I had always thought Hogwarts castle felt impossibly alive in winter breathing magic into every drafty corridor and echoing laugh. But nothing compared to New Year’s Eve.
The Great Hall glowed from floor to ceiling, bewitched snow falling like glittering confetti while hundreds of floating candles flickered gold. Music drifted softly from an enchanted gramophone; students spun across the floor, giggling, flirting, sneaking sips of firewhisky when they thought no one was looking.
I leaned against a stone pillar, watching everyone swirl around me. Couples everywhere lips close, fingers tangled, cheeks flushed.
Beside me, Sirius elbowed my arm dramatically.
“Well, this is disgusting,” he said, eyes narrowing at a Ravenclaw pair practically glued together.
“Oh yes, awful,” I replied. “Imagine being wanted.”
Sirius snorted, tossing his long dark hair out of his eyes.
“I am wanted,” he corrected. “Just… selectively wanted.”
“You’re unbearable,” I muttered, grinning.
“And yet you adore me.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t deny it. Sirius and I had been inseparable since first year. He was trouble in human form sharp cheekbones, sharper tongue, and the kind of smile that shattered rules and resolved arguments all at once.
Unfortunately for me, I had fallen in love with my best friend sometime around fourth year.
Even more unfortunately, he had absolutely no idea.
He was laughing now, watching James and Lily dance like awkward giraffes. James stepping on Lily’s toes, Lily shouting insults while refusing to stop. Remus and Peter sat nearby, gossiping and pretending they weren’t watching.
It was almost perfect.
Almost.
Except I knew Sirius was lonely.
He hid it under jokes and swagger, but I saw it the way his eyes lingered on couples, the way his smile faded a little too quickly when he thought no one noticed.
We were halfway through our seventh year and he hadn’t dated anyone in months.
“Hey.” Sirius nudged me again, voice suddenly lower. “We should kiss at midnight.”
I nearly choked on air.
“Kiss?”
He shrugged casually, as if my insides hadn’t just exploded into fireworks.
“It’s traditional, Y/N. Midnight kiss, new year, magic, romance. You know, all that rubbish.”
I stared at him “You want to kiss me?"
“Well, not particularly,” he said breezily. “But you’ll cry if you don’t get one, won’t you?”
I punched his shoulder so hard he wheezed “You’re an idiot.”
He grinned “But you didn’t say no.”
I bit my lip. “No one else is going to want to kiss you, Black. You’ve terrified half the school.”
“And you’ve terrified the other half.” He held out his pinky finger like a child. “Deal?”
I hesitated too long.
He arched a brow. “Worried you’ll fall madly in love with me?”
Too late, I thought bitterly.
“Fine,” I said, linking my pinky with his. “At midnight, we’ll kiss.”
He laughed, bright and delighted.
The unspoken truth settled between us we were both praying the other wouldn’t find someone else to kiss before the clock hit zero.
The night grew no easier.
Every time a girl laughed near Sirius, something inside my ribcage twisted. He was gorgeous flushed cheeks, hair falling impossibly perfectly into grey eyes, silver hoop glinting faintly from his ear.
Girls stared at him constantly.
I half expected one to drag him behind a tapestry and declare him hers before midnight.
At eleven o’clock, the Marauders started dancing. It was a disaster.
Remus nodded to the steps steadily, Peter tripped over my foot twice, and James kept spinning Lily too fast until she threatened castration.
Sirius didn’t even try.
He simply grabbed my hands, pulling me close with reckless ease, and whispered, “Pretend we’re graceful.”
“We’re not,” I whispered back.
“I know. It’s tragic.”
He swayed us in slow circles.
Our hands fitted together like puzzle pieces.
Every few seconds he glanced down at me, little smiles tugging his mouth sideways.
I wondered whether he could feel my pulse hammering through my fingertips.
By eleven thirty, the party had sprawled outward students drifting into corridors, couples sneaking off, music echoing in the halls.
Sirius and I slipped out to breathe.
The hallway was empty, moonlight spilling through tall stained glass windows, painting colour onto Sirius’s skin.
He looked unreal.
“You okay?” he asked softly, nudging my hip with his.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
I met his eyes. “About the kiss.”
He went still.
The air thickened.
The humour in his expression flickered nervousness replacing it.
He stepped closer, voice changing “Are you nervous?”
“A little.” My cheeks warmed. “You?”
He swallowed.
“I think I’d be more terrified if I didn’t want it.”
I froze.
He didn’t notice too busy pretending he hadn’t said something insane.
“We’re just having fun,” he added quickly. “It’s nothing serious.”
Right. Nothing serious.
My stomach twisted painfully.
Doors opened, students spilled back inside, and we returned to the Hall as the final countdown neared.
11:46pm.
Sirius leaned against the refreshment table, downing a spiked butterbeer like he needed it to breathe.
Girls passed, fluttering lashes, walking slower than necessary.
I pretended not to see.
Remus approached me quietly.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” His voice softened. “Tell him.”
I blinked hard. “And destroy everything?”
Remus sighed, looking older than seventeen.
“He looks at you like you pull stars out of the sky,” he murmured “He’s just thick.”
I didn’t get to answer.
James appeared, shouting, “TWO MINUTES!”
Panic shot through my veins.
Students crowded the centre of the room, forming messy circles.
Sirius caught my gaze and crooked a finger.
“Come here, trouble.”
I walked to him, legs shaking like I was eleven again and about to learn magic existed.
He placed his hands on my waist.
I felt the world tilt.
One song ended, another began slow, soft, beautiful.
Around us, couples drew close, arms circling necks, foreheads touching.
Sirius whispered, “You look terrified.”
“I’m not terrified.”
“You’re shaking.”
“No, I’m not.”
He smiled gently “You’re adorable.”
My lungs malfunctioned.
“So,” he murmured, moving a strand of hair from my cheek. “you ready?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure? No last-minute declarations of undying love from a mysterious admirer?”
“No. You?”
“Shockingly, everyone seems immune to my charm tonight.”
I laughed weakly “ What a tragedy.”
His thumb brushed my jaw, and we drifted a little closer.
“Thirty seconds!” James shouted.
I gripped Sirius’s shirt.
His breath hitched.
“Twenty!” students roared.
Sirius whispered, almost angrily, “If you don’t want to kiss me...”
“I do,” I blurted.
Everything inside him stilled.
He stared “What?”
“Ten!”
My pulse pounded.
“I want to kiss you,” I said, voice trembling.
“Eight!”
His hands slid higher on my waist.
“Seven!”
His forehead touched mine.
“Six!”
“You want to kiss me?” he breathed.
“Five!”
“Since when?”
“Four!”
“Since fourth year,” I admitted.
Sirius inhaled sharply.
“Three!”
“Y/N…”
“Two!”
He cupped my face eyes burning, mouth parted.
“One!”
Midnight exploded.
