted!”

Your expertise. Sirius really has you on a pedestal. You sit with him for a while longer, running your fingers through his hair to make up for your earlier ruffling. He closes his eyes as he enjoys the feeling.

Over the next few days, you make a point to not do any of the things you listed off as flirting. You only lean forward when he talks at meals so you can have the excuse of needing to be able to hear him better. You rarely find yourself in a position to have your hand on his so that wasn’t an issue. You aren’t one to bat your eyelashes or stroke his ego. Your two vices are laughing and being at his side, but he’s your best friend. Could you really be expected to not spend time with him and enjoy yourself when you are with him? You think you’ve played it off fairly well.

Sirius thinks you’ve given him faulty advice. He is hyper aware of every interaction he has with this girl. He’s overanalyzing every move she moves around him, and every move he makes. What’s even more frustrating to him is that some of the things you listed off, he can’t imagine her doing. It’s just not who she is.

He decides to bring it up again to you in the Transfiguration Courtyard after classes. James and Marlene are tossing a quaffle back and forth while Lily, Mary, Remus and Peter work on various assignments. You and Sirius are sharing a pack of cigarettes off to the side at Mary’s request. She claims she can’t focus when there’s a cloud of smoke around her head. There’s enough space between you and the rest of the group which gives Sirius the privacy he requires for this topic.

“You know that girl I was telling you about?” he asks you.

“The one you’re so in love with?”

“Yeah, that’d be the one.”

“Then, yes, I know of her. You never told me who it is though.”

“That’s not important right now,” he says, running a hand through his hair before immediately shaking it out. “She’s not doing any of those non-obvious flirting things you said.”

“She’s not?” you echo with your eyebrows raised. What girl could resist the temptations of Sirius?

“She’s not. But now I’m wondering if I’m the problem?”

You laugh loudly. Sirius’ firm gaze and stoney expression tell you he’s not messing around like you assumed he would be.

“Tell me how you, you, could be the problem?”

“Like I told you before, I really like this girl. I do. She’s amazing, a real sweetheart, and I don’t want to mess it up before it’s gone anywhere. So I haven’t flirted with her the same way I’ve flirted with other girls.”

“Damn, Black. You must really like this girl.”

“I do. So much.” He takes a breath and leans in a hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong though. I know she wouldn’t like my usual flirting. She doesn’t respond to the new method. How do I get this girl’s attention?”

You sigh and shake your head.

“It’d be easier to help you if I knew who it was,” you tell him.

“Yeah, I know that, but I… I can’t tell you.”

“Sirius-” you chastise.

“Love, I can’t tell you.”

“Have you asked the boys how to flirt with this mystery girl?”

“Sirius Black, master flirt, is not going to those virgins for help.”

You bite inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all: Sirius calling himself a master flirt, knowing damn well that James and Remus weren’t virgins, and that Sirius was willing to come to you, an actual virgin, for help.

“So what do I do?”

You can’t hold back your laughter any more. It breaks through. You expect Sirius to look upset at your laughing but instead he’s smiling at you.

“I’m not trying to be mean, Sirius, but you do know who you’re talking to, right? A girl who’s never been flirted with? And you’re turning down asking Potter, king of pining, for advice? Like I’m one hundred percent sure that Lily knows he likes her.”

You glance toward James and then Lily. You missed the flash of disappointment that crosses Sirius’ face when you say you’ve never been flirted with. He knows for a fact it isn’t true, but it wouldn’t help his cause now to tell you otherwise.

“I’m talking to my best friend who I think is more perceptive than she realizes,” he states. “Humor me: how would you like to be flirted with?”

How would you like to be flirted with? The question repeats in your mind as you think. Sirius can practically see the gears turning in your head. He waits patiently for your answer. It has the potential to change everything for him.

“I… I want genuine compliments. I want to be told that I’m pretty but also that I’m enough and to hear what they like about me, you know, beyond looks. I want them to choose to spend time with me. I want them to do all that chivalrous, gentleman-y things like carrying my books and holding doors,” you list off. As you continue your ramble, your face grows hot. “I sound like a spoiled child,” you laugh. “I want, I want, I want.”

Sirius smiles at you with an adoring look in his eyes.

“Maybe so, but I did ask you what you wanted.” He tucks a bit of hair behind your ear. “So no big, grand gestures for you? I’ll make sure to tell all your suitors.”

You roll your eyes as you’re fairly certain there are no potential suitors for him to tell.

“I don’t know how you’ve been flirting with this mystery girl if it hasn’t been your usual tactics, but the little things really do add up.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I went from one extreme to the other?”

“Why, yes, yes I would,” you smirk.

“Oi! Looks like rain, we’re going in!” Lily yells in your direction.

Sirius stands up first and holds out his hand to help you up.

Throughout the rest of the week, it’s like a switch flipped in Sirius. He’s more attached to you than normal. He’s always there to hold open a door for you, to offer to carry your books or put your supplies away. He starts using pet names with you more. You find it all a bit peculiar. He was spending so much energy on you rather than trying to win over his mystery girl. You try not to think too hard on it.

When the weekend came, your whole friend group made their way to the quidditch pitch. It was nice when Gryffindor wasn’t playing so James and Marlene could jeer at the players, complain about calls and plays and explain moves to everyone. They bring a higher energy to the stands. But you couldn’t focus on their comments too much. Sirius is pressed into your side with how packed the Gryffindor section is. To make it more comfortable, he draped his arm loosely over your shoulder. His cologne overtakes the rest of the smells that accompany the stands. You’re not complaining about that, but it did make it hard to think about anything else. Again, you try not think too hard about Sirius’ mystery girl, or the fact that your body is much closer to Sirius’ than Lily’s, who was on your other side.

After Ravenclaw beats Hufflepuff, you claim a table for yourself in the common room. You have an essay for Transfiguration to finish. Lily and Marlene had fretted earlier about your insistence on getting it done today when you had all of tomorrow to work on it and there was a party tonight. They certainly didn’t like you pointing out that it was Ravenclaw’s party so your presence wouldn’t be missed and you had more homework to do tomorrow. Merlin forbid school didn’t come easy to you.

When they accepted that you were a lost cause for the night, they grabbed Mary and left. You are able to work in peace for a little over half an hour. Then the Marauders traipsed down the stairs. Their sheer presence sends energy pulsing through the room. You briefly look up as they pass your table. Sirius spins around after passing you and walks up to you, slamming his hands on the table.

“Why aren’t you at the party?” he demands. “Pretty girls belong at parties.”

You feel your cheeks warm. You drag the feather end of your quill over the pages of the open book and essay in front of you.

“These essays. They never seem to write themselves.”

“So you’re just not going to the party?”

“Padfoot! Come on,” James calls.

“Love?” Sirius asks, ignoring his friends.

You sigh and look up at him. He’s looking at you so ardently.

“Not until I finish this essay. So I’ll either be extremely late or I won’t go,” you answer him.

He pulls out the chair across from you.

“Head over without me! We’ll catch up later,” he yells over his shoulder as he sits down.

Then he grabs your essay, scanning it to see how far along you are.

“Sirius, go to the party,” you tell him, reaching for your essay but he holds it out of your reach. “Your mystery girl is probably there. You could be making your move. My essay will get done.”

“Mystery girl will be there whenever I get there. However, your essay is more important than any party, and I don’t want to go if you’re not there.” He flashes you his wide grin. “How can you expect me to have fun when I know you’re back here, suffering?”

You sigh and lean back in your chair. With you no longer reaching for your essay, Sirius is able to finish reading it over. He hands it back to you and grabs your book. He flips a few pages before placing it back in front of you and pointing to a second you hadn’t looked at yet.

“You’re closer to finishing that essay than you think, love. You really just need a summary of that section and a conclusion. Then it’s upstairs to change and party time!”

“Thanks, Sirius.”

You lean over the desk to read the section he pointed out. After a few minutes, you glance up at him. He’s been watching you read and make notes.

“You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll find you at the party when I’m done,” you say, although you have half a mind to crawl into bed when you’re done. Especially if Sirius’ mystery girl is at this party, you’re not sure if you have it in you to watch him flirt with her, a girl he seems to be in love with.

“Please, don’t act like I don’t know you. If I leave now without you, you won’t go. You’ll finish the essay and then you’ll hide here. Nope. You’re going to have fun tonight if I have anything to do with it.”

“Fine…” you mumble, turning back to the book to reread the last paragraph.

Another half an hour or so passes until you’re semi-satisfied with your essay. You set your quill down as you reread the entire thing, a frown appearing on your face. It’s not nearly as good as you want it to be. You should probably rewrite it.

“Ah, give it here,” Sirius says, holding his hand out expectantly.

“It’s no good,” you reply, shaking your head. “I need to rewrite it.”

“Let me read it. I’m sure it’s fine.” He tilts his head while giving you a firm look. “Go change. I’ll read it while you’re gone. If it’s as bad as you think it is, we’ll work on it more. If you’re being hard on yourself, we’ll get you a drink to help you unwind.”

You sigh dramatically. You leave the essay on the desk for Sirius to grab, instead of handing to him. You trudge up the stairs to your dorm to change into something more party-like. Your indecisiveness means that you try on several outfits before finding something that you don’t hate. You don’t want to look like too much, too good. If you’re going to try to help Sirius get this mystery girl, you couldn’t be outshining her.

When you return to the common room, Sirius has cleaned up all of your things into neat piles.

“Oh, you look lovely!” he declares when he notices that you’re back. “And your essay, easily an E. Trust me. We ensure that Pete gets at least an A on every essay and that was better than what he’s turning in.”

You roll your eyes at the ‘we’. You knew the Marauders often treated homework as group assignments. He holds out his arm for you to take, which you do with some hesitation.

“Shall we go find your girl at this party?” you ask.

“We shall,” he says with a smile as he leads you out of the Gryffindor Common Room and toward Ravenclaw Tower.

Once past the eagle knocker, Sirius is quick to get a drink in both his and your hands. You scan the room, seeing the rest of the Marauders and your other friends. You aren’t looking for them though. You’re trying to see if you can spot the girl who is so beautiful and desirable that Sirius would switch up his methods to diminish the risk of losing her.

“Let’s find your girl,” you say, leaning into Sirius’ shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything, but he guides you around the room. You pause to say hi to some of your friends in Ravenclaw. You expect Sirius to keep walking in search of the girl. He doesn’t. He remains at your shoulder, giving friendly smiles to the people you’re talking to. You lead him toward where the other Gryffindors are gathered.

“Black!” Marlene yells as she grabs him by his shoulders. “Thank you for getting her out!”

You’re taken aback by her comment, although it wasn’t uncommon for you to miss a party. You often found yourself reminding your friends that Hogwarts was in fact a school and not a party central.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” he tells Marlene, grinning.

He puts an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. You feel your face burn so you try to hide it with your cup. Maybe you can pass it off as the room being too hot or being flushed from the alcohol. Only Sirius knows it’s your first drink, right?

You try to focus on what your friends are saying and laughing about, but the feeling of Sirius’ arm, his hand and his body are too much. Your body feels like it’s being constantly electrocuted. You take slow sips from your cup, as if the drink will somehow alleviate the feeling. You can only imagine how this looks to his mystery girl. You pressed into Sirius’ side with his arm around you as he talks and laughs? You’re trying not to melt into his touch. You try to keep the idea of this other girl in your mind. But you like having his arm around you a bit too much.

“Shit, this is a good song!” Sirius roars before lowering his voice to whisper in your ear, “Dance with me, lovely?”

You look up with him with concerned eyes. “How will that look to that girl you really like?”

You hate that you have to keep reminding him that he was supposed to be looking for this girl and flirting with her, rather than spending all of his time with you. He just gives you his trademark smile.

“It will show off my amazing dancing skills. Come on, you didn’t say no!”

He pulls you away from your friends into the crowds of people dancing. Sirius is far more at his leisure than you are. You would much rather be on a bench off to the side, sipping on a new drink as the music fills your senses. At least, you think that until Sirius has his hands on your hips, helping you move to the music.

“Ah, there it is! She does have rhythm!” he cheers with his face close to yours. It’s close enough to feel the heat of his breath and to smell the spiked punch.

Everything about the moment makes your heart pound in your chest. For a second, the idea of his mystery girl flits into your mind, but she is banished as Sirius spins you around. Your laughter mixes with his and the sounds of people around you, laughing themselves and singing along to the music. You never fancied yourself a dancer before now, but with Sirius so close and all of his attention on you, it feels right. You wouldn’t mind if you could live in this moment forever.

When the music switches to something slower, you prepare yourself to see Sirius move back toward your friends. You don’t expect him to place his hands on your waist and pull you even closer.

You don’t expect him to lean in and whisper, “Put your hands around my neck, sweetheart. That’s how you slow dance.”

You do as told. It makes it easier to hide your bright red face in his shoulder. You know how to slow dance; you just never did it with anyone before. You certainly hadn’t expected your first slow dance to be with Sirius. It made sense to a point though that it would be with your best guy friend, someone you were comfortable with.

The song ends too soon for you. The next song is back to the upbeat rhythm that previously filled the room. Your heart beat is too loud in your ears to process it.

“I need another drink,” you tell Sirius before walking away from him.

You did need a drink, but you also need a moment away from him. ‘He’s in love with someone else’ is on repeat in your head. You can’t have yourself falling deeper in love with him when you know his heart belongs to someone else, someone he wouldn’t even tell you the name of.

When you have a fresh glass in your hand, you turn to look for Sirius in the crowd where you left him. He’s not there. You spot him back with the Marauders. It makes you frown. He was supposed to be finding this girl and asking her to dance, not spending the whole night with you and the boys. You want to remind him of that, but something prevents you from doing it. You walk over to the girls, hoping that maybe they’re talking about something interesting.

“Isn’t this so much better than essays?” Lily asks, leaning almost all of her body weight on your shoulder as soon as you join them.

“I mean, I guess so,” you answer.

“Oh, please,” Mary laughs. “It looked like you were enjoying yourself with Sirius out there.”

Your blush immediately returns.

“So is it a thing? You ‘n’ him?” she asks.

Marlene turns her full attention to you at the question and Lily throws her arms around you in a hug.

“It really should be!” Lily gushes, her voice far too loud in your ear. “You’d be so cute together! It’s obvious he adores you!”

You smile as you shrug Lily off.

“Sorry to disappoint, but he’s infatuated with someone else,” you say, mockingly saying infatuated to make yourself feel better. You try to hold in a sigh.

“Who?” Marlene demands. “We’ll take care of her!”

“Dunno. He won’t tell me.”

Marlene and Lily don matching frowns and furrowed brows.

“Darling! There you are!” Sirius’ voice booms.

The three girls glare at him.

“What’d I do?” he asks, his arm finding its place around your shoulders.

“I’ll tell you what you did, Black,” Marlene starts.

“Nothing! You did nothing,” you say quickly, cutting Marlene off before she can say too much.

While you’ve never said anything directly about liking Sirius to them, you’re sure it’s obvious to them now and you’ll hear more about it tomorrow.

“Well, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asks cautiously, eyeing the girls who are still glaring daggers at him.

“No, you’re not,” you say firmly, also eyeing the girls.

You really hope they don’t say anything right now that would embarrass you and possibly hurt the friendship you have so carefully preserved.

“Then I’m sure they won’t mind if I steal you away again!” he says cheerfully and steers you away from them.

He takes you to a quieter area down a few flights of stairs and stopping on a landing. Based on the doors you’ve passed, you figure you’re by the dorms. You’re glad that he took you down rather than up because the air is significantly cooler.

“Did you find your mystery girl?” you ask as he leans against the wall, sipping his own drink that he must’ve refilled at some point.

He nods.

You cock your head to the side. “Then why haven’t you stolen her away to this little spot?”

He chuckles. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“You’ve already ditched her?” you ask accusingly.

“No!” He stands up straighter and moves closer to you. “No, I’m with her right now.”

“But it’s just us here?”

He takes another step toward you and tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

“Oh, darling, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you are so clearly not a Ravenclaw.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” you spit. “Are you calling me stupid?”

He throws his head back, laughing.

“Yes! Yes, I am.”

You scoff and take a step back from Sirius.

“Well then.” You turn to go up the stairs because why did Sirius steal you away to insult you?

“No, listen!” He reaches out to stop you from heading back to the party. “You’re not stupid. Blind? Maybe. A bit dense right now? Yeah.”

“You’re not helping yourself,” you say dryly.

“It’s you. You’re the… mystery girl, as you’ve been calling her. It’s been you the whole time.”

You freeze for a moment.

“What?” you breathe. That can’t be right.

“When I asked you about how girls flirt? I was asking how to know if you were ever flirting with me. But then you never did any of those things. Maybe one or two once or twice. So I asked how I could flirt with you. I know you enough to know that you wouldn’t want me to use those cheesy or dirty lines on you. You wouldn’t want an overtly public declaration of love to ask you to Hogsmeade. But even with your advice, you don’t seem to respond to me.”

He stops talking for what feels like an eternity. He’s scanning your face for a reaction, for any kind of sign from you, but all he gets is utter shock and confusion.

“What?” you repeat in the same quiet voice of disbelief.

He takes a step toward you so that his body is almost touching yours.

“The girl I really like and don’t want to mess things up with? She’s you. She’s been you for a while now. And I’m asking you how you feel about me because you can be so hard to read sometimes.”

His voice is so soft and honest. You blink slowly as you gaze into those grey eyes you love so much.

“She’s me?” you echo his sentiment.

“Yes. Please, love, I need to know. Do you like me or have I just made a rather large fool of myself?”

“That’s why you didn’t want to come unless I did,” you whisper more to yourself than to Sirius, ignoring his question and the way his eyes filled with uncertainty as you did so. “That’s why you’ve been complimenting me more and offering to carry my bag. Oh…”

“Love?” he asks with a wavering voice.

You’ve never heard him so nervous before. His hand slowly reaches up to cup your face.

“Please…” he whispers.

“This is all… real?” you ask, placing your hand on top of his.

“Yes. It’s so real.”

You smile. It’s wide and filled with the most joy you’ve ever felt. But then it disappears as you glare at Sirius.

“Don’t you ever call me stupid again,” you say firmly.

“I won’t.” There’s a beat of silence. “Wait, so do you-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. It was a moment of Gryffindor braveness that you usually didn’t showcase. It took Sirius by surprise. He takes a moment to process that you, the girl he’s been pining over for a while, is kissing him and that he should kiss you back. But he does and it’s everything you’ve dreamed it would be. All of those times you’ve thought about his mystery girl, you never really considered that she could be you. As much as you dreamed it, you never really believed you could be the girl he described as the sweetest, the most beautiful, the kindest and most wonderful, perfection. But you were and you felt it as Sirius wraps his arms around you to hold you close, even after you broke away from the kiss.

