I watched him go through many. Months after our groups merged, after I was forced to think of him when I thought of the word “friends”, I became used to it. I learned his moves, learned what desire looked like on his face.
It happened around 1 am every time, once conversation swelled with drink. His eyes would settle on someone at the pub, intense, unwavering, his lips tilted on a smile, until they had no choice but to look back. He rarely had to seek them out, within minutes of having his attention they’d be at our table, insinuating themselves near him. A few minutes more and he’d have them locked down. Men, women, it didn’t matter when he sat with his legs spread and his arm draped over the back of their chair, mouth soft and eyebrows furrowed, listening intently to whatever inane conversation they attempted to make.
Nobody stood a chance. They left with him every time.
Sometimes they stuck around for a while, came to two or three pub nights hanging from his arm, providing some variety to our table, which otherwise remained unchanged: Ron and Pansy, who were in a surprisingly exclusive no-strings-attached arrangement, Viktor and Hermione, who were engaged, Harry and I. I never brought anyone to the table. My own flings weren’t like his. They weren’t sparse, but the number seemed insignificant in comparison, the encounters spaced out by months rather than days. A handsome man every once in a while, whose eyes I would seek at midnight and whom I’d never see again after dawn, nobody hanging from my arm when the next reunion rolled around. It was a simple affair. Out of us six, Harry was the one with the most conquests under his belt.
Ron would tease him relentlessly, call him a cowboy, and, once he was well and truly drunk, a whore, in a satisfied, approving tone. It surprised a laugh out of Harry, who by then had warm fingers splayed over the shoulder of the handsome man he’d beckoned to our table using nothing but his eyes that night. His hands wandered often once they’d found a target.
“Or isn’t he, Draco?” Ron asked me, and Harry’s laugh became even louder when I nodded.
“Can’t help it,” he said, mirth shining in his green eyes. The man at his side stared at him, jaw slack, desire plain on his face. There was something magnetic about his amusement. They left within the next half hour.
I watched it play out, fortnight after fortnight. He had a type, that was undeniable, always seeming to go after the sharper ones, the ones who weren’t afraid to meet his gaze head on, no matter how intense. They were typically in their late twenties, around our own age, and they’d definitely more often than not hail from enough wealth that they’d carry an accent to show for it. The posh thing seemed to do it for Harry. But in the end it didn’t matter who they were, how beautiful or wealthy, it never lasted more than a handful of months. It would begin with longer silences, strained eye contact, less physicality in public. Then he would stop bringing them, no explanation provided, and the hunt would begin once again.
He made quick, efficient work of his conquest, almost effortless. Dispatched them with the same efficiency.
That was why the night I turned around and found his eyes trained on me, I felt my stomach drop to my feet. When he saw me notice, he raised a single eyebrow and didn’t look away. He was sitting at our table, the same one we sat at every fortnight, while I waited at the bar for a new round of drinks. Under the weight of his gaze it looked different. The seating had shifted while I was away, Ron and Pansy had arrived hand in hand, Hermione and Viktor had changed seats to make room for them and they’d left only one place free for me to return to. A chair next to Harry, pressed to his thigh, his arm heavy over the backrest. And his eyes were on me. I tasted it in the back of my throat, the sharp tang of terror.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. In the months of watching him, of wanting him, sometimes keeping it a secret even from myself, I’d never once considered him watching back. And the reality of my own want, heavy inside my chest, dwarfed in a second when compared to my fear.
I turned my back to him and leaned my elbows on the bar, stomach rising and falling swiftly with my breath.
I’d watched him go through many. I’d been unable to look away for a lifetime. I’d wanted him and loathed him, never knowing which instinct was stronger. Could I forgive myself if I allowed him to make me a name on a list, a chip on his bedpost? Could I forgive myself if I didn’t? I didn’t know. I didn’t know why he was watching me. I didn’t know why now, when he had to know I would’ve let him, at any point.
When I felt a hand on my shoulder, a warm body leaning against the bar next to me, I knew it was him. I took a deep breath, bracing for it, and when I turned I found his green eyes fixed on my face, his mouth soft. I knew what he looked like when he wanted it, I’d seen it for months, and it was this.
“Wow, you’re miraculously not already off fucking someone tonight,” I said, and he laughed, head tilted back, neck exposed.
His mouth said, “Yeah, who would’ve thought it possible?” His eyes said, you know exactly why I’m here.
I opened my mouth, trying to come up with more banter on the fly, anything to distract, so he wouldn’t be able to see how scared I was. Perhaps he already saw it. I swallowed down hard, and his eyes followed the rise and fall of my throat.
“Two shots of vodka, two firewhiskeys, two blueberry gin and tonic,” said the bartender, placing a tray in front of me and saving me from having to come up with something to say. Before I could attempt to balance the six drinks in my hands, Harry flicked his fingers and they floated, steady, next to our heads.