Sirius kissed me.
Hard.
Real.
No hesitation, no joke, no friend-safe version of affection.
His lips were urgent, warm, tasting faintly of butterbeer and something electric. His fingers slid into my hair, tugging gently, pulling me flush against him as cheers roared around us students screaming, fireworks bursting through enchanted ceilings, music thundering.
I kissed him back with everything I had seven years of friendship, three years of longing, every moment we had laughed and pretended we weren’t in love.
When we finally broke apart, neither of us breathed.
Sirius looked wrecked.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered.
I swallowed “Yeah.”
His eyes flicked to my lips again “Can I?”
“Yes.”
He kissed me softer this time slow, lingering, full of disbelief.
I felt tears prick my eyes.
He rested his forehead against mine.
“You’ve fancied me since fourth year?” he murmured.
“Don’t make fun.”
“I’m not.”
I looked up.
He was smiling.
Terrified, vulnerable, unbelievably happy.
“Do you want to know something mental?” he whispered.
“What?”
“I made the deal because I was scared you’d kiss someone else.”
My breath hitched.
“And I thought,” he continued, brushing his thumb over my mouth, “if I had one excuse to kiss you that wouldn’t ruin everything… I’d take it.”
The Hall spun beneath the weight of his confession.
Students danced, cheers echoing, confetti raining like snow.
Sirius laughed suddenly, shaky and stunned.
“We’re idiots.”
“Massive idiots,” I agreed.
He squeezed my hand.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s sneak out before James sings.”
We slipped away from the party, fingers laced, ignoring the teasing shouts behind us.
The castle corridors were empty and quiet, moonlight silvering stone floors.
Sirius stopped near a tapestry, tugging me close again.
“One more,” he whispered.
I didn’t argue.
He kissed me like he’d wanted to for years.
When we broke apart, breathless and red-cheeked, he rested his palms on my waist.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he said softly.
“Neither do I.”
He grinned “So you’ll be my girl?”
My laugh echoed down the corridor.
“I’ve been your girl since I met you.”
Sirius’s smile faltered tender, stunned, real.
“Happy New Year, Y/N.”
I kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Happy New Year, Sirius.”
We walked slowly, hand in hand, hearts unguarded now.
Reminder that spring will always come back, music will never stop being created, and there are still so many books left to read! You’re alive! You’re alive! You’re alive!
summary: ''how evergreen, our group of friends don't think we'll say that word again, and soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls that we once walked through.''
— or in which you’ve always known remus was yours, since childhood, through hogwarts, even as war drew near. you knew his heart like your own and believed he was your future. because if there’s one thing you were certain of, it was this: he was yours, just as you were his. except sometimes you just don't know the answer 'til someone's on their knees and asks you.
warnings: grief, death, war themes, emotional breakdowns, depiction of mental illness, panic attacks, familial abuse (verbal, physical, implied), romantic miscommunication, unresolved tension, self-worth issues, depression, identity crisis, fear of intimacy, inability to commit, regret, internalized shame, rejection, public proposal refusal, flashbacks, and heavy emotional angst throughout.
a/n: this is a combo of champagne problems, tolerate it, right where you left me, the 1 and possibly every angsty ts song <3 masterlist
Hogwarts, March, 10, 1977
"Happy birthday, Remus!"
Your voice rings through the Gryffindor common room full of joy. There is flour on your robes and icing on your cheek, a smear of sweetness you have yet to notice.
James claps a hand on Remus’s shoulder and spins him gently toward the low table in front of the couch. “Come on then,” he says, already beaming. “Let’s do this properly, birthday boy.”
Sirius climbs onto the arm of the couch like he’s preparing to deliver a royal decree. One arm is slung dramatically across his chest. “One, two—”
And then the song begins.
“Happy birthday to you,” they sing, a crooked and joyful chorus. Sirius leans too hard on the harmony. James sings too loud on purpose, as always. Peter laughs through the entire second verse, struggling to keep up, and somewhere in the middle of the mess, you let your voice fall into the melody, quiet but clear, your gaze fixed only on Remus.
The cake sits slightly off-center on the table, its edges leaning and its icing uneven, but there’s heart in every inch of it. And scrawled in imperfect letters across the top is a single number: 17.
Remus looks at it like it’s the most extraordinary thing anyone has ever made for him. His smile turns soft, slow, filled with the weight of something deep and unspoken.
He breathes in through his nose, carefully, as though he’s trying to hold the scent and the silence in his chest forever. Then he leans forward and blows out the candles, and just like that, the flames vanish, and all that remains is golden smoke curling into the air.
Cheers erupt around him. Sirius throws his arms up as if he’s just won the House Cup. James slaps Remus’s back so hard the cake nearly slides off the table. Peter is already licking frosting from his thumb with glee.
It is noisy and chaotic and perfect.
And when the laughter begins to settle, when the room quiets into the soft hum of friends eating cake and the fire cracking in the hearth, you move to him. You sink onto the couch beside him, thigh pressed to his, shoulder brushing his arm.
Remus turns toward you with something warm in his face, something entirely unguarded. “You made this for me?”
“I did,” you say, watching him. “I wanted it to be good.”
“It’s more than good,” he says, glancing down at the cake as if it might still be unreal. “It’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
You smile, leaning in slightly. “You say that every time someone gives you a book.”
He laughs, a sound full of real joy. “That’s different. This took actual effort.”
You nudge his knee with yours. “You’re worth effort, Remus.”
His expression shifts, his eyes filled with something sincere and unwavering. “Everything about today,” he says slowly, “feels like a dream I’ve had too many times. Except it’s real, and better.”
You tilt your head. “Because of the cake?”
He shakes his head, and his voice lowers just enough to make your heart pause. “Because of you.”
There is no hesitation when he leans in. No doubt, no nervous edge. He kisses you as if it is the only thing he has ever wanted to do, and the only thing he will ever want again.
His hand cups your jaw, careful but wanting, like he’s still learning how to hold joy without letting it slip through his fingers. Your hand curls into the front of his jumper, anchoring him to this moment.
When he pulls back, breath gentle against your cheek, he rests his forehead against yours and exhales like he has never known peace until tonight.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “For this cake, for this night, for always being where I need you to be.”
You smile, your nose brushing his. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
He closes his eyes for a breath, and when he opens them again, they’re still full of you. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“You didn’t,” you say, threading your fingers through his beneath the blanket. “We found each other. That’s better.”
He laughs, soft and low. “Seventeen is going to be a good year.”
You press a kiss to his cheek. “Wait until you see eighteen.”
And for the rest of that night, Remus did not let go of your hand.
-
Time moved forward in the only way it knew how—quietly, steadily, without asking permission.
Your life, with Remus in it, unfolded in quiet chapters stitched together by borrowed joy and the ache of belonging.
You met him when you were eleven—small, wary, already too heavy with things no child should carry.