“Oh, the girls were glaring at you earlier because I told them you liked someone else after they asked if we were dating.”

“Hmm, too bad that someone else is you,” he mumbles against your shoulder, still not letting you go. “We can correct your misinformation later. You’re mine now.”

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you

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sunnami · 1 year ago

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❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society.

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black.

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun.

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways.

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun.

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused.

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.”

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt.

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?”

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?”

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.”

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.”

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—”

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society.

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly.

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.”

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?”

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it.

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!”

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity.

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give.

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress.

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry.

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight.

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat.

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period.

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then—

“That’s Sirius.”

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit.

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.”

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!”

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.”

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either.

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.)

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.”

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.”

You grimace. “Which cousin?”

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.”

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.”

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.”

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.”

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.”

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice.

You nod.

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.”

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe.

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.”

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you.

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.”

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?”

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.”

“Oh, Harry. . .”

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?”

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath.

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly.

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?”

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.”

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?”

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes.

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.”

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be.

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.”

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space.

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered.

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved.

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease.

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open.

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.”

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears.

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!”

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.”

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.”

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked.

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?”

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations.

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?”

Were you?

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend!

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize.

Then, you find it.

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face.

It’s a space on that wall just for you.

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.”

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much.

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.”

That’s all you say before you run out of the door.

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.)

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe.

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.”

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.”

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well.

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.”

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes.

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.”

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!”

You don’t look back.

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.”

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair.

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.”

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you.

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?”

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks.

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!”

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?”

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.”

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater.

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra.

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more.

“Certain,” You respond, yawning.

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones.

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!”

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out.

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came.

“I know,” You say defeatedly.

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.”

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.”

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?”

“I don’t know,” You say honestly.

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora.

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well.

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.”

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.”

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home.

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order.

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips.

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.”

“I’m always right.” You pout.

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.”

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back.

How lucky you are.

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen.

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly.

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.”

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!”

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.”

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.”

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway.

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.”

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.”

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will.

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!”

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.”

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?”

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.”

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.”

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.”

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.”

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?”

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror.

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.”

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll.

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.”

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them.

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.”

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?”

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.”

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.”

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness.

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters.

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement.

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue.

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead.

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.”

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?”

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast.

“Avada Kedavra!”

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor.

“No!”

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice.

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh.

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?”

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need.

“Expulso!”

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down.

“Accio wand!”

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense.

“Peter?” You call out.

“Crucio!”

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt.

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!”

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll��never—forgive you—never.”

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.”

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat.

“Defodio!”

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground.

That just leaves one more problem.

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.”

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.”

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.”

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.”

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die, s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.”

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow.

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work.

You just wanted to rest now.

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words.

“Avada Kedavra.”

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms.

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man.

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.”

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely.

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?”

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?”

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?”

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.”

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?”

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors.

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!”

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.”

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.)

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus.

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains.

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.)

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by.

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for.

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader #sunny's hp fics

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ghostedgwen · 2 months ago

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get away with it | j.potter

note : Thank you all so much for 1k followers! I returned to this acc with 500 followers and I am so happy to be back and have more people consuming my work, I am very honoured and I appreciate each and every single one of you lovelies!! Enjoy this 7.4k words fic!

warnings : enemies to lovers but literally, mention of quidditch accidents, some sprinkle of angst and overthinking, fake dating trope question mark, another amnesia trope from me lol, this is just putting a spin on "but I knew you", fluff here and there

You, a Slytherin, has always had a crush on James Potter, but the Gryffindor’s disdain for Slytherins has always kept them apart. After taking a Bludger for him, you wake up with memory loss, believing you’ve been dating for months. James, feeling guilty, plays along - and soon realizes his feelings are real.

. . . Even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love.

The air is thick with adrenaline, the wind biting against your skin as you zoom across the Quidditch pitch, your broom humming beneath you.

It’s Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the match has been a war of wits, brooms, and strategy for the past hour. Your team is ahead by a handful of points, but that could change if they get the snitch first.

You spot James Potter, soaring through the air, the Quaffle clutched firmly in his hands, a look of determination painted across his face. A few feet ahead of him, you can see the hoop, and his grip tightens.

He’s winding up. He’s about to make a move that could turn the match on its head, a switch on the Slytherin's score-streak momentum.

He’s so focused, so sure of himself, it almost makes you want to laugh. Almost. You push that thought aside as your broom speeds up, weaving through players with effortless precision, avoiding the occasional Bludger like it’s second nature.

You’re getting closer and closer - then, like a hawk in flight, you dart in from the side, cutting across James’ path just as he’s about to release the Quaffle. He doesn’t even see it coming.

You snatch the ball clean out of his hands, the air whooshing with the shift of momentum, and in one fluid motion, you’ve already turned your broom, angled yourself toward the opposite hoop, and launched it with the precision of a seasoned player.

The Quaffle sails through the air, a perfect arc - missed by the Gryffindor Keeper situated by the goals.

The crowd erupts into a deafening roar as it hits the middle ring, earning you another point. Another goal! You’re on fire today!

You hear James shout, appearing to have chased after you.

"Oi! You absolute snake - !"

You can’t help the smirk that spreads across your face as you turn back to face him. You give him a playful wink, one that’s meant to get under his skin, and watch his face twist in frustration.

He’s still mid-air, staring at you like you just stole his favourite broomstick. But the game’s not over, and you’ve got a lot more tricks up your sleeve.

The match rages on, but for a brief moment, your focus is entirely on the scowling Gryffindor in the air just a few yards away. His lips are curled into an exaggerated frown, his eyes locked onto you, and for a second, you almost feel guilty.

Almost.

The game eventually comes to a close, Gryffindor with the win - their seeker was good, the snitch was theirs despite your best efforts.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead and pull your broomstick to the ground with a sharp turn. Your feet hit the grass just as the opposite team celebrates.

But in the back of your mind, you can’t quite shake the image of James, still looking irritable, as if the world had wronged him in the most personal way possible.

The Gryffindor common room was a whirlwind of laughter, music, and the distinct scent of butterbeer. The Slytherins had been crushed in the Quidditch match, much to all their delight. Everyone was celebrating, except for James Potter.

Sirius, perched on the armrest of an old armchair, eyed his best mate with a raised brow. James, of course, was fuming. His usual smug grin was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he slouched in a corner, nursing his third glass of firewhisky, shooting daggers at anyone who so much as breathed near him.

“What’s his deal?” Sirius muttered to Remus, leaning back with his own drink in hand.

Remus, who had been watching James carefully, didn’t respond immediately. His eyes flickered to their friend, noting the clenched jaw and rigid posture that screamed irritation.

“I think he’s pissed that the Slytherin chaser outplayed him. You saw how she snatched that Quaffle away from him at the last minute. Couldn’t even get his head in the game after that,” Remus said carefully, offering the most surface-level explanation he could muster.

Sirius snorted. “I mean, she did. But that’s just good Quidditch. Nothing to mope about.”

Remus shrugged, his gaze never straying too far from James. “James is a sore loser.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius laughed, taking a swig from his glass. “But still, we won, right? Why’s he acting all prissy about it?”

Peter, ever the quiet one, spoke up from where he was sitting on a nearby couch, eyes wide and contemplative. “I don’t know, mate. Maybe he hates Slytherins that much?”

There was a long, quiet pause. Remus didn’t immediately answer, though he was the first to register the true nature of James’ sour mood.

He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he suspected it was something a bit more complicated than just house rivalry. Instead, he simply offered a nonchalant smile and shifted his focus back to the conversation.

Sirius wasn’t convinced. “You think that’s it? The girl was good, sure, but it’s not like she - ”

“Yeah, it’s probably just that,” Remus said, cutting him off with a casual shrug. He kept his tone light, but inside, he felt a quiet certainty that there was more to James’ behaviour than he let on. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, though. Not with the others around.

Sirius laughed. “I mean, sure, mate. That’s it. James can’t handle a Slytherin getting one up on him.”

Peter was silent for a moment, looking from Sirius to James, before murmuring softly, “I guess he does hate Slytherins that much.”

Remus didn’t say anything, watching James from the corner of his eye. There was something else there, a tightness in James’ posture that went beyond simple frustration with Quidditch.

He wasn’t sure what it was yet - something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a while. But for now, Remus kept his thoughts to himself.

James was still sulking in his corner, his mood not shifting in the slightest as the others celebrated their victory.

Breakfast in the Great Hall was a typical morning at Hogwarts: the usual clatter of plates, chatter of students, and the distant hum of the enchanted ceiling reflecting the perfect, cloudless sky.

The Gryffindor table was bustling with energy, while the Slytherins sat in their usual corner, their conversation much quieter but just as intense.

You were seated with your friends, picking at your toast while engaging in a quiet conversation about upcoming exams. It was supposed to be a peaceful morning - until he appeared.

James Potter, as always, made his grand entrance with his usual swagger. The moment he entered, the Gryffindor table broke into loud applause and wolf-whistles, making a scene as he passed. His robes flared dramatically as he strutted toward his seat, clearly feeding off the attention like a cat basking in the sun.

As he walked past the Slytherin table, he caught your eye - of course, he did. And, of course, he couldn’t help himself.

“Can snakes even fly without broomsticks, or do they just slither off the pitch?” he called, loud enough for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. His voice carried, his smirk practically glowing.

The room went silent for a split second as everyone turned to see your reaction. Some of the Gryffindors laughed. Sirius and Peter snickered in the background, while Remus raised an eyebrow, looking at James as if he were disappointed.

But you didn’t flinch. In fact, you didn’t even look up from your pumpkin juice. Your voice was cool, casual as you glanced at James over the rim of your cup.

“At least I don’t need a fan club to tell me I’m good, Potter,” you fired back without missing a beat.

A ripple of laughter ran through both tables. You could hear Sirius' boisterous laugh mixing with Lily Evans’ faint chuckle, while James froze mid-step. His eyes widened slightly before narrowing into a sharp glare.

Sirius' laughter came louder, and Remus, who had been looking at his plate in feigned disinterest, stole a glance at James. He bit his lip, clearly fighting back a smile.

James was already scowling, muttering something under his breath about Slytherins and their “sharp tongues,” but the flush in his cheeks betrayed his frustration. For a brief moment, his bravado faltered as he tried to regain his footing, but the damage was done.

You took another slow sip of your pumpkin juice, hiding the tiny, almost imperceptible smile behind your cup. No one could ever accuse you of letting James Potter get under your skin.

But damn, it did feel good to get that shot in.

Across the room, the Gryffindor table was still buzzing with energy, half of them chuckling and whispering about your quick retort. James, in contrast, looked like he might start throwing punches - or, more realistically, make a big fuss about how much he hated Slytherins.

“Whatever,” James muttered, adjusting his robes with a dramatic flick. He sent one last, fierce glare your way, but you didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t need to.

You were just finishing up with your Slytherin teammates, your broom resting on your shoulder as you made your way off the pitch.

The Gryffindor team was up next, and you could already hear the familiar shouts and laughter as they geared up. You had no interest in sticking around to watch them practice, but fate had other plans.

As you were passing the edge of the pitch, James Potter - grinning like a bloody idiot - caught sight of you. With a swagger in his step, he slowed to a halt in front of you.

“Ah, Slytherin, leaving the pitch so soon?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. “Did you get bored? Or are you just too tired from losing to keep up?”

You rolled your eyes, not even flinching at his comment. “You’re the one who should be tired, Potter,” you shot back, crossing your arms, your voice sharp. “I can barely hear you over your ego. Is it so big it needs its own broomstick?”

The grin on his face faltered just slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, you’re a funny one, aren’t you? Just wait ‘til we’re flying circles around you lot. You might actually need a few lessons in humility.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose you’re the expert on humility? That’s rich.” You turned to walk away, your heart picking up pace from the little banter session. Just before you could slip out of earshot, though, he called after you.

“You should stick around, you know. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about how to lose gracefully.”

You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips, but you didn’t turn around. “I’m sure you’d love to think that. You can add it to your long list of things you’ve convinced yourself you’re good at.”

James chuckled to himself, his voice following you as you walked. “I’m sure it’s a very long list,” he said, before you heard the distinct sound of him flying off into the air, clearly taking his place for Gryffindor practice.

Later, in the privacy of your dorm, you were fuming as you sat down at your desk. The ink of your quill scratched against the parchment as you wrote in your journal, your frustration and thoughts spilling out onto the paper.

James Potter is so annoying, you wrote. He’s mean, he’s smug, and he thinks he can get under my skin with every little comment he makes. I can’t stand him. He’s got no manners, no decorum, and he’s completely unbearable. And yet. . .

You stopped for a moment, the quill hovering above the page as a little sigh escaped your lips. Your mind drifted back to the image of him, standing there with that cocky grin of his, wearing his Gryffindor Quidditch robes, his messy hair falling just right, the way he always seemed to be so effortlessly confident.

But - Merlin, I hate how handsome he looks in those bloody robes. It’s infuriating.

The quill scratched across the parchment again, your irritation and attraction clearly at war with each other.

I hate him. I really do. But I also find myself thinking about him way more than I should. I need to stop. I need to forget about him. He’s a prat, and I’ll never let him get the satisfaction of knowing he’s got me swooning. Not happening.

You threw your quill down on the desk with a huff, letting the ink dry for a moment before you closed your journal with a snap.

I need to stop being so damn dramatic about him, you thought to yourself but deep down, you knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

The match was already brutal. Fouls left and right. The ref was on their fifth warning and clearly one whistle away from walking off the pitch. You couldn’t tell if the Slytherins were being especially aggressive or if the Gryffindors were just extra annoying today.

Probably both.

You were tired. Rain clung to your gear. And your ribs already ached from the last hit you took - legal, technically and almost threw you off the pitch.

James Potter was flying ahead of you, weaving around two of your teammates with a Quaffle under his arm and that stupid determined smirk on his face. Of course he was going for the game-winner. Always had to be dramatic about it.

Then you saw it.

The Bludger came from behind him. Fast, too fast that even Black was unaware of it fast-approaching.

You didn’t think. Just turned your broom hard and bolted. Calling after him, and hearing your panicked voice - he turned just in time to see the bludger hit you square in the head.

There was a thud - loud, sickening. The air knocked right out of your lungs as it slammed into you from behind. Pain bloomed sharp and sudden. And then - nothing beneath you.

You were falling, your grip loosening from your broom. Someone shouted. Not your name - just a noise, sharp and panicked.

Your broom tumbled somewhere behind you. The world tilted. You only vaguely registered someone catching you - arms around your middle, weight shifting, fast descent.

The ground rushed up, you couldn't really see it but you can feel the gravitational pull. The bed of grass was prepared to catch you, despite how hard the impact.

But somehow, the hit never came - the pain was nowhere to be found. You felt hazy, unsure what you were seeing but you heard James loud and clear as you slipped into the darkness.

“Oi. Hey - hey! You okay? Merlin - stupid, why would you - ” His voice cracked, a little too human for someone who never shut up.

Your eyes flutter open to a ceiling that is too bright, too still to be the Slytherin dorms. Your body registers the ache before your brain does: a deep, heavy soreness that drapes over your limbs like a wet cloak.

Your head feels thick, full of fog and cotton, and every blink sends a ripple of discomfort across your skull. You groan, quietly.

And then you notice him.

James Potter, slumped in a hideously uncomfortable-looking wooden chair pulled close to your bedside. His robes are wrinkled and still grass-stained from yesterday’s match, and one of his shoes is untied.

His head is tilted back, lips parted slightly as he dozes - not peacefully, but with the edge of exhaustion that comes from refusing to sleep until your body gives out.

You stare and you blink again, slowly.

Then, like a fool possessed, you smile.

“Morning, love,” you rasp.

Your voice is rough, stretched thin from disuse or potion residue or both, but it cuts through the quiet like a spell. James startles, jerking upright in the chair with a graceless grunt that’s halfway between a gasp and a snort.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and dark behind askew glasses, and for a second - just a second - his expression is unfiltered.

Relief? Surprise? Something brighter, softer, tangled up in the panic.

“You - you’re awake,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “You’re okay?”

You nod, a little woozy, still squinting at him through the morning haze. “You stayed the night?”

James pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, suddenly bashful. “Err, yeah. Just to, y’know. Make sure you were alright.”

You grin, loopy from concussion and the very strong potions likely coursing through your bloodstream.

“That’s so sweet,” you murmur, completely sincere. “My boyfriend looking after me, I'm a lucky girl.”

James goes still, trying to absorb your words like it was a wand being jabbed to his sides. As if someone cast a Full Body-Bind, or rather - petrified.

His mouth opens, then closes. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, something that might have been a protest in another life, but right now just sounds like a dying creature.

“Wait, you - ” he starts.

And then.

“Good to see you awake, Miss ____,” comes Madam Pomfrey’s voice, brisk and efficient as she sweeps over to your bedside with a clink of glass vials. Her presence is somehow louder than it should be, breaking the fragile spell in the air.

James goes rigid, unable to say anything now. You blink up at Pomfrey with a dazed little smile. “Morning, Madam.”

The matron clicks her tongue, checking your temperature with the back of her hand before uncorking something bright blue. “You gave us quite the scare. That was a nasty hit but you’re healing well. No permanent damage. A bit of rest, and you’ll be back on a broom in no time.”

You nod, still vaguely smiling, even as she pours the potion into a silver spoon and guides it to your lips. It tastes like burnt peppermint. You don’t mind.

Beside you, James hasn’t breathed.

You reach out, unthinking, and wrap your fingers around his. “You’re warm,” you murmur. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He doesn’t.

“You WHAT.”

Sirius Black is staring at James like he’s grown two heads. Which, frankly, isn’t the most absurd thing James has done this week.

“It just slipped out!” James hisses, pacing in front of the fireplace like a man possessed. “I didn’t mean to lie! I tried to correct her, but then Pomfrey walked in and - and she was smiling like I’d hung the bloody moon, alright? I couldn’t just say ‘actually no, I’m not your boyfriend’ while she was still all loopy from taking a bludger for me!”

“So instead,” Sirius says slowly, dramatically, “you decided to pretend to be dating a girl who you sore you hated. Brilliant plan.”