“Which one’s yours?” He asked.
“One of the blueberry gins.”
“Fitting. Which one’s mine?”
“One of the whiskeys.”
He smiled like that meant something.
Our seats were too close. I felt the warm line of his thigh against mine, his eyes heavy on me whenever I said something, the back of his fingers brushing my back where his hand rested on my chair. I saw the group catching on, Ron pretending not to smile, Pansy trying to make eye contact with me. All I could do was swallow and pretend nothing was happening as I was swept in the intoxicating current of his interest.
But I’d watched it happen. No matter what it meant to me, I knew what it was to him. The pub emptied out, my watch struck 2 and then 3 am. He’d usually be gone by now, with whoever his conquest of the night had been. But here we both were, watching Pansy drink Ron under the table. His hand was fully on my back now, his shoulder close to mine.
We hadn’t talked much. My heart had been in my throat all night.
Ron and Pansy stood to dance, Hermione and Viktor were long gone. He leaned close to my ear and whispered with whiskey-warm breath, “how much longer until you say yes?”
Some unnamable feeling pulsed through me, hot and terrifying.
“What makes you think I will?”
He pulled away, his eyes traveled from the top of my head, down my neck, my chest, all the way to my feet. Then back into my eyes.
“Please?” It came out like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it cost him nothing. If I’d been standing, I would’ve fallen to my knees.
Nobody stood a chance, and I wasn’t the exception. It was gonna be one of those things.
When I leaned in to kiss him, I saw the next few weeks play out in my head, pictured all kinds of moments, kisses like this one, and I knew I would risk it even if I had to go back to watching, after. We were in a bedroom within one moment and the next, he apparated us wandless, wordless, mid-kiss.
“Finally,” he whispered into my neck, while his hands made quick work of the first buttons of my shirt and his magic took care of the second half, delicate and fine as fingers. My mind was scattered with his power, his hunger, the heat of his lips dancing over my clavicles.
He got me down to my pants before I pushed him off and onto his back, unwilling to let him be the only one to taste. If I had him for a night or a couple, I’d use every moment to do the things I’d spent my whole life imagining.
I kissed his neck, his chest, the short hair there, the peak of his nipples and the fall of his sternum. I kissed the shallow pit of his belly button, started to make my way down before he held my chin and brought me firmly up, back into another mind-bending kiss.
“Finally,” he said again, voice splintering. “I’ve wanted you for some time.”
I pulled back, hands around his hips, legs bracketing his body, a powerful line of heat against the insides of my thighs.
“Do you say that to everyone?” I asked, couldn’t help it, even though it laid me bare in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
His breath was shallow on his chest, his nipples hard, pink lips parted. He sat up a little, rough hands cupping my shoulder blades, my lower back. He’d lost his glasses at some point, and his eyes were a blaze.
“I’m saying it to you.”
His words sent a pulse through my belly, but I knew him, I’d watched him, and knew I couldn’t hold him to the things he said here, in the small space between us, tangled in his bed. I swallowed and he followed the movement with his eyes, then with his hand, palm to the side of my neck, thumb pressed to the heart of my Adam’s apple. I watched him between half lidded eyes, waiting, at his mercy. He closed the distance between us, pulling me into the kiss by the neck, tongue-first, slow and wet.
“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered. “I’m already here”
Again, like he needed to make sure I heard, “I’ve wanted you for some time.”
He pointed the statement with a thrust, working his hips, making sure I could feel how much he wanted it. It traveled through me like an electric current, and I let my head fall forward, laid my forehead on his shoulder, panting as I moved with him, a slow back and forth.
“Why now, then?” I breathed out, mouth open against his salty skin. One of his hands braced harder around my body, the other behind himself on the bed, balancing as he came up to his knees with me still in his lap. He didn’t stop there, kept pushing forward until I was on my back, watching him hover over me. His hair dripped sweat onto my chest, and there was something in the way he looked at me, a hunger that reminded me why I’d been so scared in the first place, the scope of his want so transparent and electric that I feared I would simply disappear, stop being real the second he looked away from me.
“I don’t know,” he said, painfully honest. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled, a few inches down before the garment disappeared into thin air as though it never had existed, willed away by his wordless command. I made an embarrassing little sound, and he smiled, a tiny, amused thing. “I think I hadn’t been fully honest with myself about it.”
My breath caught. I closed my eyes, trying to work through it, opened them again and ran a hand down his chest, pulling lightly at the hair at the center. I thought it, and tried not to say it, but it was out before I could stop, “I knew you’d be like this”
His thigh had found its way between my legs, and he pressed forward, drawing a sharp breath out of me.
“Yeah?” He muttered, eyes never straying from my face. “Like what?”
“All-encompassing,” I whispered, and felt a hot blush immediately gather in my cheeks and neck. He noticed, too, and followed its path with his lips, the mere suggestion of a kiss against my skin, delicate and slow.