James found you first, loud and warm, his kindness a door flung wide. Sirius followed, brilliant and reckless, deciding instantly that you were his. Then Peter, eager and gentle.
But it was Remus who noticed your silence. He sat across from you on the train, quiet, book in hand, and when he smiled at you, something shifted. It felt like a beginning.
From that moment, the five of you were inseparable. You trailed behind mischief and laughter, sneaking chocolate from the kitchens and memorizing each other’s dreams. But always, your eyes returned to Remus. You found excuses to sit beside him, to brush his fingers, to listen to the sound of his breath when he read aloud.
By thirteen, you could no longer pretend it was subtle. You smiled too much around him. You caught yourself tracing his name on parchment. Your heart jumped every time he touched you, even by accident. It was obvious. Painfully so.
What you never knew was that he had loved you from the start. He just never said it. Not aloud. But it lived in every glance, every quiet moment he waited for you before class, every time he listened like your voice was the only thing that made sense in a world that so rarely did.
There was never a title, never a confession. Just the steady way you gravitated toward each other, again and again. As if your hearts had learned something your mouths were too afraid to say.
You were there for him—before the others knew, before anyone understood. You sat by his bed after every full moon, holding his hand, whispering stories while he slept. You brought him tea when he was too raw to speak. You loved him through the pain, through the scars, through the nights he could not face himself.
And he was there for you. He was there when you came back from summers covered in bruises you tried to laugh away. He was there when cruelty hissed down corridors and you couldn’t find the words to fight back. He found you sobbing in the Astronomy Tower and held you until your grief forgot how to speak. He stood beside you at your mother’s funeral, silent and steady, and did not let go of your hand once.
You loved James and Sirius and Peter like family. They were your brothers, your laughter, your shield. But Remus was something else.
Eventually, you all graduated.
You still remember the heat of the sun on your skin as you stood in your black robes outside the castle gates, laughter echoing in your ears.
You remember the way James shouted your name just before the photograph was taken.
You remember the sound of the shutter snapping the moment Remus turned toward you and kissed you, his hand on your cheek, your smile pressed against his mouth. It was one of the happiest moments of your life. All five of you together—free, young, and still untouched by war.
But freedom did not last long.
The war had thickened like smoke, curling through every crack in the world. It grew louder, darker, more cruel.
And so you joined the Order of the Phoenix, all of you—shoulder to shoulder with Dumbledore, fighting the rise of the Dark Lord and the poison of his Death Eaters. It was not an easy time. Danger was everywhere, but Remus was still beside you, and so were the Marauders, and that was enough.
That summer, James married Lily.
The wedding was small, quiet, hidden away in the countryside.
The ceremony was simple, but the love in it was radiant, enough to make the world outside blur. You stood beside Lily with flowers in your hands and tears in your eyes, and when they kissed, something inside you whispered finally, like the world had done one right thing, at least.
Sirius was the best man. He delivered a speech that made everyone laugh until they cried.
Later, when the music swelled and you were turning through the garden in Remus’s arms, his hands steady at your waist, his eyes lit with something impossibly tender, he leaned in and whispered into your ear.
“You would make such a lovely bride.”
You looked up, heart skipping, but he only smiled—that soft, quiet smile you had fallen for at thirteen, the one that still made your chest tighten like it was the first time.
You did not answer. You simply held him closer, let your cheek rest against his shoulder, and let the moment carry you. The world was unraveling beyond that garden, but in the hush of evening light, you were whole.
You were his. He was yours. As it had always been.
Months later, the war was no longer approaching—it was everywhere. It crept into your hours, carved names from your future. Order meetings ended in silence, chairs left empty. You stopped asking who had survived. You learned to read grief in the pauses between words.
Still, some light remained.
That spring, Lily gave birth just after her twentieth birthday. James wept when he held Harry for the first time, laughing through tears as though Lily had saved the world. Harry was warmth in motion, always reaching, always giggling, always curling into sleep in your arms. You loved him with something instinctive and entire, as if he belonged not only to them, but to all of you.
By then, you and Remus shared a home—a quiet place where ivy clung to the windows and parchment-scented air drifted through the nights. You fell asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat, woke to his voice reading softly into the morning light. There were no declarations. There was no need. You had loved him for so long it had become something beyond language.
Now, you are twenty-one.
The war still rages, but tonight is not about that.
Tonight, the Potters are hosting a small dinner to mark Harry’s first year of life.
You stand before the mirror, adjusting your collar with fingers still raw from your last mission. Behind you, Remus is folding a jumper into a bag with exaggerated precision. “We’re going to be late,” he says without looking up.
“You’re the one who stopped at the bakery for an extra tin of biscuits,” you reply, stepping into your boots.
He turns then, eyes warm, the corner of his mouth twitching. “They’re Harry’s favorite.”
You raise a brow. “He’s one.”
“Exactly. Easily impressed.”
You laugh, crossing the room to straighten his collar. He lets your hands linger, his gaze softening as he studies your face.
“You look beautiful.”
“You say that every time I wear this.”
“That’s because every time, it’s true.”
He leans in, kisses you once—slow and unhurried, as though you have all the time in the world—and pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
You glance toward the clock, then back at him. “Ready?”
His thumb brushes against your wrist. “Always.”
With your hand in his, you step into the night, unaware of how tender this moment truly is. The laughter on your lips still lingers, the warmth between you still glows, and the love in your eyes remains untouched by the weight it will soon be asked to carry.
You are walking toward a dinner filled with light, with laughter, with the kind of quiet joy only found in rooms built by love.
And by the end of it, Remus Lupin will look at you with his whole heart exposed and ask a question that will change everything.
The moment you and Remus step into the Potter home, it feels like walking into sunlight.
“Oi! There they are,” James calls from across the room, already grinning. “About bloody time.”
“We’re three minutes late,” Remus mutters under his breath, handing over the box of biscuits, but James grabs him into a hug like it’s been months.
“Three minutes too long without your charming face, Moony.”
You laugh as Lily appears behind him, her hair pinned back loosely, cheeks already flushed from the warmth of the room. “Hello, hello,” she says, wrapping her arms around you. “We’ve missed you.”
“I saw you two days ago,” you tease.
She leans back and narrows her eyes. “Which is two days too long.”
Harry is asleep in her arms, cheeks rosy, his tiny fists curled against her chest. You smile and press a kiss to the top of his head before Lily carries him gently upstairs, whispering something about how if anyone wakes him, they’ll regret it for the rest of their natural lives.
The house is warm, filled with the scents of roasted garlic and something sweet baking in the kitchen.
Marlene is sitting on the couch already mid-laugh, one foot tucked beneath her and a glass of champagne balanced in hand.
Dorcas is cross-legged beside her, arguing passionately about whether or not baby Harry will end up a Chaser or a Seeker, and Peter is sneaking biscuits from the box Remus just handed off.
