Hiya :3!!! I really really love and admire your writing and I’ve been in such an angst addict mood for some reason😭. I was wondering if you could perhaps write somthing for Sirius Black or poly!marauders and (usually)bubbly!fem!reader where they get into a heavy argument and the reader kinda just shuts down/goes really quiet and doesn’t talk to anyone since she’s worried it’ll just bother sirius (and/or the rest of the boys)? It’s completely understandable if not though, I hope you have a wonderful day/night!!💜
No Going Back Now
poly!marauders x reader ✰ 4.5k
summary: as sirius is overwhelmed by the anniversary of a certain day, his anger finds its way directly to you. caught in the crossfire of pain that was never yours to carry, you’re left to navigate his cruel temper and the silence that follows.
warnings: angst, heated arguments, screaming, lashing out, crying, mental health struggles, past abuse, toxic behavior, emotional, verbal conflict, intense guilt, insecurity, remus and james are protective, fear of abandonment, sirius being a shit asshole but then grovels, realistic conflict, hints of bubbly!reader, fluffy happy ending.
authors note: the divider was actually suggested by @yasministration, she knows too well that i live for angst ;)
“Guess what!” you call out, already smiling, already alight with whatever news is glowing in your chest. “Guess what, guess what, guess what!”
The door swings open into familiar air — warm parchment, faded cologne, and the sweet tang of whatever James spilled last night.
You step in without pause, satchel bumping your hip, shoes tapping lightly on the worn floor.
They are all here. James lies on his bed, his arms behind his head, his eyes fixed upward as though the ceiling might offer him an answer he has not yet found.
Remus stands near the window, his shoulders tight, arms folded across his chest. Sirius sits on the edge of his mattress, hunched forward, head resting heavily in his hands.
The silence in the room isn’t normal.
The joy within you is too fresh,and it pulses insistently through your body like a secret desperate to be shared.
“I finally did it,” you say, nearly breathless with excitement, your smile unfaltering. “That ridiculous elemental incantation Flitwick said we’d maybe manage by NEWTs if we were lucky? The one I’ve been practicing every single night, the one that nearly scorched my eyebrows off last week? That one. I got it!”
You don’t yet register the way James shifts only slightly, his eyes flicking sideways toward Sirius as though bracing for an aftershock. Nor do you catch how Remus exhales, not in amusement or pride, but in something resigned.
You step toward Sirius, drawn to him without thinking, your joy still undiminished.
“You remember, don’t you? You told me I was rushing the second syllable, that I needed to breathe through it more gently—”
“Could you fucking shut up?”
His voice cuts through the room with such clarity and force that it steals the breath from your lungs.
You freeze.
He does not look at you. His hands fall from his face, but he does not raise his eyes. They remain fixed on the floor as though his anger has rooted him there, refusing him even the small grace of meeting your gaze.
Then, all at once, he stands. The motion is sudden and graceless, and your outstretched hand — the one you had extended instinctively— is knocked aside, brushed away as though it meant nothing at all.
“For fuck’s sake, do you ever shut up?” he snaps, voice cracking with the weight behind it. “Every time you walk into a room, it’s like it has to be about you. You talk and talk like nothing’s wrong, like the rest of us don’t even exist!”
Remus is out of his chair in a heartbeat, the wooden legs screeching against the floor with such force that it sounds almost like a protest.
He places himself between you and Sirius with no hesitation. His face is pale with anger, jaw tight, eyes ablaze with something you rarely see from him — not frustration, not even disappointment, but true, quaking fury, pulled taut by a restraint that is already beginning to snap.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Remus shouts, loud and shaking with rage. His hand slams hard into Sirius’ chest, shoving him back a step. “You don’t get to talk to her like that! You don’t get to talk to anyone like that! Not here, not while I’m fucking standing here—what the bloody hell is up with you?”
Sirius doesn’t flinch. If anything, he stands taller, jaw tight, hands curled at his sides. He starts pacing, back and forth in short, jerky lines like he needs to burn the anger off before it eats through him.
“Oh, spare me the fucking lecture, Remus,” he spits, his voice cracked open at the edges. “Not tonight. You think you’re so bloody noble, don’t you? Always ready to play the saint, always ready to jump in and protect the one who needs saving. You never miss a chance to be the hero.”
“I’m not trying to be anything,” Remus shouts back, louder now, all restraint gone. “I’m standing here because you screamed in her face. And I’m not going to let you pretend that’s just something we let slide.”
“You think I planned that? You think I wanted to be like—”
“Sirius,” James says, quiet but firm from the corner.
Sirius falters for the briefest moment. His hands clench at his sides. His chest rises and falls too quickly, as though he is losing the rhythm of his own breath. But the moment passes, and he sets his jaw again, a wounded animal dressing itself in anger because it has nothing else left to wear.
“Right,” he says flatly. “Because you two are always right. Always calm and rational.” He turns his gaze to James for only a second before looking back at Remus. “Must be easy for the two of you, always thinking the same thoughts, always knowing where you stand. I wonder what that feels like.”
Remus takes a single step forward. “I’m not ganging up on you,Sirius,” he says, his voice low, firm. “I’m calling you out. There is a difference —one you used to understand.”
Sirius scoffs, sharp and cruel, like he wants it to cut. You flinch instinctively, even though it’s not aimed at you. He spins on his heel and storms off, the slam of the door rattling the frame behind him like the final punch of a fight.
You’re frozen in place. You hadn’t noticed how quiet it had gone until now, the only sound left is the soft buzz of tension still lingering in the air like static. Remus and James both turn slowly to face you.
And then they see you.
Your lips part slightly, as if you’re trying to draw breath through the tight knot choking your throat. Your eyes burn, vision already hazy, and then—like a thread finally snapping—you start to cry. It is the kind of sob that tears through you without warning, as if it had been gathering in your chest all day,waiting for this very moment to break free.
James reacts first. “Hey—hey, love—oh, sweetheart—” he says, crossing the room in three strides, already pulling you into his chest. His arms wrap around you instinctively, strong and steady.
You don’t even remember moving, but suddenly you’re curled into his chest, clutching his jumper with shaking hands and sobbing hard enough that your whole body trembles. Your voice is muffled against him, broken up by hiccups and sharp gasps between tears.
“I—I'm sorry,” you stammer, barely getting the words out. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know I was bothering him—I didn’t mean to.”
“Hey, hey—shh, no. No, none of that,” James murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, and then another. “You are not bothering anyone, love. You hear me? Sirius is being an arse today, yeah? He’s being a bloody prat. That’s on him. Not on you.”
You just keep shaking your head into his chest, as if you can argue with him by movement alone. Your voice is raw when you try again. “But I came in laughing—I didn’t know you were fighting—I was being loud, I was just—”
“Sweetheart, no. You weren’t doing anything wrong,” he says firmly, almost fiercely. “You came in happy. You didn’t know. You were being you, and that’s never a bad thing, alright?”
“I should’ve seen it—he didn’t even look at me, James, he just—he looked at me like I was—” Your voice breaks again. “Like I was a burden. Like he didn’t even want me there.”
James pulls you tighter, almost rocking you now. “He doesn’t think that, love. Not really. He’s just… he’s angry, and he’s hurting, and he’s taking it out on the wrong person. Which is not okay. But don’t you dare start thinking it’s because of you.”
“I know,” you whisper weakly. “I just… today’s hard for him. It’s the day he left Grimmauld Place, remember? It’s been a year. He always gets like this, and I should’ve been more careful—”
“No.” James tilts your chin up, gently but firmly. “No, we are not doing that. You don’t have to tiptoe around him just because it’s a hard day. It doesn’t give him the right to hurt you. He’s not a bloody storm you have to weather. He’s supposed to be your boyfriend, not some landmine.”
You try to wipe at your tears, but they’re falling faster than you can stop them. “He’s just—he’s never looked at me like that before.”
“I know,” James says softly, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “And I’m going to have words with him about it. You didn’t deserve that.”
Behind him, Remus has sat down on the arm of the couch, his breathing still shallow, a hand pressed to his side where the worst of his post-moon aches usually settle. His gaze is tired, but gentle when it meets yours.
“He’ll come back when he’s cooled off,” Remus says, voice rough but steady. “And when he does, he’ll have some explaining to do. But James is right, love. This isn’t on you.”
You nod, barely, your fingers still clutching at James’s jumper like letting go might break you.
James pulls you back into his chest, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. “C’mere. No more tears now, yeah? I can’t bear seeing you like this. He’s not worth your tears today.”
You sniff, managing a breath that doesn’t quite catch. “Sorry. I just—I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” James says firmly. “You’re the best part of this bloody day, alright? And I won’t hear another word otherwise.”
He leans back just enough to smile gently down at you, thumbing a tear off your cheek. “Now—tell me about that spell you were working on. You said you finally got it right, yeah? What’d you do?”
Despite the ache in your chest and the weight of Sirius’s silence, a faint, tear-wet laugh escapes you.
You don’t quite recall when the conversation shifted—from laughter at some ridiculous comment James made about Filch to the quiet companionship that settled between you both.
You find yourself now, a few hours later, slouched beside him on the common room floor, wrapped in the soft stillness of the late hour. The fire has faded to glowing embers, casting a warm amber light across James’s glasses, which slip down his nose each time he tilts his head in amusement.
But even through the warmth of it, you could feel the weight pressing down beneath the laughter. James’s smile did not quite reach his eyes. There was a faint tremor in the way he exhaled, a hitch that never used to be there.
His eyes kept flickering toward the staircase as if expecting a particular someone to come storming in, grinning and reeking of cigarette smoke. But the staircase remained stubbornly empty, and Sirius remained nowhere to be found.
Deep down, you knew James was trying. Trying to distract you, to fill the growing silence with noise and nonsense and jokes he did not believe in, because it was easier than admitting how much it hurt.
And you, ever so foolish, let yourself believe it for a while. Let yourself be pulled under by the laughter like it could somehow drown out the ache blooming like rot in the hollow of your chest.
But Remus was not so easily deceived.
He had excused himself hours ago, saying something about needing rest, though you all knew it was more than that. He simply did not have the energy to pretend tonight.
He curled up on one of the beds with his back to the room, his breathing shallow and uneven in that way that told you he was not quite asleep but trying hard to be.
The truth was plain between the three of you, though no one had dared voice it: Sirius had been awful today. A bitter edge to every word, sharp where he usually was quick, reckless in a way that no longer felt charming.
Still, as the clock crept past eleven and into the deeper folds of night, your heart began its quiet unraveling. James had dozed off on the couch barely twenty minutes ago, one arm thrown over his head, mouth slightly parted.
You turned to glance toward the boys’ dormitory bed where Remus lay in unsteady sleep. He had not stirred in four hours. For a moment, you wished you could lie down beside him and let unconsciousness take you too. But you knew yourself too well.
You were not going to sleep tonight.
So you pulled on your shoes, fingers fumbling clumsily with the laces. You wrapped a scarf around your neck—thick enough to hold back the midnight chill—and slipped out of the common room without a sound.
The halls of the castle were as silent as a graveyard, shadows stretching long across the stone floor like they, too, were searching for something they could not find. You moved quickly and quietly. You knew exactly where to go.
The Astronomy Tower.
There had only ever been one place Sirius went when he was like this. When the weight of the world pressed down too heavily on his shoulders.
You climbed the last steps with your breath held in your throat, heart pounding.
And there he was. Sitting near the edge, back turned, limbs sprawled with a kind of exhausted elegance that only Sirius could pull off. He was staring into the dark, but not at anything in particular. His head was tilted slightly down, as if in conversation with someone you could not see.
You stepped forward softly, your footfalls just audible enough to betray your presence.
“Just go away, Remus.” His voice was low, nearly hoarse, as if strained from crying.
You smiled despite yourself, though it felt like trying to catch sunlight through a cloudy sky. You folded your arms gently across your chest, steadying your breath as an uneasy thought settled in: you were here alone with him. And for the first time, you weren’t quite sure how to feel about that.
You knew Sirius cared for you deeply. Still, there was something unfamiliar in the quiet between you—a chill of distance, a restless tension you hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t fear of him, but of walls he built around himself when things got too heavy.
That uncertainty was new to love. Yet it lingered quietly in your chest, impossible to ignore.
Your voice came out soft, almost uncertain. “I’m not Remus.”
He turned quickly, eyes widening in surprise that you were the one standing there. You watched as his expression shifted—confusion, then recognition, and finally something raw he tried to conceal.
He blinked as if unsure whether he was really seeing you. The moonlight painted silver into the hollows of his cheeks, the tired beneath his eyes, the bruised curve of his mouth.
You sit down next to him slowly, like you’re unsure if you’re allowed to. He doesn’t look at you right away, just stares out ahead, jaw clenched, hands limp between his knees. You part your lips to speak—
“Sirius—”
“I—”
You both pause, voices overlapping in the quiet like a tangled thread. There’s a beat of stillness before the corner of his mouth twitches. You let out a breathy laugh, and so does he. It’s soft, but real.
Then, finally, he turns to look at you, properly. His grey eyes are tired in a way that makes your chest ache. “I’m sorry.”
You nod. “I know.”
“No, no—don’t do that,” he says quickly, the words catching on something raw. “Don’t do that thing where you—where you say ‘I know’ like it’s nothing.”
“What thing?”
“That. That thing where you just—nod and understand like I didn’t fuck up, like I didn’t snap at you when all you were doing was—being good and sweet and you.” He blows out a shaky breath, fingers carding through his hair in a frustrated, frantic motion.
“And I—God, I was a complete arsehole. Not just to you, but also to James and Remus. And you just…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head with an incredulous scoff. “You act like it’s fine. Like it's nothing. Matter of fact, this is breakup-worthy and you’re still here, and it’s—”
“I’m not breaking up with you, Sirius,” you cut in gently, your voice soft but sure, as certain as the way your fingers curl into the fabric of your coat to keep them from trembling.
His head snaps up at that, eyes wide, almost hurt by your forgiveness. “I know!” he blurts, almost like it’s an accusation.
His voice falters on the edge of cracking. “That’s the worst part! You should be mad. You should be screaming at me, throwing shit, telling me I’m a bastard and that you deserve better because you do—you do.”
His hands tremble slightly in his lap as he goes on, a little breathless now. “And instead you’re here, looking for me, when I should be the one crawling on my fucking hands and knees trying to fix this.”
You don’t speak immediately. You just let the heat of his self-loathing rise and settle. The quiet between you stretches only as long as it needs to, and then you sigh—softly, almost like it escapes you by accident.
“I am mad,” you say finally, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Just… not in the way you want me to be.”
He shakes his head before you’ve even finished. “No, not mad enough. You’re not—God, you’re not even reacting. You’re just so fucking calm and—kind—and I don’t deserve that from you. I keep being… awful. And you keep loving me like I’m not. It doesn’t make sense!”
