#lily evans reader insert

[crescenthistory]

Carina the woman-lover, would you please indulge us by arguing for prompt A17 "a steamed-up bathroom mirror" with Miss Lily Evans?

hello?? this is the only way i will be addressed from now on, thank you for that darling! i made this a shower door instead of a mirror, hope you don't mind:,)

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i will ARGUE for prompt 17 "a steamed-up bathroom mirror" with lily evans

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: gn!reader, use of y/n, non-sexual nudity, marriage, happily ever after domestic vibes, lily is shorter than you because my lily hc is that she is shorter than everyone

wc: 761

There was once a time where you were genuinely concerned that you might fall out of love with Lily Evans after graduation.

The voices around you had gotten in your head, explaining that Hogwarts romances were limited to the walls of the castle, that it was the intrigue of proximity, of different houses, of Hogsmeade getaways that kept you tied together. Lily was your best friend before you ever got the courage to ask her out, and the thought of losing that made you lose sleep more than once. The amount of nights you had spent in the Astronomy Tower was, pardon the pun, astronomical – but at least it got you a new friend in the elusive Regulus Black who also frequented the tower at night. 

Despite nothing in your relationship suggesting trouble on the horizon, you were biting the skin off your nail beds in your final weeks at Hogwarts. What you had was so beautiful, so it must surely be fragile too, right?

Now you were brushing your teeth in your shared bathroom with Lily in the shower, laughing at the thought of it.

Your love was no less fragile than the walls of the flat you rented together after Hogwarts, the same one you were still happily living in years after. Lily had a full time position as a potionologist through the Ministry, developing methods of introducing lifesaving healing magic to muggle children without breaking the Statute of Secrecy. She was every bit the powerhouse of a woman you knew her to be when you fell in love. You thrived in your own dream occupation with Lily cheering you on as equal parts best friend and partner. 

Just outside your bathroom you had the Floo Network set up in your fireplace that connected to the flat Mary, Marlene and Dorcas shared, Remus and Sirius’ home and Potter Manor where James now lived with Regulus.

Oddly enough, your little family never was torn apart. After all the tragedies and pains, it became such a beautiful life.

You spit out the toothpaste in the sink one final time before rinsing your toothbrush and looking up in the mirror. Only then did you realise you were smiling, which in turn made you smile harder.

You heard a squeaking sound over your shoulder and turned around to see Lily wiping away some of the fog on the shower glass door to catch a glimpse of you. Her hands were in her hair, white shampoo coursing through red hair. 

“What are we smiling about? Have you had your coffee already?” She called loudly over the water, teasing laughter following her words.

You stuck your tongue out at her as you leaned back against the counter to work on your own hair. “Can’t I just be content, Evans?”

She hummed as if she was considering it. “Not for as long as you call me by the wrong name.”

Your grin hurt your cheeks. “My apologies, Lily Evans-L/N, it will never happen again.”

The glass was already almost entirely fogged up again, Lily becoming a distorted figure through the haze, but you caught her smile and heard her laugh over the thundering water. You could just barely see the splatter of freckles across her milky back, your fingers aching to stay home and count them all day.

You took a moment to look at her, to breathe in the smell of your hair products mixing with her body wash in the humid air, the makings of a home.

The squeaking sound came once more as Lily’s pointer finger came up to draw a rather large heart near the top of the shower door. Within it, she drew her and your initials on each side of a plus sign. Beneath it, she wrote your wedding date. You could find the remnants of that heart after each shower she took, a well-ingrained ritual.

It was a beautiful, domestic sight – just like the woman enjoying her morning while rubbing her love in your face.

“That’s it,” you murmured under your breath before walking over and cracking the shower door open.

Lily shrieked a laugh as you opened it, pretending to hide away behind the stream of water from the shower head. Luckily, you had yet to get properly dressed and didn’t care if your bathrobe got wet as you reached out for her cheek. You had finished fixing your face for the day, but you didn’t mind messing it up one bit as you brought her in across the water stream for a sweet and searing kiss.

Her lips moulded perfectly against yours, not any less than they did at Hogwarts – perhaps even more so.

Lily hummed against your lips, smile widening beneath your affection. “I love you,” she whispered, careful to place her hands on the shower door for leverage and not on you. 

You looked down at her with nothing short of a lovestruck expression. “And I love you, you little minx.” 

Another kiss, as loving as it was wet. 

You couldn’t really ask for a better way to start your day.

[sunnami]

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

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

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

wc. 24.1k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How repulsive.

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

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

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

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

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

What a bunch of insufferable fools. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He furrows his brow. “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Children.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately! 

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

That, after all, is how you learned.

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

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

What’s wrong? 

The question echoes in your head. 

Ha! 

You scream inwardly, if they only knew! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turns out, you are not fine. 

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

 —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him. 

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’ve made it all too easy for you. 

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

Sirius staggers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before? 

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

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

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

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

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

When does duty end? And when does life begin? 

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

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

You want to go to sleep already. 

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

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

You miss your cat. 

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

You want to die.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold.

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

Dimwitted fool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy. 

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva. 

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose. 

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone. 

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.) 

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands  rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena. 

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains. 

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire. 

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!” 

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands. 

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes. 

“Daphne, get away from there!” 

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain. 

But there is nothing. 

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom. 

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes. 

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.” 

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.” 

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat. 

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. 

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.” 

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile. 

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side. 

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you. 

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms. 

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor. 

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever. 

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books. 

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to. 

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic? 

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons. 

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else. 

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!” 

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.” 

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw. 

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated. 

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.” 

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold. 

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time. 

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another. 

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies. 

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you. 

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.” 

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?” 

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare. 

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.” 

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.” 

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye. 

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”  

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones. 

(Hogwarts is the best!) 

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival. 

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy. 

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in. 

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”) 

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane. 

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor. 

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S. 

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?” 

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his. 

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing. 

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl. 

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.” 

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.” 

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie. 

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.) 

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her. 

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?” 

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.” 

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching. 

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.” 

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . .  I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly. 

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground. 

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home. 

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak. 

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.” 

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!” 

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.” 

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room. 

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle. 

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’ 

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents. 

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.) 

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?” 

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.” 

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans. 

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain. 

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you. 

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”) 

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time. 

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely? 

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all. 

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders. 

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to. 

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!” 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.” 

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!” 

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!” 

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!” 

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!” 

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?” 

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.” 

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life. 

You hate her. 

You hate her with all your heart. 

But even monsters need a heart to breathe. 

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor. 

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne. 

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.) 

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks. 

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard. 

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.” 

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death. 

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.” 

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!” 

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation. 

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.” 

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?” 

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word. 

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name. 

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.” 

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills. 

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. 

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.) 

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours. 

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one. 

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed. 

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams. 

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even. 

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm. 

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him. 

Bile rises to your throat. 

Tears fall from your eyes. 

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.) 

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.” 

“I promise. . .  you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.” 

You pass out in her arms. 

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes. 

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream. 

You are tired. 

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give? 

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this? 

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now. 

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you? 

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire. 

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back. 

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit. 

Maybe. . . 

If you move a few inches forward. . . 

If you just fly. 

You’d be free. 

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.” 

I don’t care. 

Go away. 

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone? 

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest. 

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with. 

You let your weight shift over the window. 

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly. 

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh. 

Maybe tomorrow, then. 

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?” 

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.” 

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.” 

You stay silent. 

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice. 

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.” 

You nibble on your bruised lip. 

Could you really? 

Maybe just this once. 

You’re only human, magic as you are. 

You take one step forward. 

Then another. 

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion. 

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days. 

To do what is right. 

To endure. 

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then. 

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve. 

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation. 

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother. 

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands. 

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her. 

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!” 

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands. 

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!” 

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.” 

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.” 

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.” 

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake. 

“Mum, wake up, please!” 

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear. 

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s. 

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!” 

There’s a faint smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor. 

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely! could i please request poly jily and lipstick and a split lip! love you and your writing ❤️❤️

Thanks angel!

cw: brief mention of blood

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 837 words

You’re all three bundled in your coats as you walk home, the nights still cold despite the warming days and the fair bit of alcohol in each of you. James is teasing Lily for her decision to wear a skirt in between offerings of his coat. 

“Mine works just as well as yours,” she insists, shivering. 

“No, but mine’s longer is the point. You’ve got those poor lovely legs completely exposed to the elements.” 

Lily gives him a wry (loving) look. Her legs are somewhat shorter than James’, but somehow she manages to walk so doggedly you’re both hurrying to keep up. “You really want me to stop so we can switch coats. That’s what you think I should do.” 

“I’d never tell you what to do,” James says automatically. You grin; your boyfriend is a smart man. “I’m only saying that while you look beautiful, you also look cold, and perhaps my longer coat could help with that.” 

“We’re almost home,” you point out. Your partners have managed to bicker entertainingly most of the way back from Marlene’s party. You’re within a couple blocks of your flat now. 

It’s a relief. The evening has been fun, but you don’t know a one of James’ friends that doesn’t make big to-do out of their birthday; between the getting dressed up, the dinner, and then the party itself at Marlene’s place, you’re very eager to get back to your own home, where your face wash and lip balm and your very warm comforter live. 

James takes you in. Your quick strides, head lowered against the wind, both arms crossed over your (unfortunately rather thin) coat. You and Lily have been luckless companions in your underestimation of the weather. 

“You look cold,” observes James. 

“I bet you say that to all your girlfriends.” 

He laughs. “Here, angel, take my coat.” 

“I don’t want your coat.” You swerve out of his reach, though he’s already taking it off. “Really, James, we’re nearly there.” 

“Yours is awful!”

“Why do you want to be rid of your coat so badly?” Lily asks, fishing out the key to your flat as you near the steps. 

“I’m trying to be chivalrous! Why will nobody have my coat?” 

“Chauvinist,” you quip. 

“All I’m offering is a decent coat, and of course I get cruelty in return.” 

“You think your coat must be so much better than either of ours, hm?” 

“It is! Yours is too short and yours is too thin.” Lily smiles as she unlocks the door, clearly enjoying watching you rile James. He throws up his hands. “I won’t be gaslit.” 

“You really think it’s your coat, or is it just that your oh-so-superior man body is keeping you warm?” 

James pushes you through the door to your flat as soon as it’s open, playfully rough. It’s unusual enough to startle a giggle out of you as you back away from him. “I’ll show you what my man body is good for,” he promises. 

You nearly trip over your own feet, laughing while James backs you down the hall until your thighs hit the edge of your bed. You hear Lily bolt the door. Her footsteps follow at an easier pace, but James is already ravaging you. 

“It’s not—chivalrous—” you manage between kisses, “if you’re only offering to—to—” 

“No, go on, finish.” James links his fingers through yours, kissing repeatedly at your top lip as you fight to contain your smile. “I wanna hear your thoughts on how sexist I am for—oh. Ouch.” 

For a moment you think you’ve hurt him somehow. You let your head fall back against the mattress, looking him over worriedly. It doesn’t occur to you that the ouch was in sympathy. 

“Sorry, lovie.” James sets his thumb to your lower lip. You recall why you’d been so desperate for chapstick a few minutes ago.  

“What did you do?” asks Lily, half weary and half fond. She’s well accustomed to the outcomes of you and James’ play fights. When she leans around him to see, her pretty features pull into a frown. “Oh,” she coos. 

It’s altogether too much concern for a split lip. “It’s fine.” You touch the origin of the sting, finding only a bit of blood on your fingertip. “Don’t be sorry.”

“This is what happens when I make you smile too hard,” James says mournfully. 

It makes you smile again. Both your partners tut at you for it. 

“Let’s keep the damage to a minimum,” Lily chides him, though she’s smiling too. She cups your cheek as you sit up, inspecting your lip. “It’s sort of hard to tell with your lipstick,” she says. “You look so lovely, sweetheart, but maybe it’s time to switch it out for some lip balm?” 

“Yeah,” you agree. Lily follows you into the bathroom. 

“Oh, is it time for the face washes?” James asks eagerly, getting up too.

“You’re not allowed to help anymore,” Lily reminds him. “You waste too much product.” 

“I know, just let me watch, yeah?” 

[severussnapemylove]

Lily; “Your boyfriend is just very…Severus.”

Y/N; “And your husband is extremely James, what’s your point?”

[aisiedaisie]

hiiii ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ i just found your page this morning and read through your entire masterlist and i loveeee your writing! is it possible to get royal poly!marauders at a ball or something and they catch sight of the reader (can be whatever role you wanna give them) and they are like 'damn'

Hello hello~!!!

First of all, thank you so much for patiently waiting for me to get to your request. Life has been pretty hectic on my end, so writing had to take a back seat for a little while. But today, I finally had some time to sit down and write!

Now, let me just say— this idea is absolutely amazing! I’m completely in love with royal and historical AUs, so there’s a good chance I’ll revisit this concept and or turn it into a series of drabbles. (Not that I’m particularly skilled at keeping things short!!!)

I really hope you enjoy my take on your idea 💖

edit: I got a bit carried away-

Royal Flush

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7k

The night after the neighboring kingdom’s delegation arrives, the Griffyn Kingdom buzzes with anticipation. To honor their esteemed guests— especially the visiting princess —the King and Queen have announced a grand ball. This celebration is more than an act of hospitality; it is a shining declaration of unity, a glittering prelude to alliances and promises that will shape their shared future.

You find yourself standing in Princess Lily’s chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows against the ornate walls.

 Before you, Lily examines herself in a floor-length mirror, her emerald-green gown a masterpiece of silk and embroidery. You and Mary fuss over the gathered fabric at her hips, smoothing it into place with careful precision.

“I can manage the rest,” Lily murmurs, her voice gentle but decisive. She steps away, gliding toward the gilded jewelry box on her dressing table. Its lid is open, revealing an array of jewels she brought for the journey— diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires glittering alongside an assortment of tiaras.

“You two should get ready as well,” she adds, her tone as light as the shimmering necklace she picks up, its facets catching the firelight.

You pause, caught off guard. “What?” The word escapes before you can stop yourself.

Normally, Marlene would stand guard in her knightly uniform, Mary would accompany Lily throughout the event, and you would remain behind— content to watch the festivities from a quiet corner of the castle, keeping a vigilant eye on the princess’s chambers.

“There’s no need for that tonight,” Mary says, her voice warm with reassurance. She steps forward, deftly fastening the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The glittering stones resting perfectly against the princess’s pale freckled skin. “We’re on excellent terms with the Potters. No one here will mean us harm.”

The words hang in the air, both an assurance and an invitation. Tonight is different, you realize. 

A diamond tiara rests atop Lily’s head, its intricate design sparkling like a constellation of stars nestled in her fiery red locks. She adjusts it briefly, her reflection regal and resplendent. “You rarely get a chance to enjoy yourself during visits like this,” she says softly, her tone kind but firm. “Go on, get ready.”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by Lily’s thoughtfulness. Her generosity warms you in a way words could never fully express.

With her gentle urging, you retreat to your own room to prepare. A quick bath washes away the lingering weariness of the day, and you do your best to ready yourself for the night ahead.

Despite your efforts, a sense of inadequacy lingers. 

For such grand occasions, it’s expected that the lady's maids and companions are impeccably dressed, each carrying at least one formal gown for travels like these. 

You do have such a dress— a blush colored piece gifted to you by your mother when you first joined the palace as Lily’s lady’s maid.

The fabric clings just a little too tightly at the waist, its once flawless seams now strained from years of careful reuse. The soft blush color, though elegant, has faded slightly with time, its original vibrancy dulled by repeated wear. The bodice is adorned with modest embroidery— delicate vines and blossoms stitched in pale gold thread that catches the light just enough to hint at refinement. The skirt, while gracefully cut, feels heavier than you remember, its weight pulling at your movements as if to remind you of the weight of high society.

It was the best your family could afford when you first came to the palace— a gift from your mother, its fabric chosen to honor both simplicity and a touch of nobility. Back then, it had been a symbol of hope, a token of pride for a baroness’s daughter stepping into the royal household. 

Now, however, standing before the mirror, you can’t help but feel its inadequacy in the face of tonight’s grandeur.

Even so, you smooth the skirt with steady hands, letting your fingers trace the faint ridges of the embroidery. This night, you remind yourself, is not about the richness of your gown, but the confidence you bring and the memories you make. 