You settle on the couch, tucked neatly into Remus’s side, his arm sliding around your waist like muscle memory.
The champagne glass in your hand is cold, fizzing quietly, and he presses a kiss to your temple as he always does—like it’s something sacred.
The conversation blooms like music.
“Do you remember when Minnie caught us turning all the suits of armor into dancing ballerinas for Halloween?” Sirius says, standing near the fireplace with James, his hand already gesturing wildly.
“You mean when you started calling her Minnie to her face?” James snorts. “And then tried to convince her that it was affectionate.”
“It was affectionate!” Sirius says, horrified. “She’s the one who hexed me. I nearly tripped down the staircase for a week.”
“She warned you twice, Padfoot,” Remus adds, voice warm against your ear. “And you kept calling her that anyway.”
Sirius grins, unabashed. “She said it was disrespectful. I said it was endearing and I still stand by that.”
Everyone groans.
Laughter echoes through the living room, and you lean further into Remus, your head resting against his chest as his fingers curl loosely around your hip.
Every now and then, he presses a kiss to your hair, slow and absent, like he’s not even thinking about it. His touch is steady, anchoring.
Later, after dinner has been cleared and dessert has made the rounds, Harry finally falls asleep upstairs again after an hour of stubborn fighting. Lily returns downstairs briefly to announce his surrender, glowing with exhaustion and pride.
You stay close to Remus, his arm now wrapped fully around your waist, your hand resting lightly over his heart. He’s gone quiet, though—not withdrawn, just thoughtful. He hasn’t stopped smiling, but you can feel a thread of tension beneath it.
He glances toward the hallway. “I’ll be right back.”
You look up. “Where are you going?”
“Outside for a bit,” he says, brushing his thumb across your back. “Sirius and Peter wanted a quick chat.”
“Everything okay?”
He hesitates. Just for a moment. Then he kisses your temple again. “Always.”
You watch him disappear toward the back door, where Sirius is already shrugging into his coat. Peter follows, eyes flitting between them, looking like he knows something you don’t.
Before you can dwell on it, Lily slides onto the couch beside you, nudging your knee with hers. “Come on,” she says quietly. “I’ve got something to show you.”
You follow her upstairs into the cozy room she and James share. The lights are low. The window is cracked open just enough to let the cool night breeze spill in. On the bed is a stack of polaroids tied loosely in red ribbon.
“I was sorting through old boxes this week,” she says, untying the ribbon. “Thought you’d want to see some of these.”
She lays them across the blanket like cards in a reading, smiling as she passes you each one. A younger version of her twirls in her wedding dress beside James, who is half-laughing and halfway to tears.
Another of Sirius holding Harry like he’s holding a bomb. One of Peter standing beside Marlene with a cupcake smeared on his nose.
And dozens—hundreds—of snapshots from Hogwarts. From the lake, from the dormitories, from late-night study sessions that turned into sleepovers.
Then, without meaning to, you gasp.
There are two photos that don’t belong in the others. They must have gotten shuffled in by accident, tucked between James and Lily’s wedding and the chaos of their honeymoon.
The first is from your graduation day. Remus is kissing you with both hands in your hair, his lips pressed to yours like it was the only thing keeping him alive. You’re laughing into it, your hands tangled in his robes, joy radiating from you like sunlight.
The second is from James and Lily’s wedding. You and Remus are sitting at a table near the garden lights, your chin resting in your hand as you look at him. And Remus is smiling back. A quiet, tender smile.
“Peter took that one,” Lily says softly, brushing a finger over the edge. “I thought it was lost.”
You blink, your throat tight. “I didn’t know anyone had captured that.”
“I almost kept it for myself,” she teases. “But it’s yours. Both of them are.”
The bedroom door creaks, and James appears, ducking in with an exaggerated whisper. “What are you two conspiring about up here?”
“Photos,” Lily says, grinning as she shifts to make space on the bed.
He flops down beside her, plucks one from the pile, and lets out a dramatic groan. “Oh, Merlin. Look at Sirius’s hair in this one. I forgot he tried to bleach it that summer. He said he wanted to look ‘sun-kissed’ and ended up looking like a cursed daisy.”
Lily laughs, full and bright, and James leans back against the pillows, holding the photo at arm’s length. “I’ve never felt younger than I do right now.”
You don’t speak. You are still staring at the two pictures in your lap, hands motionless, breath caught in a space somewhere between ache and wonder.
The weight of them settles in your chest. All those years tucked inside these frames. All those quiet moments that stitched themselves into your memory without ever asking permission.
You brush your thumb over the edge of the wedding photo. And for a moment, you feel it—the unmistakable pull, low and steady, like gravity reaching through the walls. Something is shifting in the air just beyond the door, quiet and certain.
Downstairs, the back door opens again.
And everything begins.
James had long since slipped back downstairs, taking half the stack of photographs with him and muttering something about making Sirius cry for once.
Lily remained behind, still seated on the bed, her gaze lingering on the soft folds of the duvet before she turned her eyes back to you.
You were still holding the wedding photo.“I didn’t know he looked at me like that,” you said quietly, the words escaping before you could stop them.
Lily smiled, but there was something bittersweet in it. “He always has.”
Then she stood and, without saying anything more, wrapped her arms around you.
It caught you completely off guard.
You froze for a second—startled—then slowly lifted your arms and hugged her back. The fabric of her blouse was warm against your cheek, and her hands held you tightly, like she was anchoring you to something real.
“What was that for?” you asked, laughing a little, still confused.
She pulled back, eyes shining. “Because I’m grateful for you, and I’m happy.”
You blinked again, eyebrows drawing together. “Lily…”
“I mean it,” she said softly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “With everything happening, with how the war’s been—there are days I can barely breathe from worry. But then I remember that we have you. You and Remus and Sirius and Peter. And suddenly it doesn’t feel so terrifying.”
You didn’t know what to say. There was a lump in your throat, unexpected and sharp.
She smiled, soft and sincere. “If anything were to happen… to James or to me… I know Harry will still be safe. Because he’ll have all of you.”
“You’re not going to lose James,” you said fiercely, your voice low and certain.
Lily’s eyes shimmered. “I know. I know. It’s just—I get scared sometimes. He’s reckless, and brave, and brilliant, and stupidly noble. And Harry is so young. There are nights I hold him and wonder how I’m supposed to do this, if I’d ever have to do it alone.”
You shook your head. “You won’t.”
“I believe you,” she whispered. “Because I believe in all of us, and because I have you. You’re amazing, Y/N. You are. And you and Remus—Merlin, you’d make the most beautiful wedded couple.”
Your stomach twisted. You laughed, soft and strained, a sound that did not quite belong to joy. “I don’t think I’ll ever be a bride.”
Lily froze, pulling back just enough to see your face, her brows knitting in startled confusion. “What?”
