#remus x reader drabble

[blossomarlia]

hi, could you write a drabble with reader x remus where she rlly struggles with getting involved or going to hang out with people without explicitly being invited (just feeling really worried about being rejected) and he kind of reassures her and looks after her?

hi, thanks for this request! hope you enjoy, i generally don't write school-aged drabbles but thought this fit the best.

summary: your fear of being rejected stops you from joining your friends, but remus reassures you

remus x fem! reader (implied early stages romance)

Sitting by one of the fireplaces in the Gryffindor common room, you’re wondering how many of the people around you have exchanged glances over the top of your head. You can almost feel judgement thickening the air, raised eyebrows and confused smiles that ask why is she even here? To be honest, the only reason that you haven’t moved away is that you were technically sitting here first, and the rest of them milled in and took their spots nearby- then again, was it purposeful, your taking a place on one of the sofas they often use? In hindsight it’s just embarrassing. They must be assuming that you sat down just so they’d have no choice but to talk to you. 

You know you’re expecting the worst of this group, none of whom particularly deserve it. The flock of seventh-years surrounding you are generally a good bunch; Lily, Sirius, Marlene, Mary, Peter, James, Remus, and Dorcas,. You want to be one of them more than  you want most other things, which is somewhat pathetic and completely obvious in the way you’re always hanging around. They may all be lovely, and your friends (to some extent), but you know how irritating it can be if there’s always someone not quite in the group hanging around.

You should leave. Get up and make some comment about homework, or whatever, and wait for absolutely nobody to stop you. It’s kinder to everybody. Isn’t it?

Lost in your thoughts, you miss what Lily says next, and then they’re all getting to their feet. You give what you hope is a casual smile, simultaneously relieved of your spiralling and disappointed that they’re fulfilling your expectations.

There’s a tap on your shoulder- Remus, your favourite, whose hair has grown out over Christmas and now curls over his ears. He seems to get taller and lovelier with every passing moment. It’s difficult to make eye contact.

“We’re heading to the greenhouses, did you hear?” He says quietly, hand stilling instead of pulling away. You press your lips together and nod, carefully hiding any sort of misplaced hurt. It’s not as if you’re entitled to an invitation.

“Alright, I’ll see you later!” Too enthusiastic.

His brows pinch together. “You’re not coming?”

You look up at the others, who are collecting scarves and bags on their way to the portrait-hole. How can you admit to Remus that you don’t think they want you along? How can you tell him, anyone, that you’re far too afraid of being made fun of, or becoming a joke within their tight-knit group, to risk it?

“Oh, I don’t know. I have heaps of homework.”

“You do?” He raises his eyebrows. You feel caught, despite not having been accused of any sort of lie. “I thought you finished it all yesterday.”

You’d been studying when he and Lily joined you, and all day you’ve been wondering why they chose to. You probably put a but too much value on people choosing to sit next to you in class or during study; it’s unlikely that it was more than an absence of other free tables.

“...Some, yeah. And I wouldn’t want to- you know, I wouldn’t…” You trail off and give an awkward laugh. Remus’ gentle expression is making the inside of your mouth hurt.

“What?” You’re not used to your excuses mattering so much. Mostly, you mutter something and disappear to your dorm in time to avoid any drama. Is he feeling guilty, awkward about having made plans as a group in front of someone else? You cringe at the notion of Remus realising how friendless you probably are, of his pity. 

You know it’s your own fault for being like this. You’ve had friends in the past- cool, funny, popular, attractive- who frequently left you out on purpose. A drunken conversation in fifth year revealed that you were tolerable at best, a joke at worst. Always pushing in and so desperate for invitations that to extend them could only be ironic. 

You think about that more often than you should. You’re constantly hyperaware of how tolerable you are, sure that you’ll say or do something which will make everyone else realise exactly why you’re not in any particular group. You can’t let that happen yet with all these people, so full of love for one another that even proximity to them feels like the experience of it. Still, they’re teenagers. Judgement is an automatic response, and Remus is clever in the way he jokes. He’ll retell this conversation to roaring laughter if you reveal too much- not that he’s ever unkind, but you sort of invite a bad impression, you think.

“It’s really fine,” You assure him. “I’m tired. It’s cold, too.”

“Right,” He nods, glancing downwards. You think you’ve won (as much as you can win, here) until he turns to James and Peter and says, “I think we’re going to stay here. Bit chilly.”

What?

James frowns, making a sound of protest. “Moony!” His eyes fall to you next, and you look away, guilty and embarrassed. You’d never even considered that pity would drive Remus to actually stay here, and now they’ll all hate you. Nice job, very well handled.

Marlene is next. “‘Cas has just finished growing the Alihotsy plant, though. We’re all going.”

“It’s been weeks since we all had the evening off- or at least, since Potter and Black didn’t have a detention each,” Lily reasons more kindly. She receives twin protests from the boys on either side of her, but remains unbothered, adding, “It’d be nice to spend a bit more time as a group.”

You’re awfully close to tears. All you’d wanted was to relieve them of yourself, to retreat to your room and wait until somebody explicitly invited you somewhere (if ever), and now you’ve gone and ruined everybody’s evening. You turn to Remus, more urgent than is likely normal. “Please just go with them,” You say softly, aware that your voice is all wobbly. “I’m just going to go to bed, I don’t want to interrupt all of you catching up. Please, it’s really okay.”

There’s a brief silence that spans the entire crowd. They’ve all heard, are all likely attempting not to laugh. Remus is giving you an awful look. 

“...Are you okay, lovely?” Mary asks. You can’t look at her, can’t look at any of them, but you’ve always been alright at masking emotion in your voice when you really try. You force something like a smile.

“Yes! Yes, completely fine, I’m only tired. Post-holiday blues, maybe.” You laugh and it sounds terrible. “I’ve really only got to go to bed. You all have fun!” Silence again. 

“We might join you all in a bit,” Remus says firmly. There are a few worried noises of assent, and they all head off. Now, you do see them looking at one another, frowning and looking upset. Poor Remus, you imagine them saying on their way to the greenhouses, stuck looking after her while we all escape.

Remus asks you to sit down again three times before you agree, still rather set on going to bed so you won’t cry in front of the entire common-room.

“What’s making you so upset?” He asks softly, once he’s finally detained you. You blink quickly and cast a glance around at the other students in the common-room, afraid to embarrass yourself more than you already have, but he’s quick to assuage the fear. “I cast a muffliato when James began talking about the Alihotsy prank- ages ago. Nobody’s heard anything, I promise.”

You swallow harshly. “Oh. Thanks. I’m sorry I’m being so- so-”

“If I could,” Remus says, firm but kind, “This will be a lot easier if we can get to the problem, here, rather than whatever you think you’ve done wrong.”

“I- right. Okay. Um,” You stammer. “They’re not really mutually exclusive.” “Why don’t you want to come? Did somebody say something hurtful?” You look at him, slightly startled. “What? It’s not that I don’t want to.”

Remus seems perplexed, looking the way he does when he’s working out a particularly difficult exam question. “No?”

“No.” You twist your fingers together so tightly that they hurt. “No, it sounds fun, it just… it’s not as if I’m going to demand to be brought along, am I?” The joke falls flat. You think you already knew it would, but it’s still a bit embarrassing to laugh and be met with a concerned frown.

 You take a few longer breaths. You can fix this. You have to fix this. 

“Look, it’s kind of you to stay here, but like Lily said- you all have the night off. It’s really not so bad not to spend it as a group. I want you to go, really.” The next smile is easier. You’ve done this before, convinced people not to feel bad for you. 

“Why would you need to demand to be brought along?” Remus asks. “We made the plans while you were right here.���

“You all made plans together,” You explain slowly. “You know, having an evening to yourselves and that sort of thing. There’s no need for- you know, I’m honestly just tired. That’s probably why I’ve reacted so oddly, it’s my own fault.”

Remus looks at you for a long while, so intent that your skin gets prickly and uncomfortable. Eventually, he speaks, quiet and considered. “...You haven’t acted oddly if that’s how you’ve been feeling.”

“Tired?”

“No, excluded.” He says gently. “You really didn’t know you were invited?” You don’t answer with more than silence, and he sighs. 

“You were. You’re always invited, dove, of course you are.”

Trying not to get to hung up on impossibilities, you shake your head quickly. “It’d be a bit rude to assume that.”

“It wouldn’t.” Remus replies immediately. Then, “Dove, what are we going to do with you?” Entirely too much to comprehend. You’re glad he goes on. “Would you look at me for a moment, please?”

You want to ask him why, or refuse, or run up to your dormitory, but you do as he says. You wonder if he knows that he could ask you to do almost anything and you’d say yes, if he’ll only keep looking at you with his coffee-coloured eyes.

“All of us- we want you to come along, wherever we are. You’re important to lots of people. Do you understand that?” “I- I just don’t want to push myself in.” You say, mortified.

“You aren’t. You’re being pulled, if anything, yeah?” His lips quirk. “When Lily said those things about spending time as a group, she meant you, too. If somebody said something that made you think otherwise, I’ll-”

“Nobody said anything,” You tell him feebly. This is all rather a lot to take in. “I think… maybe it’s more that nobody’s said I am invited, or a part of- I don’t know, it’s all sort of stupid.”

“No it’s not,” Remus disagrees. He pinches your chin quickly between thumb and forefinger, frowning again. Mary once commented that Remus would look sixty by the time you all left school, with all his worrying wrinkles. “Not stupid, but it’s not very kind to yourself, either. Why shouldn’t we want you around?”

You open your mouth and close it at his raised eyebrow. “Rhetorical question?” 

“Rhetorical question.” He confirms amusedly. “There’s no point arguing, because we do. I do. I wish you wouldn’t think otherwise.”

“I’ve only been friends with all of you for a little while, though. You’ve all been mates since first-year.” At that, Remus outright scoffs. “Have we, now?” 

You shrug. 

“James and Lily always liked each other, then? Dorcas didn’t only just start hanging around us as well?” You look down, and he sighs. “However long everybody’s known one another, the most important bit is that we all like each other, yeah? It wouldn’t matter whether we became mates at eleven or two days ago- we’re friends. Or- you know.”

You definitely don’t know, but you’re going red anyway. He was definitely talking about Lily and James- that’s all he meant by ‘you know’. Isn’t it?

Remus scratches the back of his head, quiet for another second. Then, “...Why don’t we go down to the greenhouses? We’ll stick together the whole time, you’ll not be sat by yourself again.”

“I don’t want to make you babysit.”

Remus tsks, expression becoming sterner for a moment. “Don’t think that way about yourself. I’m asking because I want you to come- it’s not worth going if you aren’t there.”

The long moment it takes for you to decipher whether he’s only being nice or if that’s the truth is enough for Remus to decide that you don’t really have a choice in the matter. Tugging you to your feet, and seeming taller than ever with your proximity, he winds his own scarf around your neck and pushes some hair behind your hear. You let him, mostly because you’re too surprised to do anything about it.

“Let’s go, before they all decide to try some of the Alihotsy themselves. Gloves?”

You manage a nervous giggle, putting your mittens on when he hands them to you. “Thanks.”

“That’s alright. Come on,” He gives you a crooked sort of smile. It’s sometimes difficult to tell if Remus is aware how good-looking he is. 

The entire group are far too enthusiastic at yours and Remus’ arrival fifteen minutes later, given the fact that it’s hardly been half an hour since they left. Either way, you’re quickly pulled into a squabble between Lily and James about- as Remus predicted- the logic of trying some Alihotsy for themselves. 

“Thank Merlin you came, you’re the only one who won’t be completely daft about this!” Lily says, linking her arm in yours. You smile before catching Remus’ eye and looking down, feeling yourself flush. Smug bastard, you think fondly.

It’s an entire two hours before everyone heads back up to the castle, having thoroughly violated curfew but without (to James and Sirius’ chagrin) having tested any of the plant which would induce hysterical laughter. You find yourself walking beside the tallest of the group in comfortable silence, a few steps behind the rest.

“Thanks for making me come with you,” You say, perhaps a little more earnestly than you ought. “It was really nice.”

“‘Course, dove.” You look up at Remus to find he’s already looking at you. He clears his throat, glancing over at Sirius and Marlene where they’re pretending to push each other into the snow. It’s likely to end in one of them following through and the other swearing eternal hatred. “We’re all glad you came along. Could even make a habit of it.”

You exhale a laugh. “Maybe.”

He gives you a sideways look. “Oh, ‘maybe’, is it?” “...Conceivably?” You grin, darting away when he grabs at you and sort of wishing you’d stayed still just to see what he’d do. Remus fixes you with a teasing glare.

“Watch it, sweetheart.”

You blink, choking on words for a minute. Sweetheart? Sweetheart!? Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheartsweetheartsweetheartsweetheart-

“You alright?” 

“Yeah!” You say, too quickly. Remus misreads your flusteredness as something else and softens, taking hold of your sleeve and tugging you towards him. You go easily.

“If it’ll help,” He says thoughtfully, “You can ask me if you’re invited to things. Or I’ll just tell you. Then you won’t have to go to the trouble of assuming either way.”

You like him so, so much. “That’s really nice of you, Remus.”

“Eh,” He shrugs. “You know me.”

Now, it’s harder not to smile than anything else. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble. It’s really my problem, I shouldn’t-”

“Enough,” He interrupts gently. “Just say yes, dove, if it’ll help. I won’t be unhappy either way.”There are several places within you, the more unkind parts, that say accepting his offer would be like accepting pity. But there are also places that are warmed at the thought, that remember how people reacted when you arrived in the greenhouse, that can start imagining a reality wherein nobody hated your presence by the sofas tonight, and those bits win the argument for the first time in a very long time. You look up at Remus, his soft eyes and fluffy hair dusted with snow, and nod.

[ddejavvu]

GIRL I GOT DE BEST IDEA AAAAAAAAAAAAA how would The poly!maurders react to y/n sleeping naked? I sleep naked and that thought just came to me mind

"Darling?" Sirius croons, pressing gently against your shoulder to rouse you from your sleep, "Darling, we're back."

There's no response from you, and Sirius pushes ever-so-slightly harder.

"Christ, Sirius, let's not shove her off the bed!" James gripes, muscling Sirius out of the way to lean down and press his lips to your forehead, "Love, wake up? We brought you dessert."

There's still no response from your unconscious form, and James suspects it's because you're nestled in a cocoon of warmth that's keeping you deeply asleep. He feels his heart crack slightly as he reaches for the edge of the blanket, feeling cruel, but it has to be done.

"Right, let's take this off then, and we can- oh, bloody hell!"

What's revealed beneath the blankets is your naked form, curled up tightly against the cold but now completely exposed to the room. Sirius's brows shoot up, and James drops the covers in order to clamp his hands over his eyes.

"James," Remus hums as you stir from your sleep. He quickly flips the covers over you again, giving you privacy as you wake, "You've seen her naked before."

"But not like this!" James blabbers, letting Sirius bundle him in a reassuring hug, "Darling, if you can hear me, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd be naked under there. Didn't mean to flash you to the whole lot of us."

Remus watches as you drag a knuckle through the sleep gathered in the corners of your eyes, rubbing away the drowsiness as a groggy smile grows on your face.

"S'okay, Jamie," You laugh, your voice raspy from disuse, "I slept naked 'cause I knew you'd find me."

[moonstruckme]

remus one shot where he can’t stop blushing around the reader because he has a huge crush on her and sirius and james are like dude please ask her out already?? 🙈

cw: the trials and tribulations of a restaurant job, semi-confident reader (or at least she can withstand Sirius' flirting, which I couldn't), James and Sirius' shameless wingmanning

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The cafe is crammed. You’ve almost tripped over two kids already whose parents let them run loose, you did let a glass slip from your tray when a customer stuck his leg out into the walkway without looking, and you’ve quickly reached the conclusion that today was definitely the wrong day to break in your new work shoes. You’re on your last straw at only ten in the morning, but your pasted-on smile becomes twice as genuine when you see a table of your favorite regulars. 

“Hi,” you say warmly, clicking your pen and readying it above your pad. “How are we doing today?” 

You’re greeted with two dazzling grins from one side of the booth and a shyer smile from the other. 

“Y/n,” says Sirius, in his suave, flirtatious way (you’ve learned not to take it personally), “you’re looking stunning.” 

You know your hair is suffering from the weather outside and there’s orange juice down the front of your apron, but you smile at him anyway. “Thank you, so are you.” 

“How’s your morning going?” James asks. These boys are never ones to skip over pleasantries to get to their meal, and while with other tables you might try to hurry them along, you never mind in this case. Today especially, you welcome the break. 

“Oh, it’s going,” you try to joke, looking pointedly down at your orange juice stain. “Could be worse.” 

He makes a face. “Yikes.” 

“It’s fine,” you say breezily. “What can I get you?” 

You look to James, because really he’s the only one you ever need to ask. The other two are fairly consistent, but James seems inclined to try something new every time he comes in. 

He doesn’t disappoint now, locking eyes with you seriously over the top of his menu. “How is your butterfly lemonade? No—actually, what is your butterfly lemonade?”

“It’s…” You bite your lip, thinking. Sirius snickers, and when you look he seems to be sharing in some joke with Remus’, whose cheeks have gone a tad pink. “I’m not sure, honestly, but it’s sweet. I think you’d like it.” 

“That, then.” James slaps down his menu decisively. 

“Right.” You write it down. “And then, a caramel latte and a tea?” You look to Sirius and Remus for confirmation. 

The former shoots you a grin you take as a yes, while the latter nods and says quietly, “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” You soften your smile for Remus. You adore all of these boys, but you have a bit of a tender spot for him. Remus is by far the quietest of his friends, though really just as friendly when he does talk. It’s terribly endearing. 

You click your pen again. “Okay, back soon!” 

The boys’ table remains a bright spot in your morning for as long as they’re there. Their antics you’re rather used to—the flirting, and the pranks, and the teasing way both James and Sirius poke at Remus while his blush worsens and worsens—but it surprises a laugh out of you when you joke that you’ll have to spit in Remus’ food if he orders the brioche (which infamously holds up the kitchen every time) and Sirius snorts doubt he’d mind before yelping and jumping in his seat. By the time you’re bringing them their ticket, the cafe has reached its late morning lull and your day is remarkably brighter than it started off. 

You seem to be interrupting some sort of debate when you approach their table, Remus leaning forward to whisper across the booth before he catches sight of you and sits back. The tops of his cheekbones are tinged pink. Sirius, on the other hand, is grinning wickedly, whereas James looks mostly exasperated. 

“Thank you,” James says kindly, taking the ticket from you. Remus starts rifling through his pockets for cash, but Sirius only looks at you as though sizing you up. 

“Y/n,” he starts to say, ignoring how Remus’ eyes narrow in his direction, “are you seeing anyone at the moment?” 

You feel your eyebrows lift. “Not currently, no.” 

“But why not?” He affects a look of puzzled contemplation, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re a pretty girl. Are you not looking to date?” 

You shrug, fighting the urge to cross your arms defensively. It’s not that you’ve never gotten these sorts of personal questions from customers before, but you weren’t expecting them from this table; you thought you knew better than to take Sirius’ flirting seriously. “Nothing has come up lately, I guess.” 

“Do you fancy men?”

“Sirius,” Remus hisses. “Leave her alone.” 

“What?” Sirius spreads his hands, guileless. “None of us would care if you didn’t, lovely—well, some might care, but no one would hold it against you—” He yelps for the second time today, this time shooting a glare at his friend across the booth. “Anyway, you don’t have to say if you aren’t comfortable.” 

You’re laughing a bit now, half nervously. “No, that’s okay. I do, yeah.” 

“Interesting.” James sets down the ticket. It seems you have his full attention now. “And what do you think of our Remus?” 

Remus makes a horrified sputtering sound, and you turn to find him looking at James in betrayal. He’s pink to the tips of his ears. 

You can’t help a small smile as you catch on. “I think he seems very sweet.” 

“Mm, well spotted.” James nods, tenting his hands like a man at a business meeting. 

“Yes, very good taste,” Sirius agrees. 

“He’s a dateable bloke, no?” James asks you. He jolts in his seat a little, but doesn’t yelp like Sirius had. Remus appears caught between wanting to hide his face in his hands and wanting to burn his friends to cinders with his gaze. He’ll be lucky, you think amusedly, if he doesn’t burn himself up first. The hue of his blush is only getting deeper. 

“He is,” you agree. You look at Remus again. This time, he meets your eyes, his look softening. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says miserably. 

Your grin spreads. “No, don’t be.” 

“So would you like to date him?” James furthers. 

Remus does put his head in his hands now, letting out a muffled groan. “James.” 

“What? Clearly you aren’t going to do it yourself, and I am sick of trying to eat my breakfast whilst you moon over—” He jumps in his seat again, and goes quiet, reaching down to rub at his leg. You tuck your lips in to hide a smile. 

“I’m just going to take this,” you say, reaching for the customer copy of their receipt. You bend over, scrawling your number down on the signature line. “And if anyone has more questions for me later, they can give me a ring. Okay?” 

You look at Remus. He looks nauseous and stop-sign red, but he manages to give you a small smile. “Alright,” he says, tentatively.

“Perfect. Bye, boys.” You shoot them a wave as you go to your next table. You hope Remus sees how your smile is really only for him.

[sunnami]

the 5 times you did (not) love each other and the 1 time you did.

summary. as the title suggests. this one was a request! i hope you enjoyed my version of this anon.

pairing/s. poly!marauders + lily / reader.

wc. 4.1k

tags. hurt/comfort, angst, peter pettigrew mention, not proofread, like seriously, fluff, happy ending.

cws: brief mention of violence and blood.

note: i am alive?? crazy. i began this fic, whilst sick, around august, nursing the worst headache ever. i wrote the middle of this fic, sick. and i think it's only fitting that i finished this fic. sick... honestly, i did not proofread any of this, i just know i lowkey love it. after the first one-thousand words, i just spiral and become delirious, so i don't even know what happened here. my first request finished! yippee! and thank you all for 2k :< i love you all so much.

i. 

SIRIUS BLACK did not love you—not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After Peter Pettigrew’s slight against his family, Sirius would never hold warmth or pity for the skittish mouse ever again. He was played for a fool. And, he did not know which betrayal had hurt more. Peter’s—or yours. (Had you known all along of your adoptive brother’s plans? Did you not think for one second that Sirius would, without a sliver of hesitation, put himself in the way of a killing curse to keep you safe? He’d have died before ever letting the fire in your eyes wither to ashes. Clearly, you did not share the same sentiment.) 

He wanted nothing to do with you. Ever. And if the rat-bastard dared to show his face, not even Death would know where to put Peter’s body to rest. Sirius would keep him alive until he begged for death—until the idea of living frightened him more than dying. And for you—beholder of his heart, captor of his soul, and co-possessor of his mind—he could only hope that you stayed far away. You had wrecked him—all of them. 

He wanted—

He did not know what he wanted. 

For when it came to you, Sirius Black was reduced to a man wandering the deserts—mistaking clouds for water, and the sands for grass blades. You had ravaged every fiber of his being; consumed his every thought and word. The most ironic part of all was that if you had been the one standing there—Sirius would have let you Avada him. Dumbledore could scold him in the afterlife—Sirius could care less. He’d have snapped his wand in half and asked someone else to fight you because Sirius had vowed from the moment he met you that he would never harm a hair on your head. He would never be the reason that tears stained your pretty cheeks. 

Well, apparently, trust and promises were not worth a damn thing nowadays. 

No, he did not love you—even as you stood on the steps of Grimmauld, your hair ruined by the downpour of rain. Your lips bruised and bitten from a nervous habit Sirius had yet to break out of you. 

“I didn’t know, Sirius,” you whispered—your voice the only sound falling on his ears amidst all the thunder and lightning. He only saw you. “Y-You have to believe me. If I knew—Gods, I would have told Dumbledore in a heartbeat. Fuck. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

He thought so, too. 

“Did you know?” Sirius began, taking a step forward and into the storm, a demeaning sneer on his lips. “That when Voldemort stood in our home, your portrait was right behind him? That was all I could look at. If I had died—you would have been the last thing I saw.” 

You had not replied. 

Sirius grit his teeth. “Go,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Go!” he yelled, grateful for the rain as it masked his own tears as you flinched from the sound of his voice. Not the thunderclap, the lightning strike—but it was him who scared you. 

(But you had done so first.) 

When you apparated away, Sirius crumbled to the ground and pounded his fists against the asphalts where you were moments ago, screaming and cursing until he saw blood flowing with the rainwater.

It was laughable, really. The way he did not love you. 

It was not love that drove him to madness, pummeling Gideon Prewett into a bloody pulp for mentioning your name during a meeting with the Order. He had presumed you to be a Death Eater alongside your brother—Sirius instantly saw nothing but red. (He condemned Bellatrix, his own cousin, for becoming a madwoman. Yet, here he was, unraveled by the very thought of you. The very whisper of your name.) 

But whatever it was that had turned him into a fool and a hypocrite all at once, it was not love. 

ii. 

JAMES POTTER had no love for you—make no mistake about that. He loved love, and he did so fiercely and truthfully. But you and Peter had broken his trust—defiled his loyalty from the moment your brother had brought Voldemort to his doorstep. (Did you know that as he begged and screamed for Lily to hide with their son, Harry—he thought of you? For a fleeting moment, he saw your face, marked by fear and tear-rimmed eyes. And James knew straight away that he would spit on Tom Riddle’s bare feet if only to keep his family safe. If only to see you once more. Alive and well. But, you must not have thought the same—if you had conspired with Peter to sell him and Lily out to the Devil reborn.) 

The thought of you breathing was enough to keep James alive. 

But, that was not love. It was a mockery of it. 

No, he did not feel so much as a twinge of emotion for you. Not even as Mad-Eye Moody brought your limp body back to Grimmauld. It was not love that threatened the magic in his being—that simmered in his blood until the painted walls saw an indent of his fist. (���Poor thing,” McGonagall cooed as she pressed her palm over your forehead. Despite some of the members’ growing distrust for you, you still took an Unforgivable in their stead. “We can only wait. . . Four Cruciatus curses. . .”) 

What more did James need to want to rip Peter apart limb by limb? 

It was not love that rooted his feet by your side. Sitting hunched on a chair too small for his height, bags beneath his eyes, and the pale of his lips becoming noticeable to everyone who spoke to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you lovelessly—hands desperately clutching your own. Sirius stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, dagger-like eyes waiting for so much as a twitch of your finger. “I’m sorry.”

It was a plea this time.

He only hoped you did not ask him to love you. For James could give you the world, hand-pick the stars, and burrow his body deep beneath the ground if you had asked for it—but he could not love you. 

Everyone had told him not to hope that you would wake up. That your pretty eyes would not flutter open, and you would no longer look at him as you had before. But James was stubborn. He was selfish as he was stubborn. He did not love you—but he needed to hear the sound of your voice. And James would take it any way that he could. The soft cadence of a whisper, or a rough utterance of a single word. Molly Weasley told him to accept reality for what it was. (“You need sleep, dear,” the matriarch fussed. “There’s nothing we can do. Look at the Longbottoms. . . We can do no more for this one as we had done for them.”) 

In the still of the night, he left his reveries on the cold of your skin. “Wake up,” he demanded. 

“Wake up or else you’re the traitor everyone thinks you are,” James hissed. 

But his words held no heat—and his heart held no love for you. 

Make no mistake about that.

Then, when you finally woke up, disoriented and throat parched—a hazy recollection of the weeks before—James made sure that no more than four people could enter the room. He did not care if a hurricane, or if Voldemort himself—James had faced him once already, after all—threatened to break the door down. You were theirs to protect.

 (But not to love.) 

“We need to begin the questioning, James, you know that,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost exasperatedly; weary lines written across his face. James would not allow even a toe beyond the doorway. An interrogation meant you had something to do with the attempted murder of James and his family. Whether or not you were innocent, James did not care—he just wanted you safe. 

(And a small part of him already knew that you were not your brother’s keeper. Just as they had absolved Sirius of his family’s sins. It would be unfair to not show you the same grace. But before his mind knew that, James’s heart and soul had known the truth all along.) 

He found Sirius gently tending to your every need, and already James knew that was Padfoot’s way of begging for forgiveness. The ebony-haired man hung onto your every word. He winced when you flinched, and pressed his apologies to your forehead, rasping for a kindness he did not deserve. Not after what he did. How he turned you away and cursed your name. How they betrayed you. 

James did not love you. 

But what else could he call the manacles that bound his hands and forced him to his knees when it came to you? 

Not. Love. 

iii. 

REMUS LUPIN could not bring himself to love you. But, he could not love Sirius, Lily, and James either. He was undeserving of such a privilege. But he was not allowed to love you; Remus could only hope that you saw even a shred of worth in him—to wrest each word from his lips and every breath from his lungs. But, he did not love you. No. 

Because loving you meant he was to tell you of your brother’s crimes. And Remus could not hurt you like that. 

“P-Peter?” you had asked, wearing the eyes of a fretful sibling. Remus lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair gone astray behind your ear. Bellatrix had done a number on you—just as she had done to Alice and Frank. Remus was fairly certain that Sirius was off on a hunt for his cousin, his mind toyed with by the barbarity of war. What they could not do for the Longbottoms, they’d wring themselves dry to do for you. After the Lestranges’ attack, you suffered damage to your throat and memories. Remus could not bear to see you in such pain. 

He could not give you love, but Remus would offer up to you his every limb, and the weary skin upon his bones. 

“They. . .” Remus grimaced. How could he act as the bearer of bad news? He’d rather dive headfirst into shark-infested waters. Be anywhere else but here. In fact, Remus would rather snatch you away from the funereal walls, and hold you in his arms in the quietude of dawn, than be the one to bring anguish to your eyes. “They’re looking for him at the moment, love.” 

One question lingered in your eyes: Why? 

Luckily, Sirius was always the better one at sharpening a blunt knife. “He was a traitor,” he spat like acid. “A traitor to the Order. A traitor to us. He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.” 

But Sirius knew—better than anyone else—how difficult it can be to truly hate little brothers, especially once they’ve gone. 

“No. . .” You trembled, almost retching as you sobbed into your palms. 

Remus held you then, the front of his shirt soaked in your tears, eyes firmly shut as you trembled and heaved in his arms. The sound of your guttural screams bounced off the four walls, and Remus had to bury his nose in your hair. You were alive. Safe. Breathing. But you felt cold as ice; an empty husk stripped bare for grief to take over. And Remus could do nothing but hold you. (He just hoped that wherever Peter Pettigrew was, Remus would not be the first one to find him. Otherwise, they would not be able to recover even a fingernail from his remains.)

“Hush, love,” Remus whispered into your ear as you cried yourself sick. Mourning the loss of your brother, reeling from the betrayal of a bond that was supposed to be stronger than blood. Remus would make him pay, he vowed as much to you. No, Remus and the wolf in him did not know how to love. But he knew how to hurt. And, that, he’d gladly do for you. His body was for you to use as a shield, his soul for you to strip bare, and his heart for you to thieve and never return. 

“Don’t cry,” said James, a shadow cast over his frames. “Not for Peter. Never. Fucking bastard will get what’s coming to him.” He laid on the vacant space of the bed, gently untangling your hands that were pressed over your heart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They all would.

But not because they loved you. 

It was not out of love, Remus had to remind himself in the coming days, when he stayed diligently by your side as you recovered. Daily sessions with the best healer St. Mungo’s could offer—as if James would allow anything else. There were days your eyes would glaze over, your words rough and sluggish, and Remus would try his damndest to make you smile. 

It was the least he could do. 

For failing to protect you. 

But that was not love. 

(It was hope. Wretched, disastrous hope as he fell to his knees, and your name in between his teeth.)

iv. 

LILY EVANS was a fighter in all the ways that mattered. 

And from the very first moment she held Harry in her arms, eyes raking over his wrinkly, bloodied skin; all ten fingers and toes, her soft cries over his loud screaming—Lily knew she would trade her life for his in a heartbeat. Little, lovely eyes that would soon see the world in his own time. Lily adored him. Cherished every tear, snore, and giggle. She knew then, that a mother’s love was entirely different from any emotion she’d ever felt before. 

This was proven the first time Harry had gotten seriously ill. A few weeks after the attempted murder on the Potters, Harry was ceaselessly crying—screaming, even, every night—red-faced as he fussed every breakfast and dinner. Lily found herself at wit’s end. Her protectiveness had gone up a hundred measures; wouldn’t let anyone besides family or Madam Pomfrey see Harry. Yet, even with all the draughts and silly-flavoured syrups, Harry wasn’t getting better. 

“Lily dear, you cannot actually be thinking about this,” worried Molly Weasley as Lily stood in front of your door, holed away in the room where you had been recovering for the last few days. It would be the first time she saw you since the incident. More than anything she was afraid. Frightened that you would look at her differently. Whether or not that fear stemmed from love, Lily was not concerned. “We can call for another Healer from Mungo’s to have a look at Harry. . . Who knows what might. . .” 

Lily held Harry closer to her, lips firmly pressed, attempting to ignore the way his temperature was unnaturally high. “Might what, Mrs. Weasley?” She knew Molly was only talking out of concern, from a mother’s perspective at least. But she knew you better than anyone else. You would never hurt her, or Harry, that much she was certain of. And if you were the traitor everyone else was afraid of accusing you of, a sentence delivered by association to Peter—then let the guillotine fall, Lily would carry your crimes for you. 