“Tell me your pleasure,” he said, nose brushing my neck. “What do you like?”
It was hard to think of what I wanted when it seemed like I was getting armfuls of it already, without asking. I came up on an elbow, slid a hand down his chest, between his legs. He responded beautifully, a moan leaving his lips, all warm breath against my throat.
“I like it deep, and hard.” I let my fingers slow down, matching the rhythm of his breath. “Slow. I like it slow.”
“I can do that,” he said, but he didn’t stop me, instead allowing himself to move into my hand, find a rhythm too, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my neck.
I spread my legs, giving him more room, and like this, holding him between my thighs, allowing him to take what he needed from my hands, it felt like doing it already. He lifted his head, coming in for a kiss in the last moments, and it was into my lips that he groaned his release, warm puffs of breath as his hips worked, then slowed to a still.
It took him a moment to readjust, and he spent it against my lips, catching his breath. He kissed me, my chin.
“I can still do that,” he assured, sounding pleased. Then, “I just… might need a minute.”
A sudden laugh bubbled out of me, not having expected him to be like this, too, the intensity and power of a few moments ago taking the shape of someone who, at the end of the day, was just a guy. He lifted himself up and then dropped down beside me, his head cupped in a propped hand so he could keep on watching me.
“Why do you always do that?” I whispered after a couple seconds of silence.
“Do what?”
“This.” I furrowed my eyebrows and gave him my most intense look, trying to emulate the way his gaze just would not let up. He laughed, and let his head fall on the bed properly, unruly hair spread around his head in a dark halo.
“I know I’m intense. I’ve heard it before,” he said, gaze trained upwards as though speaking to the ceiling. “It’s just the way I — It’s not —,” he stopped, backtracked. “I was trying to say it’s not personal, but I bet it’s even worse with you, actually. It’s always been. I’m sorry.”
“No, I know,” I replied immediately, because I did know, and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “I don’t mind.”
“When I want something, it’s the only thing I can think about,” he whispered, rolling his head to the side, eyes finally on me again, as though pulled by a magnet. “I guess it shows.”
“I watch you too,” I confessed, a half-voice almost afraid of itself. Fear warring with truth.
But he said, “I know,” low into the space between us. “I’ve realized. That is the real answer. That is why now.”
I took it in, felt it like a fire-tipped arrow straight to the chest, the acknowledgement that no matter if this was a one-time thing, I wouldn’t, after all, be a name on a list. The possibility that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing at all. He saw it in me, and his gaze changed, took on the hunger again.
“I thought you needed a minute,” I said, not looking away.
His eyes moved between my legs, then back up. “But you don’t.”
He was already moving, his hands searching skin, but I stopped him with a fist to the center of his chest, gentle, one last sliver of self-preservation, the need to know for sure that he knew what I meant.
“You knew I would’ve let you, at any point,” I said, no point hiding it anymore. “But you didn’t try.”
“Draco,” he whispered, “I didn’t know. I would’ve been trying the whole time.”
It was one of those things. A gamble. I’d watched him go through many, I couldn’t know that he was being truthful. And yet, I realized, he couldn’t know that about me either. He’d watched me with others, watched me follow them home, come back and do it again weeks later. He’d been a friend, and he’d watched. He’d watched me go through many.
I began to smile.
“Takes one to know one,” I whispered.
His hands found my hips, the side of my neck. I let him fall onto me like a rainstorm, and we met each other in the middle.
Hi! I know it's been years, but I was wondering if you had plans to go back to Tales of the Special Branch. Its one of my absolute favorite Drarry fics. You did such a fantastic job, and I'd selfishly like to know how it ends.
Sorry to be adding anonymously, but I created an account just to ask this question 🤦🏻😅
Hi, friend! Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve been on Tumblr. Long story short, Covid sucked for me and my life got upended the past couple of years. My mom died because of that fucking virus, my job in academia became ridiculously stressful, I had Covid myself multiple times with the physical fallout of all that, and I went into massive emotional burnout. Writing became impossible, to be honest.
However, after doing some serious therapy over the past six months and coming to terms with some heavy shit, I’m finally feeling like writing again. So yes, I’m already working on the next Special Branch chapters, albeit slowly. I appreciate the support I’ve gotten from everyone and the concern—hang in there a bit longer because it’s coming! ♥️
Every year James would turn into his deer self and Regulus would put a red nose on him. So then James would go to the forest and wait. Regulus would dress up Harry (making sure his ears are warm) and they would go out to see if they could find a reindeer.
Every year, Rudolph would be in the forest.
Prongs: *drinking water in a pond*
Regulus, with a little smile: Oh my, Harry dear do you see him?
Harry, gasps and his eyes sparkle: Papa, it's Rudolph!
Regulus: Go say hi to your friend, darling.