“I don't hate her,” James mutters, crossing his arms.

Peter looks up from the couch, one brow raised. “She’s a Slytherin chaser who calls you ‘preening ponce’ and once hexed your broom mid-air.”

James waves a hand. “Nothing I can't handle.”

There was a pregnant pause between the Marauders, then Remus hums. “Sure.”

James groans and collapses into the armchair next to Peter, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m going to fix it. As soon as she’s up and thinking clearly. I’ll explain everything.”

“But until then,” Sirius grins, “you’re just going to enjoy being her loving, doting boyfriend?”

“No!”

“Just a little bit?”

James doesn’t answer.

Because the truth is: when you looked at him this morning like he was someone worth waking up to - even just for a moment - he didn’t feel like the villain in your story.

He felt like something softer. And Merlin help him, he wants to feel that again even if it’s only pretend.

James couldn't undo it now even if he tried, that much was evident when you were released from the hospital wing the following day. You showed up like nothing happened, brushing off people who were concerned for the Quidditch mishap - making a beeline for James.

He froze in his seat as you approached and leaned to level gazes with him as he sat upright across Sirius who threw an exasperated look his way, not at all masking the surprise.

"Good morning, Jamie," he almost choked at the nickname. "Madam Pomfrey said I'm all good to go, so we still on for Hogsmeade?"

He tenses, eyes darting around his friends as if they could help him out of the situation he's gotten himself into - but no, Peter only gawked with his jaw slack and completely ignored the looks Remus sent his way.

They were failing miserably.

"Hogsmeade?" James asked, voice somehow higher than normal from his panic. He clears his throat. "Right, Hogsmeade - shall I pick you up from the dungeons?"

You laugh, crinkling your nose. "No thanks, my house mates would hate that," you kiss him on the cheek, ignoring the gasps from onlookers (in your memory, it was always like this), "I'll meet you outside Honeydukes."

James has completely shut down from the sudden kiss, only nodding slowly in a daze as you then walked away to go your table. Your house mates could tell something was wrong after that hit you took.

But given their nature, they shrugged it off and resorted to treating you normally - looking away despite the questions swirling in their heads.

You were never one to make announcements, you kept to yourself and your journal they'd see you write in. They'll most likely whisper gossips, but that's for when you're out of earshot.

You are breakfast like normal, like the world hasn't suddenly shifted and titled around you. Because in all honesty, it hasn't. To you, it's just another breakfast in Hogwarts, maybe for lunch you'll join James at his table.

It was killing him, dramatically speaking. James has spent nearly 3 days now playing the part of a perfect boyfriend. He'd walk you to classes, sit with you in the library while you do work and even eat at the Gryffindor table with you during meals.

Those were all things he thought a good boyfriend would do, so he did them and you fell so well into the waltz that it seemed like it had been going on for months.

In your mind, it is - to him, it has been 3 very weird days.

The other Marauders have been doing their part - barely. Remus just keeps to his books to avoid inserting himself in the narrative, Peter just watches in surprise and Sirius is always laughing and sending meaningful one-liners to James.

For the most part, it was managable. That was until you started getting all sweet and touchy with him. To you, it was normal and you've done it so many times but to him, he's never even properly snogged a girl before!

One morning, you greet him with a kiss on the cheek again and settle on the space next to him. Sirius Black looked like he had won the Quidditch cup, Remus rolls his eyes and slides over a galleon he plucked from his pocket.

You ignored the exchange and focused on James who stuttered greeting you.

Then, during the shared Potions class, you partnered with him as Sirius Black so generously offered up James on a silver platter to you. You accepted, delighted.

You then got tasked to brew a Calming Draught. One he badly needed, if he do say so himself. He fell into a rhythym with you quite easily, to his surprise.

You would prepare the ingredients while he read off the instructions and mixed the cauldron. You eyed him, watching him work with a smirk playing on your lips.

"All that Quidditch truly does wonders to your arms, Jamie," You tell him with a wink and he almost knocks the entire cauldron over. He looked away to clear his throat and ignore the head spreading from his neck to his face.

Merlin, she's too much, he thought to himself.

Quidditch was terrifying, to say the least. After your accident, he was not too keen on letting you get on the broom again.

You were arguing over it during breakfast, both of you already in your Quidditch inner wear. Your colors clashed but no one seemed to mind at this point.

Too many things went on in the castle that your sudden dating announcement was the least of the most thrilling gossip lately. They were now talking about some Prefects caught in the bath together or whatever that was.

"You're barely recovered from getting hit by a bloody Bludger," James narrowed his eyes, shaking his head at you, "you're not playing again."

You scoff at him, taking a swig of your pumpkin juice. "Last I checked, you're my boyfriend and not my Mum," you roll your eyes, "besides, I was cleared by Pomfrey."

"Why are you so stubborn?" James asked, sighing in defeat.

Remus chuckles from where he sat, watching you two. James threw him a look, "Got something to say, Moony?"

"Nope, just enjoying whatever this is."

You smile at Remus then turns back to James. "Stop being dramatic, what are the odds of me getting hit by a Bludger again?"

"According to how dangerous Quidditch is, I'd say likely," Remus spoke up. You pout at him.

"You're supposed to be on my side."

He raises his hands in mock surrender, then Sirius appeared. Barely wearing his uniform properly, necktie crooked as he dropped next to Remus.

"What did I miss?" He asked, winking at Remus who showed disgust at his current disheveled state.

"They're arguing," Remus quipped. "Prongs doesn't want ____ to play because of the accident - "

"He's being dramatic." You cut in with a roll of your eyes again.

Sirius's lips stretch out into a shit-eating grin. "Aww, how sweet. Our Prongsie being a protective, worried boyfriend!"

James has never wanted to hex his best mate more.

Despite James's protests, the Quidditch drills went well. You were back to being the amazing chaser you were, dodging Bludgers with ease.

The Gyffindors occupied the pitch first, for a good couple of hours then hurried out for the Slytherins to go next - except him. He stayed behind to watch.

Wand at the ready as he watched you glide in the sky with the very same Bludger that hit you right in the head. He was on edge, like his skin was on fire as he gripped his wand.

He shouldn't be this worried.

Merlin knows he is pretending to be your boyfriend, it was all fake. But him watching you play from the stands, wand ready to come to your rescue was very much real.

After that, he storms into his dorm looking like a man at war. He tells Remus he feels like his head is going to explode from it all, the scarred boy offers the very simple solution of 'just tell her the truth, mate' but James faltered.

Because that was the most obvious thing to do, it was the right thing to do yet he feels like something is holding him back. Later, he joins you in the library where you greet him with the sweetest smile and slides over a packet of chocolate frogs.

He couldn't confess then.

The library is quiet, and the only sound is the faint rustle of parchment as you turn the pages of the book you’ve barely been reading.

The candles flicker, casting long shadows across the wooden tables, but your mind isn't on the words in front of you. It keeps drifting back to the match. The Bludger. The sharp pain, the dizzying fall.

And then. . .nothing.

You bite your lip, trying to recall more, but it’s as if there’s a hole in your memory, a space where the truth should be. You can remember the loud cheers from the crowd, the fast pulse of the game, the whoosh of the air as you flew - but there’s one detail that’s missing. It gnaws at you, and you can’t push it away.

It’s James.

You don’t remember him shouting at you. You don’t remember the look on his face when you tumbled, when your broom spiraled out of control. In fact, you don’t even remember if he was there at all.

The thought lingers as you glance over at the other side of the table, where your dorm mate is scribbling furiously in their own parchment, seemingly lost in their thoughts.

You sit up straighter and clear your throat, catching their attention.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice quieter than you expected. "Can I ask you something?"

They look at you, blinking, a slight frown pulling at the corners of their lips. “What’s up?”

You hesitate, the question slipping out before you can stop it. “Do you remember the match? The one with the Bludger?”

Your friend raises an eyebrow. “Of course, I remember it. You almost got your skull cracked in half.” They give a wry grin, clearly trying to make light of it. “Why?”

You swallow, then push forward, your voice quieter this time. “I remember falling. But - I don’t remember why I got hit.”

Your friend’s expression falters, their quill pausing in mid-air as the words sink in. "What do you mean by that?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, unsure how to explain. The more you try to piece together the memories, the more fragmented they become.

“I don’t know.” Your voice feels small now, and your chest tightens. “Something’s wrong with it. It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t feel right.”

Your house mate doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches on longer than either of you expected. When they do speak, it's with an uncertain edge to their voice. “You did seem. . . off afterward. But you’re fine now, aren’t you?”

You nod slowly, though the knot in your stomach refuses to loosen. They neglected to point out how sudden your relationship your Potter bloomed, thinking that might be rude to comment on so they bit their tongue.

Meanwhile, across the castle, James is back in Gryffindor Tower, staring at the mess of papers scattered across his desk. His mind isn’t on Potions homework or Defense Against the Dark Arts like it should be. Instead, it keeps drifting to you.

The past few days have been. . . bizarre. You have been the picture-perfect couple despite the very obscure start of the relationship. He was an amazing boyfriend and you were a lovely girlfriend.

It’s not that you’re not perfect to him. It’s just - well, he’s never been in a relationship, and this? This feels like too much, too quickly.

And yet, when he sees you in your Quidditch gear, when you flirt with him so easily during drills, when you’re smiling at him across the table - he almost melts, and he can't help it.

That day, when you handed him his broom and leaned in just a little closer than usual, his heart nearly beat out of his chest. But then you smiled at him and the world tilted, for just a second.

The truth is, he’s panicking. He doesn’t know how to handle you - how to handle this.

James’ hands tighten around his quill, and he stops writing, thoughts swirling in his mind. He should tell you the truth, right? It’s what he should do.

He can’t keep pretending - it’s only a matter of time before you start realizing that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, that this fake relationship he’s so casually playing along with is about to crumble.

He needs to talk to you. He knows that much. But starting is always harder than actually doing.

James has decided that he'll tell you after dinner. That was it, after the dinner at the Great Hall is when he comes clean, Peter even hyped him for it - patting his back encouragingly.

You two had dinner together at his house's table again, mingling with the other Marauders as they treated you as normally as possible for their terrible acting.

Sirius is pretty tamed, less biting jokes and more playful banter with you about Quidditch while Remus was engaging Peter and James about their Potions essay that he had looked over for review.

Then dinner concluded, you bid them goodbye and James got up as well as to walk you back. The three boys sent him off with a knowing look, and the three watch you disappear from the hall.

"Bet you 5 galleons he won't be able to say it," Sirius whispers to Remus, his nose brushing against his scarred cheek.

Remus lets out a grumble under his breath but nodded nontheless. "Some faith you have in him, huh?"

On the walk to the dungeons, you held his hand. You could feel how tense he was under your touch and hoped he'd ease into it sooner, you kept walking despite the weirdness.

It was clear he was intending to say something. A nasty voice at the back of your head teased that he wanted to break up, you shake that thought off and look at him.

"I really like being with you," you tell him with a small smile. "I know we're dating, but - I really like being in your presence, you're always so comfortable and warm."

He doesn't say anything, he just listens to you, his face is unredable but you continue.

"I think being your girlfriend might be the best thing to happen to me - right under winning the Quidditch cup. Which we will, by the way."

You managed to laugh at your own joke, he cracked a grin at the sound of your laughter bouncing off the castle walls. He stils then, you follow suit, abruptly stopping in the hallway.

"Listen, ____," he starts and you look at him expectantly. You waited for him to say something but his internal struggle was very evident in his hazel eyes.

You decided then to just quiet his thoughts by closing in on him, your lips on his was soft. It met his with a single step and he felt like he had been electrocuted from his head to his toes.

He almost didn't register that his body moved on its own to pull you closer, arms snaked around your middle so he can kiss you while feeling your warmth flushed against his body.

You smile into the kiss and he feels it, he's now well aware of what is happening and kissing you back just as softly. It wasn't the desperate, rushing kind that snogging teens did - this kiss was slow, soft and it was meant to calm him down.

It did. All his worries melted into nothing as he kissed you back, feeling your smile against his lips.

You both full away not a moment after, you smile at him. "I love you, James."

He felt like he was thrown off the Astronomy tower. You didn't feel discouraged by his silence at all, you only remained smiling.

"Don't be pressured to say it back, I understand." And you really did.

So you just kept on, disappearing into your common room after another peck to his cheek and he doesn't remember how the rest of that walk went.

What he even replied? He can't remember at all.

All he knows is he stood in the middle of the darkened hall feeling like a man on trial, "Shit." he whispered under his breath.

The dorm is silent. Just the occasional drip of condensation down the stone walls, the faint rustle of green curtains stirred by a charmed breeze. Everyone’s long gone to bed, their breathing steady, calm.

You should be asleep too but you can’t, the kiss all too fresh on your lips that you felt too giddy to shut your eyes.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, quill hovering uncertainly above your journal. The fire in the corner hearth has died down to embers, casting long shadows across the room, and the only sound is the soft scratch of your quill until even that stops.

You’ve been trying to write about James. To put into words the way he looked tonight when he pulled away from the kiss, how his eyes were so bright, how warm your body felt against his when he pulled you close.

You want to capture the soft glow of it all. The very first proper kiss exchanged with him, the anticipation of it all, how warm he was.

But something’s off.

You tap the feathered end of the quill against your chin. Then you blink, staring hard at the line you just wrote. “Tonight reminded me of that first Gryffindor party when he pulled me in wearing his scarf.”

Your brow furrows.

You can see it so clearly in your head: the roaring fireplace, Sirius handing you a Butterbeer with a wink, the loud music and red-and-gold banners hanging from the rafters.

You were flushed from laughing too hard, James’s scarf knotted loosely around your neck. He had his hand on your back as he guided you through the crowded common room, and someone whistled when he kissed your cheek.

Your lips twitch at the memory, but then your stomach twists as the realization slowly began to dawn on you. Your quill slips from your fingers.

“Wait.”

Your voice is barely a whisper in the dark, but it sounds thunderous to your ears. As if anyone could hear, you spoke out loud : “I’ve never been to a Gryffindor party.”

You sit there, breath caught in your throat, you tried to reason with yourself. Maybe you’re misremembering.

Maybe it was a different party. A Hogsmeade weekend? Something outside?

But no. No, you know the Gryffindor common room. You can see it in your head - and that’s the problem. Because you shouldn’t be able to. You’re a Slytherin.

You’ve never stepped foot past the portrait. Hell, James Potter would’ve been the first one to hex you back out. Your heart starts pounding.

You move in a panicked pace, flipping through the journal entries you have written previously as your eyes begin to sting. The night was taking such a huge turn from the previous scene.

Then you found it. The one from before the accident with the Bludger that landed you a Hospital Wing visit.

The entries are snarky, something about the tone of the writer, you, was bitter as the quill scratched parchment.

“Potter made a scene again today. He hexed Mulciber’s shoelaces together during Defense and acted like it was hilarious.”

“Potter just had to look good in his bloody jumper this morning. It's good that Holidays break is coming up, my head needs a rest from his bloody taunts.”

“Pretty sure bloody Potter is an idiot in that pretty boy body, he's such a twat!”

You turn another page, hands trembling as you absorbed the words written down. This was too soon, the entries dating to the time you were supposedly already with him.

And then - you stop. There it is.

An entry, dated the day before the match. Before the fall which seemed to have changed the trajectory of your life.

“Tried not to stare at him in practice. He was flying loops with that stupid smug grin and it’s not like I like him, I just He will never like me because of my house.”

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush. You read it again and again. Fingers gripping the edges of the page so tightly they crinkle.

You don’t understand it for the longest minute that your eyes raked over the cursive writing over and over and over until you finally do.

The hit to the head had made it all up, you have fabricated memories of what you thought you were with him and he, for Merlin knows what - played along all this time. Two whole weeks of being a couple, he's managed that despite the entries stating his dislike for you.

You blink down at the journal, heart thudding in your ears.

The fire crackles softly, casting dancing shadows across the stone floor.

And in a voice that isn’t quite yours, you whisper: “Oh, Salazar. None of it was real.”

The following morning, you completely ignored him. He watched in confusion as you enter the Great Hall and settled at the Slytherin table like he did not exist.

The three other boys watched him watching you.

"I thought you said you didn't get to tell her," Remus asked, raising a brow.

"I didn't." Was all James said.

His frown was deep as he watched you eat breakfast like you had forgotten there even was a James Potter in your life, it was too stark a contrast from the moment you two had last night.

You successfully ignored and evaded him throughout the day, much to his dislike - he was almost tearing his hair out when every attempt to approach you was shut down so expretly.

You dodged out of his way, disappeared completely between classes, you missed Quidditch as well and it is now dinner when you had managed to let your guard down and he cornered you.

Grabbing you just as you were about to round the corners for the dungeons - you were grabbed and shoved into a broom closet.

Before panic could settle, you saw him. Merlin, you almost regret looking when you saw how distraught he looked, like you had broken his broom and threw it at the whomping willow for good measure.

You heave a sigh.

"You've been ignoring me all day," James spoke calmly despite his frustration. "Godric - can you just tell me what I did wrong, please?"

You almost gave in. Just almost. You heave another sigh before speaking, stepping back to put some distance between you two. "I know, I read my journal and what I saw did not match the memories I have about us."

His jaw went slack and his lack of denial was the confirmation. The final nail in your coffin that was already half-buried anyway.

"You remember?" He asked, finally.

You shake your head. "Not exactly, I still think you're my boyfriend but it's slowly coming back."

"Then why just end it here?" James asked, making you frown from the riddles he's spouting.

"Say it clearly before I get the wrong message, Potter."

"Merlin, I don't know how exactly but - the past two weeks has not been fake to me," James confessed, looking like he just let off the weight on his shoulders. "I want it to be real, I want you."

You couldn't answer him - too shocked at the words escaping the very same lips that had nothing but insults for you.

"Please give me a chance, we can make this real. You and me, ____."

Salazar himself could come down from wherever and shake you and you would still not come to your senses from the shock of it all. It took a solid minute of him watching the shock paint your face before you came about.

You cleared your throat, looking down toa void his eyes.

"The memories weren't there randomly," you confessed, taking it as your cue to come clean as well. "I have liked you for an embarrassing amount of time. Merlin knows why when we've done nothing but fight. But I have."

He kept quiet, you didn't see his face so you can't tell how he's taking this.

"It was all because I've been pining for you since third-year, even though you're a bloody tosser."