She remembered ever-so clearly in her sixth-year, you with dreams glistening in your eyes. (“I’m going to be a Healer, Lils! Minnie said I’d be a great one. . . I want to protect those I love. . . I know I can do it. . . Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter that I’ve gotten recommendations already to work at Mungo’s after graduation.”) 

And Lily recalled at that moment, she had felt a different kind of emotion that she had never experienced before. It was not love, of course. Tuney said she was too young and too stupid to know what real love was. But, at sixteen, what else could describe the way her heart fluttered and the way her lips threatened to break out into a smile whenever you lit up talking about your future? (It was just a crush, young Lily told herself.)

Only to be crushed and cast aside in the face of the war, where fighters took their place at the forefront of the lines, mothers and children hid; healers stretching themselves thin to be here, there, everywhere; where traitors walked in plain sight. 

“There is no one else I trust more with my life,” replied Lily. 

And that was that. 

Lily skirted around Molly and opened the door to your room, where Sirius, James, and Remus all stood at attention at the sight of her and Harry. She ignored them, and headed straight to your side. 

“Hello, love,” she greeted with all the gentleness she was made of, a smile creeping up to her eyes as Lily watched you turn your head at the sound of her voice. Truth be told, she did not know what her end-goal was in coming here. But being by your side had always made life a little more bearable, like all the illnesses in the world could not bring her down. And so, her magic had instinctively summoned her person to you. She, at least, was relieved to see colour returning to your cheeks, though the red in your eyes had dulled the hues she adored so much. 

“Is that. . .?” you croaked. 

Lily nodded. “Harry, meet—” 

One of the loves of my life, the most loyal and pure witch anyone ever has the privilege of meeting, someone I want to stay in my life forever. 

Lily’s smile wilted. “A friend.” 

Later, she would place Harry in your arms—her little hope embraced by her dream—and Lily would wonder if it was by pure magic that Harry calmed in your presence. 

For if love could hurt and destroy, could it mend and heal the broken as well?

But what a shame, for not one in that room carried an ounce of love for you.

(She would die for Harry, yes—but she would live for you.)

v. 

YOU did not love them, either. 

The very idea, thought—insinuation—was absurd. (Why, they deserved much better than you, after all.) With hands that failed to protect them, were you even allowed to hold them anymore? Did your heart have the right to breathe for them? You had failed as a sister and a friend—how much more would you have failed as their lover? Well, you’d never know. 

Because you did not love them. 

Merely wished them happiness and for the world to extend them kindness. For the sun to look brightly down on them, and for time to heal their scars and wounds. For if they were in pain, the earth would stop spinning. But such a request was not borne from love. 

Surely not. 

Because, then, that would have meant that it was love that teared you apart when Sirius cursed your name, when James turned you away, when Remus could not look you in the eyes, or when Lily—for all your history together—called you a friend. 

The whole of you was made by the parts of them. Each memory welded into the crevices of your soul. From the moment you had all found each other in the same train compartment, same common room—there was a shift in the fates that bound all five of you together. (The ties were red, but the thread was not of love.) You did not believe in Professor Trelawney’s talks of providence and destiny. 

Because if you did, then why was the universe so cruel? 

Falling—not in love—for four people who could very much do without you in their lives. Lacking severely as a sister to the point you had not noticed your brother fading and fading away into the shadows. 

Was love that unkind? That merciless? 

Then, you did not want to love at all. 

Oh, but magic or not, every creature on this earth selfish. 

You were no different. 

You wanted. 

Oh, how you yearned. 

“I LOVE YOU.” 

You barely had enough time to react before Sirius pressed his lips to the side of your head, arm covertly sneaking around your waist. The sound of the train whistling as parents yelled their goodbyes filled the station. You stood in the midst of the crowd, eyes never leaving one window in particular as you waved at Harry, now eleven-years-old and now off to Hogwarts. 

“Quite a random thing to say, husband,” you murmured, leaning into his warmth. “What for?” 

“Just because,” he replied in turn with a fiendish grin. “Well, perhaps for choosing us, for choosing me despite all my fuck-ups. For existing. For being the beautiful, wonderful, kind, precious you. I could keep on going, my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” 

You wrinkled your nose, eyes rolling from fondness. “I love you too, quite unfortunately.” 

He only laughed and pulled you closer to him. “Let’s go home.” 

–

“I love you.” 

In the house built by new memories, warded by stronger protection charms, and filled with warmth and love—James said this to you each morning before he left for the Ministry, promoted after the war as Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Not one foot out of the door until he had showered you in kisses and the symphonies of his heart. James had always been loud, even in his time at Hogwarts. The war had not taken this part of him, and you figured James was too loud to let it be taken from him. He was unapologetically and unabashedly him. 

And you had loved him fiercely for that. 

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he said, a quiet intimacy washing over the both of you. The early birds of the cottage. “Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, delicately chasing after his lips. “I love you. Be safe.” 

-

“I love you.” 

“Are you saying that to me or are you reading from the book?” you teased from where you laid on Remus’s chest, hours after James left for work, the afternoon bringing you two together in the living room. Lily was in the gardens, and Sirius was in the shed working on his motorbike. It was perfect. You felt the rise and fall of Remus’s chest beneath you, his heartbeat close to your ear. He was perfect. It was a miracle you had not fallen asleep to the tender lull of his voice. 

“Both,” he responded, hand coming up to trace the bare of your skin—a miracle you did not crumble or burn instantly from his touch. 

You hummed. “Then, I love you, too.” Then, you grinned, lifting your head to stare up at him. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” 

And, oh, how photographs could not capture the beauty in Remus’s smile as his eyes regarded you with such fire.

“My heart, my light, my desire,” Remus began, one finger ever-so softly tracing the curve of your cheek. “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

–

“I love you.” 

Said Lily as she lied in your shared bed, red-nosed and her cheeks pale, sluggish. The Christmas holiday was generous enough to gift her with an unfortunate cold that had been going around the wizarding world. “But, please, go,” she commanded weakly, gesturing for you to join Harry who was stood by the door. “It’s a lovely day outside for making snowmen with carrots as noses and snow angels. Not for taking care of poor old me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you sat by her side, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, which is why I would rather much be here, taking care of the prettiest snow angel to ever exist,” you countered, bringing a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Besides, Harry here has something to tell you. He’s made friends at school. One of them is Molly’s little one.” 

“Oh, you did?” Lily cooed, before sniffling weakly. “That’s lovely, darling. Tell me all about them.” 

“That’s not all, Lily mine,” you began mischievously as Harry’s eyes narrowed at you through his glasses. “This friendship apparently formed after fighting a troll.” 

“You what?” Lily croaked, emerald eyes shimmering with concern and near-dread. 

“Did you really, Harry?” James popped his head in the doorway, clapping his son on the shoulder before ushering him inside the room. A spitting image side-by-side as they took the empty space by the foot of the bed. “Good boy. Father approves.” 

“Of course you would,” Lily shot at him weakly, melting when Sirius then entered the room and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. “And where are you all coming from?”

“Outside,” announced Remus, tugging his tie from his neck. “Sirius and I took a quick trip to Diagon Alley to get some things that’ll make you feel better, Lily love.” 

And as the snow fell outside, lazy winds against the window, your little family gathered in one room, there was one thing you knew for certain.

You loved them. 

And they loved you. 

a/n: i wrote all 4k words while sick. crazy. but anyway, i wanted to believe in love again so here i am. thank you all so much for being patient with me. i promise to do even better in the next fics!

[colouredbyd]

The Secret's Out

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: When a familiar red panda keeps appearing during full moons and stolen afternoons, the Marauders can't help but feel like they're being watched. But when a single accident unravels the truth, they discover that their elusive companion is much closer to their hearts than they realized.

warnings: fluff, animagus secrecy, fluffy moments, slow-burn tension, unspoken feelings, hints of angst, fluffy ending. technically part of a blurb series but can be read alone

w/c: 5k (this was supposed to be a drabble)

a/n: flicker is so <3

part of my mini blurb series Flicker's Adventures

masterlist

You weren’t exactly proud of how long you’d kept it hidden.

It had started as an experiment—an idea that had tumbled into your head after one too many late-night discussions with Remus about Animagi. He always talked about it with a sort of reverence, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the spines of dusty library books, eyes distant with the flicker of moonlight. You’d been enchanted with the idea. A secret shape. A second self. Something you could slip into like water, effortless and soft.

But you’d never intended for it to become…this.

The first time you transformed, it was clumsy and half-formed. Paws that didn’t quite fit right, ears that twitched with every sound, like you were listening to the whole world all at once. You barely managed to change back, sprawled out in the underbrush of the Forbidden Forest with twigs stuck in your hair and dirt smeared across your cheeks. But it got easier. Night after night, you practiced alone, curling up at the base of trees or darting between shadows, soft and silent.

It was thrilling. Until it wasn’t.

Because the Marauders, for all their brilliance and their utter inability to mind their own business, had a knack for being everywhere you weren’t supposed to be. And it was only a matter of time before the encounters began.

They had been your best friends since fourth year, and over time, things had shifted, melted, molded into something beautiful and far more complicated. Sharing breakfast meant pressing soft kisses to sleepy cheeks. Studying in the library meant James playing with your hair while Sirius sprawled with his head in Remus’s lap. It was easy, and you loved them fiercely, just as fiercely as they loved you.

But you had secrets too.

The first time, it had been easy to avoid them. You’d been curled up in your Animagus form, nestled atop a low branch near the Black Lake. The sun had been warm, and you’d let yourself drift, tail flopped lazily over the edge like a banner of red silk, swaying gently with each breeze that whispered through the treetops.

You had always loved transforming during the quiet hours. When the grounds were empty, and the lake shimmered under the light of the sun, it was your time to breathe—to be just a flicker of red in the trees, untethered and unseen. You’d never been caught before. Not once. You knew how to blend in, how to become nothing more than a flash of red fur and shadows. But that day, you’d let your guard down.

When the footsteps crunched over dead leaves, you barely had time to snap awake, your heart seizing with panic. You scrambled upright, claws gripping the bark as you peered through the thicket of branches. Just beyond the edge of the lake, James and Sirius barreled into view, laughing and tossing a Quaffle between them, voices carrying in that easy, careless way they always did. They were still dressed in their Quidditch uniforms, mud-splattered and windblown, clearly just back from practice. Their cheeks were flushed from the cold, eyes bright with that post-game adrenaline.

They looked almost painfully perfect in the sunlight. Sirius’s hair was wild, catching the light with every toss of his head, while James wore that familiar, untamed grin, glasses askew but somehow still perfectly him. You couldn’t help but watch, tucked away in the shadows, your tiny heart hammering as you watched them joke and shove at each other like children.

“What was that?”

James had stopped short, hand frozen mid-toss as his eyes squinted through the sunlight. He stepped forward, brow furrowing as he peered into the trees. “I swear I saw something.”

Sirius just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder with an exaggerated huff. “You’re losing it, love. Probably just a squirrel.”

“A red squirrel? That big? Nope.” James shook his head stubbornly, still squinting, his eyes scanning the thicket where you were tucked. You flattened yourself against the branch, curling your tail around your body like a shield. For a moment, your eyes locked with his, and you froze, heart leaping to your throat.

But Sirius had already moved on, still tossing the Quaffle back and forth as he wandered down the trail, oblivious. “C’mon, Prongs. We’re supposed to meet Remus and dovey at the library, remember? If you’re gonna start jumping at shadows, at least make it something interesting. Like a dragon.”

James huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he finally turned away. “You’re a menace, Pads.”

“Wouldn’t have me any other way.”

As they wandered away, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, claws still gripping the bark with tension. But then—

“Oi! Hold up,” Sirius called, suddenly pausing mid-step. He squinted back towards the tree you were nestled in. “You know, I’ve never seen something that red. Not even the squirrels.”

Before you could move, James stepped forward, eyes wide with wonder. “Holy shit. Siri, it’s… it’s adorable.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, stepping up beside him. His grin split wide, and before you could so much as twitch, his hand shot out and scooped you right off the branch. “Gotcha!”

You squealed—an embarrassing little chirp—and squirmed in his grasp, claws scrabbling against his arm, but Sirius only laughed. “Bloody hell, Jamie, look at it! What is it? Some kind of magical raccoon?”

James reached out, petting your head like you weren’t currently panicking, and cooed. “Nah, I think it’s some sort of fox. But not any kind I’ve seen before.”

You wriggled harder, desperate to get away, and with a burst of strength, you twisted right out of Sirius’s hands and shot off toward the trees. You heard their shouts behind you—“Merlin’s sake, it’s fast!”—and the pounding of footsteps as they tried to follow. But you were quick, darting between trunks and under bushes until their voices faded.

Panting, you finally stopped in the shadow of a tree, ears perked as you listened for them. From the distance, you heard Sirius laugh. “Like a bloody flicker of light. Fast as hell, did you see that?”

James’s voice was loud with awe. “We should name it. Something quick.”

“Flicker it is,” Sirius agreed, still laughing. “Wonder if we’ll see it again.”

You slumped back against the trunk, heart hammering but… strangely warmed. Flicker. If only they knew.

The second time you crossed paths with them, you weren’t so lucky.

It was a lazy Saturday morning, the air crisp with the promise of autumn, and you were in your Animagus form, sneaking your way towards the kitchens for a pilfered biscuit or two. You’d become somewhat of a regular visitor—house-elves didn’t seem to mind, and there was always something fresh and warm to snatch. This morning, it was shortbread, still steaming and dusted with sugar. You snagged a piece in your tiny paws, nibbling at the edges with a pleased hum.

Just as you were about to make your way back to the common room, a familiar set of voices echoed down the hall. You barely had time to scamper beneath a long, linen-draped table before James and Sirius strolled in, Remus trailing behind them, looking a bit more tired than usual. Sirius had his arm slung around James, animatedly describing some outrageous Quidditch maneuver while James nodded along, spinning his wand between his fingers.

“I’m just saying, I think it’s got to be a magical creature,” James insisted, flicking his wand absentmindedly so sparks danced at the tip. “Nothing else looks like that. That tail? Come on.”

Sirius chuckled, elbowing him in the ribs. “You’re just upset it didn’t stick around for tea.”

Remus, who had been quiet up to this point, raised an eyebrow. “You two are still on about that red thing?”

“Flicker,” James corrected, grinning like he’d just found a new species. “And yes. Pads said it himself—like a flicker of red. It’s the perfect name.”

Sirius gave a wicked grin, nudging Remus with his elbow. “Prongs nearly cried when it ran off. Thought he’d never see it again.”

“I did not cry!” James retorted, his face flushing. “I was just—invested. It’s not every day you find a creature that cute wandering the grounds.”

Remus hummed thoughtfully, but his lips twitched upward. “Maybe it’s someone’s familiar. Or just a stray. Magical creatures don’t usually stick around unless they’re attached to someone.”

James pouted. “But it was too cute to be random. And the way it just bolted—it was like it knew we were coming.”

Sirius laughed. “Maybe it’s smarter than you, James. Didn’t want to be manhandled by an overexcited Gryffindor.”

You couldn’t help the amused little chitter that slipped out, your small nose twitching as you watched them from the shadows. But your distraction made your paw slip, sending a nearby spoon clattering to the ground. Instantly, three heads snapped in your direction.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius drawled, eyes twinkling with delight. “Caught in the act.”

Your heart leapt into your throat as you scrambled backward, accidentally knocking over a pile of napkins in your haste.

Remus took a cautious step forward, eyes narrowing as he peered under the table. “Is that…?”

Before he could finish, you bolted out from beneath the table, biscuit still clutched between your teeth. You heard James yelp, and Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter.

“Flicker!” James shouted, immediately dropping to his knees to try and catch you. “Wait! It’s you!”

Sirius lunged for you as well, hands outstretched, but you twisted just in time, skidding around the table leg and darting towards the door. Your heart pounded, adrenaline surging as you made a break for it.

Remus was quicker than you expected. He sidestepped into your path, his hands moving down to scoop you up, but you ducked just in time, sliding beneath a nearby chair. He let out a soft chuckle, clearly more amused than upset. “I don’t think it wants to be caught, lads.”

James practically whined. “But it’s so fast! Merlin, how’s it moving like that?”

You made a daring leap onto a nearby shelf, perching precariously on the edge as you looked down at the boys. James and Sirius both looked up, wide-eyed, as if they’d never seen anything more precious.

Sirius grinned, hands on his hips. “Smart little thing. Knows how to stay out of trouble.”

James glanced at Remus, eyes bright. “Do you think we could tame it? I mean, if we brought it food or something…”

Remus shook his head, though he was smiling. “James, I don’t think ‘taming’ wild animals is advisable.”

Sirius snorted. “Especially when it’s faster than you, Prongs. You might have to start bribing it instead.”

You shifted your weight, trying to balance, but your grip slipped, and you tumbled right off the shelf—directly into Remus’s waiting arms. He caught you with surprising gentleness, blinking down at you in astonishment.

“Merlin’s beard,” he murmured, holding you carefully. “You’re… really soft.”

You froze, heart hammering as his thumb brushed over your fur. James crept closer, his face lighting up. “Moony! You caught it!”

Remus held you securely but didn’t squeeze, his touch far gentler than you’d expected. “It’s not trying to get away now. I think I scared it into submission.”

Sirius ruffled James’s hair, smirking. “Told you Moony’s got that calming effect. Even on weird little red animals.”

James’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know who would love this? Y/N. She’s always going on about how she wants a pet—imagine her with this little thing. She’d lose her mind.”

Sirius laughed, nodding in agreement. “Oh, absolutely. She’d probably carry it around everywhere. Spoil it rotten.”

Remus chuckled, glancing back down at you. “Maybe we should introduce them.”

Your tiny heart skipped a beat, the mention of your own name nearly making you squirm. But you stayed still, hoping that somehow, they’d let you go before they realized just how close they already were to the truth.

As they continued debating who got to hold you next, you remained perfectly still, your tiny heart racing. You’d nearly been caught—and worse, you were currently in Remus’s arms, with no safe escape. If they suspected anything, your secret would be out.

But for now, you stayed put, hoping that somehow, you’d manage to slip away before they figured it all out.

And somehow, you always did.

The encounters with the Marauders continued, flickering moments in the shadows of the castle grounds, the edges of the Forbidden Forest, even the cozy warmth of the Gryffindor common room on particularly stormy nights. They never figured out who—or rather, what—you truly were, and you never stopped watching over them from your tiny, furred form.

Over time, it became routine. They’d spot you darting across the courtyard or perched on a low branch, and instead of startling, they would wave you over with scraps of food and gentle hands. Sirius started smuggling bits of chocolate for you, swearing it was good for "keeping up your energy," while James would leave small pieces of toast wrapped in napkins where he knew you’d find them.

Remus, though, was different. He’d sit beside you sometimes, long after the others had wandered off, his eyes thoughtful and his voice low as he spoke about things that clearly weighed on him. It almost felt like he knew—like he sensed something familiar in the way you stayed close, unflinching and steady, when his voice cracked or his hands shook.

And so it went on, this quiet companionship between you and the Marauders—secrets nestled within secrets, hidden in plain sight.

But secrets, you knew, had a way of surfacing eventually.

And the thread of secrecy is thin—fraying at the edges, whispering of unraveling. Not all lies are meant to last.

You padded through the underbrush of the Forbidden Forest under the pale glow of the full moon, paws light against the damp earth. Countless times before, you had narrowly avoided discovery, slipping through shadows and ducking under roots before any of the boys could see you. But tonight felt different. Tonight, you were pressing your luck, and you knew it.

The forest stretched wide and endless around you, the scent of pine and moss clinging to the air. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting silver webs across the forest floor. You moved carefully, silent as the mist curling at your feet, ears perked for the familiar sound of paws and heavy footsteps.

Because Remus was out here somewhere—prowling, restless, and wild. And you were not supposed to be here.

But you always were.

It had become a ritual, almost. When the full moon crept up on the horizon, you would follow at a distance, paws treading softly through shadow and light, keeping him within your line of sight. You were careful—so careful—to stay hidden. To remain nothing more than a flicker of red fur between the branches, a whisper of movement in the dark.

You didn’t do it because you doubted him. Not really. Remus was strong, stronger than most gave him credit for. His quiet nature masked a resilience that ran deep, carved out from years of learning to live with the curse that twisted his bones beneath the light of the full moon. You had seen it in the way he carried himself: back straight, chin lifted, even when shadows pooled beneath his eyes and his hands shook just a little more as the days crept closer.

But you also knew the weight he carried, the way his shoulders slumped a little lower as the moon grew fuller. The others saw it too, though they masked their worry with jokes and banter, their own kind of armor against the ache of helplessness.

You trusted Sirius and James. Of course you did. You trusted the way Sirius, with his sleek fur and boundless energy as Padfoot, stuck close to Remus's side. His massive form hovered protectively near, always ready to intercept any threat. And you trusted James, with his proud and unyielding presence as Prongs. His antlers cut through the shadows like moonlit knives, always circling, always watching. They were a seamless unit, fierce and unwavering, guarding their boyfriend with an intensity that rivaled the very stars.

But even so, you followed. Not because you feared they would fail him, but because you knew that sometimes even the fiercest protectors could not hold back the tide. You followed because you understood the way Remus's breaths came out ragged and sharp when the change began, the way his eyes, so often warm and gentle, burned with something uncontainable under the weight of the moon.

You followed not out of fear, but out of love. You needed to see it for yourself, needed to know that he was not alone. Because some secrets, even the best-kept ones, are born from the deepest affections.

You weren’t even supposed to be here. The full moon wasn’t exactly a secret—not to you, not to the boys, not to anyone who paid attention to Remus Lupin’s mysterious disappearances every month. And while Remus had been open about it with you—raw and vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache—Sirius and James had insisted you stay far, far away from the Forest during transformations. For your own safety, they said. For his.

They didn’t know that you had a secret of your own. They didn’t know you were perfectly capable of watching over Remus without the risk of getting torn apart. Because, well…they didn’t know you were an Animagus. And certainly not a red panda of all things.

But you’d always been stubborn, and you hated being shut out. So, here you were, paws barely making a sound against the forest floor, your tiny body slipping between shadows as you followed the familiar scent of musk and pine.

Tonight was different, though. The moon hung heavy and full, casting its silver light over the trees as you crept towards the edge of the Shrieking Shack, your heart pounding in your tiny chest. You had watched the transformation from the shadows, hidden and silent, waiting for the chaos to subside. It always did—eventually.

The howls had stopped. That was your sign.

Cautiously, you scurried through the cracks of the shack, slipping inside just as the silence grew thicker, heavier. Remus was there, sprawled out on the dusty wooden floor, still shivering from the aftermath of the transformation. His skin was pale, marred with fresh cuts and old scars, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to catch his breath.

You stayed hidden at first, tucked away in the shadowed corner of the room, watching with a quiet intensity. You were careful, always careful, as you slipped in unnoticed. The silence between your breaths stretched long as you waited. You needed to see him again. To be sure. He was okay. Alive. The simple reassurance of that truth was always the reason you came. It didn’t matter how many times you had witnessed it before, you still found yourself drawn here, drawn to him, like some unspoken promise you couldn’t shake. And yet, even after all this time, you still couldn’t quite bring yourself to let go of the gnawing fear that one day, it would all be gone. That one day, it would be too late.

And then it happened.

A small movement in the corner of your vision—the slightest shift in the air. You turned your head sharply, eyes narrowing. It was quick. A fleeting blur that seemed far too deliberate for your liking. Something so small, but still enough to spike your pulse with a jolt of panic. You froze, your eyes darting from one shadow to the next, until the source of the movement became clear. A spider—its legs long and thin, its body barely a shadow against the worn wooden floor. You held your breath for a second, staring at the creature as it crept closer with an eerie calm.

Even in your Animagus form, the instinct was immediate. Fear licked at the back of your throat, and before you could even stop yourself, a sharp, startled squeak escaped your lips. The sound was completely unexpected, startling even to you. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, and within seconds, you sprang backward, your claws scraping desperately against the wooden floorboards in an effort to distance yourself. The panic that washed over you was raw, unfiltered. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged, your muscles tensing in reflex.

“...Flicker?” Sirius’s voice was the first to break the tension, disbelief coloring every syllable. His eyes were wide as he stared at you, sprawled out on the floor, fur still fluffed up from the fright.

James was next, practically stumbling over his own feet as he stepped forward, his expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “What the bloody hell is Flicker doing here?!” His voice was sharp, edged with that familiar note of exasperation that you knew all too well.

The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, everything going unnaturally still as his words hung in the air.

You froze, your entire body tensing at the sound of his voice, wide-eyed and terrified. Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to disappear, to vanish back into the shadows where it was safe. But it was too late. There was no hiding now. The room had shifted, all eyes now on you, and you could feel their gazes like physical weight pressing down on your fur. Panic rose in your chest, tightening around your throat like a vise.

Before you could react, Remus, still lying on the floor, managed to crack open one eye. Even in his obvious pain, there was something in his gaze—softness, tenderness—that cut through the whirlwind of panic in your mind. 

His lips parted in a slow, weak smile, and the warmth in his voice was unmistakable, soothing against the raw nerves coursing through you. “Hey… come here,” he murmured, his voice rough but somehow gentle. Despite his struggle to move, his hand patted the floor beside him in invitation. “Can’t really move right now.”

The sound of his voice, that calming familiarity, reached you with a force far greater than the fear clawing at your insides. You hesitated, your ears twitching nervously, unsure of whether you should give in to that pull. But something about the way he looked at you—something in the way his eyes softened, the faintest glimmer of affection and understanding—made it impossible to refuse. 

With careful, deliberate steps, you padded over to him, your paws light against the floor, though your heart pounded wildly in your chest. When you reached him, you curled up beside him, careful not to press too heavily against his wounded form. 

The space between you felt like a bridge you couldn’t quite cross fast enough, yet as soon as you were near, you felt his hand rest gently on your back. The touch was so light, so tender, it might have been a dream if it weren’t so real. You could feel his fingers brush against your fur, grounding you with every small movement.

James and Sirius, for all their confusion, exchanged bewildered looks across the room. They hadn’t expected this.

The air in the room grew thick with tension, all eyes still on you as you remained curled beside Remus, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You tried to steady your breathing, but it was impossible. You could feel the weight of their stares, the confusion swirling between them like a storm just waiting to burst.

And then Remus chuckled. It was low, raspy, and yet the sound was warm, full of affection and something else—something that made your pulse skip. He turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, everything seemed to pause.

“I know it’s you,” he murmured, his voice soft but just loud enough for you to hear. There was no uncertainty in his tone, no hesitation. Only understanding. “You don’t have to keep hiding.”

The words felt like a shock to your system. Your breath caught in your throat. What? You stared at him, wide-eyed, your mind racing. How could he possibly know? How long had he known? You were about to ask, but before you could form the words, the rest of the room seemed to catch up to what Remus had said.

James blinked, his face a perfect picture of disbelief. “Wait… what?”

Sirius’s jaw dropped, his eyes narrowing in confusion and a growing sense of disbelief. “What do you mean? Know what?”

Remus laughed softly, a sound so full of warmth and knowing it almost made you want to shrink back into yourself. “Come on,” he whispered, giving a slight nod toward you, a knowing smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Reveal yourself.”

The room fell utterly still. The air crackled with that charged silence, the kind that comes just before something explosive happens. You hesitated, every nerve in your body on edge. The tension in the room was palpable, thick as smoke. For a moment, you thought you might be able to remain hidden, to stay in the safety of your animagus form, but Remus’s eyes were so full of trust, so full of that deep, quiet affection, that you couldn’t refuse him. Not now.

You took a shaky breath. You stepped back, slowly, tentatively, your paws scraping against the wood floor with every hesitant movement. And then, in one fluid motion, you transformed. Fur and claws gave way to skin and hands. The change was swift, almost disorienting, but before you knew it, you were standing before them, fully human, exposed, and vulnerable.

You could feel their eyes on you, wide and unblinking, trying to process the impossible. Remus's soft smile never wavered, his gaze warm and steady, a silent reassurance amid the storm of emotions swirling around you.

James was the first to break the silence, blinking as if trying to clear water from his eyes. “Merlin’s bloody beard! Flicker’s—You’re—” His voice pitched somewhere between awe and shock, hands still raised mid-gesture as if he had been frozen in time.

Sirius was not much better off. His jaw had practically hit the floor, his eyes impossibly wide. “That’s…how did…since when?!” His voice was high and incredulous, disbelief painting every syllable. His gaze flickered between you and Remus, a hundred questions bubbling just under the surface.

You stood there, cheeks flushed and heart thumping wildly, hands fiddling with the edge of your shirt. It felt surreal to be standing in front of them, exposed and vulnerable after months of hiding. You turned your gaze to Remus, the only one who seemed entirely unfazed. His eyes were gentle, crinkling at the corners as he regarded you with a sort of fondness that set your heart alight.

“Ever since you fell into my arms in the kitchen,” he said, voice soft and rich with nostalgia. “I smelled you. Even then, I knew.” His hand reached out, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, grounding you back into reality.

James let out a strangled laugh, half-disbelieving and half-amazed. “You mean this whole time…?”

Sirius’s eyes snapped back to Remus, his shock melting into something sharper. “Wait. Wait. You knew?” His voice grew louder, more animated. 

Remus blinked, a hint of a smile still playing on his lips. “Didn’t seem like the right moment to bring it up.”

Sirius’s expression turned comically affronted, his hands flying to his hips. “Not the right moment? Not the—Remus John Lupin, I am going to throttle you.” Without warning, Sirius dove at him, tackling Remus to the floor with surprising gentleness, considering his usual recklessness. Remus let out a soft grunt, half-laughing, half-protesting as Sirius pinned him down, grinning like a madman.

“Sirius!” he groaned, shaking his head, though there was affection in his tone. “I’m in pain, you know?”

But Sirius didn’t seem to care about that. He hovered over Remus, eyes gleaming with that mischievous glint you knew all too well. “You absolute bastard!” Sirius crowed, shaking him playfully. “You kept this from me? From us? Moony, we share everything! I tell you when I find a new freckle on my arse, but you can’t tell me Flicker is our darling girl?”

Remus chuckled, not bothering to fight back, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “You seemed happy enough with her as she was,” he teased, a glimmer of affection lighting up his gaze. “Didn’t want to ruin the magic.”

Remus’s laugh died down slightly as he met Sirius’s gaze, his expression turning a little more serious, though still soft. “I knew,” he admitted, voice quieter now, though it was filled with warmth. “I could smell it. I’m not just a werewolf, you know. My senses are… sharper than most.” He shifted slightly under Sirius, wincing as a wave of exhaustion hit him. “I’ve known ever since that night in the kitchen. And I just… I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Sirius, still hovering over him, raised an eyebrow. “A big deal? You kept this secret from me?” He gave Remus a playful shove, trying not to be too rough, but clearly finding the whole thing ridiculous. “Moony, you are a tease. But I guess you’re lucky I love you.”

Remus smiled up at him, his eyes soft with affection despite his exhaustion. “Lucky for me, then,” he whispered, reaching up to gently cup Sirius’s cheek.

James, who had been listening in, finally seemed to process what Remus had said. His face broke into a grin, and he shook his head in disbelief. He stepped forward, shaking his head in disbelief, though his smile was growing by the second. 

“Unbelievable. I’ve been feeding you bits of toast under the table for months,” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “You let me make a bloody fool of myself!”

Sirius finally released Remus—though not before ruffling his hair mercilessly—and turned his attention back to you. His eyes softened, grin turning fond. 

“Well, that explains why Flicker’s always been so damn cute. No wonder you were my favorite,” he said, stepping forward and wrapping you up in his arms without warning. You let out a squeak of surprise, but Sirius just squeezed you tighter, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Our girl, huh? Been sneaking around all fluffy and adorable while we’ve been pouring our hearts out to you.”

James joined in, throwing his arms around both of you with a laugh. “I’ve been whispering my Quidditch strategies to you! Telling you all my secrets. Oh, you’ve played us brilliantly, haven’t you?”

You were laughing now, the sound spilling out of you unbidden and light, your hands curling into the fabric of their shirts as you squeezed back. “I didn’t mean to deceive you!” you giggled. “You were just…so sweet to me. I didn’t want it to end.”

Sirius scoffed, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hands still firm on your shoulders. “End? Are you joking? Now I get to sneak you bits of bacon and call it romance. You’ve upgraded our relationship, darling.”

James snorted, leaning back to ruffle your hair. “Honestly, it just makes me love you more. You absolute minx.” His hands found your waist, pulling you back into his chest with a grin. “And here I thought you just liked curling up in my lap because you were a needy little furball.”

Sirius gasped dramatically. “Wait, wait. This means…you heard everything, didn’t you?” He pulled back, eyes wide with a mix of horror and amusement. “All those times I talked to you about Moony and Prongs…oh, Merlin, I’m going to need to lie down.”

Remus, still sprawled on the floor, chuckled, propping himself up on his elbows. “You did tell her quite a bit,” he mused, raising an eyebrow at Sirius. “I was starting to wonder if you were sweet on our little Flicker.”

Sirius rolled his eyes but grinned shamelessly. “Oh, I am. And now I don’t have to feel weird about it.” He scooped you back into his arms, spinning you around once just for good measure before setting you down, his hands never leaving your waist. “I think this calls for a celebration. Butterbeer in the common room?”

James raised his hand. “And toast! For old times’ sake,” he added with a grin. “I’ve been feeding you scraps like you were some little stray, and it was you all along.”