Harry skips joyfully to his friend, closes his arms around his snout, and the deer snuggles ingto him. They play for hours.
Regulus puts him on top of Rudolph, Harry swings from his antlers, Harry pets his friend thoroughly while giving him sugar cubes and carrots, and they roll oround in the grass.
Regulus: Sweetheart, it's getting late. We have to go home to make daddy hot coca with marshmallows or he'll get pissy. Oh don't look at me like that. I'll give you extra cream.
Harry, gloomily dragging his feet: Bye, Ruddie. I have to go back home- my daddy is waiting for us. I love him so much... I wish you could meet him. *whispers* But he doesn't know about you- it's mine and Papa's little secret.
Harry hugs his friend's chest because he knows it'll be long until they see eachother again.
When Harry and Regulus get to the door, Regulus kneels down: Remember Harry love, Rudoph is our secret.
Harry makes the motion of locking his lips.
When Reggie opens the door, Harry goes running to the couch where he sees James.
Harry: Daddy! Papa and I had so much fun today!
James, smirking and sweaty: Did you? Whatever did you do?
Harry, grining goofily: We went to the forest and played for hours!
Regulus: Harry, why don't you go get the cream while I talk to daddy?
Harry: Ok!
Harry runs as fast as his little feet can take him without falling.
Regulus, kissing James: Hello, lover.
James: Hi, my deer. *kiss* My life. *kiss* My star. *kiss*
Regulus, blushing and going around to move James to his lap whispers: He's so happy. You did great, mon soleil.
James, snuggling into Reg and kissing his neck: Thank you, my love. I think this was my best performance.
Regulus: I think all your preformances are spectacular *winks*
James, through laughter: Fuck yeah they are
Harry stumbles into the living room with a face full of whipped cream.
Harry: Guyssssss, c'monnnn. I need marshmallows!
James is in tears from laughing and Reg is clutching his stomach. Reggie runs to Harry, picks him up, and throws them both into James.
His family, his beautfiul family.
James and Regulus smother Harry in kisses and then when he thinks he can't laugh anymore, James carries them both to the kitchen.
And that's how the Potter-Black house always felt like. Full of joy, full of hope, dreams... and always full of love.
Inspired by Forever Was A Lie Illustrations by the incredible dustmouth ✨
Rating: E
Word Count: 22k
Summary: After breaking up with Charlie, Harry heads to Rome for Christmas to search for answers to a previous heartbreak. What he doesn’t expect is for Draco, the man who broke his heart five years ago, to be running the bed and breakfast he’s staying at.
Content/Warnings: Past Relationships, Past Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Charlie Weasley, Heartbreak, Getting Back Together, New Year’s Eve, Rome, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Memories, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Alcohol, Odd jobs, Masturbation, Explicit Sex, Love Confessions, Happy Ending
Note: I had the most incredible time creating for the HD Reverse Bang Fest 2022, and it was such a treat to be able to work with dustmouth, who is so endlessly lovely. Dustmouth, thank you so much for creating the most beautiful art for me to base this fic off of, as well as additional art for the rest of the story. I’m truly so lucky. Thank you so much to the Mods for dedicating your time and energy to running such a spectacular fest, and thank you to my betas @crazybutgood and @makeitp1nk for giving me the support and encouragement I needed to finish this. Lastly, thank you to my wife, Emma, for being the best alpha reader and listening to me talk about the plot points of this fic for months 💗
Written for @drarrymicrofic 's song prompt: Keep Driving by Harry Styles | Warning: Smut if you squint. Otherwise is all fluff lol | Rating: T | Read on Ao3
Maple syrup, coffee
It’s your last day at Hogwarts.
Sunlight pours from the fancy glass windows at the Great Hall, creating intricate patterns made up of shadows and light on the empty, long wooden tables.
You pour maple syrup on your French toast before taking a bite. The syrup gets on your fingers, sticky and sweet, you lick it off, and the taste reminds you of someone’s kiss the night before.
Bringing your coffee cup to your lips, you see someone gaze at you from the other end of the table. The same eyes that held so much hope and fear during the war. You watch them through the rim of your cup, and long after they’ve looked away, you keep staring.
You wonder if you’ll ever see them again.
Pancakes for two
It’s been two years since the war.
You’re having your extremely early breakfast at a local Muggle coffee shop. You ordered your usual, French toast with maple syrup and black coffee. You thank a god for it. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself religious, there’s something peaceful about having someone to thank for life’s little wonders.
Short moments later, someone walks in. Their hair shines like gold under the morning sun. They turn around, ready to leave the coffee shop, but you call out their name.
You order pancakes for two. You’ve got a new usual breakfast.
Hash brown, egg yolk
It’s been four years.
You moved across the world with the love of your life, leaving the war and everything else behind. The teardrop-shaped island has been your new home since you left, and you never looked back.
