#poly!marauders angst

[colouredbyd]

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.”

[moonstruckme]

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.

[roze-latte-zz]

People you know to people you don’t

𝓟𝓸𝓵𝔂!𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝔁 𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓵𝓪𝔀!𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

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.

[maeverrrb]

Disaster has struck. I've read every single poly!marauders fic that exists and im not even exaggerating.

[sunnami]

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[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

[heaven4lostgirls]

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.

[i-dont-exist-r]

The Tower

Poly!Marauders x ravenclaw! reader

CW: Angst, a really bad prank idea by the one and only marauders, deep author self insert disguised as an x reader lol, reader is mentally and physically...unwell. Marijuana use, ooc Lily n gang

AN: My first writing post in *checks timeline* 3 years? yeah I was bored during work and thought of this. there will be a part 2!! lmk what you think!

For a while you can hold your tongue. The words going through your head dying in the filter from your brain to your tongue. The whispers around you either go unheard on purpose or your head is just so full with other things. "Saw Sirius with a random snake in the courtyard yesterday." Insults hurled in your direction are brushed off, not to say they didn’t hurt. It is mostly late at night, at the top of the astronomy tower with weed in your system that they cut the deepest. During the day you can hold your boyfriends’ hands and let it all bounce off your back. They can hold you when it gets too rough, when the whispers break through your barricades. "Remus was seen studying with marlene McKinnon last night...late!" Many sleepless nights they have spent assuring you that you are enough for all of them, and you don’t need to act any more like somebody to earn their love, it is given because you are you. The only thing it really succeeded in is making you feel was guilty for making them lose sleep on a weeknight. However, you could only stay for so long before they walked you back to your tower, Minnie would take 100 points from Ravenclaw if she caught you in the Gryffindor tower after hours, James said. Not that they have snuck you up recently to quell these worries, it feels like months since you have seen the inside of their (somehow comfier) dorm. 

Today, the wall you have built has crumbled by lunchtime. The boys were nowhere to be seen at breakfast, despite you staying 5 minutes past at the great hall doors to see if they would come running down. Usually this wasn't unusual for Padfoot, ever the oversleeper, and even sometimes for Moony. But with a quick mental check you confirmed it wasn’t near a full moon, and made a note to try and ask in potions. The only class you have with the boys, except moony because the wanker takes advanced potions. Your leg shook the entire way through astronomy (where you double checked it wasn’t near a full moon) and hands shook the entire way across the castle to potions. Unfortunately, you were paired with a housemate for this assignment because it was worth a substantial part of your mid-year scores. Through the whole class you never felt their eyes on you once. You could feel their stare across the castle, but the entire 90 minute class from 3 feet away you didn’t feel them once. Multiple times you looked at them and willed them to look at you for even a second but they never looked up. When the class ended, you packed your bag as quickly as possible to catch up with them but they were already halfway out the dungeon by the time you looked up. Now you were suspicious they were avoiding you. The whispers crawled back into your brain from earlier after breakfast when you were waiting for them desperately. 

“..and I saw them with her in the courtyard,” some hufflepuff murmured to her friends that you couldn’t quite make out behind the pillar, “Yeah her. Looked…intimate” and she flourished it off with giggles that weakened your defensive walls. At lunch, they were there (well James and Sirius) for about 5 minutes before running off before you could even walk up and greet them. After they walked out, Lily, Marlene, and Mary walked into the hall. Prong’s mouth split into a brilliant, heartbreaking smile when he saw Lily as he walked out. He stopped in his tracks and talked to her as Sirius kept walking, and she stopped and talked back. Her bright hair glowing in the sunlight let in by the large stained glass windows. His eyes bounced all over her, from the strand of hair that sat slightly up on her shoulder, the light in her eyes, the way her hands stayed folded and her stance firm and confident. Something stirred in your gut as you watched the whole scene and his eyes didn’t meet yours once. His eyes never ricochetted over you like that, he never smiled like that when you walked into a room. Your heart started to twist and prick at your sinuses. Your defensive walls imploded, a sharp pain forming behind your eyes. Waiting until James finally left you decided to ditch the rest of your classes and replenish your personal stock. Your feet carried you to madame pomfrey’s paradise, the smell of antiseptic invading your senses. Calm footsteps coming from the mother figure’s office approached you paired with a knowing sigh. 