Sirius chuckled, threading his arm around your waist as Remus finally got to his feet. “Merlin, I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Human or red panda, you’re ours. No more sneaking off, yeah?”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of their affection wrap around you like a blanket. “No more sneaking off,” you promised, and the three of them pulled you into their embrace, laughter and warmth spilling out into the room.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to hide.

[dismalflo]

loving is easy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ✩ 4.3k words

summary: Being friends with idiots is hard. how long will it take them to realise you and Remus are dating? or a series of events where you become progressively more obvious.

cw: fluff, steamy makeout towards the end but no smut, established relationship

Somewhere between late night study sessions and early morning conversations, you fell in love. To your amazement Remus fell in love with you too, his honeyed words and soft touches taking on a new meaning. What started as quiet,  timid affection bloomed into an all consuming devotion. Happy and safe. 

At the start, you both decided to keep it quiet, nurture it by yourselves with no interruption. But time has a way of slipping past unnoticed, and now the two of you are in deep, and no one else has caught on. It’s not as if you’re hiding, exactly; you and Remus just prefer the intimacy of privacy. And honestly, there’s a quiet thrill in watching how long it takes your friends to figure it out.

The great hall.

The smell of toast and tea lingers in the air as you trudge through the double doors of the Great Hall, hair still mussed from sleep and jumper slightly askew. It’s far too early for the kind of noise James Potter is making, voice echoing off the high stone walls as he waves his hands dramatically about something you don’t have the energy to decipher.

“…and I told her, I don’t care if you hexed my quill, I’m still not going to that—”

He cuts off mid-sentence, eyes flicking past Sirius to you. His mouth snaps shut like a trap. Sirius glances behind him, curious about what could possibly silence James of all people.

You offer a sleepy wave as you shuffle closer, barely catching the way Remus’ head lifts from his folded copy of the daily prophet. His gaze finds you instantly. A slow smile tugs at his mouth, and his shoulders visibly relax, as if just seeing you settled something in him.

“Morning,” you murmur, sliding onto the bench beside him, bumping your knee lightly into his under the table. He shifts just slightly, his hand coming to rest on your thigh in a gentle squeeze, grounding and familiar. You hide a small, content smile behind your cup of tea.

Across the table, Sirius raises an eyebrow over his plate of eggs. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Remus beats you to it, not even looking up from his paper. “Leave her alone, Pads. Some of us don’t spend an hour in front of the mirror every morning.”

Sirius scoffs, flicking a crumb at him. “Jealousy is a disease, Lupin.”

James is still watching you—narrowed eyes, brow slightly furrowed, as if he’s trying to do complex equations in his head. You glance his way, and he startles like he’s been caught.

“You alright?” he asks, eyes flicking briefly to Remus, then back to you. “You look—well, not great.”

You blink at him over your tea. “Cheers, James.” you deadpan, “I’m just tired.”

He opens his mouth to say more, maybe apologize, but Lily slides onto the bench beside you with a rustle of parchment and the kind of purpose only she can manage this early in the morning.

“Did you start the Transfiguration essay yet?” she asks, nudging your elbow meaningfully. “Because McGonagall will have your head if it’s late again.”

You groan, resting your temple against your palm. “Started it, yeah. Finished it? Not even close.”

Lily sighs, long-suffering but fond. “Library after lunch.”

You nod, and the two of you slip into an easy rhythm—first the essay, then weekend plans for Hogsmeade. Remus stays quiet beside you, content to listen, a soft, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

At some point, without saying anything, he sets his paper aside and starts assembling a plate. Two slices of toast, a spoonful of marmalade, a soft-boiled egg, a handful of your favourite fruit. He doesn’t announce it or fuss, just places it gently in front of you, brushing a few stray crumbs off your sleeve with ease.

By then, James and Sirius have resumed their conversation, judging by the rising volume. Lily spots Slughorn across the way and excuses herself with a quick goodbye, already halfway across the room before you can respond.

You turn back to your tea, only to pause. The plate of food wasn’t there before but it’s exactly what you would’ve gotten for yourself. Toast arranged neatly, marmalade on the side. You glance sideways. Remus is already reading again, pretending not to notice your looking.

Under the table, your hand finds his. You link your fingers, gentle and grateful, and when you squeeze, he squeezes back. It’s warm, steady. 

You lean in slightly, just enough so he can hear you over the breakfast chatter.

“Thank you,” you murmur, thumb brushing along the back of his hand.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, eyes still on the paper; but the smile tugging at his lips is unmistakable. Quiet. Fond. Yours.

“It’s nothing,” he says softly, in a way that means everything.

You open your mouth to say something more, because it's not nothing and Remus is the sweetest boy you know, but Sirius cuts in from across the table, dramatically dropping his fork and fixing Remus with a mock-offended glare.

“Why don’t I ever get breakfast made for me, Moony?” he demands, gesturing wildly at your plate. “You’ve known me longer. I’m charming. Handsome. A delight, really.”

Remus doesn’t even look up. He just turns a page.

“Because you’re a right wanker,” he replies, so evenly it takes a beat to register.

Sirius gasps, clutching his chest like he’s been wounded. “The audacity! James, did you hear that?”

James snorts into his tea. “Hard to miss. He’s not wrong, though.”

“I’m hurt,” Sirius insists, turning to you with wide, dramatic eyes. “He used to be so sweet. So gentle.”

You glance at Remus, one brow raised. “Did he?”

The infirmary.

If Remus had to pinpoint the worst part of the full moon, he doesn't think he could. The way his body is violated and his mind succumbs to bestial madness is high up there. Or maybe it's the way his mind is tormented month-round, collapsing from exhaustion afterwards and being plagued with worry for the next. A vicious, never-ending cycle. This time, he thinks, it's waking up the morning after the full moon.

Though he can tell it was a particularly bad one, it’s not the aches and pains. It’s waking to you, curled in an armchair at his bedside, asleep. Remus hates that you worry so much, that it affects you. Your neck is at an awful angle, and there's a faint crease between your brows, even in sleep.

He exhales, the breath barely more than a rasp, and your lashes flutter in response. You shift, not fully awake at first, and then, like something clicking into place, you sit up straighter, eyes flying open.

"Remus," you say softly, already pushing yourself to your feet and crossing the space between the chair and the bed. Your hands find his arm gently, carefully, as though you're afraid even your touch might hurt. "You're awake."

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters before it can fully form. "Unfortunately."

"Don't say that," you murmur, frowning as your hands glide down to check for injuries, the kind that bandages don't always catch.

“I’m fine, dove,” he lies, out of habit more than belief.

You ignore him. “Let me get you some water,” you say, already moving toward the small table where a pitcher and glass had been left. You pour it, return, and sit beside him on the edge of the bed, holding it to him with steady hands.

He accepts it, grateful but quiet, sipping slowly. When he’s finished, you set the glass back on the nightstand with a soft clink.

His brow furrows. “Why are you here?” he asks, voice hoarse but laced with genuine confusion. “You usually come after I’ve woken up.”

You hesitate, brushing a bit of hair away from his damp forehead. “You… woke up early. Just for a little while.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I know.” Your hand stills against his temple. “It wasn’t for long. James came to get me. Said you were–” You glance away for a moment, mouth tightening. “You were in pain. And saying my name. Over and over. Apparently Sirius and Madam Pomfrey had to hold you down to get a calming draught in you.”

Remus goes still. Shame rolls through him like a fresh wave of fever. He looks away, down at the rough wool blanket, his hands balled in the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, the words bitter on his tongue. “I shouldn’t have– I didn’t mean to wake you. You didn’t have to come.”

“Stop being silly,” you say, almost fondly, but there’s a steel thread beneath it. You reach for his face again, gentle but firm, guiding his gaze back to yours. “Of course I came. You think I’m going to stay in bed while you’re in pain, calling for me?”

He starts to respond, some garbled protest forming in his throat, but you cut it off by leaning forward and pressing a quick, sure kiss to his lips.

It’s warm. Soft. Gone before he can even react.

He blinks at you, stunned.

“I’ll always come,” you say simply, your fingers still resting at the edge of his jaw. “You don’t have to be sorry for needing someone, Remus.”

Silence settles between the two of you.

You don’t say anything, and neither does he. It’s not awkward. shifting just slightly on the mattress, curling one leg up under you, you begin brushing the hair from Remus’ forehead again—gentle, patient sweeps of your fingers, like you have all the time in the world. His hair is still damp with sweat, a little tangled, but you don’t seem to mind. You just keep smoothing it back, over and over, letting him rest in the rhythm of it.

Remus closes his eyes. Not to sleep but just to relax. The silence swells around you, filled only by the quiet sounds of the castle waking up; distant footsteps, the occasional creak of old wood, and your even, steady breaths.

Eventually, his voice slips through the hush, barely more than a whisper. “Where are the others?”

You smile faintly. “James is with Regulus. Doing God knows what. Hopefully sleeping.” You roll your eyes, affection bleeding through the exasperation.

That gets a faint huff of a laugh from Remus, which quickly dissolves into a wince. He presses a hand to his ribs.

“And Sirius?” he asks.

You glance toward the door. “Went to get breakfast. Said you’d need something solid, not just Pomfrey’s apparently sad excuse for toast.”

Just as you say it, the door creaks open and Sirius steps inside, a paper bag tucked under one arm and two cups in his hands. The scent of butter and cinnamon trails in with him.

“Speak of the devil,” you murmur.

Sirius pauses when he sees the two of you. You're still perched on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly against Remus’ temple, the other curled in your lap. Remus’ eyes are open now, glassy with exhaustion but softer than they’ve been in days. The two of you are close and something about the look on your faces makes Sirius stop mid-step.

Then he just clears his throat and steps forward, saying nothing about it. “Brought food.”

He places the bag and drinks on the nightstand with uncharacteristic care, glancing once more between the two of you. His gaze lingers on Remus, searching for signs of deeper pain or unease, but seems satisfied by what he finds.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says softly, stepping back. “See you later, Moons.”

There’s a quiet fondness to it.

“Thanks, Pads,” Remus says, voice rough but genuine.

Sirius nods and slips out the door with barely a sound.

-

Sirius finds James exactly where he expects: sprawled on one of the beaten-up sofas in the Gryffindor common room. Less expected is Regulus, curled under James’s arm, head tucked into his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. James looks half-asleep, fingers lazily combing through Regulus’s hair, while Regulus is clearly pretending he hadn’t just dozed off.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake,” he mutters, stepping over the hearthrug. “Is there something in the Gryffindor water this year? Everyone’s getting domestic.”

Regulus lifts his head just enough to shoot him a glare. “You sound like you’re sixty.”

“And you look like you’re two seconds from sucking your thumb,” Sirius shoots back, dropping down onto the coffee table with a dramatic sigh. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, then looks squarely at James.

“You’ll never guess what I just walked in on.”

James, ever patient when Sirius is in a mood, lifts a brow. “Tell me.”

Sirius jerks his chin toward the entrance of the common room. “Remus is awake. Looks like hell, obviously, but that’s not the point. The point is…” He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing meaningfully between the two of them. “Y/N was there. Sitting right beside him. Touching his face. Whispering. Very softly, I might add.”

James frowns. “So?”

“I’m just saying,” Sirius drawls, “it was very couple-y.”

James lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “No way. They’ve been like that for ages, they’re just friends, mate. Remus would’ve told us if they were dating.”

Sirius nods, like that settles it.

Regulus snorts into James’s shoulder.

“What?” Sirius narrows his eyes.

“You two are incredibly dense,” Regulus says without looking up. “They are dating. It’s obvious.”

James and Sirius look at each other, then back at Regulus in perfect unison.

“No offence, Reggie,” Sirius says, raising a brow, “but they’re our friends. I think we’d know.”

“You think you’d know,” Regulus says flatly. “But you don’t. Because Remus is private and stupidly noble, and your friend is just as bad. Do you really think he’s going to announce it over breakfast? What would he even say—‘pass the marmalade, I’m in love’?”

James blinks.

Sirius blinks.

Then they both burst out laughing, as if Regulus is mental.

The black lake.

With the summer months fast approaching, and a week passing since the full moon, the warm weather has called for a relaxing day on the shore of the black lake. You're laid out on a blanket with Remus sat beside you, your head resting on his thigh.

With closed eyes, you can picture the peaceful look on Remus’ face as he reads with his fingers twirling in the ends of your hair.

The sun is warm where it filters through the branches above, casting soft, dappled patterns across your skin. Somewhere behind you, someone splashes into the lake with a shout, followed by a chorus of laughter. But it all feels far away.

You sigh, content, eyes still closed. “If I die right now,” you murmur, “tell Madam Pomfrey I went happy.”

Remus huffs a soft laugh, the vibration of it echoing down through his thigh. “Bit dramatic,” he says, though there’s affection in it.

“Mmm,” you hum, noncommittal. “We’ll see what you say when it happens.”

Another beat of silence. You think he’s gone back to reading–until his fingers pause, then still.

“Everyone’s out of the dorms tonight,” he says casually, “some ravenclaw party, or something.”

You open one eye, peering up at him. “You planning to go?”

Remus shakes his head. “No. I thought maybe… you’d want to come up for a bit. To mine.” His voice dips a little lower. “Just us.”

“I’d love to,” you say simply. “You and me. No interruptions. I’ll finally have you all to myself.”

Remus’s eyes soften. He sets the book aside, turning his full attention to you. “You already have me,” he murmurs.

Your only response is to wiggle your eyebrows suggestively, the grin on your face unmistakably wicked. Remus gives a soft, breathy laugh and shakes his head. “Minx,” he says, voice full of fondness.

You're just about to respond–something equally teasing on the tip of your tongue–when there’s the familiar thunder of approaching footsteps.

Before either of you can move, Sirius throws himself down onto the blanket with a loud oof, landing half across your legs and knocking Remus slightly off balance.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter, even as you’re giggling.

Sirius groans dramatically as you swat at him, your hand smacking against his shoulder with no real force.

“You love it,” Sirius replies, grinning like the absolute menace he is.

Before you can retaliate with some biting remark, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

“Y/N!” Lily’s voice rings clearly through the warm air, her red hair catching the sunlight as she approaches. “You coming to the greenhouses? Marlene’s already started without us and Dorcas is claiming all the best pots.”

You sit up with a groan, shoving Sirius more forcefully this time. He rolls onto the grass with a theatrical oomph that earns an eye-roll from Remus.

“On my way!” you call back to Lily, brushing grass off your legs. You turn to Remus, eyes softening, your hand brushing his wrist. “Later?”

He nods, that quiet little smile playing on his lips. “Later.”

Sirius waves lazily from the blanket, still lounging, and you hear him shout a cheerful “See you later, Y/N!”

The two of you start walking toward the greenhouses, and once you’re out of sight, Sirius suddenly sits up. Remus catches the shift in his mood, the way he straightens, a more serious look crossing his features. 

Then, as if deciding to finally ask whatever's been on his mind, he looks at Remus, his voice quieter than usual. "You two are friends, right?" he asks, a slight edge of curiosity in his tone.

Remus, who’s watching you walk away, doesn’t hesitate. "Yeah. Of course." He’s telling the truth, you might be his girlfriend but you were his friend first and you're his best friend now.

There’s a brief pause, and Sirius nods slowly. He makes a soft sound, tapping his fingers absently on the grass, clearly stewing in his thoughts. Remus knows he’s trying to find the right words, the ones that aren’t too blunt but also get at whatever Sirius is really thinking. After another long stretch of silence, Remus sighs, deciding to make it easier.

“Spit it out, Pads. You're not very tactful.”

Sirius huffs a small laugh, a little awkwardly, before shifting on the blanket. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly conflicted. “I was just thinking,” he starts, “You… fancy her, don’t you?”

The question hits Remus like a sharp poke to the ribs. He looks over at Sirius, surprised at the bluntness, then immediately thinks Oh. He can’t help but chuckle lightly, thinking Sirius has finally put it all together–that he and you are already together.

“Well, yeah,” he says nonchalantly, his gaze drifting back to you. “I do.”

Sirius, however, just stares at him for a moment, blinking in confusion. “You… do?” He asks slowly, his brows furrowing in disbelief. “So, why are you not doing anything about it? Do you need help telling her?”

Remus freezes for a second, eyes narrowing. The warmth in his chest from the thought of you is still there, but now it comes with a pinch of amusement. He opens his mouth to respond, but then quickly closes it. Sirius really has no clue, does he? Remus can’t help but laugh softly, shaking his head.

“I don’t need help, Pads,” Remus says, his voice an easy mix of affection and slight exasperation.

Sirius scoffs, “If this is some mopey werewolf bullshit, I don't want to hear it. You deserve to be happy, Moony.” 

“I am happy,” Remus stresses, “I’ve done all I need to.” he nods at Sirius, hoping that the boy can read between the lines.

“Okay.” Sirius sighs.

The dormitory.

The evening sun casts its last golden rays over the horizon as the two of you find yourselves alone in the quiet of Remus's dorm room. The noises of the day have faded to a dull hum, and it’s just the two of you now–no distractions, no interruptions.

Remus’ heated touch is wandering, hands gripping whatever part of you he can get to. His mouth is warm on your neck, doting but rough, anything else you were thinking of doing tonight quickly erased from your mind. One of your hands is buried in his hair while the other drifts upwards to his neck and jaw. 

“Rem,” you sigh, breathless and lightly pulling his hair to move his mouth upwards. 

A breathy laugh comes out of him, before he captures your mouth with his own. You sigh into his mouth, and he takes it gladly, his hands moving down to your hips shifting you closer in his lap. His eager kissing is warm, acting like a man starved.

You shift your hips, wanting to be closer, feeling him against you. It elicits a groan from one of you, that gets swallowed between you. Remus’ grip on your hips becomes firmer, working to guide you in your efforts grinding against him, and your moans become more frequent for it.

“Fuck,” he pants, pulling back to look up at you, his grip on you not faltering. He shifts a hand to toy with the hem of your top. “Can I take this off?”

“Please.” you reply breathless and he smiles at you planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving your shirt up and over your head. 

Remus moves in again, his mouth mean as it skims across the top of your breasts. It's bliss.

Neither of you notice the door opening until a scandalised gasp echoes through the room. “Bloody hell!” James squeals, immediately throwing a hand over his eyes and turning around so fast he nearly maims himself on the doorframe. “I’m blind! I didn’t need to see that!”

Remus scrambles to wrap a blanket around your shoulder as you shift to move off his lap. Once the blanket is secured, Remus’ hands grip your waist tightly and he looks at you, eyes pleading, begging you not to move. 

Sirius lingers in the doorway, eyebrows shooting straight into his hairline as a wicked grin stretches across his face. “Well, well, well,” he whistles, arms crossing as he leans casually against the frame. “When you said you’d done all you need to, I didn’t think you meant you were shagging her. I thought you were a gentleman, Moony.”

Remus, who’s gone a shade redder than any of the Gryffindor banners, pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders and groans. “Can you both just– piss off?!” His voice cracks halfway through the sentence, and he sounds more desperate than angry.

You stifle a laugh against his shoulder, only mildly mortified but mostly amused.

Remus shoots Sirius a glare, ears flushed pink. “That–that was me telling you she’s my girlfriend, you sod.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, in perfect unison, James–still hiding behind his hand–and Sirius both shout;

“What?!” 

“Alright, alright,” you interrupt, amusement clear in your voice despite the heat in your cheeks. You’re still tucked against Remus, the blanket barely doing its job, and your shirt’s rumpled on the bed behind you. “This is really fun, guys, but could you maybe turn around so I can put my shirt back on?”

James lets out a garbled sound still shielding his eyes. Sirius sighs but obliges. 

“What the fuck,” Sirius mutters, and James echoes it softly, bewildered and still shell-shocked.

You grin as you press a quick kiss to Remus’ lips, gentle, grateful, and a little teasing. He’s still beet red, poor thing, but the moment your lips touch his, some of that panic in his eyes melts into warmth.

Then, with a deep breath and no small amount of dignity, you swing your legs off his lap and slip your shirt back on. Remus helps you straighten it without thinking, hands ghosting over your sides like he can’t not touch you, even in the middle of the world’s most embarrassing interruption.

Once decent, you move to sit beside him rather than on top of him, though you don’t go far. Your knees still touch. Always.

“Alright, you can turn around now,” you call lightly, brushing your fingers through your hair.

James turns slowly, eyes still suspiciously squinted like he’s worried he’ll see something scarring again. He takes in the scene, both of you sitting side by side on the bed, fully clothed now but clearly together, Remus still flushed and you not bothering to hide your smug little smile.

“So…” James begins, narrowing his eyes, “when did this start?”

You glance at Remus, who looks as though he’d prefer the full moon over this interrogation.

“Be honest,” Sirius adds, crossing the room to drop dramatically into the armchair by the window. “If you say, like, last week, I will riot.”

Remus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “October.”

James blinks. “October last year?”

You nod innocently. “Started with studying. Got a bit… distracting.”

Sirius makes a sound like he’s just been betrayed. “You mean to tell me you two have been together for months and didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not like we were hiding it,” Remus mutters.

James gestures wildly. “You were definitely hiding it!”

You exchange a look with Remus, who just shrugs helplessly.

Sirius groans, dragging a hand down his face as if it's all too much to bear. And then, with the weariness of a man forced to admit defeat, he mutters:

“For fuck’s sake… Reg was right.”

Remus smirks, finally relaxed again. “You gonna be okay, Pads?”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius says, already slumping further into the chair. “You’re disgusting.”

But he’s grinning.

James just shakes his head, still in awe. “Next time, just tell us.”

You reach for Remus’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

masterlist <3

[luveline]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭

part one | chapter list 

You find yourself drawn into Remus’ life after an awful night you can’t remember. He does his best to hold onto you. [10k]

cw: heavy themes, implied sexual assault of the reader [with no graphic scenes but it’s a continuous theme, so please be careful when reading], pregnancy, eventual friends to lovers, friendships, hurt/comfort, james makes a lot of soup, found family

𖦹

The pharmacy on Wilmand Street is always deathly quiet. The boy behind the counter reads and occasionally picks up the phone to put it back down, his hair in his eyes, a waxiness to his pale skin that never fails to perturb. 

Your shoes creak over the hardwood floor. He’s noticed your entry, signalled by a golden bell above the door and your muffled panting, but he hasn’t looked up. 

Your eyes slide past pads, nighttime, ultra-long panty liners, searching with a poorly restrained desperation for something in particular. 

The phone rings —dark-haired boy picks it up and puts it back down again as you recalled, silencing the ring. You watch him from over your shoulder and he looks up from his book to stare. 

“Pregnancy tests?” you ask.

His expression doesn’t change as he pulls a drawer open behind the desk with a metallic clink. “What kind?” 

“The most reliable. Please.” 

He gives a nod, black curl bobbing under his chin. He grabs a blue card box and places it on the counter. “Sixteen fifty.” 

You open your purse before you’ve reached him, extracting the change exactly and tipping it next to his book. “Thank you.” 

“Are you alright?” 

Your heart squeezes in your chest like a tightening fist. “Why?” 

“I have to ask. I’m a mandated reporter.” 

“I’m not a child.” 

He levels your look with his own. “You don’t have to answer. I’m only asking because you look upset. Are you alright?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say more than three words at a time. His voice is reminiscent of someone else’s, half-remembered. You want to ask him, then. The questions you’ve had since it happened. Why does it hurt so badly, still? But the boy, while seemingly well-intentioned, isn’t one you trust to care nor keep it to himself. 

“Fine,” you reply, pressing the blue-boxed test into your pocket, pulling the hood of your coat up to brace against the December rain. You’re fine. 

The door opens before you can get to it, another lovely dark-haired boy letting himself inside. His stare is blank as the one at the desk’s is, but you smile on instinct and he smiles back warmly after a moment, holding the door for you to leave. 

“Okay, Reg?” you hear him ask as you pass.

“Close the door,” Reg says. “You’re letting in the cold.” 

—

It’s even colder the next time you go. You throw on another hoodie and wrap a scarf tightly around your neck, face ducked, nose tickled by flyaway fibres. The walk to Wilmand Street takes seventeen long minutes where your hands hurt, then shake, chapped by hateful winds. 

The pharmacy’s newspapered window comes into view. A poster for the local pub leaks ink on the outside, wet by the rain, its font blooming like fungus across purple paper. Live music event: December 31st. 

The dark-haired boy —Reg?— is behind the counter again. The first one. Are you alright? boy. He looks twenty so or near that, but there’s something wilfully young about the skin under his eyes, despite a more haggard pinch to his brow. You were hoping it would be the second one, or the sandy-haired boy who mans the till in the very early mornings. He has a more natural smile than the other two. Perhaps not more authentic, but quicker to perk up when you slink in for whatever before work, Mondays and Fridays if he’s there. 

Reg doesn’t lift his head. You push yourself toward the back of the pharmacy. It’s a small shop slotted between two others, one wall touched from the next in thirty seconds should you walk it. It makes pretending you’re there for other things useless and embarrassing, but you do it anyway. Another test won’t change what you wanted the test to say, but you can’t take one single test and trust it was right. 

“Reliable?” Reg asks when you finally approach. 

“Yeah. And the five strip box, too, if you have it.” 

Reg takes them from the drawer and adds their prices seemingly in his head. “Eighteen eighty-nine.” 

You pass him a twenty pound note and wait for your change, not bothered that he counts it slowly, or that he puts it down flat on the counter away from your outstretched hand. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

He noticeably bites his tongue. 

“I want to be sure, is all,” you say. 

“If you go to the doctor’s, they do it for free. And it has a ninety nine percent rate of accuracy.” 

You hold the tests to your stomach. “I’m not… really sure what I’d want them to tell me, right now.” 

“They’d tell you the truth, at least.” Reg seems to decide this line of conversation isn’t one he wants to continue, and he lets his mouth flatten into a thin, white line. You get the sense though that he isn’t done talking, and are rewarded for your patience with an inkling of an almost-smile. “Please know that I’m bound by duty of care while I work here, so if you are concerned about something, I can listen and offer advice. And if you don’t want to tell me private information, my uncle is the acting pharmacist, and he is more strictly bound by patient confidentiality law.” He looks you in the eye. “You’re only as alone as you allow yourself to be.” 

“Who says that?” you ask, poked by the way he lays it out. 

Reg doesn’t like your question and doesn’t answer. He picks up his book, murmuring, “I hope they give you the result you want.” 

A different dark-haired boy is standing outside of the pharmacy when you leave. With a nice nose, eyes like a puppy, he’s handsome but hidden behind black frames. He stands from his car where he’d been leaning when the door swings out, sits back again when he realises you’re not who he’s looking for. “Sorry, lovely,” he says, pulling at a loosely-knotted tie. “I thought you were someone else.” 

“Sorry,” you say back, holding the tests to your chest. 

Your hand covers the boxes. His eyes flicker down to them regardless. You wait for disdain or embarrassment but see neither. Really, the only thing this new boy wears is pleasantness. 

“Don’t stay out too long, will you?” he asks, smiling genially, “You’ll freeze.” 

“I’m–” You clear your throat, caught off guard to have a stranger care about you so openly. No reluctance to his well wishes, and no strings. “Sorry– I’m going home now. I won’t stay out.” 

“Good, shortcake. Have a good night.” 

You should say you too. The wind chases you back to your flat, where you head for the bathroom, and, despite living alone, lock the door. 

—

You take your pregnancy test and sit on the floor, too weak-legged to stand at the sink, waiting for two pink lines. 

Sure enough. Control, result. One solid pink line, and one much lighter. It doesn’t matter —a positive is a positive, no matter how weak. The strip tests say the same thing. 

In TV and movies, people always paint the test as the ultimate moment. As though the result is the result, and that everything after is fixed, but the result now is only a signifier for another decision to be made: will you keep your baby, or foetus? Do you feel as though it is a baby, or a foetus, or both? Is it welcome, or a foreign object? There is no right or wrong answer, only how you feel. 

The migraine you get then is debilitating. Like toothache in every tooth, pain behind your eyes half-psychosomatic, half physiological stress. You’re not sure how long you’re in the bathroom holding your forehead, but it’s dark when you manage to stand again, and the tests have only gotten more obviously positive. You throw them all in the bin. 

—

The third day you go back to Wilmand Street pharmacy, the desk is manned by your unfamiliar, smiling boy. He looks up when the door opens, his eyes browned honey set in a face that recently saw the sun, but not too much of it. Kissed by it. His cheeks are pinked. He must be the first person who’s worked here to bother turning on the heating. 

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you say back. Voice croaky, you remember to be polite. “You okay?” 

“I’m great, lovely, thank you. How are you?” He gives a nod toward the street. “It’s so cold out, are you gonna be warm enough in your jumper?” 

You find yourself struck as you were the day before, so startled by genuine kindness that you can hardly work your mouth. “I’m okay. I’m going right back home after this.” 

“Aw, good.” 

You nod. What are you here for today? Not another test. You aren’t stupid enough to believe a third round will give you a different verdict, but you‘d felt an urgent need to move. 

You grab a rounded basket from near the door and make your way to the haircare. There’s a handful of shampoos to choose from. You take the usual. Beneath them are baby shampoos and soaps. On a whim you pick one up, the words Tear and fragrance free stuck like a bad swallow at the back of your throat. 

Babies need so many things. At the supermarket they have these great walls of baby food and it’s expensive enough to take your eye out every time. A quarter of an hours wage for every organic, soft meal, and sure, they don’t need organic, vegetables are organic intrinsically, whatever, but if you don’t buy organic pre-made meals you have to make the baby food yourself, how long does that take? You put the baby shampoo down and turn to the conditioners. 

Unhappy, you scour them for nothing and turn on the spot. Why is Dr. Black never here? How are you supposed to ask him your questions if he doesn’t show up to work? 

You’ll have to ask the brown-haired boy. Nice eyes, nice smile. He probably won’t judge you, at least not out loud. 

He stands up from his rickety chair, soft leather seat worn and creaking as he pushes it away. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Do you have to do that patient-confidentiality thing?” 

He smiles rather gently. “I do. A condition of my employment is to protect patient information. Legally, I can’t share private or sensitive information about you to anyone else in the world, unless I believe you’re in proper danger.” He holds his hands behind his back. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?” 

Wind roars outside. Your eyes start to the door. 

“There’s a private room in the back,” he adds. 

“I don’t want to waste your time.” 

“It’s not wasted. Even if I weren’t legally obligated to keep whatever secrets you may have, I’m worried you look a bit poorly.”

He speaks oddly. Or not odd, but different to any of the other men you’ve met. It’s friendly, and yet somehow he’s quiet, too. His interest feels real, so you cross the room to the desk and put your basket on your shoes. 

You try to find a way to say it. “I know you’re not a doctor.” 

“No, I’m an apprentice pharmacist.” 

“Right. I know I should go to the doctor, and not you.” 

“That depends. We’re here to help. Doesn’t matter if you should go somewhere, you can ask me first.” 

You struggle. He waits. His hands lay steady on the edge of the desk, his face nearly blank besides a hint of warmth.  

“Is it alright if it’s a question about, um, sex?” 

He nods emphatically. “Of course that’s alright. I can’t promise I’ll know the answer, but you’re welcome to ask me anything and I can always get back to you if you’re not willing to ask someone else.” His smile turns wry. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s only sex. I don’t mind.” 

“I just…” You hold your hands together. “I wanted to know, if pain after… if it’s supposed to hurt so much after.” 

His wry smile is quickly subdued, though he remains friendly looking. “It depends,” he says, measured, “on a few things. You probably know that the first time you have sex can be painful because of the initial perforation of the hymen, but usually sex isn’t supposed to be painful at all.” 

“At all.” 

“No. If sex hurts, it’s likely from a lack of preparation, bruising of the cervix, or it could be a condition called vaginismus. That’s where your muscles tighten suddenly when you attempt penetration. Having sex with vaginismus can be extremely painful.” 

Something on his chest catches the light. A name tag. 

He follows your gaze. “Oh,” he says. “I’m Remus. Sorry, it might’ve been nicer for you to know that before I started talking.” 

Remus… You shake your head at him. “Um… Remus… Well, I’m not really sure what happened.” 

“Right.” 

“I wasn’t–” Your heart jumps before you can confess, horrible secret stuck to the roof of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “are you sure you don’t want to go sit down in the quiet room with me? I can make you a cup of tea.” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“I have night time tea. Is that alright?” 

“The shop?” 

“It’s okay, I’ll ask Sirius to come down. You really aren’t doing anything wrong.” 

“I feel like I shouldn't ask you.” 

“That’s a consequence of our great British society,” he says, lightly teasing as he lifts the counter to come from behind it and presses a small red button on an intercom box by the inside door. It’s an attempt to make you feel better, and it nearly works. “You feel embarrassed about something you have no reason to feel embarrassed of. Everybody has sex, and everybody has bad sex, sometimes, and needs advice.” 

The intercom crackles before you can speak. “Moony?” a voice asks. 

“Sirius, I have someone who needs to talk to me. You’ll have to come on the till for a bit.” 

“Kay. Down now.” 

Remus smiles. “That’s about as obliging as he gets.” 

“Sirius, is he the– is he the one who reads?” 

“Not often. You’re thinking of Regulus, his brother.” 

Regulus, of course. “They look so similar.” 

“They do.” He gestures for you to stand beside him as the inside door swings open, unveiling one of those dark-haired brother’s, the taller of the two. 

“Oh, hi,” Sirius says, wet hair on his shoulders, his t-shirt sodden at the front like he’d swept it back, “okay? There’s biscuits in the left cupboard, Moons.” 

Remus, Moons, Moony, holds the door back and lets you inside. 