He lets out a chuckle. It surprised you enough that you looked up and saw his face, how his eyes were so soft that you almost tripped over nothing and right into those hazel pools.

You felt your heart leap out of your chest.

"We're bloody idiots, Moony said that much, suppose he was right."

You couldn't even laugh when he closed the distance and captured your lips in his. This time, it was real and you both knew the truth - somehow kissing him in a broom closet proved to be so much more magical.

All the pages you've written down claiming he'd rather snog a troll than snog you proven so wrong.

end. masterlist

#james fleamont potter #james potter #james potter marauders #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #marauders x reader #harry potter #harry potter marauders #harry potter marauders era

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hollowed-theory-hall · 6 months ago

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Harry's an Introvert

I mentioned some of it in a reblog here and here, but kinda wanted to give it its full post with more quotes from the books as evidence.

Becouse Harry was raised in a cupboard, pretending to not exist at the Dursleys. He isn't loud or talkative and he doesn't like interacting with most people (some characters, like Sirius, are an exception). I want to bring up some quotes to prove it because Harry is not a boisterous jock, that was James Potter, not my boy Harry and I will never tire of talking about him.

Exhibit A: He doesn't really care for people beyond his immediate circle

I know this fandom jokes about how Harry doesn't know people he went to school with for 6 years and they take it as a sign Harry is unobservant, but that is not the case. Harry is incredibly observant, he just doesn't actually care about most people. He'd rather stick to his close group of friends and he has no desire to know/speak to anyone outside of this group. There are only 40 students in Harry's year, ~300 in all of Hogwarts, and Harry still doesn't even know all his year or all 70 Gryffindors:

together with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott.

(OotP, Ch26)

“This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you’ve come across each other — ? No?” McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired youth, raised a hand, and Harry and Neville nodded back at him. “— and this is Marcus Belby, I don’t know whether — ?” Belby, who was thin and nervous-looking, gave a strained smile.

(HBP, Ch7)

Exhibit B: He isn't a yapper

Even in his own friend group, Harry doesn't actually speak much. Throughout the early books especially, most of what Harry thinks stays in his head:

Harry didn’t say anything. He liked being back on speaking terms with Ron too much to speak his mind right now — but he somehow thought that Hermione had gotten the point much better than Ron had.

(GoF, Ch23)

He often doesn't say anything to keep up the peace between him Ron and Hermione.

He actually finds Ron and Hermione's constant bantering exhausting at times. He is a quiet introvert who's friends with two certified yappers:

Harry was too used to their [Ron and Hermione's] bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak-and-kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favorite treacle tart.

(OotP, Ch11)

While he likes Ron and Hermione, Harry doesn't like their loud bickering and he finds it annoying:

“Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots,” said Ron sagely. “Anyway, I’ve always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where’s the evidence he ever really stopped working for YouKnow-Who?” “I think Dumbledore’s probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn’t share it with you, Ron,” snapped Hermione. “Oh, shut up, the pair of you,” said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. “Can’t you give it a rest?” he said. “You’re always having a go at each other, it’s driving me mad.”

(OotP, Ch12)

Exhibit C: He doesn't speak up in class

We basically never see Harry raise his hand to answer a question in class. Usually he needs to be prompted by a teacher to answer:

“This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?” Trying to answer a question with Hermione next to him, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air, was very off-putting, but Harry had a go.

(PoA, Ch7)

Even when Harry knows the answer to a question or can guess it like in the above quote, he never raises his hand to answer. He usually only answers if prompted by the teacher. Lupin is actually doing something really good here as a teacher. He knows Harry is likely to be able to know the answer so he forces him to participate because otherwise he won't. This is Lupin knowing how Harry is as a student — which is incredibly quiet.

The other teachers notice it too:

“Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.”

(DH, Ch33)

Modest and likable, in this case, translates to never talking except to make maybe snigger at a joke Ron made or talk when prompted. Dumbledore only finds him engaging because he talks to Harry near the Mirror of Erised. Most teachers probably barely recognize Harry's voice that first year.

Other characters are surprised Harry is talking back to Umbridge, not just because of what he's saying but because he's actually speaking in class:

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.

(OotP, Ch12)

Something Harry Potter just doesn't really do if the teacher doesn't force him.

That being said, even when teachers force him to speak, even in that first Potions class with Snape, Harry being Harry is unwilling to show weakness. So he sasses Snape and comes off as confident. Because while he doesn't like talking in class, if he does, he'd do so confidently (at least in appearance).

Exhibit D: When upset, he talks even less

When Harry's upset — as in stressed or sad — he talks even less than normal. His coping mechanism for sadness is to burrow into himself and not talk to anyone:

I’m the weapon, Harry thought, and it was as though poison were pumping through his veins, chilling him, bringing him out in a sweat as he swayed with the train through the dark tunnel. [...] “Are you all right, Harry, dear?” whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning across Ginny to speak to him as the train rattled along through its dark tunnel. “You don’t look very well. Are you feeling sick?” They were all watching him. He shook his head violently and stared up at an advertisement for home insurance. [...] “You look ever so pale. . . . Are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now, and you can have a couple of hours’ sleep before dinner, all right?” He nodded; here was a ready-made excuse not to talk to any of the others, which was precisely what he wanted, so when she opened the front door he proceeded straight past the troll’s leg umbrella stand and up the stairs and hurried into his and Ron’s bedroom.

(OotP, Ch23)

“How’re you feeling?” asked Hermione. “Fine,” said Harry stiffly. “Oh, don’t lie, Harry,” she said impatiently. “Ron and Ginny say you’ve been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo’s.” “They do, do they?” said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed. “Well, you have!” she said. “And you won’t look at any of us!”

(OotP, Ch23)

He [Harry] and Hermione ate breakfast in silence. Hermione’s eyes were puffy and red; she looked as if she had not slept. They packed up their things, Hermione dawdling.

(DH, Ch16)

Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control. He should have brought something to give to them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents’ grave. As soon as he stood up he wanted to leave. He did not think he could stand another moment there. He put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore’s mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.

(DH, Ch16)

The sea was rushing against the rock somewhere nearby; Harry listened to it while the others talked, discussing matters in which he could take no interest, making decisions, Dean carried the injured Griphook into the house, Fleur hurrying with them; now Bill was really knowing what he was saying. [...] “I want to do it properly,” were the first words of which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. “Not by magic. Have you got a spade?” [...] Harry lost track of time. He knew only that the darkness had lightened a few degrees when he was rejoined by Ron and Dean. “How’s Hermione?” “Better,” said Ron. “Fleur’s looking after her.” Harry had his retort ready for when they asked him why he had not simply created a perfect grave with his wand, but he did not need it. They jumped down into the hole he had made with spades of their own and together they worked in silence until the hole seemed deep enough.

(DH, Ch24)

(I'll note I love that Ron and Hermione understand that sometimes Harry needs to just be around them silently. That sometimes he needs to not talk about it)

And in GoF, the fact he talks to Sirius about what upsets him is special. It's a testament to how much Harry trusts Sirius. He literally says he spoke more to Sirisu in that half an hour than he had in days:

“I’m —” For a second, Harry tried to say “fine” — but he couldn’t do it. Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he’d talked in days — about how no one believed he hadn’t entered the tournament of his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he couldn’t walk down a corridor without being sneered at — and about Ron, Ron not believing him, Ron’s jealousy . . .

(GoF, Ch19)

Exhibit E: He hates getting a lot of attention

The prophet and Snape like to paint Harry as an arrogant attention seeker, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Not only is Harry not arrogant and has a pretty low self esteem, he despises getting a lot of attention and wishes to curse and hex people who look at him for too long because it makes him uncomfortable:

It was a state of nervousness so advanced that he wondered whether he mightn’t just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight.

(GoF, Ch20)

People stared shamelessly as he approached. They even pressed their faces against the windows of their compartments to get a look at him. He had expected an upswing in the amount of gaping and gawping he would have to endure this term after all the “Chosen One” rumors in the Daily Prophet, but he did not enjoy the sensation of standing in a very bright spotlight.

(HBP, Ch7)

The third group had a pileup halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs. “If there’s anyone else here who’s not from Gryffindor,” roared Harry, who was starting to get seriously annoyed, “leave now, please!” [...] Pleased though he was with his choices, Harry had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters. “That’s my final decision and if you don’t get out of the way for the Keepers I’ll hex you,” he bellowed.

(HBP, Ch11)

He hates the attention he's getting and the more traumatised and angry he gets, the louder he becomes because he needs an outlet.

Further Notes

While he is quiet, he isn't a pushover. As I mentioned here, his quiet often comes off as arrogance rather than meekness. He's quiet in a way that seems mysterious and intelligent rather than dorky and awkward. Even when he does act and feel awkward in many social situations, many people just don't read him as awkward. Like, he's awkward to himself inside his head, but most people who don't know him don't think about it that way:

“Mine was pretty quiet,” said Cho. For some reason, she was looking rather embarrassed. “Erm . . . there’s another Hogsmeade trip next month, did you see the notice?” “What? Oh no, I haven’t checked the notice board since I got back. . . .” “Yes, it’s on Valentine’s Day. . . .” “Right,” said Harry, wondering why she was telling him this. “Well, I suppose you want to — ?” “Only if you do,” she said eagerly. Harry stared. He had been about to say “I suppose you want to know when the next D.A. meeting is?” but her response did not seem to fit. “I — er —” he said. “Oh, it’s okay if you don’t,” she said, looking mortified. “Don’t worry. I-I’ll see you around.” She walked away. Harry stood staring after her, his brain working frantically. Then something clunked into place. “Cho! Hey — CHO!” He ran after her, catching her halfway up the marble staircase. “Er — d’you want to come into Hogsmeade with me on Valentine’s Day?” “Oooh, yes!” she said, blushing crimson and beaming at him. “Right . . . well . . . that’s settled then,” said Harry

(OotP, Ch24)

This is Harry in his most awkward I think. He reads the situation completely incorrectly. But, notice he doesn't ask Cho about the D.A. meeting, it's only in his head, outwardly, it looks to her like he was trying to let her down gently, not like he had no idea what she was talking about. And when he does ask her later, she's the blushing mess, not him. Even if Harry stammers a bit, he gets his point across with a similar level of awkwardness to Cho. It's the typical awkwardness of a 15-year-old asking a girl on a date for the first time and not anything special or beyond the norm. I'd actually say he's more confident about it than many of the guys I went to school with.

TL;DR

He doesn't enjoy talking to most people, but he isn't shy or meek. Nor is he an awkward bubbling fool. He's just an introvert who often rather not to talk to people. But he comes across as a confident quiet, not a shy quiet, because when he does speak — as unoften as it is for people who aren't his friends or Sirius — it's loud, and clear, and confidant.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #hollowedtheory #harry potter meta #harry james potter #my best boy hjp #character analysis #I know I reblogged a post about this recently and it's becouse it's been on my mind for a while #this post was actually sitting in my drafts for weeks

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lena15-08 · 2 months ago

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Sirius who is back at The Ancient and Noble House of Black after his 4th year at Hogwarts, rummaging around at the extensive family library for more information about Werewolves to be more aware of his best friend (ahem unofficial love of his life ahem)'s "condition", when he comes across a book, almost 350 pages by how thick it was.

“Experimented to the Bone: Field-Tested Methods to Cripple a Werewolf During and Beyond the Full Moon”

He winced at the title, that was definitely not what he wanted to learn but as he moved to place it back in the shelf, he came across a familiar name.

"By Lyall Lupin"

Sirius paused, because surely not. It surely could not be the same Lyall Lupin, who was Remus's father. But Lupin was not a common name, nor was Lyall. Fuck.

He opened to the first page, to view the year it was published.

"1969"

That was after Remus was born. Like him, he was born in 1960. Every second after he picked the book from the shelf, Sirius fought back bile coming up his throat.

Authors note

As someone who has worked in the "Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures" department of the Ministry of Magic, it has been my great pleasure to write and publish this book myself. For years, Werewolves have been a prime obsession of mine. I've been studying ways and techniques on how to weaken them and then, by Merlin's grace, I was granted an opportunity to study them closely every day, in and out of a full moon for 4 years. And to whomever it may concern, this book is my greatest creation.

As To the viewers' discretion, please be aware. These methods have been experimented on a much weaker Werewolf. The doses and measurements given in the book can be adjusted to higher doses based on the size and age of the creature.

Taking harsh breaths he quickly flips through the book, catching small sentences

"Sew Silver threads along their clothes"

"Stir wolfsbane in their water and let sit"

"Sprinkle small doses of wolfsbane in their food to keep them weak throughout the day"

"When locked in, the creature harms itself during a full moon, be reminded to use cages and shackles made from Silver instead of regular Iron"

The book dropped to the floor. And Sirius heaved on the library floor, much to the dismay of Kreacher who appeared instantly to clean it and then disappeared.

He couldn't breathe, he cried, and he stayed there, almost paralyzed for hours before Regulus came looking for him who took a look at the title and the first page before he dropped down next to his brother to pull him to his chest.

And then Sirius couldn't seem to stop moving his mouth between his cries. Things along the lines of, "His own father" or "He never told us" or "Does he even know?", "Why is he dead, i wanna kill him", "1969 Reggie, he was a child", "I knew he despised his dad, never knew why......i wish i didn't know"

And what was Regulus to do except weep with his brother.

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dismalflo · 2 months ago

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dinner to stay!

sirius black x reader ✩ 2.1k words

summary: dates with a particular barista have been going exceptionally well. tonight, Sirius is determined to cook dinner for you.

coffee to go! (part 1)

cw: barista!sirius, fluff, alcohol, little bit of awkward n nervous reader

an: all i thought about while writing is the phase of a relationship where domesticity is all new and fun and sweet.

Sirius—the barista who made you dumb—has taken you on a few dates now.

The first was coffee, naturally. He picked a quiet spot tucked away from the bustle, one he'd deliberately chosen because it wasn’t somewhere he’d ever worked before—which, as it turns out, rules out a surprising number of cafés in the city. He made a joke about being a “former coffee mercenary” as he slid your drink across the table, fingers brushing yours just a little too long. You pretended not to notice. Or maybe you didn’t pretend very well.

The second was the art museum, where you drifted together through tall, echoing halls and laughed quietly in the corners of exhibits no one else cared about. That turned into a long walk through the city as the sun sank lower, painting everything gold. Shoulders brushing, and when your hands bumped once, he didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

Then there was dinner. The kind where you both forgot what time it was until the restaurant started dimming the lights and wiping down tables. You left only because you wanted to keep talking, feet wandering nowhere in particular until you found yourselves tucked into the corner booth of a dimly lit bar, music playing just loud enough to let your conversation slip into something softer, closer. Neither of you really wanted to leave.

Each night has lingered longer than the last. Not on purpose, not exactly. Just a pattern you’ve both fallen into, stretching the time like taffy—one more street to walk, one more drink, one more story. An excuse to stay just a little bit longer.

So when he asked—grinning, eyes lazy and knowing—if he could cook you dinner, you said yes before he even finished the sentence.

He’s sweet. Ridiculously so. The kind of sweet that sneaks up on you, folded between his sharp jokes and even sharper cheekbones. He’s kind, too—gentle in the way he listens, thoughtful in ways he doesn’t draw attention to. And unfairly handsome. But beneath all that, he’s a gentleman, through and through.

Except when he isn’t.

Like when he claims he meant to call your mum, not you.

So when he opens the door barely five seconds after you knock, you already know what’s coming.

“Fuck,” he groans, and the corner of your mouth twitches, betraying the grin you’re trying to hold back. “I thought you were your mum.”

“I know,” you sigh, mock-disappointed. “She’s busy with her other boytoy, so she sent me instead.”

He guffaws, already tugging you inside and into a hug. “Oh, you’ve got jokes now? I miss when that kind of talk made you all flustered.”

“You’re too predictable for your own good, Sirius.”

He ushers you in with a grin that’s more boyish than smug. And then—too casually—a kiss is dropped to your cheek. Just a whisper of lips. Barely there. But your heart stutters anyway, completely ignoring your best efforts to play it cool.

“You look lovely, poppet.”

It’s sweet. Too sweet. The kind of compliment that should feel smooth, effortless—but from him, it lands somewhere between disarming and dangerous. You're still learning how to navigate this version of Sirius—the soft-spoken flirt who says things like that and means them. Or maybe he doesn’t. You’re not entirely sure yet.

What you are sure of is that it's becoming comfortable, but even so, you linger in the doorway to the kitchen unsure of what to do or where to place yourself, where you are and aren’t allowed to look. It feels a little like you’re intruding, despite the fact that Sirius’ invite was as enthusiastic as you’ve ever seen him.

Your eyes follow him as he moves around the kitchen, the ease with which he works is both impressive and amusing.

After a few seconds of watching you from the corner of his eye, he turns fully, brow raised.

“Why are you still standing there, love?” His voice is warm, teasing—but not unkind. He flicks a hand toward the table. “Come on, make yourself at home. Sit. You’re not gonna be any help in here unless you fancy stirring the sauce?”

It’s an olive branch, and you know it. A very thoughtful attempt at making you comfortable, giving you options. You latch onto it like a lifeline.

“I—I can stir,” you say, the words tripping out too quickly, like your brain wasn’t sure whether to joke or accept. A half-laugh slips free after, nervous and breathy, before you nod like you’re convincing yourself it was the right answer

He smirks, leaning one elbow on the counter like he’s posing for a portrait. “Oh, so you are trying to impress me tonight?”

“In your dreams,” you fire back, but your voice lacks the usual snap. There’s a smile tugging at your lips you can’t quite hide. “I’ll just sit here and let you work your culinary magic, then.”

With a theatrical sigh, he steps toward you, takes your wrist gently and leads you to the table like a dance partner guiding the first move. His fingers are warm. His touch lingers a little longer than it should. You try not to notice, but your body does anyway—heat blooming low and traitorous. Every touch from Sirius is golden.

“Just sit there and look pretty,” he says over his shoulder, like it’s nothing. But there’s a wink with it. A twinkle. It’s enough to send your pulse skittering again.

“That’s more than enough. Anyway—drink? Wine?”

You raise an eyebrow, daring him. “Good wine?”

He snorts, crossing the tiny kitchen like he’s gliding. “You’re about to find out, darling.”

He grabs a bottle of red with one hand, corkscrew already in the other. The ease with which he uncorks it is borderline ridiculous—like he was born in a vineyard. You can’t help but watch the way he moves, the light in his eyes when he’s showing off, even if he pretends he’s not.