Breakfasts are spent by the sea with a view of the vast horizon right on the brink of sunrise. The world has never felt so open until now.
You have learned to cook breakfast in different ways. Your relationship with cooking hasn’t always been the best, but you have learned to love every bit of it, just like you have learned to love them with each passing day.
Today’s are hash browns and egg yolks. The first year of dating them, you learn that they are not fond of eating egg whites, so you take the time to cook your eggs separately. It takes a little bit more time out of your early mornings, but you don’t mind.
I will always love you
It’s the morning after your seventh anniversary, and you’ve both spent all night making love. You realise you’re going to spend the rest of your life loving them. You’ve always been a morning person, but you’ve never loved regular mornings as much as the morning they’ve asked for your hand in marriage.
“I will always love you,” they say after you’ve said ‘yes’. You kiss them a little longer and hold them a little tighter.
The emerald on your ring finger shines beautifully under the barest hint of sunlight. A soft, shy smile plays upon your lips when they tell you the colour reminds them of your eyes.
They cook breakfast for you today. You watch them struggle a little bit, and you laugh softly as they curse when an eggshell accidentally falls onto the pan. Breakfast is spent with half burnt pancakes and maple syrup-stained kisses. You wouldn’t have it any other way.
@coffeedrgn87 HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING DEAREST!!!! this was originally going to be more heartstopper drarry for you, but it turned more into that melancholy heartstopper-hangover I think we’ve all been feeling. it’s about finding yourself and love at any age, and I hope it makes you smile like you make me smile every day. 💖💜 (T, 525 words)
“You’re looking awfully morose for your son’s wedding day.” Draco set a glass of whisky in front of Harry, loosening his tie as he collapsed in the chair next to him.
Harry huffed, watching Albus and Scorpius sway in the middle of the dancefloor, lost to each other. “All I’ve ever wanted for my kids was an easy life and lots of love, and they have it.” He took a sip of whisky and delighted at the pleasant burn.
“But?” Draco asked.
“It’s stupid.”
Draco leaned against him. “Can’t be any worse than letting George plan the fireworks.”
Harry rolled his eyes, chuckling. Should’ve known that George wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to scandalise their guests. “That was pretty stupid,” he agreed. “This, well,” he swallowed around the lump in his throat, “feels more complicated.”
Draco was quiet while Harry decided whether to continue.
“I’m jealous.” Harry sighed, the weight of the confession replaced by the weight of Draco’s stare.
“Of Albus and Scorpius?”
Harry chewed on his lip. “I’m happy for them, of course. They found each other; they’re so perfectly matched. Albus didn’t blink an eye at coming out, and… did Scorpius ever actually come out?”
“Nope. Just told me he was in love with his best friend and that was that.” Draco’s soft, even tenor grounded Harry and gave him the confidence to keep talking.
“And they had all of these… role models. You know? They saw that it was perfectly acceptable—normal, even.”
“Sure. And media that portrayed people like them. I get it. We didn’t.”
“We didn’t.” Harry looked at Draco, whose solemn grey eyes searched Harry’s.
“And of course I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way for them.” Harry paused. “It just makes me… nostalgic? For something I didn’t get to have?”
Draco rubbed his knee reassuringly, leaving it there. Harry’s entire being was attuned to the warmth of his hand through Harry’s trousers.
He swallowed. “I was lucky, I guess, being bi. Being married to Ginny never felt wrong.”
“Until it did.” Draco’s mouth quirked up on one side.
Harry chuckled. “Until it did. And Remus and Sirius? I didn’t even know they were together until after they were both dead. Did they wonder how I’d react?” His heart stung, and he had to look back at Albus and Scorpius and let their love refuel him.
Draco’s thumb brushed idly over Harry’s knee, sending sparks up his spine. “I understand. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything, because it gave me Scorpius.”
Harry slid his hand over Draco’s slowly, giving him a chance to pull away. He didn’t. “But…” he prompted.
“But… it’s not too late,” Draco whispered.
Harry turned to look back at Draco.
“For us,” Draco clarified. “To… be ourselves, I mean. I mean, not us, necessarily—”
Harry interrupted him, pressing his lips quickly against Draco’s attempt to backtrack.
When they pulled apart, Harry searched Draco’s eyes. “Okay?” he breathed.
Draco nodded, grinning.
Harry didn’t hesitate before leaning in to kiss that perfect smile again.
“Dance with me,” Draco whispered, and laughed when Harry jumped up to drag him to the dancefloor.
Prompt: A secret marriage while at school? Maybe they don’t tell anyone but just wear their rings around until someone notices, and then Minnie is the first to notice and starts calling Sirius “Mr Lupin” and that’s how everyone finds out? Idk I just thought this would be fluffy
(I saw this prompt, and thought 'didn't I come up with a fic for that?' But I forgot to write it😅, so sorry for the delay! It's a bit different from the prompt, but I hope a Fluffy Wolfstar Wedding will make up for it!)