The walk to the quiet room is strange. Sitting down at the table with him as he passes you a box of biscuits, kettle boiling, he doesn’t put you on ends, but it doesn’t feel good. You slip your hand under your t-shirt where he can’t see and feel the hot stretch of your stomach for something that isn’t there. 

“So,” he says, grimacing, “I’m going to ask you some precursory questions. You don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want to.” 

“Okay.” 

“Are you in any active danger?” 

You shake your head slowly. “None.” 

“Is someone close to you hurting you?” 

“No.” 

“Are you alright?” 

You twist your hands together tightly. “I don’t think so.” 

“No?” He slips his chair closer to your own. “Are you hurt now?” 

You look down at your lap. This is awful. This is why you didn’t want to go to see your doctor. “I don’t know. I’m not hurt, but it does hurt. I move and it feels like something sharp is digging into me.” 

“I see.” He frowns. “This can happen sometimes with penetration. It’s like I said before, if your body isn’t, you know, prepared? If you aren’t using lubrication, if you aren’t relaxed, it can be as simple as friction having hurt you, but it’s possible you’ve got cervical bruising, or an issue with your pelvic floor. It could be that you have a UTI. If we go through a couple of questions together I might be able to suggest a solution, but I have to tell you to see your doctor if you can. Alright? Pain after sex can be normal, but it doesn’t have to be. When we go back out, I’ll give you some paracetamol as well.” 

He looks as though he might have something else to say, but he stops when you open your mouth. “I don’t know what happened.” 

Remus frowns again. “Right.” 

The cellophane on the biscuits is shining under the light. 

“I don’t really know what to do.” 

“It’s a stabbing pain?” His frown gets impossibly deeper. “I have some ibuprofen. Off the record, you can have some of that with your tea. Here.” He procures a blister pack from his pocket and hands it to you, jumping up for the kettle, carrying it back to your mugs to set with the pint of milk. “It will probably go away soon, lovely, I would try not to worry, but it’s good to keep an eye on it too, and to book with the doctors if it gets worse. There are so many things that can go wrong in the body, but we’re also such good self-healers, it’s hard to know what to do.” 

“It’s… something else, too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I was wondering if the pain is maybe because I…” 

Your face goes hot as coal embers, a furious sweat on the back of your neck. Remus doesn’t prod. He pours water into your mug until it’s a little over half full, the tea bag at the bottom staining it sepia. 

“I think I’m pregnant,” you say, not sure why it hurts to say so much. 

“Right.”

“Do you think it hurts because of that?” 

Remus bites his lip as he pours his own mug of tea. He’s looking at you as he puts the kettle down. “No, I wouldn’t think so, but it’s not an impossibility. How pregnant were you thinking?” 

“It was two weeks ago, so… so however long it takes to get pregnant.”

He looks alarmed, then. “Lovely, that was the last time you had sex?” 

“Yeah.”

“And it still hurts now?” 

“Only sometimes,” you say nervously. 

He ignores his steaming tea. “Right. Well, I think I need to advise you to make an emergency appointment today. I can make it with you. You shouldn’t still be hurting after two weeks, pregnant or not. Ectopic pregnancies don’t tend to hurt until further along, so…” Remus slows, looking at you with that too-kind frown, brown eyes darker back here behind the fog curls of his tea.

You feel caught on something. 

“I wasn’t awake,” you say quietly. “Just woke up hurting. I guessed what happened, ‘n now I’m pregnant. It could only have been...” You shrug it off, even as heat blooms behind your eyes, nose already hot and sniffly. 

“You were assaulted.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

Remus seems to freeze up. “I’m sorry.” He takes a few seconds, and then he meets your eyes. “I can’t imagine how scary that must have been, and how scary it still is.” 

Your eyes line with tears. “I mean, it’s less scary now.” First tear tips forward as your voice falls to pieces. “I just don’t know what to do. Every day I’ve come here this week I’ve tried to ask about it, because I saw that poster, if I’m hurt then I can– then I can come to the pharmacy, but I’m not hurt, I’m fine now.” 

“Oh,” he says gently, pushing his chair over a little to bring himself closer, his hand coming to rest on your hunched shoulder, “even if you weren’t in any pain at all, you’re more than welcome to come here and speak to us, to me. This residual pain, I imagine you must’ve been quite injured when it happened. You didn’t have any help at all?” 

“I didn’t think there’s anything they could do.” 

“That’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he says, rubbing your shoulder kindly. “I just want to know as much of the details as you feel alright giving me, so we can move forward in the best way possible.” His hand slides across your back, nearly hugging. “I’m sorry. Really. And I’m sorry for talking so much about ‘bad sex’, I didn’t realise what you were telling me.” 

“I’m sorry for telling you.” 

“What?” he asks, a soft incredulity to him, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You can tell as many or as few people as you like, but I’m extremely glad to be told, because no one should ever have to face this sort of thing alone, should they?” He rubs your back when you nod, again when you sniffle. “Alright. It’s alright. You’re okay.” 

You don’t cry as much as you worry you might under a soft touch. The memory of waking up paralyses you for a bit, that confusion, the pain, the bruise across your neck. All of it makes you feel sick, but Remus shushes you under his breath, not to really shush you, but to calm you down. 

“I’m okay,” you say, shamed. 

“Try and drink some of this tea. Can I leave you alone for a minute?” 

“Oh, uh– yeah, of course. I’m fine.” 

His hand lingers between your shoulders. “Just for a minute, I’m going to find some bits for you–”

“I don’t need anything–”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s just stuff I have to give you, and some things you might need.” Remus’ hand traces carefully to the front of your shoulder. He meets your eyes, nothing but compassion in the line of his mouth. “Okay?”

You say okay. Remus uses the door you came in through to head back out onto the pharmacy’s shop floor, letting it shut quietly behind him. You press your hand to your teeth. 

—

To Remus’ credit, he apologises for both pamphlets. Abortion Explained. What to expect when you’re expecting. “For you to know your options,” he’d said. “Whatever you decide, it’s your decision.” 

He can’t know you’ll spend a week pouring over them all, that you’ll worry at the corner of the STD clinic card, or that you’ll shove the RapeCrisis one down the side of your bed, desperate to throw it out, but terrified you’ll need it, too. 

And some of the stuff he gives you. You don’t even know what to do with it. Painkillers, lavender oil, discreet pads for incontinence. You’d tried to pay and he’d touched the back of your hand without explanation. “No, it’s okay,” he’d said. Nothing else. 

You spend days again wrapped in your own nausea, until Thursday evening, when you make your way to Community Support. 

You honestly weren’t considering it when Remus first gave you the card, but he said his friend worked there, “My best friend, James,” he corrected, ”and his wife, Lily, too. She talks to people about all kinds of things. I just wonder if you might feel happier talking about it with a woman.” 

Which was a nice sentiment, and possibly true, though Remus had been the first person you told. To be met with his sympathy in such a boundless capacity made it easier. Made you think, Maybe I’m not stupid for hating that it happened. 

“I’m here every Monday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday,” he‘d said when you made up a lie about needing to leave, scared of overstaying, “seven ‘til three, but you can ask for me if you ever want to. Sirius usually knows where I am.” 

And you had wanted to, but you knew you couldn’t. Being so desperately alone that you craved the comfort of a stranger’s hand is fine, but it didn’t feel okay to hold him hostage like that. Of course he feels sorry for you, of course he wants to make you feel better, how heartless would he look otherwise?

You’d chide yourself for thinking cynically about someone who’d only ever been nice if it would make a difference. Lonely, wrecked, you end up at the Community Support Group at the local leisure centre, wavering behind the swing doors. 

A face appears on the other side of the door. Deep skin, eyes like cherry pits and lips painted a cheery red, a woman smiles at you and pulls it open. 

“Hi! Are you here for the support group?” 

“Uh– Yeh–” You swallow roughly. “Yes. Is that here?” 

“That’s here.” She puts a thumb through the belt loop on her jeans. “Why don’t you come inside?” 

You take a tentative step.

“I’m Mary,” she says. 

“I don’t have to sign anything, right?” you ask. 

Mary leads you into the room without stopping. “This is off the books only. Do you want some tea or coffee?” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“Decaf?” 

“Can I have water?” 

Mary has a good smile. Like she knows you, like you’re already friends. She cups your shoulder and guides you to the refreshment table, an impressive splendor of coffee, tea, individually wrapped biscuits, and sandwiches. There’s a box of protein bars with a handwritten red felt note that says: Take me home if you want to! 

“Aren’t hungry are you?” Mary asks. 

“Not really.” 

She ducks down at the table and pushes aside tablecloth to grab a crate of water from underneath.

“You haven’t been here before, then?” Mary asks as she stands. “I remember most faces, I don’t think I’ve seen you here.” 

“No, I’ve never… um, someone at the pharmacy told me I can come,” you say tightly. 

“Oh, you can! Of course you can. I wondered if you were new, that’s all.” She presses a bottle of water into your hands. You look down at her fingers, confused at their odd texture, your neck snapping up once you realise what you’re doing.

Mary has scars all over her hands, her wrists, and you’d been gawking at them by mistake. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

“For what? Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be by yourself?” 

“We don’t sit in a circle, do we?” 

Mary laughs lightly. “No, no circle yet, you can leave if you don’t wanna stay for the group talking therapy. For the first hour people just say hello to one another. There are a ton of counsellors here, okay? I’m just gonna wander, but if you want to talk to me, come and find me, yeah?” 

“Okay, thanks. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, hun.” She smiles at you, a little softer than before. “You can sit down if it makes you feel less awkward, but be warned, the sofas are James’ territory. He loves to talk.” 

Don’t wanna get stuck with James, you think. Though really, you’re here to talk. Or to turn around and go home with a pocket full of protein bars. 

The community room is an emptied dance hall that’s been made nice. There are big boards of fliers, of last year’s trampolining club, and another of the Community Support Christmas club, whatever that had been. It looked busier then than it does tonight —there are a ton of sunny looking counsellors dotted around the room and talking in triangles, half as many people like you. 

Someone random catches your eyes and you fluster, making your way to the terracotta sofas in the corner of the room on impulse. A man sits with an arm across his eyes, glasses on his chest, looking so sorrily tired for a second that you forget you’d come looking for help of your own. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, stilted. James’ territory, and you’d walked straight in. 

The man sits up starkly. He looks right at you, but you don’t recognise him until he puts on his glasses. It’s one of those pharmacy men. 

No, it’s not, you’d just seen him outside. 

“Hello,” he says, sliding his glasses up a strong-bridged nose. “I’m okay, I’m just resting my eyes,” —he laughs— “you alright?” You nod. “Yeah? Here for the support club? Or the sandwiches?” 

“I–” Will you stammer every time someone asks you about it? “One of the– the pharmacy, one of the pharmacists told me to come.” 

“That’s good,” he says earnestly. “I like those guys. Did you want a sandwich or something? I must’ve made a hundred. My hand still aches from the butter knife.” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Okay. Well, did you want to sit down? I promise I won’t hold you hostage or anything.” 

What am I doing? you think miserably, taking a seat in the sofa adjacent to his. 

He crosses one leg over the other. “Please don’t look so upset. I swear I genuinely won’t make you talk. I’m just here for the biscuits and lovely Lily, I promise. And lovelier Remus–” He laughs to himself. 

“You’re James?” you ask. 

“The last time I checked.”

“Remus– he mentioned you’d be here. I forgot.” 

James only smiles. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” he asks, wriggling in his seat to procure one of those biscuit packets from his back pocket. 

“He said that I might like talking to Lily.” 

It feels weird calling her by her first name without knowing her, but James agrees, “I’ll introduce you when she gets here, if that’s what you want.” 

“I just… I don’t know.” 

“She’s just as nice as Remus is. Remus was nice to you, wasn’t he?” 

You nod and look down at your clenched hands. “Yeah. He was nice to me.” 

“That’s good.” 

A tepid silence pervades for a moment. 

“Do you want a biscuit or something? Or we have noodles and soup and stuff in the storage room, I’m happy to make you something warm if you want that.” 

“You guys are like a restaurant,” you say, still not willing to look at him. 

“It’s nice to have options.” 

You nod hurriedly, sick to your stomach all over again. Options. Decisions. 

Somewhere in the room, they turn on a radio. Shoes squeak on the waxed floor, a boy laughs like he’s being tickled. It was a mistake to come tonight. You desperately want someone to hug you and you know it’s too much to ask for, staggering to your feet with a headrush to be blinked back. 

“You okay?” James asks.

“Yeah. Um, where’s the toilet?” 

“Back out of the double doors, they’re right in front of you, okay? Straight in front and then to the left, you can’t miss them.” 

“Okay.”

“Wait, Y/N?” he says. 

You shoot him a look that betrays your surprise. 

“Sorry, Remus told me to keep a look out for you. I just wanted to say, I know this is different, and it’s weird, I get that, and I have no idea why you’re here tonight, but I promised Remus I wouldn’t upset you, and I think I already have.”

“He didn’t tell you why I’m here?” 

“Of course not.” James blows a breath that makes his hair fly away from his face in a wave. “It’s none of my business why you’re here. My job is to make sandwiches. I mean, some people come here just for the sandwiches or the warm room, and that’s fine.” 

“The sandwiches are that good?” you ask. 

“They’re great. We don’t fuck around, I use the real salted butter in the foil wrappings and the thick bread and everything. Proper ham, not the wafer thin stuff. And there’s veggie bacon too, if you don’t eat meat. I don’t know, could you please just let me feed you something? Remus won’t forgive me if you came here and you didn’t even eat.” 

“I think you’re using Remus as a ploy,” you say quietly. 

“I am! So let’s go have a sandwich or a biscuit or something.” He waves his biscuits at you. “They’re Border’s. Butterscotch Border’s, you literally can’t ask for better.” 

Just try. Be brave for a bit. “I like the uh– the lemon ones.” 

James shoots up onto his feet, grinning. “Amazing taste. Let’s go find you some.” 

—

James takes you to the refreshment table. He finds you lemon drizzle biscuits, two packets, and he pushes two more into your hands with the command to take them home. He offers to make you dinner again when Lily arrives in a tizzy, with a chubby baby on her hip. 

Harry, she says. Just turned three. Scandalised everyone at home, Lily’s sister kicked her out, disaster. Harry, though, is beautiful. James and Lily are beautiful, and happy. James takes Harry into his arms the moment he sees him murmuring about his boy, and the sensation of guilt under your skin grows worse than ever. 

How are you liking group? Lily asks. Would you come back next week? That’s great! I’m so glad to hear it. 

—

You’re walking through Wilmand Street to the corner shop a few days later when you see him. Brown hair wet with snow, ashing a cigarette into the brick wall by the library. Remus cringes as he does it, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth in a call, “Y/N!” he says, “Hey, lovely, how are you? Sorry about the smoke,” he adds. “I was hoping I’d see you this week.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I wondered how you were doing.” 

“Well, don’t worry about me, I’m okay. I…” You cringe, pulling a hand down your sore chest. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for the other day, for dumping that stuff on you, you don’t even know me and I told you such a horrible thing and made you worry, and your friends were so nice to me at the community group and I just didn’t say thanks or anything. I’m genuinely ashamed of myself.” You smile a weird smile, clunky, attempting to brush everything away like it didn’t mean anything, silly little you. “All the time.” 

Remus’ expression goes odd, a wall you can’t read, left searching his winter jacket for clues as to how he’s feeling. “I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” he says, finally and simply. 

“It was rude of me.” 

“I have some experience with feeling ashamed for the things other people have done,” he says, flakes of snow kissing his shoulders, a white dot coming to rest and melt on his cheek. “I understand why you’re feeling this way, and it’s expected, but… How do I put this?” 

You watch his eyes. Remus struggles to say anything more. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of insecurity on him. He always seems calmly settled, as though he’s thought about the world and found what it is he was looking for in it a long time ago. 

“Just because we think something doesn’t make it true,” he says, hiding his hands in his coat pockets. “You might feel like it was wrong to tell me, but it wasn’t, and you might think you were rude to my friends, but you weren’t. They didn’t have a single bad word to say about you. Not that either of them tend to say anything disparaging about anyone,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“I wish I didn’t tell you, is all.” 

“I’m sorry. I can go on as though you didn’t, if that’s what you want, whatever you want.” 

You look down at your chest, nodding. “Okay.” 

Which isn’t a yes or no to his suggestion, but he doesn’t pull you up on it. “Okay. Are you going to the pharmacy?” 

“I– no. But I did hope to ask you something.” He nods, as if to say, Go on. “It’s about the sex clinic.” 

“What about it?” 

“I don’t really know what it is.” 

Remus looks around the street and then up and down your arms. The jumper you’re wearing is thin, your teeth aching to chatter, and he’s noticed it already. “Do you want to have this conversation over tea, lovely?” he asks. 

“Decaf?” 

“Yes, and biscuits, if you’re interested.” 

You follow Remus up the marginally steep hill that makes up Wilmand Street and enter the pharmacy behind him. It’s wooden front and newspaper clippings give way to the starker insides, where you find Sirius sitting at the front desk. Or rather, sitting on it, corded telephone held between his ear and his shoulder. “Oh, he’s just come in, but he has company. Yeah, he said.” Sirius presses the phone to his shoulder to give you both a small but earnest smile. “Hey, you’ve been snowed on. Turn the heating up before you catch your death.” 

“It’s been caught,” Remus says with a wave. “We’re going to sit in the kitchen. Tell Reg not to interrupt us.” 

Your mouth falls open, but Sirius only salutes his —friend? coworker? “James says he’s giving the phone a sloppy one for you.” 

“Lovely.” Remus laughs brightly, his hand slipping behind your shoulder. “Alright?” he asks. 

You give a nod and continue following him past the inside door to the kitchen you’d sat in before. Remus flicks the kettle on and sits down, forcing you to take his cue and sit opposite of him. 

“Much warmer in here,” he mumbles, stripping out of his coat. “Alright. What did you want to ask me about the sex clinic?” 

“Um… I don’t know. How do I go there?” 

“We’ll make an appointment. It’s not far from the leisure centre, so you can walk, or I can book you a taxi, give you a lift. We'll work something out.”

“And they… won’t mind that I– that I don’t really know what I’m doing?” 

You almost miss the dissatisfied noise he makes over the rising sound of the kettle. “They won’t mind.” 

“Do I have to tell them what happened?” 

“No. I mean, I assume it’s better if they have a clearer picture of the circumstances, but then again, you’re entitled to your privacy. You could just say you’re concerned about your intimate health.” 

“But they’ll ask questions.” 

“Yeah, they will. I know you don’t want to answer them, and that’s okay. You don’t have to answer them. Doctor’s, pharmacists, we just ask about stuff because we have to, but there’s no law that says you have to answer.” 

Now you’ve had time to think about things beyond the aching and the angry horror, a new fear has curdled. “What if he gave me something?” you say under your breath. 

“Then we can get you whatever medicine it is that you need and we can work toward you feeling better again.” His head tips as the kettle clicks. “Did you still want tea?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Remus makes you each a cup of decaf tea, bringing sugar and milk to the table for you to add yourself. 

“We can go now, if you want to.” 

“To the clinic?” you ask. 

Remus nods slowly. “Mm-hm. It’s an emergency.” 

“You’d come with me?” you ask, not breathless, but almost. 

“If you’re okay with it and you want me to, I’ll come with you. It might not be so scary. Or I can ask Lily to take you.” 

It’s not Remus’ fault that the person who assaulted you was a man like he is, but it does sound less intimidating to go with a girl. You’re not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t been kind since the minute you asked him about confidentiality or that he deserves your distrust, but even sitting in this room with him now talking about the clinic has made you uncomfortable again. “Would she mind?” 

“Lily would love to take you. I know that sounds strange. She wouldn’t love that you need to go, but she wouldn’t want you to go alone if you’re worried about it.” 

“And she’ll go now?” 

Remus pushes your mug toward you. “You have some tea and I'll go and ask James if she’s around.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re not,” he says. “There’s biscuits in the cupboard, lovely. If you want some, you can help yourself.” 

Things don’t pass that day in much detail after that. When Remus returns ten minutes later, you’ve finished your tea, and Lily is with him. She was on her way here already. She’d be happy to take you to the clinic. 

So you go, and you get checked out, and you submit to their tests and their invasive, well-intentioned questions. Lily takes you to a cafe afterward and buys you a pastry you can’t do more than poke. She takes you home. You feel guilty for not saying thank you in the car, but you can barely speak. A few days later you get a phone call with your results. You take a course of medications. You cry yourself to sleep three days in a row, because, as they’d tested for STDs, they tested for something else, and they’d told you what you‘d already known. 

You’re as pregnant as your home tests said you are. Despite everything, you feel an emotion you hate, and you push it down again. 

—

The door to your flat shakes with a sharp knock. 

You startle and stand, not sure what you’d been thinking, a hole burned into the floor at your feet. You’re in no state to answer the door, wet hair dripping a river down your back and your pajamas old. There’s nothing for it. 

You take the handle into your hand and squeeze. 

Dark-haired Regulus is standing in the hallway. You let the door close just an inch between you. 

“Regulus,” you say, unsure if surprise will help or hinder you. 

“Hello.” 

“How can I…” 

“Remus asked me to check in on you.” 

You’re not sure you like what he’s saying. “How do you know where I live?” 

“Remus didn’t ask me to come to your flat, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“No, it’s not. I’m confused that you know where I live when I didn’t tell you.” 

He holds a deft hand up in surrender. “I live across the street, I’ve seen you come into the building, and your last name is on the postbox downstairs. I’m not doing anything illegal.” 

Just weird, then. 

“Remus asked me to keep an eye out for you,” he says, “but you haven’t been to the pharmacy, naturally.”

“So your solution was to come to my house?” 

“I don’t think there’s any need to get twitchy.” 

But there is. There is. He might not know what it is, and you might find thinking about it feels like a serrated blade end squeezed in your fist, but there is a need. You don’t want him to be here. It doesn’t matter that he’s small and skinny and has a sweet nose. This is your place to be by yourself, and to have nobody know where you are. This is the locked door. 

He has the sense to soften his bravado. “Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

You try to relax your shoulders. Your ribs ache with the tension. “Please,” you say gently, “tell Remus that I’m alright. Thank you for worrying about me.”

Regulus looks to the stairwell leading to the foyer. “He’s going to Community Support tonight if you want to tell him yourself. I am, too.” He doesn’t look at you again. “See you later,” he says to the stairs. 

 —

You go to Community Support despite yourself.

“Can you forgive me for not flirting with you?” 

You surprise the urge to flinch hard, turning to the voice with a half-smile. Sirius is standing beside you suddenly, your faces reflected in the plexiglass covered notice board just outside of the community hall. “What?” you ask. 

“I don’t mean to be offensive. I haven’t flirted because I thought Remus might have his eye on you, and I don’t want you to think it’s because you’re not beautiful.” 

You have to turn to see him to realise he’s teasing you now to be friendly. “I’d be offended if you did flirt with me,” you say. 

“Marvellous, then I won’t.”

“Remus doesn’t have his eye on me, though. He’s just been giving me pharmaceutical advice, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I see. I thought maybe you’d… Well, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He’s handsome enough that you’d be shocked if he actually did flirt with you, clear-skinned as his brother, but with a warmer smile, almost mischievous, like he knows something you don’t know and he’ll tell you for the right price. His shoulders are slim, his biceps particularly solid as he crosses his arms over his chest. He notices you noticing and gives a flex, to your laughter. “Like what you see?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“We’re on the rugby team, you know.”

“You and Remus?” 

“As if, Remus doesn’t like sports. He’s more of a walker. James and I are the sportsmen.” 

Sirius didn’t strike you as somebody who plays anything either, but it’s not polite to say. 

“Well, aren’t you coming inside?” he asks. “We could use a face like yours in there tonight. Beautiful girls are great for overall morale.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t think so.” 

“You came all the way here. You could at least come in for a bit of cake or something.” 

“Community support or community kitchen?” you mumble. 

“Everybody gets hungry. The best part of being in a community is making sure nobody goes hungry for long, right?” 

You give him a sideways look. Somehow, someway, you’ve become acquainted with a circle of philanthropists. Normal people aren’t so generous. You’re too tired to be this kind. 

“What kind do you have?” 

“Carrot, red velvet, Victoria sponge, and plain chocolate, I think. Maybe a bit of walnut sponge if Marlene hasn’t mauled the whole thing.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it, just he’s looking at you so nicely that you want to go in with him. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius slips a hand behind your back, letting it hover an inch from your skin as he shepherds you through the double doors and into the main hall. It’s far more crowded than it had been on your first visit, a small circle of people already in chairs talking a ways from the crowded food table, pilfered, more sandwiches in hands than hands to hold them, and enough brewed coffee to scent the air. James is immediately noticeable crouching at the table, having pulled a crate of juice boxes from beneath it, laughing about something someone is saying to him —something Remus is saying, the tallest man in the room and somehow completely non-imposing, his voice more colour than sound as he talks. 

It must just be because Remus is attentive. Must be the memory of his nice hand on your shoulder, squeezing, that makes you pay special attention to his shaking. “Is he laughing?” you ask. 

Sirius tunes in quickly. “Yeah. He’s done that since we were kids. He can laugh like normal, but when something really has him it’s like he can’t get the sound out.” He chuckles himself. “Idiots. Come on, let’s get you your slice of cake.” 

You can’t help staring at Remus as Sirius takes you over to him and James. James is so happy to see you he almost loses his glasses. 

“You’re back! I thought my shitty impersonation of a counsellor might’ve scared you off. Don’t want some soup, do you?” 

“Don’t say yes out of pity,” Sirius says. “Nobody ever wants James to make them soup.” 

“You like my soup.” 

“I like Effie’s soup. She makes the best bowl of lemon chicken I’ve ever tasted, and you make a mediocre imitation of her recipe, which is as good as it gets while I’m away.” 

“Effie’s my mother,” James explains, clambering to his feet with the crate of small bottles of juice held to his chest. “Euphemia. And she does make the best lemon chicken soup, but mines just fine! And anyways, tonight I made winter vegetable because all the Christmas veg was 8p and I have a fuckton. It’s delicious. I cut the swede up so thin it melts in your mouth, I got fresh thyme from the garden, little bit of spinach, all of it cooked in a metric ton of butter.” 

Remus snorts softly. He meets your eyes, which has you smiling on automatic. “James is a bit of a soup addict.” 

”I–” You feel hungry for the first time in weeks. “I’d quite like to, uh, try some. If you really don’t mind.” 

James glows, shoving the case of juice onto the refreshment table next to the hot water towers. “Yes. How about toasties, lovely, d’you want a cheese toastie with it? You’ll love it.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Anyone else while I’m warming it?” 

Remus meets your eyes again, like you’re sharing a secret. “I’ll have a bowl, Jamie.” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright,” Sirius acquiesces, “and me. And Reg will, too, wherever he’s gone off too. But he won’t have cheese–”

“Just toast, I know.” 

James gets a look on him like he’s found the secrets of the universe. “I’ll make a garlic butter cheese toastie for all of you. Mm?” 

Sirius waves him away. 

Sirius grabs you a slice of cake even as you mumble about the soup and how it’s dessert before dinner. Doesn’t matter, he murmurs back, not worried about why you’ve gone shy, I promised you a slice.

You take an apple juice and follow him to a table. Remus comes with you. He looks sunnier today than the last time you saw him despite ever-cloudy weather. Maybe he’s just a bit golden. Steady, he sits at the table across from you with Sirius taking a seat perpendicular, the three of you three sides to a square, nothing to look at besides your hand squeezed around the handle of a plastic fork. 

“I’m sorry about Regulus,” Remus says. “I didn’t mean for him to visit you at home. He told me you weren’t thrilled about it, and I can’t blame you.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Sirius says, wrinkling his nose. “I have no clue why he did that.” 

“And Regulus would be sorry, he just has a hard time realising when he’s overstepped.”

You nod at the table. “It’s okay. I mean, it did make me uncomfortable, and I– wasn’t super polite to him. I just wasn’t expecting him to be at the door, that’s all. And he said sorry, actually. So it’s forgiven.” 

“Oh.” Sirius perches his hand in his head. “That’s unlike him. He doesn’t tend to be sorry.” 

“Neither do you,” Remus says. 

“It’s a family trait.” 

“Can I save this for after soup?” you ask, shuffling your plate to the side. It’ll be easier to eat your cake when everyone else is eating as well. 

“Course you can,” Sirius says, leaning back in his seat. “But if you don’t eat it, I’ll assume you don’t like me. I’m sensitive like that.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, again gifting you with a great feeling, as though you’re in on a secret with him. He’s wearing an aviator jacket that looks incredibly soft, worn but not tattered, sherpa insides flattened but clean. The sleeves warp as he crosses his arms in front of him on the table and leans forward, conspirator. 

“So, how was your morning? Besides Regulus’ unwelcome intrusion,” he says, almost drawling as Sirius does when he gets that playful look in his eye. 

You’re not sure how to handle these boys. But you want to try. You’re sick of having nobody, of being nobody, even if it’s a little discomfiting sometimes to be with them. “My morning was fine. Tries to get through all my washing but it’s a mountain, so I left it and had a long shower instead.”

“How long is long?” Remus asks. 

“Too long.” 

“Like Remus’, then. I’m a one and done man, wash and go.” Sirius peels forward, “And Remus takes hours. Uses all the hot water.” 

“You live together?” you ask. 

“We did for a bit, didn’t we?” Sirius says. 

“Six very long years,” Remus says. “But I have a flat, and Sirius lives on Wilmand Street now, thank god.” 

“Thank god indeed,” Sirius says, “now I can actually wash my hair on a semi-regular basis.” 

“Can you?” Remus asks. 

“What are you implying?” 

“Only that your hair seems distinctly unwashed lately, don’t worry.” 

“He’s showing off ‘cos you’re here,” Sirius says, smiling despite the accusation as he takes a hand through his hair and pushes it back from his face. “I wash plenty.” 

“Do you? I was almost hoping you’d stopped. Maybe that would explain the weird thing you have going on right here.” Remus scratches his upper lip. 

“Fuck off, you just don’t like a scratchy kiss–”

Remus laughs suddenly. After a moment, it tapers into silence, though his shoulders still shake, and you can hear his laughter in his voice when he says, “That charming thatch of stubble would be the last of my worries if I wanted to kiss you, Sirius.” 

“What’s top of the list then?” 

“The smell, obviously. I’m getting top notes of wet dog and a headier dampness–”

“You sick bastard,” Sirius says, sounding absolutely delighted at his friend's insult. 

“You just need a good wash, is all.” 

You don’t mean to, but you laugh. Giggle, really, entertained by them and shocked a little by the way they snip and snap at each other. You pitch forward, face angled down, eyes tempted to shut completely. Sick bastard, you think, laughing still. 

It only makes you laugh more when Sirius nudges you. “Hey, thought we were getting somewhere,” he murmurs. 

You giggle some more. “Sorry,” you squeeze out eventually. 

“Don’t be. He can take a hit. Even if he’s sensitive,” Remus says.

Sirius sniffs. “I’m not that sensitive. Can’t make a joke anymore without being entirely misrepresented.” 

— 

James’ soup becomes a staple for you over the next couple of days. Community Support is a daily occurrence, though some nights are more popular than others. The weekends are busiest, Friday and Saturday night, but Wednesdays have an uptick you aren’t expecting, sitting at one of the plastic tables with another cup or winter veg soup and a garlic buttered toastie. You blow on melty cheese as James brings the hot plate out to the refreshment table, making it easier to serve the many who want it. He’s gleeful, promising that they’re gonna love it, and then tacking on an amendment that anyone who doesn’t like it is more than welcome to something else from the kitchen. 

With payday for most at midnight Friday, or some time after, it’s the hump of the week that hits hardest. You don’t come for the soup, but some people do, and they can’t be blamed for it; stretching money out isn’t easy. 

Your stomach clenches. Your spoon wobbles in your hand. 

From across the room, Remus sends you a warm smile, a kid in his arms and another at his thigh, chattering away as their mam takes a well-deserved breather by the terracotta sofas. 

The next day is the same. James makes soup and ham sandwiches, ham off the bone, made it himself, and you pick at the crusts at a plastic table. Sirius keeps you company for a bit, and then Remus rags on him until he leaves. They’re both too smiley to believe any animosity. 

On Friday, James isn’t there. 

“Harry’s poorly.” 

“I thought he might’ve had a day off.” 

“He and Lily like the group too much for days off.” Remus scratches a hand through his hair. It’s the most boyish thing he’s ever done in front of you. “Are you liking it here? You haven’t missed a day all week.” 

“James makes a good soup.” 

“He left plenty, if you want it.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it. You give a small shake of your head. “Will Harry be okay?” 

“Fine. He gets ear infections, James used to get them too, even when we were teenagers. He’s on antibiotics already, it’s just the crying that’s the worst. Makes him sick.” Remus smiles sympathetically. “Makes James sick, too. But they’ll be okay.” 

“That’s good. It’s too quiet here when James isn’t around.” 

The hall is practically silent. There are a few people milling around on the sofas and another handful drinking tea by the refreshment table. Mary is patting a crying woman with pink hair on the back. A two year old sits at her feet, staring up at her sullenly. 

“I could go turn on the radio.” 

You perch your chin in your palm, elbow on the table. Tired today. “That’s okay. It’s nice.” Quiet, but not lonely. 

“You feeling okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” You fight the urge to let your eyes shutter closed. “I’m okay. You okay?” 

