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THE FLAT – PART 8

HALLOWEEN!!! ♥️🐺♥️

Remus Lupin x fem!reader, Marauders Era AU, Post-Hogwarts (1978-1979)

Word Count: 19K

PROLOGUE P 1 P 2 P 3 P 4 P 5 P 6 P 7 P8 P 9 P10A P10B P11 P12 P13 EPILOGUE

SUMMARY: Three days in the life. Three days where we go from sweet moments that renew bonds, warm hearts, and heal souls, into…

HALLOWEEN AT THE FLAT!!! FUN! SPOOKY! ROMANCE! DISASTER! BATS AND CATS AND FILTHY RATS! RIDICULOUS, UNHINGED, BATSHIT SITUATIONS! IMMATURE WAND HUMOUR! ‘BYE, JENNIFER!’

Need I say more?

TAGS: Marauders Era AU. Slow, slow, slow burn. Best friends to lovers. Flatmates with feelings. Canon divergence (no war, no deaths). Soulmate vibes.

WARNINGS: BRIEF MENTIONS OF SMUT (18+) Angst. Fluff! Language, as always. The most ridiculous, soap-opera vibes, over-the-top, batshit, crashout events — because I just needed a bit of a crack-fic vibe to unwind from all this angst and slow-as-hell burn!!! I REGRET NOTHING!!!!!!!

♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️

Sunday, 29 October 1978

It’s morning, you think. Another grey, storm-soaked Sunday in London.

Your sleepy eyes can’t make sense of the time, not with the sun smothered behind dark grey clouds like this. But if you had to guess, maybe… nine? Ten? Ten-thirty?

You could just crane your neck and look at the clock on your bedside table. Or reach for your watch, also there.

But you don’t dare to move a muscle. You don’t want to stir. Or give away that you’re awake.

Because you don’t want Remus to move from where he is. Still spooning you.

Truth is… You really don’t feel like leaving this bed at all.

You just want to stare at the fat streaks of rain chasing each other down the glass walls, listen to the distant roll of thunder, and the soothing hiss of rainwater drowning out the world.

And just feel the warm, soft, perfect body snuggled into you.

The lean weight of him that fits so perfectly. His chest pressed to your back, rising and falling with each slow breath. The soft brush of his exhale fanning the back of your neck, making your hairs tickle and sway at every sigh.

One scarred, freckled arm is draped across your waist. A warm hand resting against your bare stomach, where your vest has ridden up in the night. Soft, long fingers twitching in sleep, unconsciously stroking, pulling you closer, as if he’d want to be yours.

Your curvy bum touches a part of him you couldn’t have if he was awake. You can’t help but relish on how deliciously perfect it feels to… feel his crotch against you like this, right now.

You could almost allow yourself to enjoy this perfect feeling. Almost.

If it weren’t for the miserable bile of shame and regret turning in your stomach.

You still feel it. A phantom-burn deep inside you, where Robbie pushed into you last night. Where he sheathed himself and opened you up and reached a place inside never touched before. Because you forced him to.

You know ‘forced’ is not quite right. He was kind, gentle, more patient and thoughtful than you deserved. He was alright with it. He wanted you, too. It was consensual. Disjointed and chaotic and wrong, yes. But consensual.

You still feel disgusted with yourself. For using your friend like that. Because that’s exactly what you did. You used him.

You were selfish, foolish, and reckless last night. Not just with your body and soul, but with Robbie’s as well.

And Robbie deserves so much better. More than to be someone’s distraction, someone’s petty revenge. He deserves an unforgettable love story. Someone who will meet him with the same softness he gives so freely.

The thought alone is enough to choke you. An audible sniffle slips out before you can stop it, betraying you to the quiet room.

Dammit.

“Dovey? You alright?”

Dammit.

“Mmm… yeah. Didn’t mean to wake you, sorry.”

“You didn’t. I was awake already. Just… didn’t want to move.”

That raspy morning voice, all low and rough against your neck… you want to drink it in, let it swallow the shame, let it be the only thing in your head.

“Turn around? Let me see you?” He caresses your soft belly encouragingly.

You don’t want him to see your blotchy, mascara-smudged, tear-stricken face. You probably look like death right now.