You shift a little closer without really thinking about it. Your knees bump his, and he doesn’t flinch. Just watches you warily, like he still doesn’t understand why you’re here.
“You think I’m not reacting?”
He’s startled into silence, eyes caught on yours.
You exhale, but your breath shakes this time. You can feel the lump in your throat rising like floodwater, but you press forward anyway.
“You don’t know what it’s like, Sirius. Walking in and feeling everything in the room shift. The silence hit me like a slap. I knew something had happened. I could feel it.” Your voice thickens slightly.
“And my first thought was—what did I do? Was I too loud? Did I say something wrong? Was I too happy today when you weren’t? Did I annoy you without realizing it?”
He opens his mouth, eyes softening with horror, but no words come out.
You keep going, voice lower now, but steady. “I tried to ignore it. Told myself to just be normal. That maybe if I was just… me, it’d go away. That maybe you’d come around if I stayed out of your way. And then you snapped. And for a second, I thought you—” you pause, because it still stings, “—I thought you hated me.”
His entire expression folds like paper. You see it all over him—the guilt, the shame, the way regret buries itself deep.
“But then,” you add, and your tone shifts, gentler, “I remembered what today is.”
He closes his eyes tightly like hearing that physically hurts him.
“I remembered what it means for you. What it always has. And I knew it wasn’t just about me. That it couldn’t be. The way you were cold, distant… it wasn’t about something I’d done. It was about something you were feeling. Something bigger than either of us. And yeah, it hurt. It still does. But I chose not to throw it back at you, I chose not to escalate it.”
You breathe slowly, not even sure if you’re trying to convince him anymore or just saying what’s been sitting on your chest since this afternoon.
“It’s not that I didn’t feel it. I just… didn’t want to make things worse.”
He stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, as if committing you to memory will somehow absolve him.
“And it’s not just you and me,” you say, your voice softer now, edged with a quiet kind of certainty. “It’s you, me, Remus, and James. I’m part of this. But I’m not the only part. I know that when you go back, Remus and James are going to give you an earful. Probably more than that. I mean—Remus might even greet you with his infamous disappointed silence.”
Your lips quirk. “And James is going to throw an absolute fit. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t already drag you by your hair back to the dorm.”
Despite himself, Sirius lets out a hoarse laugh. His eyes are still glassy.
“I just thought,” you say, shrugging, “maybe I don’t need to pile on. Maybe what you needed from me wasn’t anger.”
His laugh slips into something more fragile. He wipes at his eyes quickly, like pretending he’s fine will keep the weight of it all from caving in.
“You make it really hard to hate myself when you’re like this.”
You lean your shoulder against his. “Good.”
He looks at you like you hung the stars. His voice breaks a little as he speaks.
“I don’t deserve you.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart aches. “That’s not up to you.”
He shakes his head. “You’re going to make me cry, and I hate crying.”
You laugh, and it’s soft and real. “Sirius, I’m not not mad. I’m just… mad in a way that still loves you. Mad in a way that says, ‘Don’t do that again.’ In a way that wants you to talk to me before it gets that bad. And I just really want you to feel safe enough to say, ‘I’m hurting,’ instead of pushing everyone away. You get that?”
His fingers find yours slowly, weaving them together. He holds on like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“I get it,” he whispers.
You reach out and gently squeeze his hand, your touch steady and grounding. “I know some days carry heavy meanings, many days, in fact. I know those days bring back memories that hurt—memories you don’t want to face. But I think, instead of making those days harder on yourself, you could let us in. Let us be there for you.”
He nods once, quickly, like if he speaks he’ll lose it again. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
After a moment, he speaks again, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper.
“Do you think they hate me?”
“Remus and James?” you ask quietly. “I think they’re probably worried sick and probably mad. But hate you? Never.”
He stares down at your hands like they’re the only thing tethering him to the ground.
“They’ll come around. We all do. You’re not quite easy to hate, Sirius Black.”
He snorts quietly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks.”
“But you’re worth it.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into you, head resting lightly on your shoulder, like he’s finally letting himself exhale.
“Stay with me a little longer?”
You don’t even have to think about it. “Always.”
He exhales slowly, as though the air inside him has been waiting for this moment to be let go.
The silence has softened now, no longer brittle with hurt, only heavy with the aftertaste of it.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice quieter than before, almost reverent. “I know I already said it. But I am. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I shouldn’t have looked at you like that. It wasn’t about you. It never is. You just… walked in at the wrong time, and I lost control.”
You gently cut him off, your voice soft but firm. “Sirius, it’s okay. You already apologized.”
He shakes his head, voice stubborn but honest. “No. I need you to hear it. I need you to know I mean it.”
You nod gently, your fingers brushing his wrist in a silent reminder that you’re still here.
“I need to do better,” he continues, looking down at the floor. “I don’t want to be the kind of man who takes his anger out on the people he loves. I’ve seen what that turns into. I won’t become that. I promise you.”
His eyes meet yours, unwavering.
“I need you to promise me something too, though,” he says, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Next time I do something like that—anything close to it—I want you to slap the shit out of me. And I mean it. Don’t forgive me until I’m grovelling. Make me work for it. Make it hurt.”
A surprised laugh escapes your mouth before you can stop it. He smiles at the sound, a genuine one this time, laced with relief.
“Hopefully,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder, “there won’t be a next time.”
He lifts your joined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Hopefully.”
By the time the conversation has exhausted itself into something tender and quiet, the room is dipped in deep night. It’s already two in the morning. Sirius rises first and holds out his hand.
“Come on,” he says softly, “let’s get you back.”
You take his hand and let him pull you upright. His lips find yours for a moment, the kiss gentle and unhurried, like a secret kept between just the two of you.
As you pull away, a wide, helpless yawn escapes you. He laughs softly, warm and low, and draws you gently into his arms.
“Yeah,” he murmurs against your hair. “Me too, baby. I’m sleepy too.”
You rest your head against his shoulder as the two of you walk slowly down the corridor, your body leaning into his like gravity has made its choice. Your steps falter more than once, your eyes fluttering closed between blinks.
By the time you reach the door to the dormitory, you are half-asleep, barely upright.
But the moment the door swings open, the haze is shattered.
James is pacing by the desk, arms crossed, jaw set. He looks up sharply at the sound, his expression a storm just barely contained. Across the room, Remus is already seated on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his eyes locked on Sirius with a gaze so serious it slices through the room like a blade.
He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even raise his voice. He just says, in a voice far too calm to be anything but furious—
“Sit down, Sirius. We need to talk.”
The sleep drains from your body like a bucket of cold water. Sirius stiffens beside you. You feel him swallow, his hand tightening slightly around yours.
Then he lets out a long, weary sigh, muttering quietly under his breath, “Well. I’m in for it.”
Oooh with that new arranged marriage as you just posted, what if someone says something really disparaging to reader about being an outsider in her own kingdom and then in her own marriage, and reader suddenly starts reading james’a interactions with Remus and Sirius differently and she feels really bad, buttt in the meantime the marauders have grown fond of her so they’re not too happy when she starts pulling away?
Thank you for your request dusts <3
cw: muggle au, arranged marriage, hurt with no comfort (yet)
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 1.8k words
James makes you smile. It makes sense that he would—he’s sweet, funny, handsome enough to frighten butterflies into flight in your stomach—but it almost alarms you how true it is. Half the time you’re with him you’re giggling like a schoolgirl at every other word from his mouth. Being asked to leave the castle grounds so that the media can get photos of James showing you about your new kingdom should feel like a chore. Your smile should feel phony, the act of holding your fiancee’s hand forced and awkward, but after an afternoon of touring all of James’ favorite haunts your cheeks ache with genuine happiness.
“Of all the people who should be getting free drinks.” James shakes his head, taking another sip of his apple cider. He hasn’t let go of your hand even though you’re back inside the castle, and despite the forecast you’d noted before leaving this morning you haven’t felt the chill so long as he’s been touching you.
“I know.” You sigh, blowing some steam off your own drink. “I feel kind of bad for taking this.”
“Wha—hey, I wasn’t talking about you. You’re different.”
You grin up at him. (See? It’s impossible to stop.) “How am I different?”
“Well, you’re a girl.”
“Mhm, and?”
“Pretty girls always get free stuff.” You come to a stop in front of James’ room, his shrug casual as your hands swing between you. “They wouldn’t have to know who you were.”
A warmth spreads from your chest, washing over your face and down your arms. You wonder if James can feel it tingling in your fingertips. “I’ll see you later?” you ask softly.
James smiles. “Yeah, I’ve just got a couple of things to handle first. I’ll come find you, yeah? For dinner?”
“Sounds great.” Your answering smile is irrepressible. He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go, slipping into his room.
It’s difficult, not to collapse against the closed door with a sigh like a lovesick girl in a film. You’ve no doubt that to anyone watching you give the general impression anyway, huge smile still stuck to your face and hearts in your eyes.
You hear Sirius’ voice from inside James’ room. You’re sure Remus is in there as well, his presence only less audible than Sirius’. You suspect they’re James’ couple of things to handle. You don’t mind; James likes to have at least some time alone with his friends each day, and you wouldn’t begrudge him it. It’s sweet. Honestly, it only endears you to James more that he has such close friends, friends which go all the way back to childhood and whom he clearly loves fiercely. You’re glad you’re getting to know them as well—not only because Remus and Sirius are nice to be around, but you don’t imagine it can be a bad thing to get along with your partner’s friends. Sirius seemed to have some trouble getting used to you, but you think you might be finally moving past that; if you’re lucky, you could all be quite happy once you and James are married.
You meander the halls a bit on your way back to your room, still buzzing with a restless, giddy energy, a throat-squeezing feeling of possibility. It’s as you pass the open doorway of an office that you hear your name.
“...see how he was holding her hand? It’s cruel.”
You stop on the other side of the door. You don’t grow up in a palace without developing a healthy proclivity for eavesdropping; if people in Gryffindor are talking about you, you want to know what they’re saying.
“They’re engaged.” That’s Lily’s voice, matter-of-fact. “Holding hands is part of the deal.”
“It is when it’s for the cameras.” You recognize Mary’s cadence now, too.
“You know James. He’s touchy with everyone.”
“Exactly, but she doesn’t know that,” Mary argues. She sounds the tiniest bit upset. “James can—I know he’s only being friendly, he doesn’t mean to, but he can flirt without having any idea he’s doing it. She’s going to get the wrong idea.”
Your stomach quiets. You can’t tell if the butterflies you’ve been feeling all afternoon have frozen in place or fallen dead.
“I know.” Lily’s voice is a murmur. “I know, but what do you want him to do? I’m sure he wants to tell her everything, but Remus and Sirius will know better than to trust her yet. She’s only been here a couple of weeks. If they tell her and she calls off the wedding, how would that look for Gryffindor? Or if she tells anyone else?”
Mary sighs.
“He’s the prince,” Lily says gently. “He has to consider the whole kingdom, and we can’t afford for this to get out. Not everyone is ready for…for…”
“For their king to be in a gay polycule?”
You choke on air.
“It’s not like it would be the first time,” Mary offers.
“Allegedly,” Lily says, though there’s a hint of a smile in her tone.
Mary scoffs. “Right, allegedly.”
There’s a long pause. You hear the scrape of wood against the floor and imagine Lily scooting her chair closer to Mary, playing with the ends of the other girl’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It does feel…well, it’s not ideal. Maybe I can talk to James about being a little less…James.”
Mary’s voice lowers. “I just feel bad for her. She left her home, her family didn’t even seem to hesitate about sending her away—forever—and now she’s an outsider in her own marriage.”
The barb of their pity stabs through you. Lily murmurs something in response, but you don’t stick around to hear it. You’re done being gossiped about for the day.
You’re moving so quickly, you walk past the hallway to your room twice before finding it. There’s something warm and sour curdling in your gut, and you’re—you don’t know what you are. Hurt, indignant, nauseous. You feel like an idiot.
It all seems so transparent now. Horrifyingly, glaringly obvious. Remus’ hand on James’ knee when his bouncing was shaking the table. The private look on Sirius’ face when James fished a leaf out of his hair. How comfortable they all are with each other, touching and joking and speaking in a language you hoped—foolishly—you might one day crack. But it’s not meant to be shared with you.
You’ve thought, once or twice, that James hasn’t seemed as nervous as you are when you spend time together. Not since that first day. You told yourself it was part of his personality—he’s a confident man, not the sort to trip over his own feet when he likes someone, you shouldn’t read into it—but now, of course, this makes sense. None of this is real to him. The performance is as much for you as it is for the cameras, meant to keep you happy and incurious.
You would never have gone along with it if you’d known. It’s no wonder Sirius hasn’t been friendly to you; you’re encroaching on his relationship. On all of theirs. You’ve flirted with James in front of all of Remus and Sirius, planned dates, talked about your wedding. You wouldn’t have—god, you’re not trying to stand in the way of what they have. Even when you thought they were only friends, their love for each other was so obvious they couldn’t hope to mask it. You would never want to get in the way of that. You don’t want to do this to them.
But just as the acidic tang of guilt rises in your throat, another force shoves against it. You aren’t doing this to them. Every part you’ve played in this has been against your will. If you’d gone into this arrangement with your eyes open, you could have done things completely differently. Only you hadn’t been given that choice.
You don’t think James hates you. Remus might not, either. But whatever progress you’ve made with each of them seems pointless now. The impression you had upon first entering Gryffindor has never felt more true. No one wants you here. They never did.
You’re every bit the girl in a film now, laying on your bed letting tears slip down to wet the pillow. You register the cliche and do nothing about it.
You don’t know what to do. You can’t go home. Riddle is at Peleria’s doorstep. Even if you could get the King and Queen to commit Gryffindor’s armies without going through with the marriage, Lily is right; it would look bad for both of you to call it off now. You have to marry James. It’s all that’s been asked of you. It’s all you can offer your family, your kingdom. You can’t go home.
Gryffindor was supposed to be your new home.
A soft knock on your door summons you from the smog of your self-pity. You sniffle, scrubbing mostly dried tears from under your eyes and checking your reflection in the mirror before saying, “Yes?”
Remus pokes his head in. The sight of him makes your chest hurt—the slight uptilt to his mouth, the kindness of it. You wonder if this whole time, he’s only been kind to you out of sympathy. “Sirius is jealous that you and James got to spend all day in town,” he says. “He wants to go out for dinner. Are you ready?”
“Um.” Your voice comes out rough, and you clear your throat. “I’m a bit tired, actually. You guys go ahead.”
Remus’ almost-smile fades. “If you’re tired, we can eat here.”
“That’s okay.”
“Sirius doesn’t always have to get his way,” he says wryly. “It’ll be good for him.”
“I think I’m just going to…” You give your pillow a lame pat. “...go to bed.”