Perfection may elude you, but presence—your presence—is more than enough.

When you step back into Lily’s chambers, it’s clear everyone is ready to go. Lily, as expected, looks effortlessly regal in her emerald green dress, the rich color complementing her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in elegant waves. Mary, ever composed, is radiant in a soft yellow gown that perfectly flatters her figure, her dark hair neatly arranged in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

“You look darling,” Lily murmurs, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her touch is as light as her tone, her emerald eyes warm with affection.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Says the actual goddess standing before me.”

“Truly,” Mary chimes in, her voice sweet as she adjusts the clasp of your necklace, ensuring it sits perfectly centered. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Before you can protest their kind words, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Marlene peeks her head in, her light blonde hair swept back into a tidy low ponytail. “Ladies,” she announces with a bright grin, “it’s time to head down.”

Excitement ripples through the room as the evening’s promise beckons.

_____

You weren’t quite sure what to do once you stepped onto the crowded ballroom floor. Back home, state balls were familiar territory, their routines and customs etched into your memory. But here, in a foreign kingdom, uncertainty clouded your thoughts. 

Was the etiquette the same? 

Would it be seen as rude to linger by the walls, content to watch the swirl of color and movement before you?

Must you be drawn into the heart of the celebration?

Apparently so.

You stand near one of the grand marble pillars circling the ballroom, the cool stone a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. A glass of white wine rests in your hand, a half-hearted shield against your unease. From the corner of your eye, you notice movement—a man approaching with easy confidence. His dark hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to frame his sharp features. His attire marks him as a knight of the Griffyn Kingdom, though the smirk curling at his lips carries a roguish charm and confidence uncommon in most knights you’ve met.

“You must be part of the delegation,” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk deepening as his gray eyes fix on yours.

You hesitate, biting back the urge to fidget. He’s handsome, undeniably so, but you can’t quite place why he’s chosen to speak to you. With a soft sigh, you nod. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “I remember seeing you earlier, standing just behind the little princess. So, why aren’t you out there, dancing?” He gestures toward the center of the room, where couples spin and sway beneath glittering chandeliers.

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. It’s not entirely true, but you hope the excuse is convincing enough to deter him.

“Nonsense,” he says with a laugh, his hand extending toward you. “Anyone can see you want to. Prove me wrong, if you’d like.”

The invitation lingers between you, daring yet strangely kind.

You hesitate for just a moment, glancing at the glass in your hand before setting it down on the corner of the nearest table. Then, with a small breath of resolve, you place your hand in his. “Don’t get mad if my heels end up on your toes,” you quip, a touch of nervousness slipping into your tone.

“Trust me, I’m quite nimble. Dodging danger is part of the job,” he replies with an easy smirk, already guiding you toward the dance floor with a confidence that leaves little room for argument.

Normally, you might have countered with a quick remark of your own, but your mind is too distracted. The pounding of your heart fills your ears, drowning out coherent thought.

The lull in the music amplifies every other sound—the clack of your heels against the polished marble, the low hum of whispered voices as heads turn to watch you pass. The weight of their gazes burns into your skin, and your hands tremble slightly as the knight clears a path through the crowd, his presence commanding in a way that both unsettles and reassures you.

Other couples filter onto the dance floor as the musicians shuffle their sheet music, preparing for the next song. The murmurs of the room settle, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Well,” you manage, your voice soft as you cling to anything that might distract you from the dozens of eyes still following your every move, “it seems you’re rather popular.”

“What can I say?” he responds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am rather handsome.” The smirk that accompanies his words is maddeningly self-assured.

Before you can respond, his hand presses gently against the middle of your back, drawing you closer. His other hand takes yours in a firm yet careful clasp, guiding you into the proper frame with a natural grace that makes it seem effortless. You barely notice the band striking the first notes of the song, your attention fixed on the storm gray eyes studying you with something close to intrigue.

You set your hand clumsily on his shoulder, your fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his maroon jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind your hesitation, his movements assured and steady as he begins to lead you through a simple waltz.

To your relief, the steps come naturally, your body quickly attuning to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of his lead.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft, nearly lost beneath the rising swell of the orchestra.

You glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you give your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a charming smile paired with a wink that, despite yourself, pulls a smile to your face.

“And you?” you counter, a touch of playfulness creeping into your tone. “Who might this oh-so-charming knight be standing before me?”

His eyes glint with amusement, their gray depths catching the light like polished steel. “Sirius,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet confidence.

You nod thoughtfully, letting the music and his lead guide you effortlessly across the floor. “An attention grabbing star for an attention grabbing knight,” you muse aloud, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Seems fitting, I suppose.”

His laugh is low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like the melody. “Well, I do strive to live up to my name.”

“I doubt you have any trouble with that,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

The music begins to fade, the elegant notes giving way to the quiet hum of conversations around you. As the dance slows to a stop, you take a small step back, though his presence still lingers like the warmth of the ballroom’s golden glow.

“So much for not being a dancer,” he teases, his smirk as effortless as the steps he led you through.

You turn to him, unable to suppress your grin. “Maybe you were just that good of a lead,” you say sweetly, your voice light with sincerity. But before he can respond, you catch sight of Mary and Lily across the room.

“I ought to check in on my lady,” you add, inclining your head slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Sirius—”

“Sirius,” he interrupts gently, his tone almost playful. “Just Sirius is fine.”

You nod, your smile softening as you take a small step back. “Fine, then. Thank you for the dance, Sirius. It was... unexpected, but I truly enjoyed it.”

With a final glance, you turn and make your way toward Mary and Lily, weaving through the gathered crowd. The warmth of his hand on yours still lingers faintly, and his name echoes in your thoughts like the fading strains of the music— a memory you suspect will stay with you far longer than the evening itself.

_____

James and Remus stepped out of the nearest sitting room, the faint hum of ballroom music echoing down the corridor. Remus, ever meticulous, adjusted James’s slightly askew collar, his fingers deftly hiding the newly formed love bites that marked the prince’s neck—evidence of their brief but heated absence.

“We need to get back before anyone notices,” James murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement as he fixed his tousled hair.

Remus smirked. “We’re already late. Let’s hope Sirius hasn’t set the place on fire in our absence.”

But as they approached the ballroom’s grand entrance, what they saw made both men falter. There, on the dancefloor, Sirius Black was leading a woman in a waltz.

The sight itself was striking. Her blush colored dress stood out in gentle contrast against the bold, jewel toned gowns of the others swirling around her. The simplicity of her attire only seemed to magnify her elegance, and for once, Sirius appeared utterly focused, his usual roguishness tempered by something softer.

“Sirius never asks a woman to dance,” a sharp voice cut through the hum of the crowd. James and Remus glanced toward a cluster of women, their faces half hidden behind delicate feathered fans. The speaker, a haughty looking noblewoman, tilted her head knowingly, her words drawing murmurs of agreement from those around her.

Remus’s brows knit together. Sirius was notorious for politely but firmly declining the endless stream of invitations to dance he received at events like these. Yet, watching him now, Remus found he could understand why Sirius had sought out this particular partner.

She was... radiant.

“Well, isn’t she a sight to see,” James murmured, his voice just low enough for Remus to hear.

Remus nodded, his hazel eyes tracking the woman’s graceful movements. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s one of Princess Lily’s lady’s maids,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

James’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that so?” he drawled, the spark of an idea lighting his gaze.

Remus sighed, already sensing trouble. “What are you thinking, James?”

The prince’s grin only grew. “I think,” he said, “we should pay a visit to the princess. Seems like her lady’s maid could use some... royal introductions.”

_____

After reuniting with a gushing Mary and Lily, a server approaches, bowing their head politely before handing you a fresh glass of wine. You thank them quietly, though you can’t help but find their deference a little peculiar. Still, you accept the drink, shifting your attention back to the princess as she launches into a spirited account of your performance on the dance floor.

“You looked absolutely stunning out there,” Lily exclaims, her cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening—or perhaps the wine.

“She’s right,” Mary agrees with a hum, a bright smile lighting her face. “Everyone was watching. You two were the talk of the room.”

Both women had taken their turns dancing with high-ranking gentlemen throughout the night. Suitors vying for the honor of even a single waltz. Yet, they seemed convinced that your dance was the highlight.

“He’s quite a talented dancer for a knight,” Mary observes, taking a sip from her own glass.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I figured he’d be good, considering how confident he seemed. But he led me effortlessly. I barely had to think about the steps.”

“Well,” Lily interjects with a soft laugh, her hand fluttering to her lips as though trying to stifle her amusement, “that’s hardly surprising. He’s a noble, after all.”

“What?” Both you and Mary turn to her in confusion, the notion catching you both off guard. Nobles rarely became knights, considering the station beneath them. Sirius hardly seemed the exception, yet here you were.

“He’s the son of Duchess Black,” Lily explains with a slight grimace, lowering her voice. “Her sons are far more tolerable than she ever will be.”

“Lily!” Mary scolds, her eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard the princess’s blunt critique. Fortunately, the surrounding hum of conversation seemed to swallow the comment whole.

“But...” you trail off, your brows furrowing as you ask. “Did you not just dance with the heir to the duchy?”

“That would be my younger brother,” a smooth, familiar voice cuts into the conversation, making you turn sharply.

Sirius stands behind you, his easy smirk firmly in place, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you instinctively dip your head in greeting, murmuring, “Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius,” he corrects lightly, his gaze softening as it lingers on you.

“Sirius,” you murmur, correcting yourself softly.

His smirk softens into something warmer. “You danced with Regulus, Your Highness?”

“Lily,” the princess corrects, her tone mirroring his own.

Sirius chuckles, his attention shifting to her. “Of course, Lily. So, you danced with Reg?”

“As I always do, Sirius,” she replies with a sigh, clearly anticipating where the conversation might lead. Her expression brightens, however, as her gaze lands beyond him. “Oh, James, Remus! A pleasure to see you.”

Both Mary and you instinctively bow your heads, mirroring Lily’s graceful greeting as two men approach.

“Leave the formalities for the elders,” James teases, waving his hand dismissively. “Raise your heads, ladies.”

James Potter is every bit the image of royalty, dressed in a pristine white suit adorned with a red sash. The high collar adds to his regal air, but it’s his confident posture and easy smile —so warm and almost boyish—that truly captivate.

Beside him stands a tall, broad shouldered man with tousled brown hair. The scars that trace his skin catch your eye briefly before you hastily return your attention to the prince, unwilling to appear rude. Yet, the man’s hazel gaze, calm and piercing, seems to notice everything.

“Are you all enjoying the ball?” James asks, his voice warm and smooth as his signature smile graces his lips.

Lily answers first, her response polite and poised as ever. Her agreement prompts Mary and you to nod along.

“Glad to hear it,” James replies, his smile widening. “I know Sirius was enjoying himself not too long ago,” he adds with a teasing lilt, his hand clapping Sirius on the shoulder and lingering there in a way that seems deliberate.

“It was one dance,” Sirius groans, tilting his head toward the prince in exasperation.

“One dance more than usual,” Remus chimes in, his deep, steady voice carrying a hint of humor. His hazel eyes flicker to Sirius, glinting with quiet amusement as he observes his discomfort.

James turns his gaze to you, his teasing grin softening into something gentler. “He didn’t step on your toes, did he, my lady?” he asks, the mock solemnity of his tone bringing a smile to your lips.

You shake your head, your amusement showing clearly. “Of course not.”

James bursts into laughter, the sound rich and full, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby.

“Having women cover for your clumsy footwork now— what a shame,” Remus adds, his tone dripping with mock disappointment as he shakes his head.

Sirius turns to you, lips curling into an exaggerated pout. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve egged them on.”

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now, why would I do that, Sirius?”

“You’re killing me, doll,” he groans dramatically, prompting laughter to ripple through the small group.

The conversation shifts back to something closer to polite, though the teasing undercurrent remains. Mary moves subtly closer to you, her hand brushing comfortingly over your back. It’s then you notice the weight of the many gazes lingering on your group, a pressure you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Your eyes lower to the polished marble floor as you focus on listening to James and Lily’s easy banter, their words melding with the hum of the ballroom.

“You alright?” Remus’s voice pulls your attention. He steps closer, his question soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nod lightly. “It seems all of a sudden I’ve run out of energy,” you say, a polite fib. The truth is, this entire night has been draining, though you don’t want him to think he’s dull company. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you add quickly to clarify.

Remus’s lips curve into a smile, his expression warm and understanding. “We have lounges on the top floor for guests who need a break. You’d be welcome to rest there if you’d like.”

You shake your head gently. “I really shouldn’t, but thank you for the suggestion–”

“That’s a great idea,” Lily interjects with an encouraging smile. “Let’s rest our feet for a while.”

“I’ll let Marlene know we’re heading upstairs,” Mary offers before slipping away, likely toward one of the food tables where Marlene is undoubtedly stationed.

“We’ll escort you,” Sirius says smoothly, but Lily raises a hand, declining the offer with a polite smile.

“We’ll be fine on our own, but thank you,” she assures him.

“Of course,” James replies, bowing his head slightly.

Mary returns soon after, accompanied by Marlene, who carries a golden plate piled high with delicate finger foods.

“Enjoy your rest,” James says with a gracious nod, his tone sincere though his smile holds a trace of teasing warmth.

The women dip their heads in thanks before retreating upstairs to find a quiet lounge.

_____

As soon as they’re out of earshot, James turns to Sirius with a mischievous smirk. “Well, wasn’t she a sweetheart?” he asks, his teasing tone unmistakable.

“She’s polite but knows how to hold her own. I’d say you’ve chosen well, Sirius,” Remus adds with an approving nod.

“If you two hadn’t left me—” Sirius starts, a hint of irritation coloring his words.

“We did say you could join us,” James cuts in, raising his hand as if to defend himself.

“And you know damn well if all three of us disappeared, people would notice,” Sirius counters, arching an eyebrow.

James shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Your loss.”

“Not entirely,” Sirius says with a wolfish grin. “It just means we can take our time later.”

“No visible marks,” Remus warns, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “We’ll have guests for a while.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, his grin unwavering. “It’ll be fine—it’s never stopped us before.”

Remus sighs, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

[sunskisser]

🧣 james potter, or poly!marauders, whatever you prefer really + “can’t believe it took a near-death experience for you to let me hug you" with reader who doesn't really enjoy physical touch... and maybe they aren't really lovers YET. btw, i love your account! 💞

thank you for the request, and the love! 🥰🫶 here’s your scarf lovely🧣

hailstorm | j.p.

— “Can’t believe it took a near-death experience for you to let me hug you.”

james potter x reader

summary: you’re on a roadtrip with your friends when a hailstorm strikes, and james protects you

tw: fluff, reader who doesn’t really like physical touch at first, there’s a lot of a grumpy x sunshine trope going on here, since you said james or poly!marauders i decided to include the marauders + lily (platonic) for fun haha

“Potter! Get your filthy hands off me.”

“Okay, jeez,” James chuckles, sliding his arm off your shoulder. You shoot him with a glare you hoped conveyed every bit of your distaste.

“Yeah, Potter, get your hands off — ow!” Sirius snickers and flinches away when you reach forward to smack him. Remus sighs exasperatedly from across the console, fingers idly drumming on the steering wheel.

Lily gives James a look from beside you. “Leave her be, James. And you —“ she turns towards Sirius in the front seat, “shut up and let your boyfriend drive.”

You shrink into yourself, wondering which part of you was sane when you made the decision to go on a road trip with these maniacs. That too, in the middle of winter.

The snowy mountaintops did make for a pretty view, though. The white flakes continued to fall around you, and you were sure you could catch them in the palm of your hand if you were to slide the windows down. The only problem was that you were seated in between James and Lily — no windows in reach.

“ — but the map is telling us to go left!”

“You’re looking at it upside down.”

“Am not!”

“Just —“ Remus exhales, rubbing his forehead. “There’s a reason why I’m driving, James. Just trust me.”

James opens his mouth to argue but decides against it. He crosses his arms and sits back like a pouty baby, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like there’s also a reason why you’ve been driving for hours under his breath.

Sirius giggles at the comment, but no one else does. Most of you are in a sour mood considering how right James actually was — you’d been stuck in traffic and heavy snow for almost the entire day. On another note, you were just always in a sour mood.