But you turn, slowly. You’d do anything for this voice. This boy.

Remus looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. For one dizzy second, you almost believe he could be in love with you, even.

“Morning, beautiful.”

Your cheeks burn. “G’morning.”

He props himself up on one elbow to see you better. He then gently removes the hair stuck to your face and picks out a mascara-tinged crustie from the corner of your right eye.

“We’re still sad today, hm?”

“Mm-hm.” You don’t want to talk about it, not now.

“Alright. Let me spoil you a bit then?”

“How?”

“How does brekkie in bed sound?”

“Rem, you don’t have to.”

“You brought me back from the dead, dove. Nursed me back to health for seven years. You ran yourself ragged taking care of me this last moon. I should bring you breakfast in bed every morning, for the rest of our lives.”

The implication of what such a ritual would mean hits you like an arrow to the sternum. The bruise in your chest sharpens. You want it, oh how you want it.

Remus looks at you, blinking slowly, deep in thought.

“Speaking of everything you do, and what I do in return… I must ask for your forgiveness.”

“You already did last night.”

“I feel the gravity of my transgressions requires further grovelling on my part.”

“Is that so?” You smirk a little. He smirks back.

“Yeah.” He takes a breath and turns serious. “For… the horrible things I said to you and how I treated you on Friday, in particular. For being a daft sod all month… take your pick.”

You remember. Of course you do. The venom in his eyes and his words. The worst row you two ever had.

“Getting a glass of water in the face was a mercy. I deserved to be hexed. Decked. Or at least slapped.” He chuckles before continuing.

“What I said to you was… despicable. What I implied. As if you'd be doing anything wrong by…” he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“Rem… I also said some cruel things. You've got to forgive me as well. I don’t believe any of that.”

“How about we forgive each other then?”

You nod and smile. “Already done.”

“Me too, dovey.”

He pulls you close and presses a kiss between your eyes — his pouty, warm lips lingering for a few seconds. You have to fight the urge to chase those perfect lips with your own.

Then he gets up and you feel his absence immediately.

You close your eyes and listen to the rain.

— ☽ ☀︎ —

When you open your eyes again, he’s back with a full tray. Waffles, sliced strawberries, bangers, scrambled eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice. More than enough food for two.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says as you sit up.

“This is absolutely ridiculous.” You lift the duvet so he can slide back under, placing the tray between your laps. You kiss his cheek; he smells like fried sausage.

You two eat and drink everything slowly, enjoying every bite and every bit of each other's closeness. Remus feeds you forkfuls of eggs and bangers when he notices you getting lost in your head again. He also cuts the waffles into little squares for you, and places little slices of strawberry over each piece.

Finally, when you’re full, he floats the tray away with a flick of his wand.

“Good?”

“Good. Perfect. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

You want to cry at the intimate pet name. You want to climb over him and kiss him senseless. You want to be his love for real, without restraint.

“So… Bad date?” Remus tries, unsure of how much you want to say, or how much he wants to hear.

You lower your head and sigh, but decide to open up to him. He’s your best friend after all.

“Yeah. Well, no. Not on his part. I made it bad.”

“Hard to believe that’s possible.”

“Not only it was, but I made something nice… turn horrible.”

Remus waits patiently for more.

“I made a terrible mistake. I thought I wanted… something that I didn’t. I led him on. Made him do it. He was gracious and patient and sweet, and I…”

You rub your eyes in frustration.

“And then… I made him stop. I forced him into me and then I made him stop and take it all back…”

Tears start running down your face again.

Remus feels sick as he realises what exactly you are telling him, but he keeps listening.

“And he still wants to be my friend. My partner. After all that. And I’m so ashamed I can’t—”

A sob escapes you.

“Hey. Come here.”

Remus puts his arms around you, pulling you closer. You bury your wet face in his neck.

“I’m sorry you're feeling like this, dovey. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You have the right to change your mind at any point.”

“That’s what he said, too.”

“Then he’s a decent bloke. I’m glad to hear that.”

Remus feels relief and grief all at once. It’s overwhelming.