You don’t look out the window, at the sun hardly beginning to set; neither does Remus. His brows furrow, and you fuss with your comforter so as not to meet his eyes. Too clever, too discerning.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Hm?”
“You sound a bit hoarse.”
“Oh.” You press your lips into a smile. “I think it’s just the weather.”
He makes a soft hum. “I’ll have someone bring you a tea. We’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, lying back down. “Thanks.”
The door clicks shut behind him. A wave of feeling washes over you—silly, feeling abandoned when you’ve asked to be left behind. A couple more tears squeeze from your eyes nonetheless. They trace meandering paths down your face, the wetness cooling in their wake.
You wonder if this is how your life will be. Going out in front of cameras with James, smiling, holding hands, then delivering him to his true partners so you can return to your room. Alone. This arrangement isn’t what you thought it was, but you can play the part. For Gryffindor and for Peleria, for James and Sirius and Remus, you can.
You hope they’re enjoying their night without you.
summary: After your apparent betrayal, your boyfriends are left juggling with their unresolved grief and anger. That is, until Riddle is declared dead. The war is over. Then a bloodied body stumbles back into their lives.
tags: angst, lots of angst. hurt with various attempts at comfort. mentions of blood and violence. death is a plot point in this fic.
a/n: oooo my first poly!marauders fic!! and of course i had to make it unhealthily angsty! i’m sort of geeked about this one, it took me a while to finish it but i’m happy with the final outcome. as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated, enjoy!! xx
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Sirius exhales deeply, looking away from the bed and the lumps of his boyfriends sleeping soundly in front of him, neither of them waiting to shake off their own high. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins as well, coming out in short puffs of smoke as he pushes the cigarette on the ashtray. The rage too, though he suspects it’s mostly a second skin at this point. An unwanted and constant visitor in their home.
So is your absence.
His eyes flicker to the door, then to the closet, the bed… where you’d be sleeping soundly between James and Remus. A lump forms in his throat at his eyes mapping out the movements you had done before he ceremoniously fucked everything up with his bothersome anxiety–when he yelled at you and pointed fingers for something he himself didn’t even understand. Sometimes, late at night when the weight of war is still heavy on his shoulders, he punishes himself remembering that night.
Tinkling lights, pecan pie smell in the air, laughter despite uncertainty. Your cottage was full of life despite the war outside its windows, where one would find you and Remus tutting to each other until one would tap out from one your endless banters to prepare dinner, James running around menacingly spreading his happiness and love with little sloppy kisses and cuddles to whoever was free and Sirius… always sitting back, basking on the home they’ve created, one he never thought he’d be worthy of in the past.
He laughs–oh, how wrong he was.
“Sweetness!” He yelled, pointedly ignoring James’ loving jab as he twirled around the bannister, glistening eyes waiting for you to appear by the end of the stairs. “Dinner’s almost ready!“
A thud. Then a muffled, nervous curse. Your steps picked up on movement.
Sirius had frowned in confusion, wondering whatever you’d be doing to cause such commotion. He cut a quick glance at his boyfriends, and after deeming them properly occupied with one another, climbed up the stairs to check up on you.
“Coming!” Your answer came quickly. Too quickly, and your voice sounded frantic. Sirius’ brows furrowed.
He stopped by the door, left ajar, almost closed. That was strange, none of you were in the habit of closing it. His heart twisted to its own accord, mind coming to different conclusions.
He knocked softly. “Lovely?” At the touch of his knuckles at the door, it opened with a creak.
Sirius stepped in despite his best judgments, not suspecting anything other than maybe a small misunderstanding–you probably had tripped, or dropped something, he foolishly thought. However, the sight he encountered was far different, a recipe for heartbreak and despair. You were packing a bag in haste, hurried movements, but froze as he pushed the door open, stepping in with slow steps.
“…What are you doing?”
Your shoulders gravitated to your ears, eyes wide much like your heart was on your throat, similarly to him. The remaining clothes in your hands shook, an indication of your own body betraying your nervousness at being found out. Sirius took a short, tentative step closer, his eyes not leaving yours.
“Sirius–I… I was,” you swallowed thickly, eyes flickering from the door to him, almost begging for him to close it. To get an opportunity to dig your secret, hide it along the bag left open by the bed. “It’s not–it’s not what you think, love. I promise.”
“It’s not…” he frowned, looking down to make sure he was, in fact, not imagining things. That his frail mind wasn’t concocting more illusions to harm him. “It’s not what I think? Why are you packing your things, then?”
You cringed, stepping back to put down the clothes. Sirius noticed the way you placed them into the bag, not away–proving it was exactly what he thought.
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“You’re leaving?”
You screwed your eyes shut, forcing the tears he had noticed in the corners of your eyes to finally let loose, sliding down your cheeks like a tide, a bad omen. Sirius sucked in a breath, watching as you pushed the clothes deep into the bag, and closed it with finality. To him, James, Remus–to all of them.
“I must go,” you whispered, passing a harsh hand over your cheeks. Sirius’ eyes stung with unshed tears. “It’s for your own good.”
At last, a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Since when do you have the bloody right to dictate what’s good for me?” he took a step to you, and his heart twisted at the way your grip around your wand tightened in response. “Tell me the truth. Now.”
You shook your head, turning to take your bag. And as a desperate instinct, his hand reached for it before your fingers could grasp the handle.
“Sirius–please. Don’t do this.” you pleaded quietly, your cold hands touching him over the handle.
Your promise ring glistened over his hand, his own ring shining in response. Its love charm had been working overtime to patch the cracks in his heart.
“Me?” he asked, a startled albeit bitter chuckle left his lips, staring at you in disbelief. “You’re the one packing your things.”
“I know… I know,” you nodded, the tears on your jaw continued their trail all the way down to your neck. Sirius’ lip quivered, his fingers twitching to reach for you to clean them. “I have to.”
Steps shuffled closer, then, an unsuspecting quip. “Oi, are you two leaving me out of something?” James called out, climbing up the stairs.
Your eyes widened more, if it was physically possible, and Sirius almost felt bad for it–but he was desperate. He fully opened the door as James walked closer. His steps faltered at what he saw, and you finally let go of your bag to turn away, to turn your back to them in order to collect yourself.
“Everything alright?” James asked cautiously, hazel eyes flickering between Sirius and you as he slowly entered the room. He frowned at the bag in his boyfriend’s hand. “What’s that for?”
Sirius’ jaw tightened, pointing at you.
“Ask her.”
James turned to you, tilting his head as he scanned you quickly. His eyebrows pinched at your tears.
“Is something wrong, lovie? What happened?”
It had Sirius’ desired effect, however, not the reaction he expected. You simply snatched the bag from him in his distraction, a hiccup leaving your lips before you could stop it as you pushed past him, running down the stairs before neither of them could get a word out. James had only thrown an accusatory look at Sirius before turning to run after you, firing rapid questions that only made your hiccups turn erratic.
He followed the voice of your sobs, of James’ hurried, desperate voice–then, Remus.
“Dove, you’re scaring me. Why are you crying?”
“I can’t do this,” you mumbled, shaking your head the closer Sirius got. It was only a matter of time until he met you three by the door. “I promised. I promised I wouldn’t say anything–Please stop asking.”
“Promised what?”
You shook your head, shoving your foot into your boots instead of meeting their gazes–their panicked, worried gazes. When Remus moved to reach for you, Sirius only raised an arm in front of his stomach, stopping him from even taking a step. His betrayed heart controlled him despite his own loving nature when it came to you.
“Promised who, y/n?” Sirius asked this time, voice purposefully cold. Both James and Remus cut a warning glare at him–at his implications. But Sirius only took a step closer. “Riddle?”
He watched in unusual satisfaction as you froze, his lip twitched in an almost bitter smirk when you stood straight to meet his own glare. A tense silence blanketed your otherwise cozy cottage, and both Remus and James’ stances changed as they fully registered the question thrown at you–and how your silence was an answer on its own.
You scoffed. “Of course,” you muttered, passing a harsh hand over your cheeks again. Your stance changed too, one of anger that they hadn’t seen in a while. “Of course you’d think that, Sirius.”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
You shook your head, shrugging your coat on with shaky movements–anger and despair radiating off you.
“I would never betray you that way and you know that.”
“You’re doing it now, aren’t you?”
“Enough.” Came Remus’ voice, cutting through the tension as he walked to you, pushing Sirius’ arm from his way. However, you took a step back, almost pressed against the door.
James sighed. “Love–please, just… just tell us enough to understand.”
“What’s the point? You’d still think I turned–that I’m leaving you to join Riddle.”
Sirius couldn’t help it. “And? Are you?”
“Sirius.”
“Answer me.” he only said, pointedly ignoring Remus’ frustrated plea.
“Sirius, enough.”
He watched, eyes stinging with tears, as you held his glare, then turned to your boyfriends as if saving the last images of their faces in your memory–all before tightening your hold on your wand and turning to walk out the door.
Not at all deigning to answer his question.
But the answer came, eventually. After weeks of silence, mourning your absence–his answer came in the form of a grainy, barely visible photograph in the Daily Prophet. Next to his well known death eater brother and his friends.
“…Sirius?”
He blinks, looking away from the closed door to meet James’ half-lidded gaze, his voice drowsy as if he just noticed Sirius wasn’t by his side.
“Go to sleep, James.” he only murmurs, reaching over to grab a brand new cig from his nightstand.
“Hey–”
“Go to sleep.”
Hurt passes over his face, and Sirius momentarily regrets his harshness, if only he had done such a thing months ago–if he had remembered he had two loving boyfriends left that surely wouldn’t leave him for a genocidal cult. But they all had their own coping mechanisms, if James can cling to his quiet denial, and Remus to his raging silence, Sirius thinks his anger is well earned.
Nights are mostly spent that way, heavy with grief and anger depending on who’s awake and willing to embrace it. Sometimes Sirius himself would wake up to find Remus wandering around chain smoking with that permanent frown on his face, others to James’ staring out the window, cheeks glistening with tears he never had the desire to clean. On rare occasions, they’d all be granted a full night’s sleep.
Tonight is, apparently, not one of them. As James rests back on his elbows and studies him over, knowing better than to insist, Remus only sighs from his side of the bed before pushing himself up to trudge out the room. Not emitting a single word, he hasn’t since you left.
The bad feeling clings to them like a bad omen again, and however they try to suppress it with mindless, empty sex, it seems to follow them deep into the night as the silence makes itself louder in the cottage. Sirius lights up his cigarette, pointedly looking away from James’ sad eyes as he exhales a puff of smoke, hazel eyes staring intensely to the side of his face.
He tilts his head ever so slightly, almost challengingly. “What?”
James’ parts his lips to speak, his Adam's apple going up and down as he ponders on his words. However, a loud crashing sound comes from downstairs, and soon a bright, almost blinding light enters the room. A patronus in the form of a Phoenix.
“He has fallen…. Riddle is dead.” Dumbledore’s voice echoes like a faraway hallucination, Sirius scrambles to stand, pushing the cig over the ashtray. “Location 3. Location 3.”
James jumps off the bed, running to take his trousers and put them on. Remus comes stumbling to the room, usual emotionless eyes staring wide open in shock. The patronus fades into nothingness at their lack of answers, and they remain frozen looking at one another almost in fear of breaking the fantasy of what they just heard.
“Is he…” James clears his throat, very slowly lowering his jumper over his head. “Could this be a trap?”
Remus only shakes his head, but doesn’t offer a logical answer like he normally would’ve done time ago–when his words were a balm to your and all of their war-driven anxieties.
“Well,” Sirius says, pushing past Remus to walk up to the closet, shaky hand reaching for a shirt so harshly the hanger flies off. “There’s only one way to find out. Location 3 is here, whether it is good or bad, we must be ready.”
Remus and James share a look, but both follow Sirius down to the sitting room in silence. Where, ever so faintly, a quiet tinkling sound increases in sound–a pattern well known among Order members to announce their arrival to a secret location. James swallows down a relieved sigh and mirrors his boyfriends’ stances, wands drawn and readily pointing at the door.
However, as it opens, the relieved sigh does leave his lips when Lily walks in with an equally frazzled Marlene in tow, both with red-rimmed eyes searching for answers none of them could offer.
“Did you receive one, too?” Marlene asks, shaky hands brushing hair away from her tear-streaked face. “Has anyone else arrived?”
Sirius shakes his head, at last lowering his wand. “No.”
“Do you think they’ll be able to…” Lily hiccups, but stands tall as she wanders around the room. “To tell us? Where they are? Or if they–”
“Shut up, Lily.” Marlene nearly barks, but shakes her head afterwards, lips turning downward in guilt. “Sorry… sorry, I just–just… don’t say that, please.”
But it’s too late, the ever consuming thought lingering between them grows heavy as the silence stretches on. Secret coding and messages are shared as each member arrives, all of them with endless questions at the tip of their tongues and no one to answer them yet.
Dumbledore’s arrival comes almost an hour later, finding twenty-somethings walking around in dread and anxiety as they wait for him. The old man only makes his way into the cottage in calculated silence, as if testing the tension before launching into explanation.
James, surprisingly, is the first to snap. “Well?” He raises an eyebrow, knuckles white from holding his wand tightly. “Is he really dead?”
“It appears, so, yes.” Dumbledore nods, making a point of turning to look into everyone’s eyes as the truth settles in the room. “I apologize for my late arrival, I needed to confirm certain details with my spies before coming here to deliver the news.”
“Spies?” Someone asks.
“As in Death Eaters?" Someone follows.
A diaspora of questions fly around the room, and all it takes to lower its volume is Dumbledore raising a hand ever so calmly to put an end to their questioning. Sirius cuts a quick glance at his boyfriends, both with tense jaws and staring holes into their past headmaster’s head.
“Many have fallen to serve this cause and secure our victory tonight… Many friends, families, brave people who gave their lives so others may live to see this happen.” He starts, voice monotone and lacking any real comfort to their distress.
Sirius’ fingers twitch for another cig.
Dumbledore clears his throat. “Among them,” He says, tone taking a rather tentative edge that has everyone holding their breaths. “Those who walked in the shadows to fight, who tarnished their reputations in order to secure our future, those whose sacrifices we may never fully know–or comprehend.”
“You mean the spies.” Sirius cuts in, arms crossed tight as he glares at the man, who only nods in return. “Who were they?”
None of them miss the way a sorry look passes over his eyes, hand fixing his half-moon glasses as he turns to continue addressing the room.
“Let us honor our well loved soldiers and friends, Dorcas Meadowes, Regulus Black, y/n y/l/n and Peter Pettigrew in their ever consuming battle to ensure we see the day we’re freed of Riddle’s tyranny.”
And just like that, Sirius feels like the air has been completely, violently sucked out of him. His chest tightens in a way he has to wheeze to get oxygen through, hand clasping his wand desperately as two sets of hands find his back with equal shakiness to what he feels.
