The Perks and Pitfalls of Motherhood - Part 1 - Part 2 - Lily Potter is in the trenches of motherhood and you realize your "morning sickness" isn't actually about the coffee. Just marauders era domesticity and some very big news for a certain mr. Black.
My Type is 'Could Honestly Kill Me' - When a patrol goes south and you're captured by Snatchers, Sirius watches in absolute awe as you dismantle your captors using nothing but your bare hands, only to discover that his type, apparently, is women who could easily break his neck
Sunny Lover Girl - Part 1 - Part 2 - A collection of chapters throughout the years at Hogwarts and beyond, where you shamelessly declare your love for Sirius Black as early as your first year and do everything in your power to win him over in the years that follow.
A Fake Valentine - To avoid the Valentine’s Day chaos, Sirius convinces his best friend (you) to be his fake girlfriend. But when the charade unexpectedly turns you into Hogwarts' newest center of attention, Sirius realizes he isn't ready to let anyone else take his place.
Sirius Black x Original Character:
Volatile Catalysts - Only available on AO3 - Jane Doyle’s goal was simple: brew potions, amass galleons, and remain invisible. But her calculations fall apart entirely when she fails to factor Sirius Black, his friends and the deepest secret of Hogwarts' most infamous group.
let's pretend i didn't start writing this three months ago... i tried to make this extra long to make up for my hiatus :)
also, happy pride, everyone!
"am i reading this wrong?" said in a low tone, for only the other to hear
"i saw you looking at my lips," said teasingly, to gauge the other's reaction
the fraction of a second where their faces are just close: lips ghosting each other's, taking this moment in, almost waiting for one to give in first
in the middle of a heated conversation
an emotionally charged embrace, pulling away and realizing how close their faces are, and leaning in
one brushing hair out of the other's face, the featherlight touch (or any light touch tbh)
a simple "can i?"/"can i kiss you?" because consent is important!
"can we stop pretending?"
a barely audible, "come here"
one is concerned for the other (physical injury, emotional conflict, etc), and they respond with "you always make sure i'm okay," maybe a "why?" then the air changes
"show me what you want."
one leans in and pauses, to which the other responds with some grounding gesture (a touch/"please"/a slight nod/etc) to communicate their own desire
orrr they lean in, slightly panic, and move back, to which the other pulls them in (lightly) by their arm/coat/collar/cheek/belt loops/etc
"you talk a lot." while the other is mid ramble
"you have no idea how long i've wanted to do this"
the first kiss being messy and impassioned, then the second being softer and more familiar, as though their minds are catching up with reality
"you really can't see it, can you?"
the energy shifting right as one openly glances at the other's lips
(and maybe a laugh, "what?" as the other person does this)
submit to my "ask" box if there is anything you want to see OR anything you want to share! i'm trying to respond to more asks and post more than once every three months (oops)
⬩➤ details: nsfw, profanity, situationship, undefined relationship, toxic situationship, jealousy, possessiveness, emotional dependency, mutual obsession, miscommunication, angst, sexual themes, “we’re just friends” trope, public denial/private intimacy, breakup, betrayal of trust, confrontation, blurred boundaries
⬩➤ wordcount: 8.0k
⬩➤ note: i was actually so excited to write this one, so much that I accidentally made it too long and had to cut it in half lol. hope u like it! (was supposed to actually post this in my other account since it's nsfw but oh well.....)
⬩➤ synopsis:
You were never officially his. Not his girlfriend, not his anything—just a name he never quite stopped coming back to. But when the lines between friendship, desire, and possession blur too far, what starts as something unspoken begins to feel dangerously like love. And when you finally see where you stand in his world, you’re forced to decide whether being “just mates” is something you can survive anymore.
The Gryffindor common room is almost empty, the fire crackling low in the hearth like it’s whispering secrets to the shadows. Most people have already disappeared to their dorms, chasing sleep before another brutal week of N.E.W.T. revision. But not you. And definitely not him.
Sirius is sprawled across the worn crimson couch like he owns it, his dark curls fanned out over your lap. His head rests heavy and warm against your thighs, one arm lazily draped across your legs as if anchoring you there. The common room’s golden light flickers over his sharp cheekbones and the faint scar near his jaw, making him look dangerously soft in a way only you ever get to see.
Your fingers card slowly through his hair, tugging gently at the knots the way he likes. A low, contented hum vibrates from his chest. His free hand traces lazy circles on the inside of your knee, slipping just beneath the hem of your skirt. The touch is absentminded, familiar, possessive.
“Keep doing that and I might fall asleep right here,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion and that signature lazy drawl. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. Waking up with you like this…”
You smile despite yourself, but there’s that familiar twist in your chest. The same one that’s been there since fifth year. Because this—his head in your lap, his fingers on your skin, the way he says things like that—is everything a boyfriend would do.
Except he isn’t.
You’re not his girlfriend. He’s not your boyfriend. You’ve never been anything with a label. Just… this. Whatever this is. A complicated, addictive, messy tangle that neither of you has the guts to name.
A log pops in the fireplace. Sirius shifts slightly, turning his face toward your stomach. His breath is warm through the fabric of your shirt.
“Long day?” you ask quietly, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.
“Fucking McGonagall breathing down my neck about Transfiguration theory. As if I don’t already know it better than half the class.” He smirks, eyes still closed. “Then Evans lectured me for ten minutes about ‘responsibility’ because I hexed that Slytherin git in the corridor. Worth it, though.”
You let out a soft laugh. Your hand drifts down to the side of his neck, thumb brushing over the pulse point there. He tilts his head just enough to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your thigh. The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.
No one else gets this version of him. The lazy, almost vulnerable Sirius who lets you touch him like this. Who seeks you out after every bad day. Who looks at you like you’re the only steady thing in his chaotic world.
But the second someone else walks into the room, the mask slides back on.
As if summoned by your thoughts, the portrait hole swings open. Marlene McKinnon stumbles in, giggling, with Dorcas Meadowes right behind her. They both freeze when they see the two of you.
Sirius doesn’t move. His hand stays high on your thigh, fingers still tracing patterns like he couldn’t care less who sees. But you feel the tiniest shift in his body—the way his shoulders tense just slightly.
“Oi, lovebirds,” Marlene teases, grinning as she heads toward the girls’ staircase. “Get a room, yeah?”
Dorcas snorts. “Pretty sure they already have several.”
Sirius cracks one eye open, flashing that devastating, crooked grin. “Jealous, McKinnon?”
Marlene rolls her eyes and disappears up the stairs with a laugh. The portrait hole swings shut again, leaving the common room quiet once more.
You wait.
The silence stretches.
Finally, you speak, voice low. “You know… they all think we’re together.”
Sirius opens both eyes this time. He stares up at you, grey eyes unreadable in the firelight. For a second, something flickers across his face—something almost like panic—but it’s gone so fast you might’ve imagined it.
He shrugs one shoulder. “People think a lot of things.”
His hand squeezes your thigh, a silent reminder. A claim without words.
You bite the inside of your cheek. The familiar sting rises in your throat, but you swallow it down. This is how it always goes. He gives you everything except the one thing you keep waiting for.
Sirius sits up slowly, the loss of his weight in your lap leaving you colder than it should. He turns to face you fully, one knee braced on the couch between your legs. The fire paints warm shadows across his face as he leans in close.
His fingers catch your chin, tilting your face up to his.
“Don’t do that,” he says softly. There’s a warning edge beneath the gentleness.
“Do what?”
“Get that look. Like you’re thinking too much again.” His thumb brushes your lower lip. “We’re good, aren’t we? You and me. Like this.”
Like this.
The words hang between you. Heavy. Insufficient.
You meet his gaze, searching those stormy grey eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper, even though it feels like a lie. “We’re good.”
A slow, satisfied smirk curves his mouth. He closes the distance and kisses you—slow at first, almost sweet. Then deeper. Hungrier. His hand slides into your hair, gripping just tight enough to make you gasp against his lips. The kiss tastes like firewhisky from earlier and the familiar comfort of too many late nights.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. His breathing is uneven.
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs. “My bed. The others are all out cold by now.”
You laugh quietly, a little breathless. “You’re so demanding.”
“Only with you, darling.”
There it is again. Darling. The pet name that makes your heart ache and race at the same time.
You should ask him. Right now. What are we, Sirius? The words are on the tip of your tongue, the same ones that have been choking you for nearly two years.
But you already know what he’ll say.
Why ruin it? We don’t need labels. You know you’re the only one I want.
And you’ll accept it. Because as messy and frustrating and toxic as this is—him acting like you’re his entire world in private while refusing to claim you in public—you’re addicted to it. To him.
Just like he’s addicted to you.
Sirius kisses you again, softer this time, like he can taste the uncertainty on your lips and wants to kiss it away. His hand slips further up your thigh, possessive and warm.
“Come on,” he whispers against your mouth. “Let’s go upstairs before I decide I can’t wait and take you right here on this couch.”
You let him pull you up, fingers intertwined. As you follow him toward the boys’ staircase, his arm slides around your waist, holding you close like he’s afraid you might slip away.
For tonight, at least, he’s yours.
Even if tomorrow he’ll smirk and tell James “Nah, we’re just mates” again.
And you’ll let him.
Because that’s what you two do.
The morning light filters weakly through the heavy crimson curtains of the boys’ dormitory, casting a soft, golden haze over everything. Sirius’s four-poster bed is an absolute wreck—sheets tangled and twisted around your bodies, half the pillows tossed onto the floor, your skirt and his shirt lying in a careless heap near the edge. The air still hangs heavy with the evidence of last night: the musky scent of sweat, the faint trace of firewhisky on his breath, and that warm, woody cologne he always wears that now clings to your own skin.
You wake slowly, every muscle deliciously sore in the best possible way. Flashes of the night before keep flickering through your mind—Sirius’s hands gripping your hips as he pulled you down onto him, the low, wrecked sounds he made against your throat when you moved just right, the way he’d kissed you like he was trying to devour every moan. How he’d held you tight afterward, chest heaving, refusing to let even an inch of space come between you until sleep finally claimed you both.
His bare chest is pressed flush against your back now, warm and solid. One strong arm is slung possessively over your waist, fingers splayed wide across your stomach like he’s claiming every inch even in his sleep. His breath fans steadily against the nape of your neck, lips brushing your skin with every exhale. The faint scratch of his stubble sends tiny sparks down your spine.
You shift just a little, testing the ache between your thighs, and Sirius stirs immediately behind you. His arm tightens, pulling you back against him with a low, sleepy groan.
“Morning, darling,” he rasps, voice rough and intimate against your ear. He presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your bare shoulder, then drags his teeth over the same spot, making you shiver. “Mmm… still here. Good. I like waking up to you like this.”
His hand slides lower, fingertips tracing lazy circles over your hip before slipping down to squeeze your thigh. There’s a smirk in his tone even though his eyes are barely open. “Did I wear you out last night? You were making such pretty sounds for me.”
You turn in his arms to face him properly. His grey eyes are soft and dark in the dim morning light, his dark curls wildly tousled from your fingers running through them hours earlier. A few faint love bites mark his neck—marks you left on him. He looks devastatingly beautiful like this: unguarded, rumpled, and completely focused on you. In these stolen moments behind closed curtains, he’s entirely yours.
You reach up and brush your fingers through his messy hair, tugging gently at the roots the way he likes. “You’re impossible in the mornings.”
Sirius chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. He leans in and kisses you—slow, deep, and unhurried. His hand roams down your side, squeezing your waist, then your thigh again, like he’s considering pulling you on top of him for another round. The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing yours, tasting like sleep and leftover desire. For a few perfect minutes, nothing else exists.
But reality always creeps back in.
You eventually pull away, breathless. “We should go down. Breakfast will end soon, and we’ve already been missing too many meals lately.”
He groans dramatically, burying his face in the crook of your neck and nipping at your skin. “Skip with me. I’d much rather stay here and have you instead. Slowly this time.”
The words send heat rushing through you, but you force yourself to slip out of his warm embrace. You feel his eyes on you the entire time as you move around the bed—watching intently while you tug your shirt back on, smooth down your rumpled skirt, and try to fix your hair in the small mirror by his bedside. His gaze is dark and hungry, lingering on the faint marks he left on your collarbone that you’ll have to hide later.
By the time you both sneak down the spiral staircase and push through the portrait hole into the Great Hall, the hall is already alive with noise. Sunlight streams brightly through the enchanted ceiling, showing a clear blue sky. The long Gryffindor table is packed with students chatting loudly, clinking cutlery, and passing around platters of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, buttered toast, and jugs of pumpkin juice.
Sirius walks in first, shoulders relaxed, that signature arrogant swagger firmly in place. The second he steps into the crowded hall, the shift happens so naturally it almost hurts to watch. The soft, possessive Sirius from the dorm vanishes. The mask slides on.
“Morning!” he calls out cheerfully, dropping into his usual seat with easy confidence. He immediately reaches for the nearest platter and starts loading his plate high, acting like any other seventh-year with nothing heavier on his mind than N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch.
You slide into the seat right beside him—the spot everyone has quietly accepted as yours. Your leg brushes against his under the table, and he presses back for a brief second, warm and deliberate. A secret little I’m right here.
James looks up with a wide, knowing grin. “Late start again? You two are becoming predictable.”
Sirius shrugs casually, stealing a strip of bacon straight from your plate without even asking. “Couldn’t sleep properly. Too much on my mind these days.”
Remus glances between you both, his observant eyes narrowing just slightly. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him reading the room.
“Just coincidence,” Sirius adds smoothly, flashing that devastating crooked grin. He leans back in his chair and drapes one arm casually along the back of yours. Close enough to feel intimate. Loose enough to look completely platonic. “We’re just mates. Right?”
The words settle over you like cold water.
You force a small, easy smile and reach for your goblet of pumpkin juice. “Yeah,” you reply lightly, keeping your voice perfectly normal. “Just mates.”
Under the table, Sirius’s hand finds your thigh again. His fingers squeeze once, firm and warm, almost like a silent apology or a reminder. His thumb strokes slowly against your skin, hidden from everyone.
A group of sixth-year girls walks past the Gryffindor table, laughing and whispering. One of them—the tall, pretty one with long dark hair and bright eyes—slows her steps noticeably. She smiles at Sirius, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
“Morning, Sirius,” she says sweetly, voice carrying just enough to catch his attention. “You were incredible during last weekend’s match. Really brilliant on that broom.”
Sirius turns his head and gives her the full Black treatment: lazy smile, slight tilt of the head, sparkling grey eyes full of effortless charm. “Thanks, love. Glad someone was paying attention.”
He doesn’t brush her off. Doesn’t mention you. Doesn’t do anything except return that flirtatious little grin like it’s nothing.
Your fork presses harder into your eggs. A sharp, quiet burn of jealousy twists low in your stomach. You stay silent, chewing slowly, pretending to be focused on your food. But inside, the familiar ache builds—the same one that’s been growing since fifth year. His hand is still high on your thigh under the table, possessive and secret, while he smiles at her like you’re not even there.
The Great Hall feels louder than usual this morning, filled with the clatter of plates, bursts of laughter, and the occasional owl swooping in through the high windows to deliver post. You keep your eyes mostly on your plate, pushing the eggs around while the burn in your chest refuses to fade. Sirius’s hand is still resting high on your thigh under the table, his fingers occasionally flexing against your skin like he can sense the tension radiating from you. It’s a silent claim, a hidden reminder of how he’d had you writhing beneath him just hours ago, yet it only makes the contrast sharper.
James is in the middle of some animated story about a prank he’s planning on the Slytherins, waving his fork around for emphasis. Peter laughs too loudly, and Remus just shakes his head with a small, amused smile. Sirius laughs along at the right moments, his voice carrying that easy, confident charm. His arm stays draped along the back of your chair, fingers occasionally brushing the fabric of your robe near your shoulder in what looks like a casual, friendly touch to anyone watching.
To everyone else, you two are just close friends. Really good mates who sit together, share food, and banter. Nothing more.
But you can still feel the faint ache between your legs from the way he’d fucked you last night—deep, slow, and then desperate, like he couldn’t get enough. The small marks he left on your inner thighs are hidden beneath your skirt, but they throb every time you shift in your seat.
Another wave of students passes by. The dark-haired girl from earlier circles back with her friends, this time stopping a little closer to the table. She leans slightly toward Sirius, her smile bright and hopeful.
“By the way, Sirius,” she says, voice sweet and a touch flirtatious, “a few of us are having a little gathering in the common room this Friday after the match. You should come. It’ll be fun.”
Sirius tilts his head, giving her that trademark half-smirk that makes your stomach twist. “Yeah? Might stop by. Sounds like a good time.”
He doesn’t say “we” might stop by. Doesn’t glance at you. Doesn’t do anything to suggest his nights are already very much occupied.
Your jaw tightens. You reach for another piece of toast and spread butter on it with more force than necessary, the knife scraping loudly against the plate. Under the table, Sirius’s hand squeezes your thigh harder in response—almost a warning, or maybe a silent stop. His thumb strokes soothing circles against your skin, but it only fuels the messy mix of frustration and want swirling inside you.
Because this is the game you’ve been playing for nearly two years. He’ll flirt just enough to keep his reputation as the unattainable Sirius Black, then later he’ll pull you into an empty classroom, push you against the wall, and kiss you like he’s starving. Like you’re the only thing that matters.
James nudges Sirius with his elbow. “You gonna bring anyone, Padfoot?”
Sirius shrugs, popping a piece of stolen bacon into his mouth. “Dunno. We’ll see. I’m not really tied down or anything.” He says it so casually, so lightly, like the words don’t carry weight. Like they don’t stab.