“Are you here to re-stock? You are using more than usual” she said with a hint of disappointment, “If you up your use anymore I'm going to have to force you to fill out a chart.”

“I’m not here for that, I have some left,” You let out a small smile, tapping the breast pocket of your robe. “Do you have any draught of peace?” Pomfrey paused, studying you before considering her next words carefully,

“Do you need the unction too?” A beat of silence passed before a chuckle escaped your lips. 

“Not yet, but I will keep you updated.” She nodded and disappeared into the storeroom, quickly coming back out with 2 bottles.

“You know better than to take both, but I still have to tell you to be careful and take breaks between sips. If you start to get dizzy come straight to me.”

“Yes mom-”

“Stop calling me that” she interrupted your (very old) bit. 

“Yes ma’am” you said jokingly, straightening up and putting your hand to your forehead like a military sergeant. Immediately wincing in pain at the pain shooting up your spine, she started towards you to see what happened but you stopped her and took the bottles out of her hand. “I have more of those too and yes I will take it as soon as I get back.” She simply smiled and waved you off.

“Go back to class”

You were never one to do what people told you, you thought as you made your way back to Ravenclaw tower. Thankfully the riddle was simple, as the draught was already making your brain a little fuzzy. Perhaps you forgot how strong this potion was, you hadn’t had to take it in months. Usually your coping methods allowed you to use minimal help with your emotional control and perception but things felt like they were getting out of control. In the fuzz, you decided to try and get the information out of the one boy that hasn’t been obviously avoiding you. The trek down to the kitchens was less so with the cloud over your mind. This draught was nice, it gave the effect of smoking without the coughing and hassle of finding a place to do it. The elves looked at you funny as you asked if they had any chocolate scones or biscuits but you really don’t care what you had to do in trade for them. Cleaning the ovens on the weekend doesn’t seem too bad. 

With the help of the potion, you force hope into your heart as you approach the fat lady. Sucking in a breath you muttered the passcode Sirius had given you at the beginning of the relationship. When the frame swings open you half scoff at the un-changing passcode and at the fact the passcode was even the right one. You hate that part of your brain that gets so distrusting of them so quickly. Maybe it was right though, because the sight beyond the frame made you want the throw the tray at their heads trickshot style. 

Lily, Marlene, and Mary are sitting in the boy’s laps, one in each. Hands all over each other, books stacked up on the table, quills untouched. Only positive was that Marlene wasn't completely on Remus's lap, just on the arm of the chair. So Remus wasn’t feeling bad, reasoning #1 is bad. Nothing about this has to do with you, judging by the deer in headlights look each of them have. So it is not them planning a date for you, reasoning #2 gone. And they are not studying or crying so this closeness is not justified. Reasoning #3 gone. The cloud over your brain starts to thunder. An orchestra of lip popping and fire crackling sounded out as they tried to find any words for their position. At least Remus and Sirius had the decency to push the girl’s off their laps and look like kicked puppies. 

“You aren’t supposed to be here” Lily said dumbly, still sitting on James’s lap and looking at me owlishly. 

“And you aren’t supposed to be on my boyfriends lap” you snapped, watching James flinch at the bite in the tone. 

“Let’s not get there love” James tried, standing up and making Lily fall off of him with a yelp. It took a lot of strength to not smirk at that. 

“I have ‘been there’ since you and Sirius ran from me after potions. Now is a very different thing.” Your hands stayed clenched around the handles of the tray, as you took a deep steady breath (on the outside, on the inside you were losing it very fast). Quickly you put the tray down on the nearest surface to you before you started hurling the innocent pastries.

“It’s really not what it looks like.” Marlene starts, standing up and starting to close the distance between you two.