However, Dumbledore continues on as if the well deserved reactions were merely a distraction to the monologue he had prepared to explain their victory.
“They bravely took on a very dangerous mission that none of them knew if they’d return from–yet they did to honor the cause, for all of you. Let us not forget their sacrifices.”
Sirius blinks. And his anger comes aflame as he nearly pushes his boyfriends away from him.
“You–you made them go?” Sirius seethes, glaring at the man and seeing red. Who, in return, only sends him a sad smile. “You forced her to go?”
“I merely presented the mission. The decision was theirs to make, Mr. Black.”
Marlene stands, her own eyes a fiery shade. “Why them? Why not any of us? Why… why would you do something so selfish?”
“Because they were the most prepared and skilled people in this Order to fulfill this mission–it was imperative for it to be done by them, otherwise it would’ve failed.”
James frowns. “What was the mission?”
“Horcrux hunting.” He replies easily, as if he was back in Hogwarts, explaining a concept to a first year. James’ clenches his fists. “Mr. Black came to me one night, and told me intel about how Riddle apparently split his soul into six objects to remain immortal. However, he couldn’t pinpoint the location of said objects.”
“So you sent them to a bloody scavenger hunt? Is that it?” Lily’s voice snaps, sucking the air out of the room at the anger taking over her words. “Was it successful, at least? Or you just sent them to their own deaths?”
Dumbledore has the gall to smile. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
The Order falls into an almost silent state, thick with whispers and sniffling as some members begin coming off their high at the news of their victory, others in grieving silence as the truth lingers in the atmosphere. Sirius wants them to leave, to get every single person, whether they deserve it or not, out of his home to let him rage and grieve in silence. To drown in his own guilt, his regret at all the times he wrongfully thought you had betrayed them. By the looks of Remus and James, they’re not so far off from breaking as well, it’s only a matter of time.
Dumbledore clears his throat, but Marlene speaks first. “Were they the ones who killed him?” She asks in a small voice, strained by months of pain and sobbing. “Are they… are they dead, too?”
Every set of eyes fall on the man, who only sighs. “They did, however I can’t tell you who survived and who didn’t.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” James jumps to his feet. “You just said you talked to your spies! Are they dead or not?”
“They weren’t the only spies in our group, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore says in infuriating calmness. “We know as a fact that they were present the moment Riddle was pronounced dead, but they couldn’t tell me who did it–and if they survived.”
Sirius pushes his wand on the back pocket of his jeans. “Who’s this bloody spy? I’ll talk to–”
A hand holds his arm, with enough strength to pull him back as he takes a step to the door. Remus only shakes his head when he whips his head to meet his gaze. Sirius has half the mind to push him away, to throw cruel words to finish him off, but at the first indication of tears glistening in his boyfriend’s eyes, his shoulders slump.
“No need for such ruckus, Black. I’m here.” A deadpan voice calls, drowned out by the murmurs and whispers among the group.
Snape steps out from his place, his presence silencing the room.
“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore says, sounding almost relieved at his arrival. Sirius bites back a comment. “What news do you bring?”
Snape’s eyes, ever devoid of emotion, flicker around the room. “Dead, all of them.”
A strained sound comes off James’ lip, denial wrapped in a badly contained sob.“What…? She… she’s dead too?”
“Yes.”
“No.” Sirius says then, before he can stop himself. He shakes his head in anger, taking long strides to Snape before any of his boyfriends or the order members could react. “You’re a bloody liar, Severus–I know you, you’re doing this to taunt me, isn’t it? Is this your well earned vengeance?”
“Sirius.” Lily speaks, her shaky hand comes around his wrist where he’s pointing his wand directly at Snape’s throat. “That’s enough.”
But Snape only swallows, lips twitching. “I’m sorry, Black.” He says, almost sounding a little sympathetic. “She put up a good fight until the end.”
Sirius only steps back, reeling in shock. A hand finds his hand, and he’s being pulled away to his usual spot in a wingback by the chimney. His fingers go numb, so does his mind.
Dumbledore parts his lips to speak, probably at the ready to mutter another vague sentence to cement them in their uncertainty and grief. But then, just to the untrained eye, a simmer begins, increasing in its intensity as the silence stretches on. Remus, already on his feet, draws his wand before any of the order members can realize something shifted.
Sirius, in all his mildly dissociated state, stiffens visibly at the vibrating under his boots, increasing as he stands. The protection charm goes off then, signaling in a frightening way that someone has crossed the concealed, protected barrier around the cottage. All signals that an unknown presence lingers just outside the meadows where Remus and you had placed the first protection spells.
Sirius snaps into action, and so does the rest of the order, members apparate away in panic, others take the Floo powder and flee the scene without a second thought–the small group that stays, jump to action with wands drawn pointed in every direction with a hex at the ready.
Except… for a while, nothing happens. The meadow is as still as ever, wheat flowing with the small busts of wind coming from the west, the starry sky tinkles unsuspectingly.
He’s about to retreat, blaming his paranoid tendencies when he hears it–the quenching sound against the mud, coming in quick, hurried steps as if they were running away from something.
Then, a flicker. Movement beyond the trees, quick enough to pass in a blur, a figure–no, a shape, half-running out of their hideaway, breath louder and louder the closer they get. A person, covered in red–head to toe–sprinting towards the cottage with utter terror, their eyes a blinding, widened white a stark contrast to their bloodied state.
Someone growls a warning, probably him. Sirius sees from his peripheral vision as all Kingsley, Moody and Dumbledore lift their wands, Lily and Marlene take a tentative step forward with shaky movements. But Remus and James still, hands lowering just a smidge. He does, too.
Because they know that run, that gait.
James takes a step forward, then another, and before anyone can react, you slam against his chest so harshly you tumble backward. His arms move to catch you before he can even comprehend what happened, but you’re already scrambling back on your elbows. Eyes wide with feral terror as your hand hurriedly pats the wheat in search of your wand, snatching it like a lifeline once you find it. You’re panting, chest heaving and eyes wild and dilated with survival, you whirl towards James.
Wand pointed directly at him.
James freezes, “Don’t–”
But your hold doesn’t waver, eyes not even looking at him, more like through him, as if assessing his stance. You don’t hear your name in his mouth.
The moon casts its glow on your form, catching on the sticky and sheen of blood all over you, on your neck, your face. your arms, everywhere. You’re soaked with your blood, or someone else’s, most definitely, wearing it like a second skin as you point your wand up at them.
Sirius swallows the lump in his throat, and your eyes snap to him, widened and ferocious with adrenaline as you point your wand at him, then at Remus, then back at James. It seems you’re knee deep into your survival instinct that has barely registered to your traumatized mind that you’re not supposed to fear them–that they would never hurt you.
He holds your crazed gaze, and his chest heaves as you crawl backwards on your elbow, wand still drawn like an injured animal retreating from imminent danger. What sort of hell did she have to claw through in order to survive? Sirius thinks, though he suspects it’s a thought he shares with his boyfriends as they finally lower their wands at you.
“Put it down,” someone says, voice commanding but far away. Maybe Moody, or even Kingsley, it’s hard to make out the tone. “Put the wand down.”
Your grip doesn’t loosen, you don’t blink.
James clears his throat, trying to soften his voice. To swallow his sorrow. “Put it down, love.”
If anything, your shaking increases in intensity, leaves crushing beneath your weight as you crawl away from them. Wand still pointed like a lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, adrenaline pumping through every fiber of your body with such vigor Sirius knows he’s not the only one picking up its sound.
At last, he completely lowers his wand with finality, a stark difference to yours as your arm trembles under the weight of your wand, of your instincts to fight. Blood drips from your elbow, fresh, crimson blood. Your jumper is torn, twisted here and there like whoever tried to attack you reached for anything to hold you back. But you don’t move, only your chest up and down as your pants lower in sound until they echo very faintly through the air.
Remus dares to take a step closer, hands out, leaves crunching under his boot as he moves, and your eyes snap to him, fury and dread mixed with the remains of your last duel echoing behind your gaze. Like you’re still running, still surviving.
And James–who is seemingly still reeling, chest heaving from where you slammed into it, says your name again. Softly, like a plea.
“It’s me. James.” He says quietly, voice breaking.
You blink. Very quickly, like you can’t afford a moment of darkness, of uncertainty. But when your eyes flicker between them, there’s confusion–slow recognition of something distant, a life so far away. Your wand lowers a fraction.
Another step, leaves crunching closer to you. You crawl back, half of a movement as you whip your wand at Remus, who only gets closer with every release of air from your lips. His scarred hands come into your view, spread in front of him to show his compliance, that he’d never hurt you.
“D–Don’t,” you mutter, voice cracked and strained, like it pushes through your throat to come out–thick with blood and mud. “Don’t.”
There’s a flicker of movement, and you turn to point at Moody as he limps to you, your eyes hardening where they meet his eyes. “Identify yourself.” He snarls, pointing his wand at you in return. Then, as if he thinks better of it, “Were you followed?”
“Don’t speak to her like that.” Sirius snaps, withdrawing his wand to his back pocket, away from sight.
Moody pointedly ignores his jab, holding your glare with one of his own. “Who are you?”
You back away, grip tightening once again around your wand in response. The fight simmering in your veins waiting for the moment to lunge at him, to fight or flight.
“Did Riddle send you?” He presses, eye twitching when you visibly flinch at the mention of your fallen leader. “To finish us off? Speak.”
You shake your head, swallowing thickly. “I–I didn’t mean to,” you say, voice wavering and at odds with the stoicism in your hold around your wand. “I didn’t… I didn’t–” you falter, so does your arm.
Then, in a second of thick silence, where your erratic breathing slows to a simmer of survival, Remus lowers himself in front of you, shaky hands still spread out in soft warning. Your eyes follow his movements, widened and studying him to find a flaw in his attempt at proximity. Leaves crunch under his knees, which crack as he kneels before you with nothing but care to offer, however you seem too deep into your own head to recognize his comforting presence.
“Don’t–Don’t,” you whisper, watching with a flicker of confusion as he leans, very slowly, closer to you. The tip of your wand hovers inches in front of his chest. “Please, I… I–Not you, too.”
Remus’ lips twitch, eyebrows furrowing in a faint movement. Then, “Dove...” He says, his own voice barely a whisper and strained over the months he hasn’t spoken.
You shake your head, blinking furiously as the beginnings of reality come crashing down. Your wand lowers just a smidge, pausing mid-air as your brain manages to register the shape in front of you over the fog of your instinctual dissociation.
Sirius dares to take a step closer as well, moving despite himself, guided by his heart more than his own instincts. Your eyes snap to him, less widened as they, too, register his face for flaws that could uncover his true intentions–he has half the mind to put your mind at ease, to remind you once again they’d never cause you harm.
That you’ve returned home, however you managed to, but you’ve clawed your way to them.
“I… I didn’t mean to,” you repeat, with less conviction this time, eyes snapping to Remus where he meets your gaze with comfort and patience. Your hand drops between you, silence thickening by the second. “He… He was going to kill us both, I couldn’t–”
Moody mutters something under his breath. Kingsley only hushes him with a hand up, all eyes on Remus’ back where it’s eclipsing you.
“Who, dove? Who was going to kill you?” Remus asks softly, his own hands lowering as your breathing visibly calms down.
“I didn’t mean to,” you say again, eyes frantic as your mind refuses to let go of the memories, to let your guard down. But your body has other ideas, stilling as Remus shuffles ever so gently towards you. “I… I didn’t–”
“It’s alright,” he nods, swallowing thickly as his shaky hand comes closer to you. You hold your breath where he places it on your arm, warm hand touching the sticky substance over your skin where the sleeve is torn off. “You’re safe now, you… you’re home.”
Your chest heaves as you inhale sharply, eyes snapping up to meet his gaze. “…Home?”
Remus nods with hopefulness, and you mirror it mostly as a reflex. His hand, trembling, moves up and hovers over your face–not at all phased by the way you flinch inwardly in response. Then, very gently, he places it on the side of your face. Filthy with mud, blood, your body temperature borders on iciness.
James lowers himself by your side, eyes glassy as he studies your bloodied form with a tightness in his chest.
“Yeah,” he smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You blink again. “Home, you… you came back.”
A light flickers in your eyes, not quite calm. Not peace, just… recognition. Your lips part, head shaking mostly like a reflex of the fight still simmering under your skin.
Then, Remus moves again. Slowly, without hesitation as he gathers you into his arms. Blood be damned, flare up aches be damned. Because you’re home, in his arms again, and Sirius, caressing the nape of his neck with his ringed hand, is finally capable of offering comfort after months of nothing but rage. And James is there, crouched next to him, eyes glistening with tears as you slowly return to them not only physically–but emotionally as well.
…
The chimney has long past casted any warmth since they walked in, James holding your limp form in his arms before you put up a fight against his hold–seemingly slipping in and out of disorientation at their attempts at comforting you.
Sirius paces once again around the room, pinching the bridge of his nose as they wait for any indication that you’re done doing whatever you’re doing up in the room. You had requested space—and they granted it without a second thought, but even for them it was far too eerily silent to indicate any movement from your part. Almost like you’re not even there.
Remus is somewhere by the kitchen shakily preparing tea by the stove, passing a sleeve over his eyes to clean the tears that escape his attempts at holding them back. James isn’t so far better, sitting by the chimney with hazel eyes lost on the barely visible fire before him. The room is thick with silence.
Then, a loud thump noise, and before he can stop himself, Sirius sprints up the stairs, boots stomping on each step as he runs to you–if you’re there, or if your body has finally given out after the fight you crawled out of. Whatever it is, his heart jumps up his throat at the repetition of the same mantra, the same thought that you’re gone again, that you fled.
When he pushes the door open, his eyes immediately land on the bathroom door, left open ajar in a cruel parallel to the last night he saw you–when he cornered you demanding answers and pointing accusations he had no right in uttering. But now, he’s learned his lesson. He doesn’t wait to knock, only opens it cautiously, almost in fear of whatever he might find.
Steam fogs the mirror, it’s what he first notices as he steps in–the light is warm, but dimmed and flickering ever so slightly in the corner. You’re hunched over the edge of the tub, bloodied trousers and jumper discarded in a crumbled mess by the sink. As his grey eyes scan the scene, his heart skips a beat when they land upon the fabric clinging to your form, a blue graphic tee you had stolen from James years ago–a relic of another life.
You inhale sharply, knuckles holding the edge of the tub tightly as your eyes snap to him. “Sorry,” you mumble, swallowing thickly and eyes widened like you had been caught doing something wrong. “Sorry. It’s just, this… this wasn’t here… before.”
His eyes flicker to the tub, then back at you. The water running provides a calm, ever present sound to the silence surrounding you both in the bathroom, droplets of water running down your bloodied arm where it’s holding a sponge in your hand. Crimson red where you’ve tried to scrub your thighs.