You swallow hard and take a long sip of pumpkin juice, keeping your expression neutral. The hand on your thigh stays put, warm and heavy, a complete contradiction. His fingers drift a little higher, brushing the hem of your skirt, pressing just enough to remind you exactly who you spent the night with.
Remus is watching the two of you again. His eyes flick from Sirius’s relaxed face to the way your shoulders are slightly tense. He doesn’t comment, but you catch the subtle raise of his eyebrow before he looks away.
The girl finally walks off with a little wave and a hopeful “See you around, Sirius!”
You let out a slow breath. Sirius turns back to the table fully, laughing at something James says about Quidditch strategy. His arm shifts slightly behind you, almost like he wants to pull you closer but stops himself. Instead, he leans in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours.
“Pass the marmalade, yeah?” he asks, voice low and familiar, like nothing happened.
You hand it to him without looking up. His fingers deliberately graze yours as he takes the jar, lingering for a second longer than necessary. When you finally glance at him, his grey eyes meet yours—stormy, intense, and full of that unspoken heat. For a brief moment the mask cracks. There’s possession there. Want. Maybe even a flicker of guilt.
But then he looks away, spreading marmalade on his toast like everything’s perfectly fine.
Breakfast drags on like that—easy conversation flowing around you while the tension between you and Sirius simmers underneath. His hand never leaves your thigh. He keeps stealing food from your plate. He keeps that arm draped behind your chair like it belongs there.
Yet when another girl waves at him from across the hall, he waves back with that same charming smile.
By the time people start getting up to head to classes, your chest feels tight. You stand, smoothing down your skirt, and Sirius rises with you. As the group starts walking out of the Great Hall together, he falls into step beside you, close enough that your arms brush.
In the crowded corridor, away from the direct eyes of the whole table but still in public, he leans down slightly, voice quiet near your ear.
“Library later?” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. “Or maybe that empty classroom on the third floor. You know the one.”
The suggestion is laced with promise—the same promise that always follows these mornings. He’ll kiss you breathless. He’ll touch you like you’re his. He’ll make you forget the jealousy for a while.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
Sirius’s hand brushes the small of your back for just a second before he pulls away, slipping back into that effortless “just mates” stride as James claps him on the shoulder.
The mask is back on.
And you’re still right here, caught in the middle of it all.
The week had dragged on in that familiar haze of N.E.W.T. revision, stolen kisses in empty corridors, and the usual push-and-pull between you and Sirius. He’d mentioned the party exactly once—casually, over lunch on Wednesday—while laughing with James about how “the sixth years are finally doing something worth showing up for.” He never actually asked you to go with him. Never said “Come with me” or “Save me a dance, darling.” Just tossed the information out like it was public news.
So you decided you wouldn’t ask either.
You spent extra time getting ready that evening, standing in front of the dormitory mirror while your friends chattered around you. You chose a slightly shorter skirt than usual, one that hugged your hips, paired with a fitted black top that showed just enough collarbone to highlight the faint mark Sirius had left there earlier in the week. Your hair fell in loose waves, and you added a touch more makeup than normal. Not for him. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
You don’t have to care this much, you thought, staring at your reflection. He doesn’t want labels. Fine. Then you don’t have to act like his girlfriend when he won’t even call you one.
The Gryffindor common room had been transformed. Furniture pushed to the sides, fairy lights strung across the ceiling charmed to shimmer in deep reds and golds, music pulsing from an enchanted record player. Someone had smuggled in bottles of firewhisky and butterbeer, and the room was already packed with seventh and sixth years laughing, dancing, and spilling drinks. The fire roared high in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across everyone’s faces.
You arrived with a group of friends, deliberately not looking for Sirius right away. But you felt him the second you stepped through the portrait hole—his eyes on you from across the room like a physical touch.
He was leaning against the stone wall near the fireplace, surrounded by the usual crowd: James, a few teammates, and a couple of girls hanging on his every word. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, hair artfully messy. The moment his grey eyes locked on you, something dark flickered across his face—appreciation, followed quickly by that possessive glint he always tried to hide in public.
But he didn’t come over. He just raised his glass in your direction with a slow, crooked smirk, like you were another pretty face at the party instead of the girl whose name he’d groaned against your neck two nights ago.
Fine.
You grabbed a cup of firewhisky, letting the burn slide down your throat as you moved deeper into the crowd. The music thrummed through your bones. You laughed louder than necessary with your friends, swaying your hips to the beat. And when a Ravenclaw boy named Elias—tall, friendly, with an easy smile—approached you, you didn’t brush him off.
“Hey,” he said, raising his voice over the music. “You look great tonight. Haven’t seen you at one of these in a while.”
You smiled up at him, letting your gaze linger. “Been busy. But I figured it was time to have some fun.”
The two of you fell into conversation easily. He was charming in a safe, uncomplicated way—complimenting your laugh, asking about your classes, standing just close enough that your arms brushed when you both moved to the music. You let yourself lean in when he said something funny, touching his forearm lightly as you laughed.
You could feel Sirius watching. The weight of his stare prickled across your skin like a warning.
A few minutes later, another boy joined— a Hufflepuff seventh year you’d shared Herbology with. Soon you were in a small group, dancing loosely, smiling, letting them pull you toward the center of the room where bodies moved freely. One of them spun you playfully under his arm. You let it happen, the firewhisky making everything feel warmer, bolder.
This is what he does all the time, you told yourself. Smiling at girls. Letting them touch his arm. Acting like he’s free.
So why should you sit on the sidelines waiting for scraps of his attention?
Across the room, Sirius had detached from his group. He was moving now, weaving through people with that predatory grace, but still not coming straight to you. Instead, he stopped near a cluster of girls, laughing at something one of them said, flashing that devastating Black smile. The same one he gave you when he was buried inside you and calling you “darling.”
Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to keep smiling at Elias as he handed you another drink.
That’s when Sirius finally appeared at your side.
His hand slid around your waist from behind—possessive, warm, and sudden. He pulled you back against his chest just enough to make a point, his breath brushing your ear.
“Having fun, love?” His voice was low, deceptively casual, but you heard the edge beneath it.
You turned your head slightly, meeting his stormy eyes. “Yeah. It’s a good party. You?”
His jaw ticked. His fingers pressed harder into your hip, hidden by the crowd. “Didn’t realize you were bringing friends.”
The way he said friends dripped with something ugly.
Elias glanced between the two of you, sensing the shift. “I’ll catch you later,” he said politely before slipping away.
The second he was gone, Sirius turned you to face him fully. His hands stayed on your waist, holding you close while bodies moved around you. To anyone else, it probably looked like two mates dancing. But you felt the tension vibrating off him—the same barely-contained jealousy he always denied.
“You really gonna flirt with every tosser who looks your way tonight?” he muttered, voice dark. His forehead nearly touched yours, grey eyes burning. “Thought we had an understanding.”
You tilted your chin up, heart hammering. “Understanding? We’re just mates, remember? That’s what you always say.”
His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him as the music slowed. You could feel the heat of his body, the way his chest rose and fell faster than normal. One of his hands slid lower, dangerously close to the curve of your ass, claiming you in the middle of the crowded room while still refusing to name what this was.
“You know it’s not like that,” he growled softly, lips brushing your temple. “You’re mine, and you fucking know it.”
The words sent a thrill through you, but they also stung. Because he’d never say them louder than this. Never say them where people could hear.
You danced with him then—bodies pressed close, his hands roaming with that familiar hunger—but the air between you crackled with everything unsaid. Every time you glanced away, you caught him glaring toward where Elias had disappeared. Every time a girl tried to catch his eye, his hold on you grew tighter.
This was the game.
Both of you playing it.
Both of you losing.
And the night was still young.
The music had shifted into something slower, heavier, the bass vibrating low in your chest as bodies pressed closer on the makeshift dance floor. Sirius hadn’t let you go. His hands stayed firm on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint imprints through your skirt. You danced with him like that—chests brushing, his breath warm against your temple—but the air between you was anything but soft.
Every sway of your hips felt like a challenge. Every time his grip tightened, it felt like punishment.
You could still see Elias across the room, chatting with friends but occasionally glancing your way. Sirius noticed too. His jaw was locked, grey eyes dark with barely contained irritation.
“You’re really pushing it tonight,” he muttered, lips brushing your ear as he pulled you even closer. His body was hot against yours, the scent of firewhisky and his cologne wrapping around you. “Flirting with Ravenclaws like I wasn’t even here.”
You tilted your head back to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. His heart was beating fast under your palm. “I thought we were just mates, Sirius. Isn’t that what you told James this morning? What you tell everyone?”
His eyes flashed. For a second, the mask slipped completely. The possessive, stormy Sirius you only ever saw in private was staring down at you in the middle of a crowded room.
“Don’t,” he warned, voice low and rough. One hand slid lower, resting dangerously close to the curve of your ass as he moved you both slowly to the music. To outsiders, it probably looked like heated flirting. Only you could feel the anger and want radiating off him.
A new song started, and another boy—this time a Gryffindor sixth year you barely knew—walked up with a cocky grin, clearly tipsy.
“Hey, mind if I cut in?”
The words barely left his mouth before Sirius’s arm tightened around you like a vice.
“Fuck off,” Sirius said flatly, not even bothering to look at him. His tone was ice-cold, the kind that made most people back off instantly.
The boy raised his hands and retreated with a nervous laugh. Sirius didn’t relax. If anything, he grew more tense, spinning you around so your back was pressed to his front. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him as he swayed with you. His lips found the side of your neck, not quite kissing—just hovering, breathing you in.
“You’re mine,” he whispered harshly against your skin, so quiet only you could hear. “Stop acting like you’re not.”
Your heart stuttered. The words sent heat rushing through you, but they also made that familiar ache bloom in your chest. He could say it here, in the dark, surrounded by noise and shadows. But never in the light. Never where it mattered.
You turned in his arms again, facing him. Your bodies were pressed together, barely moving now despite the music. “Then maybe act like it,” you shot back, voice just as quiet. “Or are we still ‘just having fun’?”
Sirius’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a moment you thought he might kiss you right there in front of everyone. Instead, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd without another word.
He led you toward the edge of the common room, weaving past laughing groups and discarded cups until he pushed open the door to one of the smaller side rooms used for storage. The second the door closed behind you, the noise of the party dulled to a distant thump.
Sirius backed you against the wall instantly, hands on either side of your head. His face was inches from yours, breathing hard.
“What the fuck was that out there?” he demanded. “Letting those idiots touch you. Laughing with them. You knew I was watching.”
You lifted your chin, refusing to shrink back even though your pulse was racing. “And what about you? Smiling at every girl who looks your way? Telling people you’re not tied down? I’m just supposed to sit there and take it?”
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip roughly. “You know it’s different.”
“Why?” you pressed, heart hammering. “Because you fuck me every night? Because you sneak into my bed and call me darling when no one’s looking?”
Sirius made a frustrated sound and crashed his lips against yours.
The kiss was messy, angry, and desperate. All teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration. His body pinned you harder against the wall as his hands roamed down your sides, gripping your hips, then sliding under your skirt to squeeze your thighs—the same thighs he’d had wrapped around him two nights ago.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his dark curls and tugging hard. He groaned into your mouth, pressing one thigh between your legs.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “Seeing you with them… I wanted to hex both of them across the room.”
“Then maybe stop pretending we’re nothing,” you breathed, even as your hips rolled against his.
Sirius pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were wild, hair even messier from your hands. For a second, something vulnerable flickered across his face—fear, maybe. But it was gone too fast.
He kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense. His hand slipped higher under your skirt, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear as he pressed closer.
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. “My bed. I don’t want anyone else near you.”
You laughed bitterly against his mouth, even as you arched into his touch. “Until tomorrow, when you tell everyone we’re just mates again?”
Sirius didn’t answer with words. Instead he kissed you harder, like he could silence the truth with his mouth. His fingers pushed your underwear aside, stroking you with practiced ease until your legs trembled.
The party continued raging outside the door, but in here it was just the two of you—messy, toxic, addicted, and unable to let go.
Neither of you were willing to name it.
But both of you were terrified of losing it.
A week had slipped by since the party, wrapped in a fragile, suffocating silence. Neither of you had spoken about what happened in that cramped storage room—the angry kisses, the biting words, the way his fingers had dug into your skin like he was terrified you’d slip away. You both simply pretended. It was easier that way. Safer.
You went back to stolen glances across the Great Hall, his hand creeping up your thigh under the table during meals, and nights where he’d pull you into his bed like a man drowning, fucking you with a desperate intensity that left bruises and unspoken feelings in its wake. In the daylight, though, he was still just Sirius Black—charming, untouchable, quick with a “we’re just mates” whenever anyone raised an eyebrow.
It was supposed to be a normal Tuesday afternoon.
Charms class felt endless under the soft afternoon light filtering through the tall arched windows. Golden dust motes danced lazily in the sunbeams as Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice droned on about complex silencing charms and their applications in dueling. Your quill moved mechanically across the parchment, but the ink kept smudging from how tightly you were gripping it.
The seat beside you was empty.
Sirius’s usual spot—the one he’d claimed since fifth year with a dramatic flop and a wink that always made your stomach flip—sat glaringly vacant. His absence felt louder than any spell. He rarely skipped without some kind of sign. A crumpled note in your bag. A whispered promise in the corridor. A smirk across the room that said meet me later, darling.
Today? Nothing.
You tried to focus on Flitwick’s demonstration, but your mind kept drifting. The castle outside the windows looked deceptively peaceful—the Black Lake shimmering darkly in the distance, the Whomping Willow swaying gently in the breeze. Everything felt too still. Too wrong.
By the time class ended, the worry had coiled tight in your chest like a living thing. You lingered as students packed up, chatting and laughing around you. James and Remus were near the door, heads bent together over some Marauder map.
“Have you seen Sirius?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual.
James shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Not since lunch. He was in a weird mood. Probably off causing trouble somewhere. You know Padfoot.”
But you did know him. And that was exactly why the unease wouldn’t settle.
You left the classroom with your bag slung over your shoulder, the stone corridors stretching long and echoing around you. The afternoon light had started to shift, casting longer shadows across the ancient floors. Suits of armor stood silent and watchful as you passed, their empty visors seeming to follow your hurried steps. You checked all the usual places first.
The empty classroom on the third floor—the one with the creaky desks where he’d pressed you against the wall more times than you could count—was deserted. Only dust and faint chalk marks remained.
You moved on to the alcove behind the tapestry near the library. The heavy fabric smelled of old wool and history as you pushed it aside. Empty. Just a forgotten book lying open on the stone bench.
Your heart beat faster as you climbed another staircase, the marble steps cold beneath your shoes. Why did it matter so much? You weren’t together. He’d reminded you of that a thousand times. He could skip class without you. He could do whatever—whoever—he wanted.
Still, your feet kept moving. Past the Gryffindor Tower. Down toward the Quidditch pitch where the grass swayed under a greyish sky. No sign of his tall frame or messy black hair. The worry twisted sharper now, mixing with something uglier—a quiet fear you hated admitting to yourself.
What if he was pulling away? What if the fight at the party had finally cracked the fragile thing between you? What if he was done pretending in his own messy way?
You turned down a quieter corridor on the fourth floor, near the Hufflepuff common room entrance. This hallway was rarely used—dimmer, dustier, lined with faded tapestries depicting old forest scenes that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them. The air felt cooler here, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and wildflowers from somewhere below.
Your steps slowed as you approached the end of the hall.
Soft sounds drifted toward you.
A girl’s laughter—light, breathy, flirtatious. Then a lower murmur. Deep. Familiar. The kind of voice that had whispered filthy praises against your neck countless nights.
Your stomach dropped.
You told yourself it was nothing. Just students messing around. But your pulse roared in your ears as you moved closer, staying hidden behind a large, cracked suit of armor. The shadows clung to you like a second skin.
And then you saw them.
Your breath caught in your throat as you peered around the edge of the old suit of armor.
There he was.
Sirius Black, leaning against the stone wall in the shadowed alcove, looking every bit like the reckless, beautiful disaster he was. His dark curls were messy, falling into his eyes, and his Gryffindor tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. But what made your stomach twist violently was the girl pressed up against him.
A Hufflepuff seventh year—you recognized her vaguely. Soft blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and a sweet face that was currently flushed with pleasure. She was giggling softly, one hand resting on his chest while his head was buried in the crook of her neck. His lips moved lazily against her skin, not quite kissing, more like breathing her in, teasing the sensitive spot just below her ear.
The same way he did with you.
One of his hands was braced on the wall beside her head, the other resting low on her waist, fingers playing with the hem of her yellow-trimmed robe like he had all the time in the world. The scene was intimate. Too intimate. The kind of casual closeness he usually reserved for stolen moments with you.
For a second, the world narrowed to just this—the faint sound of her breathy laugh, the low murmur of his voice saying something you couldn’t quite hear, the way her fingers curled into his shirt. The dusty afternoon light filtering through a high window painted them in soft gold and shadow, making the moment look almost romantic. Like something out of a dream.
Except it was your nightmare.
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt. A hot, ugly wave of jealousy crashed over you, followed immediately by nausea. Your bag slipped slightly from your shoulder, but you caught it before it hit the floor. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Your feet felt rooted to the cold stone.
This is what he does when you’re not around?
Memories flashed through your mind—his hands on your waist last night, the way he’d groaned your name like a prayer, the way he’d held you afterward like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. And now here he was, skipping class, nuzzling into some Hufflepuff girl’s neck like it was nothing.