As for you, you couldn’t begin to describe the cacophony of thoughts and feelings crashing like waves through you. The shame and grief from last night still burning through you like acid. The heartbreaking affection for Robbie and how he treated you despite what you did. The bliss threatening to turn you into a puddle in the arms of the boy holding you now. The cruel paradox that he is the catalyst for your mistakes with Robbie, and he’s the only antidote for all the pain, shame, and grief your actions caused. And, above all, the unbearable longing that causes your throat to close up and your breath to falter and your eyes to water and your heart to thump desperately inside your chest.

You finally calm down after a few minutes of being held in silence. The rain still falls steady around you, almost as soothing as Remus’s arms.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

You. All I need is you.

“Nothing. This is… perfect. Thank you.”

Remus scoots down to get closer to your height, and places his head on your shoulder.

“I’m so glad we’re talking. I miss this.”

“Me too. I miss you. I miss… us.”

“Good thing we know where we are. We just have to find our way back to us, yeah?”

You let out a sigh.

“No? You don’t want me anymore?”

Sweet boy… you have no idea…

“I… do. Of course I do. It’s just… Your uh, lady friend… I probably shouldn’t even be touching you like this. Oh Godric, if she finds out we slept together—”

“No, I don't want her! I want—” The desperate declaration just… jumps out of him. He reins it in just in the nick, and takes it down a few notches, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t want to have anything to do with her, ever again.”

“Oh?” Your heart skips.

“Speaking of terrible mistakes… I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to end it with her. Not that there’s anything real to end. But, since she thinks there is, I need to make it clear.”

You don’t know what to say to this. It’s not like you can cheer. That would be inappropriate. And you are not a good enough actress to pretend you’re sorry they didn’t work out.

“Good luck with that, I guess.”

“Thanks.” He huffs a sarcastic chuckle.

“What do you feel like doing today?” Remus changes the subject.

“Honestly? Absolutely nothing.” Nothing but staying in your arms like this, please…

“How about… we just move to the sofa, pyjamas and blankets and all, and watch cartoons or whatever daft thing happens to be on the telly today? I’ll make your favourite sweet popcorn and anything else you want to eat; I’ll even share my secret chocolate stash with you. We’ll just be lazy sods today.”

“I like that. I can do that.”

♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️

The Mumbly Cartoon Show is on. Lieutenant Mumbly is currently mumbling and giggling through his attempts to issue a ticket to some pesky Martians who parked their flying saucer illegally.

You and Remus are practically cuddling on the sofa — giggling like children, mouths full of popcorn and Maltesers.

Then the phone rings, shrill and ominous, and both of you freeze. Emily has thoroughly ruined the magic of the muggle telephone for you.

“I’ll get it! Morning!” Sirius thunders down the stairs, hair a wild mess, clad only in his boxers.

“Hello?”

(…) “You rang here, mate. You should be telling me who this is first… Andy darling.”

You and Remus look at each other and smile, both relieved at who is calling — or rather, who isn’t.

(…) “Of course I recognise your sweet, sweet voice, handsome.”

(…) “Aww… you remember my voice too then, I’m touched.”

(…) “I’m staying here for a while. Why? Wanna join?”

(…) “Yeah, I can pass on your message. Hit me.”

(…) “Oh, that’s fabulous! She’ll be chuffed, as will I. What time are you coming by?”

(…) “Brilliant. I’ll tell her. And I’ll have tea and cuddles waiting!”

(…) “Sorry, gorgeous, flirting with you is far too fun for me to quit now.”

(…) “See you soon then. Bye bye!”

Sirius hangs up. “Oi, Sunshine! Your brother is coming by round four, with a big surprise for you!”

“Did he say what it is?”

“That would defeat the point of the surprise, wouldn’t it? Excuse me, I must make myself pretty for the visitor!” Sirius skips back upstairs.

“Shameless... and delusional.” Remus mutters fondly, shaking his head. Truth is, he wants Sirius to find love just as much as you do.

— ☽ ☀︎ —

When Sirius answers the door at four fifteen looking like a glam rock god, Andrew is there, holding two large electronics-labelled cardboard boxes and a large black plastic bag on his elbow that goes down to his ankles. Behind him, two uniformed blokes are hauling a huge pallet container on top of a wheeled dolly cart.

“Don’t just stand there, Black, grab some of these.”