You shrugged, trying to smile like it didn’t sting. “It’s nothing.”
She reached for your arm, her voice trembling now. “Wait. No, what do you mean? Why wouldn’t you—”
“I’m just not that kind of person,” you said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “And neither is Remus, really. Marriage has never been... us.”
Lily blinked, her mouth parted, horror slowly softening into heartbreak. “But you love him.”
“I do,” you breathed, and for a moment it was too much, too sharp. “But loving someone doesn’t always mean you believe you’re meant for forever. Not everyone is made for vows and rings and promises they’re terrified they’ll break.”
Her expression said she wanted to argue, to reach into your ribs and hold the truth steady so it wouldn’t slip through your fingers again.
But instead, you looked toward the stairs and offered her the smallest smile. “Come on. Everyone’s probably wondering where we are.”
She followed in silence.
When you came downstairs, the living room was quieter than before. The champagne had dulled everyone’s edges, and the music from the record player had slowed into something instrumental. Everyone was looking at you.
You frowned, heart skimming your ribs. “What’s going on?”
Remus took a breath, then stepped toward you.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached for your hand, lacing your fingers together like he always did when he needed to calm his nerves. His palm was warm against yours.
“Do you want to go for a walk in the garden?” he asked, voice quiet, almost too casual.
You blinked, confused but smiling. “Right now?”
He nodded, his thumb brushing yours.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes steady. “Right now.”
You glanced around once, catching Sirius’s almost smirk and Lily’s unreadable expression. You turned back to Remus and smiled. “Alright. Lead the way.”
The garden is hushed in the kind of quiet that only follows laughter. The grass is still damp beneath your shoes, the roses drowsy and folded into themselves. Above, the moon hangs low—soft, swollen, a quiet witness.
Remus’s hand finds yours again as you walk down the stone path, just far enough from the windows for the glow of the house to blur behind leaves.
He stops.
You turn to him, expectant.
And then his thumb brushes over your knuckles once, twice—like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His eyes are warm, but there’s a nervousness under them, restless and raw.
“You know I love you,” he says, and it’s not a question.
You smile, soft as the night. “I know. And I love you.”
Your words should soothe him, but they don’t. If anything, he grows tenser. His breath comes slower.
“I always thought I’d wait for something better than this,” he murmurs, eyes flitting toward the dark hedgerow, the soft twinkle of fairy lights strung loosely overhead. “A quiet hilltop. A lake, maybe. Something green and still. Somewhere untouched by the war.”
You tilt your head. “Remus…”
“But the war isn’t waiting,” he says. “And neither am I.”
He lets go of your hand.
“I’ve been meaning to say this for years, and I keep holding it back. For timing, for safety, and for reasons I’ve long since stopped believing in. Because the truth is—I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old.”
Your breath catches. He steps forward.
“That day on the train. You walked into our compartment with a cracked suitcase and a stubborn gleam in your eye, and I couldn’t stop looking at you. I didn’t know it then—not really—but I think my heart did. You made space for yourself like you belonged, and somehow, from that moment on, you did.”
He exhales shakily.
“I tried to tell myself it was a crush. But then you stayed. You stayed when things got hard. When I disappeared for days and came back barely standing. You found me on the floor of the dormitory once, bleeding through my sleeves, and you said nothing. You just cleaned my wounds and stayed beside me.”
You already know where this is going.
“I loved you when you hexed anyone who dared look at me with pity. When you memorized the names of every scar I carried. When you waited outside the hospital wing, even when Madam Pomfrey warned you not to. You have always been there, always. You are carved into every version of my life that ever meant something.”
He pauses, voice breaking, but only just.
“You made me feel not just loved, but liked. And I can’t explain how rare that is. I have never known someone to look at me and see more than the monster –but you always did. You saw through the fear and into the person I wanted to be. You made me believe I was good.”
Remus reaches into the pocket of his coat. You already feel it before you see it, the shift in the air, the slow collapse of everything safe.
“I love everything about you,” he continues, and his voice is trembling now. “Your fire, your silence, your grief. The way you walk like the world owes you nothing, and yet you keep giving it everything you have left. You terrify me with how alive you are, how much you feel, how deeply you love.”
And then, with the gentleness of someone who has never once taken you for granted, he lowers himself onto one knee.
The box opens in his palm.
The ring gleams in the dark.
“Will you marry me?” he whispers. “Please.”
You freeze.
He’s looking up at you, eyes wide and vulnerable. You’ve never seen him look more open or more breakable.
You can feel them inside—your friends. You know they’re watching from the window, holding their breath, waiting for the ending they’ve all imagined a hundred times.
But you can’t move.
“Remus,” you say, so quietly it barely counts.
He doesn’t rise.
“Please get up.”
He doesn’t.
“Remus—please.”
He only blinks, bewildered. “Why?”
“I—” Your voice fractures. “I can’t.”
And then, without thinking, without even meaning to, Remus drops to both knees.
He clasps your hands in his.
“Please,” he says again, and his voice is not desperate—it’s gutted. “I know this isn’t a perfect moment. I know you’re scared. I am, too. But I love you. I have loved you for a lifetime. Please—let me spend whatever time we have left proving it.”
Tears flood your eyes. Your chest is burning.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. I just—I can’t. I can’t.”
His face twists. Not in anger. Not in disbelief. But in something wordless. Something that sees every part of you and still doesn’t understand why love wasn’t enough.
And you do what you always do when pain gets too loud.
You walk away.
You don’t run. You just turn and go, your limbs moving before your mind catches up, the tears already sliding down your cheeks before you reach the side gate. Behind you, you hear the shuffle of grass, hurried footsteps, the scraping of stone—
“Wait!” Remus calls. “Please, just—tell me why. Tell me why.”
But you don’t stop.
Because you don’t have an answer that won’t ruin him.
He catches up to you just past the side gate, fingers curling around your wrist—not hard, not to stop you, but to hold you. Just to hold. His grip trembles. You freeze.
“Please,” he chokes out. “Please, just tell me why.”
You turn to face him, the words tangled in your throat, the tears already hot against your skin. Your hand is still in his, but your body aches to flee, to vanish into the hedgerows, to never have to explain the thing that has always lived beneath your ribs like a wound that never healed properly
“I can’t,” you whisper, the words dragged from the hollow of your chest like something torn loose.
He steps forward, eyes wild, breath shallow. “You can. You—bloody hell, you owe me that!”
“I’m not built for this, Remus.” Your voice splinters, sharp with panic, heavier than air.
“What does that mean?” His voice catches, unraveling. “What do you mean you’re not built for it?”
“It means I can’t be someone’s wife. I can’t—I can’t wake up beside you and pretend I know how to belong to something good. I can’t promise you a future when I don’t even know how to survive a present.”