Sirius’ lips part, torn between reminding you the tub has always been there–that you used to love it, and your time alone to take a bath in the midst of the chaos. But, at the faraway look that seems to come and go in your face, he only swallows any comment that would make you close off.
He clears his throat, “Uh, yeah, it’s… it’s relatively new,” he lies, taking a tentative step inside. He closes the door behind his back. “Are you alright?”
You nod, eyes flickering down at the sponge in your hand, and how it seems to do a futile job to scrub the blood away from your skin. Sirius only wets his lips–salty where his tears had finished their trail down his face moments prior–and extends a hand out, palm open in silent question as he holds your gaze.
“Do you need help?” He asks softly, pointing at the sponge in your hand.
He half expects you to flinch back, to reach for your wand where it’s by the floor next to the tub. But your eyes have that foggy quality again, like you’ve slipped into dissociation. He waits, heart thumping loudly as you take a deep, trembling breath before nodding your head very slowly.
Sirius nods in response, sitting on the floor, legs folded uncomfortably under him. And then, very gently, he rolls up his sleeves, like he’s preparing himself to touch something important, something sacred. Your eyes follow his movement, not emitting a word as the back of his cold fingers brush your skin on your abdomen, pinching the hem of your shirt in question.
“I’m just going to…” he looks down at the bloodied shirt, and you follow his gaze, lips parting like you’ve just realized the state you’re currently in.
“Yeah, um, sure.” you whisper, raising your arms as he very gently pulls it up and over your head. “Just–just don’t throw it out, please.”
A lump forms in his throat, and he nods wordlessly as he puts it down by his side on the floor. It pools in a little puddle of blood against the tiles.
You step into the tub with cautious movements, and Sirius only reaches for the washcloth under the sink, soaking its soft fabric in warm water before wringing it out.
And so, he begins.
His hand finds yours, guiding it away from your knees as he takes it in his, passing the washcloth over your skin with tender movements. There’s blood everywhere, between your fingers, under your nails, in the little cracks of skin in your knuckles, traveling all the way up to your forearm.
The source of it, he suspects–where he half expected a dark mark staring at him in mockery, he only finds burned off flesh and scars like someone had tried to strip you off the skin. Only remains of scars are barely visibly surrounding the poorly tended wound, and he tries to make his movements even more careful as he dabs at it very gently to clean it.
He moves up its trail to your arm, and your eyes follow each of his movements with such intensity he has to pause a few seconds to allow you some time to yourself, to remember you’re safe. Sirius wishes you’d had this fact well imprinted in your head, but he doesn’t mind reminding you–if pausing his careful cleaning to allow you peace of mind, he will give you all the time you need.
He looks back at your hand, now clean and bare where it rests over the edge of the tub. He tries to not dwell on its nakedness, at the lack of rings–the one you nicked from him back in fourth year, the amethyst one you’ve bought off a street vendor at Diagon Alley, the little, thin ones you’d occasionally use depending on your mood.
A fear creeps up his body, his veins, taking over his heart as it skips a beat in restraint before he casts a quick glance at your other hand over your knee. Still bloodied and waiting to be cleaned, but most importantly–most heartbreakingly, where it lacks your promise ring.
His hold on the washcloth loosens just a fraction, and it takes him a small movement from you as you press your knees closer to your chest to shake himself off his despair. Sirius only has a moment to collect himself before you could swat him away–or recoil as you come to your senses and find him so close to you.
Almost like you would’ve done years ago–when being fussed over was something still new to you. Something they had helped ease you into.
Sirius cuts a quick glance at you, lips twitching mostly at the memory than at what he finds–your faraway eyes staring a hole into the wall. His thumb brushes at your palm, a smooth motion that causes you to blink at the tiles before turning to meet his gaze.
He doesn’t ask where the ring is–if you threw it away, or if it was taken from you in a battle. He doesn’t ask why. He just holds your hand gently, like it’s made of glass, like you might dissolve if he lets go–and continues scrubbing. Quietly, lovingly, with aching care.
…
As soon as Sirius jumps down the last step of the stairs, James and Remus are on their feet. Equal widened and red-rimmed eyes staring at him with questions at the tip of their tongues.
He sighs, eyes glassy, sleeves rolled up, there’s a smudge of blood on his shirt by his stomach where it’s clinging to his skin from warm water. He doesn’t say anything at first, but there’s a wet, bloodied piece of fabric crumpled in his hands.
“She, um,” His voice is thin. He blinks as if to stop the tears from finally cascading down his cheeks. “She asked if we could wash it for her.”
There’s a funny tilt to his voice–faint and almost unrecognizable–he sounds like he could almost laugh in amusement, though it’s hollow when he looks down at the shirt. And it isn’t amusing, because your shirt, the battered and torn thing in his hands, still matters to you despite everything. That you carried a piece of home with you and even now, when you’re safely back, you’re pleading for him to take care of that piece that anchored you to them.
There’s a faint creak as the door opens upstairs. Then, tiptoeing the floodboards silently, you appear by the end of the stairs. They freeze. Your hand clasps your wand by your side as you climb down in careful, calculated steps, before meeting them by the sitting room. Wide eyes flickering between them in a manic albeit less alert manner like you’re calculating each of their movements as much as they are to yours.
Remus almost parts his lips to speak, probably knee deep in a memory as his eyes clock your bare feet against the freezing floor. The fabric of the clothes Sirius laid out for you swish softly with every tentative step you take.
Your fingers twitch around the wand, seemingly stuck in defense or attack at the sight of three boys in front of you. Sirius’ chest heaves when you take a tentative step back in reflex.
James clears his throat, “It’s alright–you… you’re safe. See?” He spreads his hands open, then points at Remus and Sirius, who mirror him unconsciously. “No wands.”
Your eyes scan each of them in silence, and your grip loosens just a smidge, imperceptible to the untrained eye–but they are completely attuned to you, despite the months away, they can notice your tells, your fidgeting. Doesn’t help that your heart is going a kilometer per hour, with no indication of slowing down any time soon.
“My… my clothes?” you turn to Sirius, who blinks back the tears when he meets your gaze. He looks down at his hands, at your crumpled shirt. “My necklace… it was in my jumper. I–I need it.”
“Your necklace?” Sirius echoes dumbly, eyes falling to your chest just barely visible over the hem of your oversized shirt. You nod. “I haven’t thrown them out, let me… I’ll check.”
You nod, bringing your hand to your forearm, nails scratching the tender flesh of your wound. James frowns when he notices the wince in your face when you touch it.
“Don’t… You’ll get it infected,” he manages, voice coarse like it had been scraped out.
At last, he snaps into action, so does Remus as each reaches for the healing potions they prepared for you while Sirius helped you get cleaned up. Your eyes follow their movements, and it seems to take you an enormous amount of courage to prompt your feet to move forward, tiptoeing your way to the couch in careful motion. James visibly swallows the lump in his throat at your evident distrust for them.
A scarred hand squeezes his wrist as he unpacks the bandages, and he’s eternally grateful when he looks up to find kind, amber red-rimmed eyes staring at him with softness. He clears his throat, and continues with his task as Remus moves and lets go to fully turn to you, washcloth at the ready wet with his healing potion of choice.
You’re nearly pushed deep between the cushions, leg bouncing with apparent nervousness as your eyes scan each boy inquisitively–like your brain knows they’re safe, they’re yours, and yet your body keeps betraying you, rejecting any feeling of comfort they offer.
“It’ll sting a bit, okay?” Remus whispers, patient hand open until you offer your wounded arm. As your eyes flicker from his hand to him, he tries to make his voice extra soft. “Would you like some calming draught?”
“No.” You shake your head quickly, placing your arm over his hand in response. He startles at your immediate compliance. “No calming draughts.”
“Okay, that’s fine.” he nods, dabbing the washcloth on your arm very gently. You still wince.
Remus continues dutifully dabbing at your wound, amber eyes patient and gentle hand stopping when a specific movement snaps you back into survival mode, yanking your arm away from him. It’s okay, he says every time–he’s well aware of the intimacy of getting healed up. He wishes you could remember how you’d done the same to him countless times after violent full moons.
Sirius emerges from the back of the kitchen a moment later, torn jumper in his hands and a face like he can’t quite understand where you could possibly leave your necklace–by his pinkish fingers, it’s obvious he tried to save you the hassle of searching for it yourself. But to no avail, there’s no glistening or indication that said necklace got tangled up with the fabric. He doesn’t really have the heart to tell you it’s probably lost, maybe during your escape.
Instead, he walks up to you, stopping to give you your wished space. “I… I couldn’t find the necklace, I’m sorry.” Love, he almost says. But bites his tongue, his heart cracks.
Despite everything, you don’t seem devastated by this fact. Free arm reaching for the jumper when he hands it over to you. Both James and Remus pause on their healing when you place it over your knees, smudging your skin with the mud and blood clinging to the fabric. You’re not deterred though, eyes intense and nimble fingers working over the threads until the jumper is torn into pieces. There, in a hidden pouch none of them can comprehend you managed to knit, you take out a large, thin chain with a ring hanging at the end.
Your promise ring.
The air is sucked out of the room–and their chests, as you push the fabric away to put the necklace over your head. It’s so long it nearly reaches your sternum, shining under the dimmed lights of the sitting room.
James exhales sharply, “You… you kept it? All this time?”
You nod, chewing at your lower lip. He swallows thickly, fingers fidgeting with the bandages in his lap.
Remus only wets his lips, blinking in surprise when you wordlessly stretch your arm back at him to resume his healing. He lowers the washcloth again, and tries to not think about his own promise ring glistening against the damp fabric.
“It’s charmed–they… they would’ve taken it away if they found it.” you reply quietly, almost in fear. None of them dare to question who’s they. “It was easier to keep it in a necklace.”
Sirius swallows the lump in his throat, blinking as he looks down at his own hands. The silence stretches on as Remus continues patiently cleaning your arm, multitasking as his warm eyes scan you for any other wound that may need tending to.
When he blindly opens a hand to James, asking for the bandage, James only clears his throat. “Is it okay if it…?” He points at your arm, and Remus looks up to meet his gaze with surprise. He nods, but tilts his head at you where you remain silent looking at the now dead chimney in front of you.
He calls your name softly, and you snap your head to meet their gazes, blinking as if to clear the fog from your mind. James only shuffles closer where he’s sitting over the coffee table, movements slow and tentative as he fidgets with the bandages.
“Is it okay if I…?” He points at your arm, now fully tended and skin slowly healing around your wound.
You swallow, eyeing him more curiously than apprehensively, arm now clutched to your chest. Remus tuts, very slowly detaching it where the sticky potion on your skin clung to your shirt. James winces, and you watch in silence as he dabs the washcloth again. None of them make a comment, they begin healing your arm again.
When Remus deems it fixed, they blink in surprise when you turn to James expectantly. His hands are still holding onto the bandages like a lifeline, and all it takes is a gentle nudge from Remus and Sirius clearing his throat for him to snap out of his shock. He shuffles closer to place the first bandage over your forearm, his hazel eyes landing on the remains of ink around the wound–like whoever caused it had tried to burn off a tattoo… a mark.
You draw back into yourself in shame, eyes scanning his face for a reaction when his hand stops. James clears his throat, making a point of sending you his most comforting smile–the one you had said you secretly loved years ago–before resuming his work around your forearm. No questions asked.
However, your shame has other intentions.
“They… they burned it off when they realized I was a spy.” you mumble, looking away from them. You withdraw your arm from James’ hold, clutching it back to your chest. “Healing charms aren’t really my strength.”
They all share a look, all seemingly shocked. No one could do a healing charm better than you. Before.
“Reg… Regulus tried to tend to it but we didn’t have much time.” you cut a quick glance at Sirius, who stiffens visibly at the mention of his brother. You wet your lips nervously, fingers twitching around your forearm as an unconscious tick. “We… we had to run, we had to destroy the locket.”
Sirius frowns. “What locket?”
You flinch very faintly at his interruption, and he has half the mind to mutter an apology when his boyfriends throw warning looks at him. However, you only swallow thickly, eyes flickering between each boy.
“The… the last horcrux.” you say, each word tilting in a tentative way as you look at him, as if gauging his reaction. “When we got to the cave…. he–he said he’d destroy it, that he would replace it with a fake one.”
As you speak, your hold around your wand tightens, knuckles turning white as if the mere memory is pulling you away from reality–like you’re back at that cave fighting for your life. A silver lining of tears appears in the corners of your eyes, shining despite your futile attempt at blinking them away.
You swallow, “It was a trap–he… he was there, they were there–ready for us. Riddle.” you whisper, though your breathing takes momentum with each word. You don’t flinch when James’ thumb brushes the skin just shy of your bandage. “K–Kreacher tried to hold them off, but… but they were stronger. We were outnumbered.”
Remus’ eyebrows pinch slightly, as if he can’t decide if he’s sympathetic or plain angry for you, for everything you had to endure. He schools his face as the first signs of movement pass from his peripheral vision, Sirius moving to sit by your side in intense silence–his own eyes hardening with every word you mutter.
“I didn’t mean to,” you repeat, the same mantra you’ve whispered like a plea since you crashed back into their lives. “I… I only wanted us to survive, I didn’t mean to–”
Your hand trembles, knee resuming its bouncing under James’ touch. His own promise ring glistens with each movement, though its love charm does nothing to slow the upcoming anxiety that’s pumping in your veins.
Remus lowers his head, searching for your eyes. “You didn’t mean to what, dove?”
You swallow, frantic eyes flickering from his soft eyes to James then Sirius, each boy pouring everything they can to hold back their tears at your evident distress.
“I… I didn’t mean to kill them all. It was.. I didn’t… I didn’t know what else to do,” you say quickly, almost in one single breath like the words are pushing to be said at once. Like you’re desperate for them to hear your side of the story, to grant you at least the grace to explain. “I didn’t know it would happen that way–the curse… the curse Regulus taught me, he said only to use it in case it was necessary. I didn’t–I didn’t think it would end that way.”
They lean back, but James’ fingers gently press over your knee, moving up until his hand is holding yours with one tentative move. His sad, teary eyes scan your face and the way it twists in pain as you retell the hell you endured to get to them–he suspects it’s only the tip of something worse, something more sinister none of them will ever be able to understand. The horrors you clawed your way through to ensure Riddle would fall.
“What curse, my love?” he whispers, pointedly searching for your gaze. You look away, throat closing up as your breathing comes in quick puffs of air. “Hey, it’s alright–you’re alright. You don’t have to say more, not if you don’t want to.”
“It… uh,” you press your lips together, looking down at your shaking hands in fear. Your hand drops the wand like it burns your skin. “It was called sectumsempra… Snape taught it to him, said it was a dark curse he created to, uh, to create imminent death and suffering–that’s what he said. I wouldn’t–”
They nod. “I know.” James smiles softly, mostly for your sake.