There’s a terse silence that falls over the car. It’s broken by the sound of radio static, Sirius fiddling with some console buttons up front. A few shrill sounds pass before music starts to play.

There’s a starman waiting in the sky…

At first, the only voice that could be heard was that of the long-haired dramatic. But you could see him lean over to press a kiss to Remus’ cheek, who immediately softened. His gentle humming slowly grew louder.

Soon enough, you were the only one not singing along. James was boisterously loud from beside you, almost annoyingly so. His arm brushed against yours way too many times as he grooved.

You open your mouth to say something rude but he beats you to it.

“Come on, Y/n,” James almost shouts to be heard over the din. He’s grinning like a fool as he bumps your hip obnoxiously. “You’re not gonna sing?”

“No.”

“But —“

“No.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “What a wet blanket. You know, if you were just a little less grumpy —“

“Guys.” Remus’ soft humming is replaced by a panicked voice, breathless.

James ignores him. “— and smiled a bit more, you’d look a lot lovelier —“

“Guys!” Remus raises his voice, and the finality in his tone shuts everyone up. “There’s a hailstorm coming our way.”

You divert your attention to the windshield, eyes widening at the sight. There’s hailstones hurling downwards, closer and closer to the car. You feel anxiety start to thrum in your veins.

No one objects as Remus takes the reins. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says calmly, cutting across lanes. The traffic gets crazier by the second, everyone scrambling to get to safety. “This is a highway; there’s nowhere to hide. But I’m gonna stop near that creek over there, so hopefully, it shields us from the worst of it.”

You all nod along helplessly. Lily’s biting down on her fingernails, knee jerking up and down. Sirius looks close to tears. James is frowning, staring straight ahead like he’s lost in thought.

“We may still get hit as the storm passes over us, though,” Remus emphasies as he pulls the car to a stop. “Brace yourselv —“

He’s cut short by said hailstorm. There’s collective sounds of panic as a loud thud sounds, the ceiling of the car bending downwards in a pathetic dent. You think maybe your heart stopped beating, and your limbs are paralysed in place.

You feel strong arms pulling you close as another stone hits the place where your head had been seconds ago. James. There’s nothing you can do but to scramble closer, letting him protect you with his arms around you and head on top of yours.

You stay there for what feels like forever. His breath tickles the top of your head, his musky scent all too enveloping. It’s hard to make out over the loud, crashing noises. But you think maybe he murmurs it’s okay more than a few times.

The storm passes over the car as quickly as it came. Remus peers out the window multiple times before telling everyone that it’s over, before he lets go of Sirius to press a kiss to his lips. Not you, though.

Relief seeps through you. But you hold on to James, face still buried in his chest as you cling impossibly tighter. You don’t know why; maybe it’s the lingering fear, or maybe it’s to show him how thankful you are.

He seems to realise your need for comfort, rubbing his hand up and down your spine. “You good?”

You make a noise of assent.

“Okay, good. I can’t believe it took a near-death experience for you to let me hug you,” he huffs out quietly. Your heart does a flip, and you’re glad he can’t see the smile on your face.

A little while later, the lot of you continue on your journey. This time, you let James loop his arm round your shoulder.

san’s christmas sleepover

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Why Couldn't It Be Us

James Potter x Lestrange!Reader

AN: This is a sneak peak but you can read this alone, without having to read the full fic.

Summary: James grappled with the reality of loosing the love of his life.

WC:3.4k

CW: So much yearning and spiralling. So much angst no comfort what so ever, Marilily, drunk!James, one night stands, drunken hook ups, reader is married

The pub smelled of stale beer, wood polish, and the faint tang of smoke from the fireplace in the corner. The walls were covered with faded photographs, posters for live music, and layers of peeling paint that hinted at decades of stories. It wasn’t the kind of place where magical folk usually gathered, but Sirius insisted it had character. 

James took a long pull from his pint, leaning back against the booth, his glasses slightly fogged from the warmth of the room. Remus sat across from him, nursing a whiskey, while Peter sipped a cloudy gin and tonic. Marlene and Dorcas were at the bar ordering another round, and Sirius was at the jukebox, shuffling through the selection with the same intensity he’d use for a chess match.  

Lily slid into the seat beside James, her cheeks flushed from the cold outside. “I don’t know why I let Sirius drag us here,” She huffed, pulling her scarf off and stuffing it into her bag.  

“You’re here because you’d follow me anywhere, Evans,” Sirius called without looking up, a smirk tugging at his lips.  

Lily rolled her eyes, but her fondness was obvious. “He’s insufferable.”  

“Absolutely,” Remus nodded, chuckling when Sirius threw a random crumpled up paper at his head.

Dorcas and Marlene returned with drinks in hand, sliding them onto the table. Dorcas clapped James on the shoulder as she sat. “How’s our Golden Boy, then? Had a good day bringing shame to daddy’s potion business?”

James chuckled. “Pops’ got nothing for me anymore. I’m a free man now- no professors, no detentions, no overtime, just… endless possibilities.”  

“And endless parties,” Sirius added, finally joining them with a triumphant look. “Found Bowie. You’re welcome.”  

The opening chords of Suffragette City began to hum through the bar, and Sirius raised his glass. “To living dangerously and looking damn good while doing it.”  

“To the Order,” Lily said suddenly, raising her drink. Her voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it.  

A ripple of silence passed over the group. The Order of the Phoenix wasn’t a light topic, but it was always lurking at the edge of their conversations these days. The war was brewing- closer and darker every day- and none of them were naïve enough to think they could avoid it forever.  

“To the Order,” James echoed, his voice quieter.  

They clinked glasses, the sound almost lost under the music and the hum of conversation around them.  

“You reckon we’re ready for it?” Peter asked after a moment, his voice uncertain- but his eyes held a determined fury that was a tad bit over shadowed by his flushed chubby cheeks.

“No one’s ready for war,” Remus said. “Not really. But what’s the alternative? We let You-Know-Who run the world while we sit back and do nothing?”  

“He’s got a point,” Dorcas said, her dark eyes flashing. “We can’t just… hide. If there’s a fight, we’ve got to be in it.”  

“I don’t want to hide,” Marlene said, staring into her glass. “I’m not afraid of them.”  

“We should be afraid,” Lily said softly. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight.”  

James reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “We’ll fight. And we’ll win. That’s what we do.”  

“And if we don’t?” Peter asked, his voice small.  

Sirius leaned forward, his grin sharp and defiant. “We will. Because we have to. And because they don’t know what’s coming for them.”  

For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of their shared resolve hung heavy in the air. Then Marlene broke the tension with a wicked grin.  

“Enough of this gloom,” she said, standing and dragging Dorcas with her. “Someone say something worthwhile before I lose it.”

“Worthwhile, huh?” a familiar voice teased, light and playful, cutting through the hum of music and conversation.  

James turned to see Mary Macdonald leaning against the booth, a crooked grin on her face and her eyes sparkling with warmth. She was bundled in a long coat, her gloves tucked into one pocket, and her hair slightly damp from the winter drizzle outside.  

“Speak of the devil,” Marlene said, smirking as she dropped back into her seat. “And she shall appear.”  

Mary raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “Was I summoned for something specific, or are you all just this predictable?”  

“Predictable? Us?” Sirius scoffed, his grin widening as he stood and slid out of the booth to make room for her. “Mary, darling, you wound me. I’m nothing if not a mystery wrapped in leather and charm.”  

“And bad decisions,” Remus muttered into his glass, earning a bark of laughter from Marlene.  

Mary ignored Sirius’s antics and slid into the booth beside Lily, who shifted to make space. Her smile softened as she leaned closer to Lily, her hand brushing against hers. “Sorry I’m late.”  

“Worth the wait,” Lily replied softly, her cheeks flushing.  

James felt his stomach drop.  

Mary cleared her throat, sitting up straight. “Actually, I had a reason for being late.”  

Lily’s hand slipped into hers, and James immediately felt the shift in the air. The kind of shift that made your heart pound, even when you didn’t know why.  

“We have news,” Lily began, her voice steady but her green eyes bright with emotion. She glanced at Mary, a shy smile tugging at her lips.  

Mary took over, her grin widening. “We’re getting married.”  

There was a stunned silence, like the universe had paused just long enough for everyone to process her words.  

Then the booth erupted in cheers.  

Dorcas was the first to leap up, nearly knocking over her drink as she threw her arms around both women. Marlene was right behind her, practically pulling them into a group hug as Sirius whooped loudly.  

“Bloody brilliant!” Sirius crowed, his grin wide and uncontainable. “Knew it’d happen eventually. You two are disgustingly perfect.”  

“Disgusting,” Remus agreed with a smirk, though his tone was warm as he raised his glass. “To Mary and Lily. Congratulations.”  

Peter echoed the toast, his round face flushed with excitement.  

James raised his glass too, plastering a wide grin on his face as the others cheered. He even managed to laugh when Sirius made some terrible joke about Lily finally having a chance to wear something “outrageously frilly.”  

But inside, he was breaking.  

That should be us.

The thought was sharp and unrelenting, carving through the noise and the laughter like a knife. He was happy for her- of course, he was. Lily deserved the kind of love that lit her up from the inside, and Mary was dynamite. He could see it in the way they looked at eachother, in the way their cheeks dimpled when she smiled.  

But it didn’t stop the ache in his chest, the hollow feeling that spread with every laugh and every toast.  

The music shifted, Bowie giving way to something heavier and rockin’. Marlene grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet with a grin. “C’mon, Potter. Let’s see if you can actually dance.”  

James let himself be dragged to the tiny dance floor, forcing a laugh as Marlene twirled him dramatically. She was a whirlwind of energy, and her jokes kept him smiling, but his heart wasn’t in it.  

After a few songs, he excused himself, weaving through the crowd back to the bar.  

The bartender was wiping down glasses, and James slid onto a stool, ordering another pint. He stared at the wood grain of the counter, letting the noise of the pub wash over him.  

His drink arrived, and he took a long sip, trying to push down the emotions threatening to rise.  

It wasn’t about him, he reminded himself. 

But as he sat there, the laughter and celebration echoing behind him, he couldn’t help but wish- for just a moment- that things had been different. That he’d been enough. That he had more proof of your love, then just an apology and that last kiss.

James stared into the amber liquid in his glass, his fingers tightening around the cool surface. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses from his friends felt muted now, like he was watching the scene through a fogged-up window. He drained his pint in one long sip, setting it down with a dull thunk. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him, but James waved him off. 

He was fine. He was always fine.

“Hey, you alright?” 

The voice startled him, low and lilting, cutting through his thoughts like a blade. James turned to find a girl standing a few feet away. She was magnetic. Her hair shimmered under the dim lights, falling in waves she tucked behind her ear, and her eyes- curious and smoldering- seemed to pierce right through him. Something about her tugged at his chest, an ache that felt too familiar. 

She looked a hell of a lot like you.

James blinked, trying to shove the thought aside, but it dug its claws into his mind, stubborn and unyielding. It was in the way she held herself, confident and just a little aloof, her smile teasing at the corners like she already knew him. Like you used to look at him when you thought no one else was watching.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat and gave her a half-hearted smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The girl tilted her head, unconvinced. “I don’t know. You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world or something.” 

“Don’t we all?” He quipped, raising his empty glass. 

She chuckled, low and warm, sliding onto the stool beside him. “I suppose we do. But most people don’t drink alone at a table full of friends. What’s your excuse?”

James glanced over at his group. They were still laughing, huddled together like they didn’t have a care in the world. Lily was leaning into Mary, her hand resting casually on her knee. 

The sight made his stomach twist. He looked back at the girl, her expectant eyes waiting for him to answer. 

“Celebrating,” He lied. “Big day. Lots to toast to.”

Her smile widened, and she raised her glass. “Well, cheers to that.”

They talked, or rather, she talked, and he pretended to listen. He was too busy trying not to notice the curve of her lips or the way her laughter rang like a bell. Too busy trying not to let his mind wander to you and the way you used to laugh at his jokes, even the bad ones. Too busy pretending he didn’t feel like he was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. 

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You want to get out of here?”

James hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he thought about Lily and Mary’s announcement. He thought about your last words to him, the ones he’d tried so hard to forget. He thought about the weight in his chest that wouldn’t let him breathe.

And he said yes.

She smirked and gestured to the door. He stood up. He was a gentleman, grabbing her coat and helping her slide it on. He chuckled at a playful remark she made- he flipped off Sirius as he wolf whistled after them.

He felt normal.

Her flat was small but cozy, filled with mismatched furniture and the faint scent of vanilla. James barely noticed any of it. His focus was on her hands, the way they tugged at his jacket, the way her lips felt against his, the way her laughter sounded when she stumbled backward into her bed. 

He didn’t think about how her hair fanned out on the pillow like yours used to fan against the forest floor. He didn’t think about how her voice softened when she whispered his name. He didn’t think about the way she pulled him close, or how his heart twisted in his chest when he kissed her. 

He didn’t think about you.

It wasn’t until later, when the room was quiet and she was asleep beside him, that the weight in his chest returned. James stared at the ceiling, the darkness pressing down on him. The ache in his chest was unbearable now, raw and consuming. 

He slipped out of bed, pulling on his jeans and shirt in the dim light. The girl stirred, mumbling something he couldn’t make out, but she didn’t wake. James grabbed his jacket and left without a word, the cold air outside biting at his skin as he stepped into the night.

He didn’t remember the walk home, just the way his hands shook as he let himself into his flat. 

James stumbled into his flat, the door slamming behind him as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the floor. The room was spinning, the edges of his vision blurred from too many drinks and too many emotions he couldn’t name. His chest ached, hollow and heavy all at once, and his head buzzed with the echoes of your voice, the ghost of your touch.

He dropped onto the couch, his trembling fingers fumbling for the phone. It took him a moment to find it, buried under a stack of unopened letters and old newspapers. His mind raced as he flipped through the yellowing pages, the parchment glowing faintly under the dim light of his wand. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he found it.

Lestrange Manor.

His heart thundered in his chest as he punched in the number, the dial tone buzzing loudly in his ear. He didn’t think about what he would say or why he was calling. He just needed to hear your voice, to know you were still out there. Still you.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. 

“It's late.” The voice boomed in the distance before he heard a sigh against the receiver. “Lestrange Manor,” Your father’s voice. 

James froze, the words caught in his throat. His hand shook as he gripped the receiver, his knuckles turning white. For a moment, he thought about speaking, about demanding to know where you were, about apologizing for everything, about-

He slammed the phone down, his breath hitching in his chest. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his mistake settling heavily on his shoulders. He raked a hand through his hair, his heart pounding as he stared at the phone.

Then, slowly, he turned the pages again.

Avery Manor.

The name stared back at him, mocking him, taunting him with the reality he’d tried so hard to ignore. You weren’t just gone. You were married.

He dialed the number before he could think better of it, his hands trembling as he pressed the receiver to his ear. His chest tightened with every ring, the seconds dragging on like hours. He didn’t know what he would say. He didn’t know if he could even form words.

And then, it answered.

“Hello?” Your voice was soft, curious, and achingly familiar. It hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hand gripping the phone so tightly it hurt.

“Hello?” You repeated, a note of concern creeping into your tone. “Is someone there?”

James opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to say your name, to tell you it was him, to tell you he was sorry, to tell you- everything.

But he couldn’t. 

“...James?” 

His breath caught at the sound of his name on your lips. The way you said it, so soft and familiar, like you knew it was him without even knowing. It broke something in him, something he didn’t know could still break.

"Hi." It was all James could manage. The word came out shaky, barely more than a whisper, and he winced as the silence on the other end stretched, thick and heavy. 

Then, he heard you take a small breath. That sound- soft, familiar- tore through him, a sharp ache in his chest. He closed his eyes, the ghost of your touch burning on his skin, memories flooding back with every beat of his heart.

That breath. He missed it. He missed the way you breathed against his ear, the quiet exhale that came when his lips brushed your neck. He missed the way you'd laugh and scold him, pushing at his chest, pretending to be annoyed. "James, stop it," you'd say, your voice sharp but your eyes warm. "You’re going to leave a mark." 

And then, you'd let him do it again.

“James,” your voice came again, quiet, tentative. His name on your lips felt like a lifeline, like it always had, but this time it hurt. This time it reminded him of everything he’d lost.

“I…” His throat felt tight, the words caught somewhere between his heart and his lips. 