Sirius grabs the boxes while Andrew holds the door open for the delivery men.

“Where d’you want it, boss?” One of the men asks.

“Loony, Remus, can you move the telly rack out of the way, please? You can take the 25-inch to your bedroom now if you like. This will go in its place.”

“What’s all this then?” You ask.

“These,” he points to the boxes in Sirius’s arms, “are Betamax and VCR players. This bag here is full of Betamax and VHS films I found for you. And this,” he taps the top of the pallet, “this is the G.E. Widescreen 1000. It just became available here. Couldn’t pass it up. Got one for me and one for you.”

“Andy! This is mental!” You’ve heard of these gigantic television sets. Sounded like science fiction to you, or maybe one of these pieces of technology only available to NASA.

The delivery blokes carefully disassemble the pallet, revealing the enormous wooden cabinet with the biggest screen you’ve ever seen. As they fit it into place and test the connections, Sirius hovers close, watching the process with round eyes, mesmerised.

“Blimey! This will be perfect for the Halloween party! The purebloods will lose their minds! Can’t wait for Jamie to see this, he’ll shriek!” Sirius is giddy like a kid at Christmas.

“Great, now the two prats will really be here all the bloody time.” Remus secretly loves the idea, of course.

Once the professionals are gone, their pockets lined with Andrew’s generous tip, the four of you gather round like it’s a shrine from outer space. Remus flicks his wand to draw the curtains, Andrew presses the remote, and suddenly the whole room is bathed in flickering light. Larger, brighter, more colourful than you thought possible. Muggle magic.

“Happy birthday, Loony Tunes.” Andrew squeezes your shoulder fondly.

“My birthday’s not until the tenth of March and you know it.”

Sirius smirks and elbows Remus. Him and Jamie have told him before — if being born the exact same day, on top of everything else, wasn’t proof of soulmateness, then what was?

“Then you can’t complain when I get you nothing in March. Or for Christmas. This should cover both, yeah?”

You leap straight up your brother’s torso and pepper his face with sloppy kisses.

“Geroff! you're slobbering on me, pack it in!”

“You gave me a cinema at home! You luuuv me!”

“Shove off, I don’t, weirdo!” He says, full of love for his baby sister.

Remus and Sirius melt inside, lusting for the pretty siblings.

“Stay for a film marathon?” You ask him.

“I’ll stay for two. Double bill.”

“Deal. I’ll let you pick the first one.”

“Star Wars, duh.” He pulls the tape he put on top of the pile inside the bag.

“Like I even need to ask…” you beam at him.

“I’ll make more popcorn. What’s your preference, Andrew?” Remus asks, moving into the kitchen.

“Salty please, thanks.”

“You didn’t ask mine, Moony!” Sirius whines, going to grab drinks from the fridge.

“You can have whatever everyone else is having.”

“Hear that, Andy love? We’re sharing.”

“Stay the hell away from me, Black.”

You laugh and start perusing your new film collection, finally forgetting your gloom for a blessed afternoon.

♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️

Monday, 30 October 1978

After a gruelling morning of double Biochem from half seven till half eleven, you feel hollowed out and brain-dead. You haven’t spoken much to Robbie, though you still slid into your usual seat beside him and swapped a few notes. He’s been his usual cheery, congenial self — which you’re not sure makes things better or worse.

As you’re filing out of the hall for a much-needed two-and-a-half-hour lunch break, you sidle up to him, tentative.

“Hey. Got plans for lunch?”

“Not really. What d’you fancy?”

“I was hoping for a proper sit-down somewhere quiet. So we can… talk. If that’s alright.”

“That sounds grand. Come on, I’ll take you to the Eagle and Child. My shout.”

“No, we split.”

“Fine, we split. Like the boring old mates we are now.” He bumps your shoulder and grins, wide and easy, and it does wonders for the knot in your stomach.

— ☽ ☀︎ —

The Eagle and Child is cosy in that quintessential Oxford pub sort of way. Dark beams, snug booths, the pictorial evidence on the walls that this was Tolkien’s and Lewis’s favourite spot to hang, and the smell of ale and roast drifting from the bar. You and Robbie have claimed a little corner table near the fire, your plates scraped clean of shepherd’s pie and chips.