There are only a few days between Remus’ seventeenth birthday, and the implementation of new legislation forbidding Lycanthropes to marry. Sirius has a small window of opportunity, and Sirius Black has never been one to waste an opportunity.
A Window of Opportunity
On the first of March, 1977, the Wizengamot approves a new piece of legislation known as the BULLIES-act, or the Banning and Undermining the Lycanthropic Lifestyle Infiltrating and Endangering Society-act. After a two-week implementation period, the act will be effective from Monday the 14th of March.
From that date onwards, failing to register yourself as a Lycanthrope in the Ministerial Registry can be punished with immediate imprisonment. If you are registered as a Lycanthrope, and you get arrested for any type of offense, this can also lead to immediate imprisonment, as both instances prove the Lycanthrope in question cannot be trusted and therefore cannot be allowed into society. Furthermore, Lycanthropes will no longer be allowed to marry or, naturally, have children. If a Lycanthrope moves into a neighbourhood, all Wizarding inhabitants within a three-mile radius will have to be informed, and only one objection is enough to prevent the Lycanthrope from moving into the area. Moreover, Lycanthropes will no longer be allowed to work for the Ministry, and must explicitly disclose their Lycanthropy status to any employee or potential employee, who will then have the right to fire or refuse the Lycanthrope without further reason.
Remus doesn’t want to talk about it, not even to think about it. He files it away in the back of his mind, as something from the big bad world out there, something that doesn’t affect him as long as he’s safe at Hogwarts, something to worry about later. But as much as he tries to shut down his emotions, he can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach seeing the headlines in The Daily Prophet, or the rising panic in his chest hearing his schoolmates discuss it.
The weeks after the news, Sirius will wrap his arms around Remus constantly, pulling him close, babbling about how he can’t wait to get a place, together, after Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall hands him a list of names of friends and acquaintances of hers who work in the research field, investigating spell safety and effectiveness or new ways to implement existing spells, and who are always looking for interns. She casually mentions how she knows these people to be the good sort, who base their opinions on someone’s words and actions and not on prejudice, and who place a lot of value on recommendations coming from her. James occasionally mentions how, now that they’re soon leaving school to build lives for themselves, his parents are planning to already pass on a part of the family fortune as a help to get started, and how they’ve always seen Sirius and Remus as family.
None one directly mentions the BULLIES-act, but their messages are loud and clear: ‘you don’t have to worry about finding a place to live’, ‘you don’t have to worry about getting a job’, ‘you don’t have to worry about money’.
And it helps. It really does. But it doesn’t make the sting go away.
Remus breaks down one night as he and Sirius are lying in bed together, unable to keep up the walls any longer. He sobs into Sirius’ shirt, who soothingly strokes his hair. “It’s not fair!” He sobs. “It’s not bloody fair! I am a good wizard, better than most, my grades are excellent, and I’ve worked so hard! I’ve worked so, so hard. Harder than anyone at this school! Now I need to live off of the kindness of others? How is that fair? I deserve to be able to get by because of my own merit!”
“Moony,” Sirius says, gently pulling him back slightly so he can look him in the eyes. “This is your own merit! The most important merit of all! Don’t you see? You are loved, Moony. People are here for you, willing to do whatever it takes to help you, because of who you are. Because of the kindness, compassion and loyalty you’ve shown those around you, you’ve earned everything anyone is willing to give you. They care, Moony, and how is that not your own merit?”
Remus stares at Sirius, and realises he is right. If someone like James, Lily, Mr Potter, Mrs Potter, Professor McGonagall, but most of all, if someone as absolutely wonderful as Sirius, seems to think he’s worthwhile, Remus must’ve done something right. And no damned legislation is ever going to take that away from him.
“I love you,” Remus whispers before he kisses Sirius. “I love you so, so much.”
Remus turns seventeen on Thursday the 10th of March, just days before the BULLIES-act will go into effect. Needless to say, despite seventeen being the most important birthday of all, the day on which someone officially becomes of age, Remus isn’t really in a celebratory mood.
It doesn’t stop his friends from trying to make the day special nonetheless. They shower him in chocolate, and they make a huge birthday cake float over the table towards Remus after dinner. Remus also receives a long letter from his parents, telling him how proud they are of him, and how happy they are that, despite everything, they got to see him grow into such a fine young man.
The best part comes the day after his birthday, when Sirius surprises him with a weekend trip to London for just the two of them. He reserved a table at a nice restaurant, got tickets to go see this Muggle band, and booked them a hotel. Of course, it isn’t exactly allowed to leave the school grounds for a little getaway, but Remus hasn’t cared much for abiding to the rules these last seventeen years, despite McGonagall’s efforts by making him a Prefect, and he isn’t about to start now that a romantic weekend with just him and his ridiculously handsome boyfriend is at stake.