“I didn’t know… Avery had a landline,” James said, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to sound casual, but the slur in his words betrayed him. He cursed himself inwardly, gripping the phone harder as if the pressure could steady him. He just needed anything- anything to keep you on the line, to hear your voice for a little longer.

There was a pause on your end, long enough to make his stomach twist. He could imagine you standing there, your lips parted in surprise, your brow furrowed as you processed his words. Then came your voice, soft but laced with confusion.

“James, are you- are you drunk?”

The concern in your tone made his heart ache, but it also made him feel exposed. Vulnerable. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “What gave me away? The fact that I’m calling you at- what time is it?”

You sighed, and he could picture the way you’d pinch the bridge of your nose, your lips pressing together as you tried to decide whether to scold him or let it go. “James, what are you doing?”

The question hit harder than it should have. What was he doing? Calling you in the middle of the night, knowing full well it was a mistake? Torturing himself with the sound of your voice, knowing it would only make the ache worse?

“I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the mess of it. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

James swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he spoke, “I miss you.” The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, as though they’d been clawing their way up his throat all night. “I miss you so much it feels like I can’t breathe without you.”

“James,” you whispered, your voice strained. It was the way you used to say his name when you were trying to reason with him, to pull him back from whatever reckless path he was on. But now, it sounded different- sharper, more distant, like you were trying to remind yourself of the boundaries you’d set.

“I-” James started, his words slurring together, “I wish it was me. That it was me next to you right now, not him. It should’ve been me, yeah? It was always supposed to be me…”

You didn’t answer immediately, and the silence was unbearable. He could hear faint noises in the background- a creak, a soft rustling- and then, Avery’s voice, distant but clear, calling your name.

James’s heart seized in his chest. “No- don’t go. Please.” His voice broke, desperation dripping from every word. “Just- stay on the line. Don’t hang up, don’t leave me. Please.”

“James,” you said again, but this time it was different. Your voice was firmer, tinged with something he couldn’t quite place- regret, maybe, or guilt. “You shouldn’t have called.”

“Wait!” James shouted, gripping the phone tighter as though he could hold you there. “Don’t- just, please. Don’t hang up. Please, I-”

“James!” a sharp voice cut through his spiral, and he turned to see Sirius standing in the doorway of the flat’s tiny kitchen. He was barefoot, wearing only a pair of boxers and a shirt that was unmistakably Remus’s, the sleeves too long for his arms. His dark hair was messy, and his brows were drawn together in concern.

Behind him, Remus appeared, his face etched with worry as he rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “What the hell is going on?” He asked, his tone softer than Sirius’s but no less serious.

James didn’t answer. His eyes darted between his friends and the phone in his hand, his grip tightening as though it were the only thing tethering him to reality. He barely registered the sound of your voice on the other end, hurried and quiet, before it cut out completely.

You’d hung up.

[lupinsversion]

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧 - 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

• request: i would like something where reader is one or two years younger than the marauders and has a major crush on remus but she never thought he would like her back because she is younger. i think she’s friends with the girls maybe and she just had some little conversations with remus, nothing more. but then one of the girls can tell the reader likes remus and reader kind of ignores remus so he says like ‘why are you ignoring me’ and he declares himself to her by @oliveolivia

• a/n: ahh i love this! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :))

• contains: remus lupin x fem reader, fluff

• word count: 2.1k

masterlist || requests

She was standing with Lily and Marlene in an empty corridor between classes, chatting about anything and everything when the conversation turned on her.

Marlene grinned as she suddenly poked her friend in the side, a light jab. “Have you told Remus how you feel about him yet?” She asked with an all too knowing tone.

Her eyes widen, glancing around in alarm to make sure no one overheard. Once she was sure that she was fine, she turned back to the blonde and spoke in a hushed tone. “You know I can’t do that!”

The other two girls shared a look with one another at her response, grins wide on their faces. Lily put a hand on her arm, a reassuring gesture. “I think you should.”

Marlene added on right after. “It’s been months since you first started talking about him. At this rate you’ll never be able to tell him.”

As alarmed as ever, she responded. “I’m two years younger than him. Two!”

The girls laughed at their friend’s minor outburst, Lily speaking up again shortly after. “That doesn’t matter. Two years is not that big of a difference.”

Marlene nodded in agreement. “We’ve seen the way his eyes linger on you when you’re not looking.”

“That is…” She shook her head quickly, waving off the girls dramatically. “Not true.”

Lily and Marlene shared another look with one another, not buying their friend’s denial. Lily raised her eyebrows as she spoke. “It is. You don’t notice him watching you, but I do.”

Marlene couldn’t help but to chime in once again. “Even the other Marauders have begun to notice. He’s always more attentive around you.”

She pressed her lips together. “I don’t want to hear anything about my… possible feelings until…” She turned to Lily, “you finally give into James.” She then turned to Marlene, “and until you grow the tits to kiss Dorcas.”

Both girls turned red at her words, not daring to glance at one another. This time, it was Marlene who spoke up first. “Low blow..”

After a moment, Lily shook her head before adding on. “You’re only doing this to change the subject!”

She smiled. “All is fair in this game.”

Lily shook her head, a bit of an annoyed expression on her face. She knew her friend had changed the subject to get out of discussing her feelings for a certain boy. “Ugh, you can only deflect for so long.”

Over the course of the next few days, she had avoided Remus with all of her might, Lily and Marlene’s words repeating in her head like a loop.

She tried and almost succeeded in convincing herself it was better to keep quiet. To believe that two years was some huge age gap that she couldn’t allow. But that all came crumbling when Remus managed to corner her.

It seemed like no matter where she went, Remus would always find her within the castle.

He had noticed her attempts to avoid him. It made him frown. Not only because he felt hurt that she seemed to be trying to evade him, but also because he missed her company. So, he finally had enough and searched high and low until he found her within the library.

She was sitting hunched over studying when he finally found her. He stood in the aisle behind her, silently taking in the sight of her. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her until this moment. He watched her for a minute longer before finally stepping closer, speaking up to catch her attention. “Hey, can we talk?”

She jumped slightly in her seat, not expecting to be disturbed. She glanced up at him, silently telling herself that it wasn’t him. But when her eyes fell upon his face, she took a deep breath. All she could do was nod.

A small, amused smile tugged at his lips as she jumped in surprise, her reaction making his heart skip a beat. The look on her face was one of worry and it made his heart clench. He took a seat next to her, angling his body to face her.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” He immediately questioned, getting straight the point. He figured there was no reason to beat around the bush.

Her lips turned to a frown. “I haven’t been avoiding you.” She denied quickly.

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by her denial. “You have. Every time I try to talk to you, you disappear.” He spoke as he leaned back into his chair a bit, studying her face for some sort of clue.

He continued to watch her, his gaze lingering on her face. He took in every feature of hers, each freckle, every curve of her mouth, her eyes and the way they looked anywhere but him. He found himself unable to look away as he spoke again, his voice low and a hint of something was hidden within his tone. “I didn’t realize I made you so uncomfortable.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable.” She sat up quickly, his statement catching her off guard as she turned her body to face him.

His eyes widened a bit at her sudden reaction. Her words surprised him and he felt a small rush of relief. That was good, right? But he couldn’t just let it go at that. “Then, why are you avoiding me?” He questioned, his tone more gentle.

She let out a small sigh in defeat. She knew she couldn’t avoid this, or him, any longer. “It’s just something Lily and Marlene said. It kind of… kept me in my own head these past few days.”

He found himself intrigued. He knew that the girls were always up to something. He leaned in closer to her, putting an arm on the back of her chair. “What did they say?” He asked quietly.

“What a gossip you are, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Girl code.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, giving a small roll of his eyes at her mention of girl code. He leaned in further, his hand on the back of her chair slowly moving to play with the ends of her hair that fell over it. “I’m sure you can break the rules this once, couldn’t you?” He tried to push, a small smile on his face.

“Nope.” She shook her head slightly. “You don’t break girl code. Ever.”

Another small chuckle escaped him, her words only making him more curious as to what the girls were discussing. He found himself enjoying the conversation between them. It was the most they had talked in days and he realized he missed being able to spend any time with her. He continued, his fingers still playing with the end of her hair absentmindedly. “C’mon, give me a clue at least.”

“It was silly. Just assumptions.” She waved it off. “Not a big deal.”

He could tell that whatever it was, it wasn’t something she considered small. He took her chin between his fingers, gently tilting her head up so she was facing him, getting a better look at her features up close. “If it’s not a big deal, then tell me. I can keep a secret, you know that.” He spoke, his tone bordering onto on the more flirty side as he leaned in a bit closer.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she wanted to cast a curse on herself for the way that her cheeks heated up under his hold.

He was secretly enjoying the way that she became flustered with only a second of his touch. She looked adorable, her cheeks tinged and her breath hitching ever so slightly. It only tempted him even further.

His hand that rested under her chin moved to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, before slowly trailing down to trace the pad of his fingers against her jawline in silence.

He hummed softly as his fingers continued their motion, slowly sliding down to the side of her neck closest to him, enjoying the soft skin beneath his rough fingers. He continued to study her face as he did so, watching as the red crept further across her face. After a moment, he spoke up, his voice low with a hint of teasing beneath the surface. “You’re blushing.”

“Hardly.” Her voice came out as a stupid stutter.

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, continuing his motions with his fingers, moving down to the exposed skin of her collarbone as he watched her. “I think your face says otherwise.” He spoke lowly, his voice holding a bit of humor.

“Lily says that you watch me.” She blurted out, as if just staring into his brown eyes made her spill the smallest secrets. “Marlene thinks that you like me.”

His eyebrows raised slightly as her words blurted out. He hadn’t expected her to mention such a thing and it made him pause, freezing his movements. Her words caught him by surprise, and for a moment he struggled on finding a way to respond. His heart pounded as he finally found the words, nerves creeping into his system. “And what do you think..?”

“I don’t know…” She answered truthfully.

He gave a small nod, not taking his eyes off of her face. There was a beat of silence between them, her words echoing in his head, but it only lasted for so long.

“I think your friends might be right.”

She hated the way the butterflies started to swarm in her stomach, leaving a weird sensation to her body. She sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth, nibbling on it slightly, nervously.

His gaze flickered down to her lips, watching their movements causing his own body to feel strangely warm. He felt a great mixture of emotions, none on which he wanted to name just yet. His fingers slowly ran back towards her chin, using his thumb to gently bring her bottom lip out from her teeth. “Don’t bite your lip like that.” His voice came out lower than before.

Her brows furrowed together, the smallest hint of confusion on her features.

“If you bite your lip like that, all I wanna do is bite it myself..” He explained without being asked, his voice only becoming deeper as many emotions swirled in his very blood.

Her lips parted slightly with a small gasp, and she could’ve sworn her stomach did a back flip. “Then do it…”

He found his breath hitching in his throat. He wasn’t expecting her to say such a thing, but he found himself enjoying it. “You have no idea how badly I want to do just that.” His heart raced in his chest, his heart full of nervousness and excitement. He moved his fingers, caressing her cheek softly.

He leaned in slightly closer, their faces now only inches apart. They could feel each other’s breaths. “If I do, I might not want to stop there..”

She gulped, staring deeply into his eyes for a moment. And then a small nod came from her, silently telling him that she wanted the same thing as he did.

He took the slowest deep breath as she nodded, out of relief and to even calm himself. Without wasting anymore time, he brought his lips to hers. The sensation of the kiss felt like a fire running through his body, making his heart pick up pace. His mind was spinning, all rational thoughts leaving as he found himself getting lost in the taste of her.

They were both completely lost in the feel of one another, their lips moving together in a perfect rhythm. His free hand wondered her waist, wanting to get closer, wanting to feel more of her. But the moment was cut off by a quiet hiss only a few feet away, causing them to suddenly remember where they were… the library.

They quickly broke apart to find Madam Pince standing a few feet away, glaring at them in disapproval and annoyance. Her face was stern, her voice hard as she spoke. “There will be no such behaviors in the library.” She hissed, placing her hands on her hips in irritation.

If it was possible, her face heated up more, but this time in horror at being caught in such an act, an out of character act of her own.

A quiet sigh left his lips, but still found himself suppressing a smirk as he noticed the girl’s reaction. She was a deeper shade of red, and he knew she was mortified. He tried his best to not let his laughter show. “Sorry, we’ll be leaving..”

Madam Pince huffed, clearly not pleased with the pair. "Out quickly. The library isn't a place for snogging."

He just nodded, grabbing the girl’s hand and pulling her out of the library with him quickly. Once they exited, he couldn’t keep the laughter quiet, letting a few chuckles escape into the almost empty corridor.

© lupinsversion 2024

[gnarly-words]

hope | pt. 1

description: having always been kept tucked away at home, y/n potter is finally introduced to the infamous marauders.

pairing: sirius black x female!potter!reader, james potter x sibling!reader

warnings: mentions of illness, references of abuse

word count: 3,938

the night was painted with shadows, the moon casting a silvery glow over the walls of the potter house. a gentle breeze whispered through the window, carrying with it the sounds of chatter in the streets below. curled up in the bay window sat a y/h/c girl with forest-green eyes who stared longingly at the four boys playing in the large expanse of grass behind their house. she longed to be allowed to play with the boys, to know the joy of having friends that weren't her brother or their pet cat.

"y/n potter, you know you can't have the windows open!" euphemia potter shouted as she rushed to shut the open window and wrap yet another blanket around the frail girl.

"mama, i'm fine." y/n struggled out, her voice only allowing her to speak at a mere whisper.

"you're freezing, y/n." euphemia pulled her daughter into her arms, feeling the cold radiating through the many layers of blankets covering her. "you're never going to get better if you keep trying to make yourself more sick."

"but i just wanna go outside and play with the boys for a bit. five minutes, that's all i want." y/n tried to beg her mother, already feeling exhausted from just the movement of walking back to sit on her bed.

"you can play with the boys if they come back inside before they leave. i can't have you outside in that cold. i'm sorry, darling." euphemia pressed a kiss to her daughter's temple, before walking back out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

y/n sighed falling back into her duvet. she couldn't understand why no one would allow her to have fun with her brother's friends as well. why she's locked away in her room whenever they come over during the winter holiday? her mother said it was for her own good and health, but she just felt like a freak in her mother's eyes. like she was something her parents were ashamed of.

for as long as she could remember, y/n potter had been sick. she has spent longer in st. mungo's than she has in her own home. her parents had spent years trying to find answers to her mysterious illness, going as far as travelling over to the americas to visit a well-known healer who was said to have the answers to her illness. but as with all of their other endeavors, they came up empty-handed and with even more questions than answers.

her health had become so deteriorated in the past year that she had to forgo attending hogwarts at the same time as her twin brother, james. her parents had hired a local wizard tutor to home-school her until she would be able to attend hogwarts herself, something that seemed less and less likely the further into winter y/n got.

"y/n! the boys are going in five minutes if you wanna come and meet them!" james' voice carried from the front room into her bedroom, alerting her to the appearance of the boys from the garden.

y/n could hear her mother berating her brother for shouting in the house and to go and help his sister down from her room if she was going to meet his friends. she pulled herself out of the bed, making her way over the door with the blankets her mother had wrapped around her cradling her.

"y/n/n, come on." james burst through her door, grabbing her thin wrist in his arms and already making his way down the hallway. "you're going to love them."

"jamie, jamie slow down. i can't walk that fast." y/n rasped out, her brother coming to a complete halt as he realised, in his excitement, that he'd completely forgotten how ill his sister had gotten in the short four months he was away.

"oh, y/n/n. i'm so sorry. i was just so excited for you to meet them that i completely forgot." james pulled his sister in for a hug, continuing their walk down the stairs but at a much-reduced speed. "i've told them so much about you, you have nothing to worry about."

"exactly how much?" y/n looked at her brother in suspicion, knowing exactly what stories he would love to share with his friends.

"just the good things. mostly." james winked, pushing the door to the living room open to reveal their parents talking to the three small boys. "guys, this is my sister, y/n."

"it's nice to meet you." y/n tried to speak at her top volume, already feeling her throat drying up and in pain from the few words spoken.

"i'm remus lupin, nice to meet you." the sandy-haired boy with scars across his arms and legs smiled as he looked anywhere but her eyes.

"nice to meet you, remus." y/n smiled back, sitting down between her parents who both wrapped yet another blanket that was thrown over the back of the sofa.