Now pudding’s arrived: treacle sponge for him, spotted dick with custard for you. And with every sweet bite, you feel the knot in your stomach tightening.

It’s now or never.

“I know I said we’d split, but really… I ought to get the bill today.”

“Why’s that?” Robbie forks the last of his pudding, giving you that maddening grin.

“Because I invited you. To… apologise.”

“For what, love?”

“Come on… for Saturday.” Your eyes become interested in the grain pattern on the table.

“But you already apologised.”

“Not properly. I was— distressed. And hysterical.”

“No, you weren’t hysterical. Embarrassed, mortified maybe. But it still counted, lovely. Emotional apologies do count.”

“Just— please let me do it properly, alright? I need to feel like I’ve sufficiently atoned.”

“Fine. How about I order the priciest bottle of house red they’ve got. On you. Would that sufficiently atone for all your transgressions against me?”

You actually pause, weighing it up, until you catch the wicked glint in his eye.

“Fuck off.” You can’t help but begrudgingly smirk a little, slightly vexed at his seemingly endless capacity for taking the mickey.

Robbie is still laughing a bit when he says, “Go on then, beautiful girl. Lay it on me. I’m all ears.”

“Alright. Erm…” You’re not nearly as prepared as you thought.

Robbie reaches across the table and covers your hand with his. The warmth cuts straight through your nerves, centring you.

“Right then. I uh… I thought I wanted something… with you. And in the middle of it, I realised I didn’t. I should’ve known, by my frantic, impatient attitude towards you, no softness at all… which isn't the sort of person I am. And so I put you in a terrible position. You were trying to be nice, and gentle, of course you were, and I was… a bloody steamroller. I used you to… numb something. A pain that wasn’t yours to numb.”

Your eyes are welling up, but your face and voice remain steady, like you’re a barrister prosecuting yourself and listing your own crimes so justice can be served.

“I feel like I violated you, and it’s eating me alive. I touched your body and your soul for entirely selfish reasons. I got you all worked up and coaxed along and then… I backed out and left you… unfinished, unsatisfied, demoralised, freaked out, and probably deeply disappointed.”

“I actual–”

“Just… Let me finish before you offer any rebuttal, please.”

“Rebuttal? What is this, Parliament?”

“Stop trying to make me laugh, this is serious.”

“Sorry. Proceed, Speaker.”

You whack him with your napkin.

“I just need you to look me in the eye, and acknowledge that what I did to you was not alright, but you choose to forgive me for the despicable thing I did anyway. I mean, if you want to forgive me. I would understand if you chose not to. But just— don’t say that it’s alright. Don’t say there’s nothing to forgive. Acknowledge that there is something to be fixed here, something I broke, or bruised; and then make your decision to forgive me or not. So we can still be friends. Please.”

Robbie has never seen you so serious. So grave. This really is important to you.

“Stop torturing that poor napkin and give me your other hand, go on.”

You let him hold both your hands.

“I wish our date could have ended… as well as it started. I did feel disappointed. Not in you, just in the overall situation. The realisation that… we're not meant to be after all. I understand you made a mistake. But I also understand that you caught said mistake, before it went on and became worse, and more traumatising… for you.”

His thumbs skim gently over your knuckles, and his kind blue eyes are both windows to his soul, and microscope lenses that probe yours.

“You think you did this terrible thing to me, but I’m being completely honest here when I tell you that I don’t see it that way. You’re young, and you’re so, so… pure… so untainted by the ugliness of the world. You’re just now learning about yourself, what you want romantically speaking, what you love, who you love. Mistakes are inevitable. Getting things wrong the first time? That’s just part of growing up, love.”

Your throat threatens to close around a lump. Robbie squeezes your hands ever so slightly, his face becoming even softer.

“I forgive you for leading me on when you didn’t really want that with me. But, Y/N? You didn’t violate me. I was there and I wanted it too. Violating someone requires premeditation. Intention to harm. Pathological selfishness. Violence. Cruelty. That’s not who you are or what you did, not even close. You didn’t hurt my body or my soul. I think you accidentally hurt yours, and I just want you to be alright. I wish I could magically vanish the part that hurt you from your mind, forever.”