His hands tremble. “I’m not asking for a house with a white fence. I’m not asking for anything perfect. I’m asking for you–just you! You with your scars and your silence and all the things you think make you unlovable. I don’t care where we are. I don’t care if we’re sleeping on a cursed battlefield or hiding in someone’s attic. I just want to be where you are. I want your tired, your messy, your unsure. I want the version of you that exists after everything else has been taken away.”
“I can’t give you that!” you snap, voice rising into something sharp and aching.
“I am not the same girl you met on the train. I’m not even the same girl who laughed at your stupid jokes in fifth year. I’m more broken than I was then. The war didn’t just take people from me, I lost my family. I lost myself. I am not whole, Remus. I can’t be whole for you.”
“I—I never needed you to be whole,” he whimpers out.
“I have never once asked for that. I have always loved every version of you.”
You turn from him, but he follows.
“You loved me before,” you say, through clenched teeth. “Before the war, before I buried my mother, before I lost everything. You love the idea of me. The memory of someone who hasn’t existed in years.”
“That’s—that’s not true!”
“It is, Remus, it is.”
“I—I know who you are now,” he says, voice shaking. “And I love her too. I love the woman who walks like she’s survived something. I love the grief in your eyes because it means you’re still here. I love the pain, because it came from caring. I love you when you’re quiet. I love you when you’re cruel. I love you when you forget how to love me back.”
You’re crying now, not the soft kind, but the kind that leaves your breath ragged and your throat raw. “You shouldn’t have to love me like that.”
“Stop it,” he says. “Just stop!”
“I’m trying to save you—”
“Save me from what? From you?!”
“Yes!” you cry. “From this. From me ruining something you still think is salvageable. From you tying yourself to someone who is only going to drag you under.”
He stares at you like you’ve just taken a knife to something holy.
“You have justification for everything,” he says slowly, like he’s realizing it in real time. “Every fear. Every reason. Every scar. Everything—except me!”
He steps forward. His voice lowers. “I’ve fought every damn day of this war and I have never once regretted fighting for you. Never once wished it were anyone else at my side. But you—” He breaks. “You don’t even let me try.”
And then, with the air fractured around you, you say the one thing that breaks him completely.
“I don’t want you on your knees for me,” you whisper, trembling.
His mouth opens, then closes. His eyes are wide, wounded. He searches your face for mercy, for something to anchor himself to.
But you shake your head, and he takes a step back.
“I have always been on my knees for you,” he says. “You just—never looked down, Y/N.”
And with that, he turns and walks away.
You watch him disappear into the dark.
And then you collapse to your knees in the garden, where only the stars above are cruel enough to witness it. You press your hands to your mouth and sob like the earth has opened beneath you.
Your knees are damp with soil, your palms pressed into the soft earth as if you’re begging it to open and swallow you whole. The sobs come hard, scraping through your chest like shattered glass, like every breath is a betrayal of what just happened.
You love him—you love him, and it’s not enough. It’s never been enough. Not with the way your mind chews on the edges of things until they unravel. Not with the way your heart has always pulled its hand back just before it could be held.
You hear footsteps.
For a second, you think it’s him. You think he’s come back, that he’s going to forgive you again, even when he shouldn’t. But when the figure drops to their knees beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, you flinch—then freeze.
You lift your head, vision blurry with salt and shame, and blink through the dark.
“Sirius?” you croak, your voice destroyed.
He nods, brows drawn together like he’s been holding his breath for hours. His hand comes up to brush your hair away from your face, careful, gentle. Like you’re something fragile he’s never seen break before.
You hiccup once, and ask, “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you,” he says simply. “Remus went the other way.”
You stare at him, confused and wrecked. “You should be with him.”
“I know,” Sirius says, and pulls you closer instead. “But he’s not the one on the ground.”
You press your face into his coat and cry again—messy, raw, gasping sobs that feel like they’re being pulled from the base of your spine. Sirius doesn’t speak. He just holds you through it, one hand moving slowly up and down your back like he’s trying to remind you that you’re still breathing.
“I love him,” you finally whisper.
“I know.”
“I love him so much, Sirius. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Yes, there is,” you snap, pulling back enough to look at him.
“I’ve always known we were meant for each other. I’ve known that since we were fifteen and he stayed with me after I couldn’t stop crying over my mother’s funeral. Since we were seventeen and he kissed me for the first time. Since we were nineteen and I looked at him and thought—this is it. This is my person.”
Sirius says nothing. His eyes search your face.
“And I still said no,” you whisper. “I still said no.”
He waits, carefully.
“I knew all day that he was going to propose. He couldn’t sit still. He kept doing that thing where he squeezes my hand like he’s trying to say something without saying it. I could feel it in my stomach. I could feel it. And when he looked at me just before he said it, I was already crying, Sirius. Because I knew. I knew what he was about to do.”
You pause, swallowing the tremor building in your throat. Sirius’s arm around your shoulders tightens.
“And the thing is… we had this joke, ever since we got together. I’d always said I could never be the one to propose. I said it in passing, said it laughing, but I meant it. That I’d never kneel, never hold a ring, never be the one to ask. Not because I didn’t want to spend my life with him. I did. I do. God, I do. But I always imagined someone else doing the asking. That was the story I let myself want. The version of love I believed in.”
You press the heels of your palms to your eyes, as if that might make the confession sting less.
“And Remus—he always hated the whole idea. Said proposals were performative, and that he didn’t believe in the theatre of it. That when we knew, we’d just know. Over tea, quietly, no grand gestures. And I believed him. I trusted that if we ever got there, it would be like that. Something that felt like us. So when he got down on one knee, I was… I was stunned. But I was also—afraid. So afraid.”
Your voice breaks, and Sirius stays still beside you, watching.
“I realized I wouldn’t do the same. I wouldn’t kneel for him. Not because I don’t love him, but because that part of me—the self-protecting part—won’t let me. I wouldn’t give up that part of myself, even for him, and he would. He did. And suddenly it wasn’t just about the ring, or the gesture. It was everything, it was a mirror, and I hated what I saw.”
You look at Sirius then, eyes wide, shining, desperate.
Sirius blinks. “Why?”
“If I can’t even give up something that small, then what else won’t I give up? What happens when things get worse than this? When he needs more from me than I can offer? If I say yes now, am I lying? Am I taking something from him I can never give back? Because if he can kneel—and I can’t—then he loves me more. And I can’t live with that. I won’t live with that imbalance.”
“Y/N…”
“I know it’s so bloody stupid! I know it’s about something tiny. Petty, even. But it wasn’t just that, it was proof that even if it was something as trivial as where you stand while you’re proposing. That even after everything—after the war, after the grief, after the blood—I still couldn’t put my pride down for him. And I don’t know how to be a person who accepts that and says yes anyway. I don’t know how to be the kind of person who lets someone kneel for her when she wouldn’t kneel in return.”