"i'm p-peter pett-tigrew." the smallest of the three bowed his head slightly as he greeted the girl.

"and i'm sirius black." the black-haired boy sitting on the armrest of the sofa said with a charming smirk. "what's with all the blankets?"

"sirius!" remus smacked the boy around the head. "you can't just ask questions like that."

"it's okay, remus." y/n smiled, reassuring the boys. "i'm sick. have been for as long as i can remember and the cold makes me much worse than i already am. we've tried everything but have no answers to how I can get better."

"i'm sorry." sirius sounded genuinely sincere as he bowed his head slightly.

"have you tried muggle doctors?" remus asked in a light voice, earning silence as the purebloods of the room looked at him puzzled.

"why in merlin's name would we go to muggles for help?" fleamont asked in disbelief.

"it sounds like a muggle disease that my grandmother had before she died." remus fiddles with his hands. "they can give y/n a medicine that will help heal her back up to full health."

"how would we be able to get this medicine?" euphemia placed a calming hand on her husband's arm.

"my mum can help you get in contact with a doctor who can help heal y/n." remus smiled, looking down at the watch as he noticed it was past his curfew already.

"oh, would you look at the time."fleamont announced as he stood to face the grandfather clock. "well, best be off boys. don't want to be on the end of another howler from your mothers."

the boys smirked to themselves, remembering the howler that was opened during dinner one evening after they were caught messing with the nifflers in the garden. one of them had to be magically lifted out of the tree that the boys had scared it into, a feat that y/n had watched sadly from the window, having forged a strong bond with the runt of the niffler's litter over her time kept at home.

"thank you for having us, mrs potter, mr potter." remus bowed his head slightly as he pulled his jacket out from behind the sofa. "i hope we will be able to come back during the spring break as well?"

"of course, my dears. you're welcome here anytime. even you, sirius." mr Potter smiled knowingly at the raven-haired boy, having attended hogwarts at the same time as some of his family and knowing the legacy his family had left behind for him.

"thank you, sir." sirius seemed shy for the first time in the short while that y/n had met him, clearly not used to such generosity. his reaction made the girl wonder what terrible upbringing could've caused such reactions to such a small gesture.

y/n's eyes wandered to the small, meek boy who was still trapped within the many cushions of the red sofa. his hands were held close to his chest as though he was scared to touch anything around him. His thin, mousy hair clung to his scalp, and his anxious, darting eyes seemed to constantly search for an escape route.  his lips were turned down in a deep frown, spreading all the way up to his brows, creating a crease down the centre of his forehead.

y/n couldn't help but feel the unease that seemed to radiate from him, as an aura of vulnerability marked him apart from the other boys, who each exuded a sort of confidence in the few interactions she had observed from them.

"are you okay, peter?" y/n asked in a hushed tone, bringing the movement of the other boys to a halt.

"you alright, pete?" james approached his friend, worried by the scared look that grew rapidly on his friend's face as he grew nearer.

"i may have broken a mug." peter mumbled, pulling the shards from the pocket of his coat he had yet to take off since he arrived many hours before.

"oh, that's fine, my dear. we have tons of them." euphemia waved her hands, snapping her fingers and calling for one of the house elves. "ribly! come here this instant!"

y/n had always hated how her parents treated the house elves that served them, often overhearing and occasionally witnessing the 'punishments' they would endure for the smallest of mistakes.

ribly appeared in the living room with a crack, already hurrying over to peter with a broom to collect any shards that had escaped his grasp.

"ribly will clean it up, mr peter. ribly will fix it, ms potter." the small house-elf was quick to sweep up the few remains on the ground, only stumbling a few times in her haste, before disapparating out of the room as quickly as she had entered it.

"don't mind her. she likes to be efficient." mr potter chuckled to himself, brushing off the looks each of the children were giving him and his wife. "well, why don't you all go through the fireplace? will be much easier than taking the muggle route home. especially for you, sirius."

y/n watched as sirius gulped at the thought of home, cementing in her mind that he didn't have a happy home outside of Hogwarts.

"again, thank you for having us. it was nice to meet you, y/n. i do hope to see you again." remus smiled timidly once more, hugging james briefly before he walked into the fireplace and disappeared in a green flame with a mumble of his home.

"t-thank you." peter scrambled to follow him, almost forgetting to grab a handful of floo powder before he too disappeared into the ashes.

a beat passed before y/n returned her eyes to an even more anxious and fidgeting sirius.

"mate, we'll see each other in a few weeks. you can't miss me that much whilst you're gone." james patted his best friend on the shoulder, not quite getting the truth behind his apprehension.

"yeah." sirius chuckled dryly to himself. "yeah. i'll see you after christmas, james."

sirius pulled the bespectacled boy into a tight hug, before glancing over at the small girl still squashed against her mother on the sofa. her green eyes held a knowing twinkle in them that hadn't been there before, a sympathetic smile gracing her lips.

"it was nice to meet you, y/n/n." sirius winked, stealing the nickname he had previously heard james calling her. "and thank you, mrs potter again for having us. oh. and do give my thanks to ribly for the tea, i'm sure she deserves it."

euphemia opened and closed her mouth in disbelief, not quite knowing how to respond to the cheek of the boy. y/n stiffled a giggle as she remembered hearing her mother glowing in the praise from the boys over how quickly she had put together tea and biscuits for them when they came inside the house.

"i'll be sure to write to you all about our adventures at hogwarts, y/n/n. Now I know you're real and not this git's imaginary best friend." sirius winked once last time before disappearing into a cloud of green.

silence fell over the potters as the twins tried not to laugh at their mother's shocked expression and how their father was frozen in his spot staring into the fireplace.

"well, i'm not sure who raised that boy but they certainly need a clip round the ear for the cheek he was giving me." euphemia scoffed, brushing off her skirt as she stood to exit the room.

"well, i for one, love them all." y/n grinned, already excited at the prospect of possibly being healed of her illness. "can we do what remus said, father? can we go see the muggle healer?"

fleamont only scoffed, walking out into the gardens with a slam of the door behind him.

"don't worry. i'll convince him. or more likely, i'll annoy him into agreeing." james winked at his sister, moving to help her back up the stairs and into her bedroom.

"and if that doesn't work?" y/n coughed as she finished her sentence.

"oh, it'll work." he only smirked, closing the door behind him after he settled her into the plush duvet and multitude of pillows.

y/n bounced on her toes as she stretched over the crowds to catch a glimpse of the train pulling into the platform. her parents and her brother's friend's parents surrounded her in much less excited states, mrs lupin and ms pettigrew having a conversation about the odd letter they'd received from professor mcgonagall about an incident involving a toilet seat being stolen from one of the bathrooms.

"y/n, settle down. You're going to waste all your energy before the train even arrives." fleamont placed his hands firmly on his daughter's shoulders, stopping her in her place.

"but, father. jamie's nearly here, he doesn't even know i'm better yet. i just can't wait for him to see me." y/n grinned up at her father, their identical eyes staring into one another.

"and you'll be able to see him when he arrives, so long as you calm down." fleamont pressed harder on her shoulder, actually pushing her shoulders further into her back.

"yes, dad." y/n stopped her peering, instead staring behind her shoulder at the small crowd of blondes that had entered through the barrier only moments before.

the group of witches and wizards bared a likeness to one another besides their matching light-coloured hair, two of the girls having matching smirks as they ran ahead of their parents. the mother of the group struggled to catch up with the girls, giving up as she lost them to the masses of parents and children. the pair stumbled out from the crowd beside the potters, too peering over the crowds to catch a glimpse of the train approaching. they soon gave up as they realised they wouldn't be able to see over the masses of parents already pushing to reach the doors of the carriages. as they turned back to find their parents, the taller of the two locked eyes with y/n with a grin.

"it's no use trying. i've already been elbowed by more vicious mothers than i can count." y/n rubbed her arms where the feeling of their bony elbows remained.

"are you waiting for your brother or sister too?" the shorter twin grinned, happy to have found someone who looked to be their age.

"my twin brother." y/n grinned.

"twin?" the taller twin shared a glance with her sister. "why aren't you there with him?"

"i was ill." y/n could already see the pity filling their once cheerful faces. "b-but i'll be starting in september. dumbledore sent me the letter just this morning."

"so will we!" the twins said in a creepily matching tone.

"holly! heather!" a stern voice broke their conversation. "you can't just run off like that."

"oh, it's okay. they've just been here with us, avery. no need to fret." y/n's mother turned to the commotion, clearly recognising the man from her time at hogwarts.

"euphemia." the blonde man nodded his head once, before ushering the girls back to where their mother was sternly watching from afar. "come now, girls. don't want to disturb the potters after all."

"bye!" the shorter twin shouted.

"see you in september!" the other shouted after her before the trio were lost in the crowds.

"mum, who was that?" y/n turned to her mother, who was still staring off with a far-off look in her eyes.

"charlus avery. he was in my year at hogwarts." her mother brushed off the questions that were lingering on the tip of her daughter's tongue. "now, why don't we go find the boys?"

"but-" she couldn't finish her sentence before she was distracted by the familiar brunette head of her brother exiting the train carriage.

before her mother could stop her, y/n was off. she pushed past the vicious mothers from before, who glowered in her path and even pushed a few older hogwarts students out of the way all in her attempt to reach her twin. but her mind was flooded with guilt and gratitude towards the sandy-haired boy who was being rough-housed off of the train by sirius.

"remus!" y/n ran towards the boy as he stepped off of the hogwarts express, wrangling him into a  hug and completely ignoring her brother and his other friends.

"wow. no hello, not even a smile. some sister you are." james grumbled, not looking at the girl as he helped pettigrew carry the large cage of his cat off of the train.

y/n glared at her brother over remus' shoulder, not even giving him a taunt back, before she pulled back and grasped the boy's shoulders tightly. "thank you so much. i don't know what i would've done without you."

"i-i'm sorry?" remus stood in shock, not quite believing the once-sick girl in front of him was almost glowing as she bounced in place.

"we visited the muggle doctor like you suggested and they were able to heal me." y/n giggled, finally seeing her brother standing beside the sandy-haired boy. "jamie!"

"y/n/n? oh my god. you look so healthy." james squeezed his sister tight to his chest, burying his head in her shoulder to hide the tears pouring out of his eyes.

"boys! hurry and help mr potter with the bags!" mrs lupin shouted, waving them over to where mr potter was lugging the bags over to a large pile by their parents.

"sorry, dad!" james ran over to help his dad carry the remaining bags over to the group.

"so, no more blanket forts then?" a cockier than usual voice approached behind y/n.

"well, i can't spend my days at hogwarts in a bundle of blankets now can I?" y/n grinned as both sirius and peter stumbled behind her, trying to catch up with the newly speedy girl.

"y-you're coming to h-hogwarts?" peter stuttered out.

"yep. got my letter this morning. dumbledore must have been eager." y/n skipped her way back to her parents, curling into her mother's side who stared down at her with a fondness in her eyes that james had only seen a few times.

"it's so odd seeing her that.. energetic." james tilted his head to the side, not quite believing that it was indeed his little sister beaming up at their mother at the train platform.

"well, i for one, love it." sirius grinned, chasing after the girl to meet up with his friend's parents.

"remus, has she always had that small furry thing on her shoulder or have i gone insane?" peter leant up to the taller boy's ear, pointing at the creature that seemed to burrowing itself into her neck.

remus could only shake his head before he too was trailing after the girl, staring at the creature that was pulling the golden necklace from y/n's neck.

"y/n!" remus raced forward, pointing at the now-identified niffler. "you've got a niffler! it's stealing your necklace!"

y/n barely blinked as she stared down at the grey-bodied creature staring up at her as if it had been caught red-handed in a robbery.

"oh, jamie. what are you doing here?" y/n merely pulled the niffler out of her hair and tucked him into the inside pocket of her coat.

"i'm coming back from hogwarts?" james asked in question as he turned away from their father.

"oh, not you jamie. jamie junior." y/n proudly presented the niffler to her brother as he was stashing their mother's wedding ring into his pouch.

"that little rat. i knew i didn't lose my ring." euphemia glared at her sheepish husband who had blamed her for the act that morning.

"sorry, mum. jamie just likes shiny things, and your ring is the shiniest thing in the house besides my necklace."y/n pouted, upset that her newfound friend had been the cause of the argument between her parents that morning.

"it's okay, dear. i'll just have to charm it so that it doesn't get stolen again." she said in a manner that she usually used to scold her children.

"but why jamie?" james was still confused, staring into the black eyes of the creature that had stolen his namesake.

"well, uh." y/n was embarrassed to reveal the truth of jamie's name in front of her brother's friends. "i didn't have you at home anymore, so i um. i have my own jamie to replace you when you're not there."

james' confusion quickly turned to smugness at his sister's revelation.

"you missed me!" james pulled his sister into a headlock. "you missed me and couldn't wait for me to get back."

"oh, shut up." y/n blushed as she pushed her brother's arms away from her.

"ain't got to miss him for too long, love." sirius gestured, nudging the girl.

"what does he mean, y/n/n?" james asked, glossing over the nickname entirely.

"dumbledore sent me my letter this morning. i start at hogwarts in september." y/n glowed as she thought of finally being able to attend classes with other kids her age instead of by herself with mrs. flemming and mr. nilsen.

james couldn't fight the grin that broke out across his face as he leapt to pull his sister into a tight embrace. y/n's slight frame was swallowed by james's. she buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of their father's aftershave he had stolen.

james' gentle laughter filled the quietness as he squeezed her tightly. "i missed you so much, y/n/n," he whispered in her ear.

tears welled up in y/n's eyes as she replied, her voice muffled against his shoulder, "i missed you too, jamie."

they held onto each other for what felt like an eternity, the bond between siblings stronger than ever.

"are you two done?" peter squeaked from behind them. "jamie junior has stolen all of my mum's jewellery and i think she's finally noticed."

"oh, merlin. i love your niffler, y/n/n." sirius laughed, watching as the pureblood woman began to flit about the station chasing after the tiny creature as it raced away towards the freedom that was the barrier to the station.

"yeah, he's definitely gonna be a handful at hogwarts." y/n grinned, unbeknownst to the chaos such a decision was going to cause her.

[sxirensdiary]

T.L.C ⤑ J.F.P & L.J.E

pairing: jily x fem!reader (james potter & lily evans) wc: 2.8k tags: fluff, non sexual intimacy, suggestive jokes, body worship, mentions of praise, james is head over heels, its okay cause lily and reader are too, gryffindor reader, female reader, love bites, lipstick stains, the works basically. kinda proofread

James Potter was not a shy person. It took a different kind of confidence to have a big reputation and live up to it. He thrived in any environment where all eyes were on him, and he loved the attention he got from it. With an ego that skyrockets higher than his broom while playing quidditch, it’s not that surprising to find him doing things for the sake of validation.

Which is why many would be surprised how easily the marauder falls apart underneath the two pairs of hands that he got to call his girlfriends. Of course, that sight is reserved for his darling angels only. Anyone who bothered to interrupt their alone time would be shunned away with nasty looks and a hint of verbal abuse. (and maybe a book being thrown in their direction)

Because if there was one thing James Fleamont Potter was, it would be a lover boy. The perfect bachelor for the two fittest ladies in their year. After pining after the girls for almost the entirety of their Hogwarts life, it was only fair they give him the same attention he served to them daily. Which is why they found themselves wrapped up in situations like these quite often.

In the comfort of the Gryffindor girl's dorm room, the three of them were pressed together in a flurry of lingering kisses and gentle grazes. They were pushed against each other like they were bound together by some rope, and many would believe them to be victims of the invisible string theory. Their dynamic was so perfect that no one had any room to doubt that the possibility of them being soulmates was absolutely true.

A pair of lips brushed against James's forehead, and the strings of vibrant red told him who they belonged to. They finally found a place to settle, planted firmly in the center of his eyebrows, and the satin feeling that lingered when the girl pulled away made him aware of the color she left behind. His heart fluttered as he imagined it, but he couldn't dive too deep into his thoughts before another pair of candy sweet lips began their journey across the skin of his neck.

He was strewn across your bed, his head leaning back into the pillows that smelt deliciously like you, with Lily curled around him. His soft and unruly curls tickled the skin peeking out from the neckline of her top, and her fingers were running through the strands. Her work left his curls to become frizzy the more she separated them, but neither of them were bothered by it. Her other hand was intertwined with yours, resting atop James's chest where they met.