Besides, Remus can use some time away from everything. Just him and Sirius, being young and in love without a care in the world. Even if it’s just for a couple of days.
On a sunny Sunday morning, after having enjoyed a lovely weekend together, Remus and Sirius are walking by the Thames hand in hand. Sirius seems a little anxious. Remus knows he was talking to James through the Two-Way Mirror this morning.
“Everything okay?” He asks. “Something the matter at Hogwarts? You know, if McGonagall has noticed us missing, any kind of detention she’ll give us will be well worth it.”
“So, you’re officially an adult now,” Sirius says.
Remus chuckles. “Well, you always said I was an old man in a younger man’s body, so I guess not much has changed.”
“But some things have,” Sirius insists. “You’re old enough now to order Firewhiskey at The Three Broomsticks, to vote, to get married, to use magic outside of Hogwarts.”
“I don’t really feel like I’m gaining much freedom,” Remus says, averting his eyes to look over the water.
“The BULLIES-act...” Sirius begins, but Remus shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
“But say it didn’t exist,” Sirius says anyway. “Is it something you would’ve wanted to do at some point?”
“Work for the Ministry?” Remus asks. “I don’t know. I mean, they have some very good research programs, but it’s not like it was some dream of mine.”
“No, I mean, get married?”
“Ah.” Remus is silent for a moment. “I’ve never given it much thought, to be honest. Even before the new legislation, werewolves have never gotten married.”
“Werewolves have never graduated from Hogwarts either,” Sirius points out. “Don’t think about what can or cannot be done, what do you want?”
“I suppose it would’ve been nice,” Remus says slowly. “Have a wedding, a husband, a family...” He shakes his head. “But it doesn’t matter. The BULLIES-act does exist.”
“Not yet,” Sirius says softly. “Not today. Today, you’re of age, while the act hasn’t been put into effect yet.”
“So...” Remus says, as realisation slowly sinks in. “The last day on which I could possibly get married would be...” He turns towards Sirius with wide eyes, and gasps as Sirius drops down on one knee, holding out a ring. “S-Sirius...”
“Remus John Lupin,” Sirius says, his voice trembling. “I might be selfish here, but I would very much like to spend my future as your husband, no matter what. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” Remus says instantly, as tears stream down his face. “Yes, yes, yes, I will!”
Sirius gets up, his hands shaking as he slides the ring around Remus’ finger. Remus beams at him, and Sirius pulls him into a hug, holding him tight as Remus buries his head in the crook of Sirius’ neck, both of their faces wet with tears.
Once it all sinks in a little, Remus looks at Sirius.
“Come on, ask me,” Sirius says. “I know you want to ask me.”
“Are you sure?” Remus breaths. “My life won’t be easy, and if you’re committing yourself to me, neither will yours. I might never be able to find a job, or even a proper place to live. This BULLIES-act might very well be only the beginning.”
Sirius cups his face and looks him in the eyes. “I am absolutely sure. I have never been more sure of anything than I am of wanting to be your husband for the rest of my life. There isn’t a doubt in my mind.”
Mr Marigold frowns as he sees the people, no, children, who have hired him to officiate a wedding this day. A young girl with thick, red hair in a nice dress and a young man with messy dark hair and a huge grin wearing fine robes, trailed by two boys in Muggle jeans and band shirts. A young couple eloping without their parents’ consent, perhaps?
“Oh no!” The boy with the messy hair says upon inquiring, holding up his hands. “We’re just the best man and the maid of honour.” He points at the other two boys. “They’re the happy couple!”
Mr Marigold’s frown deepens as he looks at the two boys. A handsome youth with long, dark hair and sharp features and a boy with scars on his face, floppy hair, and large, amber eyes. Two drunk students marrying each other on a dare, perhaps? Some teens pulling a prank?
Mr Marigold performs a quick spell, that he has, unfortunately, had to use many times before. A quick check whether they are under the influence of any drugs or alcohol. Some people might find stories of drunk couples getting married and regretting it the next day amusing, but Mr Marigold is not one of them. Marriage is a serious and special affair, that should be respected, not mocked.
Both boys turn out clean, but Mr Marigold still regards them suspiciously as he asks for their IDs. He should at least check whether they are actually of age. The boys hardly seem to notice his scepticism, as they only have eyes for each other, staring at each other with dopey smiles. So they do seem to be an actual couple, at least. And when Mr Marigold checks their IDs and sees the small, but clear annotation of ‘Lycan’ on the second boy’s card, both the scars and the rush to get married make a little more sense.
But still, can these young boys really know what they’re getting themselves into? For the rest of their lives?