Sirius breathes in slowly, like he’s trying to make sense of something he doesn’t want to believe.
“I couldn’t say yes, Sirius. Because I saw myself—saw the truth—and I knew. I knew that he would keep giving like that for the rest of his life, and I would keep hesitating. I would love him with everything I have, but I’d always hold that last piece back. And he deserves everything.”
You breathe in through your teeth, shaking your head.
“And that—that’s the worst part. I love him so much. I love him too much to let him settle for someone like me. Someone who stands instead of kneeling. Someone who can’t let herself be fully loved because she’s too scared of the weight of it.”
Sirius’s expression softens into something quiet. Something wounded. He looks at you, long and hard. Then, carefully, “You think love has to look the same on both sides?”
You shake your head, ashamed. “I think love should mean wanting to match each other. Wanting to meet where it matters. And I—Sirius, I didn’t.”
He lets that settle.And then, softly: “You know what I think?”
You wipe your cheeks and look at him.
“I think you’ve been keeping score with your own heart like it’s a war. Like you’ve got to measure what you give against what he gives. But love doesn’t work like that. Remus didn’t kneel because he needed you to do the same someday. He kneeled because he wanted to. Because it was the only way he knew how to show you that he loved you so completely he didn’t care what it looked like.”
Your breath hitches.
“You’re trying to make it fair,” Sirius says, “but love isn’t fair. Love is stupid. It’s brave and It’s even more ridiculous. It’s getting down on your knees even when you swore you never would. It’s trusting someone to hold your heart even when the world is falling apart.”
He reaches out and touches your shoulder, steadying.
“You think saying no proves something about how self-aware you are, how broken you are. But you’re not broken, Y/N. You’re scared, and that’s human. But don’t pretend it’s righteous.”
You press your lips together.
“I just…” you whisper. “Two things can be true, Sirius. I can be in love with Remus but still know we are hopeless. We have been ever since he kneeled.”
He doesn’t argue.
He just pulls you into his arms again, and for a long while, you let yourself grieve the life you never let yourself believe you could have.
You left that night and never looked back.
Not to the Potters’ house, not to Remus, not to Sirius or Peter or the flickering meetings in basements and candlelit kitchens where the Order gathered like moths desperate for heat.
You told yourself it was only for a while, just until you could think clearly again, until your voice could rise without shaking. But time passed, and you stayed gone.
No one had cast you out. No one had asked you to choose between love and friendship.
They were your people, just as much as they were his. But you began to feel like a ghost in your own skin, like a crack that spidered through the frame of something sacred.
You were the one who walked away. You were the one who said no. And even if they would never ask you to carry shame, it bloomed inside you anyway, rooted deep in the soft parts of your chest.
You told yourself you needed space, that time would mend what trembled inside you, that one day you would return when you were steadier, when you were softer, when you could look Remus in the eyes and not see the way he looked up at you as though the future had been held in his hands, waiting for you to say yes.
But time, cruel and unapologetic, kept moving forward, and you did not.
And then, before you could reach for them again, the world ended.
Three months later, James and Lily were dead.
Three months later, James and Lily were dead, murdered in their own home, struck down while their child still slept in the nursery, soft and warm and unaware that everything he had ever known had already been taken from him.
The boy lived, but the parents did not, and in the chaos that followed, the impossible became truth: Sirius Black, your Sirius, your dearest friend, had been named the traitor.
He had been imprisoned without trial, dragged into Azkaban while the rest of the world turned its face away, and Peter had vanished without a trace, his absence as loud as any confession.
You do not remember the moment you heard. You do not remember where you stood, or who said the words aloud, or what they sounded like when they reached you.
But you remember the first thing that entered your mind, not a question, not a scream, not even a thought about Harry or about Remus or about the broken threads that had once held all of you together.
You thought only of Lily.
You remembered the way she looked at you when she whispered that she was afraid of being left behind. She was afraid of losing James and having to raise Harry alone, of waking up one morning and having no one left to lean on. That was her deepest fear.
And still, the world had done something worse. Because in the cruelest version of life, someone’s nightmare will always be more merciful than their reality.
It had taken them both.
And the world went on, just as it always did. The clocks ticked forward, the seasons turned, and yet at twenty-one, James Potter was the oldest he will ever be, and somehow, he had never felt younger.
Because what does grief weigh before the body is buried?
Nothing.
And yet it is heavier than anything you have ever held.
I think it’s ridiculous I have to tell people not to smoke any random herbal plant they saw on tiktok.
Make mullein or mugwort tea— no need to smoke the carcinogens for less benefits. There isn’t enough scientific research saying it’s safe for consumption via inhalation.
Please dont smoke rose or lavender either.
Please don’t smoke any plants that dont have research behind them saying thebenefits outweight the negatives.
Do research before ingesting anything basically. Thats my PSA for today. Stay safe y’all
this one’s great to help realign yourself when you’re just feeling a bit off, or if you feel like you’ve picked up other people’s energy, etc
what you’ll need;
white candle (birthday, tea light, whatever!)
sugar
honey
rosemary
lemon
glass of drinking water
☁️ in front of a fire safe bowl/whatever place your glass of drinking water. now lay a hefty pile of sugar into your bowl, you need enough to hold your candle upright, make sure to place it in the center of your sugar. going clockwise, add your honey in three circles around your candle. then take your rosemary (if it’s whole crumble it in your palm, if it’s powdered dw) now sprinkle it clockwise on top of and slightly around the outside edge of your honey circle, making three more circles. take your lemon and cut it in half, put one half in front of your candle next to the glass and begin to charge it with your intentions as you complete the spell. gently squeeze the lemon juice around the candle clockwise again like everything else until it’s given up most of its juice, make sure you’re working your intentions into everything as you do this, now light your candle. with the second half of the lemon slowly and gently squeeze most or all of its juice into your cup of water that’s been charging in front of the candle. work your intentions in as you do and drink up while you let your candle go out <3
- wear moon shaped jewellery or her associated crystals
- practice archery or knife throwing
- practice sustainable living (use beeswax wrap in place of plastic wrap, use soap and hair care bars,
- study midwifery
- study her mythology
- spend time in nature (go for walks, picnics, hiking, trail walking etc)
- study up on her epithets such as:
Artemis Limnatis = “of the marshes, lakes, or liminal places” – sometimes “Lady of the Lake”
Artemis Orthia = literally “of the steep”; Her cult title in Sparta
Artemis Diktynnaia = “of the hunting nets”; associated with fishing
Artemis Daphnaiê = “of the laurel”, like Her brother Apollon
- learn about Diana and the differences and similarities between her and Artemis ( I suggest this site as a good start to learning about Artemis and other lunar deities)
- tea
- shoot your shot with that girl you like
- moss!