You were on the other side of him, tucked underneath his arm with your head craning up to leave your own velvety marks along his throat. Your unoccupied hand was dancing down his exposed arm, tracing each ridge and line along it until you could paint a picture of it in your mind. His mind reeled as you got closer to that spot, the one that drew the sweetest whines from deep down inside him. His anticipation grew as you hovered above it, knowing him from the times spent worshipping him like this, and you granted him mercy as he jutted himself towards you.

His lips parted with a sigh after you planted an open mouthed kiss to it, momentarily pulling back to drink in his reaction, before diving back in. You made a mess of his skin, the pretty shade of your lip color smudging as you sucked and nipped at the spot. Pulling back, you grinned with stained lips at his equally as stained neck, the blooming purples and reds adding onto the palette you and Lily were making of him.

Not satisfied with a single taste, you leaned back in to continue your work. Lily admired her lovers from her spot above the two of you, and she curled the fingers tangled in dark chocolate strands to scrape her cherry fingernails along his scalp. The action made his brain even more fuzzy than it was before, which he didn't think was possible with the mush puddle it already was. He couldn't think more than a few words without being distracted by another kiss, touch, or sound.

He lost count of how many times you found another spot to mark, but he was sure you were running out of blank spaces. He thought you finally ran out once your head lifted up, but he should've known that you always had another solution. You shuffled down his side to taint even more of his skin, turning your head in the opposite direction to peck where your fingers had previously been. Once in the right spot, you picked yourself off the bed, throwing one leg over a pair of meaty thighs to straddle them.

Two pairs of tender eyes followed her with curiosity. One pair were a gentle brown, wide and shiny, and they were enhanced by the lens sitting in front of them. The others were a striking emerald shade, one that the Slytherins would desire in the form of a jewel. The intensity of them made you feel naked under her gaze, and you wondered if this is how James currently felt.

Tearing your eyes away from theirs, you focused instead on caressing the clothing covered skin in front of you. Hands moved to plant themselves on the thighs beneath your own, squeezing the flesh before delicately moving your touch upwards. Past his hips, you dipped your fingertips to touch the bare skin of his Apollo's belt, the warmth radiating off it utterly enticing, and you couldn't help but lean forward to press a wet kiss there. Glancing up, you caught sight of Lily leaning her head down to whisper praises into her boyfriend's flushed ears, and you couldn't help the fluttery feeling that settled into your stomach.

"Mine." you thought, possessive and selfish in your love for the two. Who could blame you, though? They were created with the most gentle love, perfectly sculpted by the gods into the beings before you. Truly infatuated, that's what you were. And the way they were looking at you told you that they felt exactly the same. But this isn't about you. No, right now you were on a mission, one to pour out your spilling heart in actions rather than words.

Your fingers found the bunched up hem of James's undershirt, the one he wore beneath his uniform so he would be able to shed the heavy material as soon as lessons were over. It was a staple in the James Potter wardrobe, and no one could complain about his robes laying somewhere in the common room when he so graciously blessed him with the sight of him in the thin fabric.

The white material stretched deliciously over cinnamon skin, his athletic build on display like a model from the muggle magazines found in the common room. The lack of sleeves left his biceps bare, and you wondered if he would mind if you sunk your teeth into the muscle. You doubt he would, seeing as James Potter is the biggest attention whore, and would parade around with any marks you graciously bestowed upon him. In fact, you wouldn't be surprised if he dragged you both down to the common room after to do exactly that.

As much as you loved James's clothes (and wearing them), you liked what was hidden underneath them better. You flattened your hands against his v-line and began to ascend, the white fabric folding into pleats around your wrists. The path along his abdomen was full of ridges and bumps, and you gave thanks to every god out there that decided to make your boyfriend a Quidditch fiend. You didn't stop until you passed his chest and couldn't pull it forward with his arms downward. He arched at your touch, and made to get up so you could take it full off him, but you leaned into your hands to keep him down.

He obeyed, and relaxed again as you scooted the fabric into his armpits. With the current headspace he was in, you were sure he'd do just about anything you asked him to. Hovering above his chest, you looked up to study his face. Unable to resist, you leaned forward to connect your lips with his, sucking on his bottom lip while he eagerly reciprocated. He moaned at the taste of you, and silently hoped that you would leave his lips colored like yours.

You pulled away to catch your breath, and felt his chest heaving from where it was brushing yours. Like a magnetic pole, your eyes found the forest green ones belonging to your girlfriend. The soft upturn of her rosy pink lips left you desperate for a taste, and you leaned in to steal a kiss from her, too.

Kisses with Lily Evans felt like laying in a field of wildflowers. Fluffy, overgrown grass with the disruption of pretty pastel blooms, the kind of scene you would want to live in when you need a break from the world. Besotted was what you felt after experimental kisses with the ivory skinned girl in the comfort of your dorm room during second year, and it was no wonder why your boyfriend would become entirely enamored after she gifted him one during a game of spin the bottle the following year.

She quickly gained control over you, not like you had any fight when it came to her, and her hand that had once been holding yours found you again. Her delicate touch on your cheek left you leaning into it, and she deepened the kiss by sliding her tongue into your eager lips. James watched the scene from his place underneath your connected lips, and his eyes glazed over with love. The sight brought him back to the first time he was ever in this position, which was also the first day you and Lily decided to give his pining heart a chance.

It had been Halloween, and Gryffindors were always in charge of the annual All Hallows Eve bash. The marauders and co. had graciously led charge of the planning, and James had been staring longingly at the two of you setting up decorations around the common room. He so desperately wanted to be involved in the sugary kisses you shared between inflating balloons, and wanted to be the one holding your waist as you stood on a chair to use a sticking charm on a banner.

You both had disappeared with the rest of your friends to get ready for the party, and he pouted long after you both had gone. When you both came back, however, it was worth it to see you both flutter down the stairs in your matching fairy costumes. Lily was decorated in green and taupe, and you had flowers where she had leaves. The pastel dress you wore flowed down your waist, and Lily's skirt swished with each step she took. Her strappy sandals made her legs look incredible, and the heels on your own had James staring whenever you crossed your legs and left one elevated.

After a whole night of the poor boy sending longing glances and following behind you both like a lost puppy, he was then holding both of your hands while being dragged up and into your shared dorm. Being kissed by both of the girls he had been obsessed with since he first met them was a dream come true, and he would live to think about that night almost every day for the rest of his life.

He was pulled back into the present when you shifted above him, and his hands flew up to hold your waist. He pulled you down until your entire weight was on him, and he let out an embarrassingly needy sound when his eyes reconnected with their clashing pink tongues. His cheeks darkened once he realized how desperate he sounded, but he couldn't find a single part of him that cared once he had their attention.

Lily brought you in for one last peck before patting your cheek in dismissal, letting you return back to your previous ministrations. Your lips found home on his collarbones, gently suckling at the skin before starting a trail downwards. The auburn haired girl above James went back to caressing him with her pale fingers, and she leaned into his ear to mutter soft teases to him.

By the time you had worked your way across his pecs, ribcage, and now settled by his navel, he was burning under the attention he was receiving. Your lips that had long since been rid of color, having smudged it into his skin, were now covered in Lily's usual shade, and he figured that there was nothing you couldn't pull off. He let a dopey smile grace his face once you continued to stain his skin with it, dreading having to take a shower after receiving such a wonderful gift.

Before you could go any further, the three of you were interrupted by rapping on the room's door. You sat up in his lap, and James whined pathetically. "No, come back!" he thought, and Lily's honey coated voice called out permission for entry. The door slowly creaked open, and a head of light brown hair peaked in.

"Hey, one of your second years is looking for you, (Y/N)." Remus said, and you perked up. "Oh, thanks Rem. We'll be down in a sec." The scarred man went to respond, but he couldn't do more than open his mouth before he was interrupted. "Oi, are you doing dirty things in there? How scandalous!" Sirius tsked at them once his head popped out below Remus's.

James, who had been glaring daggers at his current least favorite people, huffed out a "yes" while you just gave them an innocent smile. "Nope, just some sweet, tender loving. Dirty is whatever you do in that broom closet near the charms class." You shot back, and Sirius just tilted his head in false consideration before nodding. "True."

You had just begun to get up off of your boyfriend before he began to panic. "What- where are you going? Don't leave!" He cried, and Lily had to wrap her arms around his shoulders to stop him from pulling you back down. You stretched out once you were on your feet beside your bed, and made your way over to Lily's to grab your wand and (James's) sweater. "Sorry m'love. I can't neglect my duties as a tutor." You apologized as you made your way back over to press your lips to his.

"Yes, you can. Who cares about them when you have us? Here? Doing some very pleasant things, might I add." He argued back indignantly, and turned to scowl at Sirius, who fake gagged at them. "And they weren't having sex, she claims." he muttered to Remus, but it didn't go unheard of by you. "We weren't having sex, Sirius." you rolled your eyes, and it was your turn to glare at the black haired boy when he added a low "Sure looks like it to me."

"We could have sex." came from James, and you whipped your head around to aim your stare at him. He shrunk under your gaze and quietly apologized while turning to avoid your temper. You just shook your head and began to pull his shirt back down, then turned to Lily. "Will you both be staying here?" The green eyed girl gave you a look filled with admiration before shaking her head.

"We'll head down in a bit." She replied before dragging you into a kiss. You hummed against her lips, softly melting against her. (Though you could faintly hear James cry "We are!?" in disbelief.) You leaned down to peck James, who tried to pull you back down but was smacked by Lily, and moved to head towards where Remus and Sirius were standing. "Gross." Sirius faked disgust with a scrunch of his nose, and you didn't bother glaring at him this time.

"It's okay to be jealous, Siri. I know the only form of intimacy you get is by shagging random girls, but I'm sure Moony will be happy to give you some T.L.C." She taunted as she slipped her shoes on and made her way past them. "How dare you? I get plenty of care, thank you very much." He gasped, hand shooting up to clutch at his imaginary pearls. Remus pulled him along as he shut the door behind him, and they quickly caught up to you. "T.L.C?" He questioned quietly, and you smiled in amusement. "Tender Loving Care." You told him, and he hummed in understanding. "Ah, got it. Yeah no, you're definitely lacking in that department, Pads."

The shrill shriek Sirius let out garnered the attention of everyone in the common room. Thankfully, they all dismissed it once they saw who it came from. And for the record, James did, in fact, refuse to wipe away the proof of your love and paraded around showing the marks off. Because James Potter wasn't shy, but he was deeply and completely head over heels for his two gorgeous girls.

[crescenthistory]

Marauders Era Masterlist

💌 = fluff I 📭 = angst I 📬 = hurt/comfort I 📜 = smut I 🪧 = humour

࣪𖤐 regulus black

ִ ࣪𖤐 barty crouch jr

𖤐 remus lupin

𖤐 marauders

includes: poly!marauders, james, sirius

𖤐 the slytherin skittles

includes: barty, evan, regulus, dorcas, pandora (& narcissa)

𖤐 the valkyries

includes: lily, mary, marlene (&dorcas&pandora)

[sunnami]

you'd be the love of my life when i was young

summary: gryffindors wear their heart on their sleeve when they fall in love. slytherins keep their heart locked far away to keep it from breaking.

pairing: poly!marauders x reader (sirius x reader, remus x reader, lily x reader, and james x reader)

tags: slight angst, fluff, lucius malfoy, happy ending

note: i have a chemistry quiz due in 50 minutes but this takes priority. . . i haven't written in a while so forgive my rusty writing skills, they've only been let out from the basement today. not proofread, we die like the marauders. (title is taken from the song, 21 by gracie abrams, because that's roughly around the age jily die. hehe.)

They said when you fell in love with the right people, everything would fall in place after.

What a load of bullshit.

You had come to a conclusion one winter morning, laying in the Gryffindor common room dressed in your woolly, green jumper. You rested on the worn-out leather seat, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you stared at the ceiling, thinking about how it was going terribly wrong. How funny it was, that the 30th of December greeted you with an existential crisis instead of presents and hot chocolate. 

There was something quite wrong with you, you had noticed for the past few months. 

Every time Sirius Black smiled at you, showing off his pearly canines and the crinkles by his deep-grey eyes, you would experience a painful, tightening sensation in your chest — like someone was squeezing at your heart. Most people knew Sirius Black, the prankster, but you were lucky enough to know Sirius, the kind and spirited boy who had a heart that loved fiercely more than anyone you knew.

Cosy afternoons found you in the library with Remus Lupin, and a strange feeling would erupt in your stomach whenever Remus leaned down, and you’d catch a whiff of pine needles and fresh mint. Shaggy, blond hair falling over his eyes as he came to life, talking about your common love for muggle books. He made time feel like an illusion, minutes fading away into hours as the two of you shared stifled giggles, cheeks numb by the time you left the room. 

And James, oh James Potter. It was difficult to describe what you felt with him — but with James, the brightest colours in the world couldn’t even compare to him. James was like putting on a pair of brand-new eyeglasses and seeing everything clearly for the first time. And without a doubt, you knew that James would never let you get hurt. But these days, you were weak in the knees as you’d see him across the Great Hall, waving at you excitedly as he bellowed your name, and to come and sit next to them. 

Last, but certainly not the least, Lily Evans. Her sweet, airy voice was a warm hug on a cold day. And her actual hugs were second to none — don’t tell Sirius, however, he liked to shift into Padfoot to steal Lily’s title as the queen of cuddling. Lily flowers were delicate, she was anything but. The spitfire of Gryffindor, who would raise her chin and defy anyone who would harass you for hanging out with them. 

(“You’re our emotionally constipated Slytherin,” said Lily as she mushed your cheeks, cooing when you tried to glare at her, and the three boys guffawing in the background. They liked to tease you often, being a year younger than them.) 

Were you dying?

That was the only plausible explanation to your palpitating heart and rickety knees. 

No, it was definitely not because you had gone and fell in love with your best friends. 

That was absurd. 

You had tried venting to Lucius Malfoy once. Narcissa often doted on you, sneakily leaving treats on your desk before she left for her class, and fussing when you got sick — which was quite often. That meant, when you weren’t with the marauders, you were trailing after the Slytherin power couple, or Severus.

(Lucius curled his lips in disgust, Narcissa sipping tea by his side, failing at hiding her knowing smirk. “I am above such childish matters,” hissed Lucius, scowl deepening when Narcissa laughed heartily, looking happier than she had been since returning home for the holidays. “I do not know why you’d even think to come to me for this.”

You huffed. 

Maybe you’d try Severus next. 

Naturally, he stormed off the moment Lily’s name fell from your lips.

Your resident seventh-years were confusing.)

Fortunately, you were stripped from your thoughts when the entrance to the common room slammed open, the paintings clamouring as they were disturbed from their slumber. One by one, the marauders piled inside the room, a string of melodious laughter and boisterous conversations following their arrival. Hastily, you sat up, heart thudding against your ribcage. Silence, you wretched beast, you told it. Don’t let them see how I burn for them.  

“There you are!” Sirius came into view first, grinning widely as he crossed the room to reach you. “Who said you could be this pretty in the morning, love?” 

Ba-dump!

Sirius plopped down head first onto your lap, manoeuvring your hand to comb through his hair as he sighed in contentment. “Bloody hell,” He exhaled shakily, “Last night was the worst one we’ve ever been through.” 

Your fingers ghosted through the new scar etched across his sharp cheekbones — it was nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix, but you still didn’t like the sight of them bruised and wounded. Swiftly, Sirius grabbed your hand and intertwined your own with his. “I’m sorry,” You whispered. 

Sirius chuckled tiredly, tightening his hold on you, as though you were a tether that kept him afloat in his sea of nightmares. 

(And you were. If only you knew.)

“It’s not your fault,” said Sirius. 

Then, your eyes landed on Remus limping towards you, his bare skin littered with scrapes and marks, supported with an arm around James’s broad shoulders. He sent a toothy smile your way, despite the tired lines on his forehead and deep bags beneath his eyes. “Waited up all night for us, huh?”

“I just couldn’t sleep knowing you guys were out there,” You whispered sheepishly. “It’s too dangerous, what happens if something goes terribly wrong, and it costs you your life? We need to tell someone.” 

“Everyone who needs to know, already knows.” Remus bit down a pained expression as he sat by your side, head lolling on your shoulder. “This is the best we have for now.” 