Like you were nothing.
Sirius shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough that you caught the lazy smirk on his face. He said something else—low and teasing—and the girl laughed again, tilting her head to give him better access. His lips brushed her neck once more, slower this time.
That was the breaking point.
A sharp, bitter sound escaped your throat before you could stop it—half a scoff, half a broken breath. Not loud, but enough.
Sirius’s head snapped up instantly. His grey eyes locked onto yours across the dimly lit corridor, widening for a split second in genuine surprise. The easy, flirtatious expression on his face shattered completely.
For one long, agonizing heartbeat, neither of you moved.
The Hufflepuff girl turned her head, confused, following his gaze. When she saw you standing there, her cheeks went bright red and she stepped back quickly, smoothing down her robes.
“Oh—I didn’t… we were just—” she stammered, clearly embarrassed.
But you weren’t looking at her.
You were staring at him.
Sirius straightened up, running a hand through his messy hair. The mask was already trying to slide back into place, but you could see the flicker of guilt, the flash of panic in those stormy eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. The distant sounds of students moving through other corridors felt miles away. All you could hear was the roaring in your ears and the rapid thud of your own heart.
You felt sick. Exposed. Stupid for even caring this much when he’d spent years telling you there was nothing to care about.
Finally, you found your voice. It came out quieter than you wanted, but edged with something sharp and trembling.
“…Really, Sirius?”
Your voice came out quieter than you expected, but it sliced through the dusty corridor like a hex. The words hung there, raw and trembling with everything you’d been swallowing for years.
The Hufflepuff girl looked mortified. Her eyes darted between you and Sirius, clearly sensing she’d walked into something much bigger than a casual flirtation. She muttered a quick, awkward “I should go…” and hurried past you, her yellow-trimmed robes swishing as she disappeared around the corner. Her footsteps faded quickly, leaving only the heavy silence and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
Sirius straightened up slowly, his back still pressed against the cold stone wall. His grey eyes—usually stormy, now blazing like thunderclouds ready to split open—locked onto yours. His shirt was rumpled, tie hanging loose like a noose, dark curls wild from the girl’s fingers. The faint scent of her perfume still clung to him, sweet and cloying, mixing with his familiar woody cologne in a way that made your stomach churn.
You stood tall, shoulders squared, the dim afternoon light slicing through a high arched window and painting harsh golden lines across the ancient stone floor between you.
“This is what you do the second I’m not around?” Your voice came out low, steady, and razor-sharp.
He pushed off the wall, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking. “Don’t start. You don’t own me. We’ve never been exclusive—”
“Exclusive?” You let out a bitter, cutting laugh that echoed off the faded tapestries. “You’ve had your mouth between my legs more times than I can count. You growl that I’m yours when you’re inside me. You threaten to hex any guy who looks at me too long. But the second you get bored, you’re nuzzling some Hufflepuff’s neck like a fucking dog in heat?”
Sirius’s eyes flashed dangerously. He stalked toward you, tall and predatory, the shadows clinging to his broad shoulders. “You’re being ridiculous. It was nothing. She came onto me. I wasn’t even going to do anything.”
“Nothing?” Your voice rose, cracking with pure fury. The dusty air felt thicker, harder to breathe. “Your face was buried in her neck, Sirius. I saw your hand on her waist. The same hands that were on me last night.”
He reached for you suddenly, fingers wrapping tight around your upper arm, yanking you closer. His breath was hot against your face, eyes wild with frustration and something darker.
“We are not together!” he snarled, voice low and venomous. “I told you that from the fucking beginning. I don’t do labels. I don’t do cages. If you can’t handle that, then maybe you should’ve stopped spreading your legs for me years ago.”
The words hit like a slap.
You ripped your arm free, chest heaving. “And maybe you should’ve stopped crawling into my bed every night like a pathetic, scared little boy who wants a girlfriend but is too much of a coward to call her one.”
Sirius’s face twisted in anger. He moved fast—grabbing your waist with both hands and crashing his mouth against yours in a bruising, furious kiss. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t loving. It was desperate, teeth clashing, tongue demanding, like he could force you back into submission the way he always had before.
For half a second, the familiar heat tried to pull you under.
Then you shoved him back hard, both hands on his chest.
“No.” Your voice was steel. “I’m done.”
He stumbled back a step, breathing ragged, lips swollen and eyes blazing with disbelief and rage. “You’re not fucking done. Don’t you dare walk away from me.”
“I’m done, Sirius.” You stared him dead in the eyes, unflinching. “I’m done being your dirty little secret. I’m done pretending that the way you fuck me at night makes up for the way you humiliate me during the day. I’m done waiting for you to grow up and claim what you clearly don’t want enough to fight for.”
The corridor felt alive with tension—dust swirling in the slanted beams of light, the old tapestries seeming to hold their breath, the stone walls closing in like they were witnessing something ugly and inevitable.
Sirius looked wrecked. His chest rose and fell rapidly, fists clenched at his sides. “You think you’re so much better than me? You’ve been playing this game just as long as I have. Jealous. Needy. Acting like you don’t care until someone else touches you. You’re just as fucked up as I am.”
“Maybe,” you said coldly, lifting your chin. “But at least I’m finally choosing myself. I deserve more than being your emotional whore whenever you feel like it.”
He lunged forward again, trying to pull you into another kiss, fingers digging into your hips almost painfully. “Stop saying that shit. You know I want you. You know it.”
You turned your face away sharply, refusing his lips.
“I said I’m done.”
The finality in your voice seemed to hit him harder than any spell. Sirius froze, hands still gripping you, eyes searching your face like he was waiting for you to crack.
But you didn’t.
You pried his hands off your waist, stepped back, and held his gaze one last time—cold, exhausted, and completely finished.
“You can keep playing your little games with every girl in this castle. I’m not playing anymore.”
Then you turned and walked away down the long, shadowed corridor. Your footsteps echoed like gunshots. Behind you, you heard the sharp crack of his fist slamming into the stone wall, followed by a furious, broken curse.
I made an HL student template for myself a few weeks ago but I thought I’d share it with all of you too !!
Made this since most of them weren’t as how I desired them to be so—
This is the blank template, have fun guys!
Do credit me upon usage tho ^^
Did it for seo as an example :
Also haha btw forgot to tag— @willowwhisk [I used law as one of his bffs!] @mavenantonia [i used Antonia as his love interest hehe] and @pearlevie [used inara as his love interest ^^]
I'm a little embarrassed to ask, but… Can someone help me take screenshots?
I don't know if it's some kind of tool or mod, but without meaning to be rude or disrespectful, could someone teach me how to take these screenshots? How to create these beautiful and dynamic poses and backgrounds? I have so many ideas to share and I don't know how to do it TT
Characters: Sirius Black, fem!reader (you), James Potter, Lily Evans.
Warnings: Alcohol consumption by minors.
Summary: A collection of chapters throughout the years at Hogwarts and beyond, where you shamelessly declare your love for Sirius Black as early as your first year and do everything in your power to win him over in the years that follow.
Themes: Marauders Era, Fluff, Comedy, Love at first sight, Reader is a Genki Girl.
WC: 3.335
Part 1
My Masterlist
Hogwarts, 1973.
You had practically invented Sirius Black. Almost.
Of course, he had certain qualities that may or may not have helped boost his popularity, whether physical or social. He had a cool surname—the kind that belonged to families wealthy for generations, who, besides the gold, could boast about an ancient lineage. He had a stunning look that was a massive stroke of luck considering the amount of inbreeding among his ancestors. He had his own style, charisma, and confidence—but the point was: there were plenty of boys at Hogwarts just as cool as him.
It was the fact that you—the soul of Hufflepuff, modesty aside—declared your crush on him in front of God and everyone that made the name Sirius Black start echoing through the corridors in such a singular way. It wasn’t every day people were as open about their feelings as you’d been since the moment you first laid eyes on him. You still remembered the first time you shamelessly declared you’d be the future Mrs Black right in the middle of Transfiguration class. Most students laughed for days, trying to make jokes about you and Sirius. Well, obviously you didn’t mind; you wanted the two of you to be a couple, and you had a right laugh with everyone calling you "Mrs Black" too.
Sirius seemed a bit embarrassed at first, but it didn't take long for him to just go with the flow, treating it like a joke and laughing whenever the subject came up. The thing is, you didn't anticipate one tiny detail: bloody puberty.
Yep. It seemed even wizards couldn't escape it.
In first and second year, most people thought it was funny to laugh at the fact that you were openly obsessed with Sirius. Whenever they teased you, they ended up linking your name to his, so it stuck in everyone’s minds for a while. However, with the arrival of third year and those wretched hormones starting to bubble in every teenager’s body, Sirius and his mates discovered that the world was much more than just pranks and Quidditch. They had discovered girls.
Well, it’s not like they didn't know they existed before, but you knew what most boys were like. They usually find girls and anything related to them a complete bore. That is, until they see their first pair of tits in an adult mag or have their first slobbery snog.
So, it turned out they had reached that stage. And Sirius seemed to be building a reputation as a very experienced young kisser. Of course, a fair bit of credit went to the fact that he was the coolest, best-looking, and funniest boy in your year, but hey, you also had a massive hand in the "Why is this boy so interesting?" department, since you considered yourself one of the most popular girls in your year and he was the one you wanted.
You liked him so much that even when most of your friends were going on their first dates to Hogsmeade and trying out their first kisses, and even when several boys asked you out to do the same, you turned them down. You desperately wanted Sirius to be the one, and you felt like foaming at the mouth every time you heard he’d gone on another date with some girl who wasn’t you.
But honestly, sod social conventions. If a boy doesn’t come to you, why shouldn't you go to him? That’s how you joined James Potter in the category of Hogwarts’ most pathetic lovers.
"This is how it’s going to work," you whispered towards Potter. "I’ll ask Lily to come to Hogsmeade with me, and you ask Sirius."
"Right," he agreed, also keeping his voice down.
"We’ll just wander about and then meet up at two o'clock, at The Three Broomsticks."
"Deal. Wait, why don't we just go together from the start?"
"No way, it’ll be too obvious that we set it up. We have to pretend it’s a normal outing and that we just ran into each other by coincidence."
"Yeah, fair point."
"And then you go after Lily and leave me with Sirius."
"Oi, why do I have to be the one to leave with her? You could go."
"Women like men who take initiative, James."
"But you’re the one taking all the initiative with Sirius!"
"That's beside the point—"
"What are you two whispering about?" a voice intervened from behind you and James, making you both jump out of your skins. Your eyes lit up instantly as you recognised the voice.
"Sirius! You’re here! I thought you were at the Quidditch pitch."
Sirius ran a hand over his neck, looking more tired than he let on. "Yeah, I went there. Stood around like an idiot waiting for practice to start, but this berk here never showed up." He pointed at James.
"I was just on my way, we just needed to sort something out."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "What was so important that it made you late for Quidditch practice?"
You, not wanting to ruin yet another one of your brilliant plans, decided to step in. "Aw, Sirius, are you jealous? Don't worry, I only have eyes for you!"
Sirius couldn't help but laugh; he always laughed at your public declarations. "That wasn't exactly what I was worried about. James, the match against Ravenclaw is in a week—"
"Sorry for making Jamie late for practice, it’s my fault. Professor Sprout said my essay on Gluttonous Cabbages was so rubbish it wasn't even good for fertiliser, and I wanted to know if Jamie here would let me copy his."
"You could’ve asked Lily or Amelia," Sirius pointed out.
"Oh, my dear Sirius, I know you don't like it much when I talk to other boys, but they would just tell me to do it myself and you know I’m bloody hopeless at Herbology."
Sirius let out a sigh. "Alright, fine. Give it to her later. We have to go, James."
"See you later," James waved as he followed Sirius. "Don't forget what we agreed!"
"You neither!"
You watched them disappear down the corridor and stood still for a few seconds, observing the way Sirius’s hair bounced with every step. Your poor little heart started pumping a bit faster and a familiar heat settled in your cheeks. It was so good to see him, even for a bit. Every day with Sirius Black could be a good day. But then, reality knocked on your door.
"Right..." you muttered to yourself, patting your own cheeks to wake up. "Duty first, pleasure later. My future husband can wait." You turned around and headed towards the castle grounds. Although the excuse to Sirius had been a half-truth, the fact was that Professor Sprout really had returned your parchment with a grade that deserved a cry for help.
Greenhouse Three was filled with a humid heat, and the place was a mess of vines and questionable plants that you had no idea how to start studying for your wretched essay. "Here we go," you sighed, approaching the bench where the Gluttonous Cabbages were confined. They were hideous. They looked like ordinary cabbages, if ordinary cabbages had serrated teeth and an insatiable urge to bite anything that came within a foot of them.
You grabbed a bucket of organic fertiliser (which stank like something that had died and been resurrected just to die again) and tried to feed the plants while holding a blank parchment in your other hand. "Eat up, your ugly things," you hummed, trying to stay optimistic as one of the cabbages tried to snap at your cloak sleeve. "If I pass this class, I promise I'll bring you a fresh bag of Thestral dung."
As you struggled to balance the bucket and the quill, your mind drifted back to The Three Broomsticks. You could already picture it: you and Sirius sharing a Butterbeer, maybe him putting his arm around your shoulder or offering to take you for a walk through the streets of Hogsmeade before giving you a cheeky kiss... SNAP!
One of the cabbages made a perfect lunge, biting off a generous chunk of your parchment notebook containing all your notes. "Oi! That’s the property of the future Mrs Black!" you exclaimed, trying to pull the paper back, entering a tug-of-war with the vegetable. "Give it back now or I swear I'll turn you into a salad for dinner!"
The cabbage, though you doubted it was possible, seemed to understand, knocking you to the floor as it ripped the notebook in half, devouring the part it had kept with satisfaction. You looked at what was left in your hand and let out a long sigh, knowing you’d have to start all over again.
Then you started laughing—nearly cackling, actually. There was no one to blame but your own head, which was perhaps a bit too focused on Sirius’s grey eyes and dark hair for its own good, but you weren't going to let that ruin your day. You’d seen and spoken to Sirius, and you had a date with him tomorrow... even if he didn’t know it yet.
***
"If you pull my arm any harder, I’m going to leave a limb behind before we even reach the door," Lily complained, though there was a resigned smile on her face as she was practically hauled through the village streets by you.
The cold Hogsmeade air made your cheeks sting, but you were so excited it didn't really matter. You were wearing your best yellow scarf and your best coat; plus, you’d spent at least twenty minutes trying to tame your hair before giving up and deciding that the messy look suited you. In fact, you felt like everything suited you—it was hard to shake your self-esteem. Why not take advantage of the fact that you were a pretty girl and you knew it? Why not feel beautiful even after going to bed at 2 AM finishing another doomed Herbology essay? Sure, dark circles weren't exactly a beauty trend, but a few imperfections just added charm. No problem.
"In case you don't remember, Lily, thirst is a serious matter, you know?" you shot back, words coming out so fast they almost tripped over each other. "I’m so parched, and dehydration in witches our age can be quite nasty. I read that somewhere, or maybe I dreamt it, but the point is I need a Butterbeer now and The Three Broomsticks is the best place in a ten-mile radius!"
"You finished lunch an hour ago," Lily pointed out, trying fruitlessly to dig her heels in.
"That was an eternity ago. And we’re in our growing phase." You stopped abruptly in front of the inn, making Lily nearly collide with your back. "And look at that! What an astronomical coincidence! What an absolutely unthinkable alignment of the planets! Aren't those two over there James and Sirius?"
You pointed with a far-from-subtle enthusiasm towards the pub window, where the silhouettes of two boys could be seen. Lily crossed her arms before shooting an annoyed look in your direction. "This is you and Potter doing, isn’t it?" Lily began.
You smiled awkwardly, looking away from her before waving at James and Sirius. "I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about, Lily. But don't ruin the magic of destiny. Who are we to question the tools of divine providence?" You grabbed her again, full of energy. "Shall we join them?"
Lily put a hand to her forehead as she cringed at the sight of the two Marauders. "I can't believe you’re making me put up with Potter even on the weekend."
"Oh, come on, he’s a sweetheart and he really fancies you. There are much worse blokes out there."
"Like who?"
"Snape."
"Stop that Snape business with me, he’s my friend!"
"Lily, that guy looks at me like I’m a bloody rattlesnake! He doesn't like people like us; he only tolerates you because he likes you."
"He doesn't like me like that! And it has nothing to do with being Muggle-born; it’s all because you keep pushing me towards Potter and they hate each other!"
"And they only hate each other because they both fancy you!" You tried to dislodge her from where she stood, heading for the door. "Just try to enjoy it, okay? Try not to hex Jamie in the first five minutes and let me handle my future husband."
Before Lily could protest about the nickname "Jamie", you pushed open the doors of The Three Broomsticks. Your eyes, like trained compasses, locked instantly onto the back table. "Sirius!" you exclaimed, crossing the room like a tiny hurricane, knocking an old man's glove off on the way and nearly bumping into a table. "What a delightful surprise! What are you two doing here? Waiting for us? Oh, I knew our hearts were connected!"
You threw yourself onto the bench next to Sirius before he could even say "hello", leaving a mortified Lily Evans standing right behind you.
"Hello to you too, love," Sirius said, laughing and moving his mug so you wouldn't knock it over with your enthusiasm. "Any reason for all this excitement? Is it a bank holiday I didn't know about?"