The best man pulls the dark-haired boy aside, and the maid of honour talks to the floppy-haired boy, while Mr Marigold quickly makes the paperwork in order. Sirius Orion Black and Remus John Lupin, both shall take the family name ‘Lupin’. A Black. Marrying a boy from an unknown family, and forgoing his last name. Now it also makes more sense why he’d want to get married without his family there.
Once he’s got all documents prepared and the couple is standing in front of him, with the best man and maid of honour behind them looking on with fond smiles, Mr Marigold wants to ask one more time if they’re sure before starting the regular ceremony, but then Sirius Black takes both of Remus Lupin’s hands in his and starts to speak.
“Remus, when I told you I knew about your condition, you asked me ‘Are you not afraid?’ When I showed up at your house late at night with a split lip after I told my parents I was with you, you asked me ‘Do you really want to lose your family for me?’ Now let me answer both questions for you.
No, Remus, I am not afraid. I am not afraid of you, your condition or the challenges it will bring. But more important, I am not afraid of committing myself to you fully, I am not afraid of the idea of spending every day for the rest of my life with you, I am not afraid of the future. Remus, love, with you by my side, I am not afraid of anything.
My parents rejected me when I couldn’t be the perfect son and heir that they wanted, when I couldn’t live up to their standards. And it’s true, I’m not perfect. You know I’m not perfect. I don’t want someone who thinks I’m perfect. I want someone who sees all my flaws, and then still decides I’m worth it.
So, as for your other question. No, I don’t want to lose my family for you and I’m not going to lose my family for you. By marrying you, I’m not losing a family, for the first time in my life, I will have a family.”
Remus Lupin cannot answer, as he’s too emotional, tears streaming down his face, so he just squeezes his soon-to-be husband’s hand. Mr Marigold must admit, his own eyes feel a little watery as well. Sirius Black’s words were so full of conviction and unwavering devotion.
After the maid of honour has given him a tissue and he has taken some slow, deep breaths, Remus Lupin speaks.
“Ever since I was a child, I’ve been warned that people could come into my life who would be biased against me, and blame me for things I didn’t do. No one ever warned me, though, that someone could come into my life and take my heart, keep it forever, and give me his in return.
I’ve been prepared for the world being a dark and cold place, but I was wholly unprepared for how bright, brilliant and beautiful the world can be when you’re with me.
I was told that my life would be a constant struggle, nothing would ever come easy for me, but Sirius, loving you is the easiest thing in the world. It’s easier than breathing, and I’d give up breathing before I give up you.”
Mr Marigold is touched. Sure, he has married people who were together longer, had more life experience, more stability, more security, but rarely has he seen two people look at each other the way these two boys are looking at each other. Rarely has he seen a love as pure as this, and in the end, isn’t that what really matters?
Mr Marigold scrapes his throat. “Alright, please repeat after me. I, Sirius Orion Black...”
Sirius Black says ‘I do’ first, and Remus Lupin is crying so much it takes him a while before he can get those two words out, but after he does, Sirius Black is crying just as much.
The best man gives them each a ring to slide around the other’s finger, an elegant band with a small star and moon engraved in it. Sirius Black must’ve had them made, as Remus Lupin’s eyes widen and he gasps as he sees them.
“Then I pronounce you husband and husband, Mr and Mr Lupin. You may kiss.”
Well, they do not need to be told twice. Remus Lupin surges forward cupping Sirius Black’s face, and Sirius Black wraps his arms around him, as they poor all love and promise for the future into the kiss.
Mr Marigold watches them leave, hand-in-hand, fingers intertwined, shoulders pressed together, both glowing with happiness.
He can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness. If someone like Remus Lupin would come to him tomorrow, someone with the same genuine desire to marry the one they love, someone with that same connotation in their ID card, he would have to turn them away. It seems unjust. Those boys have a difficult life ahead of them, and he wishes they could’ve lived in a kinder world, but at least they’ll face it together, and that makes all the difference.
It’s strange how normal everything is. Remus goes to class, hangs out with his friends, does his homework, talks about the upcoming Quidditch match and comes up with new ideas for pranks. The only thing that’s different, is that he will sometimes look at Sirius and think ‘that’s my husband!’
He feels like a normal student, living a normal student’s life, except that he’s married. To Sirius bloody Black.
Of course, he knew that Sirius an he were the real thing, and they had a good chance of making it last, but he still revels in the certainty of the ring around his finger. The certainty that Sirius is his now, and will still be his in fifty years.
“Mr Lupin,” professor McGonagall says sternly. “You’re supposed to use this time to write your essay, not a list of supplies you need to get from Zonko’s.”
Remus stares at his parchment in confusion, as it’s filled with an elaborate breakdown of the limitations when transfiguring inanimate objects into animate beings and visa versa. He looks up at McGonagall. “I wasn’t-!”
Professor McGonagall turns to look at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Lupin,” she says with an amused sparkle in her eyes behind her glasses. “I was talking to your husband.”