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it at all.

Before you could reply, Remus turned his head, lips feathering against your exposed skin. His voice was low as he said, “‘Sides, it’s our job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

“Well, I apologize for interrupting your job,” You whispered back harshly, wondering if that was all you were to them, a younger friend they felt the need to look after. Oh, how mortifying that would be.

James chuckled from behind you, bending over the back of the couch, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lingering for a few moments that felt like an eternity. “You’re too adorable,” said James, tweaking your nose. “Our angry, little Slytherin.” 

“I’m not little.” You glowered at him.

“Perhaps not.” James smiled cheekily. “But you’re ours.” 

Often times, you had wondered how the five of you came to be so tight-knit, knowing their disdain for most of the Slytherins. 

(Little did you know, you smiled at them once in Potions, and they were a goner.) 

Something stirred deep in your belly. 

You sucked in a breath. “Don’t say things like that, James.”

People could get the wrong idea.

You could get the wrong idea.

“Well, why not?” Lily appeared in your peripheral vision, the scent of blooming wildflowers and fresh rain filling the room. Like the three boys, her skin was sallow from lack of sleep, but her bare face and blinding grin left your heart racing. “It’s true, isn’t it?” 

It could be, just not in the way you wanted it to be true.

You sighed. “Class is going to start in a few hours, I should get going.” 

“Or,” James began wickedly, throwing a thick blanket onto the floor by the fireplace, and tossing a bunch of throw pillows at Sirius’s face. “We could have a sleepover right here.” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Lily merrily, stealing James’s blanket as she placed a pillow beneath her head. 

“I really have to go—” You reasoned pathetically.

“Stay,” whispered Sirius without even opening his eyes as he curled his lithe fingers around your wrist. “You being here makes us feel better.” 

They were too cruel, saying all these sweet words, not knowing how it drove knives through your heart. 

James yawned as he laid on the carpeted floor, hiking the blanket up to his shoulders as he threw a leg over Lily, pulling her close to his chest, nuzzling the crook of her neck. “D’you have your textbooks with you, love?” He asked you drowsily. 

“No,” You answered, any other words lodged in your throat. 

“That’s fine.” James hummed. “I’ll just get the cloak and sneak into the dungeons later to get the books for you.” 

“Sleep,” Remus urged you, unaware how you shivered at his words. 

“You can’t be comfortable like that,” You told him in disbelief, watching his neck bend at an angle to lay on your shoulder. 

“Trust me,” said Remus gently, eyelashes tickling your skin, “I’m right where I want to be.” 

You had grown silent for a few beats, unaware how Sirius’d opened his eyes, staring at your worried expression. 

(How could one person be so perfect, he wondered.)

“You alright, darling?” He reached out to trace the curve of your jaw with his thumb, the palm of his hand holding your face as though you were a pureblood’s antique treasure. (Mine, mine, mine, his heart screamed.)

But like the Slytherin you were, you lied as easily as you breathed.

“I’m fine.”

As you laid in between Remus and Sirius, watching the peaceful rise of Lily and James’s chests, you had come to a daunting realization. 

You were irrevocably and agonizingly in love with your best friends. 

And because fate liked to spit in your face, the four of them were already in a beautiful, committed relationship. 

Who were you to get in the way of that?

—

They would understand, you convinced yourself. 

They would understand that you had to stay away from them. You had to protect your heart and keep it safe. The marauders were a dangerous bunch, and they had played the biggest prank on you, and by Merlin, would you fall for this particular prank over and over again if it meant you could hear their voices and fall into their embrace. 

But you couldn’t stay. They would only crush your heart otherwise. 

If Gryffindors wore their heart on their sleeves when they fell in love, Slytherins protected theirs with every fibre of their being, locking it in a cage where no one else can have the power to break it. 

Like what any love-stricken teenager would do in the face of heartbreak, you began to ignore the objects of your affections — ignoring the way your soul called out to theirs. 

It wasn’t as obvious the first few days. You would escape their company under the ruse of studying for McGonagall and Flitwick’s practical tests. 

(“They’re notoriously difficult after all,” You told them, a nervous laugh accompanying your lie. Peter eyed you curiously, noticing small details the others could not see — your quivering lips, your nails digging into your palms, and the way your eyes wouldn’t meet any of theirs. “I just don’t want to fail.” 

You could have cried at the way James held the back of your head as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ll do well, love. You always do.” 

“You can study with me, if you want,” Remus quickly offered. “I’m not as good as James in transfiguration, but I can definitely teach better than those two.” 

“Hey!” Sirius exclaimed in mock offence.

“Thanks, it’s sweet of you to offer,” You told them, shifting your weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “But—”

“Say less, darling,” Lily interjected kindly, wrapping her scarf around your neck. She smiled at you, holding both your cheeks in her palms. “They’re the worst lot to study around, I know. Just don’t study too hard, okay? Take breaks, have a cup of tea now and then, and remember it’s okay to ask for help — don’t give me that face — if it gets too overwhelming, just ask. We’re here for you in every way you need us.” 

Oh.

You were well and truly screwed. 

“Thanks,” You croaked.)

But it was getting harder and harder to come up with excuses. 

(“Wotcher!” Sirius grinned, encasing you in a tight hug after bumping into you in the corridor. “Haven’t seen you in a while, busy bee. Fancy a lunch with us in Hogsmeade?” 

You scrunched your nose, red and bitten from the winter frost, stepping away from him and ignoring the way his face fell. “I. . . I can’t. I’ve got practice with the Frog Choir.”

Sirius shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “S’alright. I can wait and pick you up right after, then we’ll swing by that shop you really like—”

“I can’t, Sirius,” You interrupted harshly, wrapping your arms around your chest as your gaze dropped to the ground. “Sorry. I just. . . I’ll just catch you some other time.” 

Sirius flinched. “Sure, love. Other time, yeah?”

But only the wind replied.

Saturday came, and along with it was the long-awaited match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. James, decked out in his uniform, bounded over to you at the Slytherin’s side of the Great Hall, oblivious to the death glares some of your housemates had sent his way. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, lifting you from your seat. 

“It’s Quidditch day, pidge!” James tilted his head, awfully resembling a lost, confused puppy. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? It’s the game of games! Even Remus is announcing the game later.” 

You bit your lip before responding. “I’m not going, James.” 

“What?” He furrowed his brows. “Why not?” 

Ever since you had become friends with James Potter in your first year, you had never missed a single game of his. Except for the one time you had fallen sick during his match against Hufflepuff — and the moment he knew you were ill, the game ended in less than two minutes, by his sheer determination to get by your side quickly and make sure you weren’t alone. 

You sighed. “I don’t know, James, I’m just not feeling up to it today.”

It was a big, fat lie, and he knew it too. 

You didn’t go to his match later that day.

It was one of the biggest losses James had ever experienced — he wasn’t talking about Quidditch.)

Your housemates were beginning to realize was something was off as well. They might not be particularly fond of the Gryffindors that captured your heart, but they were fond of you, and they guarded their own. 

You had a stare-down with Regulus Black in the common room — and you weren’t about to lose — before he blinked and asked, “What did my brother do?”

“Nothing,” You replied, pretending to be engrossed with your herbology textbook. 

Severus rolled his eyes before plucking the book out of your hands. “Spit it out, woman. We’ve had to watch you mope around pathetically for days now. It’s irritating the rest of us.”

You sniffled. “Then just leave me alone! No one asked you to check up on me!” 

“Unfortunately, we can’t.” Severus took a seat beside Regulus. With a pained grimace, he said, “So you can. . . pour your heart out to us.” 

“I can’t.” You wailed. “I’m a Slytherin, we’re the worst at that.”

Regulus shrugged his shoulders. “It’s true. We’re hopeless.” 

“But,” He raised his wand, “We do speak in jinxes and curses.” 

“Don’t you dare!” You blubbered, wiping at your tears — but somehow, without having to express it in words, they understood, and you had felt lighter.

Still, you missed them. 

“This is pathetic.” Lucius enters the common room, Narcissa holding onto his arm, watching the scene before him with blank eyes. “Black, Snape, get out, you’re only making whatever this is, worse.”

Narcissa was by your side in an instant, dabbing at your wet eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief that cost more than your life. “Hush now, darling. What’s wrong, hm? Was it that idiot cousin of mine? Don’t worry, Lucius can tell his father, and we’ll have them begging at your feet by tomorrow.”

You cried louder. 

“I jest, I jest.” Narcissa softly chuckled, pulling your hair away from your face as she tugged you close. “Please tell us what’s wrong. It’s been awful seeing you like this for the past few days.”

Lucius sat on the loveseat across you, resting his feet atop the glass coffee table. “Yes, I beg you — do as she says, for the love of Merlin. But, really, what else did you expect, associating yourself with that ragtag of miscreants?”

Narcissa glared at him.

Lucius raised his arms in surrender. 

Narcissa clicked her tongue before returning her attention to you, eyes softening at your tear-stricken face. She smiled, albeit sadly, as she said, “Perhaps, I know what is wrong.” She gestured to the way you clutched at the front of your shirt. “It is the matters of the heart, is it not?” 

You nodded weakly. “I love them.”

“And they, you,” said Narcissa. “So, what is wrong?” 

“I love them!” You hiccuped.

“Unfortunately.” Lucius handed you a tissue. “The whole of Hogwarts knows this already, so I do not understand why you’re blowing snot all over my fiancé’s robes about it.” 

“They don’t feel the same way about me,” You confessed with a sob. 

Lucius stared at you incredulously. “Please do not tell me that you are this daft.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked him through narrowed, teary eyes, Narcissa rubbing the tips of your numb fingers from crying so much. 

“I did not sign up for this.” Lucius rubbed at his temples as he stood up. “I will only say this once, so make sure you are listening. Those Gryffindor idiots are so disastrously in love with one another — let me finish, damn you — and if you cannot see that they love you too, then it is your own fault. It physically pains me to see the way they smile when you are near. They would move the earth for you, and they would shake the heavens for you.” 

—

Gryffindors must have hearts made of steel, because you didn’t know how they could be so brave, to look fear right in the eyes and say: I’m ready. 

Because you surely weren’t. You were headed towards your usual spot in the courtyard by the clock tower, legs heavy and swell deep in your throat. Then, you found them, looking so achingly beautiful under the sunlight, huddled together for warmth as they smiled and laughed at lame puns and mistimed jokes. 

Did you have a place with them? 

You were about to find out.

“Hey,” You greeted once you were right in front of them. A month of evading them, and now you were here. It was like finding a piece of your soul that you had lost.

(For them, seeing you was like finally being able to breathe again.) 

“Hey,” said Lily, devoid of any warmth, and that broke you. 

Bravery was poison, you decided. A trap for weak-hearted fools like you. 

Sirius shot James a look before clenching his jaw. “No choir practice today? No study sessions with Cissa or Reg? Wait, no, I’ve got it. Slughorn’s dinner party? Or is it detention with McGonagall today? Does her highness finally feel up to talking to the peasants?”

You inhaled sharply. “Never mind. This was a bad idea.”

But this — is what you deserved. You had hurt them badly, so it was only right for them to stomp on your heart for everyone to see, just as you did to them many times this month. 

A sob tore from your lips as you swivelled on your heels, ready to flee the scene and never show your face to anyone else ever again. Yet, before you could leave, Remus clamped his hand over your wrist. 

“Why?” He stared at you, searching for anything that could explain your sudden behaviour. Remus looked at you with such emotion, tightly holding onto you — but never enough to hurt, because Remus could never be capable of hurting you. He’d die before he would ever cause you pain. 

 (You made him feel unafraid of the moon.) 

“Was. . . was it something I did?” Remus asked, laying his wounds bare for you to see. “Was it me?”

“I love you!” You shouted in the midst of panic — you had never wanted to cause Remus to doubt himself. Your loud declaration had caught the attention of some, but you stood on, curling your fists firmly. You needed to do this. 

“I love you.” You said once more, breathlessly, staring right into James’s eyes. Such a beautiful shade of hazel. “I love each one of you. And it. . . it hurts right here.” Tears dripped from your eyes to the side of your chin as you splayed your hand over where your heart rested. 

“Because you don’t feel the same.” 

The four of them simply gazed at you, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. 

You took that as confirmation for what you had been fearing all along. 

“And that’s okay if you don’t,” You snivelled, unable to see clearly with the streams of tears in your eyes. You thought of how Sirius melted at Lily’s touch and how Remus was the anchor to James’s wild streak. How they all complemented each other and fit perfectly like puzzle pieces. “Just give me a few months, and I’ll get over it. It’s a stupid crush anyway, it’s my fault. The four of you are perfect together, how could—”

“Shut up,” James hissed before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss. Cherries and pumpkin pasties. He kissed you deeply once more before pressing his lips to your eyes, desperately washing away your tears with his devotion. “Was that it? We could have been doing this ages ago.”

“What?” You rasped, knees buckling at the weight of his gaze.

James only smiled, stealing your third kiss. 

Sirius pulled your hand, his arm encasing your waist as you stumbled to his chest. Like James, he kissed you fervently, like he wanted to chase off all your fears and doubts. His lips were warm against yours — firewhiskey. You wanted to be burnt by his flames again and again. He held you close, committing every inch to memory. 

(You were art that he wanted to worship.)

He kissed your forehead. “We love you, daft girl.”

He kissed both of your eyes, chuckling when a new wave of tears came. “We have loved you ever since you burnt my mother’s howler in fourth year, and gave us poorly-knitted sweaters for Christmas.” 

“I love you,” said Sirius. “As certain as the spring that arrives after winter, I love you.” 

You snuffled. “I. . . I don’t understand.” 

Remus stepped in your line of sight to place his jacket over you — it was Sirius’s leather jacket, really, but Remus liked to claim it occasionally. He bundled you in earmuffs and rested his chin atop your head, exhaling in relief. “I thought it was me.” 

You shook your head, clinging to the front of his shirt. “No, never. It was me. I’m sorry.” 

Remus grinned wolfishly, eyes swooping down to your kiss-stained lips. (There you were, standing in the snow that threatened to melt, eyes rimmed with tears, hair wildly ablaze from the cold breeze, cheeks damp and red — but how devastatingly beautiful you were.) “May I?” 

You nodded. “P-Please.”

Blueberries and dark chocolate. Remus whispered against your lips, “If it wasn’t already clear, the feeling is bloody mutual — we love you, just as the moon loves the sun enough to chase after it every day.” He grabbed your hand and placed it over his heart, you were surprised to see him holding back tears of his own. “All my life, I thought I was this monster who didn’t deserve to live. But you, all of you, make me selfish enough to want to belong here.” 

He kissed you desperately, words of adoration and love falling from his lips. 

Finally, your eyes settled on Lily. You waited for her reaction with a bated breath. 

You hadn’t expected for her to burst into tears as she rushed over to you. 

“Don’t you ever do that again,” said Lily angrily before circling you in her embrace, burying her nose in your hair. You hugged her back, drowning in her scent and warmth. “You are deserving of all the things you want, so don’t run away — if you run, we’d follow you, idiot girl.” 

Then, Lily captured your lips with her own. 

She tasted like happy endings.

note: 4k words and 6 hours later, here we are! let it be known i was THE poly marauders enthusiast years ago. i always wanted one with lily in the polycule so here we are. this is me manifesting my college romance, y'all. look away. anyways, i hoped u enjoyed it!! brought a smile to your face and all!! might make a part two for more fluff and to establish more relationship dynamics since this was written on a whim ;D also i planned a cute scene with peter as well, so i'll just write that in part two el em ay yo.

[moonstruckme]

I love your work! I spent so long yesterday reading through just about all of them and you are an incredible writer! I have a request but regardless if you want to write it, I can’t wait to read what you write next!!

Request: I would love to have a fic with any of the marauders (+lily) (single or poly pairings) that are helping the reader on a bad chronic illness day. Due to their chronic illness, the reader’s body feels really weak so they need help from their partner(s).

Thanks so much angel! <3

cw: unspecified chronic illness, only explicit specificity is that reader has really low energy as a result of it

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 743 words

Sometimes, James can’t help but stop and think about how ridiculously lucky he is. He was worried about you all day at work—you weren’t feeling well when he left that morning, though you’d claimed you were going to take it easy—but there’s no sweeter sight to come home to than you and Lily curled up together on the bed, your head on her chest and her fingers in your hair. James’ heart slows to a lovesick thump-thump as he watches you. 