He places the glass in front of you with a small, almost shy smile—like he’s waiting for your verdict. You take it with both hands, fingertips brushing the stem like it might steady you.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, gently clinking his glass against yours.

You smile—really smile this time—as the glasses meet.

Dinner, as it turns out, is incredible. You don’t even try to hide it when you take the first bite. Sirius watches you expectantly, elbow on the table, fork hovering in mid-air, invested in your reaction.

“Oh my god,” you say around a mouthful, borderline scandalized. “You made this?”

He grins like he’s won an award. “I did warn you I was a man of many talents.”

“You did not. You said, and I quote, ‘I mostly survive on toast and charm.’”

“Which is technically true,” he says, raising his glass with a smirk. “This is a very special occasion. I had to dust off the actual pots.”

You snort into your wine. “Is that why you had to waft the smoke alarm with a tea towel?”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “Okay that was sabotage. I swear I didn’t even burn anything.”

You laugh, and the warmth of it stays with you even after the plates are cleared, glasses topped off, and the kitchen starts to dip into darkness. You offer to help clean up, and Sirius waves you off with a dramatic “Not on your life, doll.” So instead, you find your way to the sofa, toes curling into the rug as you settle into the cushions.

A moment later, he drops down beside you with a satisfied sigh, two fingers brushing casually over your knee as he settles the wine bottle on the coffee table.

And then… you’re just there. Close. Close enough that the heat from his shoulder warms your skin. Close enough that your knees are almost touching. You hadn’t meant to sit this close, but neither of you makes a move to change it.

He turns his head slightly toward you, hair falling into his eyes. “Comfy?”

You nod, and then—with a breath you hadn’t meant to say anything on—you murmur, “Thank you. For tonight. For all of it.”

His brow quirks, smile softening. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do, though,” you say, turning to face him more fully. “It’s just… this has been really lovely. You’ve been really lovely.” Your voice dips, a little unsure now that it’s actually coming out. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t expect to feel so… happy. Being around you.”

His eyes widen slightly, just for a second, before he beams—this wide, unguarded smile that lights up his whole face. It hits you right in the chest.

“I’m glad,” he says, voice lower now, more sincere than you’ve ever heard it. “Because I feel the same. Every time we hang out, it’s like…” He trails off, looking at you like he’s trying to find the right word. “It’s just easy. Being with you feels… right.”

You don’t say anything at first. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like that, like you're some kind of rare find. A small silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Then, as if drawn by something invisible, your hands find each other in the space between you. His fingers wrap around yours, slow and certain, like he’s done it before in a dream and is just now remembering how.

You glance down at your interlocked hands—his thumb brushing over your knuckles like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Then you look back up at him.

“That’s what it feels like,” you say quietly. “Right.”

He hums softly at your words, and something shifts behind his eyes—like he’s turning a thought over and over in his head, polishing it until it shines. Then, slow and deliberate, his hand slips from yours.

His fingers brush your cheek first, warm and sure, before they trace upward—tucking a stray lock of hair gently behind your ear. The touch is impossibly tender. It makes your breath catch, your chest rise and fall a little faster. He lingers there a moment longer than necessary, his knuckles brushing against your skin.

His hand drops back to his lap, but the space between you stays charged. Like a wire has been strung taut from his heart to yours, and neither of you wants to pluck it just yet, too scared it might snap.

Swallowing, you think maybe you should say something—but what? That your heart is trying to climb out of your chest? That if he doesn’t kiss you soon, you might never recover?

But you don’t have to say anything. Because Sirius leans in.

Just a fraction.

His eyes flick to your lips. Once. Twice.

He’s giving you time to pull away. Room to say no. But you don’t.

You don’t want to.

So you meet him halfway.

And when you do, it’s like slipping into something you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

His lips are soft, warm—familiar in a way they shouldn’t be, not yet. Not after only a few dates. But they are, and that’s what startles you the most. Not the kiss itself, but the way it fits. Like it was supposed to happen, like the build-up wasn’t nerves or chance or coincidence, but inevitability.

It’s not rushed. Not some fiery, frantic first kiss born from impatience. It’s slow. Lingering. Like he’s learning the shape of your mouth, memorizing it for later. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw—fingers light, thumb grazing your cheekbone—and the gentleness of it nearly undoes you.

You sigh against him, and he catches it with a hum, like he’s been waiting to hear that exact sound.

There’s a moment, brief and dizzying, where time feels completely suspended. Just the press of your lips, the curve of his smile when he realizes you're smiling too, mid-kiss.

When he finally pulls back, it’s by millimetres. He stays close, forehead brushing yours, noses nearly touching.

His breath is still warm on your lips when he murmurs, “I’ve wanted to do that since you tried to flirt with me by giving me the wrong number.”

You laugh, too surprised to be embarrassed. “That wasn’t flirting! I was nervous.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough and smiling all at once, “I thought you were gonna melt into the floor.”

You hum, a little dazed, a little dizzy with the closeness. “Still might.”

His hand slips down to yours again, fingers lacing easily. His thumb brushes over your knuckles like he’s memorizing the shape of them. His voice drops even lower.

“Don’t,” he says. “Stay.”

And you do.

masterlist <3

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black drabble #sirius black fluff #barista!sirius #sirius black #sirius black x self insert

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midniqhtt · 1 year ago

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sirius black

masterlist • the marauders • 07/23/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

sirius black two

𑣲 heart stamp I @shadowbriar

A good for nothing like him surely deserve no soulmate, Sirius believes, but when the heart is starved of something, someone, the universe throws him into another round of misery.

𑣲 don’t leave I @14thgalerie

𑣲 little lies I @amiableness

James asks Sirius and Y/n to pretend to date after he blurts out they are to Lily.

𑣲 tulips part 2 part 3 I @/amiableness

After finding out Remus Lupin has found himself a girlfriend, a devastated Y/n L/n asks Sirius Black to help her get over him. Except Sirius has feelings for her.

𑣲 come back, be here part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 I @ellecdc

After sacrificing yourself to save your friend and Order partner James months before, you're found on the brink of death. How will Sirius react when he finally gets his love back, but you don't seem to recognize any of them?

𑣲 bartender!sirius I @moonstruckme

𑣲 bet trope I @ddejavvu

𑣲 borrowed sweaters, stolen kisses I @wizardwritings

In a game of Truth or Dare, you’re dared to sneak into the Marauders’ dorm and steal one article of clothing to wear the next day. It just so happens that the jacket you snatched was Sirius’ favorite jumper.

𑣲 lovesick!sirius I @theemporium

𑣲 sirius has a girlfriend I @/theemporium

𑣲 incident with a time turner I @robynlilyblack

When a confrontation with Peter goes wrong, y/n Potter is sent 10 years into the future

𑣲 rain I @/robynlilyblack

Y/n has been in love with James for years, watching painfully from the side-lines as he failed to woo Lily. When they finally get together she finds comfort in her best friend, as time passes she finds herself falling for him but will it end up the same way or will she get her happy ending this time?

𑣲 dulled I @finnwrld

When Arthur couldn’t go to the department of mysteries you had to go instead, knowing you are going to die you use your last amounts of straight to apparate to number 12 Grimmauld Place.

𑣲 puppy I @violetrainbow412-blog

𑣲 dealbreaker I @luveline

you work in a bookstore. sirius keeps finding reasons to need books.

𑣲 chatty!reader I @/luveline

𑣲 the unlikely pair I @daydreams-turned-into-nightmares

a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, both just recently been through breakups, uses each other as rebound dates to the Yule Ball, but the night ended with something a bit more

𑣲 if i tell you I @/daydreams-turned-into-nightmares

you’re in love with him, and he’s in love with you, but he’s too prideful to say anything, and you don’t want to just be another casual flirt. So, neither of you tell the other about your feelings for one another.

𑣲 hypocrisy I @wolfmoonmusic

James doesn’t seem to want anyone other than Lily. So after one point, you decide to stop trying

𑣲 if you love me let me know I @theweasleysredhair

Y/n decides she isn’t going to wait forever for Sirius to make a move... maybe he needs a nudge in the right direction. In which Sirius gets extremely jealous over the prospect of Y/n going on a date with someone other than himself.

𑣲 apparition accident I @mediocre-daydreams

sirius accidentally apparates into your bed instead of his.

𑣲 sweet rubbish I @shadowbriar

Their game of love hate pretend has to put to halt as Sirius gazed into the crystal ball.

𑣲 late night cravings I @bobluvbot

you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it)

𑣲 brothers best friend I @lauryri

In which Sirius Black finds comfort in the person he least expects.

𑣲 worth it I @hemmingsleclerc

where Sirius is completely in love with James's sister, but everytime he wants to ask her on a date somehow ends up doing something embarrassing

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #the marauders #the marauders x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black smut #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #sirius black series #sirius black oneshot #sirius black x you #sirius black/reader #sirius black fic recs #sirius black fic rec

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loveyouprongs · 11 days ago

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bringing up baby 3

remus lupin x whimsical fem!reader | Buttoned-up grad student Remus Lupin has the rare chance to work under one of the top scholars in the country. But his carefully laid plans keep getting derailed by the scholar's free-spirited whirlwind of a daughter who seems determined to unravel both his plans and his sanity.

upcoming content: FLUFF!! YEARNING!! mean boy (not remus, duh), protective remmy!

authors note: PART 3! my favorite part yet!!!! i really really hope you like it :')

word count: 3.5k

series masterlist | masterlist

tagging (pls lmk if you do or do not want to be tagged): @wrenisrad @daydreamandforget @jamesweather @oldhollywoodniall @sillygirlantics @shipwreckedlor @slutfortheblog @rulesareshadesofgrey @lettertovera @knew-better-forever-girl-two @siriusement

Over the past month, you and Remus had grown… quite close. Friends.

You showed up during most of his shifts with a new book in hand, the bookmark always tucked somewhere within the first dozen pages. You claimed the office was just better for reading. Remus always rolled his eyes and gave you a warning not to bother him. You always ignored it.

Within half an hour, the book was forgotten and you were crouched beside him, helping wrangle the more uncooperative volumes and telling him stories about your father that made Remus question everything he thought he knew about his boss. He still couldn’t quite picture Professor Binns in a pair of glitter wings and a tutu, but you swore up and down it had happened. “No one had shown up to my party, which was fine, I didn’t very much like those girls anyway. But all I wanted was a fairy princess there!”

In return, Remus humored you with stories about his own life — James’ latest disaster meal, Sirius’ deeply questionable fashion experiments, how their 50 year old neighbor always made eyes at Sirius in the laundry room. You laughed at all of them, sometimes too hard, and occasionally took notes in the margins of whatever book you were pretending to read.

You left a mess wherever you went. Crumpled wrappers, ribbons, feathers, a single sock (when you took off your shoe, he never knows) all part of your wake. You always conviently left before cleanup, leaving Remus to spend an extra fifteen minutes tidying up after you.

It was a mess. And Remus hated mess.

Except… he’d sort of gotten used to it. Used to you.

Which was why, when he hadn’t seen you all day, something in his chest had curled in on itself a little. He decided to ignore it. Probably just his chronic pain acting up again — it had been a rough morning, the kind that settled in his joints like damp in the walls. Bad enough that he’d asked Binns if he could go home early. He originally tried to push through, but Binns had taken one look at him fumbling to shelve a dictionary and called him over.

“You don’t need to be a martyr to the archive. Go home. Rest. These dusty old things will still be misbehaving tomorrow.”

Remus had protested, of course, but Binns just waved a hand like he was swatting away a fly.

So, with his tail between his legs, though admittedly with less guilt than usual, Remus packed up early.

By the time Remus stepped outside, the sun was high and obnoxiously golden, casting long shadows across the path. He squinted against it, adjusting the strap of his satchel on his shoulder as he fished his phone from his coat pocket.

“Hey,” he said when James picked up on the second ring.

“Oi! You live!” James replied. “Did the books finally stage a coup?”

“Not today,” Remus muttered, beginning the slow walk down the steps in front of the building. “I’m heading out early. Can you come get me?”

There was a beat of silence. “Wait, really? You? Leaving voluntarily? Who are you and what have you done with my best mate?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Don’t make a thing of it.”

“Is this about your knees? I told you to try that stuff I gave you, but nooo—”

“Yes, it’s about my knees, and no, I’m not taking a mystery ‘potion’ Lils got from a guy named Topher.”

“Topher’s legit! He has a table at the farmer’s market.”

“James.”

“Okay, okay,” James relented. “I’m finishing up at the gym. I can be there in twenty.”

Remus nodded, then realized James couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’ll wait out front.”

Just as he was about to hang up, something caught his eye.

Someone.

Lying in the grass just past the footpath, familiar skirt, familiar hair, very much not reading.

Remus hung up without saying goodbye and already began veering off course.

You were lying in the grass, long white skirt fanned around you like a picnic blanket, sparkly vest top catching the light as you rifled through clumps of clover. From a distance, Remus thought you might be napping, but as he got closer, he saw the intense concentration on your face. You were definitely looking for something.

Remus, phone still in hand, stopped at the edge of the grass. “Am I interrupting a turf war?”

You looked up and grinned like you’d been expecting him. “Remus! Excellent. You can help me greet the fairies.”

He stared. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just say things like that with no context.”

You patted the grass beside you. “Oh, come on. The fairies are shy. They’ll be more likely to show themselves if you look approachable.”

“I’m wearing proper trousers,” he said, gesturing at himself, “and I’m very tired.”

“You’re always tired,” you said cheerfully. “That’s no excuse.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Remus dropped to his knees beside you. “I swear, if something bites me again, I’m filing a report.”

“You’d have to report it to the fairies. They run the place.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You’re deranged.”

You just beamed at him. “That’s why you like me.”

Remus blinked, caught off guard.

“Please, Rem?”

You looked up at him expectantly, eyes squinting in the sunlight, lips curled in that familiar, self-satisfied smile that always seemed to know more than it let on. The sun lit up the fine edges of your hair like gold leaf, casting your whole face in a glow that was frankly unfair. Remus stared for a moment too long, something tugging in his chest before he shook his head, just a little, like he could knock the thought loose.

What was he, a crow? Drawn in by something shiny?

And yet, even as he thought it, he watched your smile stretch wider the slower he moved, like you’d known he’d give in all along. So with a sigh, equal parts fond and resigned, Remus was on his belly just like you were.

He squinted into the blades of grass, hands braced on either side of him, trying his best to make sense of whatever magical nonsense you’d pulled him into this time. Maybe if he stared hard enough, something would twitch, shimmer, fly away, anything!

But the grass remained stubbornly still.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low with concentration as he turned his head, “but what exactly am I supposed to be see—?”

You were already looking at him, chin propped in your hand, the sun catching in your hair and making your eyes look almost gold. He was squinting into the grass like it held secrets only he could decipher, jaw tight in concentration, and you felt something in your chest pull a little.

There was something unfair about how pretty he was when he was confused: soft and serious. You weren’t entirely sure when you’d started noticing things like that. Or when you’d started hoping he’d notice you noticing.

Remus blinked. “What?”

“I dropped my ring,” you said cheerfully. “Figured I’d have a better shot at finding it with your help.”

Remus reared back slightly. “You—you what? Then why did you tell me there were fairies down here?”

“Well, there could be fairies,” you said innocently, gesturing vaguely to the grass. “But not today. Not the season.”

“You had me lying in the grass in a dress shirt for no reason?”

“I had a reason,” you countered, nonchalantly plucking at a daisy. “And what’s so bad about a little grass stain? When’s the last time you let the sun hit your face, Gloomius Lupin?”

Remus stared at you for a beat, then groaned. “Okay. That’s it.”

He stood suddenly, brushing his trousers off, but made no move to leave. You raised an eyebrow just in time for him to dart forward with a mock-threatening glare. You shrieked and scrambled to your feet, laughing as you bolted.

“You can’t catch me, Lupin!”

“I shouldn’t have to catch you, you menace!”

You ran fast—too fast for someone who’d spent the morning sprawled in the grass like a cat in a sunbeam. Remus followed, but his body lagged behind, knees and hips groaning in protest. He pressed a hand to his side, willing the ache away.

You glanced back, eyes still bright with laughter, only to see him falter, pain pinching the corner of his mouth.

“Remus, are you alri-?”

You didn’t get to finish the thought. Your foot caught on a thick branch buried under leaves, and with a sharp yelp, you tumbled forward right into the pond with a dramatic splash.

Remus froze.

Then: “Oh, bloody hell.”

And he was wading in after you without a second thought.

When you resurfaced with a splash, sputtering pond water and hair sticking to your face, Remus was already wading in after you, shoes, satchel and all, like some kind of scholarly knight.

You blinked up at him, chest heaving, eyes wide at the sight before you: his button-down was soaked clean through, clinging to his arms and chest, and his slacks, well, what was left of them, were plastered to his thighs in a way that was somehow both hilarious and… unreasonably attractive.

It was, in all, a deeply stupid image. And yet you felt your heart kick a little, a lot.

“Remus, I’m so sorry,” you gasped, pushing wet strands of hair from your face. “I didn’t mean to—are you okay? You didn’t have to—”

He rolled his eyes, water sloshing around his knees.

“What?” you blinked at him, caught off guard by his flat expression.

Then, with great theatrical effort, he rolled his eyes again—bigger, slower this time, like he was trying to dislodge something behind them.

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a breath of laughter. “You’re such a brat.”

“I was lured into the grass under false fairy pretenses,” he replied dryly, pushing a wet sleeve out of his face. “I’m the victim here.”

You laughed, the sound ringing out across the water. “Come on, we can’t stay in here forever. The fish’ll get mad. Territorial little buggers.”

Together, you began trudging toward the bank. It was deeper than either of you expected, your clothes heavy with water, shoes squelching. Near the edge, you lifted your arms for balance, eyeing the embankment skeptically.

“It’s a bit of a leap,” you murmured, gauging the moss-slick edge.

Without a word, Remus stepped forward, one hand catching your elbow, the other settling at your waist.

It was meant to be practical, just a steadying gesture, but his hands lingered a moment longer than they needed to, and the world around you went quiet except for the sound of water dripping off both of you.

Your breath caught. His eyes met yours, and for the first time all day, there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or exasperation in them. Just that steady, serious warmth that always seemed to slip past your guard.

You swallowed. “Thanks,” you said softly.

His voice was quiet too. “Anytime.”

This moment was like something out of a painting, the dew drops dripping down his jagged cheeks. Or a scene in one of your books that had you giggling under the blankets. You were just about to speak when a voice rang out from the path.