"Every day I see you is a holiday in my heart," you replied without any filter, resting your face in your hands and looking at him with such blatant adoration that James, on the other side of the table, let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "And I’ve got a thirst like I’ve walked through the Sahara for forty days. Sirius, did you know your eyes match exactly the colour of the sky before a storm? It’s very poetic. I almost wrote a poem about it yesterday, but one of Sprout’s cabbages ate half my parchments."
Sirius let out a loud laugh. "I can never tell if you're being serious or not, it’s bloody hilarious." Sirius shook his head as his dark curls fell over his eyes. "You manage to outdo James when it comes to being the weirdest person I’ve ever met, I swear. And I share a dorm with him."
James protested, though he was too busy trying (and failing) to look "cool" while pulling out a chair for Lily. Lily rolled her eyes so hard you thought she’d see her own brain, but she eventually sat down, probably because your energy had completely drained hers.
"What are you drinking there?" you said, pulling Sirius’s mug towards you without asking. "Is it Butterbeer? Can I have a sip? Yours looks colder and delicious."
"Wait, don't drink-" Sirius tried to reach out to stop you, but he was too slow. You, driven by the desperate urge to impress him, simply ignored the warning. You grabbed the mug with both hands and downed a generous amount. It tasted like sweet caramel, but it came with a sudden heat that rushed up your neck and hit your brain full force.
"Whoa..." you murmured, setting the mug back on the table with a dull thud, not noticing you'd put it on top of your scarf. Your eyes started to spin slightly and Sirius’s face seemed to have gained an ethereal glow. "Sirius... why are there... hic... three of you now? How wonderful."
You shook your head and felt your body become strangely light, as if you were going to float away at any moment. Lily, who had been watching the scene, frowned and looked from you to the mug with a worried expression.
"What on earth did you put in that drink?" she demanded, her voice sharp with concern as she reached out to hold your forehead, preventing you from face-planting onto the table.
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, torn between feeling embarrassed and amused. "Nothing! It’s just... well... a spell I learned at the start of the year..." he confessed, speaking quietly so no one at the other tables would hear. "It transfigures Butterbeer into a sort of Firewhisky. We can't buy the real stuff, so James and I decided to experiment. It wasn't meant to be downed all at once!"
"She drank half the mug, Sirius!" Lily exclaimed, looking at you, who was now smiling like a fool while still staring at the boy beside you. "What were you thinking, doing something like that?"
"I know! I know! I didn't expect her to just grab it!" Sirius explained, letting out an embarrassed chuckle as he tried to keep you upright. "Love, focus on me. How many fingers am I holding up?"
You looked at his hand and gave a silly smile, tilting your head to the side. "Hmm... seventeen?" You let out a loud hiccup. "Sirius... you’re so... hic... shiny. I think I love you even more now that you have six eyes."
James let out a laugh that nearly made him fall off his bench. Lily was hiding her face in her hands before turning on him, hitting him with slaps and pinches.
"Ow, Lily!- Lily, calm down- Ow! That hurts-"
"This is no laughing matter, you idiot! What am I supposed to do with her now?"
You turned your eyes back to the funny scene in front of you, seeing Jamie getting beaten up by a girl with four arms. Poor Jamie, maybe you should help him. As you tried to wipe your lip with your coat sleeve in a completely uncoordinated way, you ended up pulling your yellow scarf which was trapped under the heavy mug. And that was how it tipped over in the worst way possible, flying straight into Sirius’s lap, soaking his trousers. In your groggy state, you tried to "clean" the mess with your hand, but ended up tripping over the table leg, falling to your knees and pulling the entire tablecloth down with you.
You looked up from the floor, laughing uncontrollably with a foam moustache on your face. Sirius was frozen, staring at his soaked trousers, while James was now rolling on the bench with laughter. "So..." you murmured, swaying from side to side. "Um... I swear I wasn't expecting this girl... I’m not that kind of situation... hic!"
Lily Evans let out the most pained sound you’d ever heard in your life. "That’s it. We’re leaving. Now." Lily stood up, hauling you up while you tried to wave goodbye to the many Siriuses you could see. Sirius wiped a bit of foam from his cheek and watched you being dragged away. Despite the whole situation and having ended up with soaked trousers, he didn't seem angry. Quite the opposite, he looked genuinely amused by the chaos you all could cause.
"See you later, future Mrs Black!" Sirius shouted, now laughing too as James leaned on him for support.
You, even while being carried out by Lily and feeling the world spin, managed to scream one last time before the door swung shut: "I LOVE YOU TOO, SIRIUS BLACK!"
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English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any typos or weird phrasing.
Well, I said I planned to write the rest of this story soon, but I ended up getting carried away with other things and kind of put it aside, but here I am and I swear I'll try not to disappoint maybe the three people who were waiting for a sequel. Thank you if you read this far.❤️
Rating: T (just some smooches but plenty of angst)
Summary: You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.
A/N: Took a break from my long fics this week to deliver a long angsty Seb one shot. I heard Phoebe Bridgers cover Night Shift and became feral over it. Perhaps it needs a smutty part two???
Night One
“I’m so glad you were able to slip away from work for a bit.” Poppy says, pouring tea into your cup.
You smile up at the brunette girl, who still wears her hair in a cropped bob, albeit a bit more fashionable now that you’re in your twenties. You miss Poppy’s presence in your life, but her career as a mazoologist and yours as a lead healer in the intensive care unit of St. Mungo’s has your schedules rarely crossing.
“It’s nice to be out in the sunlight,” you say coyly, lifting the cup to your mouth. It's the truth–you haven’t been out to tea with a friend, dressed in a pretty lace gown in what feels like ages. Your career usually has you in a tightly pulled bun, hair out of your face to focus on your patients, with bloodied aprons. Magic can heal most ailments, but your ancient abilities make you the best bet for the most gravely wounded. So much so that you’ve worked six nights a week every week for the past five years, sleeping during the day to make it to your overnight shifts at the hospital.
With few exceptions.
But there’s coverage today, giving you a rare Saturday afternoon off to enjoy the warm spring day. You and Poppy are sitting outside a tea shop in Diagon Alley, catching up on all things personal, while people watching. It’s strange, you think, to be surrounded by so many people. You leave for your shift at seven thirty in the evening, when most people are getting home for dinner, and return to your flat far after everyone has left for work.
Poppy had just started telling you a story about a wild herd of manticores she’d encountered on her travels abroad, when a familiar face walked up to your table.
“Merlin’s beard, I never thought I’d see the likes of you two ever again,” Andrew Larson grins.
“Andrew,” Poppy smiles. “It’s good to see you.”
There are obligatory kisses on the cheek as the handsome Ravenclaw pulls up a chair. “What are you doing in town, Poppy?”
“Visiting my gran, of course.” She tilts her head towards you. “And catching up with friends.”
“And you, it’s like you’re back from beyond the grave.” Andrew shifts his attention, teasing you. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”
You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just busy keeping people from their graves, that’s all.”
“I’ve heard.” Andrew elbows you. “Youngest lead healer in all of St. Mungo’s.”
“Yet being the youngest earned me the night shift.” You wrinkle your nose. “And very few days off.”
“How’s the auror office doing?” Poppy quips, leaning her chin into her palm.
Andrew shrugs. “Busy; we’re working on a big case right now, but we finally got a few hours off to enjoy lunch. I was just heading over to the Cauldron, meeting Sallow and Clopton for a bite.”
You swallow thickly. It’s been five years since you last spoke to Sebastian Sallow. At this point, you can’t exactly remember how it ended, except that the two of you had screamed at one another. You were fairly certain you’d thrown a book at his head, and he’d knocked over your favorite mug in the process. You still had it, the handle broken off, now used as a quill holder at your desk.
“Oi, Larson! Quit flirting, we’ve just gotten a message. All hands on deck at the office.”
Both you and Poppy turn to the voice; Everett Clopton is standing a few paces away, wearing a smart suit. He still has his gold wire glasses, but he’s grown into them. He’s wearing a hat, tipping the brim to you both in acknowledgement.
You hate the way your breath hitches when you see their companion. Sebastian is also dressed well, sporting a tweed three piece suit, shiny black dress shoes, and a gold auror badge attached to his lapel. He meets your gaze briefly before looking back up to Andrew, who’s moving the chair back to its proper table.
“Emergency meeting,” Sebastian utters gloomily. “Ruined a good lunch.”
Your stomach twists at the sound of his voice. It’s no more than six words, but your insides feel like a wet towel being wrung out. And Sebastian doesn’t even have the decency to look at you, avoiding eye contact with the person he considered his best friend for three years. The audacity of him, to completely ignore the person who once held his fate in their hands–you feel the bile rising in your throat, swallowing down the anger that once consumed you.
No, you won’t let a tiny interaction with Sebastian ruin five years of hard work. You stare at the cutlery on the table, willing him to leave.
Andrew Larson sighs, rapping his knuckles against the table. “It was good seeing you girls,” he smiles. “Hopefully I run into you again.”
The three boys–men, rather, you are all twenty three at this point–shuffle away.
There is a heavy silence between you and Poppy, until she clears her throat.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly.
You nod, collecting yourself as you smile at her. “Perfectly fine. It’s been ages, Poppy. We’re all over it.”
She grabs your gloved hand, pulling it towards her. “You certainly are,” she says playfully, twisting the sparkling bauble on your left ring finger. “It’s gorgeous, by the way.”
“I never get to wear it,” you admit sheepishly. It’s been a month since your engagement, and you’ve hardly worn your ring; your fiance’s parents are perturbed that the announcement hasn’t been posted to the Daily Prophet yet. Despite having courted for the last year and a half, it still feels like everything has moved too fast, like you’ve fallen off your broom mid flight. For the most part, your engagement ring is safely tucked in its box atop your dresser, at the risk of getting bodily fluids on it during your shifts.
“He’s a lucky man.” Poppy echoes, sitting back in her chair. “You are happy, aren’t you?”
You’re doing fine, you think. You’re at the top of your field. You have a fine flat in a nice part of London, and a promise from a man that’s kind to you. The kind of man who waited for you to get off your shift to bring you breakfast, and took you to a nice restaurant on your Friday nights off. You hadn’t expected a pretty ring from him, especially since you only graced him with your presence once a week, but then again, your last relationship had taught you not to expect anything at all.
A flash of brunette hair crosses your mind; you blink away the thought.
“I’m happy. Very happy,” you say simply, holding your teacup up to your lips again. “So about the manticores…”
You jolt out of bed, a blue wisp of a rabbit bouncing around your bedroom. It’s rare to get a patronus message at this hour; it can only mean an emergency at the hospital. It also must be bad, considering they’re calling you in on your day off.
Without another thought, you tumble out of bed, rushing to your wardrobe to pull out your clothes. Your unit specifically wears a deep purple–dark enough to hide stains. Your shrug on undergarments and petticoats, and a burgundy gown with a high neckline. Your hands know exactly how to tighten your hair into a knot within a minute, having perfected the craft over the five years of your career. Your wand is stowed in your dress pocket; you’ll grab an apron at the ward. Grabbing a fistful of floo powder next to your fireplace, you step in, yelling out for St. Mungo’s.
The ward is in a flurry as you step out of the flames. A nurse hands you a white cotton apron, which you wrap around your waist as you hold your wand between your teeth. There are men all over, gashed and bleeding, as other healers take their information.
“What’s happened?” You bark at an orderly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
“Auror ambush by some ashwinders,” he says dryly. “It’s awful. Lost a few–even more are bleeding. It’s dark magic, some sort of spell to keep the wounds bleeding.”
“Of course it is, those bastards.” You mutter. “I’ll take the worst of them. Can someone bring me a coffee?”
He nods, pointing over to a bay of beds a few feet away. “Those three–they specifically requested you.” He hands off the charts, promising a caffeinated beverage.
You’re about to start flipping through the charts when you hear your name. Your head flies up at the familiar voice, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You can see Everett Clopton waving his hands at you; Andrew Larson’s voice is yelling behind the curtain. And just your luck, a pair of black shiny dress shoes are dangling off the examination table, twisted in an unnatural way.
Before you even realize it, you’re running to them. The charts are promptly cast onto the side table when you duck behind the curtain, a gasp catching in your throat.
Sebastian looks awful.
Correction–Sebastian looks dead.
“He jumped in front of me,” Everett panics, his hands on his head. “He shouldn’t have–we were talking, we thought we were out of the thick of it–”
“He’s been hit badly,” Andrew interjects. His sleeves are bloodied from trying to apply pressure to a gash across Sebastian’s chest, the blood seeping through his shirt and vest. “You have to do something,” he pleads. “He’s the best of us–we can’t lose him.”
“Move,” you urge the two of them. They scoot out of your way, and you make quick work of Sebastian’s clothing.
Years ago, tearing off Sebastian’s shirt would’ve been done out of passion, out of love. You push those thoughts out of your mind as you rip through his white dress shirt, which is sopping wet with blood. Sebastian’s skin is cold and clammy; even his freckles are pale, disappearing from his face.
“Get me some dittany and shrivelfigs,” you screech at the other healers. “And the blood renewing potions, please.” You run your hand and your wand over Sebastian’s wounds, uttering a healing charm. “Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur,” you mutter under your breath. The spell isn’t healing fast enough, Sebastian is still losing too much blood.
You let out the blue wisps of magic from your fingertips as you channel some of your ancient magic into the healing spell. You’re still mad at Sebastian, of course, but you’ll be damned if he dies on your watch.
To your relief, the wounds start knitting themselves shut faster, but the scars look awful, all purpled and raised. Another healer is next to you, urgently crushing the dittany and shrivelfigs into a paste–an idea you got from the patient lying in front of you during your sixth year. You’d been battered so often during Crossed Wands, the two of you had experimented with salves and balms to lessen the appearance of your scars.
“He appears to be stabilizing,” the junior healer claims. “Good job, as always.”
You suppress the choked out cry that’s stuck in your throat as you think of Ominis, and how he used to scold the two of you for experimenting. He’d be thankful now that you did.
“There’s others,” another healer urges you. “We must move on to the next.”
You don’t want to. Sebastian seems to be stirring, groaning as the healer rubs the salve onto the gaping wound that streaks across his chest. You can hear Everett and Andrew crying and laughing on the other side of the curtain, exclaiming your name for having saved their partner.
There’s so much commotion, you could swear Sebastian uttered your name, but when you look back, his head is flat on the table, eyes shut. The color is slowly returning to him, now no longer pale and gray.
“We have to keep him for observation,” you instruct another healer, handing her Sebastian’s chart. “I’ll check on him later. In the meantime, there are others.”
Without another glance, you move on to the next bay.
“Excellent work as always,” your boss pats you on the shoulder. “You saved six good men tonight with your quick work.”
“I should just move into the ward,” you mutter under your breath before taking a large swig of coffee.
Your dress is stained with blood, fingers aching from all the healing you’d done. From the twelve aurors in the ambush, three had superficial wounds (Larson and Clopton included). Two had passed in the field, another before you’d gotten to the hospital. But all six of the aurors you’d treated, Sebastian included, were now tucked into private rooms, safe and breathing. You were keeping them for observation, unsure of what kind of curse the ashwinders had used on them. Your ancient magic managed to seal the wounds, but all were badly scarring. They’d all have to stay until you could rule out the cause.
After a much needed shower and an owl sent to your fiance, regretfully informing him you’d not make it to brunch with his parents, you start making your rounds. Most of your patients are sleeping deeply, others dizzily asking what happened. You save Sebastian’s room for last; Clopton and Larson, faithful companions, are sleeping in chairs outside of his room.
You quietly shut the door behind you, gulping as you stare at the man laying in the hospital bed. His chubby cheeks are long gone, hollowed and chiseled by age. You’d laughed at him when you were seventeen and he claimed he had a beard coming in; now you can see traces of stubble lining his jaw. His unruly chestnut hair has been brushed out of his face in a way you know he’ll hate.
But you don’t know that, not truly. Because you don’t know Sebastian anymore.
“Oh Sebastian,” you tut, sitting at a stool next to his bed. You hover your hands over his body, a misty blue glow emitting from them. No internal bleeding at least. He’s had at least three blood renewing potions, and his breathing is steady. You would examine the scars across his chest and torso, but the thought of undressing him in his current state is inappropriate to you.
You’re about to get up, leave him to his slumber when you hear it. He whispers your name in his sleep, head falling to the side. And instead of him being the one with a gaping wound, you feel like a hole has been drilled into your chest.
Maybe you’ll ask for tomorrow off.
Night Two
You’d asked for the day off again, but the request was denied. Begrudgingly, you dress for your shift, tucking your hair behind your ears as you walk with your daytime counterpart down the hallway.
“You’ve missed all the commotion,” your fellow healer gasps. She’s filling you in on the day shift, and all that’s transpired since you left in the morning. “There was a memory charm laced in with that blood curse from the ashwinders—some of them have lost weeks, years of memories. Not recognizing their wives or their children; we’ve had to close the doors to all visitors.”
“That’s a nasty curse.” You mutter, flipping through charts. Only someone sick in the head would mess with memory tampering curses—you wonder why no one has petitioned for them to be banned. The long term care wing at St. Mungos is filled with too many people who’d tinkered with memory spells, and you sincerely hope none of the aurors under your care end up there.
“Terrible, of course. But it made for an interesting day.” She hums. “You should’ve seen Rowle’s wife, security had to cart her out after he called her the wrong name. Think he courted her twin sister too.”
You laugh with her as you walk through the hallway, until your heart fills with dread.
“How is Sallow? The patient in 213.”
She tilts her head. “Fine I think–oh, he was asking for you. Do you know him?”
You fight back the red flush that’s creeping up your neck. “We were schoolmates.” You say. Nothing more. Sebastian can’t be more, especially after you’d done such hard work to forget him in the first place.