“I’m great. I’m really glad you’ve been coming. I know you don’t stay for group therapy, and you don’t have to, but… I don’t know, I think it’s just good to be around people.” 

You feel like he meant to say a particular but dodged it at the last second. He hesitated. 

He said he wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t want him to, but maybe you do, just so you know it was real, and bad. It was awful, wasn’t it? 

“I don’t like being alone,” you confess, scratching the back of your neck. “For a while…” You scratch scratch scratch, sounds of your nails over skin, then let your hand drop with a thump against your thigh. “I wanted to be alone. But now when I’m home by myself I feel awful.” 

“It’s normal to want company.” 

“Even after what happened?” 

“Especially after what happened. I think the stereotype is that people… experience something bad, and that they retreat into themselves, and that’s based on a real process of emotions,” —he talks quietly but surely, without a lick of condescension— “and a real sort of phenomena. Everybody needs time to lick their wounds, to put it heavily. But it makes sense that you’d seek out company when you’ve just had a really, really horrible thing happen.” 

You did retreat into yourself at first. Wasting days away in bed without an appetite, crying yourself sick and to sleep, hating yourself and the world and him, because it hurt so badly. But then you didn’t get your period when you were expecting it and it was like holding the times of a fork to a plug socket, a nasty shock flaring through your entire body from the tips of your fingers. And now you have decisions to make and a life to live after, it’s happening now, quickly. You aren’t feeling any better than you were that morning when you first woke up and realised you’d been attacked without fully knowing, but time is moving forward regardless. You don’t know why you crave other people, but you do. You like seeing Remus every night, even if he only talks to you once or twice. You like eating James’ home cooked food, like watching Sirius and Regulus bicker as they lean against one another, and you like seeing Lily press her nose to her baby’s. You wonder what that feels like. How soft is a small nose? What does it feel like to hold the person you made out of love and a little bit of every part of you in two hands? 

You’re still so lonely it’s palpable. There are moments throughout the day where you can’t face it head on, but the support group is genuinely helping, if it’s just to spend an hour outside of your head. 

Lonely, and with nobody to confide in. 

Remus watches you think for a while. He’s waiting patiently for you to speak again. 

“Can I tell you something stupid?” you ask softly. 

“Sure.” 

“Don’t laugh at me.” 

“I doubt I could.” 

You let out a deep sigh. He’s all browns tonight in his old jacket. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown jacket. “I was thinking about keeping the baby. I don’t know if you’d consider it a baby right now,” you murmur, staring at the corner of his mouth, “but I think I want it to be one. And I can’t stop thinking that it’s a bad idea.” 

“It’s your decision,” Remus says. When you sigh, he looks chastened, and you hadn’t wanted it to be a chastening. He clears his throat. “You already know that, don’t you?” Not expecting an answer, he leans back in his chair and levels you with a smile more friendly than you deserve. “Keep your baby if you want to, lovely. The point of– Well, of having the choice, is being allowed to choose yes, to choose to keep your baby, even if it’s a bad idea. Or looks like one.”

“I know, but…” 

But it’s a bad idea. But it happened because somebody hurt you. But you’re completely alone.

“I’m not upsetting you, am I?” he asks. 

“No, you’re not. You’ve been really nice to me,” you mumble, letting your aching eyes close as you lean into your hand. “It’s not you.” 

Remus settles for a few seconds. “Can I put my arm around you?” he asks finally. 

“Okay.” 

So he does. His voice drops to match your own, his elbow right between your ribs as his thumb skirts across the top of your shoulder, “I’m sorry I can’t fix it for you, I wish I could tell you what to do that’s going to make you the happiest. I can’t, though.”

“I know.” 

He rubs your shoulder. “I know you know.” 

There’s a lot to think about. You aren’t pregnant by a miracle. Something bad happened to you, and the choice is yours now to take, and no one would blame you for wanting to forget the whole thing. At least, nobody here at the support group would. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it; lately, it’s the only thing on your mind. But the guilt of wanting it won’t go away. 

“Sorry you have to do this again,” you mumble. 

“What, give you a hug?” Remus’ voice turns softer. It feels less like the kind words of a stranger and more like a friend. “I don’t mind it.” 

You try to stop feeling guilty. The most you can be right now is looked after, at least for a while, for as long as Remus will hold your shoulders. 

“It’s not your fault,” Remus says. “You know that, too, I’m guessing. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” 

You’re not so sure. It’s a different guilt to look at in whatever light finds you when it happens. “I know,” you say, half a lie. 

“And I know you have no reason to trust us with something so huge, but we’re here for you. That’s the whole point of the group.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know,” you say under your breath. You’re just not sure it’s going to be enough.

𖦹

hi thanks for reading the first part! this is a heavy one but it’s also a fic I’ve wanted to write for a long time, or rewrite <\3 some of you may have read my first go at this years ago and I’m hoping to tie in some of the old stuff but it’s also its own story hopefully, it’s shaping up well! 

https://rapecrisis.org.uk rape crisis UK — they have a support line! and many many articles

information about rape crisis https://247sexualabusesupport.org.uk/faqs/

[prongsinrevolt]

I cannot believe people let Snape get the high ground.

How do people casually overlook the fact that Snape spent six entire years of his life telling a kid—who never even got the chance to know his father—that said father was an arrogant douchebag? Like, how do people think that behavior is normal?

Snape, a grown man, spent years trying to convince a grieving, orphaned child that his dead father—who literally died protecting his family—was a terrible person. No compassion for a man who gave his life for his wife and son. No sympathy for a kid who grew up abused, unloved, and completely alone, only learning about his parents through stories told by others.

Instead, Snape chose to rehash his teenage rivalry with James Potter by bullying his son. Imagine being so petty that you can’t move past your high school grudges, even when the other person has been dead for over a decade.

Even the coldest, most detached person would muster some respect for a man who died fighting for good. But Snape? No. He chose to sit on his high horse—ignoring the fact that he was once a Death Eater who only changed sides when his own personal interests were threatened—and still had the audacity to act morally superior to James.

James Potter died a hero. Snape, on the other hand, spent his life tormenting the child of the woman he claimed to love—while refusing to let go of a teenage rivalry and weaponizing it against a traumatized, grieving boy.

I cannot get over how utterly selfish and cruel that is. Snape had no empathy for the dead and no sympathy for the living. And people still try to defend him? Seriously?

[lqveharrington]

Perfect Replacement | R.L.

summary: Remus begins to worry about your well-being after seeing you act much differently than before.

pairing: remus lupin x Black Family!reader

includes: use of Y/N, mentions of abuse (both mental and physical), unfair treatment, bullying, cursing, allusions to receiving the dark mark, burning out, angst, smallest bit of fluff (lmk if i missed any!)

a/n: lowkey, this one was sad and requested by someone a while ago… i’m swamped with my own school work so this was a little vent fic for me :)

From the moment you were born, Orion and Walburga knew what you were meant to be—what you would always be known as. You were the Black Family’s spare. If Sirius or Regulus was injured in a way magic wasn’t enough to heal them, you were the person they tore open to find missing parts. You were nothing but a tool.

Worst of all, they refused to recognize you as even part of their family. What they wanted was a male heir and—being the first born before Sirius by mere minutes—you ruined their lives. Sure, the legacy would’ve still been able to continue with Sirius, but Walburga and Orion were furious when they saw a girl be born into the Black Family.

It was always your fate to be their spare.

When you were old enough to attended Hogwarts, they were quick to dismiss your presence. You were no longer theirs to care for as long as you stayed there. Hell, they even called Sirius—who was sorted in Gryffindor—back for holiday while you—who was sorted into Slytherin—stayed at Hogwarts with the school's staff.

However, they learned that Sirius was no longer fit to be the heir of the Black family. So they did what they did best—throw you into the deep end with no safety. Instead of letting Sirius get away with his stupidity, you were to take over his responsibilities until Regulus was suited to become the heir.

You were constantly watched to ensure perfection. It didn't matter if you were the top of your class or not—you had to maintain the role of the perfect heir. The useless heir. Coming home every summer just to be scolded at was never ideal, but you tried. You pushed through all the extracurriculars until you couldn't feel the weight of pressure on you anymore. You just kept going.

You kept pushing and pushing until the worst thing happened at home.

Sirius left. He left you and Regulus with your wretched parents. He left you with more scars than you could count that you swore he didn't care much for you either. It truly was you against the entire Black family—with little help from Regulus whenever he wasn't being trained to be the Black family heir.

“Letter from mother.” Regulus tossed the cream envelope in your direction, unaware of how closed off and fragile you became since Sirius left.

You peeled the envelope open and did a quick scan of the letter, humming at the usual demands from you. Nothing new. “I need to go study, Reg. I’ll see you later."

“You'll come find me for lunch, right?” He grabbed your wrist like he would when he was younger, alarmed that his whole hand could wrap around the joint with ease.

“I need to study for my NEWTs.” You give him the best smile you could muster, making your steps quick as you left the Great Hall. You loved your younger brother, but your parents would have your head if they found out you were talking to him rather than studying for your final exams.

You swiftly looped around the castle corridors—potions, charms, and transfiguration textbooks in arm as you made your way toward the astronomy tower. No matter how many times you’ve studied in Hogwarts’ library, you found it easier to work in the tower. The library was filled with all kinds of students—even the ones who weren't there to study.

Just as you made a sharp turn to the tower stairs, you slammed into someone more than half your size—all your books and parchment scattering to the floor. Immediately, you apologized and rushed to grab the papers and books, face warm with embarrassment when the person handed you your quill your cousin Narcissa bought you.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You clutch the books tighter to your chest and move around the figure, unaware that it was one of Sirius’ friends.

The one who watched you were a careful eye since you hopped onto the stool with a worried look in first year.

The Marauders were scattered about their dorm. Peter was munching on some kind of bread, Sirius was hanging upside down in his bed, and James was on his usual session about how Lily was the most perfect girl when Remus walked in with an unreadable expression.

James slowly came to a stop before tilting his head at the lanky boy, tossing a pillow in his direction. 'What happened at the library, Moony? Madam Pince refused to let you check out anymore books?"

Remus ignored James and caught the pillow with a swipe of his hand—his attention only on the curly-haired boy in front of him. "Padfoot, do you know what's going on with your sister? She looks like she might be ill.”

Sirius froze at the mention of you, ultimately falling from his spot on the bed. He rarely saw you back at home that he didn't know anything about you anymore. At least, not as much as he knew about Regulus.

“I… I don’t know.” He admitted and ran his fingers through his hair in guilt.

“You don’t know?” Remus repeated in disbelief. He didn't think that when Sirius left, he would forget all about his twin sister. She looked exactly like him—only now, she looked like she could break with one wrong touch. "She could be seriously sick—"

"Look, I'll get Regulus to ask her what's wrong." Sirius crossed his legs and frowned when Remus still looked unhappy. "What?"

"We both know you won't willingly talk to your brother." He said and stood from his spot, mind running through different scenarios as to why you looked so malnourished—why you were so malnourished.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at his best mate, "Why do you care so much about my sister?"

"Why don't you care more?" Remus scoffed and left the dorm, leaving the rest of the Marauders confused with his sudden interest in the Black's eldest child.

Though Remus cared little for the Black family, he knew you never wronged anyone. In fact, he believed you were Sirius' foil. When Sirius was off pranking someone with James, you were always studying for your next class. When you weren't studying, he found you speaking quietly with Regulus in the Great Hall. You were so quiet and reserved that Remus refused to believe you were Sirius' twin for so long.

He rarely spoke to you, but he knew something was definitely wrong. And he would get to the bottom of the issue.

“Miss Black, you need to take care of yourself. Your brother is concerned for you—“

“He should not be concerned for my wellbeing. Instead, he should be concerned about his grades in Care for Magical Creatures.” You huff and push away Madam Pomfrey’s wand from your arm, tugging your robes over your body in a rushed manner. “I am perfectly fine and need to get back to my studies before the night takes away all the light.”

You leave the hospital wing and glance at your watch, silently cursing yourself for wasting precious time on a silly check up Regulus insisted you get. Although—you had to admit— you were too exhausted to make the trek up the astronomy tower to study. So instead, you made your way toward the library instead, the candles in the corridors lighting your path to the quiet space ahead.

Finding an open table, you get to work as quickly as you can. You flip open you defense against the dark arts textbook and begin your studies, hands shaking and eyes blurring with how exhausted you were. Willing yourself to push on, you started to mutter the words you read, unaware of the brown-haired boy looming beside you.

“You’re not casting a spell, are you?” A voice spoke from your right, causing you to jerk in surprise.

Lifting your head up from the book, you meet warm, brown eyes, the feeling spreading across your chest before you pulled your attention toward the book once more. You couldn’t get distracted, not when you were running out of time before the holidays.

“No.” You answer truthfully before continuing to mutter about the three unforgiving curses, each one worse than the last. You’ve encountered two out of three of them and you prayed you never had to witness the last.

Right as you went to turn the page, the person moved to sit in front of you—your eye twitching in irritation. This was your spot for the rest of the evening and you would like to not be distracted by… whoever this person was.

Huffing, you flip the page in frustration and speak once more. This time with annoyance. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to study for—“

“I see that.” The mysterious figure pulled out his own book, raising his brows when you nearly looked up from your book to see what he was reading. So close. “I’m here to merely observe. You are the top of our graduating class.”

“Incorrect.” You keep a shaky finger on the last word you left off on, finally taking a proper look at the boy who decided to distract you. “I’m tied with…”

“You don’t want a tie?” Remus rested his head in his palm, hiding a small grin at your shocked expression.

You swallow thickly before going back to your book, refusing to acknowledge his presence for the rest of the time. It wasn’t like you were intimidated or embarrassed by the boy. You were just confused and stunned by him. Why was he suddenly interested in you when he stuck so close to your twin? Perhaps your mother or father sent him as a spy—but he was a half-blood, so you doubted that was the reason.

Remus sighed and began to read Jane Eyre, occasionally glancing in your direction. He noted that you were still here mentally—well, as far as a mere five minute interaction goes—but your physique seemed way off. Though you weren’t as tall as your brothers, you were a hell lot paler and way too ill-fed to even look remotely related to them.

By the time Madam Pince kicked the both of you out, Remus memorized the way you looked and stored it for later data. He thought that you would snap under the weight of all the textbooks and parchment you were carrying. He also swore you memorized each of the textbooks—catching you repeatedly murmur the different facts you learned over your hours of studying.

But as Remus went to turn toward the Great Hall, you continued to go straight down the corridor—worrying him. “Black, you’re not coming to have dinner?”

You stop walking and hesitate before settling on your normal excuse. “I’m not hungry.”

“You studied for over two hours. Surely a snack or even just water—“

“Lupin, I’m fine. I don’t need—“

Before you could even finish your sentence, a familiar voice rang out clearly. A voice you haven’t heard since he left you all alone.

“Moony! There you are! We’ve been looking for you.”Sirius clapped Remus on the back, unaware of your presence. He never truly acknowledged your being—you assumed he learned it from your mother and father. “Where were you?”

Remus’ eyes darted in your direction after the initial surprise from Sirius faded, but you were already fleeting down the hall—Mary Jane’s echoing with each step.

“Just…” He paused and shook his head, directing his attention back to the younger Black sibling and following him into the Great Hall. “Studying.”

Unfortunately for you, it became Remus' habit to constantly be around you when studying. No matter where you went to study—whether it was the damn astronomy tower or back of the library—he found you. It became impossible to hide from him and you knew you were losing valuable time studying if you spoke to him.

So you just stopped.

"I brought chocolate today." Remus spoke, finding you by the edge of the Black Lake. "A piece offering."

Your eyes briefly flickered up to meet his and glanced at the chocolate, but you immediately fell back into reading, making him frown. You were frustrating him just a tad bit. It was the day before holiday break and you decided to spend your time on the freezing grounds studying than inside with a cup of hot tea doing something else—he wasn't even close to figuring anything about you.

You were just a ghost of a person.

“Lupin, I can’t focus.” You whisper as you felt his gaze on you, frustratedly reading the same line over and over again.

Remus muttered a quick apology and went back to War and Peace. But he couldn't focus. All he could focus on was the sound of you shaking underneath all the layers of clothes you had on. He pursed his lips and sighed, removing his own overcoat and draping it over you.

Freezing at the sudden warmth enveloping your figure, you meet his brown eyes and give him a smile that could be noted as a grimace. "Thanks..."

He hummed and took a bite out of his chocolate, letting you read for a couple more minutes before speaking once more. "Do you plan on studying over the holidays as well?"

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. Were you going to spend your entire holiday studying? "Depends on mother and father. They might coupe me up in my room and make me study all holiday. Or they may decide to finally let me join in opening gifts with Regulus—not like I'll get anything."

It took you a second to realize what you said to the boy sitting beside you. Honestly, you didn't know what he was doing to you.

Remus' eyes narrowed at your confession the second you covered your mouth with a shaking hand. You were never supposed to talk ill about your parents or you family—especially not to some… to a Gryffindor and half-blood!

“I-I have to go.” You stutter and quickly gather your things, rushing back into the castle without another glace toward Remus.

When you came back from the holidays, you looked even worse than before. Remus took one look at you and knew something went down back at the Black house. Although you did look more fed then most days, the circles underneath your eyes were more prominent and instead of rolling up your sweaters like usual, you wore them normally.

What happened?

But Remus wasn't the only one to notice the changes. For once, Regulus noted the changes in your demeanor. Rather than using your time to study for charms or transfiguration, you began to read books on the dark arts. The textbooks that once belonged to Bellatrix were passed down to you, causing Regulus to do his own digging into your sudden change of studies.

“What're you reading Trimbles' book for?” Regulus asked quietly as you pushed food around your plate, gaze locked on the ink in the book. "Did Bella get through to you about the dark arts?"

You subconsciously touch your left arm and bite your tongue. You could say it was your cousin's fault for she was the one to suggest you become one of them anyway. Yet you would never speak ill about her—you supposed it was her way of showing she cared for you.

"No, it's just interesting."' You clear your throat and stand from your spot. "Finish breakfast, I'll see you later."

"You didn't touch anything on your plate." Regulus frowned and stood up as well, following close behind and grabbing your left arm. "What are you hiding from me?"

You winced and quickly pulled away, "Nothing, Reg, leave me be."

"I can't do that! You're my sister and I care about you—"

Quickly finding your way out of a conversation you didn't want to have, you weaved your way in between the Gryffindor boys that deemed themselves as the Marauders, subconsciously grabbing Remus' hand and dragging him with you.

“Hey—!” Sirius gaped at his best friend being stolen from him, earning a glare from his younger brother.

“Fuck off, Sirius. Something’s wrong.” Regulus quickly spat out and chased after you and the lanky boy.

Sirius' eyebrows knitted together before letting out a loud sigh, following his brother to wherever you were taking Remus. After all the time he spent away, you and Regulus were still important to him—even if he rarely showed it.

"What's happening?" Remus stumbled into an empty classroom and glanced at your heavy breathing figure, face twisting in confusion as you leaned back on the wooden door in exhaustion. "Why were you running?"

"I didn't mean to pull you with me." You rub your face and wander over to a desk, sitting in the chair as your thoughts swallowed your mind. "I just needed an escape from Regulus. He can be nosy."

Still confused, Remus simply nodded and sat at the desk opposite of you, wincing when he heard Sirius' shouting from outside the class. You let out a quiet laugh at your brothers' bickering before those laughs quickly turned into quiet sobs, shoulders shaking from the weight of emotions packed into each one.

"Oh." Remus murmured and patted his pockets down, taking a bar of chocolate and snapping a piece off. “Eat, it’ll make you feel better.”

You wipe your tears and look down at the chocolate, your stomach growling at the lack of food you’ve eaten today. Sniffling, you take the chocolate and nibble on it, unaware of Remus’ smile.

“Better?” He asked softly, biting into the chocolate himself.

There wasn’t an answer from you, but he knew it helped somewhat—your tears subsided and all that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and hiccups.

Remus had so many questions he wanted to ask you yet he knew it wasn’t his place. Though only one really stuck out to him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

You purse your lips and fiddle with the loose strings on your sweater, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know.” You say truthfully. But before Remus could say anything else, you continued—eyes shut because to you, the confession was quite embarrassing. “Maybe I just got used to you always being there and I…” You drop your head into your hands and sigh loudly, “I trust you more than my whole family.”

He raised his brows but made no effort to say anything else—knowing you had more to say.

“You care for me in a way my siblings will never understand.” You murmur and peek between your fingers to find him slouched over to hear you clearly. “I can’t… I can’t tell you anything about what happened at home.” He opened his mouth to protest but you stopped him. “But I’ll consider keeping the odd friendship you chose to start.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at you and—for a brief moment—he wanted to refuse. He wanted to know what was happening, why you were more conscious about how you dressed. Yet he couldn’t find himself wanting to object your offer. If he could keep a close eye on you like this, so be it.

“You’ll tell me in due time, alright?” Remus gave you the rest of his chocolate bar, noticing the way you tugged your sleeve down once more.

“If it’s fitting by then.” You give him a weak smile. “Besides, I think I can still be the top of the class without you. After all, I am the perfect replacement.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[iamgonnagetyouback]

practice makes a surgeon perfect⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ remus lupin

the evening is slow, the kind that stretches between the golden lamplight and the hush of a world at rest. you’re curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, but your eyes keep flickering toward the man beside you.

remus is quiet, fresh from a shower, his hair still slightly damp, his body dressed in the soft familiarity of an old sweater and sweatpants. there’s something so comforting about him like this, settled and warm, but there’s also a hesitance to him tonight, a pause in the way his fingers tap absently against his knee.

then, a breath. a clearing of his throat.

“can i practice something?”

your brow lifts. “that depends,” you say, closing your book slightly. “what are you practicing?”

he rubs the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “braiding.”

the answer catches you off guard, but not unpleasantly so. “my hair?”

he nods. “if you don’t mind.”

it’s such a simple request, but the thought of his hands in your hair, of him sitting here with you, so quiet and careful, makes something tender unfurl in your chest.

you shift slightly, gathering your hair over one shoulder before glancing up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “go ahead, doctor.”

the couch dips as he moves closer. then, the first touch—his fingers threading through your hair, warm and steady. he’s careful, dividing the strands with an almost reverent gentleness, and yet there’s something sure about the way he handles you, like he’s done this before.

his breath is soft against your shoulder, his touch delicate, and you let your eyes drift shut for a moment, allowing yourself to sink into the warmth of it.

“that’s cute,” you murmur.

he hums in acknowledgment. “what is?”

“that you’re practicing.” a smile tugs at your lips. “is it for our future daughter?”

there’s the slightest pause, his fingers hesitating before continuing their careful work.

“no,” he says simply.

your brow furrows, curiosity blooming. “no?”

his fingers tighten slightly around the strands, barely noticeable. “not exactly.”

you grin. “oh, is it for other girls, then?” the question is meant to be teasing, lighthearted, but the moment it leaves your mouth, you feel the way he stills, just for a second.

“of course not.” his voice is steady, but there’s something in it—something firm, like the idea itself is absurd.

you blink, tilting your head slightly. “then who—”

“it’s for my patients.”

the world stills.

you shift slightly, trying to see his face. “what?”

he doesn’t stop braiding, fingers moving with quiet precision. “the little girls before their surgeries,” he explains. “they can’t go into the or with loose hair—it has to be tied back. but some of them don’t know how, or their parents aren’t there to do it for them.” he pauses. “so i do it.”

and just like that, your heart aches.

you can see it now. small girls, nervous in their hospital gowns, sitting on the edge of their beds with their hands clasped tightly in their laps. and then there’s remus—soft-spoken, gentle, kneeling in front of them, carefully weaving their hair into neat braids before surgery. talking to them in that quiet, steady way of his, making sure they feel safe.

“remus.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

he ties off the braid at the end of your hair, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a lingering touch.

“it helps,” he says simply. “gives them something familiar. makes things a little less scary.”

something inside you shatters—not in a painful way, but in a way that makes it hard to breathe, hard to hold the sheer depth of your love for him inside your chest.

without thinking, you turn, shifting onto your knees to face him fully. he looks at you, confused at first, but there’s a quiet patience in his expression, a willingness to let you feel whatever this is.

your hands lift before you even realize it, fingers brushing along the sharp edge of his jaw, tracing the warmth of him, memorizing the way he feels beneath your touch.

“you are unbelievable,” you whisper, voice thick.

his lips twitch slightly. “am i?”

you nod, your fingers curling lightly at the nape of his neck. “you sit there and tell me something like that, like it’s nothing, like it’s just some casual part of your day—” you pause, shaking your head. “and you don’t even realize—”

he exhales a quiet laugh, tilting his head slightly. “realize what?”

“that i love you,” you say simply, honestly, achingly.

a breath. just a small, quiet moment before his eyes soften completely, something tender and endless settling into them.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he just looks at you, really looks at you, and then his hand lifts, fingers ghosting along your cheek, the side of your neck, your shoulder—like he’s committing you to memory.

and then, slowly, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in the kind of kiss that says everything.

it’s slow, gentle, something deep and unshakable, something that lingers. he kisses you like he’s trying to make sure you understand, like he’s trying to return every ounce of feeling you’ve just given him.

when you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“you’re ridiculous,” you whisper, smiling.

“in the most absurdly sweet way possible.”

he huffs a small laugh, eyes crinkling. “it’s just braiding.”

“no, remus,” you say, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb tracing along his cheek. “it’s you being the best damn person i know.”

his expression softens, something warm and unspoken flickering in his gaze.

and when he kisses you again, it feels like home.

a/n. inspired by this reel on instagram. fell in love with remus all over again ‹𝟹

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[singmyaubade]

Growing Pains

poly!marauders x female!reader

summary: you are in desperate need of a job, and the marauders are in desperate need of a babysitter, what's the worst that could happen?

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ | age gap between marauders & reader (not heavily identified) | reader is 21 + | mature language.

author's note: hello everyone! so i have multiple poly!marauder fics going on at this very moment (i know) but this was something that came to me and i thought it would be so cute to write since i never really dip my toes into this kind of normal au's. but please enjoy!

! divers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics !

Being unemployed right out of university was not part of your plan.

You knew that it wasn’t unusual to be unemployed after attending university, but you also had high expectations for yourself.

Originally, you were going to intern at your father’s law firm for a while just to get on your feet, while living in your own studio apartment, which he would pay for—his reward for you ‘stepping up’ straight out of university.

After that, you planned to gain some experience and then be able to work at an actual law firm—not just intern—and pay off your studio apartment on your own.

But, as usual, you and your father had gotten into a blown-out, heated argument about your future. All you had said was that you ‘wanted to do some writing on the side’ during dinner, and everything blew up when he claimed that ‘writing is unreliable and wouldn’t get you anywhere in life,’ which only pissed you off.

It ended with you saying some things you didn’t regret, but maybe should have, and him cutting you off financially, retracting the offer at his law firm.

Instead of groveling, you let your stubbornness take over, storming out and having to find somewhere to live as soon as possible.

Thankfully, your cousin, who had graduated a few years before you, was openly looking for a roommate and wasn’t charging a high rate. You took the offer immediately, but finding a job was a real pain in the ass.

Every place you tried to intern at said you didn’t have enough experience or was in competition with your father’s law firm.

And every place you applied to—whether it was as a barista, waitress, assistant, etc.—rejected you.

For no reason, might you add.

You were growing hopeless and severely depressed. Mary was finding it quite hard to comfort you lately, especially since you were holed up in your room, refusing to leave.

She didn’t even think you went out to use the bathroom.

So eventually, when you came out of your room for your 8 PM coffee, she confronted you.

“Y/N,” She sighed, looking at you as you wrapped yourself in a blanket, dark circles under your eyes. “I love you a lot, but I need you to bloody get it together!”

You groaned. “What do I have to live for if no one will hire me and I’m just unsuccessful?” You sulked. “I mean, I’m going to be living with you until you and Lily have kids!” You screeched, horrified.

Mary looked spooked. “I pray not,” She replied, walking over to you and cupping your cheeks in her hands. “You just need to have more faith in yourself—and maybe a little boost,” She said, letting go and sitting on the counter. “Which is why I got you that little boost and got you a job!” She said excitedly, grinning as you looked at her in shock.

“Wait, what?” You responded. “Doing what? And how?” You asked nervously as her grin widened.

“Well, it’s a full-time babysitting gig,” She said happily, swinging her legs.

“So, a nanny?” You asked, sounding a bit deflated.

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be living with them, but yeah, kind of,” She said, as you hummed.

“And you know the parents?” You asked hesitantly.

“Oh, like the back of my hand,” She said calmly as if your question was ridiculous.

“I mean, should I text them or anything? Or at least let them get to know me before I start babysitting for them?” You asked nervously.

Mary waved you off. “They’re really chill, they’ll love you,” She said happily as she hopped off the counter.

“Wait, but—” You tried to speak again, but Mary wasn’t having it.

“I’ll send you their address. You have to be there at 10 AM!” she yelled before heading to her room.

That wasn’t very informative.

You were never this nervous. You really didn’t want to mess this up. Your palms were sweaty, and you were worried they'd think something was wrong with you, maybe unfit to handle kids if you were this nervous over meeting the parents. And Mary hadn’t even bothered to give you any info about the family—no names, no details about their children.

What made it worse was that you couldn’t decide what to wear. You wanted something casual but presentable, something that said 'I’m approachable, but not a slob.'

You were pretty sure the wife wouldn't appreciate anything too scandolous, and a single dad might misread it.

You ended up choosing a red and green Christmas sweater, mom jeans, and Mary Jane’s—comfortable enough, you thought, to handle kids.

Unfortunately, your timing didn’t match. Without a car (since your dad had cut you off), you had to bike there. And to make matters worse, you’d burned your toast and didn’t have time to make more. You were late, pedaling as fast as you could, praying your GPS was right.

You finally arrived at a beautiful suburban house—exactly what you imagined when you thought of a family of four. The house had a neat front yard, a doormat, and was surrounded by well-kept homes. Taking a deep breath, you rang the doorbell and quickly checked your reflection. Your hair was a mess, but you didn't have time to fix it before the door swung open.

A man with black hair, a black button-up shirt, and tattoos on his arms greeted you. He was strikingly handsome with a charming smile. And.. great, you were already crushing on the dad.

"Hey, you must be Y/N, the babysitter Mary recommended," He said with a grin, extending his hand. "We were expecting you—come on in."

The house felt warm and homey, with photos of kids everywhere and Christmas decorations all over. Toys were scattered on the living room floor but not in a messy way—just lived in.

"Sorry about the mess," The man said, laughing and running a hand through his hair. "You’ve arrived during morning madness."

"Oh, it’s fine," You replied, feeling flustered. "The decorations are lovely."

"They kind of went overboard this year," He chuckled.

Before you could say anything else, another man entered the room—a tall, broad figure with light brown hair, wearing a white button-up shirt and brown slacks. Scars marked his face, but they somehow added to how pretty he was.

“Sirius,” The man grumbled, “I told you to tidy up an hour ago,” He sent an annoyed look his way,

"Remus," The new man said, extending a hand. "Apologies for the chaos. It’s never this untidy."

"Yes, it is," Sirius teased. Remus shot him a look, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

"It’s nice to meet you both," You said with a smile. "Your home is beautiful. It reminds me of my family’s place."

Remus looked relieved. "We’re glad to have you. Can I get you anything? A glass of water?" He asked.

"I think I’m fine," You answered kindly as Remus led you to the couch.

Sirius sat next to you, creating a situation where you were sandwiched between the two men. You felt a little nervous, but they looked extremely comfortable.

"So, Mary didn’t tell us much about you," Remus started.

"She just gave us your last name and I didn't think it would be kind to search you up," Sirius added.

You laughed nervously. "Yeah, she can be a bit mysterious for no reason."

Sirius noticed you fidgeting and put a hand on your knee. "We’re just happy to get to know you ourselves," He said with a kind smile.

"Well, ask me anything," You said, trying to calm your nerves.

"Anything?" Sirius asked with a teasing smile. You flushed, and Remus shot him a warning look.

"How old are you?" Remus asked.

"21," You answered.

"Ah, the responsible age," Sirius joked, "How has it been?" He asked, trying to make you more comfortable.

"It’s been good," You replied. "More responsibilities now, its been a bit hectic."

"Out of school?" Remus asked.

"Yeah, just finished," You said with a smile.

"What did you study?" He continued.

"Criminal Justice with a minor in Creative Writing."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Remus here is a bit of a writer himself."

You perked up. "Really?"

Remus chuckled. "Just write novels here and there."

"Which ones?" You asked eagerly, looking at him in excitement.

"Probably haven’t heard of them," Remus said, shrugging. "The Idea of the Unknown was one that was popular for a bit," He added casually, and your eyes widened.

"Wait, you wrote The Idea of the Unknown?" You asked in disbelief.

He laughed. "Yeah, that’s me."

He seemed completely nonchalant as he mentioned one of the books that had shaped your entire view on life. You were amazed by how humble he could be about it.

And then it clicked,

He was one of your all time favorite authors.

You almost fainted. "You’re the Remus Lupin?" You asked, excited.

"Surprised you know my work," He said. "I didn’t think your age group read my books."

"I love your books!" You exclaimed. "The story between Ophelia and Duke had me crying for weeks after the ending."

Remus smiled warmly. "I spent fifteen years perfecting that ending. Glad it made an impact."

"But we're glad you love his work," Sirius teased, a sly grin painting his face.

You blushed, mortified. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into a meet and greet. I swear I’m not a stalker."