- rocks you find on walks
- moon water
- bow and arrow imagery
- a hunting knife on her altar
- almonds, walnuts and acorns
- doing (ritual) baths
- New moon rituals
- moon cakes
- animal blood (ethically sourced such as out of meat packaging)
- fruit such as apples and pomegranate
- fish and meat
- pictures of wild animals!
- dancing and music
- your hair
- donate to and support women owned and women only businesses
- arrowheads
- clean up nature while you're in it
- wine
- saying a prayer to dead animals and disposing of them ethically
- dedicated menstrual meds such as cramp relief, birth control etc
Baby witches always ask ‘where do I start?’ and usually everyone says research. This is because you want to make sure you have a general idea of a certain topic before you actually start practicing just to be safe and to make sure you know what you’re doing.
2. Don’t Worry About Labels
Some people classify themselves as a certain type of witch(i.e. hedge witch, green witch, etc.) but if you’re just starting your path you dont have to stress yourself with this(if you want to choose a path or if you already have a path you can do that).
3. Make a Grimoire
Now if you dont know a grimoire is a book where you store all of the information you learn during your path(also called a book of shadows or bos) and since you never stop learning when you’re a witch and I’m pretty sure you cant remember every single peice of information you learn you should definitely use a grimoire
4. Be Safe
Be careful what you practice and what you use. There are closed practices(i.e. voodoo and hoodoo) that you cant use unless you are given permission and initiated and if you do it without doing this there can be serious consequences. Also tools there are herbs, tools, etc. that can be harmful if not handled correctly or ingested and also can be harmful to pets so research before you use
5. Keep Practicing
Now everyone has heard of the phrase 'practice makes perfect’ and witchcraft is no exception. Practicing things can obviously help you become better at things like spells but also it can make sure you are safe so you dont do anything dangerous.
6. Intuition is Everything
When practicing it can be very easy to subject to the exact meaning of something I’ve been guilty of this but remember you have to rely on your own knowledge and sometimes what you think is right but you can still somewhat rely on the meanings of thing is just remember intuition is key
7. Don’t Blow Your Money on Tools
When practicing you might want to get every herb and every crystal and all of the decorations for altar and blah blah blah but you don’t all of these things to practice you really just need you and your intuition and maybe a few tools but you definitely dont need everything at once
8. Use Your Resources(Information)
There are many resources besides books that are free for example pintrest, tumblr, amino, even instagram has information on witchcraft. And if you still want a lot of books but dont have the money go to b-ok.cc they have millions of books for free download
9. You Don’t Need To Be Religious
Many people think that you have to Wiccan to practice witchcraft or if you’re Christian then you cant be a witch but let me be the one to tell you that is not true you dont have to be wiccan you can be christian you can be any religion and practice witchcraft or no religion at all
10. Not Every Path Is The Same
Remember that just because one person does this in their craft that doesnt mean you have to and no one can tell how to do your craft. It is yours it is special to you no one can take that away
11. Use Your Resources(Tools)
Now earlier I said dont blow your money on the fancy stuff I was serious use what you have in your kitchen and use substitutes(for example a white candle can replace any color). You can be simple in your craft
12. Dont Do Everything At Once
When you’re first started you get interested in everything and you want to learn about all of these different topics and you want to make spells and work with deities but you have to calm down and do one thing at a time. I suggest when researching make a list about everything you want to learn and go subject by subject learning everything you can just so you dont start getting stressed and start learning everything at once
13. Ask For Help
When you are questioning something dont be afraid to ask someone you can make a wiki on this community you you can ask your witch friends if you have some do what you need to do just dont go into something without knowing what you’re doing
14. Witches Change
As you change your craft will too dont be afraid about changing your mind about something or changing your label many witches do it you are not the only one
15. You Will Never Stop Learning
Remember that just because you’ve been doing witchcraft for a long time doesn’t mean you’ll stop learning I’ve heard of witches that have been practicing for many years and still learn new things you will always keep learning
16. Meditate
Meditating is probably the first thing baby witches learn and it is one of the best tools you’ll have because you will never stop doing this during your path so try to practice as much as you can and if you don’t know how there are videos on YouTube and blogs you can find on Google(or safari for apple users)
17. Remember to Cross Reference
Just because one book or one website says something doesnt mean it is true remember to cross reference with other things. For example there is a book (unfortunately I forgot what the book is) that says only females can be witches which is absolutely not true so remember to cross reference
18. Find A Community
I dont mean a coven I mean having some people who you can talk to or ask questions to(like Amino) it is helpful so you can always have some people you can depend on
19. Take Your Time
This kind of relates to dont do everything at once but take your time with things have patience dont immediately start casting spells or working deity or anything like that take your time research so eventually you can work up to do those things
20. Plan Ahead
Know what rituals or things that you’re going to do and when so if needed you can plan ahead for example if you know a full moon is coming up prepare for what you want to do maybe you want to make some moon water. One way to do this is getting or making a witchy planner/calendar
associated body parts: brain, pineal gland + semen.
magical association: safety, protection, transformation, enlightenment, connection to higher self, becoming more outgoing, relieving shyness, the cycle of life, freedom, health + initiation.
ʙ ʟ ᴀ ᴄ ᴋ
elemental: earth.
planetary + astrological: saturn,
associated chakra: —
associated body parts: teeth + bones.
magical association: use in combination with white to represent balance, opposites, the union of opposing forces. Divination, beginning, creation, rebirth, absorbing energies, patience, binding, stability, neutralizing forces, material gain, protection, karma, death, manifestation, law, understanding one’s limits, overcoming obstacles, challenges, tests, real estate matters, farming, sacrifice, separation, criminals, civil servants, plumbing, justice, wills, debts, discoveries, elders + truth.
magical association: security, friendship, animal magic, nature magic, generosity, fruitfulness, new beginnings, harvest, the health of pets & livestock, endurance, grounding, strengthening, solidifying, sound decision making, improved concentration, focus, telepathy, finding lost things + anything to do with animals.
Scrolling through witchtok -ew- I've come across a ton of misinformation, even some one here. So I've decided to put together a small list of things I feel like baby witches should know.
1. Not all spells need to be in a jar
2. Deities don't talk to you like normal people do
3. You don't have to be wiccan to be a witch
3. You don't need to be religious to be a witch
4. Not every herb is safe to burn
5. Most essential oils cannot go on your skin
6. Some herbs/teas can have side effects
7. Do not try to cleanse your outdoor space regularly. Say youre doing a one time spell, yeah sure but nature doesnt need to be cleansed
8. DO NOT PUT SALT ON THE GROUND, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GODS.
9. There are other pantheons beside the Greek.
10. The Greek gods are nothing like Percy jackson
11. Shifting is NOT apart of witchcraft
12. Your pet does not automatically become your familiar
13. Entity work/Deity work requires at least 2 years of practice and research IMO
14. Keeping a BOS/Grimoire is not needed but will help you...A LOT
15. You do not need to attend every holiday or full moon