After your colleague has clocked out and you’ve checked all your other patients, you quietly rap your knuckles against Sebastian’s door. It’s late enough at night that he might be asleep already, and you can avoid the entire awkward conversation.
“Come in!”
Shit.
You open the door, and Sebastian is staring right back at you. He isn’t scowling like you thought he would be–his eyes are bright, a beaming smile on his lips.
“They told me you were working the night shift.” he says happily, scratching at the collar of his hospital gown. “I stayed awake.”
“Right, Mr. Sallow,” You say curtly, eyes down at the chart in front of you. “It is late, you should be getting rest–”
“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he frowns.
You look up at him, and instead of a grown man, you see the puppy dog eyes that got you in trouble the few years you had at Hogwarts. “Mr. Sallow, rest is essential to your healing. You’ve been through quite the ordeal, and you need to go to sleep.”
“Why are you talking to me like you don’t know me?” Sebastian asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Pet, it’s me.”
You inhale sharply, white knuckling the edge of the bed. “Sebastian,” you mutter (you hate how easily his name rolls off your lips still), “what year do you think it is?”
He rolls his eyes and chuffs. “It’s 1893, duh.”
“It’s not,” you sigh. “It’s 1898. You were in an ambush yesterday, and it seems the Ashwinders are using a memory curse as retaliation nowadays.”
He blinks at you for a moment, before he bursts into laughter. “Really? I’ve lost five damn years in my head? What have I missed? Don’t tell me we’re not married yet.” Only Sebastian could be jovial about such a matter; all the others were utterly distraught at losing their memories.
“Sebastian, darling, we haven’t seen each other in five years.” you confess, moving to the edge of the bed. Your voice is quiet, and although it’s been ages since you last called him darling, you think it might be too much on his poor heart if you don’t. The poor man just asked if you were married, for Merlin’s sake.
His smile fades. “What?”
“We…we went our separate ways five years ago.” You clear your throat. “It…it was a mutual decision.” you lie. Was it a lie? You honestly can’t remember.
“I would never,” Sebastian bites back. “I would never break up with you.”
“Darling, it’s been a very long time,” you say softly, wringing your hands together. “And I’m okay–you’re okay. We’re both doing well…just on our own now.”
“I can’t–this doesn’t make sense,” he jolts away from your touch, and you flinch. “Why would I ever agree to such a thing?”
You can recognize the tell tale signs of panic on a patient’s face, so you hurry over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of water. Sebastian is too far away to see you slip the vial of dreamless sleep into the glass, swirling it into oblivion.
“Here, drink this. You’ll feel much better,” you assure him.
Sebastian absentmindedly takes the glass, gulping down the water as he tries to make sense of the current situation. “It doesn’t make sense,” he mutters under his breath as he starts rubbing his eyes. He’s fighting the effects, and he looks up at you, a deep set frown on his face. “You dosed me, dammit.” The glass rolls out of his hand and onto the bed, where you scoop it up.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and it's sincere. But you’re not equipped to handle Sebastian in such a state–you aren’t equipped to handle him, period. It’s been five years since you’ve had to mind his temper, and your heart can’t handle the pain.
Before you know it, Sebastian is knocked out, the dreamless sleeping draught taking over his body. With his eyes tightly shut, you can finally examine him. The scars across his chest are still purple, bruises lining his torso. Your fingers dance across his skin trying to heal him, but alas, they stay.
You make notes on his chart, letting the other healers know he may be groggy and upset when he wakes in the morning. Even though they’ve put a no visitors policy on the aurors, you remind them to call upon Ominis and Anne to see if they can talk some sense into him.
The last you’d asked Natty about Sebastian, he was happy. He was climbing up the ranks in the auror office, and he’d finally moved out of Ominis’s spare room. You’d cut her off once she started telling you how he was dating–that you didn’t need to know.
That had been two years ago. You wonder what’s changed since then.
Night Three
Your pleas for a night off have gone unanswered. Your boss tells you that you’re too integral to the auror case to be gone for more than twelve hours.
There’s a note left by your fiance’s owl; he’s sad you missed brunch, but he’s excited to take you out on Friday, your next scheduled day off. His mother is insistent the two of you sit for an engagement portrait that will be posted in the Daily Prophet to announce your impending union. You fold the note and toss it onto your desk; when you have a free moment, you’ll write a letter explaining that you would like a lengthy engagement.
Planning a wedding and working the night shift is just too much work for you. You twist your large engagement ring off your finger and put it in its box before taking the floo network to St. Mungo’s.
You’re barely five steps out of the fireplace before a body hits you.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Anne Sallow breathes, her arms enveloping you. “You saved him. He’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”
“Anne,” you sigh into her touch. Similar to her brother, it’s been ages since you’ve seen her. She’s still thin and delicate, but her bangs are long grown out. “What are you still doing here? It’s so late.”
“Ominis and I wanted to catch you,” she claims. “The healers called us in to talk to Sebastian.”
“Right, I asked them to.” you say, smoothing your apron. “How was he today?”
Anne winces. “He’s…he’s still pretty confused.”
You give her a sympathetic smile, biting back the sarcastic words you had in mind. “It must be awful.”
Anne pulls away, digging her toe into the ground. “He keeps asking what happened between the two of you. I’m not sure what to say.” she admits.
You bite your lower lip. “You can tell him the truth. That we ended amicably. That we were fine.”
“If you were fine, you wouldn’t have disappeared for five years.” a voice says behind you.
It only takes you a second to recognize the rich voice of Ominis Gaunt. Whirling around, you throw your arms around the tall blonde. It’s been ages since you’ve given him a hug let alone seen him, so he chuckles into your shoulder when you grasp him.
“I missed you,” you pat his cheek.
“We missed you,” Ominis hums. “I’m surprised St. Mungo’s would call me; I haven’t been Sebastian’s emergency contact for a while.”
You furrow your eyebrows as Anne takes Ominis’s arm. Why wouldn’t he be his emergency contact? Ominis is his best friend, and having been together with Anne for so long, practically his brother.
That’s a question for another time, you decide.
“It’s late, you two should be getting home. Visitor hours are over.” you remind them.
“I’m not leaving before you promise to see me again,” Ominis says sternly. “Five years is far too long.”
You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Of course. Ominis, I’m sorry. I just thought that when things ended, the two of you were best friends…”
“That was my decision to make,” he says softly. “Not yours. I decide whose side I’m on.”
Ominis’s words warm your heart, but they also leave cracks. Ominis and Sebastian were a package deal when you met them, and you’ve spent far too much of your time with the boys driving them apart.
After much coaxing, Ominis and Anne take their leave. You’re finally able to start your rounds. Rowle is starting to regain his memories and they’ve allowed his wife back into the ward. Travers still has a nasty gash on his leg that’s festering, but he’s otherwise remembering things from last week. Cattermole is fast asleep, so you avoid his room to let him get some more rest.
Your hand falters on the handle of room 213, taking a deep breath before you push in. Just as you thought, Sebastian isn’t asleep. He’s sitting upright in bed, arms crossed over his chest, frowning at you.
“You’re looking much better,” you offer, shutting the door behind you.
“You gave me a sleeping draught last night,” he accuses you. “That’s not fair.”
“You were getting hysterical, Sebastian.” you remind him, flipping through his chart. Nothing particularly new, and no memories back. He’s spent the entire day asking for you, the chart says, and fighting with orderlies. It mentions Ominis and Anne arriving, and that the two gentlemen had sharp words for one another. Ominis was right—he isn’t Sebastian’s emergency contact anymore. There’s an unfamiliar name, a woman.
“Open your shirt, please.”
Sebastian waggles his eyebrows at you. “Are you sure we’re not together?”
You roll your eyes. “Your cheekiness, I didn’t miss it.” you mutter, hands on your hips. “I need you to take your shirt off so I can check your wounds, you idiot.”
Sebastian gives you a familiar grin as he unbuttons his pajama shirt; he’s flexing his muscles, you can tell. A pinch to his pectoral has him yowling, and he stops. You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.
“Perhaps we did break up,” he grumbles.
Sebastian’s breath stutters as your fingers prod at his scars. They’re still ugly and raised, but the color is improving.
“I’m not sure there’s much more I can do,” you frown. “I think they’ll stay.”
“That’s fine,” Sebastian breathes. “You did always say you preferred when I was roughed up.”
You give him a strained look. “Sebastian–”
“Please, listen to me.” Sebastian urges. “Ominis…he told me what happened between us. And I really, truly can’t believe we would let it get to that.” Your name is a gentle whisper from his mouth, and he pushes his brunette hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to neglect you.”
You swallow thickly, backing up. “We were so young, Sebastian. Let’s leave the past in the past, please.”
“Ominis and I haven’t spoken in two years.” Sebastian interjects. “He just told me. Annie says we had a fight, and you were part of it.”
You turn around, shutting your eyes. “I don’t want to hear this,” you admit weakly.
Sebastian is rustling in his sheets; he lets out a low hiss as he adjusts his still healing torso. “If the version of me, the one that got cursed, isn’t talking to you, Anne, or Ominis…I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t want to be that version of me.” Sebastian pleads. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to remember.”
“You have friends, Sebastian.” You remind him, turning to face him again. “You have friends, your job…” you trail off, picking up his chart again. You pinpoint the section with his emergency contact; a woman who is likely sitting at home, worried sick over him. “You have a girlfriend, probably. One who is desperate to see you.” There’s a lump in your throat as you try to imagine her, but your mind comes up blank.
“I don’t care,” Sebastian breathes. “She’s a stranger.”
“I’m the stranger,” you remind him. “Sebastian…I’m engaged. I’m getting married next spring.”
That’s a lie–you and your fiance haven’t even discussed a timeline, but it seems more official to say it with a season.
The hope on Sebastian’s face crumbles, eyes wide as he stares at you.
“You’re engaged,” he croaks.
“Engaged.” The more you say it, the more it’s real. “He’s lovely. You would like him.” Now that's an even bigger lie–Sebastian would’ve called him a prat if he met him. You appreciate your fiance’s softness and meekness, especially after having been with a firecracker hothead for most of your teens.
Sebastian is crumpled in bed, twisting onto his side. “I’d like to go to bed now,” he mumbles. It was textbook Sebastian–whenever something didn’t go his way, he’d turn away from you in bed like a petulant child. It’s almost a relief to see that he does the same thing at twenty three years old.
“If you ring the bell, someone will come to aid you.” You wave your wand, dimming the lights. “You can ask for someone else, if you’d like.”
Sebastian doesn’t say anything as you shut the door, and when he does ring the bell for assistance, he requests anyone but you. It’s stupid to be upset over, it’s what you wanted–for him to stop pestering you.
But you have a nice long cry in the potions ingredient cupboard anyways.
The rest of your shift goes by uneventfully. Rowle has regained his memories and will be discharged in the morning. Cattermole finally woke up from his deep sleep and he’s on the mend, moved out of the intensive care ward. Travers has also been discharged, prescribed a salve to make sure the cut on his leg stays clean. It leaves Roberts, Jorkins, and Sallow as your only three patients left from the case, and perhaps now your boss will let you take a night off.
Night Four
“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Sebastian says sheepishly.
“Whatever for?” You mumble, pressing a strip of gauze to his chest wound. You’re trying a new salve recipe you’ve been working on, just to see if it’ll help break down the scar tissue. His bruises are starting to go yellow, and if he works back up on his memory, Sebastian can be discharged from your ward.
“For being rude.” Sebastian sighs. “I’m…it’s starting to come back to me a bit now.”
You look up at him, eyebrows raised. “Is it?”
“We fought that night.” Sebastian swallows thickly. “You and me. I can’t exactly remember what we fought about, but you threw a book at me.”
“And I hit your eyebrow.” You remind him.
“Lucky shot,” Sebastian rolls his eyes, and you have to suppress a laugh. He winces as you press the salve in; his body is still sensitive.
“I’m sorry for that. I never got to apologize to you,” you admit, rubbing the mixture in. “But I was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed about what?” Sebastian asks softly.
“For putting up with all of it,” you pat another piece of gauze over the salve. Sebastian looks like a mess and he’ll have to sleep sitting up, but you’re hoping to salvage his handsome chest. There are a bevy of flower vases strewn across the room, and plenty of Sebastian’s favorite sweets piled on his bedside table.
“I see you had quite a few visitors today.”
Sebastian nods, trying not to move too much. “Anne and Ominis again; he’s warming back up to me, I know it.” he brags. “Clopton and Larson too. I can’t believe I was paired up with two Ravenclaws as partners. That’s probably how I got all bungled up in the first place.”
“Everett said you were quite the hero,” you back away, admiring your work (and his muscles, he’s grown quite a bit since you last saw him). “And they stayed the entire night when you first came into the ward, so I know they’re loyal to you.”
There is a silence between you two for a moment, until Sebastian breaks the tension.
“She visited earlier.” Sebastian echoed. “Rebecca.”
You turn away at the name; at least it’s not the girl you remember from your last argument. “Rebecca is a lovely name,” you offer. It’s all you can give him without treading into dangerous waters. You’re engaged after all, and stuck patting balm into the chest of your former lover.
“She was distraught.” Sebastian hummed. “Hates the scars.”
You turn around, rolling your eyes. “She’s dating an auror, she should get used to it.” you scowl.
“That’s what I said,” Sebastian laughs, trying not to move the salve covered strips. “But she wasn’t having it. She was worried I would never look the same, so I broke up with her.”
You blink at him. He seems completely unbothered.
“Sebastian!” You exclaim. “You shouldn’t break up with her over that alone.”
Sebastian shrugs. “Y’know, the boys filled in a few of the blanks for me. Apparently, not very many people actually liked Rebecca and I together, so I guess it was impending anyways.”
You put your hands on your hips. “I cannot believe you broke up with your girlfriend because Everett Clopton and Andrew Larson told you to.” you shake your head. “She was your emergency contact, Sebastian. You’ve probably been dating a while.”
“According to Clopton, I was planning on breaking up with her soon anyways.”
“Idiots, the lot of you.” You tut, washing your hands in the basin.
“We’d only been dating three months.” Sebastian interjects. “I put her as my emergency contact because I had no one else. Ominis and Anne…well, they weren’t talking to me apparently.”
You don’t say anything, letting the water run over your hands.
“I guess I’ve been a real arse the last few years,” Sebastian echoes. “Everett said I hadn’t been quite myself since we…well, you get the gist.”
“Everyone is an arse when they’re eighteen,” you remind him.
Sebastian snorts. “I’m sure you weren’t.”
“I think I might’ve been.” You chuckle under your breath. “Poppy always said I had a one track mind. Only ever thought about myself, my career.”
“Well, it’s done a lot for you.” Sebastian offers. “Youngest lead healer in St. Mungo’s history.”
You roll your eyes. “The others think I’m a show off.”
“You’re gifted,” he shrugs, and a slice of gauze slips from his chest. “That’s all.”
“Lay back darling,” you advise him, stuffing a pillow behind his back to keep him comfortable.
Sebastian does as you say, his hands balled up in fists at his side. “So, your fiance,” He trails off. “What’s he like?”
You purse your lips, pulling his sheets over his waist. “He’s nice.”
“Nice. That’s it?” Sebastian snorts. “Surely he has some better attributes, you said yes to marrying him.”
“He’s calm, quiet.” you say, turning your back to put away the excess gauze. “He’s a junior secretary for the Minister of Magic.” turning back to Sebastian, you already know he has a smug smile on his face. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say,” you warn, wagging a finger.
“What?” Sebastian scoffs. “I would never say anything about an esteemed junior secretary,” he says dramatically. “Besides, you’re the one who thought it…”
“I didn’t think anything!” You laugh. “I just knew exactly what you were thinking.”
“And what is that?” Sebastian asks coyly.
“You were going to call him a pencil pusher,” you accuse.
Sebastian fakes a gasp, holding a hand to his chest. “My stars, I would never say such a thing.”
“Stop it,” you laugh again, slapping his hand. “You’re ruining my hard work. I’ll have to do it again.”
“No,” Sebastian groans. “It’s cold. I just want to put a jumper on, I don’t care about the scars.” he pouts.
“I need you to get better,” you hold your hands on your hips. “The auror office will have my head if I keep you here any longer when your colleagues are back home.”
Sebastian fumbles with the edge of the blanket. “And what would consider me healed?”
“Well, I’d say besides the appearance, your physical wounds are fully healed.” You shrug. “But we can’t discharge you until your memories are back–or at least substantially returned.”
Sebastian is quiet, and he stays quiet until you finish putting away all your supplies. You’re about to leave him, implore him to get some rest, when he clears his throat.
“Pet,” he says cautiously (he hasn’t used your old nickname since the second night of his stay).
“Yes, Sebastian?” You ask, slipping your hands into the pocket of your apron. When you look at Sebastian from the doorway, he doesn’t look like a twenty three year old man. He looks like the Sebastian you used to know–the hotheaded eighteen year old who only ever got shy around you.
“Would you…could we be friends after this?” He asked lowly. “I know you said we haven’t seen each other in five years, and I know there’s some blame there on my end. But we’ve been through so much together, and you’ve saved my life.” he rambles.
You once told yourself that if Sebastian Sallow ever came crawling back, you’d slam the door shut in his face. The first year of your separation had been excruciating; the second had been dreadful. Once you’d gotten on to your third year without him in your life, the pain had become bearable. And once you’d gotten on to four years without him, you realized you didn’t think of him anymore. In fact, you hadn’t thought of him at all until you saw him standing a few paces away from your tea table.