“Do you think you have the energy for a shower?” Lily murmurs. 

You make a small sound to the negative. 

“No? Okay.” Lily kisses your hairline, consoling. “How about a bath, love?” 

Her eyes flicker up to James, telling him she’s heard his entry whereas you seem not to have. The sad uptilt of her lips tells him you’ve had as hard a day as he worried you might. He takes off his shoes, moving toward you. 

“I could wash your hair for you,” Lily goes on, coaxing. “Add some of those oils you like.” 

James is just barely close enough to hear your mumbled reply. “I don’t know if there’s time.”

“There’s always time for a nice bath, isn’t there?” he asks lightly. Grins when you look up, noticing him. “Hi, angel.” 

“Hi.” You sit up for a kiss. James meets you halfway, folding an arm around your back to help support you. 

He gives Lily a kiss, too, sparing an extra for the worried line between her brows. 

“What are we worried about time for?” he asks. 

“She wants to go to dinner with her friend’s mum.” 

“I don’t want to,” you say, sinking back against Lily’s front the way Remus sinks into his chair after a long, long day, “I’m supposed to.” 

James feels his lips tug. “Well, there you have it, lovie. You don’t want to, so don’t.” 

“She’s visiting from out of town, and she asked to see me,” you mumble. You seem reluctant, like you’re fighting for a cause you don’t truly believe in yourself. “It’d be rude not to go.” 

“It’s not rude. You don’t have the energy for a shower,” Lily reminds you gently. “It doesn’t make any sense for you to go.” 

Your lips pull down, fretfulness lined with resignation. 

“Do you know where she’s staying?” James asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why don’t we give her a ring at her hotel, then, and let her know you’re not feeling well. I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

You look to be gnawing the inside of your lip, but James recognizes the slow wash of relief over your features. “Okay. That could work.” 

“It’ll work great. And then, say, you could think on what might sound good to you for dinner here at home.” James begins tracing the planes of your face as he talks, down your cheekbone from the corner of your eye, up the bridge of your nose, and across your opposite eyebrow. “I’ll go to the store once you decide, and you two can have your bath while I whip dinner up for us. Okay?” 

Lily holds you to her so she can lean forward without jostling you, kissing James ardently on his cheek. 

“I think that’s a lovely plan,” she says while he grins. 

You’re smiling, too, looking at them with much the same expression James imagines he wore when he came home to find the two of you together. “You don’t have to go to the store,” you say. “We have food here, don’t we?” 

“Probably,” James agrees. “But you’ve had a long day, you deserve to have whatever you want for dinner. At the least.” 

You open your mouth, but James speaks again. 

“And if you say you want frozen lasagna or butter on toast or the leftovers from last night, I won’t believe you.” 

Your smile goes sheepish, caught. 

“Why don’t you think on that,” Lily suggests, “and James, could you bring me the phone book so I can look up the hotel?” 

“Be right back,” he says, kissing both you and Lily again before he hops up. Lily takes his jaw in her hand, kissing him hard and with gratitude. It’s the sort of kiss that leaves James trying to blink himself back into focus as he leaves the room. 

He must look it, too, because your laugh, arguably the loveliest sound on Earth, follows him out. “Thanks, Jamie,” you say. 

Yeah, James is definitely the luckiest guy in the world.

[severussnapemylove]

*Some time in the 1970s*

Y/N; (heading to the Gryffindor common room with a beater bat and singing) “Someone made my best friend cry, do dah do dah. That someone is gonna die, oh dee do dah day.”🎶

[writerdream22]

requested by: anon, I sincerely hope you like this ✨🌻💛

pairings: Sirius Black x reader (platonic), James Potter x reader (platonic), Lily Evans x reader (platonic), Remus Lupin x reader, etc.

warnings: female!reader. there might be some curse words

a/n: for the Amortentia smell I took inspiration from a post by @littlemessyjessi (it was amazingly detailed omg)

It has been some time since I’ve last written on this blog, and I'm not confident in my writing anymore. I'm sorry if this is too long or confused of a piece to read!

feedbacks are always appreciated!

If you wish to be part of a taglist don’t hesitate to ask!

You hated Remus Lupin.

He was your arch-nemesis, the one individual that kept you from becoming the best student in your year. The one that always managed to be awarded the most points for your house, except for a few occasions (which were quite scarce to be honest).

It seemed like he found some sort of enjoyment in seeing you strive for the professors’ attention. Needless to say, you did not enjoy any part of this academic rivalry.

The other Marauders were quite invested in the dynamics of the relationship between you and Remus. As a matter of fact, it looked like they came up with all sorts of plans in order to see the two of you together.

On one particular occasion, you and the other fifth-year students were attending potions class and experimenting on Amortentia and all its properties. Professor Slughorn was walking between the worktables and monitoring everyone's work.

Just as you were about to write down the correct dose of peppermint before adding it into the cauldron, Slughorn spoke.

"Can any one of you recall who was a pioneer in the creation of Love Potions?"

Your eyes widened. You knew the answer, and you didn't want Remus to take the glory and win the points for Gryffindor once more. You were determined to win.

"Yes, Mrs. Y/l/n?" professor Slughorn questioned, seeing your raised hand.

"I reckon it was Laverne de Montmorency, sir"

The older man nodded at your response before saying"It was her indeed. Very good Mrs. Y/l/n, five points to Gryffindor!".

You smiled widely and took the opportunity to turn around and see Remus' face. He was glaring at you, while Sirius and the other Marauders were teasing him.

"Got anything to say, Lupin?" you asked, to which he curtly responded with a "No".

The whole ordeal died out within a few minutes, and everyone went back to doing their assignment.

After some time Slughorn decided that it was time for his students to show the results of their work; therefore he called out a couple of names at a time so that they could be evaluated.

It didn't take very long for him to say your name which was followed by Remus', much to your dismay.

"It seems like there weren't any incidents in the preparation so there shouldn't be any problems with the potion. Mrs. Y/l/n, why don't you begin?"

You could not understand what he was talking about.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Tell us about the smell that comes from your cauldron."

You could feel everyone's eyes on you. Especially your best friend's, and the Marauders'.

Needless to say, as soon as your face was above the cauldron you hesitated to analyse the smell coming from it.

"What do you smell then, Mrs. Y/l/n?"

You cleared your throat and spoke up, even though you were too anxious to even utter a single word.

"Uhm, let's see — warm cashmere, cassis, parchment paper, ink, and— chocolate, I think"

As soon as you said that you noticed that the Marauders started whispering between each other. You couldn't see Remus' face since he was standing next to you, but from the way Sirius was giggling it seemed like he was shocked.

A strange thought came to your mind, but you quickly brushed it off. It couldn't be, right?

Slughorn's voice brought you back to reality.

"Very well. Now, Mr. Lupin, tell us what you smell"

It was obvious that Remus was as nervous as you were when he started describing the smell coming from his own cauldron. You did not dare turn to watch him directly since you couldn't stand embarrassing yourself more than you already did.

"It's a bit unclear but—" he stated "I smell a hint of roses, then... books, cedarwood, basil and thyme".

Your eyes widened once again. You always wore a rose perfume, and had developed the habit of lighting up a cedarwood, basil and thyme candle with your roommates in the Gryffindor common hall. Something which Remus always complained about whenever he and his friends walked into the aforementioned place.

You swore you could hear Sirius and James snorting for how much they were suppressing their laughter.

Professor Slughorn could clearly sense that the situation was somewhat getting out of hand, so he warned the boys about giving them detention and dismissed the class.

You were tempted to run away, but you had a couple of classes left so you pushed through and waited until they ended to finally get into your dormitory.

Thankfully, you hadn't seen the Marauders since the incident a few hours prior. However, the fact that you were with your best friend Lily Evans (who was James' girlfriend) implied that you were bound to meet them, eventually.

Unbeknownst to you, while the two of you were sat in your dormitory the Marauders were busy talking about the aforementioned "incident" during potions class.

"Admit it, you smelt her perfume!" Sirius exclaimed, to which Remus responded with a scoff.

"Don't you 'hmph' me, Moony! You like her and she likes you!"

"No, I must've interpreted the scents wrong... I despise her! She always tries to be better than me and steals the points that I should get for the house!" Remus remarked.

"Too bad we don't believe a word you're saying!" James stated "If you really despise Y/n, tell us why"

"Well, for starters, she always seems to know things better than I do. I feel like that annoying perfume of hers is always up my nose and she never seems out of place. And, and— she's... I just hate her guts!"

The Marauders stared at each other for a few seconds, then bursted out laughing.

Remus was so confused that Sirius had to explain to him that those were not valid reasons to hate someone, but rather he was just saying what he liked about her.

Moony kept denying his friends' accusations, but there was a part of him that couldn't help but think that maybe they were right. Just maybe.

Maybe he didn't really hate you. Maybe those very parts of you which he had insulted were the reasons why he liked you, and wanted to distance himself in fears of hurting you. He couldn't pinpoint the exact things he was feeling in that moment: it was like a flood was pervading his mind and heart.

"You really think that—" he muttered, to which the other Marauders responded saying "Yes! You must tell her, Moony. Right now!"

Even though a part of Remus kept telling him that things might have gone awfully wrong and that he wouldn't have been able to do it, he took courage and walked up the stairs and to your dormitory by himself.

Unbeknownst to him and his friends, you and Lily had been busy talking about the same thing: you and your feelings for Remus.

Your 'girls talk' was interrupted by a knock on your door.

"Who is it?"

"Y/n, it's Remus. I have come in peace"

You immediately stood up from your bed, and rushed to the door.

"Yes?" you opened the door, expecting to find all the boys behind him. It was rather surprising to see Remus by himself.

"I was wondering if we could talk. Just the two of us" he stated, to which you responded with a nod of your head.

You turned around to see Lily standing, with her thumbs up and a big smile on her face, which suggested that she was going and you were staying there.

As soon as she began walking down the stairs, you shut the door and invited Remus to sit down on your bed.

"There is not an easy way to say this. But I'm not going to beat around the bush" he said "I didn't think I would ever say these words, but... Recent events have led me to come to the conclusion that I like you"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I like you, Y/n. I am in love with you, and I hope that you reciprocate my feelings or else I've made a fool of myself"

You were looking at him like he was an alien. Did you or did you not understand the weight of his words?

"I'm sorry, what?" You asked once again.

"Oh for fuck's sake. I am in love with you, Y/n Y/l/N!"

With that, you started laughing.

"Why are you—"

"I heard you the first time. I just needed the information to sink in" you said, giggling "I like you too, Remus".

What a strange way to react to one confessing their feelings for you.

Remus smiled. He couldn't believe that it was all real. He had to protect this newfound tranquility, the beautiful yet unexpected source of his happiness, at all costs.

"I won't force my affection on you or anything. If you're comfortable doing so, I'd like to hold your hand"

"Of course you can"

And he did.

Remus slowly reduced the distance between the two of you, then timidly held out his hand which you took with the same bashfulness.

You loved Remus Lupin. You really did.

And you couldn't wait to live your future with him.

[sunskisser]

thank you to the lovely girl who requested for this on wattpad! <3

a hundred times over | s.b.

tw: dried blood, fluff, teensy bit of jily

evans! reader, sirius black x reader (when he ends up escaping to the Potters’)

Lying lazily on the couch in the Potters’ mansion, you tear a strip of paper and chew it in your mouth before shooting a spitball at James, giggling as he grumbled and swatted it away.

He was busy making small talk with your sister, as she tried to look annoyed but was hopelessly failing, what with the pink coating her cheeks. Lily was just as much in love with James as he was in with her, that much was obvious for everyone to see. Meanwhile, Remus was propped up on his elbows in front of the fireplace, his eyes locked on the storybook in front of him while Peter sat on the other end of the couch, face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to master a spell he learnt recently.

Everything felt right, spending the holidays with your twin and best friends. But the gnawing hole in your heart made you realise that something was missing, or rather someone - Sirius. You knew he’d never be able to spend the holidays at James’ place because of his horribly abusive family, but a small part of you missed his constant teasing and flirting. You found yourself aching to see that easy smirk which hung from his lips, and the stormy grey eyes which plagued your mind a little too frequently these days.

Sighing, you quit annoying James and flopped onto your back, gazing at the ceiling. “Moony?” you mumble. Everyone turns to look at you except him, as he hums in response, too engrossed in his book. “Do you think Pads is okay?” you ask quietly, the dark thoughts starting to get the better of you. Why hadn’t he written all summer? Remus frowns, tearing his eyes away from the page to glance at you, “Why wouldn’t he be-“

At that moment, the fire crackled loudly and turned a fiery blue as everyone swiveled their heads to look. A boy covered in dried blood and soot stepped out, a suitcase in one hand a broken wand in the other. His eyes looked stripped of their light, hazy as they darted around the room. It didn’t take long for Y/n and the rest to register their dark-haired friend swaying unsteadily in front of them, his eyes barely open.

You felt your heart jump to your mouth as he swayed forward. “SIRIUS!” you gasped, lurching forward to catch his arms just as he was about to crumble to the ground. Remus jumped up to help you lower him to the floor, taking a shaky breath as he grabbed your trembling hand and squeezed it reassuringly. James was anything but calm, his eyes wide in horror as he shakily yelled for his mother upstairs. Peter and Lily sat there with matching dumbfounded expressions, your sister letting out a shocked squeak.

You feel the tears start to well up in your eyes, terrifying thoughts running through your mind. You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever. You couldn’t live without Sirius.

As though she could read your mind, Lily stood up and came towards you, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Sirius towards the kitchen. You saw Euphemia flash you a small, reassuring smile as she helped Sirius into a spare room to treat him.

Your sister gently turned your head towards her, and you felt the lump forming in your throat. “He’s gonna be okay,” Lily murmured, squeezing your hands as you let out a small sob, clamping a hand over your mouth. She immediately pulled your trembling body into hers in a warm embrace as you muttered incoherently. “I… I can’t lose him… I love him too much.”

She just hums in response and rubs your back until your cries slow. “James’ mom is a great healer, you know? One of the best,” she says quietly. You sniffle, pulling away and wiping the tears off your face. “I know. I don’t know why I’m overreacting this much.”

She smiles softly, “Because you love him, duh.” You look away, your cheeks starting to turn red. “No I don’t,” you mutter, just as James comes into the kitchen, relief written all over his face. “Hey, Y/n, he’s better now. You can go see him if you want to.”

Lily nods at you as you take a deep breath, following James as he brings you to the room. You enter to see Sirius propped up against the headboard, his black curls all over the place and bandages wrapped on at least four different parts of his body. His eyes look up to meet yours, and you felt your whole world shift as you rush forward to wrap him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Wanker,” you whisper, squeezing Sirius tightly as he chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around you. “Hey gorgeous,” he sighs. “Missed me?”

You smack his back lightly and he lets out an exaggerated yelp of pain, making you giggle. You cling to him tightly, soaking in the warmth of his embrace which you longed to feel for so long. “I missed you.” he murmurs, his playful exterior finally melting away as he breathes in the scent of you.

You just snuggle more into him in response, unable to say anything. “I thought I lost you,” you finally say, pulling away slightly to hold him at arms length. You trail your eyes over his features, the light stubble that had settled on his chin and those metallic eyes you knew so well. He grins that same grin you want to wake up to for the rest of your life. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, sweetheart.”

As you both sit there in silence, taking in each other’s features after being starved of the other’s presence for weeks, you find yourself slowly inching towards him. You were lost in the storm that was his eyes, and he was gazing at the art that was your face.

Sirius reached out his hand to cup your cheek and you could hear your heartbeat quicken, thundering in your ears as he grazed his thumb over your lips. You let your eyelids flutter close and let out a content sigh, him taking that as his final confirmation as he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips on yours.

Fireworks explode in your heart as you melt into the kiss. One hand automatically goes up to cup his cheek, the other threading through his hair. His lips were chapped, his skin rough, and his hair knotted. Sirius was a mess right now, but he was your mess. Yours. This was all you ever wanted, and all you ever needed.

You finally break the kiss, feeling butterflies churning in the pit of your stomach as you pull away to smile at him. Sirius grins, resting his forehead against yours as he rubs his thumb over your cheek. “If I knew almost dying would make you fall in love with me, I’d do it a hundred times over.”