Yours, Always
Poly!Marauders x Reader
Includes: use of Y/N, angst, war, death, grief / Inspired by the movie: PS I Love You
Please let me know what you think 🤍
The world ended on a quiet morning.
It just didn’t know it yet.
There were bodies. Rubble. The scent of smoke clinging to every robe and memory.
But none of that compared to the weight of their silence; the kind that didn’t just fill a room, but swallowed it.
James Potter was gone.
Sirius Black was gone.
Remus Lupin was gone.
And somehow, you were still breathing.
You remembered the way your hands had been tangled with theirs before the wall fell. James’s fingers warm and steady, Sirius’s grip reckless and fierce, Remus’s touch trembling but sure. They were laughing. They were always laughing, even in war.
You had turned to say something, a warning, a joke, maybe I love you - but the words were lost under the roar of the explosion.
When you found them, hours later, they were still together.
James’s arm was around Sirius. Remus was reaching for both. Their faces were soft, almost peaceful, as if the war had finally let them rest.
You kissed each of them. One by one. Forehead. Cheek. Lips. And waited, but the air didn’t answer.
Days blurred. You didn’t eat. You didn’t sleep. You helped McGonagall identify the bodies.
You buried three hearts and pretended you still had one left.
And then, in the corner of 12 Grimmauld Place, underneath a pile of half-burned photographs and Sirius’s leather jacket, you found it.
Wooden, scorched around the edges, smelling faintly of ink and firewhisky. There was a note on top, written in overlapping handwriting — James’s bold scrawl, Sirius’s crooked chaos, Remus’s neat correction underneath both.
For Y/N —
Open only if we’ve cocked something up beyond repair.
(So… any day ending in y.)
— J, S & R.
You didn’t open it at first. You just sat there, clutching it, as if it might start beating again. But eventually, curiosity or desperation, maybe even both, won.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them.
Some sealed. Some torn. Some written on chocolate frog wrappers or old maps or the back of Remus’s lesson plans. All written in their voices. All smelling faintly like home.
You opened the first one at midnight. Curled in Sirius’s old bed, wearing James’s shirt, Remus’s cardigan over your shoulders.
⸻
Letter #1 — “If You’re Reading This…”
Hey, love.
If you’re reading this, something’s gone wrong.(Or Sirius convinced us to fight a dragon. In which case, we’re sorry, but it was bloody worth it.)
We wanted you to have this. Just in case.
Because if the world ends tomorrow, we want you to know this first:
We were never afraid. Not of dying. Not really. Only of leaving you.
You made every day worth surviving.
You made us better. You made James believe there was something worth fighting after the fight. You made Sirius feel at home & you made me (Remus) feel human.
Don’t you dare let us be the end of you. Grieve us. Curse us. Tell us off for being reckless idiots who couldn’t stay put.
But then… live. Laugh again. Find sunlight again. You have to. For all four of us.
We’ll be there, in the creak of the floorboard Remus always fixed, in the echo of Sirius’s bark of a laugh, in the warmth of James’s hand when you reach into the dark. In every bit of mischief you will start.
We love you.
All of us.
Always.
— Yours, in mischief and moonlight.
⸻
That night you cried until dawn. Until your throat bled and your chest ached. Until grief became something you could almost hold.
But the next letter was not far. It came hidden in Sirius’s old leather jacket pocket, wrapped around a cigarette and a sugar quill.
⸻
Letter #2 — “For When It’s Too Quiet”
You hate silence, love. (Now probably more than ever.) You used to fill it with humming, remember? (Drove Remus mental.)
So here’s what you do:
1. Scream. Properly. None of that polite sobbing nonsense.
2. Throw something. (Not the cat. Probably. Remus said definitely not the cat.)
3. Call us bastards out loud. We deserve it.
4. Then light the sparkler.
Yeah, that sparkler. James hid it in the kitchen drawer months ago. Told me it was “for emergencies of the soul.”
Light it. Watch it burn.
Hear that hiss? That’s us. Still making trouble. Still making noise.
— Love,
Sirius (and the other two idiots)
(PS: I wrote this. Remus edited it. James added the sparkler.)
⸻
And you did.
At midnight, on the back porch, you lit it.
And for a few seconds, the sparks reflected in your tears and you swore you could hear Sirius laughing in the crackle as you whispered through them „you bloody idiots“
⸻
You started reading one letter a night.
Letter #4 was for nightmares. (“Replace us with ducks. Trust us. You can’t cry when three ducks are trying to fight Death Eaters.”)
Letter #7 came with a list titled 10 Reasons to Keep Living Without Us.
You barely made it past number three:
3. Because someone will love your laugh again. The way we did.
And you deserve that.
⸻
Letter #11— “For When You Forget to Laugh”
Oi, sweetheart - James here.
You’ve been serious too long. (And I don’t mean Sirius. He’s glaring at me for that pun right now.)
Life’s still out there. Don’t let it slip by while you’re sitting in the dark.
Go fly again. Even if it’s just a broom in the backyard. Eat something ridiculous. Trip over something. Make someone snort-laugh. That’s all I want.
Because when you laugh, properly laugh, it sounds like coming home.
— J.
⸻
You laughed that night. Weakly, softly but you did.
And for a second, you swore you felt a breeze ruffle your hair, like fingers brushing it back.
⸻
Letter #30— “When It Still Hurts”
We know it still does.
It will for a long time. Maybe forever. But pain isn’t all that’s left, lovey. It’s just the proof you lived through something worth missing.
You’ll carry us. In your stories. In the way you still swear too much because Sirius ruined your vocabulary.
In the way you still make tea like Remus taught you. In the way you still hum that tune James used to whistle off-key. You’re the sum of every love we ever gave you.
That’s not a ghost. That’s a legacy.
— Guess Who? Yours. Always.
⸻
Years passed. And the world had the audacity to move on. You smiled again, sometimes. Laughed, even.
But your nights still belonged to them.
The ache softened — never gone, but easier to hold.
And one winter morning, you found the last letter, tucked inside a music box.
⸻
Letter #74— “The Last One”
Merlin love, If you’ve made it here- you incredible, stubborn, miraculous thing-thank you.(Sirius is so proud.)
Thank you for surviving.
Thank you for remembering us, but also for letting the world touch you again. We’re so proud of you. If we could haunt you, we would, not to scare you (well, maybe a little).
We’re sorry we couldn’t stay. Sorry for every laugh you didn’t get to share.
But you’ve written the rest of our story for us; every smile, every dawn, every breath.
And that means you won.
And when your time comes, don’t be afraid. We’ll be waiting. Not in the dark. Not in the past.
But in the light.
You found the last letter, love.
And now we get to say it one more time.
We love you. Always.
— James, Sirius & Remus
⸻
You folded the letter with shaking hands, tears spilling freely this time.
Not from pain. From peace. Grief never truly ends. It only changes shape.
The box was nearly empty now.
Just a few scraps — a doodle of you and them on a broom, Sirius flipping the bird midair, James grinning, Remus rolling his eyes.
A tiny list titled “Reasons Y/N is the best thing that ever happened to us (and also makes terrible tea).”
You closed the box.
Stepped outside into the morning. The wind brushed your hair, soft, warm — like laughter.
And whispered into the wind, soft and sure:
„I’ll see you soon.”
For a moment, the world seemed utterly still.
Then, a faint rustle, a voice that wasn’t quite one, wasn’t quite three, carried through the air like a shared breath.
“We’ll be waiting, love.”