“Of course, darling.” You assure him. “Only if you promise me that you’ll actually sleep.”
Sebastian’s face lights up in a way you distinctly remember–the first time you’d seen it was when you arrived in Feldcroft to meet Anne when you were both fifteen. He adjusts himself to the pillows as you wave your wand to dim the lights.
You shut the door behind you, letting out a sigh when you’re out of sight. You feel guilty calling Sebastian darling again–you’ve never even blessed your own fiance with his own nickname. And despite your refusal of the situation, you can’t help the shiver you feel at the base of your spine when you hear Sebastian calling you pet again.
Perhaps being friends is not a good idea.
Night Five
Sebastian is asleep when your shift starts, and you nearly skip over his room. But against your better judgment, you push into the door, knocking lightly.
The brunette man is slumped over, snoring lightly as if he were waiting for you. At the sound of the door, he jolts, rubbing his eyes.
“Why can’t you be on the day shift?” he complains sleepily.
You chuckle. “I can leave you, let you get some rest.”
“No,” Sebastian clears his throat. “I’d like you to stay.” He shrugs off his shirt, proudly displaying his scars. “They still look like hell, but at least they aren’t purple anymore.”
You stride over, running your hands over them. Your ancient magic was able to overpower the bleeding curse, but Sebastian will forever have a dip in his chest and bubbled over scars. They’re at least turning pink, a much better place than they were a few days ago.
“They look great,” you pat his shoulder. “And once we get your memories back in order, we can get you home.”
Sebastian gives you a strange look. “Ominis came again during the day…filling in the blanks again.”
“And?” You ask softly, sitting in the chair next to him.
“Why did we break up?” Sebastian asks firmly. “Can you tell me? And don’t give me the whole spiel about us growing apart. I want the details.”
You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands. “We were eighteen, Sebastian. I was careless, you were lonely, we were both focused on our careers and not on each other.” Truthfully, you had spent years thinking of the many ways you’d address this conversation, how you’d confront him if you ever saw him again. Now five years later and after having almost witnessed Sebastian’s death, the downfall of your first love is easily compounded into one simple sentence.
“You started working the night shift,” Sebastian says.
“I started working the night shift,” you echo. “I wanted to rise up quickly in the ranks, so I volunteered. I was working so many hours, and you were gone during the day at your job, so we barely saw each other.”
“I asked you to take time off.” Sebastian adds.
“And I said no.” you admit. “I told you that you were being insecure. That my job was more important, because I was saving lives.” It’s one of the few shames you’ve compartmentalized over the past few years–that you’d ever downplayed the importance of his career compared to yours.
“I went out that night.” Sebastian whispers, looking at his hands. “And I didn’t come home until the morning.”
“It was my only night off of the week, and you came home at four in the morning, stinking of firewhiskey and perfume.” Your eyes shut, replaying the awful scene in your head.
“Did I?” he croaked. “Did I cheat on you, really?”
“No,” You shake your head, and he lets out a relieved sigh. “You said you could have. You said you wanted to.” You add, rubbing the temples of your forehead. “That you were tired of living in half of a relationship, and that you’d wanted to kiss that girl.”
“You threw the book at me,” Sebastian says weakly. “And I smashed your mug.”
“I told you to go to her if you really wanted.” You admit. “And you left.”
“I stayed at Ominis’s that night.” he whispered. “I didn’t go to her.”
“I didn’t know that. So I packed my things and left.”
The silence hangs between the two of you, and all of the feelings you had at eighteen come flooding back. After the fight, you apparated to Natty’s place, while Anne and Poppy had cleaned out your bits in the apartment. What was meant to be a one night stay turned into a week, and then more. After a month without word from Sebastian, you committed to the night shift, forsaking your friendships and social life for work. Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and before you knew it, you were promoted. Sebastian Sallow was a blip in your timeline, a faded memory of teenage love. He’d been just a memory until you saw him in Diagon Alley. Your heart hadn’t felt anything but anger towards him until you saw his shiny black dress shoes.
“Did we throw it all away?” Sebastian asks sorrowfully.
“We became the people we needed to be.” You remind him. “Look at you, an auror. A damn good one. The kind that jumps in front of their partner to save them from a curse.” you assure him.
“And you’re a healer,” Sebastian inhales. “A bloody amazing one, that saved my life and five others. I’m so proud of you.” Sebastian’s lower lip wobbles, and you know your heart is in danger.
“You seem to remember quite a bit,” You point out. “More than you let on.”
“I was talking to Clopton about you. We thought the ambush was over, we were trying to get to a floo point so we could get Larson’s leg checked out.” Sebastian says. “I told him how beautiful you looked, and that you looked happy.” his voice cracks.
“Sebastian.” It’s not a warning, just a statement. A week ago you would’ve never said his name aloud, let alone thought of it. But it feels right rolling off your tongue.
“Everett said something about you being engaged. It’s…it’s fuzzy from there on, but I remember the fight. And I jumped in front of him, but not just to save him.” Sebastian says, his fingers drumming on his stomach.
“Why?” You almost don’t want to hear the rest. It might upend your life entirely.
“I jumped in front of him because I knew I’d be okay. That you would probably be at St. Mungo’s when I got there.” Sebastian said weakly. “And I’d get a chance to see you again.”
“Sebastian, we’re different people now.” You remind him.
“We’re better now.” Sebastian says, giving you pleading eyes. “I was an idiot when I was eighteen; I thought I was being a man, but I wasn’t. And I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been happy the past five years–there hasn’t been another woman who’s made me feel the way you do.” he confesses.
“It’s been too long,” you try to say, but you know it's no use trying to argue with him. From your first fight in the Undercroft at fifteen to the fight that broke you two up, Sebastian has never backed down.
Before you even realize it, Sebastian has reached his hand out, taking yours. He’s rubbing your left ring finger–the one missing your large, ostentatious engagement ring.
“Don’t marry him,” Sebastian croaks. “Please, don’t marry him.”
“Why?” you ask.
“Because I understand you now.” Sebastian says. “I understand you in a way I didn’t when I was younger. And that’s good–it’s good for us now. It wasn’t the right time then, but we could try again now.” he pleads.
“Four days ago when you saw me in Diagon Alley, you could barely look at me.” You remind him. “I should have you committed to the memory ward at this point.”
“Four days ago when I saw you, I was sick to my stomach with how happy you looked.” Sebastian admits. “I saw you from a distance, smiling at Larson and Poppy. I couldn’t look you in the eye after seeing you smile.”
You want to tell Sebastian that your fiance is a good man. That he loves you, cherishes you, and doesn’t fight with you. But you can’t help being nostalgic as you hold the hand of your first love, who is currently begging you to end your relationship to risk it all again with him. Whatever strength you’ve mustered together in the last five years is about to break as his big brown eyes implore you to stay.
“Your memory seems back to normal,” you change the subject, standing up quickly. You tug your hand out from his, smoothing your clammy palms against your apron. “I’ll put you down for discharge in the morning.”
“Don’t,” Sebastian warns. “Don’t run away.”
“You ran away.” You remind him.
“And I regret it, every day.” Sebastian says mournfully. “You were my first love. You were going to be my only love, and I fucked it up.”
“We both made mistakes, Sebastian.” You say, staring down at your feet. “You need to get some rest. I’ll leave you be.”
He’s arguing as you step through the door, wringing your hands together. The thoughts running through your head aren’t right–no, they’re crazy. Except your feet keep walking towards the ward matron’s desk, gripping the stone top.
“Are you alright, dear?” she asks, frowning.
“I need to go home,” you confess, scribbling what little notes you have onto Sebastian’s chart. “There’s something I have to do.”
Thirty minutes later (your on call replacement is displeased to have been woken up late at night) you’re back in your flat. Your mind is buzzing as you pace in the bedroom, thinking about the idea gnawing at your brain.
It would be insane.
You haven’t talked in five years.
He’s emotional after having been saved from the brink of death.
He broke up with his girlfriend on the spot, because she wasn’t you.
Sebastian is most well known for his unwavering support and adoration. At least he was when you were younger. Sebastian had always been encouraging, cheering you on through crossed wands, battles in the highlands, and even when you got your first job offer from St. Mungo’s. He’d been crazy about you–obsessed with you, even. The two of you had been the couple of your year when you graduated.
Sebastian had only ever faltered once, and it ended your relationship.
Don’t marry him.
The words replay in your mind. It makes you realize your stomach has flipped more in the last four nights than it has in years. That your even tempered fiance, a kind but boring man, has not once made you feel what you’ve felt in the past week being back in Sebastian’s presence.
It is insane, you think. But you’d rather take feeling than nothing at all.
Digging through your dresser, you pull out the box holding your engagement ring.
Night Six
It has been a long, long day.
What time you would have spent sleeping is spent assuring your now ex-fiance that nothing untoward has happened. That you appreciate his kindness and companionship over the past year, but that you cannot lie to yourself.
You cannot marry him because you don’t love him as you should.
You prepare for the night shift with a spring in your step, because when you get there, you’re heading straight to Sebastian’s room. You’re going to tell him what you’ve done, and hope that he’s still feeling just as crazy as you. You pull your hair into its usual bun, wishing you could wear something a little nicer to what will be your reunion. Sebastian used to love when you wore green; perhaps you’ll buy a green dress the next day you’re off.
When you get to the ward, it’s quieter than usual. Holding your wand between your teeth again, affixing the white apron, your heart beats out of your chest as you approach room 213.
This is it. This is the start of the rest of your life.
You push through the doors of 213, but your breath stutters when you see the empty bed. It’s stripped of any linens, and all of the flowers and candy boxes Sebastian’s colleagues sent are gone.
“Where is the patient in 213?” you whip around, grabbing the closest orderly.
They give you a curious look. “Discharged this morning–you put it in their paperwork.”
You swallow, and it feels like shards of broken glass are tumbling down your throat. “I…I did.”
“Isn’t today your day off, too?” They tilt their head at you. “Honestly, it feels like your head hasn’t been screwed on at all this week. Might want to take some focus potions, ma’am.”
“Uh, right.” You admit, turning red. You were so excited at the prospect of seeing Sebastian again, you completely forgot that Fridays were your nights off from the ward. You were rather busy after all, imploding your life. “”Does it say who picked him up?”
They shrug, flipping through the charts again. “He was taken to his home in Diagon Alley by his sister and brother-in-law.”
You curse under your breath as you try to plot a plan. There’s no way Ominis still lives in the small flat he had when you last saw him, and you have no idea where Sebastian lives. The ward doesn’t have an address either, so you’re shit out of luck.
Unless…unless you were to find one of his loyal partners.
Apparition is frowned upon inside of St. Mungo’s, but you’ll take a scolding from the matron ward on Saturday. You immediately apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, where most of the ministry’s aurors spend their evenings. You know this because you’ve been avoiding the biggest pub in Diagon Alley for five years, hoping not to run into your ex.
The crowd stares at you in your St. Mungo’s uniform; you push through throngs of ministry employees, all wearing fine suits and dresses from their day jobs. Your eyes scan the room, heart losing hope by the second, until you spot Everett and Andrew sitting with a gaggle of your classmates from Hogwarts, Natsai Onai included. Andrew elbows Everett at the sight of you, and Clopton beams as if he’s won a bet.
“Hi,” you say breathlessly, approaching the group.
“Figured you might turn up.” Larson teased. “Gaunt, Clopton, and I had a bet on how long it would take.”
“What’s going on?” Natty asks, clearly confused. She says your name, tilting her head.
“I need his address,” You gasp. “He wasn’t at the ward when I got there–”
“Anne and Ominis picked him up this morning.” Everett says, pulling out his wand and a paper napkin. He aimed his wand at the scrap, delicately burning an address into the paper. “He doesn’t live far from here. Perhaps you’ll keep him from spending too much time at the pub now.”
“Who doesn’t live far?” Natty asks again, elbowing Andrew.
“Sallow, of course.” Larson winks. “You two had enough time to talk it through, yeah?”
“What the bloody hell–they haven’t spoken in five years,” Natty claims with wide eyes. She gives you a look, and you can’t do anything but shrug.
“Near death experiences will change you,” Everett says smugly, taking a sip of his tankard. “Well go on then, what are you still doing here?”
You mouth an apology to Natty; you’ll have to explain it to her someday soon. For now, you’re pushing through the crowd, trying to get out the door. Looking down at the napkin, Everett Clopton is right; Sebastian lives maybe a stone's throw away from the pub. Your feet are pounding on the cobblestone of Diagon Alley, looking like a blue wisp to any passersby.
Before you know it, you’re turning onto his street, with only the lamps in front of each door illuminating the numbers. You stop, gasping for air, trying to find the right one. Of course he’s at the end of the row, a dark green door with a gold knocker. It’s late now, the sky pitch black, as you start pounding.
It takes only thirty seconds for the door to swing open; Anne is standing behind it, looking shocked.
“You’re here,” she breathes.
“I told you she would,” you hear Ominis yell from the inside. “Clopton owes me ten galleons.”
“Can I come in?” you ask.
Anne bites back a smile. “Of course you can.”
You walk into Sebastian’s home; despite having never seen it, it positively reeks of him. There are touches of him all over the house–from the books stacked in the hallways, to the shoes messily kicked in the parlor room. He has trinkets from his travels on the mantle, and you can see he still leaves his teacups all over the house (something you once fought over–it seems endearing now).
Ominis is in the sitting room, lounging on a chaise. “Took you long enough.” he says teasingly. “I was rather surprised you abandoned him last night. He was absolutely bereft when we picked him up in the morning.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you admit sheepishly, digging your toe into the carpet. “I…I just had something I had to do first.”
“A break up and a make up in one day, you’re a busy woman as always.”
“Shut up.”
Ominis gives you a toothy grin; something he saves only for those he loves. “I missed you.” he stood, pulling you into a tight hug. “I can only hope Sebastian doesn’t bungle it all up and we lose you all over again.”
You press your nose into Ominis’s shoulder; it seems silly you ever thought you could live without this group of people in your life.
“I thought you were mad at him,” you say, pulling back to look up at the blond.
“I was mad that he was being stubborn,” Ominis says softly. “That he wasn’t being himself, drinking every day and dating girls who weren’t right for him. I told him he had to pluck up the courage to speak to you again, or get over it and make peace with his life. He’s been rather stuck, as you can imagine.”
You have been too, you think.
“Is he upstairs?” You ask, turning to the slim staircase. Anne is standing next to the railing, giving a signature Sallow smirk.
“He might be asleep,” Ominis warned. “But he is. First room to the left.”
You squeeze his hand in thanks before walking up the stairs. The floor creaks underneath you as you push in the door; Sebastian is laying in his bed, sleeping fitfully. You nearly knock a stack of books over as you kneel next to his bed; you also recognize the book on his side table, the spine dented from when you threw it at his face five years ago. It reminds you of the shattered mug you keep on your desk. Perhaps you two have been subconsciously keeping pieces of each other around.
Sebastian stirs as you brush his brunette hair out of his face. He opens one eye, then the other, blinking furiously as he tries to sit up.
“You’re here,” he groans, a hand flying to his torso. “Is this a good visit, or just a hospital house call? Because my scars are killing me now that I’m home.”
You give a watery chuckle. “It can be both, if you like.” You pull the blanket aside, examining his puckered skin. The scars will stay for good, but that’s fine. You did always like it when Sebastian was roughed up anyways.
“You’re here.” Sebastian repeats, only this time it's softer.
“I had to go to the Leaky Cauldron to get your address from Clopton.” you admit, blue waves emitting from your fingertips as you try to take away some of the physical pain. “But yes, I’m here.”
“By the sound of our last conversation, I thought you were done. That we were just going to have to live with our mistakes.” Sebastian breathes.
“I wanted to say more, but there was something I had to do first.” you sit on the bed; Sebastian adjusts to give you more room, taking your hands in his. “I had to give back the engagement ring.”
“You did?” Sebastian asks hopefully.
“Seeing you…being around you for the first time in five years…” You’re trying to compound all of your feelings in a simple sentence, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “It made me realize I just didn’t love him.” You confess. “I shouldn’t feel the way I’ve felt seeing you.”
“Pet,” he murmurs, putting a hand to your cheek. “You’ve saved my life. I can’t ask anything more from you.”
“Then can I?” You ask, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes as you place your hand over his. Sebastian’s hand is warm and familiar, fitting perfectly against you.
“Ask me anything,” Sebastian echoes.
“Let’s try again.” you whisper.
Sebastian scoots over, making space on the bed for you. You don’t care if anyone else has slept in it over the five years you’ve been apart; something about the way Sebastian melts against your touch tells you he’s only ever belonged to you in the first place.
“Let’s try again.” Sebastian whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips. It feels positively electric, like it’s awoken something that’s been dormant inside you for five long, sleepy years. You take good care not to press too much of your weight onto a still recovering patient, but Sebastian does everything in his power to draw you closer. His hands start pulling pins out of your hair, the tight bun coming unraveled as he weaves his fingers through your tresses.
“You’re still healing,” you remind him as he starts working on the buttons of your dress. “And your sister is downstairs.”
“I don’t care,” Sebastian murmurs into your skin, tugging your collar down to press a kiss at the base of your neck. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”
You have, you think. So you let Sebastian ravish you with kisses, blushing when you hear Ominis loudly call up the stairs that he and Anne are leaving. You only leave the bed to unlace your dress, Sebastian eagerly watching as you strip the fabric from your body. He groans in a good way when you press kisses to his chest, fingers dancing across the scars on his chest. Not all scars would disappear, and there would always be reminders of the past. But it was good to acknowledge them, to know that they were there, and that they were healed.