The thing is, months ago, they knew you wouldn’t, that you’d never inflict harm to someone else–not even if they deserved it. But now?
You look down at your hands, which moments prior were stained with someone else’s blood–hell, even Riddle’s blood if they really think about it, if they connect the dots.
Sirius shuffles next to you, energy coursing through his body and nowhere to channel it–his anger, his frustration, his grief… Now that he knows your true purpose in the war, where will all those feelings go? Is he even allowed to feel them at all?
“Regulus… he… he didn’t–” you whisper, not daring to search for his eyes. James’ thumb brushes the back of your hand. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Sirius nods, the movement prompting the tears hanging by a thread on his eyelids to finally cascade down his cheeks. A sniffle, and his fingers twitch to hold your face in his hands–to show you he would never blame you. “I know, love. It’s okay.”
You pull your legs up, hugging them close to your chest in response, desperately trying to make yourself smaller between the cushions–if it’s physically possible.
Remus’ lips twitch as he scans your heavy eyelids and the way you slump back into yourself against the couch. Exhaustion making its way into your body before you can even let yourself accept it–but so does your shame, coursing through you like it’s the only emotion you’re allowing yourself to feel.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, voice wavering like the weight of your guilt is shredding its way up your throat. You swallow nervously. “I didn’t mean to leave, I… I didn’t want to.”
Three things happen at once at your words. Sirius looks away in shame–unable to control his tears as he passes a trembling hand over his face. Remus, who had been characteristically quiet during your confession, stands from his sitting position, thumbs pressing hard at his eyes with such harshness the tears roll down his cheeks anyway. And James? He finally breaks–after months of denial, he finally lets his heart accept the grief and heartbreak his mind denied every single day since your departure.
Your hand flies to the necklace against your sternum, fidgeting with it almost unconsciously as your eyes flicker from each boy with something akin to guilt–the only feeling strong enough to overpower your shame.
“I wanted to tell you. I–I promise, many times I almost did.” you continue, swallowing sobs that are fighting their way up your throat. “I’m sorry.”
Then, another thing happens. You break.
“I’m really sorry, I… I didn’t think I’d ever come back,” you take a breath, your other hand joining the one gripping the necklace on your palm. Both hands desperately hold it like a lifeline, like it could simmer your pain and theirs altogether. “I thought–I just thought it’d be better if–if I just left. I didn’t want to… to be another fatality… another tragedy to mourn.”
You wet your lips, now salty with tears. And when you open your mouth to speak, to continue, a sob comes out instead. High and strained like it had been kept captive in your throat for months, and, apparently, it’s all it takes to activate your survival instinct once again–you clasp a hand against your mouth. You close your eyes and breathe slowly as if to calm yourself down, to make your pain smaller in order to stay alive.
You press your face against your thighs, swallowing thickly as you control your breathing, slowing it down to quiet and shorts exhales of air. Voice very low as you whisper calming mantras to yourself. All it does is break their hearts further as they watch in agony as you regulate yourself like someone that has endured indescribable horrors.
A hand, very tentatively, finds your shoulder, moving in gentle strokes as you slowly come down your spiraling. You drop your hands from your chest, the necklace returning to its resting place as you look up to meet Sirius’ equally teary eyes–his eyelashes wet with unshed tears as his hand travels up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing at the dampness of your face.
“You don’t have to be sorry… or explain.” he whispers very softly, making a point of searching for your eyes when you look down. “Just–don’t ever think you’d be better off gone. I–We would’ve never thought of you as a fatality…”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, mostly as a reflex.
He nods, thumb intercepting the tear cascading down your cheek. “I know, love… I know.”
“You… you battled worse than us, and faced horrors we’d never understand. Alone. And you came back… you came back despite everything.” Remus steps in, hands wringing together in evident distraction, but his amber eyes remain fixed on yours. “That’s more than enough, dove. You’re here… alive. And that is what matters to us right now.”
“I… I,” your lower lip trembles, and you shut your mouth to stop any other sound from coming out. They all share a look. “I’m sorry.”
They all nod, almost in unison. And you mirror it unconsciously, mostly like you’re convincing yourself more than them. Sirius hands drop from where they cradled your face, and your head rests over the back of the couch, eyelids dropping as if your body is finally allowing itself to give in to your exhaustion.
James calls your name softly, clearing his throat as he passes a quick hand over his eyes. He sends you his most comforting smile when you pick up your head to meet his gaze.
“Ready to get some rest?” his smile widens when you nod, looking more sure in yourself with your decision. Remus’ lips twitch as well, though he tuts softly when you shift on the couch to lay down to sleep. “Oh–no, we prepared you a room. If that’s okay.”
You pause, looking up to meet his gaze in surprise. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Sirius breathes out, voice tilting, once again, in suppressed amusement at your reaction. Remus sends him a look. “Of course. We thought it’d be better than this ratty thing.”
“Now, Sirius, no need to insult my couch.” James jokes half-heartedly, it doesn’t really land–especially when you’re looking around the cottage with wide eyes. He stands slowly, hand open for you. “Come, lovie, let’s get you to your room.”
You send both Sirius and Remus a quick look, as if assessing their stances before taking James’ hand, who doesn’t let go even as you climb up the stairs by his side. They watch in silence as he ever so gently guides you through your own home, like you’re a ghost visiting after a long night. Their hearts twist lovingly when James’ arm comes around your back, supporting your weight when you trip over the carpet.
“Oh, careful there,” he smiles, his own heart skipping a bit when your hand reaches for his forearm as a reflex. “I’ve been meaning to fix that–I just know Moony will be scolding me later.”
Your lips twitch, head tilting to look behind your shoulder where Sirius and Remus are observing from the bottom of the stairs with twin glassy eyes. Their hands clasped together and promise rings offering comfort to one another.
James smiles at you, and guides you deep into the hallway, arm spread open at the door just across their room–your shared old room, mind you. He swallows the quip, smile dimming when you step into the guest room with tentative steps.
“I… I forgot this room existed,” you mumble, looking around as you sit down over the bed. James studies your movements, heart cracking at how out of place you look. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah, we never use this room much,” he fixes his glasses, looking away as you turn to get into the covers. The bedding looks insanely colorful in contrast with your dulled skin. “or, well, unless one of us forgets to empty the bin. Then it’s got plenty of use.”
Your lips quirk ever so faintly, looking down as your hand moves around the covers, testing its softness against your skin. James swallows nervously, shifting his weight with awkwardness–he used to have tons of things to say to you, now he finds himself scared of even cracking a joke. He wonders if whatever he comes up with would even make you laugh.
“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll just… uh, we’ll be across the hall.”
You nod, and he steps backwards, sending you one last smile. “Thank you, Jamie.” you say quietly, and he almost trips over his own feet as he makes his way out. “Oh, um, please don’t… don’t close the door.”
His hand hovers just over the knob at your request, pausing mid-air where he had reached to close the door. “Of course, yeah. That’s okay.”
“Thank you.”
“Goodnight, lovie.”
“You, too.”
James only walks out, leaving the door open behind him as he climbs down the stairs, his straight and relaxed posture crumbles with each step closer to his boyfriends–who readily embrace him as he finally breaks down. His quiet sobs mix with their sniffles as they all come down the high of seeing you again–at the cost of your sanity.
“It’s okay, love–she’s alright.” Remus whispers, his scarred hands thumbing at the tears cascading down James’ cheeks. His own red-rimmed eyes sting with tears. “She’s alright, she’s here.”
The bespectacled boy nods, sniffling quietly. The ringed hand at his back, moving in comforting circles and warming his skin with aching care–Sirius continues his dutiful work to comfort him until James’ back stops shaking, his sniffles subduing to short exhales. The sitting room falls into a silence as they collect pieces of each other, love poured into each whisper and comforting word.
Remus steps back, managing to force a half-smile on his face. “Let’s call it a night, yeah?” He tilts his chin promptly at the stairs. “We’ll face tomorrow. Together.”
“All of us.” Sirius adds quietly, pressing a quick kiss over James’ cheekbone. Not at all minding the dampness he finds.
But first they all bask in each other’s hold–something they hadn’t done since you left. Since they thought they weren’t worthy of love or compassion without you to share it with as well.
“Come on,” Remus half-smiles, guiding James up the room like he had done to you. He sends Sirius a quick look as they climb up the stairs.
Sirius follows wordlessly after a while, watching with several healed cracks in his heart as his boyfriends share comforting whispers to one another as they walk to their room–pausing just enough to send you a quick look from the hallway into the guest room.
He sighs deeply, turning off the lights of the sitting room before climbing up each step of the stairs, passing the wall of photographs he usually wouldn’t have the courage to even glance at. Mementos of your shared life before the war–before you were taken from them because of your selfless and courageous nature.
He brushes a hair behind his ear, trying not to think about the way you used to do it time ago–and pauses just by the threshold of the guest room, leaning sideways to allow himself a selfish moment to bask in your peace.
His eyes fill with tears once again at the sight of you, finally home, sleeping peacefully after months and months of indescribable horrors. Sirius’ hand reaches for his own promise ring, not looking away from your curled up form. Your own hand is clasping your ring unconsciously, love charm warms your skin and tethers you to them even in your sleep.
The adrenaline, despite everything, is still simmering slightly through his veins–but so does another thing. Forgiveness.
At you. For, even if he still doesn’t fully understand your reasons, leaving to fight a war not only against the tyranny of blood supremacy, but against every single person that ever put your right of existence into question.
At James, for denying himself the power of feeling your absence and protecting himself and his boyfriends with the optimism of hoping you’d return.
At Remus, who spent every waking moment imploding inwardly and keeping his pain to himself instead of overbearing him or James with it, who punished himself with silence in hopes you’d return one day to hear his voice again.
And at himself, for the rage and frustration he put out into the world and his boyfriends at the cause of your disappearance. For thinking, for one moment of pure idiocy, that you’d ever willingly leave them without putting up a fight first.
Sirius passes a hand over his face, ignoring the dampness against his skin as he turns to walk into the room, where Remus and James are already getting ready for bed. He sends your sleeping form one last look behind his shoulder, and lets his heart settle for peace at last.
Summary - After a prank in earlier years goes horribly wrong, leaving someone humiliated, Y/N begins to distance themselves from the Marauders. The boys you once loved and trusted—the ones who used to make you laugh, who felt like home—now feel like strangers. Over the next two years, your friendship quietly dissolves, leaving teachers and classmates puzzled at the sudden coldness and avoidance.
Warning - angsty , friends to strangers, prank gone wrong, forced proximity, awkwardness, longing, yearning , eventual jealousy, replacement and deep ANGST
A/n - hello my loveliess this was based on the song 𝓟𝓮𝓸𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓫𝔂 𝓢𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓪 𝓖𝓸𝓶𝓮𝔃 so i was listening to it and I had this random idea! This is gonna be a 2 parter maybe more?? Idk if I wanna do a happy or bittersweet ending.
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The courtyard rang with laughter. Loud, echoing, sharp enough to sting.
James had Snape dangling in midair, robes over his head, pale legs flashing in the sunlight. Sirius’s bark of laughter carried across the stone, Remus sat with his lips curved into something halfway between amusement and tolerance, Peter was practically choking from how hard he was laughing.
And then Lily laughed.
It was quick, sharp, unexpected — like she’d been caught up in the moment. A flicker of schadenfreude before her expression faltered, before her fury reared up and she turned on James. But you’d seen it. You couldn’t unsee it. The sound of Lily Evans laughing at Severus Snape’s humiliation settled heavy in your chest.
Everyone else was doubled over, gasping, wheezing, clutching at one another’s shoulders like this was the height of comedy. You weren’t laughing. You couldn’t.
Because all you saw was Snape’s face — blotchy, pale, humiliated. His eyes weren’t wide with anger; they were wide with shame. And something in you recoiled.
You had warned them. That morning, when Sirius had gleefully told you about the plan, you’d felt your stomach turn. “Don’t,” you’d said, softer than you meant to. “This isn’t just a joke. It’ll go too far.”
Sirius had winked, brushing it off with that careless grin. James had waved you off, too caught up in his theatrics. Remus had looked at you like he almost agreed, but he didn’t say anything. He never did when it came to the boys.
And now here it was. Exactly what you feared.
“Put him down,” you said, your voice louder than you expected. The laughter quieted just a little, curious glances flicking your way.
James smirked, his wand still aimed at Snape. “What’s the matter, Y/N? He’s loving the attention.”
“Yeah,” Sirius added, “you’ve got to admit, it’s hilarious.”
“Hilarious?” you snapped, your chest tightening. You turned to look at Snape again, trembling in midair, fists clenched uselessly. “Does that look hilarious to you? He’s humiliated.”
“He’s Snivellus,” James corrected, as though that explained everything.
“He’s a person,” you shot back, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “A person you decided doesn’t deserve dignity. And you’re all laughing like this is fun. It’s not. It’s cruel.”
Silence spread. Sirius’s smirk faltered. Remus’s face tightened, eyes darting away. Peter looked between them like a child watching parents argue.
And James — James looked at you like you’d just betrayed him.
“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he said, voice softer now, coaxing. “Don’t tell me you’re siding with him.”
You shook your head, breath catching. “I’m not siding with him, I’m siding with what’s right. You — all of you — used to be better than this. Or maybe I was too blind to see you weren’t.”
That landed. You saw it in James’s eyes, in the way Sirius’s jaw clenched.
Lily spoke up then, her voice sharp as glass. “Enough, Potter. Put him down.” She sounded furious, but you couldn’t shake the memory of her laugh, the sound that had joined the others for one terrible moment.
And you realized you were done.
When James finally dropped Snape, leaving him to scramble away with his pride in tatters, you didn’t stay by the Marauders’ side. You crossed the courtyard and offered Snape your hand. He stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with it, suspicion and pride warring on his face. But he took it. Slowly.
Behind you, you could feel the weight of four gazes, burning holes into your back.
“You’re making a mistake,” Sirius called after you, his voice laced with something almost desperate.
You didn’t turn. “No,” you said, steady despite the lump in your throat. “I think I’m finally seeing clearly.”
And you walked with Snape. And later, with others — the ones who had been on the receiving end of the Marauders’ laughter, who had always seemed like background noise. You found yourself sitting with them, listening to them. Realizing you weren’t alone.
But the Marauders looked at you differently after that. As though you were a stranger.
And you felt it too.
Because people go from people you know to people you don’t.
It didn’t happen all at once. It never does.
At first, you thought the prank was just a fracture. A crack in something you thought was unbreakable. A fight, harsh words, then maybe apologies later. That’s how it always used to be.
But this time… there was no apology.