Sirius laughed. "Honestly, this just makes us more sure about you. At least we know you have taste." He nudged your shoulder jokingly.

You felt a bit guilty for not asking more about their kids. "So, what are their names?"

You pointed to a picture of two kids—a boy with dark hair and hazel eyes, and a shy-looking girl with long brown hair. They were both in front of the Christmas tree with matching Rudolph pajamas as the boy smiled confidently in front of the camera and the little girl hid behind him.

"Harry is almost four—he’s a bit of a handful, but he’s brave. Ruby’s shy, but she’s a clever little thing." Remus says, "And don't be fooled by either of them, they love to prank people and be up to no good,"

"They’re both adorable," You said. "I’m sure I’ll love them."

Remus checked his watch. "Actually, they should be back from their walk about now."

And just as he said that, the door opened, and in came a tall man with glasses and black hair that was shorter than Sirius's, carrying Ruby on his back and with Harry hanging from his leg.

Yet another handsome man.

"Okay, go to your daddies," The man said, setting Ruby down. She rushed over to Sirius, while Harry went to Remus, peppering him with questions.

The man turned to you. "And who’s this?" He asked with a grin.

You felt your heart race. "I’m Y/N, the new babysitter," You said, extending a hand.

"James," He said, then surprised you by pulling you into a hug. "Nice to meet you."

Sirius laughed. "He’s a hugger." He picked up Ruby as she pulled on his long locks of hair, earning a pained groan from him as he put her back down, "Not nice," He jokingly pouted as he rubbed his head.

You were too busy by James's embrace to be fully locked on to the kids as his scent infiltrated your nose. James smelled like maple syrup and firewood, and it almost made you dizzy.

When he pulled back, he grinned. "We’re glad to have you."

"Yeah, we need a new face around here," Sirius added as Ruby shyly hid behind his legs.

"Come on, Ruby, say hello," James coaxed, looking at the little girl and nodding his head to you as she went towards you in a shy manner, "She won't bite," James added, trying to help.

You kneeled down to her level. "Unless you want me to," You joked, making her giggle.

"My name’s Y/N. What’s yours?"

"Ruby," She said quietly.

"That’s a pretty name," You said. "You’re pretty too."

Ruby smiled shyly, and you stood up to find a little Harry already approaching you.

"Do you have cookies?" He asked, looking up at you with wide eyes.

"Not yet," You laughed.

"Bwoo," Harry pouted, moving over to James as he picked him up.

"Looks like you’re going to be a good fit,"

[ddejavvu]

would you be up to do bff remus with no boundaries?? i think that would be an interesting dynamic

maybe like after a full moon and she just like fully gives him a shower, or something where he’s just completely naked and the boys are so confused at what’s happening

"Arm up, Rem," You hum, but your fingers pry at his pale, scarred skin before he can even begin moving a muscle.

You lift his bicep away from his side, bringing the lathered loofa in your hand to swipe through the curve of his armpit. Suds slide down his sides and you hear him hiss as they mingle with his still-healing cuts and scrapes, but there's nothing to be done except cleaning them before they can be dressed.

"Easy, easy," You rub a hand over his back in a soothing circle that carefully avoids his injuries, "Just gotta get 'em clean, then we can dress them. You can sleep on your stomach, that'll help the ones on your back. How'd you even get scratches on your back?"

"It's all the ladies I occupy my time with," Remus drawls, but his pain is evident in the weakness of his voice, "Women love werewolves."

When you don't answer, leaving an purposefully awkward silence behind that swirls with the steam from the shower, Remus sighs, "Got all scratched up from the tree branches out there."

You drag the loofa from his side to his back, carefully ghosting over the caked dirt around his wounds. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his fists, but when he tries drawing one into his mouth to bite at it you take it in your own free hand.

"No biting. That's reserved for your better half."

"Are you talking about Sirius, or the wolf? Sirius bites me," Remus grumbles, and- speak of the devil, there's feet pounding obnoxiously up the stairs and towards the dorms.

"Moony, we've got all the chocolate we could carry," Sirius informs him, and there's the sound of wrapped goods being piled on Remus's comforter before James and Sirius step into the doorway of the bathroom.

James lets out an 'ooh' and turns away with a grimace when he sees you kneeled beside Remus's naked form beneath the spray of water, but Sirius stands stock-still, frozen by some mix of intrigue and horror.

"Uh, are we interrupting something?"

"Just a bath," You smile kindly at them, scrubbing gently at Remus's neck, "He has trouble getting his back sometimes."

"Sometimes- have you two done this before?"

"After every moon." You nod helpfully when Remus merely ducks his head to rest between his knees, "You two are usually either asleep or trying to get grass out of your pelts."

There's something green in Sirius's hair that proves the two were unsuccessful this time around.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Moony, I didn't know you had a caregiver," Sirius snickers, "Does she help you put your panties on too?"

"Don't let him get to you, dove," Remus murmurs, his eyes slipping shut as the warm water seeps into his skin and heals an ancient ache in his bones, "He's just mad he'll never get to take yours off. They're a real pretty pattern, y'know," Remus glances up at Sirius with the ghost of a smirk on his face, muffled by pain but persistent all the same, "Shame she's not interested in showing 'em to you."

"You've seen her panties, mate?" James cuts in, peering over Sirius's shoulder, "What are you two?"

"Friends," You shrug, "But it's stuffy in here at night, and my sleeping pants get too warm."

"You're telling me all the times you two have slept over in here all snuggled up in his bed, that you've not had any pants on?"

"Well I don't make it a habit to strip in his bed," You scoff, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn grass stain on the pale plane of his hip, "But I can promise you that my pants are never gonna be on your floor, either one of you."

"Oh please, we wouldn't dream of stealing Moony's girl," Sirius claps James on the shoulder, "But whaddya think about that, mate? Strippin' down to cuddle in bed together? They seem to think it's a friendly endeavor."

"I typically only ditch my pants for Lily, Padfoot," James informs Sirius with a sympathetic smile, "But I'll ask her if I can bring my dog to her dorm tomorrow night. You can sleep at our feet."

Sirius begins valiantly arguing for a spot higher up on the bed, every dog's hardest battle to fight, but you're no longer interested in their antics or the noise they're producing. You reach out your foot to kick at the door, and it swings shut with a satisfying click.

"Thanks, love." Remus groans, his face squished between his knees, "They were givin' me a headache."

"They always give you a headache," You dig your thumbs into a tense spot on his back and he twitches beneath you with a hum of appreciation, "We should get a flat together without them. They can be the feral deer and dog that live outside our cottage."

"We'll have to call animal control" Remus grins wryly against the rounded bend of his knee as you lean forwards to wash beneath his thighs, "How strong are their strongest tranquilizer darts?"

[moonstruckme]

Hello! Could I request a poly!marauders and reader where both reader and Remus are laid up in bed or on the couch with migraines together? And the other boys have to convince them to relax and call off work so they can coddle them please?

Thanks for requesting!

cw: migraines, mention of nausea and...hypothetical vomit? no one vomits but it's brought up as a possibility, reader has hair long enough to touch her neck

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Sirius,” James calls in distress, “they’re revolting.” 

“Mmygod,” Sirius thinks he hears Remus groan, at the same time as you beg, “Shut up.” 

Sirius rounds the corner to your sitting room to find you curled up in one corner of the sofa, your face pressed harshly into a throw pillow, while James has his finger hooked in Remus’ belt loop to prevent him from walking away. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” James says much more quietly, looking terribly contrite beneath Remus’ glare (which is really quite pathetic, considering Remus seems hardly to have the energy to put much bite into it). “Come on, just sit down.” 

“James,” Remus warns. 

Sirius fans out the two cold gel packs in his hand enticingly. “Can’t have one of these if you’re not lying down.” 

Remus turns his glare to Sirius, but Sirius doesn’t have James’ soft heart. After a few moments, Remus sits down. 

“There you are, lovely,” James praises as Sirius bestows Remus his cool pack, encouraging his head forward so it can lay across his nape. Remus plainly tries not to show his relief, but Sirius hears the soft breath that leaves him as he folds toward his knees. 

You’re silent as Sirius does the same for you, moving your hair away from your neck to smooth the cool pack in its place. “I have to go get ready soon,” you mumble dejectedly. 

“Unless,” Sirius says lightly, “you didn’t.” 

Remus lets out another sigh between his knees. “Time s’it?” 

James checks his watch and shoots Sirius a half-smile. They both know that the closer the two of you get to being late to work, the more persuasive their argument will become. “It’s not important,” James says, victory ringing in his tone. This makes you remove your face from its pillow to look at him suspiciously. 

“It’s not important,” Sirius agrees, “because you’re not going anywhere.” 

You bury your face again. “Yes, I am.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“I have to.” 

“Says who?” 

“My boss.” 

“Well, I say you have to stay.” 

Sometimes, when you’re as exhausted as you are now, this firm tone will work on you. Sometimes. Unfortunately, this is unlikely to be one of those times, because Remus is also here. 

Remus, who gets up with a ridiculously pitiful old man sound, holding the cold pack to his neck as he starts toward the bedroom. James gets in front of him quickly. 

“Baby,” he says, and Sirius’ eyebrows raise. James is really pulling out the big guns; Remus has to be feeling really poorly to respond well to that one. But James has committed, his eyes big and imploring. “Please. You’ll be miserable at work.” 

“I’m going to be late,” Remus argues, though he doesn’t try to move past James. 

“Well, if that’s the case anyway, why bother?” Sirius shoots him a grin. “You won’t be late if you call out now.” 

Remus lets out a sigh, like he’s sick of making his own argument. “I can’t.” 

“Rem.” Your voice is taut with pain. It makes Sirius want to scoop you up and squeeze you, if only that wouldn’t make everything worse. “I think you should stay home. It’ll make them shut up.” 

“Are you staying?” Remus asks. 

You’re quiet. 

Sirius tsks, placing a hand on your head so he can make circles in your temple with his middle finger. “I’m not shutting up unless you both stay,” he threatens. Albeit in a soft, considerate tone. 

“You don’t even have to call out yourselves,” James tries. Remus looks to be wavering. “We’ll do it for you, since you’re not well.” 

Neither you or Remus reply. You seem to be out of arguments, but Sirius knows better than to think that’ll stop you from walking out the door anyway. He can hear you breathing deep, even breaths into your pillow. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, knowing, “are you feeling sick?” 

A long breath out. “A little.” 

“Do you really want to throw up at work?” 

“Please shut up.” 

James gives one final push. “Sirius started a hot bath.” 

Remus looks ready to break first, which Sirius didn’t anticipate. He and James really deserve some sort of medal for this. Sirius holds your boyfriend’s gaze. 

“It’s probably almost full,” he confirms. “I have to go check on it in a second. You can’t go to work and have me put that minty shampoo in your hair at the same time, love.” 

Remus sighs, and Sirius knows they’ve won. “Dove,” he mumbles. You turn your head from the pillow once more, looking so terribly unwell that Sirius has to bite pack a whine. Remus says with an air of resignation, “I’ll stay if you do.” 

They all look to you. 

“We have triptans here,” James coaxes. “Cold packs. Bed. Peppermint tea.” 

Your eyes shut. “Fine.” 

It’s a testament to how well trained James and Sirius are that they don’t jump up and cheer. They do a version of that, exchanging giant smiles that make Remus look at them like he’s regretting his choice already, but James starts ushering him away before he can change his mind. 

“Let’s go have your bath,” he says. “That warm water will feel nice, yeah?” 

“I’m begging you to be quiet,” Remus replies, not unaffectionately. 

Sirius watches you watch them go. “Hey,” he says softly, waiting for you to look at him. “Can I kiss you?” 

You make a low hum of complaisance. Sirius bends, touching his lips gently (but quite fervently) to the corner of your mouth. 

“Thank you for looking after yourself,” he murmurs, “and after Remus. We’ll make it worth your while, I swear.” 

“M’not really doing anything,” you mumble in reply. “You’re the ones looking after us.” 

Sirius smiles at you, fighting hard to repress the urge to kiss you again. “Good of you to let us. What do you need, lovely? Something for your stomach? Peppermint tea?” 

You make a quiet, plaintive sound at the idea that he might get up to go and retrieve any of those things, closing your hand around his wrist. “Keep doing this, please?” 

“This?” He drills his finger into your temple more firmly. 

You melt, your grip slackening. “Yeah,” you sigh. “That.” 

Sirius’ heart swells. He gives into a tiny indulgence, pressing a kiss over his own finger. “You got it.” 

[consciouscarrot]

day 11 - medical kink/doctor x patient [r.lupin]

remus lupin x fem!reader

content warnings; dub/con, innocence, abuse of power (remus), so many pet names, vaginal fingering, p in v, basically ‘hysteria’, very unrealistic loss of virginity (next to no pain mentions, remus doesn’t go slow etc), r thinks she’s been wetting herself slightly but she’s just horny and wet lol, age gap (r is 18, remus’ age is undisclosed but he’s a licensed doctor)

notes; (unintentionally) the longest fic i’ve even written by far, oh my god my thumbs hurt. all likes, comments and reblogs much appreciated. as always mdni

part 2

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

you’d been guided into the empty room at the doctors office by the bored receptionist, her muttering something about the doctor joining you soon, and to take a seat.

it had been a few minutes since then, you were sat carefully on one of the patients chairs, grasping nervously at the cross hanging between your breasts. the ticking of the clock only amplified your nerves, leg bouncing as you stared at the door, imaging all the ways this appointment could go wrong.

you jumped when the door opened, doctor lupin walked in, smiling widely as he shut and locked the door behind him.

“hello, it’s lovely to see you again, y/n,” he sat down at his chair, not taking his eyes off of you.

you nodded along, not trusting your voice just yet, nails now digging into your bare thighs, skirt shifting higher up your legs.

“now, i was told that you’d been having some female problems, could you tell me more about that?”

avoiding eye contact, you chewed on you lip before attempting to explain your embarrassing situation, “i- um, i’ve been having some- some weird feelings, y’know uh, down there,” you mumbled.

“okay, how long has this been going on for, hm?”

“a few weeks, maybe. it’s- it’s on and off though, not all the time,” what you refused to mention, was that whenever you were experiencing these feelings, was when you were thinking about your hot new doctor.

“yeah? so around the time that i saw you last? why didn’t you mention anything then, sweetheart? it seems to be bothering you an awful lot,”

oh my gosh, this was the most mortifying moment of your life. how on earth were you supposed to tell him that the weird sensations only started happening since you met him.

you’d had to change doctors after you moved house, still living at home with your parents, and had met dr lupin for a standard checkup. you’d instantly become a stuttering mess- much like you were now- at how attractive he was.

you weren’t sure how to answer his question, cheeks flaming, and almost sighed in relief when he clearly pitied you enough to ask something different.

“do you think you could describe what the weird feelings are like, honey? are they painful?” he asks, face twisted in concern.

“no they don’t hurt, it’s like- tingly, i think. feels throbby and uncomfortable. it um-,” you shifted in your seat, eyes locked on your mary-jane clad feet.

“it’s okay, take your time,”

“it makes me pee a little, i keep having to change my- my underwear,” you eyes began to sting in humiliation, knowing that if your parents found out that you’d been wetting yourself at the age of 18, they’d never speak to you again.

“sh, sh there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. are you sure it’s pee? or is it thicker, maybe a clearish-white?”

“yeah, it’s just like that, and it’s sticky too,”

“i think i know the problem, y/n. it’s easily treated, but you’ll need regular treatments with me to keep it contained, okay?” he wheeled his chair closer to his desk, typing something in his computer, nodding when you meekly said okay.

you were beyond relieved that you were going to be okay, that you wouldn’t have to confess your sins to the priest and your parents, that you could be cured by your nice doctor.

“alright, i need you to fully undress, get into this gown and lay down on the bed for me, then we can start the first session,” he gave you no room for arguments, handing you a pale blue hospital gown and turning back to his computer.

you shuffled over to the bed, slowly undressing and blanching at the thought of him seeing you borderline naked. your family were very christian and at a young age you had promised to never ruin yourself, especially not before marriage. you’d never been allowed any boyfriends growing up, always heavily punished if you’d been caught even looking at a boy for too long.

you’d since learnt your lesson, only having girl friends, steering clear of anyone outside of the church and keeping your head down in public. the idea that dr lupin would be seeing you down there, was enough to bring you close to tears.

you peered over your shoulder periodically, nervous that he’d turn around and catch a peep of your bare skin.

slipping into the gown, you climbed onto the bed, laying back as you called out to him that you were ready.

you watched dr lupin set up, snapping on his gloves and sanitising various terrifying looking equipment on his metal table.

“just need you to pop your feet in the stirrups, lovely girl,”

you carefully did as he said, legs spread wide and feeling oh so vulnerable, but terribly scared of disappointing him. you hated it, but a small part of you was loving the way his hands gripped your ankles when he strapped you in, murmuring reassurances about it being for everyone’s safety, thumb stroking along your delicate skin.

eventually, he stood between your legs, blue gloved hands hovering above your private parts, “is it okay if i start? i’ll need to touch you.”

you nodded your consent, breath hitching as he made contact with your very inner thigh, fingertips sliding closer to where the problem originated, his eyes never leaving the area.

“are you having those feelings now? you’re all wet, love,”

a tear finally slipped free, cooling your burning cheeks as you turned your head away, shame consuming you.

“oh baby, it’s okay, i’m gonna help you, you want me to make you feel better?”

you nodded, finally looking up at him with salty tears glittering in your pretty eyes, wanting nothing more than this horrible feeling to go away. you wanted dr lupin to make you all better.

his digits glide over your pussy, your warm slick coating them. you whimper when he hits your sensitive clit, legs twitching in response. the taste of iron coated your tongue, biting down as a pathetic effort to try and keep quiet, mindful of other patients in the waiting room just down the hall.

he slowly started circling it, free hand going to press at your throbbing hole, “fuck, you really aren’t very well, are you poppet? s’alright, i have just the thing to make you feel good again, it’ll fix you right up,”

you cried out when a finger entered you, tight walls spasming around the foreign object. sobbing and shaking, so overcome with pleasure with him working you up to your fast approaching orgasm. you let out a sharp gasp, confused as to what was happening to your body. you were losing control of your movements, and you began to worry that you were being possessed by a demon.

those thoughts were cleared from your mind when you came with a squeal, thighs closing around his hands in an effort to get the overwhelming pleasure to stop. you were astounded that something medical could feel so amazing, or even that it was possible to feel like this at all. you felt very lucky that you had such a good doctor, even if he made you feel flustered.

already, the feeling deep in your belly was starting to be satiated, but you really hoped that there would be more treatment today, as it still lingered and you desperately needed to feel that bliss again.

when he pulled his fingers away, he could see the white substance ringed around them, arousal fluid still connecting your heat to him in strings. his erection was pulsing against his trousers, dampening the fabric there as he tried to hold back from corrupting you too much.

oh well, too late now.

he whispered praises to you, rubbing your thighs and smearing your cum all over them as he tried to calm you down, smiling softly when you reopened your eyes.

“that was intense, huh? you did so well for me, just need one more from you, then you’re all done for today. i know, it’s a lot, but it’s really important that we fully complete the treatment, especially seeing as you shook so much,”

you nodded hazily, head much too clouded in pleasure to be able to take in what he was saying. you’d never felt that good in your life, and you supposed that it was a good thing that you’d gone to the doctors first instead of the priest, feeling much better already.

still so caught up in your mind, you didn’t pay any attention to what dr lupin was doing, not noticing him snapping off his gloves before unbuckling his belt and pulling out his reddened cock.

“this piece of equipment is really gonna make a lot of difference in your recovery,” he said, rubbing his tip along your puffy entrance, groaning quietly when it caught, slipping inside slightly.

you moaned loudly when he finally pushed in, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the mixture of pleasure and pain.

dr lupin had to hold still for a moment, trying to hold back from giving you a creampie already at the sight of your virgin blood staining his cock, pearly white and crimson mixing to create a rosy pink that coated him.

checking that you were doing okay, he pulled out until only his tip was left inside of you. fingers grasping at your waist, hard enough that he knew it would leave plum coloured bruising, remus gave you no warning before he began to pound into you, letting out guttural groans as your back arched off the bed.

the clinical paper ripped beneath you, his hips slapping against you, the two of you moaned, fully giving up on staying quiet, getting lost in the feel of each other.

his rough hands grabbed at your ass, tugging you towards him with each thrust, sweat collecting along his hairline. his eyes switched between looking at your face and your pussy, tears still spilling over with a heated face, pussy covered in your shared fluids, throbbing around him.

feeling your high building up again, he held back his own, wanting to finally release together, he lifted a hand off of your ass, circling steadily over your little button to push you over the edge.

the band coiling inside of you finally snapped, and you whimpered as you squirmed around, body shaking uncontrollably. your nails dug into the sides of the bed, trying to hold on as he worked you through your orgasm, groaning out as he too let go.

you felt his hot cum spurting inside of you, moaning at the new feeling, praying internally that this would never end. your previously arched back fell down as your orgasm ended, aftershocks still wracking your body. you were happy that he had gotten to feel this good too, even if you didn’t understand what that fluid was, or why he’d felt pleasure as well.

breathless, his body involuntarily folded itself over in exhaustion, slumping down onto yours. he tried to catch his breath, feeling your chest expand and collapse underneath his face, heart beating wildly.

he slid he cock out of you, and you were just about lucid enough to notice this time that the piece of equipment was attached to his body. you thought it was quite handy to have something so useful joined onto him, wondering if that was a part of the training to become a doctor.

hot cum poured out of your abused hole, trailing down onto the ripped up clinical paper, soaking the already damp material. remus pulled it out from under you, binning it before grabbing a couple of baby wipes from a nearby drawer.

“good girl, did amazing for me, baby. y’might just be my best patient,”

he wiped you down, soothing you when you jolted from the cold feeling of the wipes, unstrapping your ankles, then guiding you into slowly standing and redressing, turning away when necessary but occasionally peering over his shoulder to catch glimpses of your pretty body.

“i think we’ll book you in for another session, let’s say two days from now? is 6:00pm alright with you?” he asked when you were ready to leave.

you quickly agreed, already excited for the next appointment. he helped you out to the car park where your parents were already waiting for you, ignoring the dirty look the receptionist gave the two of you, patiently holding you up as you stumbled along, before subtly patting at your bum, telling you that he can’t wait to see you again.

part 2

[colouredbyd]

hey, can i request a poly!marauders fic where remus ends up hurting reader so bad durig a full moon, like lots of angst and obviously u can pick a fit ending. i love ur writing, ur so talented!!

Secrets Have Teeth

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: A prank gone wrong shatters the quiet trust between four lovers, leaving behind wounds deeper than any scar. In the aftermath, two broken souls face the wreckage with guilt clinging to skin and silence weighing heavier than blame. When forgiveness finally flickers to life, it does not erase the pain but dares to ask if something softer can still survive.

warnings: graphic injury, blood, post-transformation trauma, emotional breakdown, panic attacks, guilt, bathing scenes (non-sexual), intense regret, betrayal, depiction of self-loathing, partial nudity (non-sexual), heavy angst, complex grief, subtle references to recovery and healing. basically The Prank but with some comfort

w/c: 10k

a/n: this was abit challenging to write but i loved the idea <3

masterlist

Secrets are heavy things. They press against the ribs, nestle deep in the cavity of the heart, whispering their weight into your bones. 

You’ve carried theirs for months now, cradled in the hollow of your chest like something fragile, something dangerous. It lingers in the spaces they leave behind, the silence that drips from their mouths when they think you’re not listening. 

It’s the way Remus flinches when you touch his hand sometimes, the way his eyes flicker with something haunted, something raw.

It’s James, all restless energy and tight-lipped smiles, his gaze skittering away from yours at the end of every month like he’s afraid of what you might see there.

It’s Sirius, with mud caked on his boots and leaves tangled in his hair, laughter too bright, edges too sharp.

You know them. You know them like you know the lines of your own palms, the shape of your own breath. You know the way James’s voice softens when he’s apologetic, how Sirius’s grin goes crooked when he’s lying, how Remus’s shoulders tense when he’s afraid.

But this is different. This is not a harmless prank or a secret rendezvous. 

This is something that twists in the pit of your stomach, something that grows between them like tangled roots, thick and unyielding.

You feel it most in the silences. Those quiet moments where the world narrows to the space between heartbeats, and the air feels heavy with something unspoken.

You see it in the way they look at each other sometimes, as if speaking without words, as if deciding what not to say.

You wonder if it’s you. If you are the fracture in their perfect, unspoken language. If you are the secret they cannot share. It claws at you, fangs of insecurity sinking deep. 

Because you see it—the way their eyes meet across rooms, quick glances like unspoken conversations, the way they slip away without a word, leaving you in the warmth of the common room fire, staring into the flames as if they might hold the answers.

You’ve tried to ignore it, tried to be patient, but patience is a fraying thread, and you feel it unraveling more and more each day.

You hate it—the way your mind spirals into questions you don’t want to ask. Are they tired of you? Are you a burden? Something to be set aside while they run off to do God-knows-what in the dead of night?

You imagine them whispering secrets you aren’t privy to, huddled together under the weight of something important, something sacred, and your chest aches with the hollowness of being left behind.

Sirius still kisses you like you are his favorite sin, hands tangled in your hair, mouth all heat and promise. James still pulls you onto his lap with that bright grin of his, fingers tracing circles on your hips as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. Remus still holds you like you’re fragile, cradles you against him with a gentleness that feels like both love and apology. 

But it’s not enough to quiet the questions. Not enough to drown out the whisper of doubt that lingers in the back of your mind.

You start to second-guess everything. The way Sirius’s gaze sometimes flickers away when you ask him where he’s been. The way James laughs off your questions with a joke or a grin, always deflecting, always distracting. The way Remus looks at you with eyes full of ghosts, haunted and hollow, like he’s holding back an ocean of secrets.

It gnaws at you, eats away at your resolve until you can’t tell if you’re being paranoid or perceptive.

Sometimes, you catch them whispering in low voices, huddled together in the corners of the library or just outside the common room door.

They fall silent the moment you approach, smiles too bright, voices too loud, shifting to jokes and easy laughter as if nothing at all is wrong.

But you see it—the way Sirius’s hand will linger on Remus’s shoulder, the way James’s fingers brush against Sirius’s arm, a silent promise, a wordless reassurance.

You feel like you’re chasing shadows, hands grasping for something that slips through your fingers every time you get close. You want to ask them. You want to demand answers, to force them to share whatever it is they’re keeping from you. 

But you don’t. Because some part of you is afraid of the answer, afraid of what it might mean if you tear down the walls they’ve built and find yourself standing alone on the other side.

So you wait. You wait and you watch, heart heavy with the weight of secrets that are not yours to keep, wondering if there will come a day when they finally decide to let you in—or if the door will remain locked, the key hidden away in whispered conversations and midnight disappearances.

Because secrets are heavy things. And you are tired of carrying theirs.

The day unfurls like fraying ribbon, slipping through your fingers faster than you can hold on. There’s a heaviness to it, a weight pressing against your shoulders as you move through the halls, weaving between groups of students who laugh too loud and talk too fast.

Marlene walks beside you, her voice a gentle hum, but the words blur together, softened by the roar of your thoughts.

You think of them—of Sirius’s sharp grin and James’s steady hands, of Remus’s soft-spoken words and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. You think of the way they’ve always been yours, and you theirs, a tangled mess of limbs and laughter and quiet whispers beneath the covers. You think of the way it feels like coming home, like belonging.

But lately, there’s been something else.

A flicker of something that passes between them, a look, a whisper, moments that pull tight like thread, snapping back before you can catch hold of it.

It’s the late-night disappearances, the hushed conversations that end the moment you step into the room. It’s the way Sirius’s eyes dart away from yours sometimes, how James’s smile falters, how Remus’s hands shake when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You try to brush it off, try to bury it beneath logic and trust and the weight of their love. But it festers in the quiet moments, slipping in through the cracks when you’re alone, curling around your thoughts and whispering things you don’t want to hear. It’s loneliness, sharp and unyielding, and it grips tight, leaving bruises where you can’t see them.

Marlene’s hand finds your arm, squeezing gently. “You alright?” she asks, voice softening at the edges.

You blink, dragging yourself back to the present, to the corridor stretching out before you and the sunlight slanting through the windows. “Yeah,” you lie, the word sticking to your tongue like tar. “Just tired.”

She hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t push. You’re grateful for it. The silence stretches out between you, comfortable and warm, and you let it hold you for a moment, let it cradle you in something soft and unspoken.

But the weight is still there, pressing at the back of your mind, a whisper of something fragile and breaking.

By the time you reach the dormitory, the ache has settled low in your bones, a steady thrum that makes you want to curl into yourself and hide from the world.

Marlene offers you a soft smile and a quick hug before she disappears down the hall, and you watch her go, feeling the space she leaves behind like a phantom limb.

You push open the door, and the warmth of the room spills out to greet you, soft and familiar. The fire crackles low in the hearth, and the soft murmur of conversation drifts through the air. For a moment, you just stand there, watching them.

Sirius is sprawled across the couch, his head in James’s lap, eyes half-lidded as James’s fingers card gently through his hair.

There’s something unguarded in the way he leans into the touch, the tension bleeding out of his frame with each gentle stroke.

James is murmuring something soft, too low for you to hear, and his other hand is resting on Sirius’s shoulder, grounding him.

Remus is curled up in the armchair, a book spread open across his lap, fingers idly tapping against the spine in rhythm with whatever thought is playing behind his eyes.

He looks peaceful, brow unfurrowed, mouth softened at the edges. It’s a rare thing—to see him unburdened, unbothered—and you don’t want to break it.

You linger in the doorway, watching them, and for a moment, it’s enough just to exist there, on the edge of something beautiful.

But then Sirius glances up, his gaze catching on yours, and his eyes brighten.

“There she is,” he drawls, a lazy smile stretching across his lips, though you can see the way his hand trembles where it rests against James’s knee. “Wondered when you’d come back to us.”

You force a smile, stepping into the room, the wooden door groaning behind you. The space is warm with the soft glow of lamplight, and you take in the tangle of limbs, the way Sirius leans so comfortably against James, the way Remus’s long fingers are still pressed into the spine of his book. It looks like belonging, like home.

And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re standing on the edge of it, fingers curled around the windowsill, peering in.

You clear your throat, and three heads turn towards you, Remus’s eyes softening the instant they land on your face.

He’s the first to rise, marking his page with a quick slip of parchment before crossing the room in a few long strides. His hands are warm when they cup your face, eyes searching yours with a tenderness that nearly unravels you.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheekbone. His gaze is steady, achingly gentle, and it makes something splinter in your chest.

You lean into his touch, your hands wrapping around his wrists. “Just a bad day,” you whisper, voice catching at the edges. “Wanted to be with you. All of you.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or something darker—but it’s gone before you can name it. He nods, presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“We’re right here, my love,” he says softly. “Always.”

You hear movement behind him, and Sirius appears at his side, James right behind him, both of them looking at you with expressions that tighten the knot in your chest.

“Come here,” Sirius says, and you’re pulled into the warmth of their arms, the scent of cedar and smoke and something distinctly theirs flooding your senses. It’s grounding, familiar.

But beneath it, the ache lingers. 

When Remus pulls away, his hand is gentle at your back. “Come on,” he murmurs, voice soft as spring rain. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

His eyes are warm, and the softness there unravels you completely. You nod, and let him lead you towards the bathroom, his touch a tether in the quiet.

The bathroom is softly lit, shadows dancing along the tiled walls as Remus moves about, turning the tap and letting steam fill the space.

He turns back to you, his hands finding yours, guiding you gently to the edge of the tub. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, voice like something sacred.

Steam curls at the edges of the mirror, blurring the reflection into softened shapes and tender echoes. The bathroom is awash with warmth, the flicker of candlelight catching on water droplets that gather and run down the tiles like tiny rivers.

The tub is filled nearly to the brim, wisps of lavender and cedar curling through the air, softening the edges of everything sharp and jagged.

You stand there, arms wrapped around yourself as Remus’s hands work at the buttons of your shirt, fingers deft and gentle.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble, just unfastens each button with practiced ease, his gaze steady and patient.

When the last one comes undone, he slides the fabric from your shoulders, and it pools at your feet in a whisper of cotton.

James is already rolling up his sleeves, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something unyielding in his gaze, an anchor that keeps you grounded even when the world feels like it’s fraying at the edges.

Sirius is beside him, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed, a grin softening into something tender as he watches you, eyes bright with a fondness that makes your heart twist.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice soft but unsteady.

Sirius’s grin widen just a bit, a sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds.

“Can you blame me?” he drawls, pushing off the counter to step closer. His hands find your shoulders, warm and grounding.

“We’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world standing right here. You expect us not to look?”

Heat flushes your cheeks, and you look down, eyes catching on the curve of your bare feet against the tile.

Remus’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, gentle and grounding. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft and achingly tender. “Look at me.”

You do, slowly, and his gaze is steady, unyielding. “You know we love you, right?”

It’s a simple question, one you’ve heard before, one you’ve answered a thousand times.

But tonight, the weight of it settles heavy in your chest, and you swallow hard, your throat bobbing with the effort. “I know,” you whisper, though it wavers at the edges.

Sirius’s fingers brush your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think you do,” he says softly, and his voice is raw, stripped down to something real. “Not really.”

There’s a pause, thick and heavy with unspoken things. James steps forward, his hands settling at your waist.