The two of you stay awake the entire night reacquainting yourselves with each other’s body; the sun is streaming through Sebastian’s curtains when you realize you’ve been awake since Thursday night, running off adrenaline. Your eyes begin to droop as Sebastian presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“Go to sleep, pet.” he whispers. “I’m right here.”
You’ll have to call in again, you think. You need an entire day of sleep after this week. And the next time you get to the ward, you’ll turn in your official notice, asking to move to the day shift.
Huge shout out to all the people who read fics. Who actually take the time out of their busy days to open a fic and read it
Before I started writing in earnest, I did not understand how much writing was going to eat into my fic reading time. We joke about having too many tabs open, but I have a different problem: the amount of tabs I have open on new fics is way smaller than it used to be. My ao3 wrapped would be a sad affair. Unless I’ve subscribed to an author or come across something on my dash, I basically don’t see it
Which has really driven home for me how much fandom cannot just be creators. You have to have people who want to read fic and meta discussions and joke posts. You have to have people who want to look at art and gifs. It has to be mutual.
Community thrives on flow. You have to have that movement of people sharing things with each other for a community to exist
summary: Sirius and your's paths never found themselves crossing in the six years you've been at to Hogwarts together, until they did. In a real intimate way. And then you get pregnant, and you become permanently connected for the rest of your lives.
I'm so terrible with describing things, my b😭 This is basically a teen drama set at Hogwarts with pregnancy added in the mix because why not. (actually the pregnancy is kind of the main plot) (i swear i'll get better at this)
also on ao3 here!!
warnings: teen pregnancy, low stakes angst, very very brief suicidal ideation, pregnancy symptoms (obviously), lots of family issues and both sirius & reader have not great families, references to sex (obviously) but nothing explicit, lots of swearing, peter pettigrew is a bit of a git
status: ongoing
chapter one: New Friends || 3.5k
you figure out why you're sick.
chapter two: A Confirmed Result || 5k
you're in denial.
chapter three: Tough Decision || 3.3k
things keep getting worse.
chapter four: Rewind || 11.7k
september-present of sirius's final year of hogwarts.
You stand there like a lemon, staring at him in disbelief. Of course, you'd thought about this happening. Pictured it in your mind while you were supposedly studying or reading or falling asleep. It never ended well.
To be fair, you don't think you know Sirius enough to accurately predict how he'd act or what he'd say, and that throws the whole scenario off.
You thought you'd have time until you had to face the real thing. You thought you could write a polite, carefully thought out and detailed letter.
Now, he's put you in a very uncomfortable position, and you can't even blame him for it. You only have yourself to blame.
“Did Regulus tell you?” you say. It's a genuinely idiotic response, but it's all you can get out.
A crease appears between his eyebrows, and he seems to consider coming closer, even taking a step, but he quickly steps right back again and runs a furious hand through his long hair. “You fucking told Regulus,” he says. Well, at least you know it wasn't him now. “You told Reg– Who even is he to you? What, you've fucked? Is he your boyfriend? You couldn't have one Black brother so you go for the other one, is that it? Tell you what, who's better?”
For a moment, you're still. Speechless. Horrified that Sirius would say such things, an ice cold bucket of water reminder that you really don't know this man. Maybe you thought you did, but you'd been naive to think that being without clothes is as vulnerable as a person gets. Naive and so wrong.
Your eyes search for a way to leave without having to go past Sirius, and come up short. You bite the bullet, heading towards the clearing and stopping when your shoulder aligns with his.
He has his head turned, looking at you with squinted eyes.
“We can have this conversation,” you say, voice even and calm. “That's fine. Needed, even. But you need to chill the fuck out before you speak to me like that.”
You aren't in the mood to have a screaming match. You're also not in the mood to be implicitly called a slut. How could he say that about his own brother, too? Disgusting.
“Hey!” calls Sirius, but you don't look back. “I'm sorry, did I hit a nerve? You can't walk away from me.” Leaves rustle and twigs snap under his feet as he follows after you. “You're just mad cause I caught you. Is the baby even mine? Do you even know, or were you too busy fucking both of us? Don't hurt him, y/n. He's not like me, he's sensitive. Are you just doing it to fuck with me? Do you even like him?”
You stop, turning abruptly. Before you can register what you're doing, your hand is meeting the side of his face with a rough smack.
“You absolute!” You stamp on his foot now. That one's for Regulus. “Absolute arsehole! I don't know how you found out, but you can forget all about it!” You fight the urge to knee him in the crotch and settle for a kick in the shin. He groans and hunches over. “You're such a– fucking prick! Now sod off, and don't speak to me until you've grown up.”
He stands there, rubbing his face almost in disbelief, and watches you go. “Dramatic much?” you hear him mumble. Then, “Oww-uh.”
It's always hard, when men remind you why you don't date or—usually—get involved with them intimately. You make it to the castle before you let out the first sob. Your hormones being all out of whack probably isn't helping the situation. You dip into the first girls’ toilets you see, taking refuge in there to cry on a closed toilet lid like you're back in first year, or something. It's oddly deja vu inducing.
Talking to Sirius brings up all the angers from your not-relationship that you'd spent most of January angrily journalling about. When he'd been nice, teasing, and even gentle with you but then he ended it out of nowhere. Said he likes someone else. And then he never spoke to you again. You couldn't be mad at him for calling it off, if he didn't want you anymore, he didn't want you. It was simple, and though it hurt slightly, you appreciated his honesty.
But you'd been beginning to think you were getting along quite well, and the fact that a man could be treating you how he was, while also liking another person…That was the bit that got you. And it was so sudden, he hadn't mentioned anyone or anything even hinting to it before then.
You weren't mad at him for liking someone else, you weren't mad at him at all, really. You were confused and hurt, and it was the first time you'd had a relationship like that with a guy.
The worst part was, in the back of your mind, your dad's voice was on repeat.
“Boys will pretend to be nice to you to get under your skirt,” he'd said. “You mustn't fall for it. To them, you're just a few body parts. Remember that.”
When he first told you that, it was a normal breakfast the summer you were fifteen. He continued eating his grapefruit like he'd made a passing comment about the weather. You didn't believe him at the time. You don't believe him. But it would be a lie to say his words haven't stayed with you. Sirius had been very nice to you, but when he stopped getting under your skirt, he stopped talking to you altogether, unless it was to try and get under your skirt again.
Long story short, January was a rough month for you this year, as it usually is in the winter, but you got over it, and you got over Sirius. You were doing okay as winter started showing signs of turning into spring, and so of course the universe decided to fuck all that up in the biggest way possible.
You spend ten minutes in the bathroom, for once not because you're throwing up. You blow your nose in some of the thinnest toilet paper ever made, splash your face with cold water and gently massage your face to dispel the swelling. When all traces of crying are disappeared from your face, you leave, heading back to Regulus’s dorm. May as well get it over with, even if you will have to wait another day or so to take the final medicine and for this mess to be actually over.
You're awoken by a loud screech, far too close to your ear for your liking. You jolt, eyes flashing open to find the culprit. There's an owl on the bedside table.
What on earth?
It screeches again, shrill and just as loud as the first. This time, it's alerting your attention to the letter resting on the bedsheet, by your head.
Another screech. This thing must think humans are stupid.
“Okay, alright, I see it.” You hold up the envelope for it to see, waving it in an exaggerated manner. “Thank you,” you add reluctantly.
Even more reluctantly, you open it. Mostly to get the owl to go away. The last time you received a letter like this, it was your dad pressuring you to get an abortion. You can't imagine what he has to say now. Maybe Madam Pomfrey contacted them when you got the pills yesterday, and he's writing to tell you a good job. Maybe he's decided that even if you do get rid of it, just the fact you were once with child outside of marriage is too dirty to step foot in the manor. Some ridiculous shit like that.
But it's none of those. It's not even from your father. Or Josephine, your step mother.
When you read the first line, you gasp and sit up properly, re settling yourself in a more suitable position to read. It doesn't take long. It's only short, one page, and you're too anxious to get to the next line, you find yourself reading at speeds you normally save for exams.
She’s signed it off with a phone number, and Love Fran xx
Fran. The last time you spoke to her, she was still Frannie. That was about two years ago, regrettably. She must be twenty one now. You sit with the shock for a few seconds, taking it all in. That's when you see the packet of pills—unopened—strewn carelessly on the sheets, and realise that you must've fallen asleep before taking the pill. It's still possible. You'll talk to her first, of course, but for now you can hold off on taking any pills.
You read the letter a second time before you can't take it anymore, and rush out of the dorm, almost tripping down the stairs, and out of the common room into the cool corridors. The sun is only just starting to set, you probably have about half an hour left of daylight.
It's usually a twenty minute walk just to get into Hogsmeade, so you hurry. You zoom past the shops and cafes, zigzagging through small crowds of people in your way. The sun has turned the sky a beautiful pink by the time you arrive, patches of purple and orange visible between clouds.
You slam the door open to the phone box and snatch the phone from its cradle, paying the machine with coins before dialling the number on the letter. And then you wait, listening to it ring.
Time is going all too slow and yet too fast as you wait. Your heart is drumming from your fast walk here, and you pant lightly into the receiver.
Finally, there's that quick sound indicating someone's picked up, and then, “Hello?”
“Frannie!” you say, excited. A pigeon nearby spooks and flies off at the volume of your voice. “Sorry, Fran,” you correct, remembering how she'd signed off. “I just got your letter.”
“Well, good.”
“Did you really mean it?” you say. “Can I come and stay with you in the summer?”
“Yes. But don't make me regret offering. And it doesn't mean I'm not mad at you for getting knocked up. You're practically still a child yourself.”
“You don't know that, I could be mature!”
“Mhm. But I don't doubt that you'll be a good mother, I know you've wanted this. ‘S why I couldn't let Dad be your only option. He's such a dick sometimes.”
“You really think so?” You say, suddenly feeling very small.
“You don't?” she sounds surprised. “Why did you think I left?”
“No. No, not about Dad.” You scoff, remembering your father's words permanently in the back of your mind. “Yeah, Dad's a fucking dick. I meant about me. You think I can do this?”
“Kid, I think you can do whatever you put your mind to. I know you'll do whatever you have to do, for yourself and for that kid.”
You stare out of the phone booth, through the glass and at the sunsetting sky. It's getting dark now, and it'll be getting cold soon. You take a deep breath, processing your older sister's words, and when you reply, it's with a smile.
You continue talking for a short while, before saying goodbye and heading back to the castle. Spotting a ‘help wanted’ sign in the Three Broomsticks's window, you make a quick stop inside and speak to the owner. Ten minutes later, the cool air sends a shiver through you as you step out of the pub, successful.
You start your new job on Friday.
By the time you make it back to the castle, most people are having dinner, but Fran had told you she was cooking something, so you head straight to Regulus's dorm to pack a bag. It's just for a few days, but when she offered to have you visit now for the first time instead of waiting until the summer when everything will be changing all at once, you agreed. Happily.
You haven't seen your sister in two years, it'll be nice to see her again. Be in her presence. You're nervous, but very excited. It's also not a bad idea for you to get away from everything for a few days. Your roommates, Sirius, just the castle in general. You need to breathe.
You write Regulus a note explaining where you'll be for the next couple days, and then you're off back outside so that you can apparate. You've only visited Frannie's new place once, when you dropped off some things she'd forgotten to pack with her. That was also the last time you saw her.
As expected, you don't manage to apparate exactly in front of her home, but after asking a local shopkeeper where you are, you quickly realise you're not far. You get walking. It's a nice little town that Frannie chose, and luckily not too far from where you grew up. You begin to recognise some of the landscape as you walk, and soon you're recognising the same street from two years ago.
Number 93, she'd reminded you on the phone. You double check that it's the right number, and ring the doorbell.
She doesn't leave you waiting, a light flicking on in the hallway before the door opens with a small click of the lock turning.
“Hi, beautiful girl,” she says.
For a second, you just stare. She looks the same, definitely older, but pretty much the same. But there's something different. A confidence about her that changes her entire appearance somehow.
“It's so good to see you,” you finally say.
Frannie smiles softly, nodding behind her and stepping back to open the door wider. “Come on, you're letting all the warm air out.”
You follow her inside, leaving your shoes by the door before following her through the lounge into the kitchen. You recognise the layout from your last visit, and while there's a new cushion or poster or rug here and there, you recognise most of the decor, too. The place has a very distinct Frannie vibe to it, which helps you to relax and also feel like you aren't the complete strangers you'd worried you were.
There's a small, square table with a plastic bouquet in the middle, against the wall and you take a seat in one of the chairs as she tends to something on the hob.
“So.” She seems happy with whatever's cooking and places the wooden spoon on the counter, turning around to face you. Her arms are crossed. “Who's the dad? Have you told him?”
Ugh. You'd forgotten about Sirius.
“He knows,” you say tightly.
“Uh oh.” She comes over to the table, stopping in front of you. “That's my chair.” With a sigh, you get up and switch to the opposite chair, as she sits happily in the one you just left. It's such a big sister thing for her to do, you can't even be mad. “Spill,” she says when you're both settled. “Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend?”
You consider lying, then decide its probably best not to. If there's anyone in the world you tell the truth, let it be your sister. “Not exactly.”
Her brows furrow and she seems to think for a while. Then, quickly, the confusion fades away into fear and she stares intensely. She doesn't need to say it out loud.
“Oh, Merlin– No. No, it was…consensual. Definitely.”
Her chest deflates with relief. “Alright then. And you're sure you want to go through with this?”
“Is that stupid?”
“Hey, it's your life.”
“I mean, the doctor said I have almost two weeks still to decide if I want to take the pills, if I want an abortion after that I have to have surgery.” You sigh. “I was going to get rid of it, this weekend actually. Are you sure I can stay with you once school is over?”
Frannie waves her hand dismissively, telling you it was a stupid question. “It's not like you'll be here for free, I could use the help in the bakery. Hey, I could put up a ‘family business’ sign now! And we can get a teeny tiny apron for Baby. That'll be hilarious.”
You nod, surprised at how quickly she's accepted it. You definitely took a little more time—cough, a week in denial, cough—but now, you've had that time. And you had accepted the fact of getting an abortion. But with the changes your sister brings, giving you a place to stay and a job…
“Alright. I…guess I'm gonna be a mum.”
You smile, hurrying to wipe your eyes when they well up unexpectedly. This is the start of your future. This is definitely not a small thing.
Frannie gets up to check on dinner and rubs your shoulder reassuringly as she goes past, comforting you in a way only an older sister could. You really did miss her.
“I'm gonna be a mum,” you repeat quieter, speaking mostly to the bean growing inside you. There's no bump yet, but you know it's there. “It's you and me now, kid.”
“Now tell me about the father,” says your sister, still facing away from you. “And I want details. Not– gory details, keep that to yourself. But is he cute? Nice? Rich?”
You spend the rest of the night talking. Genuinely, you fall asleep together in Frannie's bed catching up late into the night. Luckily it's a double bed, not like when you were kids, and you both fit perfectly without one having to complain about the other breathing too loud right in her face.
You find out that her business is going incredibly well since she opened a year and a half ago. She owns a bakery called The Magic Ingredient, which sells the normal things you'd expect in a muggle bakery—the classic pastries, sandwiches, cakes, etc. But also, she has a window in the back for sweet magic treats. Things wizards (from the UK at least) would have eaten at Hogwarts, but perhaps struggled to find in the real world after leaving. She says there are equal muggle customers as witch and wizard customers.
You're interested, once you start working there, in talking to older witches and wizards. Having grown up with a muggle father and an absent mother, you were only exposed to that part of your identity at school. You didn't even know that magic was real until Frannie got her letter when she was eleven and you were eight. You'd like to hear what their lives are like, what they do for a living. Maybe they can give you some ideas. You at least hope they can give you some hope.
Another win is that you manage to brush off most of the Sirius-centric questions. This isn't your first day with a sister, you are aware that you'll have to tell her something at some time. Just not yet.
You realise you don't really know how Sirius actually feels about the pregnancy. You know how he feels about you; he made that perfectly clear. But the baby…You've no idea. He doesn't seem like the type of person to want to settle down so quickly. From what you can guess, you imagine he wants to go everywhere, and do everything, and meet everyone. You can't imagine him ever settling down, to be honest. But, as you realised earlier that day, you don't know shit about the guy.
Who knows, he might surprise you.
Sirius's POV
So. It didn't exactly go to plan. Not that there was even much of a plan, but it definitely wasn't…that. Now his foot and his face and his shin hurts. That's three more body parts than last night. Fucking ridiculous.
He angrily limps back over to his friends, sitting on the grass where he left them when he spotted you.
“Woah, who pissed in your wheetabix?” says Peter, unhelpfully.
“Piss off Wormy.”
He actually does. He makes an annoyed sound then gets up, mumbling something under his breath, and speeds away from them.
Remus cringes as Sirius lowers himself to the ground. It's not very graceful, his body still aches from training last night.
“How did it go?” Remus asks, pretending to be cheerful.
“Fanfuckingtastic.” He leans back on his elbows, looking up at the sun to save him with its warmth. “She fucking attacked me.”
“Jumped out the bushes and onto your back, did she?”
“It's not funny, Moons.”
“I'm not laughing, Pads.” Remus sighs, finally stopping smiling. “Tell me what happened.”
Sirius starts to explain, then stops himself, unable to find the right words. He does this a few times, sputtering and stuttering until eventually he gives up. “I don't know. But she fucking hit me!”