James threw himself back into chasing Lily, determined to win her over after the humiliation of her shouting at him in front of half the school. And slowly — painfully — she stopped glaring so much. She started laughing with them again, sitting a little closer, lingering a little longer.
It was your seat she filled. Your place at the table. Your spot on the couch in the common room, where you’d curl against Sirius’s side or steal Remus’s book just to annoy him. You’d pass by and see her there — smiling, vibrant, magnetic — and the boys drinking her in like sunlight.
And you… you were a shadow.
Ravenclaw Tower became your refuge. Books stacked high around you, parchment stained with ink, but you couldn’t drown out the silence. The silence where their laughter used to be. The silence of not being dragged into trouble, or pulled under an Invisibility Cloak, or teased until you were smiling despite yourself.
You started treating them like strangers because it hurt too much to treat them like home. Polite nods in corridors, clipped words when you had to share space, no warmth, no softness. It was easier this way — to pull back before they could push you out completely.
But the thing was… they noticed.
Sirius tried first, cornering you in the library one night. He had that reckless grin plastered on like armor, but his eyes were searching. “What’s with the cold shoulder, love? Too good for us now?”
You’d looked up from your essay, heart aching, and said evenly: “I just don’t know who you are anymore.”
The smile slipped. Just a fraction. He left without another word.
Remus was quieter, watching you from across classrooms, trying to catch your eye. When you wouldn’t, he looked down like it was his own fault. Maybe it was.
Peter stopped bothering. His laughter came easier now when you weren’t around to temper it.
And James… James was the worst of all. Because every time you saw him, Lily was there. Filling the spaces you’d left. And he looked at her the way he used to look at you — like the sun rose and set just for him.
And maybe that was the cruelest prank of all — not the one they played on Snape. But the one time played on you.
At first, no one took it seriously. The Marauders and you, distant? It was laughable. Students had seen you bicker before, sulk for a day or two, even storm off dramatically — but it never lasted. You always came back together, as inevitable as gravity. So when you started sitting at the Ravenclaw table instead of squeezing onto the end of the Gryffindor bench, people whispered that it was temporary. A sulk, a spat.
Even the teachers assumed it would pass. McGonagall once called out partners for Transfiguration and said, “Potter, Y/N,” with a faint smile, as though putting you together would fix whatever stubbornness lingered. You’d both worked in silence, parchment scraping against wood, wands raised without a single word shared. She’d watched you both with a crease in her brow, like she couldn’t quite understand it.
The common room was buzzing, the fire crackling. You were curled sideways in a chair, Sirius sprawled across the rug at your feet, flicking Bertie Bott’s beans into your mouth while James kept score. Remus sat on the armrest beside you, pretending to read, but his lips twitched every time you nudged him with your shoulder. Peter was dozing, quill slipping from his fingers. “Merlin,” James had said suddenly, grinning wide, “we’re going to be legends, you know that?” You’d laughed, tossing a bean at his head. “You’re insufferable, Potter.” Sirius had smirked. “Admit it. You love us.” And you had smiled — that soft, aching kind of smile that only comes when you’re exactly where you belong.
Weeks turned into months, and still you kept your distance. You passed them in the corridors without slowing your step, answered questions in class like they were just any other students. Polite, cool, detached. You refused to let yourself look back.
The whispers grew sharper. “They used to be inseparable,” younger students said as you walked by. “Do you think it was serious? A fight?” You heard your name on their lips more often in reference to what you used to be than who you were now.
Third year — snow was falling in thick, wet clumps on the road to Hogsmeade. Sirius and James ran ahead, kicking up clouds of white, Peter trailing after them with his scarf slipping loose. Remus slowed to walk beside you, brushing snow from your hair with careful fingers. “You’ll catch cold,” he teased. You’d rolled your eyes. “And you won’t?” He’d shrugged and tugged his own scarf from his neck, wrapping it snugly around yours. “I’ll be fine. You, I worry about.” From up ahead, Sirius’s voice cut through the air. “Oi! Stop flirting and hurry up!” Remus’s ears went scarlet, and you laughed so hard you nearly slipped on the ice.
By sixth year, the professors stopped pairing you with them altogether. The distance had calcified, thick and unyielding. Even the castle seemed to accept it — the Marauders and Lily Evans on one side, you on the other. A new shape to an old story. Students said it was odd, but no one questioned it anymore.
Late nights used to be yours. Four boys and you huddled under an Invisibility Cloak, hearts pounding as Filch’s lantern swung past. James whispering strategies for a midnight Quidditch match, Sirius snorting too loud until Remus smacked him, Peter giggling helplessly. You’d pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle your laugh, your shoulder brushing Sirius’s, your other hand steady against Remus’s arm. The thrill of being young and invincible had burned in your chest, brighter than any fire.
The announcement came at breakfast.
You were halfway through buttering toast when Flitwick tapped his goblet with a spoon, voice carrying just enough to silence the hum of Ravenclaw table.
“Prefect patrols will be slightly altered this term,” he said, his tone bright but deliberate. “Owing to… scheduling conflicts, a few of you will find yourselves with new partners. Do check the noticeboard before your next duty.”
The ripple of chatter started instantly, students leaning in, whispering. You didn’t think much of it — not until your name came up.
“Ravenclaw: y/l/n. Partnered with… Lupin.”
The knife slipped in your hand, smearing butter across your sleeve.
Across the Hall, at the Gryffindor table, Remus looked up from his book. His gaze flicked to you for the briefest second before snapping away, as though neither of you had heard what was just said. But the way Sirius nudged him, the smirk James half-failed to hide — it was obvious they had.
The whispers around you were worse.
Wait — weren’t they—?”
“Didn’t they used to be…?”
“I thought she swore she’d never—”
You shoved your plate aside and stood before the whispers could weave themselves into knives. You didn’t need reminding.
Once, that name paired with yours had meant something different. Laughter echoing off the stones, ink-stained notes swapped mid-patrol, the quiet safety of someone who saw you without needing words.
Now it was just strategy. Teacher meddling. A calculated, insulting move.
Later, when you confronted Flitwick after Charms, his eyes had twinkled in that maddening way that told you he thought he was being clever.
“Change is good for the soul, Miss y/l/n. Perhaps you and Mr. Lupin will find common ground again.”
Common ground. As though friendship were a misplaced quill you could simply pick up after years of pretending not to see it.
You walked out of the classroom without answering.
The corridors feel too quiet. You keep your eyes on the floor, shoulders stiff, wand in hand, moving deliberately. Every step echoes off the stone, precise, controlled.
Remus walks beside you, close enough to sense, far enough to not touch. He shifts, flexes his fingers, jaw tight. He doesn’t speak, not yet. You don’t look at him, don’t breathe his name.
“…Should we check the east stairwell first?” His voice is low, careful.
“Mm,” you murmur, eyes forward. No warmth, no inflection, nothing more.
A pause. He adjusts his robes, the faint scrape of fabric against stone sounding impossibly loud. “…Or the west corridor, maybe?”
“West works,” you reply flatly, slow, clipped. Each word is deliberate.
He shifts again. Fingers flex, unclench. He exhales softly, mutters something under his breath you don’t hear clearly. You keep your pace steady. Eyes forward. Shoulder stiff. Heart tight.
“…Window there?” he asks after another long pause.
“Check it,” you reply. Short. Neutral. Almost sharp in its brevity.
His jaw flexes. Fists twitch at his sides. He takes a careful step, then stops. Silence stretches. Heavy, suffocating, dragging. He doesn’t speak again. You don’t either.
Step. Step. Step.
“…Corner ahead,” he says finally, quiet, almost inaudible.
“Turn it,” you say, tone neutral, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Step. Step. Step.
He adjusts his robes again. Small, controlled sigh. Fists clench and unclench. His gaze flickers briefly toward you, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You don’t notice. You don’t look.
Step. Step. Step.
By the end of the patrol, the silence is thick. Words exist only for the function of walking the halls, nothing else. He’s tense, jaw tight, fists trembling slightly. You’re rigid, heart tight, every word clipped, every breath careful.
Step. Step. Step.
Neither of you speaks beyond necessity. The tension doesn’t break. It stretches, heavy and unbearable, until the patrol ends.
The morning sun slants through the tall windows of the classroom, painting stripes of light across the polished desks. For once, you feel lighter than you have in weeks. No patrols today. No dragging steps through empty corridors, no echoing footsteps pressing against your nerves. Just a normal class. A normal morning. Maybe even a little peace.
You stretch, letting your shoulders loosen for the first time in ages. Your quill taps idly against your parchment as you glance around the classroom, faint smile teasing the corners of your lips. Today could be… nice.
“Ah, good morning, everyone!” Slughorn’s voice breaks through, bright and exaggerated, filling the room like a burst of sunlight. You almost relax completely—until he begins calling out the groupings.
“And Y/N,” he says, his eyes sparkling in that way that always makes your stomach twist, “you’ll be working with… Mr. Potter and Mr. Black. Excellent. A very lively combination, yes, yes.”
Your quill freezes mid-tap. Your chest tightens instantly. “Excuse me?” you say, sharper than you intended. Your voice rings out clear and precise across the row. “You’re pairing me with them?”
Slughorn beams like he’s delivered the best news in the world. “Indeed! I thought a dynamic trio would do wonders for your project. Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, do take good care of our Y/N.”
The warmth of the morning drains out of you like water from a leaky cup. The sunlight feels suddenly harsh. The polished wood of your desk feels too smooth, too bright. You press your lips together, forcing yourself not to scowl.
You glance at James. He’s grinning already, hair perfectly messy, eyes sparkling with that confident charm that usually makes people laugh. Sirius leans casually against his desk, smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. Both of them look exactly the same as they always do. Exactly the same. And you feel your mood splinter into sharp little shards.
James nudges his notebook toward you, grinning like nothing has changed. “So, first step—uh, do you want to handle the first bit, or should I?”
You don’t look up. You tap your quill against your parchment. “I’ll do it,” you say flatly, tone short and precise. No warmth. No hesitation.
Sirius leans over, smirking, trying the same old charm he usually wields effortlessly. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just a project. We’ll make it fun, like always.”
You blink at him once, slow, deliberate. “Fun isn’t my priority,” you reply. Cold. Controlled. He stiffens slightly but doesn’t push further.
James laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Right, okay… well, uh, I guess we just—”
“Step one,” you interrupt, tapping your quill on the page. “Read the instructions. Then we move.”
Sirius glances at James, his smirk faltering. He mutters something under his breath, low enough that you can’t hear, but the tension radiating from him is clear. James notices it too, shoulders stiffening, grin fading.
They try again. Sirius nudges your notes lightly. “See? Nothing’s changed. We’re still the same team. You’re still—”
“Focused,” you cut him off, tone clipped. Eyes forward. Hands busy on the parchment. “Let’s stick to the project.”
Both boys freeze for a fraction of a second. James swallows. Sirius tilts his head, finally noticing the lack of softness in your voice, the deliberate distance in your posture, the way you refuse even the slightest glance.
“…Y/N....you hv changed..,” James says softly, almost.
You shrug lightly, not looking at him. “I’m the same. Just… focused.”
Sirius exhales, long and sharp, fingers flexing. James opens his mouth again but stops, jaw tightening. They exchange a glance.
“Right,” Sirius mutters finally, voice low. “Okay… we get it.”
James nods slowly, frowning, his usual easy confidence gone. “Yeah. We… we’re not going to pretend everything’s like before, are we?”
You keep your eyes on your work, shoulders stiff. “No,” you say quietly. No more.
The room falls into a heavy silence. Not uncomfortable in the usual playful way, but thick, taut, suffocating. The charm and teasing they usually wield are useless. You’ve made it clear: things have changed, and they finally understand.
Step by step, word by word, the energy between you three shifts. They’re cautious now, moving slower, speaking less, testing the waters of your new distance. You stay precise, clipped, unyielding. The tension coils tighter, quiet but undeniable, as the project continues.
[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]
summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.
pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)
word count. 11.4k
tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3
note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue
‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.
In other words: Quidditch tryouts.
You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all.
Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch.
It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day.
On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come.
“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin.
“Watch out!”
You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face.
“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria.
“Move!”
To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion.
“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues.
“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)
After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you.
“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing. “Oh, good heavens, what happened?”
Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.”
Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”
With—what?
As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”
“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”
“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”
“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”
“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”
“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls.
Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant.
There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back.
THE STORY GOES like this:
You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.)
“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.)
The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world.
There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that.
(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.”
James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.”
“Maybe we can help,” says Remus.
Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.”
Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?”
Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.”
With that, she slams the door in their faces.
The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.)
Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing.
“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!”
No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration.
“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?”
You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!”
“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.”
You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?”
She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”
“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.”
“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.”
Lily glares at him.
Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself.
Everything is starting to change.
You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot.
“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library.
You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.”
“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger.
You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”
James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.”
He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?”
“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.”
Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?”
“All of them.”
“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?”
“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.”
Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.”
“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in.
“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.)
James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!”
Remus hisses his name in warning.
Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!”
James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?”
“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach.
“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?”
“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently.
“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.
Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library.
The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes.
“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”
Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence.
The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.
“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?”
You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.”
Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.”
At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup.
(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”
Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives.
“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.”
You snort.
Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”)
Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you. Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep.
(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people.
“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you.
James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.”
“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.”
“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously.
“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)
You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.
You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds.
This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.
You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut.
“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!”
On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.)
The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )
You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough.
You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings.
You hate Quidditch.
It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly.
In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.)
You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.”
It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin.
You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw.
(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge.
It’s Lily Evans.
“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”
“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!”
Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath.
“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified.
“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.
“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)
Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House.
They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.
And so, the story ends just like that.
YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position.
It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds.
“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.”
“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.”
“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.”
Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.)
“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.”
“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and cross.)
You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.”
“Thanks.” Remus coughs.
Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere.
You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed.
“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly.
The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright.
Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off.
You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”
“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”
“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.”
In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.”
James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”
A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks. “So. . . uh. . . are we okay?”
“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”
“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation.
“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.”
I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often.
“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave.
Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid.
(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?)
“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!”
On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.
“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—”
“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!”
“Pads, shut up.”
Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck.
Lily chortles.
Oh.
You blush deeply—that is so none of your business.
“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.”
“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them.
Which happens to be right beside you.
You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you.
“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.”
Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air.
“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.”
He lowers his arm with a bright blush.
You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.
How fun.
Not.
FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.
The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.
“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you.
Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?”
“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.”
“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.”
“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook.
Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”
“Ascendio!”
This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.
At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest.
Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too.
“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather.
“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?”
“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders.
“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak.
“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!
You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side.
“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.”
“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest.
He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.”
“Oh.”
One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away.
And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .”
“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.”
“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—”
The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line.
To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”
“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly.
You let out a deep sigh.
You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness.
“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.”
A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”
(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.)
Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his.