“Well, this is rich,” Evan called, coming up the path with that ever-present smirk like he was the cleverest person in the room. “Didn’t think you’d fall for her tricks, Lupin.”

You froze where you were, hand still brushing pondweed from your arm. “Go away, Evan.”

But Remus stepped forward, sodden and rumpled, hair dripping into his collar. “What tricks?”

Evan gave a little laugh, like he was amused to be asked. “You know—her little spells. Acting like the world’s her stage and everyone’s meant to chase her around in it.” His eyes flicked to you. “She’s good at it. But you? I thought you’d be smarter.”

Your face burned, and you hated that it did. “Seriously, Evan. Go away.”

“Oh, come on.” Evan tilted his head, now all false sympathy. “It’s not personal. It never is. You get to be the favorite for a week or two—maybe a month if you're charming enough. Then she gets bored and forgets your name.”

Remus’s jaw tightened. “You really don’t know anything about her, do you?”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I?”

Remus moved in front of you then, still dripping, still visibly aching, and yet somehow standing tall. “I like her,” he said, so plainly and without flourish it almost sounded like a fact. “She’s brilliant. And funny. And deeply weird. And she’s with me, so whatever petty little grudge you;ve got, take it elsewhere.”

Evan scoffed, clearly rattled. “Seriously? You?”

Remus didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Me.”

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“We will,” Remus said, and didn’t look away.

Evan hesitated, clearly not expecting that kind of calm, pointed finality. Then, for once, he didn’t have a comeback. He huffed out some vague, sour noise and walked off.

The second he was gone, the confidence in Remus’s posture deflated by half. “God,” he muttered, raking a hand through his wet hair. “What was that?”

You were still looking at him. Really looking at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Evan’s a real piece of work,” he muttered, flicking a bit of pondweed off his sleeve. “Nice to see him shut up for once. Even if it took a little lie.”

You glanced over at him, your voice light. “Right. Well. It worked.”

You tried to smile, and you did, sort of, just enough to hide the way your chest ached a little.

The two of you walked on in silence for a few beats, pond water squishing in your shoes.

Remus cleared his throat. “He is wrong, you know.”

You glanced over. “About what?”

“About you,” he said, almost shyly. “You don’t forget people. You care too much.”

That time, you really smiled. “Even when I leave socks in the office?”

He sighed. “Even then.”

As the two of you rounded the corner, Remus spotted James’s car parked a little crookedly in the staff lot, hazard lights blinking like it was an emergency. Through the windshield, James was very clearly staring, mouth slightly open, face twisted in something between alarm and intrigue.

Remus sighed. “That’s my friend. He’s going to kill me for getting pond water all over his precious leather seats.”

You followed his gaze, then turned back to him with a hopeful tilt to your voice. “You could ride with me instead? I don’t care if you ruin my seats. I mean, they’re already ruined from glitter and, like, snack crumbs,” you tapered off, crossing your fingers in your head.

Remus smiled, soft and crooked. “Tempting.”

Then, without thinking, he reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. His touch was tentative at first, but he didn’t pull away. His thumb swept across your cheekbone, slow and deliberate, eyes following the motion like he needed an excuse to look at you this closely.

“You had a piece of grass,” he said quietly, almost like it was an afterthought.

“Oh,” you paused, “I’m sure our drains will be filled with it when we wash tonight,” you said.

Remus chuckled, “If my mates even let me in the door, they might just hose me off in the back garden.”

You laughed, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “Tell them it was for a noble cause. Fairy diplomacy and all.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes still on you. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday,” you echoed, with a little nod.

He turned and walked to James who was still looking at him unblinkingly, he mentally prepared himself for the questioning that would undeniably come once he entered the car. His shoes squished with every step. His hair was dripping onto his nose. His cheeks ached from smiling.

He turned back just as you stepped toward him, wrapping your arms around his middle without hesitation. For a second, he froze, caught off guard.

And then his hands settled at your back, drawing you in. He was damp and still smelled faintly like pondwater and summer grass, and somehow it made the hug feel even more like him. Solid and real.

His cheek brushed your temple. Neither of you said anything.

When you finally pulled back, your smile was bright and a little breathless. “See you Monday.”

And then you turned, squelching off in your soaked shoes like he hadn’t just been dunked in water for the second time that day.

Remus barely got one leg in the car before James was twisting in his seat, eyes wide. “Remus! What the HELL happened to you?”

Remus exhaled, water immediately soaking into the fabric. “Hi, James.”

“You’re soaking! You look like you got mugged by a pond! Why are you-? What happened? Did someone push you? Was it that nasty geese that chased you in sixth year?!”

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. “She said there were fairies.”

There was a beat.

“What? …Are we talking literal fairies or code for something weirdly academic?”

“Literal,” Remus said flatly. “Or not. Apparently not. She lost her ring.”

James blinked rapidly. “Okay, okay, back up. Start from the top. Fairies?”

“I was walking out. She was in the grass. Said I looked too serious and needed sunlight. Lured me down there under the pretense of fairies.”

James made a high-pitched noise. “She tricked you with fairies? You deserved to fall in the pond.”

“She tripped,” Remus muttered. “She fell first. I went in after.”

“Oh my god.” James grabbed the steering wheel for balance, like this story was physically too much for him. “You leapt into a pond for her. In work clothes. You’re gone. Absolutely gone.”

Remus looked out the window. “And then Evan showed up.”

“Oh great, what did that walnut have to say?”

“Said she does this to everyone. That I was just her newest toy.”

James’ eyebrows shot up. “Did you punch him? Please tell me you punched him.” You’d met James a few times and immediately took a friendly liking to each other. You liked watching him do rugby tricks, always clapping like an easily entertained toddler, or like a seal sometimes, Remus thought. James liked that you always smelled like strawberry syrup.

“No, I said…” Remus gulped, eyes fixed out the window, “I said she was with me.”

“You WHAT.”

“I told him we were together, alright? Just to get him to shut up.”

James actually gasped. “Remus John Lupin.”

Remus winced. “Please don’t say my full name.”

“That’s basically a confession,” James said, flailing a little. “You told Evan you were together! That’s like… relationship declaration level three! Do you know what I would've given for Lily to say something like that in public before year six?!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Remus muttered, cheeks warm. “I just wanted him to back off. She looked... he was getting to her.”

“And then she hugged you,” James said, steamrolling. “I saw that hug. That was not a 'thanks for getting rid of the jerk' hug. That was a lingering hug!”

Remus stared ahead. “You’re imagining things.”

James drove for a few meters, then lowered his voice, as he spoke sincerely, “No, mate. I’m not. You’ve been in that office together every day for what, six weeks? She brings snacks, she steals your pens, she makes you laugh out loud, which I didn’t think was possible outside of Marauder-related mayhem. She likes you.”

Remus stayed quiet.

“And when you're with her,” James continued, “you’re more like you. Like how you are with me and Padfoot and Lilykins.”

Remus groaned softly. “You’ve got to stop calling her that.”

“Never,” James said cheerfully, “She likes you. And I like that she makes you happy. Because you do this thing… this thing where you convince yourself you’re too much trouble to love, but I’ve known you for ten bloody years, and I’m telling you: you’re not.”

Remus felt himself wilt a tad, caught.

“So take the chance,” James said, a little softer. “I really think it’ll be better than you think. And I really mean that, because I haven’t yelled once about you soaking my seats in pond water.”

Remus exhaled a half-laugh, shaking his head. “Yet.”

James smirked, satisfied. “That’s the spirit.”

They lapsed into a more comfortable silence after that, the windows fogged slightly from their damp clothes and the fading sun bleeding gold across the dashboard.

Remus shifted, pulling his soaked coat tighter—then paused, fingers brushing something in the inside pocket.

He pulled it out: a tiny corked vial, the label written in your unmistakable handwriting.

“Takes away the pain :)”

Remus stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding quietly in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, you liked him back.

<- part two part four ->

#bringing up baby #loveyouprongs #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x whimsical!reader #marauders #marauders fluff #marauders fanfic #remus lupin imagine

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r-inijhinix · 4 months ago

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Jegulus Celebrity (?) AU where the Marauders are a band, Jamed is a singer-songwriter, and Regulus has a podcast

Regulus is 23 and has an anonymous podcast called the Black Lake. Mostly, he goes on tangents about songs, current events, and poetry, and people listen to a faceless man because it's just so damn interesting

And if James is a little obsessed with it? If he listens to each episode, no matter what it's about, as soon as it's released because the host of the Black Lake has a dangerously addictive voice and he can't sleep without hearing it? If there's something infinitely captivating about hearing him analyze James' songs and their lyrics and what he thinks they mean and just getting it?

Regulus doesn't do interviews despite popular request because he just doesn't want to. James says fuck it and sends an email asking for one anyway. Except there's a catch: He'll be interviewed and answer anything, as long as Regulus shows at least half of his face

And, look, Regulus isn't stupid. He keeps tabs on the Marauders because of his brother, though they haven't spoken since Sirius ran away from home and Regulus became a ghost. Knows James is Sirius' best friend. But he's also hot. An excellent songwriter. A great singer. All things Regulus admirers

So they do an interview and people go fucking crazy because it's famous, elusive James Potter and effortlessly sly and charming Host of the Black Lake and -

are they flirting?

Apparently the bottom half of Regulus' face is all James needed to say

"You look like someone I know."

"Calling my face boring, Potter?"

"On the contrary, I'm calling your face beautiful. And I'd like for it to be a familiar as well."

The interview goes viral. Regulus asks the best, most thought-provoking questions and their chemistry is off the fucking charts

Except a couple months pass and then James Potter releases a single where one of the verses is "And you scoff and twist your lips / In your mind love is just a myth / The words 'don't expect forever / Because this is only for the summer'"

And people lost it once more. They ask Regulus to review the song, as he has done for so much of the Marauders' music in the past. And he does. Says the lyrics describe the situation of two crazy kids thinking they can make it work without thinking of the consequences of their actions

Then journalist Rita Skeeter writes an artical exposing the host of the Black Lake to be famous exiled heir Regulus Black, brother to Sirius Black, ex boyfriend to Sirius' best friend James Potter. Calls James many not nice things

And Regulus responds, quite reasonably he feels, with a podcast episode verbally dragging the shit out of her. Calls her a conniving, thoughtless bitch who relies on sensationalism to keep herself popular because she has no real personality to stand on. Demands she keeps James Potter out of her articles because his name alone is much prettier than anything she could ever write, and she'll embarrass herself trying

And if James finds this undeniably hot? If he calls Regulus later saying thank you? Well, then that's for just them to know

But there is song that releases two months after, the closing lyric being

"My eternal city of lost love returned / A battle of wrongdoing and hearts hard-earned / And you ask 'if we've already been through the harsh and bitter / then why not make this forever?'"

#what am I doing with my life this is so needlessly long #regulus black #james potter #regulus black x james potter #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus #regulus x james #the marauders era #the marauders #marauders era #celebrity au #harry potter

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marauder-misprint · 6 months ago

Note

For the new years prompts- sirius and the friend kissing one except maybe throw some good old jealousy angst in there? Like maybe reader comes to the party either with someone or with the hopes of convincing a specific someone to be their new years kiss- only for that plan to backfire and maybe that person either isn't interested or they're with a date or something- so sirius swoops in and is like you know what you really wanted this so let's just do it for fun (but in reality he's head over heels for reader and is screaming in joy on the inside)

Hehehehe I did some cute lil fluff with a hint of jealousy angst. Thank you for the request ❤︎ ❤︎

prompts

A midnight kiss

Sirius Black x Fem!!reader

1.4k words

cw: fluff, two (2) swears, smoking

The Marauders’ New Year’s Eve party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. You know you’re late, and not in the fashionable sense. From outside, you can hear the music pulsing. It only gets louder as you open the door, entering a living room that’s packed with familiar faces. You immediately see your friends and head over to them.

“You made it!” Lily exclaims loudly to be heard over the music.

She pulls you into a tight hug.

“Is… he here?” you say into her ear.

You would’ve whispered it but decided against it, given the volume of the room and the smell of alcohol on her breath. She pulls back, nodding eagerly. She spins you around, leaning on your for support, and spots across the room.

Amos Diggory is attempting to talk to a girl you recognized but didn’t know the name of. You don’t like how she keeps leaning in closer to him. Out of nowhere, his arm is around her shoulders as he leans in closer to her face. You turn away before you can see too much.

“Did they come together?” you ask Lily.

“No. He came in with a few other guys.”

You nod and scan the rest of the room. You decide you need a little bit of liquid courage if you’re going to try to pull Amos away from the girl as it got closer to midnight. You give Lily a smile and squeeze her shoulder before going to find the drink table.

You don’t notice Marlene disappear from Lily’s side as you walk away. Marlene made her way to the back patio, where Sirius was smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes.

“She was just late, you git,” she says, leaning her head out the door.

Sirius turns his head briefly. He had jumped through several hoops to absolutely ensure that you would be at their party. You were friends with Lily, Marlene and the rest of the girls, but you had other friends. Sirius had talked to James and Remus, who in turn carefully asked the girls about your plans, if you had any. With a little bit of finessing, the boys convinced the girls to get you to the party. So when you hadn’t shown up, Sirius’ heart sank.

“She’s here? Like now?”

His hand rests near his leg. He’d drop his cigarette the moment Marlene confirmed your presence.

“Yeah,” Marlene says with an annoyed breath. “That’s what I said, innit?”

The cigarette falls from his hand and he squashes it under his boot. He immediately goes for the door, but Marlene is still standing in his way.

“You should know, ah, don’t shoot the messenger, but she’s hoping to kiss Diggory at midnight.”

The hopeful smile that had been on his face moments earlier is gone. He had gone through all that work to get you here and you had your eyes on a different guest? He shakes his head in disbelief.

“What could she possibly see in that bastard?”

Marlene shrugs as she moves out of the way to let Sirius back into the house. He feels that he needs to find you. He needs to get you under his arm for the countdown to midnight. He weaves through all the people in James’ house. He finds Lily first, but she lost sight of you when you went to get a drink and now she’s looking for James. You’re not at the drink table when Sirius gets there. He regrets not asking Marlene what you were wearing, at least that would’ve made it semi-easier to spot you.

You aren’t trying to avoid Sirius. You don’t even know that he’s looking for you. Clutching your drink tight to your chest in between sips, you mill around the party. You never stand in one spot for too long. You know you know people at the party, but there’s no one to dance with and without Lily, Marlene or even Mary in sight, you have no one to talk to. So you keep walking and nursing your drink. You don’t even realize you finished it until you go to take a sip and come away with nothing. You circle back to the drink table and you’re suddenly not thirsty any more.

Amos is busy shoving his tongue down the girl’s throat just a few steps away.

“Get a fucking room,” you mumble to yourself as you turn away.

You feel your face burning, but you don’t care. No one’s watching you. You push through the crowd. There’s nothing you want more right now than a little bit of space and maybe some quiet. You end up in the kitchen, taking deep breaths and leaning over the island with your head in your hands.

“Hey, you okay?”

You’d know that voice anywhere. Sirius.

“Yeah. Fine. Just need a breather.”

He doesn’t believe you. He had finally spotted you when you returned for your drink, and then he saw what you saw. He would be lying if he said there was a part of him that was happy Amos was already kissing someone else. Sirius leans over the island from the other side, hoping you’ll look up at him.

“I’d have to be daft to believe that you’re fine. What’s wrong, pretty girl?”

You do look up at Sirius. It’s more for the pet name than his concern. You don’t think you’re close enough with him to warrant being called ‘pretty girl.’ You sigh. The look of concern on his face feels genuine and what would it hurt?

You wave toward the kitchen door that separated you two from the rest of the party.

“Just saw the guy I was hoping would be my midnight kiss necking with someone. No biggie.”

“You’re with a bloke and he’s snogging someone else?” Sirius asks with a raised eyebrow, feigning ignorance. He knew you weren’t dating Amos.

You chuckle at the question.

“No, Black. We’re not, me and the guy, we’re not together. I’m just a hopeful. … Thought it’d be fun or something… I don’t know.”

“Nothing wrong with being hopeful,” Sirius says.

If there was, he’d be in deep trouble, he thinks.

“Do you want someone to kiss? At midnight?” Sirius asks.

“Would it be bad if I did?” you say with a laugh as you bite the inside of your lip. “Always thought it’d be romantic or something. Ring in the new year right…”

“I know I’m not whoever you were hoping for, but I don’t have anyone to kiss. So if you want, we could. For fun, or something, you know?”

You take his expression in. There’s a smirk on his face in the most classic Sirius fashion. Frankly, you’re surprised that he didn’t have anyone lined up, although you suppose he might be the kind to usually just grab whoever is nearest. You nod slowly.

“Yeah. That’d be… nice. Thanks, Sirius.”

The smirk shifts into a wide smile.

“Don’t go far then.”

You and Sirius both turn to leave the kitchen when the count down chant begins. For a reason you can’t explain, you stay in the kitchen, not trying to join the rest of the party. Sirius wraps his arm around your waist and you stare up into his grey eyes. The numbers seem to echo distantly. They still register in your brain though.

When the voices from outside yell ‘Happy New Year!,’ Sirius crashes his lips to yours. You know full well that a New Year’s kiss is usually only a moment. A singular second of lips pressed together to celebrate the beginning of a year. But as soon as you felt his lips on yours, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. You don’t pull back. You let your lips move against his. His grip on your waist tightens as he realizes that you’re not pulling back. You think you could’ve stayed like that for a while

But the sound of cheering and yelling from the party roars back to life and the music is playing louder than before. When Sirius pulls away, his eyes search your face for some kind of reaction. While he is more than pleased with how this turned out, he needs to know what you thought.

His features relax when he sees your smile.

“I think that’s the best way to ring in the new year, yeah?” you breathe.

“I’d have to agree.”

You gently run a hand down the side of his face. Maybe you’d find yourself next to Sirius more often this year.

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #requests #new years eve

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fourmoony · 1 year ago

Note

This may be weirdly specific so feel free to ignore if so but

Jamie with a reader who’s never felt like she was someone’s first choice and is having a hard time grasping that she *is* his

thanks for requesting angel! 1.5k f!reader modern!au

he's my sweet boy i need him in a way i cannot describe

masterlist

James' shrill ring tone fills the room, but neither of you make an effort to move for it where it's buzzing against the coffee table. You probably should be the one to do it, considering you're sprawled across the top of James, making it rather difficult for him to move. But, he doesn't ask you to, so you don't. Even when it rings a second time. You think James might actually be asleep, unaware to the incessant ringing. He's slept through worse, in all fairness.