“And I don't doubt that you deserved it.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
On Monday evening, everyone's having dinner together. It's cute, like a family dinner. Marlene's girlfriend has even come over from the Slytherin table to sit with them, bringing their number up to nine people, with Peter's girl joining them as well. It's pretty common for them all to do this nowadays, and they take up a good portion of the gryffindor table. He never passes up an opportunity to tell a first year to piss off further up the table. It's the little things in life that bring joy to the every day.
Tonight, everything's going how it usually does, except it's definitely not. There's definitely tension between Marlene and her girlfriend. Now Sirius didn't pick up on this himself, obviously, but he's sat next to Mary and she won't stop talking. She's airing out everyone's business to him for seemingly no reason other than to be a gossip.
He doesn't know half the people she's talking about, but when she starts talking about the people at this table, his ears tune back in. Apparently James and Lily are in a fight, also, because he missed a date they had planned for detention. Sirius doesn't understand why Lily's mad about that, it's not like James got a detention on purpose. But that's why Sirius leaves the relationships to the professionals.
At least that was the plan, he guesses it's kind of gone sideways now.
Mary, herself, is apparently mad at Peter for saying she ‘looked like she gained weight.’ Even Sirius knew what was wrong with that one.
So, it really is like a family dinner. The tensions are running high, everyone's mad at someone, and nobody is talking about it. Apart from Mary, of course.
Sirius personally can't stop thinking about the conversation with you in the woods a couple days ago, the only person he's angry with is himself. Of course he doesn't think you'd actually sleep with Regulus. Or more he doesn't think Regulus would sleep with you. But everything has been a bit overwhelming for him recently, and there were so many things pointing to you and Regulus! Between the library, the party, and the sharing a bed, it was the most logical conclusion for him in the moment when his mind was already clouded with shock and anger, he just needed a release for those feelings. So he found the first one, and ran with it.
You'll probably never speak to him again, he certainly hasn't seen you since Saturday. He doesn't know how he feels about the Big News. He wants to talk to you first, maybe hearing how you feel will help him figure out how to feel. Can't hurt.
Sirius looks up from his plate to see Madam Pomfrey, standing at the foot of the Slytherin table and searching faces. Remus, who might be the only one in the group without someone mad at him, seems to notice too. And he notices Sirius noticing, nodding his head.
“Wonder what that's about,” he says. Remus is on Sirius's right, so it's easy for them to hear each other over the cacophony of the dining hall.
“Does she ever stop working?” asks Sirius, thought coming to his mind. “Like, is it always her on duty in the hospital wing, 24/7? That's gotta be against some sort of labor law.”
“Well I imagine she sleeps. And there are other nurses during the day, she's just the most senior,” explains Remus. He's the one who spends half his time in the infirmary, he would know. “One time she was sick, and I think she called in someone from St Mungos to cover.”
“What if she wants to go on holiday?”
“She's got six weeks in the summer to…” Remus trails off, and they both watch Madam Pomfrey.
She walks up to a girl, seemingly having found the face she was looking for, but the girl then points across the room. Over at them. Madam Pomfrey nods, and starts heading towards them.
“Did you forget to change your bandages or something?”
“Yeah, she was pointing exactly at us, right? Did you and James do something without telling me and get caught?”
Sirius makes a murmuring, mocking sound that doesn't mean much of anything.
The doctor goes over to their group, but doesn't bat an eye at the pair. Sirius isn't sure she even knows they're there. No, she goes straight for Marlene's girlfriend, who is sitting across the table from Sirius and down two spaces. He can't hear what they're saying, but he watches intently as Elise stands from the table and follows Madam Pomfrey over to the corner of the great hall to chat privately.
“Can you hear what they're saying?” Sirius leans close to Remus, wondering if his magical, crazy good werewolf hearing can beat the sound of three hundred students having their tea and single out a hushed conversation in the corner.
Remus is quiet, and Sirius waits for him to do his thing. In the meantime, Mary also leans over to the pair, practically resting her chin on Sirius's shoulder.
“Do you know what that was about?” she whispers, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“We're finding out,” Sirius says, clipped.
“Oh, that's right! Remus has super-duper werewolf ears. Do you ever hear James and Lily having sex? Like accidentally.”
“You don't need werewolf ears to hear that.”
Mary snorts.
Remus leans over now, rather dramatically, and relays the conversation. “It's about y/n,” he says. All of their heads turn to look at the pair in the corner, and Remus continues. “Elise hasn't seen her since Saturday. Pomfrey thought they shared a dorm. They do, but she hasn't been sleeping there recently.” he pauses, listening. Before he can say anything else, the doctor turns around and heads straight for the teacher's table. From her walk, Sirius can tell she means absolutely no nonsense, and Elise looks about ready to cry as she comes back to the group. “Oh shit, oh shit, act normal.”
Sirius looks at his plate like it's an artifact in a foreign museum that he's travelled across the world for the sole reason of getting a look at with his own eyes. He's probably over doing it a bit.
Elise doesn't sit back down, she only came over to say goodbye to Marlene. Marlene asks her what happened, if she's okay. Elise responds with three words, and Sirius has no idea what they mean.
“You were right.” And then she's off.
Sirius realises Madam Pomfrey hasn't gone to the teachers table for dinner of her own, but to speak to the headmaster himself. She crouches next to his chair, talking seriously while he listens.
“Can you he–”
“Sh,” Remus cuts him off. He'll take that as a yes, then. It's an agonising two minutes while he waits, but when Dumbledore stands with the doctor and they leave, Remus doesn't lean forward to immediately tell them the tea.
“Well?” Mary prompts.
“Uh, it was nothing.” Remus shakes his head, picking up his knife and fork. He smiles at them in a way that is so obviously fake. “Boring. Just admin stuff.”
“You're such a fucking liar,” says Mary, but she drops it. She doesn't prod, seemingly content to forget about it and go back to eating her dinner. Maybe she thinks she can ask Marlene after dinner.
Sirius does not feel that way. Especially when it was about you, but Remus shakes his head at Sirius's insistent stare, saying under his breath, “Later, okay?”
Later, they're sitting on their opposite beds while James showers and Peter is…not here, that's all that matters.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Obviously. Just tell me.”
Remus sighs. “They can't find y/n. Pomfrey said she gave her…” He pauses, eyeing Sirius warily. “Medicine, for an abortion,” he continues, “and that she was supposed to go in today—to the infirmary—to make sure it went okay. But she didn't show up, and her roommates say they haven't seen her in a couple days. Pomfrey's bloody pissed, actually, they're going to write to her parents and see if they know where she is. She said if she doesn't turn up by Wednesday, she's phoning the magical law enforcement and the muggle police. It's pretty bad.” Then Remus must realise the gravity of what he's saying, and what it means to Sirius specifically. “She's thinking in worst case scenarios, though, you know? I guess that's her job. I'm sure it's fine. I'm sure she's fine.”
For the first time in his life, Sirius's body is completely still. He feels paralysed, and he doesn't even know why.
“Are…” Remus says. “Um, I mean– I don't really know your relationship with her, but–” Sirius hears him pause to breathe deeply, in and out. “Do you want to talk about it?”
What's there even to talk about? Sirius doesn't know much at all about abortions, but he tries not to picture you alone somewhere, bleeding out or hurt because something went wrong. Is it a safe process? Pomfrey seemed worried out of her mind at dinner, and she's the most knowledgeable person Sirius knows when it comes to medicine and that. It can't be a good sign.
“No,” Sirius answers. “No, but thanks. For eavesdropping and then telling me.” He shuffles backwards on the bed, and starts pulling the curtains closed. “Night, Moony.”
Remus gives him a small smile. “Night, Padfoot.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The next day, Sirius goes down for breakfast to find Marlene comforting her crying girlfriend. Right there, at the breakfast table. It really puts a damper on what otherwise is a good breakfast. Sausage, eggs, and a bacon roll. Sirius loves mornings like this. So why the fuck was a girl crying across from him and ruining it? He's sitting on the opposite side of the table, and a little further down, but there's so few people it doesn't make a lot of difference.
“I'm sure she's fine,” Marlene is saying. “She probably just went home for the weekend and decided to stay for an extra few days.”
“But what if something happened to her? Or the baby? That'd be my fault,” Elise cries.
Sirius tries to eat faster, wishing James or Remus or, hell, even Peter was here with him. They're clearly talking about you. And they clearly know you're pregnant. So you told them but you didn't think it necessary for the actual father to know? What kind of logic is that? And do they know that Sirius is the father, or did you decide it was irrelevant?
“It's too early to be jumping to conclusions,” soothes Marlene. He doesn't think they even know he's there.
He supposes that's a good thing, will make escaping easier.
“Oh, Regulus!” Sirius nearly startles when the crying girl jumps up from the bench, rattling cutlery, and rushes to the doors, where his little brother has just walked in.
Regulus looks terrified for a second until he sees who it is running towards him. The terrified look returns when Elise starts dragging him by his arm over to where they're sitting. Sirius catches his eye accidentally and quickly shoots his head down, pretending to still be clueless.
When they finally reach them, he catches the end of Elise saying, “--you heard?”
“Sit, sit,” Elise insists, waving her hands at the plates of food running through the middle of the table. Sirius looks up, and Regulus meets his gaze before hesitantly taking a seat. “Y/n's missing! No one's seen her since Saturday, Merlin I feel so, so awful. I just feel responsible somehow.”
Regulus tilts his head at the girl, who begins to tear up again. Sirius is now shamelessly watching their conversation.
“Well, you did kick her out of her room. I think you should feel responsible, a little bit.”
“You what?” Sirius blurts before he can help himself. He shuffles up the bench a little to look the girl in the face. “Why would you kick a pregnant lady out of her dorm? Even if she wasn't pregnant, who the fuck gave you the right? You're sitting here crying your heart out, but what about her?”
Elise's face changes slowly, and it's like watching an iceberg crumble, before she's a mess of tears and sniffles again. She tries to hide behind her hands, but if she doesn't want people to see her then maybe she shouldn't do this at breakfast.
“That's enough,” says Marlene. “You don't even know her, Sirius.”
“I don't have to know her to know that what she did-” he nods to Elise- “is wrong. That's just– I mean, why would you even do that?”
She shakes her head, face still covered with her hands. “I don't know.”
“That's not–”
“Sirius,” Marlene says, stern. “That's enough.”
“No, actually I don't think it is. She could be anywhere–”
“Shes with her sister,” Regulus interrupts calmly. “She went to stay for a few days, I don't know when she'll be back. Can we stop shouting about it in front of half the school now?”
your POV
After four days with your sister—a couple more than you originally planned—you return to Hogwarts. You need to get back to school, exams starting in under a month now. It was a good break, though, and you definitely needed it. You went with Frannie to the bakery and checked it all out, even spoke to the customers when they asked who you were. You can see yourself in that life, you can see yourself being happy. Just have to get through the next two and a bit months, first.
Which might be easier said than done the way your pregnancy is treating you.
But still, the world keeps spinning. You make your way back through town and up to the castle, having apparated just before lunchtime once your morning sickness had worn off. You head to Regulus’s dorm, hoping he hasn't changed his mind about letting you stay there. Hopefully he'll at least let you grab the rest of your stuff first if he does want you gone.
You knock just in case, but expect Regulus to be in class. You expect wrong.
“Fuck off!” he shouts. It makes you take a step back, before trying again. Gently, this time.
“It's me,” you say through the door. “I just want to change.” When there's no reply, you take it as a sign to continue. If he still wanted you to piss off, he'd have yelled it again. “I won't bother you, promise.”
There's a click. Then the door cracks open, Regulus poking his head through the gap. After looking at you for a minute he must decide you're not a threat, and walks away, leaving you to push the door open further.
“Okay,” you say under your breath, taking in the room. It's not…messy, exactly. But by Regulus’s standards, it's practically a landfill. There are socks and trousers on the floor, books stacked messily on the table by the window, and a candle burning low. “Is everything alright?”
“You said you wouldn't bother me.” He slumps onto his bed, where you assume he was wallowing when you knocked, falling face first onto a pillow. He groans.
You decide it's best you leave him alone while he's like this, until he's ready to talk. You tip toe over to your trunk, quickly and silently finding your uniform and heading into the bathroom to change. When you come back out, Regulus hasn't moved an inch. You tip toe over to the door.
“Okay, just…Let me know if you want to talk. I kind of owe you one, so if I can do anything.” The door creaks as you open it, lingering for a second. “Bye, Regulus.”
His head is still in the pillow, so you leave.
Your walk to class is slightly strange. It's not weird for people to yell at you across hallways, whether they're people you know saying hi, or people you don't know saying things you wish you didn't hear. Teenage boys truly are an odd breed, and you're glad you're nearly past the point in your life where you have to see them every day.
But today, people—that you know—are yelling, and…asking if you're okay. You checked yourself in the bathroom mirror in Regulus's dorm before leaving, you don't think you look any different to usual.
Finally, you snap when a fourth person asks.
“Hey!” Jasmina, someone you hang with at parties sometimes, calls. She's standing with another person, who turns to look at you, too. You don't recognise them, though, they look to be in a lower year. “How you doing, babe? It's nice to see you.”
You stop walking to talk to her. “I'm fine. Have you, um, heard something about me recently?”
She shakes her head. “I don't think so. They were looking for you for a little while, though.”
Her answer is not remotely what you expected. You step closer, joining her and the younger girl. “Who's they?”
“The doctor lady. Then when your roommates said they kicked you out, she got so mad. You should've been there, honestly, I don't think I've ever seen a teacher get so close to hitting a child. They treating you okay, though? Just give me the word, and I'll slap one of those bitches for you.”
“Oh.” You laugh. “No, that's okay. Thanks.”
“Offer stands, I've been waiting for an excuse since October when Sadie stood on my foot with her heels. She said it was an accident, but I don't believe a word that leaves her mouth.”
The smirk sneaks onto your lips without permission and by the time you catch yourself, it's too late. You don't mind, though, Jasmina’s cool. “I'm sorry she did that, she thinks she can get away with everything.” Probably because she does. You can't say you're innocent in that, you didn't exactly do anything when she charmed you out of your room, even while it's clearly against the rules. You just don't like to cause a fuss. “I've gotta run to class, but I'll see you around.”
You're halfway down the hallway when she calls your name again. You turn.
“Just give me one of these–” she winks in a dramatised way– “and I'll know what you mean. Sort them out for you.”
You're about fifteen metres from the classroom when, through the crowd of people standing outside classrooms, his eyes meet yours.
You freeze. Like an idiot, you hadn't expected to see him here. At school, the same one you both go to. Maybe you just hadn't expected to see him so soon.
He holds eye contact, but thankfully doesn't make any move to catch up to you. He's standing with his friends and they talk around him, not noticing that he's also frozen. Like you. At least you're not alone in that.
You feel some sort of longing to go over there, to speak to him, to hug him, to kiss him. It's a strange feeling, and unfamiliar to you, especially about Sirius. Especially when you're supposed to be mad at him. While you both look at each other, it's like the world stops spinning, giving you more time. More time to be normal teenagers, who just have a crush and it's not any more complicated than that. More time to figure out what the hell is happening to your insides when he looks at you like that.
You look away first, pushing open the door to the classroom and taking refuge inside. It feels like you're betraying him somehow.
Inside is the teacher setting things up at the front, drawing on the chalkboard, and a few eager students spread across the desks, sitting alone. You don't get a chance to become one of them because the professor looks up when you walk in, and calls you to the front. Well shit. What have you done now?
You decide to try and get ahead of yourself, already explaining as you walk up there. “I'm sorry for missing so many classes, sir, I swear I'll–”
He shushes you with a wave. “Don't worry about that, I trust you'll catch up. If you need any help with that, do let me know. But that's not why I wanted your attention today.”
You wait for him to continue, shifting your feet so that you're standing on the sides to your tip toes, and then back to normal, and then repeating. He takes a sip from his mug, too casual. Can he not see how worried you are? Just spit it out already, man.
“You are to go down to the hospital wing, I hear,” he finally says. “Madam Pomfrey is looking for you. Oh, but here, this is the homework. I don't expect you'll be coming back to class.” He hands over a couple sheets of paper with his handwriting on, and you take them mindlessly. Is that a bit creepy or what? I don't expect you'll be coming back to class. Ever?! What does he know that you don't? “Alright, best be off now. I do hope you're feeling better.”
end a/n: next update may take a little longer (I know, I'm sorry) I started a new medication and it's supposed to get worse before it gets better so I'm not sure I'll feel well enough to write. fingers crossed! also Noah Kahan just put out a new album and i am not okay :')
also how do we feel about the longer (7k+) chapters or do we prefer shorter (between 3-5k words)?
The full new chapter is on AO3!!! - linked to the title above
The sudden shift in Sirius’ tone hit Nyx like a wall of bricks. A few seconds ago, she could see the broken boy hidden behind the crooked smirk. Now, it was just… cold.
“You told me if it weren’t for the Potters, I’d probably still be there, in my own hell, just like you are. But you are wrong.” His grey eyes didn’t leave her green ones, not even for a second. Nyx gulped. “When I left home that day, I was ready to sleep out there, on the concrete, under the rain.”
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from raising.
“It was the hardest decision I have ever made and there hasn’t been a single moment since that I don’t doubt it. That I don’t question whether I did the right thing.” Straightening his back, Sirius pressed his index finger against Nyx’s left shoulder. “So don’t you stand there and call it privilege just so you don’t have to admit you’re scared.”
And with that, he turned away, walking back to the Gryffindor Common Room, leaving Nyx behind in the empty corridor, her throat tight and her hands trembling long after the sound of his footsteps had faded.