“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch.
There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.
“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead.
“For what?” You ask in disbelief.
Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.”
“What exactly are you going to prove?”
Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.”
Merlin’s saggy balls.
THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want.
“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you.
If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls.
“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about.
“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.”
Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name.
“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.”
Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.
“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears.
FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place.
“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face.
“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—”
“ACTA NON VERBA.”
Deeds, not words.
Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.)
“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”
“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”
She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.”
“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight. Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.”
“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”
Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”
You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower.
You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.”
“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”
“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.
Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”
“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”
You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.”
“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room.
You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed.
“You came,” He says huskily.
“I did.”
“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes.
You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.”
“I know.”
Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace.
“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows.
But no sign of Sirius Black.
“Miss me, did you, love?”
Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright.
“Merlin’s tits—!”
You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.”
“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.”
You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!”
Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—”
“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.”
You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.”
You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.”
Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.”
“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!”
By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.)
Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”
NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again.
Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him.
Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet.
“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss.
Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.”
“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?”
Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.”
Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”
“Lily—”
“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.”
Sirius snickers. “How charming.”
The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.”
“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear.
Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.
(Something she should have done years ago.)
“IS THAT A new jumper?”
Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.”
You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?”
“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?”
“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.”
You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.
“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)
“It’s like coming home after a long day.”
“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!”
“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”
You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch.
“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”
“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone.
“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”
You wait with a bated breath.
The crowd goes absolutely wild.
“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!”
“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”
“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.
“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”
Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”
With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch.
You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear.
“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.
Perhaps it’s a sign.
This really wasn’t a good idea.
Love is a fool’s game.
Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.
“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.
If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime.
If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side.
“James—!”
“Go, go, Gryffindor!”
You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now.
Once more.
“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”
Please.
Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.
“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”
“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”
Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—”
James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him.
“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”
He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck.
“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”
“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.”
There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost.
Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”
“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul.
“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice.
“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly.
She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.”
You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.)
EPILOGUE:
“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!”
You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders.
You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”
“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.
“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.”
“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.”
You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.”
“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband.
Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.”
Sirius grins.
You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”
He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.”
You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?”
Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”
You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.”
Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”
Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss.
You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”
The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.”
You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.”
BONUS:
“REMUS!”
The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side.
“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip.
“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!”
The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter.
Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse.
He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?”
You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?”
Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.”
Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!”
“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department.
“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.”
You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.”
Harry blinks. “Thanks.”
He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words.
The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?”
You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”
a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart
Poly!marauders (or wolfstar whichever you prefer/feel like)
Reader is sick with infections and she kinda just keeps going with her usual routine. The boys being lovingly exasperated by trying to convince her to go rest.
(not at all self indulgent, definitely don’t have a chest infection and a sinus infection but haven’t stopped my usual routine of walking my dog and household chores)
pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader
summary: request above!
warnings: mention of abuse + walburga, also coughing, phlegm and illness
word count: 1.5K
author's note: hi lovely!! thank you so much for requesting, i loved writing this! i hope you enjoy, it is kind of a bit more on the hurt side but i hope you like it irregardless! i hope you feel better soon, sendling love and hugs xx
“Jailbreak!” Sirius announces as he notices your weathered form appearing from your shared bedroom.
You can’t help but roll your eyes, “I’m sick, not dying.” You refute while hauling the laundry basket into your arms with a small grunt.
Jesus Christ, how many pairs of clothes could three boys blow through within a couple days?
“Jamie, I swear to god if you keep missing the basket, I’m leaving your shit on the floor next time.” You announce, sniffling softly.
Your throat has been feeling quite scratchy since this morning, and you can feel the telltale signs of a sinus headache building in the forefront of your head.
God, you hated being sick. However, you hated feeling useless even more. Which brings you to your current predicament of trying to return to your normal schedule to your boyfriends’ loud protests.
“Tsk tsk, now what would Rem do to us if he found out we let you out of bed in your condition lovely? Would you like him to skin us alive? Because that seems like something you’d want considering your current choices” Sirius laments.
“I’m too pretty to die angel, you should really think about your next move, would you really want to lose a face like this?” James quips alongside Sirius, brown eyes blinking exaggeratedly as he pouts.
“You’re both far too dramatic for your own good, I’m fine.” You’re not.
Your insistence seems to have furthered their resolve as they follow you to the laundry room to coax you back into bed under temptations of hot tea and biscuits.
“Bugger off the both of you, it’s just one load of laundry. You’re acting like I’m about to keel over at any minute.” You sigh
“Wouldn’t put it past you.” You hear Sirius mutter which has you whipping your head to glare at him as he puts his hands up with a sheepish smile.
“Remus gave us one instruction—not to let her out of bed, and what did we do? Let her get out of bed AND do laundry. We’re so fucked” James mutters, pinching his nose in exasperation.
“I don’t reckon if we carried you back to the room, you’d give us the decency of not screaming nor kicking us in the balls?” James hopefully prods and subsequently deflates at your unimpressed expression.
“Should’ve known.” He mutters.
For the next few moments, you’re entirely focused on separating the darks and whites and unaware of Sirius and James conversing in harsh whispers.
Your headache is getting worse by the moment, and you have to take a few seconds to close your eyes and breathe through the pain. It’s not that you’re unwilling to admit that you’re sick, you know better than anyone that you are.
It’s just that you’ve come to hate relying on people unless necessary, why worry everyone when you’re capable enough to continue with your normal routine until said illness passes?
The doctor had been very clear about no strenuous activities for the next couple of days, lest you run your immune system further into the ground than it already was.
A chest and sinus infection was something not to mess around with, as you’ve come to realise.
Remus was better accustomed to handling more serious illnesses, something that he was forced to do since being chronically ill which meant he was assigned the main enforcer of your prescribed bed rest and medication.
However, he had a meeting with a publishing office for his new novel that he couldn’t skip so he had reluctantly entrusted your caretaking in the hands of Dumb (James) and Dumber (Sirius).
When your headache becomes unable to be ignored, you put the laundry on hold before facing James and Sirius, “Do we have any painkillers?” you ask, wincing as a sharp pain blasts through your head.
Sirius is at your side before you can even open your eyes, hands reaching to softly cradle your face as he eyes you in concern.
“Prongs has gone to check lovie, let’s get you some hot tea as well yeah—Before you start, it’s just tea, we just want to take care of you” Sirius promises. You still scrutinize him as you walk together towards the kitchen.
You find James frantically searching the cupboards as you appear around the corner and albeit the ache in your head, you can’t help but smile fondly at just how in-element that seems to be for your bespectacled boyfriend.
“We don’t have any painkillers left; I think we finished them all after Moony’s last flare up!” James frets, and while a small part of you is amused at the distress painted on your boyfriend’s face that is arguably disproportionate to the situation at hand, the larger part of you wants to curl up into a ball and die.
You’d been praying for that painkiller, not that you’d ever admit it to James nor Sirius, but you were starting to feel the effects of staying out of bed when you should have been on bed rest.
“James, it’s alright. We can just go pick some up yeah?” Sirius tries to calm down the curly haired boy, you start to cough slightly which immediately grabs both of their attention.
Before you know it, you’re crumpled on the floor as coughs wrack through your body as your chest starts to feel like it’s on fire.
“Jesus—fuck!” Arms are circled around your waste as someone rubs soothing circles on your back before a bowl is placed in front of you to spit your phlegm into.
It’s a pretty disgusting sight on all accounts but you can find no energy to care other than to slump into who you’ve come to realise is Sirius’ arms as you catch your breath.
A glass of water is placed in front of you, and you smile up at James, squeezing his hand softly as you take a sip of the cooling liquid with a small thanks.
Once your breathing has calmed down, you push yourself off up the floor to both of your boyfriends’ protests—yet again and grab your keys before trying to shuffle into your Uggs near the door before you’re intercepted.
“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” James says with his brow furrowed, a strained expression on his face as he tries to hold back his frustration.
“Honey, you just had a pretty severe coughing fit not even 2 minutes ago, Sirius and I have been trying to play by your rules, but I need you to know that there’s no way we’re letting you get in the car to get pain meds.” James firmly insists.
“You either let Sirius or I get it while the other stays here with you—in bed. Or Sirius and I can both stay here and ask Remus to pick some up on the way back from his meeting alright? He should be done soon anyways, it’s almost 1.”
If you had it your way, you’d make it known that you weren’t too happy with either plan but with the way both Sirius and James were watching you solidified that you didn’t really have a choice in the matter and your headache was getting worser by the minute.
You just sighed and stomped your way back to your bedroom where you proceeded to curl up under the covers, awaiting whichever boyfriend of yours decided to take the role of prison guard.
You sigh softly as you close your eyes, snuggling further into the sheets and before you know it, you’re blinking awake to the afternoon sun cascading through the window.
You rub the sleep from your eyes and notice two painkillers and a glass of water lay on your bedside table. You thank whichever one your boyfriends had the foresight and take the pills with a grateful hum.
You make your way back towards the kitchen and lounge area in your apartment and find all three of them in their respective areas. James, cooking what you assume is dinner, Sirius lounging in front of the PlayStation on low volume and Remus on his well-loved armchair with a book in hand.
Remus is the first to notice you, placing his book down onto the side table and opening his arms with a soft coo. You shuffle over to him and lay yourself entirely on him, snuggling into the warmth of his body and comfortable grandpa sweater.
“Oh, so Remus gets all lovey-dovey when he’s home but all we get is protests and stubbornness? I see how it is” Sirius teases, half-heartedly huffing and pouting until you stick your leg out and kick him slightly with a tired grumble.
“You know I don’t need this shit, if I wanted to be abused, I would’ve stayed with my mother.” Sirius whines and Remus, James and you all try to muffle your horrified laughter.
You peak your head out from Remus’ chest to look at Sirius, and you hear muffled footsteps making their way from the kitchen to the couch. James presses a quick kiss on your forehead in passing before slumping down next to Sirius for a snuggle.
“M’sorry for being difficult” you croak, eyes tired and expression grim. You feel and notice all their expressions soften.
Sirius just shakes his head while James eyes you fondly. “Nothing to say sorry for Dove, it’s never a chore to take care of you.” Remus promises, pressing a sweet kiss to your head.
Ooh fun fun fun maybe setting 94 and dialogue 47 with a little apocalypse/wilderness survival au with Remus or any poly ship with Remus in it??
this felt like it could be good for our zombie au! thanks for playing <3
poly!marauders x reader who gets injured on the run [834 words]
CW: ⁹⁴⁾ an isolated, rural cabin, ⁴⁷⁾ “you’re still bleeding- stop and let me look at it.”, no gender markers used for reader but they are referred to as 'dove' 'angel' & 'doll', blood and injury, stitches, hurt/comfort
A/N: there's no comment on what the group is running from or what is making them unsafe so it doesn't have to be a zombie au! I also completely missed the setting - I'm sorry :'(
Sirius runs to help James barricade the door as Remus kneels in front of you.
“No, no.” You start to tell Remus as he straightens out your leg. “Stop. You- ah, you have to go. Get out of here.”
Remus doesn’t have the time to feel bad for the way he actually swats your hands out of his way as he tries to wrap his belt around your leg. The bleeding – thankfully – appears to be slowing some since they’ve laid you down, but he’s not keen on letting you lose any more blood than you already have.
“Remus,” you hiss, “please. Go.”
“Stop fighting me.” He barks back, taking both of your hands and pinning them under his elbow against his ribs. He can’t tell if you’re too weak to fight him or are actually heeding his instructions.
“S’not safe.” You tell him, and Remus can hear the tears in your voice even as he keeps his gaze on your thigh.
“I know it’s not, dove. That’s why we’ve gotta get you stitched up and then find a way out of here.”
“You’re going to die here with me.” You spit then; desperation, fear, and pain creating a cocktail of emotions that is tangible in your voice. Remus wars with the prospect of spitting back at you or assuaging your fears.
“No one’s going to die, doll.” Sirius grunts as James finally jams the door shut with a filing cabinet. “Just let Moony help you.”
“I’m- I- we need to find a way out now.” You decide with a huff, eyes wild as you look at the air vent in the ceiling. “I’m fine, we need to go.”
James is just about to make an argument when you try to sit up; Remus and Sirius both jump to push you back down by your shoulders.
“You’re still bleeding- stop and let me look at it.” Remus says, voice taking on a no nonsense quality that has Sirius’ brows jumping in surprise.
“Better listen to him, angel; last time he had to use his dad voice, Sirius was left pouting for a week.”
“Nine days, actually.” Sirius corrects James as he keeps one hand on your shoulder; it’s disguised as comfort but it’s clear that it’s really to keep you down while Remus readys the first aid kit.
You hiss as Remus pours alcohol over the wound.
“D’you need something to bite, dove?” He asks after disinfecting his own hands – invisible scrapes he didn’t know he had making themselves painfully known – and picking up the suturing kit.
“Just be quick.” You bite out, squeezing your eyes shut so violently that Sirius’ brows twitch in sympathy.
“Pads, stay and help – I’m gonna scout for a safe way out of here.” James announces then, and your eyes fly right back open.
“No, James. No!”
“You need to sit still, doll.” Sirius tells you as Remus grunts in admonishment.
“No. Sirius, go with him.” You insist.
Sirius looks warily between Remus and James. “But-”
“Please. I’m fine, I’m fine.” Your breathing suggests otherwise, though Remus figures that might be remedied if Sirius actually listens to you. “Remus is fine; he knows what he’s doing. Please.”
Sirius leaves the decision up to Remus, cocking a brow at him before Remus relents with a curt nod.
Sirius bends to place a brief kiss to your sweaty brow before standing and rushing to press one to the crown of Remus’ head.
“We’ll be back, okay?”
“Okay.” You let out with a breath, and Remus is grateful for it.
“Ready?” He asks you, and you close your eyes again – jaw set in what can only be described as sheer defiance to your situation – and nod.
Remus does his best to be quick, but his heart clenches with every quiet whimper that leaves your lips, every subtle flinch of your flesh as he works to stitch it back together, and the silent and steady stream of tears heading towards your ears from the corners of your eyes.
Both of you are breathless by the time he finishes.
“I’m sorry.” He almost sobs, surprising you into opening your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m so sorry. It’s done; you did brilliantly.”
You swallow thickly and nod. “Thank you, Rem.”
He wants to tell you not to thank him; he should’ve been gentler, he should’ve taken the time to soothe your worries first, he should’ve found a way to stop this from happening in the first place. He should’ve taken better care of you.
But you’re smiling at him – albeit the smile is watery and sad – and his heart flutters into his throat at the sight of you, alive and okay, still able to smile.
He nods at you.
You’re both startled by the sound of the small window being broken in from the outside.
“Right,” James huffs as he sticks his head in, smiling like this is just another Tuesday, “who’s ready to get the hell out of here?”