“If you come any closer to me I am going to hex you through that fucking window” You pointed at the window to the left of the fireplace, the only one free of books and random artefacts. The words felt thrown from your mouth, like you didn’t control them. You knew it was what you were thinking, but usually you would never let that escape. A gasp came from somebody in the room, you couldn’t tell who the source was. The only thing you could hear was the voice in the back of your head saying you were in fact never enough for them. The only thing you could see was James’s smile as he talked to Lily in the great hall today. Quickly you regained your composure and borderline ran out of the room. Voices echoed through the common room and into the hall after you but you didn’t process them. Blood rushed through your ears and your legs just started carrying you towards an unknown destination. 2 years of promises rang through your ears, both from your 3 loves and their friends. Who have been witness to some of the darker nights. Who have no doubtly heard the rest of my worries secondhand from the boys. Who still did this. You knew that if you had stayed more would have been said, things you couldn’t take back. As much as you want to go back and throw things, and hex them, and yell at them you can’t find the energy to. It won’t be productive nor get anywhere positive. Your legs stop working at the top of the astronomy tower stairs, the items in your breast pocket start sounding like the best idea you have had all day. Sitting against the wall, you position yourself to have a full view of the courtyard as the bells for the last class ring. The yard fills with waves of students going back to their rooms or their study spots before dinner. Among the masses you spot familiar mops of hair, frantically dodging and shoving students out of their way. 

You faintly remember an argument you had last year after they had used the map to find you after a meltdown. You had spent a week mad at them, they had invaded your privacy and your specific request for some time to cool down. You had even threatened to break up with them over it in a heated argument. Explaining to them how your brain works, and how to possibly help next time, it slowly got better. They spent a month spoiling you after you had said you forgave them. 

Thank Rowena you didn’t step forward towards the railing, you think as you see Remus angle his head upward and look up towards the tower. You took a lighter and a joint out of your robe pocket, flicking it and lighting the heavenly objects. The pain from before stays embedded in your spine, the stone floor and the stress not helping. Now to see if they remember where they found you the last time, an unintentional test but one all the same. 

You wish you took up Pomfrey's offer.

Thank you for reading! this is now edited! yes somethings changed from the og post of this because when I was writing pt 2 I had to re word some things for clarity sakes.

[writtenbymoonflower]

how about

and hear me out

room mate! marauders who are obsessed with their shy roomate

oh trust me, hunny, i am hearing you. hope this is okay! shy gn!reader x poly!marauders

cw: nothing really, just fluff, reader is very flustered

1.1k words

Your eyes were blurry as you shuffled into the sunny kitchen. You weren’t used to waking up to the curtains open and breakfast on the stove. You’d lived with people before of course, but none as lively as this bunch. You weren’t complaining, though, you were quickly warming to them, even though you had probably spoken a total of 50 words to your new housemates in the three weeks you had lived with them. Most of these words likely consisting of sorry, excuse me, thank you. 

They had been talking though. Ever since the day you met they had been treating you like their best friend. Not even that. They were all best friends. (Though you considered that wasn’t all, on more than one occasion you had caught Sirius with his head in James’ lap, or Remus’ legs swung over one of the other boys. You had also observed a fair number of kisses between the three boys). But rather, they treated you like something precious, like a porcelain doll they were begging to get a hold of.

That thought made you immediately think of the nickname Sirius (or ‘Pads’ as the boys occasionally called him) had stuck you with. 

“Hey, dollface! You sleep well?” The coal-haired boy looked like he was itching to beckon you under his arm, but resisted. You were thankful, not knowing if you could survive that.

“It was good.” You hummed, barely legible to James over the sound of his bacon sizzling. You padded over to the breakfast table, sitting one chair away from Sirius and his huge bowl of cereal. No sooner had you sat down when a steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of you by a spindly hand. 

“Here you go, dovey.” Remus sat in the chair between you and Sirius. 

“Oi, Moons. You’re blocking my view.” You turned in your chair to look behind you at the ‘view’ he was referring to, brows scrunching in confusion when all you saw was the archway. You heard a light chuckle from Remus and a snicker from Sirius as you whipped back around. The possible meaning dawned on you, making you his your heated face in your mug.