But he groans petulantly when the ringing stops, turns to ping after ping, the texts flashing across his locked screen and illuminating the dark calm of his living room. His hand leaves it's place on your hip, reaching half heartedly for the device and when he fails, you sigh and reach for it yourself. It'd been a peaceful two hours of relaxing, just existing together in the same space, not really talking, not really doing anything except revelling in the feeling of each other's presence on James' couch after a busy week of barely seeing each other. Between your work, James' rugby practices, and trying to maintain social lives, it'd been hard to have quality time.

You're okay with that. More than okay with that. James has his life and you have yours. This thing you have, it's new and it's fragile, and you won't dent it or risk losing it by being clingy, by telling James that you miss him, that you want to spend more time with him, friends and coworkers, practices and life be damned. You refuse. So you slide the top half of your body off the couch, one hand holding yourself up on the floor, and the other outstretched for James' phone.

His left hand cups the back of your thigh, fingers slipping between the left and right. It's an innocent touch, but heat floods your body all the same as your fingers wrap around his rubber phone case and you heave your body back on top of his. He grumbles when the phone starts to ring again, rubs an apologetic hand up and down the back of your thigh which has you forcing your face into the crease of his neck and shoulder to hide the bright red of your cheeks.

He rests his head atop yours as he answers the phone.

Sirius' voice booms through the speaker, though it's too muffled to make out what he's saying. James answers whatever it is with a tired sounding "Not tonight, mate."

There's more muffled talking, a couple of voices added into the mix and you assume that Sirius is in the local pub. Your heart sinks a little when you realise he's likely inviting James out, and you don't have the heart to tell him you'd rather stay inside the cozy confines of his flat, half asleep in the dim evening light. You don't want to seem controlling or toxic, so you lie still, control your breathing, don't react to whatever is coming down the line from Sirius' end.

James chuckles lightly, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back, hand warm against your skin where it's worked it's way under your - his - rugby jumper. "Yeah, yeah, she's here." James' hand squeezes the pudge of your hip at the mention of you.

You tilt your head up in interest and James smiles down at you, warmly, presses his lips to the crown of your head as Sirius screeches down the phone.

"No. No, Sirius, she doesn't want to spend her only day off in the pub listening to you lot." James speaks with humour in his voice, but you can see the hint of frustration that's in his eyes.

You frown, wonder if he's frustrated because he feels he has to pick between you and his friends. You love his friends, you get on well with them, but he's right, you can't think of anything worse on your only day off than going to the pub. "You should go." You whisper, urging James by attempting to climb off of him.

His arm wraps tight around your waist, brows furrowed as he looks down at you and shakes his head, "No." He mouths.

Then, "No. Sirius. No. Mate, you're smashed, have Moony take you home."

James laughs at whatever Sirius says in retort, and then the two are saying their goodbyes. James tosses his phone onto the coffee table after he switches it to silent mode.

"You should go. This is your only day off, as well. Go see your friends. We can do a quick dinner or something tomorrow." You try to urge him again.

James' immediate response is to hold you tighter to him, as though you may actually be trying to escape him. "I'd rather spend my time here. With you." He shrugs, like it's nothing.

Your heart does a little stutter at his words, but your brain catches up and you sigh, "Jamie, it's okay. If you want to go, you should."

His brows hook upward at the middle when he furrows them, his eyes searching yours, "Why is it so hard for you to believe I'd rather be here with you?"

You try not to flinch at his words, try not to think about all the boys before who've put a myriad of things above you. It's fine, really. You've grown accustomed to settling for the dregs, the stolen moments. James is worth the heavy feeling it leaves in your chest to be second best. Simply because when you're with him, the world melts away.

Feigning indifference, you shrug against him, "Because all we're doing is laying here in the dark, half asleep. Wouldn't you rather be out with your friends having a laugh?"

"Would you?" James counters, and it seems like he genuinely wants to know your answer, like he thinks, foolishly, so foolishly, you'd rather be anywhere else. That you wish you were doing more.

Doing nothing with James forever sounds like the best thing you've ever heard. "No. Not at all. I love this. But I know you. You're a social butterfly." You speak softly, cautious of the conversation turning into a row.

You have too many experiences with conversations like the one you're having now being turned into a row.

James nods, "I love this, too. And you're right, I like to be social, but sometimes that drains me. I've spent all week being social, spent all week missing you, and I'm drained. All I wanted to do all week was see you, spend time with you. I couldn't think of anything worse than going to the pub, right now."

His hands are as assuring as his words, trailing a path of warmth and comfort across the planes of your back, your thighs, your hips. It's surreal, the assertiveness he speaks with, the way he makes sure you know he means every word. Your stomach flutters with the idea of him missing you as much as you missed him. It's weird, to feel validated, to feel content and sure.

"I just don't want your friends to think you're picking me over them, or something." You mumble, head dropping back into the space between his shoulder and neck.

James hums, "I am though. Not in a bad way. I just," He pauses, like he's searching for the words, "I'm sure about this, you know? Sure about you, about us. You mean a lot to me, and I'm all in. You come above everything else because, for me, that's the only way it'll work."

You feel rather silly for the tears that spring their way to your eyes, and begin to leak without your consent against James' neck. He must feel them, because he tuts, using his hands to pry your face away from the skin, thumbs swiping softly at the fallen tears. He looks at you so gently you might start sobbing. Relief washes over you in waves, and you realise you hadn't even been aware how worried you were that you felt more for James than he did for you.

"Why are you crying, sweet girl?" He whispers, pressing a kiss to each of your tear stained cheeks.

You loose a breath, "I've never been someones first choice before."

That visibly upsets James, who takes it upon himself to right this wrong, stave off your tears by pressing kisses all over your face between murmured promises.

"I'd pick you in this life," a kiss to your nose, "the next," a kiss to your forehead, "the one after that," a kiss to your chin, "and in every universe."

He finishes with a kiss to your lips, soft and deep, his hands steady on the line of your jaw. You whine a little, pushing further into him until he's chuckling into your mouth.

"I'd pick you, too," You say into his mouth.

James smiles, bright as anything you've ever seen, "Thank God for that, lovie."

And yeah. Thank god for that.

#marauders #marauders fic #james potter #james potter imagine #james potter fic #james potter one shot #james potter x f!reader #james potter fluff #hes a sweet boy your honour #sirius black #remus lupin #fluff #marauders fluff #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #fourmoonys asks

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 year ago

Text

When the Levee Breaks pt.1

pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

tags / warnings: friends to lovers fluff then smut, mutual pining, smoking weed (be responsible irl), high sex, explicit descriptions of oral (f receiving), fem!reader

NSFW notes: A LARGE PORTION OF THIS FIC IS NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS; DO NOT READ IT IF IT ISN'T APPROPRIATE FOR YOU! HOWEVER, because such a long portion (like 2/3) has no sexual material (except for the implication at the very beginning), i have clearly marked where it becomes NSFW in case any age-appropriate readers want to read only up to that point (i know some people just want fluff not smut even if they're of age, and that's so chill); i will say there is drug use before then, so still adult material, but fluffy around that; please please be responsible for your content consumption

random notes: set in the late 70's / early 80's, following canon of when the marauders would've met but the rest of the world building (e.g. au) left ambiguous title inspired by a song on one of the albums mentioned idk why this turned out similar to The Prettiest Star with Sirius Black, but i guess my fantasy is just to listen to music intensely with someone then fuck lovingly lol

word count: 6.4k

hope you enjoy! thank you if you read it! 🫶

You watch as his long fingers, practiced and adept, roll the spliff. You liked this part. You could stare at his hands under the guise of watching the rolling. Remus didn’t have to know how far from pot your mind wandered when you did. He didn’t have to know it made you wonder every time what else he could do with this fingers. Imagine how they would feel on you. In you.

At the thought, you squirm where you’re seated on his settee next to him. He chuckles in a low tone.

“Antsy?”

“No.”

He can tell you’re lying. You can tell he can tell. But you don’t care. As long as he can’t tell why you’re lying, it doesn’t matter, and you can keep wriggling.

“Whatever you say, jitterbug.”

Your wringing hands catch his attention, and his eyes fix on them even as his hands continue their work.

“Next time, you’re rolling it,” he says through a smile. “There’d be nothing left to smoke by the time you finished shaking it everywhere,” he laughs, too amused with himself, giggling as if he were already high.

“Remus?” you start, and he shakes his head and chuckles, loving how you get when he teases you.

“What?” he smiles, eyebrows shooting up at you, both a welcome and a challenge for you to say whatever you’re about to.

“Can you remind me who provided this wonderful gift on this wonderful afternoon?” You shake the baggy you brought to his flat not 15 minutes ago.

He laughs, now nodding, and concedes, “You’re right, sunshine. I should be so grateful.”

Remus brings the spliff to his mouth to lick the edge of the paper, and your retort gets caught in your throat as you fixate on his tongue.

A bit too late, a bit too quiet for your usual banter, you say, “You should be, Moons. I can still take it home and smoke by myself.”

“Oh now I’ve rolled it for you, yeah? Didn’t realize you were just here for my services. Should’ve known you were just pretending to love me till you got what you wanted.” He holds up his finished work — a beauty really — in front of you as he finishes his joke. You hum affirmatively, taking it from him and looking it over.

You inspect it exaggeratedly and with a theatrical sense of casual satisfaction tell him, “Hm, not bad. I was starting to regret the long con, but I think this was worth it.”

He’s giggling as he gets up, bumping his body against yours before he does, going toward his record collection. He walks over lazily, unhurriedly, his bare feet quiet on the floor, his hand coming up to mess with his hair. His loose, comfy clothes do a lot to hide the muscles you know are lean but strong underneath.

“Come help me choose,” he says over his shoulder as he falls to one knee to scan a lower shelf. Almost a whole wall of his small apartment is covered in shelves, boxes, stacks of records. It looks a mess, but it’s actually meticulously organized by release date.

You follow him, come up just behind him. You crouch, too, not all the way down like him. You lean on him, resting your head atop his, bringing your arms around his shoulders and neck.

He moans casually, seeming happy, and grabs your arms where they fall across his chest.

“Oh, Rem. You should know…”

“Hm?” he asks, looking up at you. You look down at him, seeing his warm smile upside down.

“This is the real reason I’ve pretended to be your friend all these years,” you fake seriousness as you nod toward the records. Remus rolls his eyes, but his smile stretches further across his lovely face. It pulls on a long scar that runs down his cheek.

“And may I ask how you knew when we were eleven that one day I would own such an epic collection?”

“Easy. You wore a Led Zeppelin t-shirt one of the first days we knew each other.”

He’s taken aback by your giving an actual answer.

“Did I really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, smiling down at him. The warmth of reminiscing about those childhood years softening you.

“I think I remember that shirt,” he smiles nostalgically. “How do you remember that?” He twists in your embrace, coming to sit on the floor and pulling you with him. You’re sitting close to each other, and he’s watching you, rapt.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I remember being so nervous and lonely at the beginning. Wanting to make friends. And you seemed nice, so I noticed you.” You shrug again, look down for a moment, not wanting to express embarrassment at a more honest recollection: you had a crush on him immediately, even back then, even before you were really sure what it was you were feeling — that came with the years that followed. “The day you wore that shirt, it was like something familiar I could latch onto. Someone who liked something I liked.” Remus is smiling adoringly at you. Listening as intently as he is, looking as giddy, he looks like a child at the greatest story time ever from his seat on the floor.

“I even tried to talk to you about it,” you confess, cringing teasingly at yourself.

“Yeah?” He sits up straighter like a puppy hearing someone at the door.

“Yeah,” you exhale.

“I don’t remember that happening.”

“That’s because it didn’t,” you laugh. “I said tried to talk to you. I got too nervous and ran to hide before I could get the words out.”

He’s shaking his head in disbelief, his smile still plastered on his face.

“I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed you yet.” Remus looks especially contemplative for a moment then hums, biting his lower lip. “It’s crazy. Trying to think of my life before you is like remembering a blank canvas.”

Your cheeks warm and so does your heart.

You’re smiling a beaming smile at him but say, “There wasn’t much to notice. I was pretty quiet. And besides, your attention probably couldn’t handle a single thing more given you were getting to know Sirius and James.” He laughs lightly at the good memories but shakes his head at you a little more pronouncedly.

“I’m sure there was a lot to notice. I was just an idiot. And quiet, too. By comparison to that lot anyway. They spoke enough for the three of us. I probably would’ve wimped out if I’d tried to talk to a pretty girl like you back then.” The edges of his entrancing brown eyes crinkled from his smile. “I mean… to be honest… I’d get nervous for a while, talking to you at first.”

“You didn’t,” you tease but secretly really want to hear more.

“I did, yeah. Of course I did,” he laughs at himself. “I had a big crush on you. James and Sirius wouldn’t let me live it down for ages.”

You’re shocked at this news. And maybe your face shows it. What it doesn’t show is how desperately your mind is racing, questioning: “Wait, could things have been otherwise? Did he actually like me as more than a friend at some point? Did I ruin it somehow?”

Remus tenses slightly, his smile no longer reaching his eyes, which are attentive at your reaction.

“That was a long time ago,” he jokes to fill the silence that is beginning to stretch too long, his tone awkward.

“What happened?” you whisper, unable to help it.

He takes a second to answer, like he doesn’t know what to say. He’s searching your face, and you’re not sure how much he can read there.

He shrugs. His face gives an “I don’t know” scowl. He’s trying to escape answering, but you don’t let him.

“Remus,” you laugh and shove him playfully.

“I don’t know,” he giggles. “I don’t know. Then I got to know you I guess. And we became friends.”

You give a scoffy laugh. You know he probably didn’t mean it that way, but your stomach sinks at the idea that getting to know you would remedy him of his crush. You’re staring at the floor when his voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” He’s trying to keep the playful atmosphere, but you hear true concern in his tone. “Did I say something I shouldn’t’ve?”

You want to say “yes,” but you wouldn’t be able to tell him which part. So, you don’t say anything.

“I didn’t think you’d mind, after all these years,” he says more softly.

“No, Rem. Of course I don’t mind.” You shake your head as if dismissing the idea, attempting a laugh that still comes out strained. “I was just surprised is all.”

He’s watching you, nodding subtlety, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Let’s choose something, yeah?” you nod next to you toward the wall, desperate to redirect attention.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Remus turns toward the records, skimming across his stacks. A thought catches him, and he moves purposefully toward a different shelf.

“What are you thinking?” you notice, your interest piqued.

“1971,” he says as if it’s an answer. It is to you.

1971: the year you met.

He pulls out a well-worn record, and the strain on your smile finally dissipates to easy delight. You come stand next to him, and he hands it to you.

“Do you remember how much we listened to that then?” he asks.

“How could I forget,” you smile, your fingers tracing the cover of Led Zeppelin IV.

It came out November 1971, but neither of you could get it till at least a month later, during Christmas break from school. When you finally did, the two of you listened to it nonstop. You absolutely loved the album, but you knew you listened to it that much because it was an easy excuse to hang out with Remus. You’d been listening to music together, often just the two of you, ever since.

“Fuck, I remember we’d listen to it in my room,” Remus reminisces. “And even Sirius, the biggest Zeppelin fan of us all, couldn’t take it anymore,” he laughs. “He’d turn it off when he found us listening to it, scolding us for ‘abusing a sacred thing.’”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Oh, look at this,” Remus startles you, excited. He pulls another record off the same shelf.

“This is too perfect,” he giggles. “I didn’t remember this came out then,” he muses, looking it over. “Probably didn’t get my hands on it till much later, I guess. But it’s like it was made for us. For you.” He hands you Just As I Am by Bill Withers, but you still don’t get what he’s saying. He sees your confused look and chuckles. “Second track,” he hints. Your eyes land on “Ain’t No Sunshine.”

“Sunshine”: Remus’s nickname for you for years. You had Sirius to thank for it actually. He’d said you and Remus were like yin and yang. And since you all already called him “Moony,” you had to be “Sunny.” The other three of you cringed at the sound of that, so he tried “sunshine” instead, conceding it was close enough, and it stuck. Over the years, Sirius and James used it less and less, Remus more and more.

“It’s your song,” Remus urges, knocking his shoulder against yours. “There literally can’t be sunshine when you’re gone because you are sunshine.” He sounds too excited, and it’s adorable.

“You sound like Sirius saying he’s serious,” you tease. He just laughs and takes the record back.

“Whatever, grumpy. It’s an epic song, and you know it, and now it’s yours, and I don’t care if that’s cheesy.”

“I love it,” escapes you, teasing tone gone. His eyes snap to yours, and he looks at you warmly.

“Alright, sunshine,” he whispers. A beat. “Wanna listen to it?” he asks, voice almost normal again. You nod gladly then go back to the sofa as he sets it up.

Remus soon comes back and joins you. He grabs the spliff from between stacks of snacks you’d prepared for the afternoon then looks over at you.

“Ready, sunshine?”

“Mhhm.”

“You do the honours.” He hands it to you and grabs the lighter. Rather than handing that to you too, he lights it for you as it dangles from your parted lips.

You take a long drag, feeling it enter you and welcoming it. You cough lightly as you exhale slowly. You are no novice but are still always a cougher. Remus still always giggles when you do, but it’s never mocking. He has a glass of water ready for you, knowing you well, always looking after you. You trade him the water for the spliff, which he proceeds to hit with equal enthusiasm and less wheezing.

You pass it back and forth for a little while. It’s strong stuff and just three hits in, you feel it engulfing you. The settee feels softer; the music sounds better.

“Ain’t No Sunshine” is playing, and in your dazed state, you’re sure this is going to be the peak of the album even if it doesn’t coincide with the peak of your high. You close your eyes, and you can feel the music on your skin.

Remus chuckles next to you, and your face turns to him.

“You look so stoned right now,” he explains, giddy.

“That’s because I am,” you laugh. Once you start laughing it’s hard to stop; once Remus joins, it’s almost impossible.

You chat easily, observations and jokes from both of you greatly benefitting from the induced assistance. Remus has a revelation about your listening to HI-fi while high. Your mind is blown multiple times at how deep the lyrics are.

“They’re all talkin’ at him, but he doesn’t hear a word they’re sayin’, Moons! Not a word! I should do that,” you tell him as if it’s the most urgent thing in the world. He cracks up. “He’s so right, you know? Gotta keep the sun shining through the pouring rain, you know?”