“Whatever that pretty mind of yours is telling you, it isn’t true, darlin', you know that, right?” he whispers, the words slipping through the quiet like a prayer.

His thumb strokes gentle circles into your hip, grounding and real.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and James’s smile softens at the edges. His hands guide you to the edge of the tub, and Remus’s hands are still at your shoulders, steady and sure.

“In you go, darling,” he murmurs, and you let them guide you down into the water, warmth curling around your skin and washing away the chill.

The water laps softly at your shoulders, steam curling around your face. Remus kneels beside the tub, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Lean back,” he says gently, and you do, letting your head rest against the lip of the tub as he scoops water into his hands, drizzling it over your shoulders.

James is at your other side, his hands gentle as he brushes back your hair, fingers carding through the strands with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

Sirius perches on the edge of the tub, one hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the water. His thumb strokes lazy circles there, his grin soft and unguarded.

They work in tandem, hands moving with practiced ease, soft murmurs passing between them as they pour water over your skin, rub gentle circles into your shoulders, your arms.

It’s reverent, unhurried, like they have all the time in the world just to be here with you.

“You’re safe here,” Remus whispers as his hands brush over your collarbones, his eyes steady and sure. “With us. Always.”

But your breath catches, fingers curling against the edge of the tub. Safe. Always.

The words hang heavy in the air, thick with meaning you want so desperately to believe. “For keeps?” you whisper, and the question is so small, so fragile that it barely breaks the surface of the silence.

Sirius’s hand stills on your knee, and he leans in, eyes dark and unflinching.

“For keeps,” he answers, and the promise hums between you all, ancient and unbreakable.

His thumb resumes its gentle circles, grounding you back into this warmth, this moment.

A grin breaks across his face, wild and free, and James lets out a breath of laughter, his hand squeezing yours beneath the water. “See?” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “We’re not going anywhere.”

You nod, the knot in your chest unraveling just a bit, the warmth of their hands grounding you, tethering you to this moment.

For a while, it’s just that—the gentle lap of water, the steady rhythm of their hands, the murmur of their voices threading through the quiet. They wash away the ache, the doubt, until there’s nothing left but warmth and the soft thrum of belonging.

And for once, you let yourself believe it.

You close your eyes and lean into the warmth, the steady rhythm of their hands soothing the ache in your chest.

But then, James’s hand splashes against the water, breaking the stillness. His eyes flicker with something bright and mischievous.

“Would you look at that?” he grins, flicking a bit of water towards Sirius, who jerks back, sputtering.

“Oh, you absolute menace,” Sirius huffs, eyes narrowing with playful fury.

Before you can blink, he’s scooped a handful of water and splashes it back, catching both you and James in the crossfire.

You squeal, hands coming up to shield your face, but the damage is done—water drips from your lashes, and James is laughing, full-bodied and unrestrained, the sound filling the bathroom with unrestrained joy.

Remus, who had been standing up to grab towels, turns back to see water arcing through the air, James slinging droplets at Sirius, who’s now fully on his knees beside the tub, splashing back with reckless abandon.

His eyes widen, a hand on his hip. “You lot are absolute children, you know that?”

“Only sometimes,” Sirius counters with a grin, flinging another handful in Remus’s direction. “We’ve got to keep it interesting, haven’t we?”

A flicker of laughter escapes you, and Remus’s stern expression softens, though he rolls his eyes. “I’m gone two minutes, and you’ve already started a war.”

James shrugs, unbothered, droplets dripping from his hair. “What can we say? We’re efficient.”

Remus sighs, grabbing a towel and shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re all impossible.”

“And you love it,” Sirius quips, leaning back with a splash. Remus just shakes his head, moving to your side with the towel, his eyes softening as he meets yours.

“Come on, darling,” he murmurs, voice warm and steady. “Let’s get you out before these two flood the whole place.”

The night slipped away in a haze of warmth and whispered jokes, Sirius launching playful jabs at James, who retaliated with splashes that left the room echoing with laughter.

By the time Remus pulled you from the water and wrapped you in soft towels, your heart felt lighter, the fog of your earlier doubts dissipating under their hands.

The four of you ended up tangled in blankets, Sirius still chuckling softly at some joke James had made, Remus’s arm curled around your waist, his breath steady and warm against the back of your neck.

You drifted off like that, wrapped in them, feeling—if only for a moment—that maybe everything really was as perfect as it seemed.

But morning brings clarity. You wake to the soft light filtering through the curtains, the space beside you empty but still warm. The muffled sounds of conversation drift from the common room, low and hurried, punctuated with soft laughter.

You follow the noise, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and catch sight of them huddled together—Remus’s face drawn and pale, Sirius leaning in, his hands gesturing wildly, James with a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding.

They don’t notice you at first, too caught up in their whispered words and secretive glances. You hover in the doorway, something heavy and unyielding curling in your stomach.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them like this—locked in some private world that you are not a part of. But this time, it’s different. This time, you can’t shake the feeling that whatever it is, it’s breaking them apart.

When James catches your eye, his expression shifts—softens—but there’s something guarded there, too, something that makes your breath catch.

Remus straightens, running a hand through his hair, and Sirius plasters on a grin, too bright to be real.

“Morning, love,” Remus greets you, his voice softer, wearier. “Did you sleep well?”

And just like that, the walls go up again.

Whatever it was, whatever they were discussing, it’s hidden behind their smiles, and you feel it like a bruise.

You smile back, but it feels hollow. “Yeah… I did.”

But doubt settled in your bones, curling thick and unyielding around your heart. Something was wrong. And for the first time, you were sure of it.

You dressed quietly, Marlene’s chatter a distant hum as she twisted her hair into a knot and rambled about Quidditch practice. Your hands worked methodically, tying laces, fastening buttons, but your mind was elsewhere.

Something was off. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, the gnawing unease that hadn’t left since the whispers and the lingering glances.

You tried to shake it off as you made your way to breakfast, but it lingered, curling around your ribs and pressing tight.

Classes dragged. Potions felt endless, Slughorn’s voice fading into the background as you stared blankly at your bubbling cauldron. Transfiguration was much the same—McGonagall’s sharp eyes missing the way your quill stopped moving halfway through her lecture.

Even Charms, which you usually enjoyed, was nothing more than a blur of flicking wands and murmured incantations.

By midday, you found yourself wandering through the courtyard, the chill biting at your cheeks as you made your way toward the edge of the castle grounds.

That was where you usually found them, tucked away from prying eyes, sprawled out beneath the trees or leaning against the stone walls, thick scarves looped around their necks and laughter dancing in the air.

But when you approached, there was no laughter. Just low voices, hushed and clipped. You stopped short, slipping behind a stone column, heart hammering in your chest.

You knew it was wrong, but curiosity rooted you to the spot.

“…tonight, then?” Sirius’s voice was the first you recognized, low and edged with something you couldn’t place.

“Has to be,” James replied. “Full moon, and if he’s right, Snape’s already sniffing around. Bloody idiot’s got a death wish.”

Remus didn’t speak, but you could hear him—his sigh, heavy and weary, like he’d aged ten years since you’d seen him at breakfast.

You peeked around the edge, just enough to catch sight of him leaning against the stone, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shadowed and distant.

He looked exhausted. Worse than yesterday. Worse than last week.

“Full moon?” you whispered to yourself, brows knitting together.

Why would that matter? And why would Snape be sniffing around? You racked your brain, but nothing came up. Nothing that made sense.

Then, footsteps—too light to be James or Remus, too quick to be Sirius.

You shrank back, just in time to see Severus Snape stride up to them, black robes billowing out behind him. You clamped a hand over your mouth, confusion sparking like wildfire in your chest.

Snape? With them? They hated Snape. Always had. There was the incident with the Potions classroom first year, the hex Sirius threw at him in third, the prank James had pulled just last term.

And yet, here he was, standing just a few feet away, chin lifted defiantly as he glared at Sirius.

“You’d better not be lying, Black,” Snape sneered, voice dripping with disdain.

Sirius just smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would I lie to you, Snivellus?”

“Just be there. Midnight. Near the shack.”

Snape’s eyes glittered with something sharp and dangerous. “I will.”

You barely heard the rest, heart thundering in your chest.

The shack? Midnight? What the hell was going on? Your mind whirred with questions, none of them landing long enough for you to grab hold. But there was one thing you knew for certain.

You were going to follow them.

Whatever this was—whatever they were hiding—you would find out. You had to.

Night came slow and heavy, the castle settling into stillness as you pulled on your cloak, heart thrumming with anticipation and something else. Fear, maybe. Or desperation.

You slipped through the corridors on silent feet, weaving between shadows until you found yourself near the Entrance Hall, waiting. Watching.

They moved in silence, slipping through the doors one by one. First Remus, his shoulders hunched, eyes downcast.

Then James and Sirius, their footsteps softer than usual, expressions set and grim.

Whatever Sirius had told Snape, James and Remus clearly didn’t know about it—the tension rippled off them, sharp and electric.

You waited until they were halfway across the grounds before following, your breath clouding the air as you hurried to catch up, careful to stay hidden.

You ducked behind a tree, watching as James pulled something from his pocket—a small, rounded object that glowed faintly in the moonlight.

He pressed it against a knot in the tree, and the branches stilled, frozen mid-sway.

You sucked in a breath as they disappeared beneath the roots, vanishing into shadow.

Remus had looked like he was seconds from collapsing, his steps unsteady, shoulders taut with strain. James and Remus didn’t seem to know about whatever Sirius had told Snape—it was clear on their faces, etched in their tension and the way Remus’s hands shook slightly as he vanished into the darkness.

Whatever lay beyond that entrance, you were going to find out. Even if it broke you.

The night stretched out heavy and silent, moonlight bleeding silver across the grounds. It felt colder than usual, the kind of chill that seeped into bones and lingered there, whispering unease with every breath.

You shivered as you waited, huddled in the shadows just beyond the Entrance Hall, heart pounding in your ears. It was a reckless idea—mad, really—to follow them out here.

But you couldn’t ignore the coil of dread tightening in your stomach, the way it had wound itself around your ribs ever since you’d heard them talking near the courtyard.

They moved in silence, slipping through the great doors one by one. First Remus, his shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.

His footsteps were slow, hesitant, and you could almost hear the strain in his breathing from where you hid.

Something was wrong—you’d known it for weeks—but tonight, it clung to him like a shadow.

You waited until they were halfway across the grounds before you moved, your breath clouding the air as you hurried to catch up, careful to keep your distance.

You waited, breath held tight in your lungs. That’s when you saw him—Snape, creeping through the shadows, eyes alight with that familiar, hateful gleam.

He moved with purpose, hands shaking with adrenaline as he approached the now-frozen branches of the Willow. He stopped just shy of the entrance, glancing around before taking a tentative step forward.

Before he could slip inside, James appeared, blocking his path, wand raised and voice sharp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Snape sneered, lifting his chin. “Black told me. Said there was something interesting inside. Something you three have been hiding.”

James’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re not going anywhere near there.”

“What, afraid of what I’ll find?” Snape taunted, his voice a venomous whisper.

James stepped closer, the tension snapping taut between them. “I’m warning you, Snivellus. Turn around. Now.”

Snape glared, fists clenching at his sides. “Why? So you can keep covering for your precious friends? Or maybe it’s because you’re afraid of what your little club is really up to.”

James didn’t flinch, his wand steady and gaze unyielding. “Last chance.”

But Snape didn’t back down. He only smirked, the kind of grin that made your skin crawl. “I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself.”

He took another step forward, but James moved quicker, wand tip sparking with light. “Expelliarmus!”

Snape’s wand flew from his hand, clattering against the frozen earth. For a heartbeat, everything went still—no wind, no whispers, just the heavy thud of your heartbeat crashing in your ears.

“That’s enough,” came a voice from behind them.

Sirius stepped into view, arms crossed over his chest, expression caught between amusement and something sharper. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

James didn’t lower his wand. “What the hell were you thinking, Sirius?”

Sirius shrugged, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Just a bit of fun. Snivellus is always poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Thought I’d give him something to find.”

James’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “Are you out of your mind? Remus is in there! What if he got in? What if he saw?”

Sirius scoffed, waving a hand. “James, please. He wasn’t actually going to get inside. It’s just a bit of a scare.”

“A scare?” James’s voice rose, disbelief cracking it. “You think this is a fucking joke? He could have died, Sirius. Remus could have killed him—and it would have been your fault!”

Sirius’s smile faltered, but he didn’t back down. “Well, he didn’t. You stopped him.”

James took a step forward, wand still in his hand, knuckles white around it. “You’re not listening. You don’t get to just...just throw people into the line of fire for fun. That’s not a prank, Sirius!”

Sirius’s eyes flashed with something dark, but he swallowed it back. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” James shot back, voice trembling with fury. “Remus doesn’t even know. You did this behind his back! I swear, if he finds out—”

But before he could finish, a sound broke the argument—a low, guttural growl that rumbled from the depths of the shack, primal and raw.

You froze, heart leaping into your throat. It was followed by another, more desperate sound.

“Remus,” you whispered under your breath, fear coiling tight and sharp in your stomach.

You slipped through the tangled roots, heart lurching as you reached the back of the shack.

Its wooden slats were splintered and rotting in places, gaps wide enough for you to catch flashes of movement inside. Shadows flickered across the walls—elongated and monstrous, twisting with the flicker of lamplight.

There was a small hole, nearly hidden behind a stack of fallen branches, just large enough for you to fit through if you were careful.

You hesitated, breath clouding in the frigid air, before steeling yourself and crawling through. Your hands scraped against rough wood, splinters catching on your palms, but you ignored the sting.

The shack groaned under your weight as you landed inside, breath catching in your throat. It was dark, the air thick with the scent of dust and something metallic that made your head swim

Your breath puffed white in the cold air, heart pounding, every instinct in your body suddenly screaming at you to stop—to leave, to turn around, to run. Something was wrong.

Inside, the shack was musty and dark. Dust hung thick in the air, floating in the moonlight that poured in through the cracks in the boarded windows. Broken chairs lay in jagged pieces, shadows clinging to every surface. It was too quiet.

You rose slowly to your feet, brushing dirt from your knees.

Your eyes scanned the room—empty. No sign of Remus. No sign of anyone. Only the stale scent of old wood and something sharper, metallic, and wrong.

Then—from outside—you heard it.

Yelling.

You turned your head toward the front of the shack.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, Sirius?” James’s voice, loud, shaking.

Snape’s voice cut through: “You’re all bloody mad—”

“You brought him here? To this place?!” James roared. “You think this is a game?! You told him how to find Moony?!”

A scuffle. Scraping feet on frozen earth. Something breaking.

Then Sirius, laughing—a harsh, ugly sound. “It was a prank, James! A joke! He wasn’t supposed to actually come!”

“A joke? A bloody joke?! He could have died, Sirius! Or worse—Remus—”

The argument grew louder, more violent, their voices crashing against each other like waves. You blinked, unsettled, heart pounding harder now—not just from what they were saying, but from something else. Something inside.

You turned, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

Why had James been so desperate to keep Snape away? What was so dangerous, so hidden inside this shack?

You took a slow step back, suddenly aware of how thick the air had become. Your fingers twitched toward your wand, but you didn’t know why.

Then you felt it.

A shift.

A presence behind you.

The breath caught in your throat.

You turned.

And the world split in half.

The wolf stood there, bathed in shadow and moonlight. Towering. Muscled. Massive. Its amber eyes gleamed like twin suns, fixed solely on you. Its breath came heavy, the sound guttural and animal and wrong.

You didn’t understand.

You couldn’t understand.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

You screamed as its weight slammed into you, hurling you backward. You crashed to the floor, your head cracking against the boards with a sickening thud. Pain exploded across your vision, stars blooming behind your eyes.

You barely had time to breathe before it was on you.

Claws tore through your coat, then your skin. Blood spattered the walls. You screamed again, voice raw and terrified. The wolf’s snarl was deafening, fangs snapping inches from your face. You scrambled, twisted, tried to crawl away, but it was no use. Another rake of claws—your shoulder. Your side.

You sobbed, pain white-hot and everywhere.

From the front of the shack, you heard the door shake violently.

“Moony!” James’s voice, frantic. “Moony! No!!”

“She’s in there!” Sirius screamed. “She’s in with him!”

You kicked, thrashed, felt blood soaking into the wood beneath you.

The shack shook from the weight of them slamming into the door.

“Open it! Open it!” James was screaming.

You tried to call out—but your throat barely worked, raw with terror and smoke and blood.

“Remus, Stop!” Sirius shouted, voice cracking.

“It’s her—it’s her!” James bellowed. “Moony, no, no, no, no, gosh!”

But the wolf didn’t stop.

It kept going.

And you lay there, barely breathing, praying they would break the door down in time.

You stumbled back, heart slamming against your ribs, and the beast—Remus—stalked forward, claws scraping against the wooden floor with each step. His eyes—those eyes you’d known for so long, gentle and warm—were wild now, feral with hunger and rage.

He lunged, the force of it sending a gust of wind spiraling through the room. 

“Remus!” you cried, voice cracking with desperation, but there was nothing human in his gaze—just the moon’s curse and the monster it carved from him.

He turned, shoulders heaving with each breath, and for a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that primal hunger.

He snarled again, saliva dripping from his fangs, and you scrambled backward, mind racing for an escape.

Your back hit the far wall with a thud, dust and debris scattering from the impact. Remus prowled closer, head low, eyes locked onto yours like prey.

You were shaking, adrenaline burning through your veins as you searched frantically for a way out—any way out. But there was nothing. Just you and him, trapped in the confines of this cursed shack.

The breath rattled from your lungs as he lunged again. 

Agony burst across your stomach as claws tore through you like paper. Your scream shattered the silence.

Blood spilled hot and fast, soaking your clothes, splattering across the floor. Another slash—your thigh, deep and unrelenting. Your vision fractured with pain, body writhing beneath him as you tried to crawl away, but he pinned you easily.

Claws dug into your ribs. Fangs grazed your shoulder. You could hear your own heartbeat, deafening, drowning everything else out. The air stank of blood and sweat and the sharp edge of death. You sobbed, barely able to breathe, choking on the taste of iron and fear.

Then—the shack door burst open with a splintering crack.

Sirius came first, Padfoot in full form, fur bristling, eyes blazing.

He threw himself at the wolf with a savage growl, tackling Moony off you with all his strength.

The force of the impact sent them both crashing into the far wall. You were left gasping, blinking through blood and splinters and shock.

James followed—Prongs—before shifting back mid-step, falling to his knees at your side.

“Hey. Hey, no, no, no,” he breathed, voice shaking, hands hovering over your wounds like he didn’t know where to touch, where to start. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

But you weren’t. You could feel yourself slipping, the cold creeping in.

You turned your head just enough to see the trail of blood stretching behind you, the smear of crimson across the wood. Your hand twitched, fingers stained red.

The last thing you saw was Sirius, still fighting tooth and claw to hold Remus back, and James’s face—ashen, eyes wide with something between guilt and horror.

You were here because they kept secrets. And secrets are heavy things to carry.

-

You woke to pain.

It throbbed in waves, hot and pulsing and sharp, blooming in your abdomen and thigh. Every breath was a struggle, every inch of movement a riot of agony beneath your skin.

The air was cold, sterile, heavy with antiseptic. The ceiling above you was white stone, too clean, too quiet. The scent of blood clung to your skin. You blinked, your vision swimming, your mouth dry and thick with the taste of iron and betrayal.

And then—realization. It hit like another wound. Remus. The wolf. Lycanthropy. That’s what they had been hiding. That’s what James had refused to tell you, what Sirius had laughed off, what Remus had always tucked behind those sad eyes and hollow smiles.

You remembered it now—his eyes, glowing in the dark; the snarl that tore from his throat; the claws, the fangs, the way the pain swallowed you whole.

He had mauled you.

The door creaked open with a quiet groan, and James was there in an instant.

He nearly stumbled into the room, hair wild, eyes wild, like he hadn’t slept. His chest was heaving as he rushed to your side, voice already breaking.

"You’re awake—thank Merlin—" He dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching for your hand but hesitating at the last second when he saw the bandages wrapped around it. "You—you're okay. You're safe now. We got you out. We—"

But before he could finish, Sirius was in the doorway, shoulders tense, face pale and drawn.

One step in—and James turned on him like a storm breaking.

"No. No, get out."

Sirius flinched. "James—"

"No!" James shoved him, not holding back. "She’s bleeding, Sirius! There was so much blood—I couldn’t—I didn’t know if she was breathing—"

Sirius’s voice cracked. "Jamie, please—she’s my girlfriend too—"

James slammed him back against the wall, rage surging.

"Don’t fucking 'Jamie' me right now, Sirius! Remus is out there asking where she is, completely clueless about what happened—what the fuck are you gonna tell him? Huh? You gonna say you brought Snape In as a prank, and instead our girlfriend snuck into the shack and got ripped apart?"

"Is that what you’re gonna say?”

Sirius flinched like the words had struck him in the face. His eyes were glassy now, guilt etched so deeply into the hollows of his cheeks it looked like it might never leave.

His lips parted as if to defend himself but there was nothing firm behind the breath he drew in. Nothing solid enough to hold against James’s rage.

“I didn’t know she followed—” he tried, voice trailing off into silence like it couldn’t bear the weight of the truth.

“But you knew what that shack was,” James snapped, louder now, voice raw and fraying. “You knew what Moony was. You knew what would happen.”

They were so close now they could’ve been mirrors of fury and betrayal. Chest to chest, heart to heart, breathing like it hurt.

The kind of closeness that had once meant brotherhood, now sparking with something jagged and breaking.

“You think saying she’s my girlfriend too makes it better?” James’s hands were shaking and his mouth twisted like he was choking on grief. “You endangered all of us—Snape, her, Moony—because you wanted to mess around like it was a fucking joke.”

Sirius tried to speak again, but his voice came out cracked and too soft to stand on. “I didn’t mean—”

“You never mean to,” James said, and this time it wasn’t a shout. It was something worse.

His voice dropped into that space where hurt lived, where betrayal was a living thing in the room.

“That’s the problem. You never think past the spark of it. It’s always a fire to you, isn’t it? A dare, a thrill. And now she—”

You were sitting up now, breath catching like it didn’t know how to move through your chest anymore.

Their voices filled the room like smoke, thick and impossible to swallow, and still they didn’t see you. Still they didn’t stop.

The anger curled in you like a second pulse, slow and volcanic, fed by the sound of your name twisted in their mouths like an afterthought.

You looked down at your body, at the map of pain they’d drawn across your skin, at the bandages tight around your arms and side and thigh.

You reached for one with trembling fingers and peeled it back slowly, too slowly, like your body was a secret you weren’t supposed to see.

The wound beneath was deep and still red-raw, an angry thing that refused to scab. You stared at it, not blinking. As if staring long enough would make it make sense.

As if blood had a language you could finally understand.

What stared back at you were jagged, red scars, the kind that didn’t heal clean. Bite marks turned purple at the edges, cruel crescents sinking into your skin like the moon had tried to eat you alive.

Deep gashes crossed your side in a brutal lattice, torn flesh barely held together by uneven stitching and the trembling hands of someone too late. A shudder rolled through you, slow and relentless, like something crawling beneath your skin.

You would carry these forever.

Your hand rose to your neck, fingers ghosting over the place where you remembered teeth grazing bone, where the pain had cracked you open from the inside.

You didn’t need a mirror to see it. It was carved into memory. A sob caught in your throat, not loud, but sharp enough to hurt.

"Get out," you said, your voice low and cracked like dry earth before the storm.

They didn’t hear you. They were still yelling, still wrapped in their own pain, their own shame, drowning in the echo of their guilt while you sat there bleeding.

"I said get out!" your voice shattered through the room like glass, and the noise stopped instantly.

The silence rang.

They turned to you slowly, like they’d just remembered you were there, like it hadn’t occurred to them that the thing they were fighting about had ears and a spine and a soul.

James took a hesitant step forward, his eyes soft with apology, but you met him with something he hadn’t seen in you before. Not fear. Not even heartbreak. Just fury, quiet and precise, the kind of anger born from betrayal that simmers instead of explodes.

"You kept this from me," you said, each word dragged from somewhere deep, somewhere scorched.

"All of you. You let me walk in there blind. You let me bleed for a secret that was never mine to carry."

James opened his mouth but no words followed. Nothing could. His guilt hollowed him, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

Sirius looked wrecked, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you, but your eyes stopped him cold.

You didn’t want to see his sorrow. You didn’t want to be comforted by the hands that led you to the edge and watched you fall.

"I almost died because of your secrets," you whispered, and though your voice trembled, it rang with steel. "Because none of you trusted me enough to tell the truth. You called it love, and then you let me be devoured by it."

They were silent. Boys made of noise, finally quiet. And somehow that silence was louder than their shouting ever was.

You looked at the door, then back to them, the air around you sharp as broken promises.

"Out," you said again, quieter now, but it cut deeper for it.

Neither of them argued. They didn’t beg or explain or try to fix what had already bled too long. They just turned, slowly, and walked away.

The door shut behind them with a hollow click.

And the silence that followed was unbearable.

Not because it was empty.

But because it sounded exactly like the moment you realized you were alone.

It echoed louder than the shouting, louder than the pain, louder than the memories still clawing at the edges of your mind. The silence didn’t offer peace—it rang like a scream swallowed too late, like the lingering howl of something wild and ruined.

You sat there in it, trembling, your hands shaking in your lap, the gauze dark with the slow seep of blood.

You stared down at them, fingers twitching like they didn’t belong to you, like maybe none of this belonged to you, not the pain, not the scarred skin, not even the breath you were struggling to draw in.

Each inhale scraped your throat like broken glass, each exhale trembled beneath the weight of everything they never told you.

The tears came suddenly—choking, ungraceful things, messy and aching. They clawed up from somewhere you hadn’t known existed, from the place where trust once lived.

They spilled past your defenses, soaked your cheeks, made your chest rise and fall in ugly, shuddering sobs.

You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth to trap the sound, to make yourself small, but the grief pushed through your fingers anyway, raw and human and desperate.

You didn’t want to be here. Not in this bed, not in this room, not in the body that remembered every second too well.

You didn’t want to be near that shack, or that truth, or those boys whose love had been too conditional, too secret, too much like a trap. Not when it all still clung to your skin like smoke, like something scorched into you that wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed. Pain flared like fire beneath your skin, sharp and blinding, but you gritted your teeth and bit down on the sound.

You forced yourself upright, spine shaking, the world tilting like it didn’t know where to place you anymore. You reached for the nightstand, knuckles white around the edge, and steadied yourself against the weight of gravity and grief alike.

Madam Pomfrey would return soon. She would ask questions—about the bite marks on your shoulder, the blood staining your sheets, the torn muscle stitched back into place like fabric.

Dumbledore would be informed. Whispers would curl through the corridors. Rumors would spread, sprouting like weeds in spring. You could already hear them.

You didn’t want to lie. You weren’t sure you even could. But the truth? The truth was worse.

The truth was a monster’s name whispered behind closed doors.

The truth was betrayal in the shape of friendship.

The truth was pain that had no neat answer, no punishment that could make it make sense.

You took a step. Then another. Every motion dragged behind the last like you were underwater, like your body was remembering how to exist and failing.

It hurt in places you hadn’t thought could ache—bone-deep, nerve-deep, the kind of hurt that didn’t just throb but screamed.

You passed the mirror near the infirmary door and caught sight of yourself.

You stopped.

Your reflection stared back like something unrecognizable. There was dried blood in your hair, matted at the roots like rust. Bruises bloomed along your collarbone and down your arms like ink spilled under the skin.

The bandage over your ribs had darkened, blood soaking through in slow, patient circles. Your lips were cracked. Your eyes—God, your eyes.

You looked like a ghost still wandering the world, too stubborn or too broken to realize it had died.

You turned away before you could recognize yourself, before your reflection could speak back all the truths you weren’t ready to hear.

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you couldn’t stay.

The hall was dim and quiet, cloaked in the kind of stillness that only came long after midnight had folded over the world. The torches burned low, their flames flickering soft shadows across stone, and even the portraits lining the walls seemed to sleep, their painted eyes closed or turned away.

Your footsteps echoed in the emptiness—slow, uneven things that barely registered, like the castle itself was trying not to notice you. Each step jarred your side, sharp pain flashing behind your eyes, blooming like lightning beneath your skin.

One hand clutched your ribs, your breath catching each time your heel met stone.

Maybe you should’ve stayed in bed. Maybe you should’ve screamed louder when it happened. Maybe you shouldn’t have followed the sound at all.

You could trace every mistake in your mind, each one lit like a torch in the dark, but none of it mattered now. Not really. Not when the damage was already done. Not when the blood had already soaked the floor, your skin, your memory.

You were already bleeding.

You made it to the end of the corridor before the tears found you again, rising from the pit of your stomach like a storm breaking loose. You crumpled without grace, back to the wall, forehead pressed hard to the cool stone as if it might hold you together.

You didn’t bother to stifle the sob that slipped from your mouth, cracked and breathless. Let the castle hear it. Let the ghosts carry it through the walls, let them whisper your name into every corner of this place. Let every brick and beam know exactly what had happened. Let the truth echo where their silence had lived.

You were in this mess because people you loved had looked you in the eye and decided you didn’t deserve the truth.

And through the sobs, through the broken air and the trembling of your limbs, that thought was the one that stayed.

This didn’t have to happen.

You could’ve stayed safe. You could’ve stayed whole. But they let you walk in blind. They let you bleed for something that was never yours to carry.

Pain flared again, a cruel spike up your side, white-hot and dragging like a knife pulled slow—but it was nothing compared to what twisted beneath your ribs.

You pressed your palm to your stomach, to the bandages under your robes, and for a moment you hoped the sharpness would ground you, keep you tethered.

Instead, it felt like drowning, like trying to breathe through water, through memory, through the echo of a scream that wouldn’t stop playing behind your eyes.

You thought of the Shack. Of the way the air smelled inside, coppery and wrong. You thought of the creak of old wood under your feet. Of the sound his bones made when they broke—sharp, wet, unforgettable. Of the stillness just before the scream shattered the world.

And you broke.

The sob that tore from your throat wasn’t soft. It was jagged, ugly, ripped straight from the center of you. Another followed, then another, and then you were falling—knees folding, back sliding down the stone, until you were curled on the cold floor, cheek pressed to it, chest heaving with each desperate breath.

Your body shook with the force of it, and still the sound came, raw and real and unrelenting.

It was too much. Too much to carry. Too much to name. Too much to bury beneath bandages and silence.

You didn’t even realize you were whispering his name until it left your lips.

"Remus…"

Just a breath. A ghost of a sound. But it shattered something in you. Cracked the dam wide open.

Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he had done.

And somehow—God, somehow—that made it worse.

That you had been ripped apart by someone who would never remember. That the hands that once traced poems into your skin had unknowingly rewritten you in blood.

That the boy who looked at you like you were the first star he’d ever seen was the same one who had carved your name into the floorboards with claw and fang.

You curled in tighter, arms wrapped around your ribs, trying—failing—to hold yourself together. But everything inside you was unraveling. Your breath hitched, broken. Your fingers trembled like your bones were afraid. You could still feel it—all of it.

The weight of him, wild and terrible. The heat of breath on your neck. The moment skin gave way.

You remembered his smile. The one he saved just for you. You remembered how his voice softened when he said your name, like he couldn’t believe it belonged to him for even a second.

You remembered how he once said, “You shouldn’t love me.” And now you knew why.

Because teeth remember hunger. Because wolves don’t ask permission. Because even the gentlest boy can disappear beneath the moonlight.

But oh, God, you hated that he didn't know. That he would wake up in the morning with his soul intact while you were left stitching yours together in the dark.

You pressed your hand to the wound at your side, felt the throb of it echo through your whole body. You wanted to forget. You wanted to go back. You wanted him to be anything but the thing that had hurt you.

You didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

The boy and the beast. The hands that once brushed your cheek like a promise, and the claws that had torn through your skin like paper. The mouth that had whispered your name like it meant something—and the one that had bitten down to the bone. It was all the same now.

One shape, one shadow, stitched into the fabric of your memory with blood and betrayal. You couldn’t separate him from it. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

You pressed your forehead to the cold stone wall, the chill biting into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire still burning inside you. Your tears came hot and fast, streaking your cheeks, scalding your lips.

You tried to swallow them back, to bury the noise, but your body wouldn’t obey. You wanted to scream. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to tear yourself apart just to match the way he’d already broken you open.

But all you could do was sit there. And feel it.

You hated him. You loved him. You hated that you loved him. You hated that the boy who had once kissed your temple like it was sacred was the same one who’d left you bleeding in the dirt.

Maybe if they'd told me, you thought bitterly, each word laced with salt and fury, I wouldn’t have followed that sound.

Maybe if they’d trusted me with the truth, I would’ve run the other way.

Maybe if I’d known what he was, I wouldn’t be standing here trying to forgive something that nearly killed me.

But they hadn’t.

So now you knew.

Remus was a wolf.

James and Sirius were liars.

And you were just the wreckage left behind.

The pain grounded you for a moment. Not enough. You remembered James shouting. Sirius pleading. Both of them drowning in their own guilt and still too proud to hand you a life raft. They hadn’t told you because they were afraid. Not for you—but for him.

You meant less than the secret.

You were an acceptable loss.

You forced yourself to stand, legs trembling, hands white-knuckled against the stone. You thought your knees might give out, but you didn’t care.

You had to see him. You had to know. If he still had your voice in his bones. If anything in him recognized the destruction he’d left behind.