“Don’t torture the poor thing.” James scolded, giving a (what you were sure he believed was comforting) squeeze to your shoulder before he sat on your other side.

“I never tortured anyone.” Remus corrected from behind his morning paper, slowly eating a cup of berry-yogurt. “Collective punishment is a war crime, Prongs” 

“Leavin’ me to the wolves huh, Moons?” Sirius sassed, sipping on his coffee that was mostly just cream and sugar. 

“Oh trust me, I’m sure we all know how much you’d love to be left to the wolf.” James smirked, clearly in on a joke that you had no idea about. He abandoned his teasing to turn to you, fixing a horribly kind look that made your tummy turn to mush. “There is some bacon and eggs on the stove for breakfast, but I’m sure Sirius would let you into his cereal.” 

“There’s also yogurt.” Remus looked pointedly to his near-empty cup. 

“Oh no, I’m okay. I could never take your food. I’m not hungry anyway.” You muttered into your mug. 

“You’ve gotta eat somethin’ babydoll. Can’t have you skipping meals.” Sirius had a playful, if not protective tilt to his tone. 

“I’ll find somethin’ don’t worry.” You scrubbed your bleary eyes with irritated cadence, still on the brink of sleep despite the warm caffeine swirling in your system. Thick fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull your offending hand away. 

“Gentle, sweetheart.” James scolded lightly. “Gonna hurt yourself like that.” He squeezed your hand before letting it go but it felt oddly like your face and your lungs were being squeezed as well. If this was the boys normal, you weren’t sure if you were going to survive. 

You mumbled a sorry looking at the mahogany table like it held the meaning of life, or the extra hour of sleep you desperately craved. 

“What’ve we told you? You say sorry too much, sweet thing. It’s like, your favorite word or something.” Sirius laughed, slurping down his cereal milk and licking his chops. You bit back another apology and rubbed your eyes again, though much more gentle this time. James cooed in sympathy. 

“You still sleepy?” He rubbed your back again, which made you both more heated and more drowsy. 

“Yeah.” You hummed, shamefaced as you played with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. You were thankful that you were still too shy to not wear long pants around them, because they would definitely be able to tell how tensed your legs were. Remus set his paper down.

“Do you have work today, love?” 

“No, ‘s my day off.” James grinned at that, but Sirius spoke up. 

“Happy coincidence! It’s ours too.” He grinned. “How about we all watch something? We can put something on in the lounge room and you can catch a bit of sleep on the settee?” He suggested. You shrunk at the thought of sleeping in front of them, but weren’t opposed to the idea.

“We’ll make sure to wake you up so you don’t sleep the day away.” James added, still rubbing your back. You were easily convinced. 

“Okay, that does sound nice.” Barely above a whisper. 

“We can all have a big lunch when you get up, too. Maybe we could go out?” Remus suggested as he led you gently to the living room. You tried to make your way to the armchair, but you were tugged to the couch. 

“That won’t be comfy, dollface. Here you go.” Sirius sat on the settee close to one arm, Remus by the other. Sirius pulled you between them while James sat on the floor and you whined in protest. 

“No, I’ll move. You sit here, James.”

Remus swore that was the loudest he had ever heard you speak. 

“No, I’m good right here. Thanks though, sweetness.” James reassured. He was sat in the middle, though rather close to Remus so the mousy boy could reach out with one hand and scratch James’ scalp, roving his long fingers through the thick curls. You were so distracted that you were startled when Sirius tugged on you again, maneuvering your head onto a pillow that laid on his lap. You tensed before relaxing into his warmth. You tucked your legs into yourself as Remus covered you with a blanket before going back to loving on James. 

“There you go, baby. That feel nice?” Sirius said, unfamiliarly soft as he stroked your hair, hand a welcome warmth on your scalp. 

Baby. Baby. Baby.

It would surprise you if you woke up from this nap. Your heart had nearly stopped on the spot.