“Uh-huh, I know, sunshine, I know,” he just laughs at you.

“You have such a nice smile, Moony,” you observe, dazed just as much from the feelings perambulating through your system than the pot doing the same.

“Yeah?” he asks, exaggerating it till he’s all teeth and squinty eyes.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “It looked funny upside down over there,” you remember. “Watch!”

You flip over on the sofa till your feet are up where your neck should rest and your head is dangling off the edge where your knees would normally be. You smile up at him. Remus doubles over laughing with you, bringing his face much closer to yours as he leans into it.

“You’re right. Looks funny,” he tells you much more softly than you expected after his cackling. He watches you intently then brings a hand to your upside down face. He traces your features lightly, and it’s warm and tingly. His long finger travels down your nose, across your eyebrows.

“C’mere,” you whisper to him.

“Where?” he whispers back, his voice a gruff chuckle again.

“Down here!” you whisper-yell.

You pull his shoulder down and start kicking his legs up as he contorts until you get him in the same position as you. You end up side by side, upside-down on the sofa.

Each of you giggles at the other as you steal side glances. Your faces, pulled the wrong way by gravity, softened more than normal by the smoking, look even goofier through your incessant giggles and pointless efforts at holding those back.

You listen, and laugh, to at least a whole song like this. You kick each other’s feet throughout. As one of your kicks brings you closer to Remus, he rolls over to tickle you. You laugh so loud you can’t even hear the record over it.

“Stop, Rem! Stop!” you plead. “I’m already too dizzy.”

He keeps it up a moment but soon takes pity on you and helps move your body the right way around, his strong hands manipulating you easily.

“Alright, dizzy. Enough upside-down,” he says as he fixes your now crazy hair.

You just nod and shift closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he shuffles to a comfortable height for you, laying his own head on yours.

A primary reason you enjoy getting high with Remus: you both get snuggly. You’re touchy normally, even more than most best friends you’ve seen, but not overly so. When you’re high, it’s overly so. But it somehow doesn’t feel weird. In fact, it feels wonderful.

So, it feels wonderful, not weird, when you absentmindedly reach over for his hand. He gives it to you easily, and you begin caressing it.

“Your skin is so soft, Rem.” You pull his hand closer to you, bringing it close to your face, looking it at like you’ve never seen a hand before. Remus takes the opportunity and quickly grabs at your nose playfully. You giggle at this as he responds to your initial comment.

“In between all the scars maybe.” He sounds matter of fact. There’s a lot less pain in his voice now when he talks about them than when he did in your younger years. You look forward to the day when you hear no pain there at all.

“No, the scars too,” you correct him gently, and you bring your thumb to a scar that runs from the top of his hand up to his forearm. You trace it with reverence, and he shivers at your touch. You know for a fact you’re the only person in the world he allows to touch them. You’re so grateful for his trust, and in this moment, your emotions heightened, your inhibitions lowered, the vibrations of the music moving through you, you feel the need to tell him so.

“Thank you for letting me touch you, Moony.”

Remus has been watching where your hands are connected until now, but at your words, he looks into your eyes. He just looks at you for a long moment. You can’t tell how long, time elongated and indeterminable in your current state, but you’re completely comfortable to sit in it through its entirety, looking straight back at him.

Eventually, the softest grin blossoms on his face. You mirror it.

“Thank you for not being afraid to,” he whispers. You genuinely don’t understand.

“Why would I be?”

“You know what I mean,” he tries to explain. He looks down in shyness but back at you before continuing, “Maybe ‘afraid’ isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s ‘disgusted’ or something…”

His voice is fading to a low whisper by the end, like the louder the words are the truer they’ll be.

Without hesitating, you tell him the truth: “Remus, you’re the least disgusting person in the world. You’re beautiful.” He grimaces like he can’t believe you, so you go on. “You are.”

You turn your body even more toward him, bringing your connected hands to your almost shared lap and bringing your other hand to caress his cheek.

“Silly Moony. You’re so sickeningly beautiful,” you chuckle. Your hand runs up through his hair. “This hair is ridiculous,” you inform him, tousling it. He leans into your touch like a content puppy. “These eyes.” You trace circles around each of them, first skimming his eyebrows then looping around. “They’re the easiest thing in the world to melt into, no pot needed.” You feel them crinkle as they smile into your compliments. “This nose.” You trace it slowly. “These lips,” you say more softly. You feel his gasp when you touch them then feel nothing, his breath held as you trace them. “And your scars,” you say with some finality. You trace a prominent one across his face. He closes his eyes while you do, opens them again when you reach its end. “You beauty isn’t one to be ruined by scars, Remus Lupin. Your beauty is the kind that incorporates the scar and makes that beautiful too.”

Remus squeezes your interlaced hands. Your faces are so close to each other that you could see his eyes moisten as you tell him all this. He closes them before full tears form and moves his face that tiny bit closer till his forehead rests on yours. You nuzzle his nose, and he nuzzles yours back.

“It’s so quiet,” you whisper, breaking the silence — noticing the silence. You didn’t notice when the album ended. Remus just hums in response.

The silence is loaded but peaceful. You don’t want to pressure him into having to say something back after you let yourself get so intense with him. It wasn’t about what he said back; it was about his understanding how you saw him, how you hoped he would see himself.

So, with his eyes still closed, you give the scar that runs across his nose a light kiss, do the same to another larger one across his jaw. Then you bring your head back to his shoulder, snuggling into him to mark the end of the moment, no further pressure necessary.

Remus shifts his body closer, as close to you as possible. He brings his arm around your shoulders without letting go of your hand. He’s holding you close, and your arm crosses your chest to keep your hands intertwined. He kisses the top of your head — new, sweet — then rests his own there again — familiar, warm. Your thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of his hand.

You sit together in the quiet a long while. You close your eyes, breathe Remus in, let his body, his presence envelop you then just bask in it. Everything feels pleasantly heavy — the air, his body where it touches yours.

You settle into him, and without your noticing you’re doing it, your hand on his stills.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you need to ask, unsure what he means. You look up, and he looks down, and your faces are a breadth away from each other.

“I liked how you were touching me,” he whispers. “I always like how you touch me,” he adds like a secret.

He brings his hand that’s not holding yours up to your face. First, the backs of his fingers brush lightly over your cheekbone then he rests his hand there. His fingers hold your jaw; his thumb caresses your cheek. Like you tend to do, you lean into his touch.

His gentle, soothing touch flutters your eyes closed. Your inability to see his face makes it less scary to respond, “I always like how you touch me too.”

“Yeah?” he sighs, his hand holding you a bit more tightly, his thumb coming down to graze your bottom lip. You nod slowly, his hand moving with your head.

“Do you ever think about other ways we could touch each other?” he whispers. Your eyes fly open at this and land on his: lidded, dilated, gazing into your own.

“Do you?”

“I asked you first,” he giggles. “And I’ve already told you a secret today. It’s your turn.”

“What secret?” Your voices are still soft, whispering even though there’s no need for quiet other than your intimacy demanding it.

“About my crush.”

“I had a crush on you too,” you tell him. “So now we’re even.”

“That’s not fair, sunshine,” he smiles. You smile back.

Then, after a moment, like he can’t help it, “You did?”

“Of course I did.”

“What happened?” he echoes.

“Nothing,” you confess.

His eyebrows furrow, unsure how to interpret this. His eyes hold hope and trepidation at once.

“I got to know you… And we became friends…” you continue. His expression falls, and you’re pretty sure you recognize this look as disappointment. But you go on, “And it made me love you all the more.”

You’re ready to read his expression closely this time, but you don’t get the chance before he’s kissing you, before you’re kissing back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s slow. Deliberate. His lips push on yours; his arms bring you closer. His tongue teases your lips, and though they part in response, his tongue traces them rather than push in. You whimper at the feeling of it, and he moans at your reaction. He breathes you in, covers your whole mouth with his, devouring the sound, devouring you.

Now his tongue enters your mouth, exploring, playing with yours. You’re not sure whether his movements are slow or whether they just feel slow because you’re still high. You are sure you have no desire to speed any of it up.

You bring your hands to either side of his face, holding him gently but pulling him to you. He follows easily, and when your chests are almost flush, you trace your hands down to his shirt and pull him on top of you as you lean back, lying down on the sofa.

You keep kissing a deliciously long while then Remus goes beyond your lips, kissing along your jaw leisurely. He mouths at your skin, licking, nipping his way unhurriedly down to your neck. Here he languidly runs his tongue along the length of your neck, kissing your pulse point, nipping behind your ear.

Everywhere he touches is buzzing, and you shiver at the sensation. When his breath blows cold air on your now wet skin, you shiver even harder, your body shuddering against his above you. He chuckles into the crook of your neck and continues.

After another while of his working his way down, he has to pull the neck of your shirt down to reach further. You bare your neck to him, loving his exploratory path.

When his mouth leaves your skin for the first time in several minutes, your impulse is to immediately pull him back to you.

“Let’s take this off,” he whispers sedately, gruffly, tugging at your top.

You pull it off and don’t waste time unclasping and sliding your bra off as well. Remus looks at you, dopey and delighted, but without further ado, pushes your chest so that you lie back again. His hand stays on you and begins lazily kneading your breast as he brings his mouth back to you.

He kisses the base of your neck and continues his previous ministrations across your collarbones. He seems to be on a mission to trace the entire surface area of your skin with his wandering mouth, and you have every intention of letting him and enjoying every long second of it.

As he makes his languorous way down your sternum, you arch your back, pushing up into him, and bring your hands to his messy hair, holding him close. You scratch and tug, needing somewhere to release some energy, every part of you he’s touched left humming warm and electric. He groans into your chest, and you’re certain you feel the vibrations move through your skin, across your chest cavity, and into your heart, where they ricochet within it, making it beat faster.

“Remus,” you whine adoringly. He hums into your skin again in response and speeds up his southward trajectory just the slightest bit.

His face comes between your breasts, and he runs his teeth down the valley, then licks his tongue up the same path. You shake a little, and his hand squeezes your breast tighter. The other one he mouths across until his tongue traces a slow, wet circle around your nipple. This shoots a hot, jolting current straight from where his mouth is connected to you down to between your legs.

He’s gentle for a while, moving back and forth between your tits, often agonizingly slowly, his hands kneading at your chest all the while. Without your expecting it, though, he bites one of your hard, sensitive nipples and tugs lightly. You squeal and push your chest into his mouth. He keeps going, switching as he fancies between rough and tender.

At a bite of the side of your breast, you rut up into him, and the movement has you feeling how wet you are. You’ve never been this wet before before direct stimulation.

Remus holds your hips down to the sofa but moves from your chest to your stomach. His roaming mouth proceeds at its perfect, maddening pace. It meanders to your ribs, down your sides, not following a straight path down.

Once he eventually reaches the threshold of your pants, he looks up at you.

Remus looks higher than you’ve ever seen him before. He looks elated, in awe.

“I want to spend hours and hours on your body like this,” he tells you, nuzzling his face into your lower stomach, kissing it as he detaches from you.

“Remus,” you whimper, running your hand into his hair and inadvertently thrusting your hips up. He chuckles, still sounding high, but his voice is as low as you’ve ever heard it.

He takes your trousers and underwear off in one efficient but slow tug. He pulls his shirt off much faster, and you touch all his skin you can reach before he’s repositioning himself.

Your thighs feel cold now uncovered, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of fresh air on your soaking cunt. As you adjust your body, you feel a thick wetness drip from your entrance down to where your arse meets the sofa. You feel the coldness of that wetness even more as Remus pushes your legs further apart to position himself between them.

You’re completely sure you’re wetter than you’ve ever been before, but you’re not sure if you could possibly be as wet as you feel, thinking the high could be heightening your sensation of it. You’re worried it’s too much, worried you’ll put Remus off.

“I can clean up a little if —“ you start, but you’re cut off by Remus diving in, running his flat tongue slowly, firmly up from the base of your puddle up to your pubic bone. A strangled, prolonged gasp functions as the end of your sentence.

When Remus licks you again, your thighs shake on either side of his head. You feel him laugh into your cunt, and this time you imagine the vibrations shooting all the way up your body, following the chaotic roadmap his mouth left lingering across it.

Remus pulls back from you and rests his chin on your pubic bone, looking up at you.

He informs you simply, “You taste delicious, darling.” He looks drunk on it.

“Everything tastes better when you’re high,” you tease.

“Then I’m really going to enjoy this,” he smiles. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll get me high just by letting me do this other times.”

“Other times?”

“Well, yeah…” he giggles. His eyes bore into yours even though he’s the length of your torso away. “I though this was a first, not an only…”

“Good.” You sound giddy. “Just checking.”

“Silly,” he shakes his head at you. You thrust your hips up and laugh at the expression he makes when you bump his face, like he’s dazed. He squeezes your thigh harshly where he’s holding you.

“Behave, sunshine. It’s feeling dangerous down here.”

“I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I am.” A bite at your hip. “And I’m seriously getting the munchies, so just…” You don’t understand the end of his sentence, the words muffled against your skin as he starts eating you out.

It’s heavenly. High as you are, in love as you are, you think you’re on cloud nine. This gets you wondering where such an odd expression even comes from. It seems so random.

“Moony?”

“Hmm?” is grunted into your cunt.

“Why do you think it’s called being on cloud nine?”

He pulls back. The whole lower half of his face shines in your slick.

“Why are you thinking about that right now? Am I that bad at this?”

“Bad? It’s amazing.” You ruffle his hair in your groping hands. “Which is why I’m on cloud nine, which is why I’m thinking about that right now. Your hair is as soft as clouds, Moons.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Am not,” you giggle.

“Are,” he teases.

“Can you keep going now? It felt so good. Your mouth is ridiculous.” You thrust your hips up at him again.

“Ridiculous and bossy,” he complains, but he’s smiling hard, and before you can even think of a retort, he does as you bid.

His mouth takes its time between your legs. He spends eternities teasing you: mouthing at the tops of your thighs, licking up your bikini line, nipping at your clit without giving it the attention he knows you want from how loud you whine every time he gives it the slightest graze. He loves all over your vulva, not leaving any part untouched, unworshipped. His tongue fucks into your entrance languidly; it swirls there. He licks your labia, sucks on it, gives the same attention to your clit when you moan loud enough. He travels back and forth, seemingly enjoying all of it too much to stick to any one attention too long. The next time he lands on your clit, he prolongs it.

Your legs shake; your back arches; your whines grow loud before turning strangled, and Remus takes his cue to reserve the relaxed approach for later. He picks up his pace, gripping your thighs tightly and shakes his whole face into you, alternating between licking and sucking rhythmically at your clit. You cum hard, and it feels like it goes on for minutes.

With your eyes closed, you truly feel like you’re floating, your only anchor to the world Remus Lupin where you feel his body attached to yours.

You’re laughing in pleasure, and the laughs turn to pants as you slowly, slowly come down. You love coming down to an already high baseline, and you giggle at the sensation of relaxing into a still heightened state.

It suddenly strikes you it feels like it’s been years since you talked to Remus, heard his mellifluous voice, and you startle your eyes open searching for him.

You see him immediately. He’s gazing at you with equal parts ardor and adoration, but when he sees your expression, his shifts to concern.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, my love?” He rushes to hover just above you. His face is close to yours again, though it’s scanning all over your body. His hand holds your face gently, his other arm holding him up. “Did something feel bad? Does something hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine, Moons, I’m fine,” you rush to reassure. “I just missed you,” you explain.

“Missed me?” His eyes shoot to yours. “I’m right here, love; what do you mean you missed me?” He can’t help a subtle giggle, and his adoring expression takes back its rightful place on his beautiful face.

“I just thought I hadn’t seen you in too long.” Your hands caress his face, thread through his hair. “Or heard your voice…”

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning into your touch. “I’m right here. What do you want me to say?”

“Anything,” you smile.

“I love you.”

You’ve heard them before, but never like this, and they’re the best words in the world, in the universe.

“Remus,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him. He tastes intensely of you, and you laugh into the kiss. “I’m sorry I got you so… so slicky.”

“I don’t mind,” he chuckles. “Means it was good, right?”

“Beyond. ‘Good’ is like… like one colour out of a whole rainbow for how that just felt.”

He’s beaming down at you and kisses you again, lingering there.

When he finally separates from you, his caressing thumb comes to wipe some slick at the corner of your lip. You grab his hand and kiss each of his fingers lightly. Then you lick down his long index finger, your tongue finding and following a scar up his hand to his wrist.

You look into his eyes, and he’s staring at you, transfixed.

“I was thinking about your fingers when you were rolling the spliff.”

“Yeah?” His voice is a desperate sigh.

“Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“How beautiful your hands are. How they’d feel touching me… How your fingers would feel inside me…”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wanna find out?”

“Yes,” you moan.

“Get them nice and wet for me, and I’ll show you.” They’re already lingering at your lips, but he slowly pushes them in. You welcome them enthusiastically and lazily suck on them, swirl your tongue around them.

“Fuck.” His voice is low. “Fuck, I want to feel everything there is to feel with you.”

“Mmm,” you nod, your mouth still full.

Remus takes his fingers out, kisses you, and lets his mouth stay on yours as his fingers trace down your chin, your chest, your stomach steadily, leaving a wet path. When they reach between your legs, you squirm in anticipation.

He rubs a couple of tight, slow circles on your clit. You’re so sensitive, and it feels amazing. You mewl into his mouth where it still hovers just above yours.

“Ready, my sunshine?”

“Mmhhmm.”

Remus pushes two fingers into you ever so slowly. You release a low, slow whine the whole time he takes to press in. He gives you gentle kisses, eating it up. When his fingers are in to the hilt, you wonder how you didn’t feel devastatingly empty every moment of your life before this one. When he adds a third, you’re sure you will every moment after.

You clench purposefully around him, and he moans into your mouth. Closing your eyes again, it’s the easiest thing to let yourself be consumed by the sensations, by Remus.

When he curls his fingers inside you, you clench again, this time automatically. You grip his hair and clutch his back, your arms pulling his body close to yours.

The spot he starts massaging feels like it’s a blazing fire, but everywhere else you’re connected, your chests, your mouths, is scattered scalding embers.

You’re savouring every second, every sensation, already feeling another high building but relishing in the time it’ll take to get there.

You run your hands down Remus’s back, feeling the bumps of his scars, the grooves of his defined muscles. For the first time all afternoon, you feel a desire to hurry…

You start moving your hips to meet his rhythm, eager, even more than for your own climax, for your turn to take your time on him.

pt. 2!

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