You limped through the hallway like a shadow. The castle around you was too quiet, too still, as if it knew something had gone terribly wrong and was trying not to breathe.

Your side ached with every step. The bandages beneath your robes were warm and wet, and you didn’t want to know if it was fresh blood or just the old wounds leaking again. It didn’t matter. You felt hollow. Not empty—stripped.

You walked past the portraits, but none stirred. Even the ghosts seemed to shrink from you. Maybe they recognized you now. Not as a student. But as someone touched by death.

And then—shouting.

Ragged, desperate. Voices you knew.

Your heart twisted violently, nausea rising. You quickened your pace despite the pain, your breath hitching with every step. The ache in your chest sharpened as you turned a corner and—

Remus was screaming.

James had both arms locked tight around him, teeth grit as he struggled to keep Remus from hurling himself down the corridor.

Every inch of Remus's body fought against him, wild and unhinged, as if the rage had torn through muscle and bone and made something feral of him all over again.

"You brought Snape?!" he shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. "Are you fucking serious, Sirius?! You brought him—there—knowing what I am?!"

Sirius didn’t move. He stood like a statue, hands shoved into the pockets of his robes, jaw clenched, eyes hard.

"I didn’t think he’d actually go in," he said flatly. "I thought he’d get scared. Turn back."

"You thought—?" Remus’s breath hitched, then came out in something like a growl. "You don’t get to think, Sirius. You don’t get to gamble with that."

He thrashed in James’s arms again.

"And where the fuck is she?! Why is no one telling me where Y/N is?!"

James held tighter.

"Moony, don’t—"

"Don’t what?" Remus twisted around to face him. "Don’t ask why no one will look me in the fucking eye?! Don’t ask where the girl I—" His voice caught, strangled in his throat. "Where is she?"

And then he saw you.

The world stopped moving.

You stood at the far end of the hall, pressed against the stone wall like it might hold you up if your legs gave out. Your shirt was torn at the shoulder. The bandages had come loose. Blood had soaked through. A thin line of bruising curled along your cheekbone. The mark on your collarbone—his mark—was dark and angry and violet.

Remus's gaze dropped to your arms, your limp, slow steps. Then back to James.

"I did that," he whispered. The words seemed to strike him in the throat. "Didn’t I?"

James looked at the floor. That was answer enough.

Remus folded to his knees like his body had finally realized the weight of the truth. His hands hit the ground. He stared down at the stone like it might split open beneath him.

"Tell me I didn’t," he murmured. "Tell me I didn’t do that. Please, James. Tell me I didn’t do this."

No one spoke.

"Tell me I didn’t hurt her," he begged, louder now. "Tell me I didn’t—"

"You don’t remember," you said.

Your voice didn’t echo. It didn’t need to.

Three heads snapped toward you. But you only looked at him.

Remus's breath caught. He looked like he’d been stabbed.

"I—I don’t remember what happens," he stammered. "I never do. I wake up, and I’m—covered in blood, and I never know if it’s mine or someone else’s and—"

He clawed at his own sleeves, nails digging through fabric, through skin, desperate to feel pain that might match what was screaming inside his chest.

James tried to steady him, arms still locked tight around his shoulders, but Remus tore away with a howl that didn’t sound human.

“I tore her apart,” he gasped, voice wrecked. “I—I felt it—I smelled blood—I wanted it—Merlin, I wanted it—” He curled forward like the words had gutted him, fingers clutching at his head.

“I should be locked up. I should be dead.”

“No,” James said firmly, stepping forward, but Remus flinched and scrambled back like he’d touched fire.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—I’m not—I’m not safe—” He looked at you again, and this time, he really saw you.

Your limp. Your wince. Your bruises and the slow, shaking breath you took just to stay standing. His entire body stilled. Then: he crawled backwards, hands raised, like distance might erase the horror.

“I hurt you.”

Your name was a sob in his throat.

“I hurt you—I knew I would—I told them to keep me away—I told them—fuck—”

“Remus,” you whispered.

He looked away.

“Remus,” you said again, louder this time, voice cracked but sure.

“I’m a monster,” he choked out, voice barely more than a strangled whisper. “Don’t come near me. Please—I’ll hurt you again. I will.”

You took a step forward anyway, ignoring the scream of pain in your leg and the sharp crack of your ribs.

Every breath was a jagged knife, but something inside you refused to stay still.

“I said don’t!” he roared suddenly, flinching hard enough to slam his back against the cold stone wall. His hands flew up to cover his face, as if he couldn’t bear to see the damage—your pain, his pain, everything shattered between you.

“Please. I’ll ruin you. I ruin everything. Don’t—please—”

But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Each step was a struggle, your body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Five staggering steps. Then you dropped to your knees in front of him, breathless and broken, the room tilting around you.

And then, without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him.

Every muscle tensed, every breath caught in his chest. For a long, endless moment, he didn’t move at all.

You were warm. Solid. Real. Against the ruins of his skin, against the guilt that was tearing him apart from the inside—you were alive.

And you were holding him.

He tried to pull away, voice frantic and raw. “No—no, don’t—I don’t deserve this—I hurt you—”

“I know,” you whispered softly, your voice a fragile thread in the silence, sinking into his hair, his chest, every ragged breath he took. “I know.”

He started to cry again—violently, uncontrollably. The kind of sobs that wrench a person apart from the inside out. His body shook like he was trying to shake free from some invisible weight dragging him under. His breaths came in ragged, broken gasps, each one tearing at his chest with fresh agony.

You could feel the rawness in him, the shattered pieces trembling just beneath the surface. And still, you held on tighter, as if your arms could somehow keep him from falling all the way apart.

“You’re not a monster,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, a lifeline thrown across the storm.

You said it again, over and over, even when his head shook so hard it seemed like it might come off his shoulders.

Even when he whispered, so broken it barely sounded like words, yes I am.

Even when his fingers clawed at the floor, desperate and frantic, as if tearing at the ground could tear him out of his own skin.

“You’re not a monster. You’re not a monster. You’re not.”

Your words became a chant, a prayer. You said them so many times you thought your throat might break.

But still, you kept saying them. Because if you didn’t, who else would? If you didn’t believe it for him, then how could he ever believe it for himself?

Then, slowly, painfully, he collapsed into you. It was as if he’d been falling forever, and for the first time he found something to catch him—a place to land, even if it was fragile and trembling beneath the weight of his grief. His body sagged against yours, heavy and defeated.

You cradled his head in your shaking hands, fingers threading through his hair as though anchoring him to the world. You held him through the sobs, through the storm, through the unbearable silence between each tear.

“I forgive you.”

And again.

“I forgive you.”

Your voice cracked, raw with all the tears you hadn’t even realized were falling down your cheeks. Your throat burned like fire from saying it so many times. Your bandages pressed painfully against his skin, a sharp reminder that your body, too, was broken. But still, you said it—because someone had to say it.

Because sometimes forgiveness is the hardest thing to give and the most necessary thing to hear.

“I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.”

Remus broke completely. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as if you were the only solid thing left in the world.

His face buried deep in your shoulder, muffling the desperate whispers of I’m sorry that spilled from his lips like a litany, like a prayer, like a curse he couldn’t undo. The weight of those words hung heavy between you, suffocating and real.

Maybe some wounds could never fully heal. Maybe some mistakes could never be undone. But you held him anyway, steady and sure, even when your own body trembled with pain.

Because sometimes, love is the only thing strong enough to hold two broken people together when everything else falls apart.

He didn’t look up. His head hung low, shoulders trembling with a quiet, desperate shudder. His breaths came in ragged gasps, shallow and uneven, like the air itself was betraying him.

Your fingers found his face, trembling as you gently cupped his cheeks, warm beneath your cold touch.

For a moment, he froze—still as if your presence was something fragile, something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Look at me,” you whispered, voice soft but firm.

You pressed your forehead to his, breath mingling, heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it. “Remus. Please. Look at me.”

Slowly—agonizingly slow—his eyes lifted, meeting yours.

What you saw there nearly shattered you.

It wasn’t guilt. Not even horror. It was grief. Endless, bone-deep, all-consuming grief.

Like he had already buried you somewhere inside his mind and didn’t know how to find his way back to the living world. Like a weight pressed so hard on his chest he couldn’t breathe without breaking.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing a tear away as it slipped silently down his face.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady.

His breath hitched, caught somewhere between hope and despair.

“It’s not,” he croaked, voice raw and broken.

“But I’m here.”

You let the silence stretch between you, letting your touch be the anchor in the storm of his pain. Letting the quiet speak the words you both couldn’t say aloud.

Then, with a gentle nudge, you reached up and helped him to his feet. 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t question. Just followed as you led him down the corridor, your fingers laced with his, your steps slow and uneven.

He swayed as he stood, unsteady, eyes still glassy with unshed tears. He didn’t let go of your hand.

You didn’t let go of him either.

Your fingers laced through his, and you took a small step forward. He followed. Another step. Another.

You guided him through the corridor like that, hand in hand, limping slightly with each movement but refusing to stop. His steps were heavy, dragging, as if every footfall carried the weight of what he’d done. But he followed you.

When you reached the bathroom, you nudged the door open with your shoulder and led him inside.

The light was dim. Everything smelled like old tile and lavender soap. The only sound was the drip of a tap and the hush of your breaths. You turned the knobs with aching fingers, letting warm water spill into the tub, steam curling into the air like a kind of gentleness neither of you had known in days.

He stood by the door, unmoving.

You stepped toward him again, slower this time, and reached for the hem of his shirt.

He flinched.

“I can go,” you said, voice low, careful.

He looked at you—just looked—and then, finally, shook his head

You peeled the tattered shirt off his frame, revealing bruises and scratches and old scars that mapped out years of hurt across his skin. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t look away. You undid the buttons of his trousers, helped him step out of them, folding them into a soft pile on the counter.

He didn’t speak. He only watched you with wide, haunted eyes, as if each tender movement was something he couldn’t understand.

Like he didn’t know what to do with this softness.

You reached for his hand again.

“Come on,” you said quietly. “It’s warm.”

He let you guide him into the tub. The water rose around him, lapping gently at his arms and shoulders. He shivered—not from cold, but from everything.

You knelt beside the tub, dipping a cloth into the water, wringing it out. Then, slowly, you brought it to his skin.

You washed him the way you’d cradle something delicate.

You ran the cloth down his arm. Across his shoulder. Behind his ear. Over his chest, where his heart beat wild and trembling under your hand.

You bathed him in silence, each movement slow and deliberate, as if you could wash away the weight of everything between you. Your hands trembled slightly as you carefully wiped the dried blood from his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles where the skin was torn and raw.

You cleaned the sweat that clung to his brow, cool and sticky beneath your touch. Then you pressed your palm gently over his heart, feeling the faint, uneven thud beneath your palm—a stubborn, fragile reminder that it was still beating, still alive.

He didn’t meet your eyes. Didn’t say a word. Just sat there, water swirling around him, eyes distant and unfocused, lost somewhere far away, in a place you couldn’t reach—yet.

But you promised yourself, silently, fiercely, that you would reach him. No matter how long it took. No matter how many walls he built around himself.

He was still there when you finally broke the silence. Your voice was soft, almost fragile, like a whisper carrying through the fog.

“I wish someone had told me,” you said quietly, not daring to meet his gaze. “I wish you had told me.”

Remus tensed beneath the water, muscles knotting, and you felt it through your fingertips. You wrung the cloth between your fingers, heart pounding with every second of silence that stretched between you.

“I don’t care how painful it would’ve been,” you added, voice steadier now, more certain. “I deserved to know.”

He exhaled slowly, as if the words themselves carved into him. “I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

Your tone sharpened, the raw hurt breaking through your calm. “You didn’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to protect me by lying. Not when it nearly killed me.”

The weight of those words fell heavy into the space between you. For a moment, the only sound was the faint drip of water from the cloth.

Then his eyes lifted slowly, meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever—fragile, vulnerable, full of everything he’d been too scared to say.

“I didn’t think you'd ever look at me the same,” he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of his fear. “If you knew.”

A bitter laugh escaped your throat, sharp and sudden, breaking the tension.

“You think I don’t see you now? You think I’m not looking at you, right now, with every part of me?”

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering with something almost like hope.

“I see you, Remus. All of you. I see the way you flinch from love like it’s a blade. I see the grief carved into your silence. I see the boy who would rather bury himself than risk hurting someone else.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands—wounded, trembling, wrapped in ragged bandages—and the pain in your voice was honest, unfiltered. “But I also see the boy who never trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And that… that hurts more than any scar.”

He looked broken, hollowed out in a way that left your chest aching, but he didn’t turn away. Didn’t close his eyes. Instead, his voice came, raw and low.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of your words settling between you like a fragile promise. “Yes. You should’ve.”

The steam from the warm water curled around your faces, softening the harsh edges of everything unsaid, blurring the sharp lines of pain into something almost gentle.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just breathing in the shared silence. Then he leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against yours, a quiet gesture that spoke of tentative hope and fragile trust.

“I want to try,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “If you’ll let me.”

Your own voice trembled as it broke free. “Start by telling me everything.”

He nodded again, slower this time, like anchoring himself to the present. And with that, something shifted—an opening, a fragile thread weaving back between you.

And this time, he did.

It came slowly at first, like drawing words from the marrow of his bones—halting, rough, like he’d forgotten how to shape language without flinching.

He told you what he could remember from that night—shards of memory coated in blood and fear, barely coherent. He told you what it felt like to lose himself, to slip out of time, to wake up in a skin that didn’t feel like his own.

The nightmares that curled around his ribcage. The silence that tasted like penance. The months—years—spent learning how to live without letting anyone close enough to see the damage. How he'd convinced himself that silence was kindness, that distance was protection, that truth was a luxury people like him couldn’t afford.

And still, you listened.

You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t turn away. You let his voice break against you like waves on a cliffside, let him collapse into pauses and shake through the parts he couldn’t finish. You held the silence between his sentences like it was something sacred. Even when it hurt.

Even when it cracked open something raw and old inside your chest. Because somewhere inside you, you knew—this wasn’t just a story he was telling. It was a confession. A quiet unraveling.

Not everything was said. Not everything could be. There were still silences he couldn’t break open and wounds you weren’t sure how to touch. But it was a beginning. A single stone placed in what might one day be a bridge.

And still, there was so much more.

The things Sirius had done—reckless, cruel, even if born of desperation—hung in the air like smoke that would not clear. You had not spoken to him since it all unraveled. You were not sure what you would say.

You didn’t know if Remus would ever find it in himself to forgive Sirius, or to trust him again. Some things fracture differently. Some betrayals do not bleed clean.

And James, with his steady eyes and soft-spoken guilt, had kept his own silences. Even he, who had always tried to protect you, had made choices that left you cut open.

All three of them had lied in different ways. Lied in the name of protection. Lied out of fear. Lied out of love. And those lies still lingered in the spaces behind your teeth. You hadn’t even begun to decide what to do with that.

You knew, deep down, that some scars would not close. That no amount of tenderness could undo certain kinds of damage. That some trust, once fractured, might never return in the shape it once held.

You had changed. They had, too. And now you would have to figure out if those new shapes could still fit beside one another without splintering again.

You would have to grieve what you’d lost—who you’d been before all this. You would have to learn how to trust again, not just them, but yourself. Your instincts. Your worth. You’d have to forgive the parts of you that stayed too quiet, too long. You would carry this with you, no matter how far you ran—these bruised memories, these broken truths—but you didn’t have to carry them alone anymore.

Healing would not be a soft road.

There would be nights you’d wake trembling. Days the anger would rise without warning. There would be guilt, and fear, and moments when you weren’t sure if you could keep choosing to stay.

But there would also be mornings, slow and gold. There would be laughter again, strange at first, then easier. There would be cups of tea gone cold on the windowsill. A hand held out when you least expected it. A voice calling you back when you wandered too far.

But you also knew this. You were no longer alone in it.

You helped Remus out of the tub when the water turned cold. He was quiet, pliant, letting you wrap the towel around his shaking shoulders. His head tilted toward yours as you led him through the dim apartment, your steps slow but steady, his breath catching in the hush between rooms.

You found him a fresh shirt, helped him into bed without asking, and tucked the blanket over his trembling limbs. He lay still as stone, but his fingers found yours. And held.

You sat beside him, watching the moonlight shift across the floorboards, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

When Remus finally turned to face you, his expression was soft with exhaustion, but something in his eyes had steadied.

He took your hand again, thumb grazing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the rhythm of you.

“Do you think,” he asked, his voice just above a whisper, “there’s a chance for us? After everything?”

The question lingered between you. Not desperate. Not demanding. Just honest.

You took a breath and met his gaze. “Yes,” you said. “I do.”

His hand tightened gently in yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting that answer settle inside his chest.

Then he looked at you again, quieter this time.

“For keeps?”

You blinked, heart rising painfully. You didn’t hesitate.

“For keeps.”

a/n: this is so over the place, i am so sorry anon </3

[dismalflo]

how it starts

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who like each other from the start ✩ 3.7k words

summary: you know Lily from a shared class, when she invites you to meets some of her friends, Sirius and Remus can't stop flirting.

cw: fluff, reader is a lil shy and insecure, the boys are very sweet, established wolfstar, pre relationship with reader

an: I really enjoyed writing this one and I think i might write a part two

You’re starting to regret agreeing to come. Lily, the sweet girl you met in an art class, had invited you out for drinks with her friends. She swore they were all lovely and that you’d fit in just fine, but the doubts are creeping in. You’re already late because of the bus, and being around new people has never been your strong suit. You try to remind yourself that the whole point of joining the art class was to make friends—backing out now would be stupid.

By the time the pub door comes into view, your hands are shaking. You’re certain you’ll need at least a week to recover from this, but despite it all, you keep pushing forward, determined not to fuck up your one chance.

Before you can even take in the atmosphere, you hear your name shouted across the room. It’s Lily, that lovely redhead you’ve been hoping would be your friend. She waves energetically, and you make your way over to her. The moment you make it over, she wraps you up in a big hug. Her warmth is a stark contrast to the cool night air outside.

"I’m so glad you came!" she nearly shouts in your ear, pulling away just enough to beam at you as if you’ve given her the greatest gift.

“Me too,” you murmur, offering a shy, nervous smile. “You okay?”

“I’m great!” she exclaims, spinning toward the group in a cramped booth. “Everyone, this is Y/N, the friend I told you about.” There’s a chorus of hellos, waves, and friendly smiles.

“You remember James, right?” she asks, pointing to a curly-haired man with glasses. You do remember him. He’s the guy who picks up Lily from art class sometimes. Always nice enough to offer you a lift, but you’ve never taken him up on it. You’ve never met a couple quite as sickly sweet as Lily and James, and you can’t help but feel a little envious of how perfectly they fit together.

You nod and give him a small smile, which he returns.

Lily guides you to the edge of the booth, and the man next to you shuffles over to make room. “Thanks,” you mutter, sitting down.

Lily continues the introductions, her enthusiasm contagious as she goes around the table, pointing to each person in turn. When she gets to the two seated on your left, her grin widens mischievously.

"And this is Remus and Sirius. Don’t listen to a word Sirius says.” She says this with such affection that you can't help but be intrigued. You look up at them, and your breath catches in your throat. They’re both strikingly handsome in different ways. Remus has that soft, almost ethereal quality, like the first light of dawn. Sirius, on the other hand, is all sharp angles and devastating beauty, the kind that could stop anyone in their tracks.

You can’t help but feel like you’re staring a little too long, and you quickly look away, hoping they didn’t notice the awe you felt.

Sirius, however, seems to have noticed. "Charming, Red," he says, making a face at Lily before turning to you with a roguish smile. "Nice to meet you, gorgeous." He winks, and you flush, unsure whether to laugh or run.

Remus rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, though there's a soft fondness in his gaze as he turns to you. “Please, ignore him. Nothing good ever comes from indulging him.”

You giggle, feeling a little more at ease. “It’s nice to meet you both,” you say with a smile. “I’ll try my best.”

Sirius grins like he’s won some kind of victory despite the fact youve just said you'll try to ignore him, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "You’ll fit right in, I’m sure," he says, taking a long swig from his pint. 

"Stop being a menace," Lily scolds, but her smile softens the words.

As the conversation flows around you, you begin to relax just a little. It’s easy to get caught up in the energy of the group. You find yourself laughing along, the tension in your chest easing with every passing minute.

But then, Remus leans in—just a little too close—ensuring you hear him clearly. You can’t help but feel a flutter of uncertainty with him suddenly so near, unsure how to react to the closeness.

"So, what do you do?" he asks, his expression soft with genuine curiosity.

“Oh, I work in a bookshop,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not exactly my dream job, though…” You drop your gaze, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention, avoiding the need to meet his eyes.

But Remus is persistent. He lowers his head, positioning himself so his gaze stays locked with yours. It’s impossible to look away now.

“What is it that you want to do?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“I’m not… I’m not sure yet, honestly. Still figuring it out,” you admit, shrugging as if to brush off the weight of uncertainty.

Remus mirrors your shrug, as if it’s second nature, and smiles reassuringly. “That’s okay. You’ll figure it out, smart girl.”

His words settle in your chest, a small but comforting warmth. You can’t help but smile back, grateful for his kindness.

Before you can respond, Sirius leans in, clearly unimpressed. “Stop hogging all her attention, Moony,” he says with a teasing grin. “There are other people here.”

“Leave him alone, Pads,” James adds with a playful wink. “I don’t know how you put up with him, Rem. Some bloody boyfriend.”

You're caught off guard, the teasing comment leaving you speechless. Hadn’t they both been flirting with you the entire time? You glance at Remus, your mind racing, before giving him a tentative smile.

“I didn’t realize you two were together,” you murmur, your voice too soft to carry over the buzz of the room. “You seem like a good match, though.”

Although you speak to Remus, it’s Sirius who answers, his grin wide and playful. “I’m glad you think so, gorgeous.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of light-hearted conversation, the occasional laugh from you blending into the friendly banter at the table. It feels good to be surrounded by such warm company, and you do your best to push any lingering thoughts about Remus or Sirius to the back of your mind.

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It’s a few days before you hear from Lily again. You usually only speak through text, so when you see her calling, a wave of panic washes over you. You brace yourself for the dreaded conversation, certain that she’s about to tell you her friends think you're too quiet or strange.

But when you answer, it’s not at all what you expected. “Everyone’s been asking me to invite you again,” Lily says, her voice light and reassuring. “So, I just wanted to check in—did you enjoy yourself?”

Relief floods through you. You shouldn’t be surprised by her thoughtfulness; Lily’s always been considerate of your shy nature since the moment you met. “I had a lovely time, don’t worry,” you reply, smiling even though she can’t see it. “Thank you for inviting me.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line before she speaks again, her tone slightly more hesitant. “There’s something else too… Remus and Sirius asked for your number. I told them I’d ask if you were okay with it.”

The unexpected request catches you off guard. “Oh…” You don’t know how to process it at first, your thoughts swirling.

Lily senses your hesitation and quickly reassures you, “They won’t hold a grudge if you’d rather not give it to them. It’s completely up to you.”

You take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “No… no, it’s fine. You can give it to them. That’s alright.”

“Okay, I'll pass it along then.” you can hear the smile in her voice. “We’re all planning on going to the beach on saturday, i’d like it if you’d come?” and god is it hard to say no to Lily, so you agree right away.

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You're unsure of the hasty acceptance of her invite now, analysing the way your body looks in the one-piece swimming costume and denim shorts, laid out on the beach while everyone else is swimming. You’ve been trying to read, but you’ve been stuck on the same page for the last half hour, your eyes constantly drifting toward Remus and Sirius. Even worse, they seem to notice, locking eyes with you every time. It makes you want to sink into the sand and disappear.

Footsteps draw closer, pulling your attention up again, only to be met with the sight of Sirius, freshly emerged from the water, droplets still glistening on his skin. Your cheeks burn.

“You look lovely, doll.” He says softly, almost as though he’s trying not to disturb something fragile.

“Thank you,” you reply, your voice betraying a hint of insecurity. It feels like you’ve been caught in some strange game all day, a competition between them, each trying to outdo the other with compliments and small gestures. It’s overwhelming, but also, rather sweet.

“But I’m sure you hear that all the time, pretty thing.” You expect to see a mischievous smirk, but instead, he’s looking into the distance, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, completely unaware of the weight of his words. “Why aren’t you coming into the water with us?”

“I don’t really… like swimming?” you say, the words tentative, as if afraid they might disappoint him.

“That’s alright,” he replies, his voice soft and reassuring. “I’ll keep you company.” With that, he stretches out beside you, lying down just a bit too close, his hand brushing against the side of your thigh.

Your heart skips a beat at the proximity, and for a moment, you wonder if the warmth you feel on your skin is coming from the sun or from him. You try to focus on the book in your lap, but the words blur before your eyes. It’s difficult to concentrate when your thoughts are racing, and the rhythm of Sirius’s voice still lingers in your mind.

You glance over at him, catching the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. There’s something disarming about the way he makes himself so present, without any sign of expectation, just simply existing beside you.

Before you can muster another word, another figure approaches—this time, it's Remus. You don’t realize how tense you’ve become until you feel his presence like a shift in the air. He’s still wet from the water, though his movements are quieter, more deliberate. When his gaze finds yours, it's different from the teasing look you’ve gotten from Sirius. There’s something warmer in it.

“Mind if I join you two?” Remus asks, a slight grin playing at his lips. It’s playful, but his eyes are soft, almost knowing.

Sirius shifts, giving Remus a nod of acknowledgment, though his body remains close to yours.

“Sure, handsome,” Sirius says, turning his head to give Remus an easygoing smile. “The more the merrier.”

“What about you, dove?” 

“What about me?”

“Are you okay with us both interrupting you?” 

“Oh, yeah of course” you give him a soft smile that earns you a beaming one in return. 

“I was just telling her how pretty she looks, Rem,” Sirius adds with a sly grin, completely unbothered by his own flirting. You however, very bothered, pitch forward and put your head in your hands, embarrassed. 

Both of them laugh at your flustered reaction, amused by how easily you become shy. Once you sit up and finally meet their gazes, the words tumble out without thinking.

“You both look very pretty…” you hesitate, panic creeping in, “or handsome, whatever… you prefer.”

Sirius leans in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “I think ‘pretty’ suits us just fine, don’t you, Remus?”

Remus chuckles, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Absolutely,” he agrees, his tone light.

You feel the heat of your embarrassment creeping back, but there's something strangely comforting about the way they’re both so at ease with you. The tension in your chest seems to dissipate a little as you realize that, despite the teasing, they’re not mocking you—they’re enjoying the moment with you, in their own playful way.

Sirius shifts again, this time sitting up to stretch his legs out. His proximity doesn’t change, though, and you notice how his hand subtly finds its way to rest beside you on the towel, fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a small gesture, but it sends a shock of warmth straight to your core. You glance at him quickly, wondering if he meant to or not. But when his eyes meet yours, there’s a softness there, an openness that catches you off guard.

“I meant it, you know,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost serious. “You really do look beautiful.” There’s no teasing in his tone, only sincerity.

You blink, unsure of how to respond. The words feel like they’re hanging in the air between you two, heavy and vulnerable.

Remus leans forward, “It’s okay, you know,” he adds, a little more serious than before, though his smile is still gentle. “We don’t bite. Just… relax.” He says it in such a soft way that you can’t help but nod, feeling a strange sense of safety in his words. He gives a reassuring pat to your knee but his hand seems to linger for longer than necessary.

It's starting to become impossible not to feel at ease with the two of them, lingering touches passing between the three of you all afternoon. 

As the sun dips below the horizon, everyone climbs back into the cars they arrived in, and you spend most of the drive lost in a daze, staring out the window from the back seat. Remus is driving, his hand resting comfortably on Sirius' thigh. The atmosphere is calm, peaceful. Before you even realize it, the car is slowing to a stop outside your flat.

“Do you… do you want to come up for a cup of tea?” you ask, hesitant but not wanting the evening to end.

“If you’re sure, then we will,” Remus replies, his tone cautious, as if unsure of whether he's overstepping.

You nod eagerly, flashing a smile, and just like that, you're inside your kitchen, preparing cups of tea for the two men lounging in your living room. From the doorway, you can just barely make out hushed, frantic whispers. Although you can’t make out the words, the uneasy energy is enough to make a knot tighten in your stomach.

As you step into the room, mugs in hand, the whispering falls silent. The stillness only deepens the nervous flutter in your chest.

“Thank you, Poppet,” Sirius says with a grin, taking a sip of his tea.

Before you can sit down, Remus calls your name softly.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice betraying the rapid beat of your heart as you turn to look at him.

“We wanted to ask you something, if that’s okay?” Remus says, his gaze gentle but serious.

You nod, your curiosity piqued, silently urging him to continue.

“Listen, we know this is a little… unconventional,” he starts, his words careful, “but we think you're lovely—”

“And gorgeous!” Sirius interrupts, his tone exuberant.

Remus gives him a pointed look before turning back to you. “Yes… and we were wondering if you’d want to—” He pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully, but Sirius can't wait any longer.

“Christ… Lovely girl, will you go out on a date with us?” Sirius blurts out, his voice both impatient and hopeful.

Your jaw drops in stunned silence.

The room seems to freeze for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest as you process Sirius’s words. It’s like you’ve stepped outside of your body, watching from a distance as your mind scrambles to make sense of what’s just happened.

You glance at Remus, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you see is soft curiosity mixed with a hint of nervousness—just like you feel. You turn to Sirius, who is practically vibrating with anticipation, his eyes wide and hopeful. It’s almost as if he's holding his breath, waiting for your response.

"I... I didn’t expect that," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you instantly feel the flush creeping up your neck.

Sirius laughs, a deep, rich sound that echoes in the quiet room. "Sorry, I know we’re kind of springing this on you. We just… we think you’re amazing,"

There’s an undeniable sincerity in his voice now, the playful teasing from earlier gone. Remus, too, is watching you carefully, his expression unreadable for a moment before he speaks softly.

"Take your time, okay?" he says, his voice low and reassuring. "We just wanted to know how you felt, no pressure."

You open your mouth, then close it again, unsure what to say. A thousand thoughts race through your mind—about the feelings you've started to develop for both of them, about the confusion, the surprise, the fact that both of them seem so genuinely interested in you.

It’s overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It's just... unexpected. You think about Remus’s quiet intensity, the way he listens to you with such care. But then Sirius, with his bold, teasing nature, somehow managed to worm his way under your skin, too, making you feel special in a way you never thought you deserved.

“Are you… are you sure?” you finally ask, feeling vulnerable but needing to know the truth. 

At that, Remus rises and walks toward you, moving with quiet confidence. When he stops in front of you, he raises his hand, palm open, as if asking for permission. You remain still, and his hand gently lands on your shoulder, fingers trailing up your neck until they cup your cheek.

“Absolutely,” he says, his voice firm yet tender, no hesitation to be found. His touch grounds you, the certainty in his words a balm to the fluttering nerves inside you.

You glance between them again, searching their faces, before your lips curve upward. “Then yes, I would love to,” you reply, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

Before you can even fully absorb your own answer, Sirius’s hand is in yours, his touch warm and eager, as if he can’t bear not touching you now.

Sirius grins widely, his eyes gleaming with excitement, and before you can blink, he's stepping closer. His thumb brushes against your skin, and it sends a spark straight through your chest.

"I’m glad," he says softly, voice a little huskier than before. There’s an intensity to him now, something beyond the teasing bravado. It makes your heart skip a beat.

Remus, who had been quietly watching the exchange, takes a small step toward you as well. The warmth of his presence, both of their presence,  sends a calming wave through you. He’s not as brash as Sirius, but there’s something incredibly reassuring in the way he stands close, his gaze steady and gentle.

“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur, eyes searching yours with such care. His hand, still resting on your cheek, grounding you.

You nod, feeling your nerves slowly fade under their attention. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It’s as if the world tilts slightly, shifting into something new, something full of promise. The uncertainty in your chest dissolves as the two men stand in front of you, their warmth, their sincerity, and their shared attention making you feel like you’re exactly where you need to be.

Sirius leans in first, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, fleeting kiss, the gesture as tender as it is electrifying. It catches you off guard, leaving your skin tingling in the best way. When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't worry, doll," he whispers, his voice light but full of affection

You barely have time to process the warmth of his words before Remus steps forward, his gaze unwavering as he looks down at you. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice so quiet, so sincere, that it sends a shiver down your spine.

The question takes your breath away. You can’t help but nod, your heart hammering in your chest.

Remus’s smile is soft, almost shy, as he leans in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wanted. But you don’t. You want this—want him—so badly that the moment his lips meet yours, you melt into him. The kiss is gentle at first, a whisper of sensation, but it deepens as his hand shifts to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer.

The world seems to disappear, leaving only the feel of his lips against yours and the rush of emotions that swirl in your chest. When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless, eyes locked.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he presses his forehead against yours.

Before you can respond, you feel Sirius’s presence behind you again, his hand brushing against your back, warm and steady. He leans down, his lips catching yours in a kiss that’s more eager than the first, but just as careful. It’s a different kind of warmth—intense, full of promise—and when he pulls back, there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You can hardly catch your breath, both Remus and Sirius’s touches lingering like a slow-burning fire against your skin. The kisses, tender yet fervent, have left you dizzy and wide-eyed, unsure of how to process everything that’s just happened. But even in the overwhelming haze of emotions, you feel something undeniably special, something that’s hard to name but impossible to ignore.

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