Your tears spill over despite your best efforts to swallow them back down. Robbie watches one fall from your left eye and drift slowly towards your jaw. He leans closer.

“Wanting something to be good and nice is not a mistake. Realising the thing you thought you wanted would ultimately hurt you if you carried on, is not a mistake. Changing your mind about sex, at any point, is not a mistake. It’s not mean. Wanting to feel the magic of love when you finally do it for real, with the one you want, the one you love and desire… that’s the goal. You deserve it, love. I want you to have that. Like I told you that night, you deserve more than just ‘nice.’ You deserve something unforgettable.”

“How can you not feel used by me in the least?” You wipe at your damp cheeks with the heel of your hand, almost cross with him for being so bloody gracious.

“Because by that measurement I’d have to say I used you too.”

Your brow knits, incredulous. “What do you mean?”

Robbie leans back slightly, running a thumb over the lip of his glass before answering.

“Y/N, I’ve been shamelessly flirting with, and pursuing you, from the first day we met. Because you’re lovely, yes. Beautiful, funny, clever, and good through and through. But especially because… with you, all boxes would be checked. For me to some extent, but especially my parents. So I latched on to that idea. Even if, deep down, I knew that it wouldn’t be… true love. It would be fun, and lovely. Convenient. Functional. But not… really real.”

Robbie leans back in his chair, swirling the dregs of wine in his glass before setting it down. His smile falters.

“Truth is, love, I’ve been… wrestling with myself for a long time. Since I was a boy, really.”

You wait, quiet, giving him space.

“Growing up in York, I was always the soft one. Too French, too posh, too swotty, too bloody delicate. The lads at school never let me forget it. Sissy this, pouf that. If I wasn’t getting mocked, I was getting hit. Just for acting and speaking the way I did. Just for liking books more than football or fights. For wanting to catch butterflies in the playground and smiling at pretty things.”

Your chest aches for him. “Oh, Robbie…”

“My parents weren’t much help. Both obsessed with their medical careers, appearances, traditions, and the sacred Emery name. I was just another duty, another thing for them to get right and better than everyone else. Certainly not something they wanted to deal with when I cried that boys were smashing my face in for being… different. Me.”

He huffs a laugh, bitter at the edges.

“The only one who ever saw me? Mamie Céleste. My gran. She’s… bloody incandescent. She’s sixty-eight now, has more energy than most twenty-year-olds, sharp tongue, and a huge heart. She taught me to love myself, even when no one else seemed to. Every summer in Rouen, she made me feel like I wasn’t broken or wrong. She still does. She’s a never-dimming beam of light, you know? Pure light. Like you.”

Your throat goes tight.

Robbie clears his own. “Puberty hit, and so did the boys. Harder. Until I kept growing, and one day I was taller than them. Then rugby turned me broad and menacing enough that they finally backed off. Then girls became interested and interesting, and I shagged them all. One after another, until no one dared question my manhood. Not even me. Not even when summers in Rouen meant flings with twinky French lads who kissed me soft and made me feel… wanted. Loved, even. For however long it lasted.”

He looks at you, his smile now faint and fragile.

“I found myself comfortable with both boys and girls and no longer questioning it. They both stole a piece of my heart every time. I was fooling around with everybody and I felt on top of the world. I even slept with one of my old bullies one time. Great bottom, he turned out to be.” You can’t help but giggle at that. He does too, shrugging, proper smug, as he should.

Robbie runs his index finger over your pudding plate to catch a bit of custard and taste it. “So, you see, using someone to learn yourself is not always an ugly, cruel thing, as long as it’s consensual and made clear. We all do it. We all try each other out for a little taste of love, sometimes. Until we find… whatever our souls are truly hungry for.”

“I’ve always had a feeling that underneath all this Casanova cheek you are a hopeless romantic.” You tell him with a shy smile.

Robbie laughs and shrugs, “Aren't we all?” Your smile grows, warm and open for the first time today.

“My straight-laced, sanctimonious parents though… They still expect the good old story: marriage, heirs, the Emery legacy marching on. They don’t know of my… proclivities. Or they choose not to acknowledge it.”

“Except mamie Céleste.” You chime in, already madly in love with her.

“Except Mamie.” His grin brightens at the name. “She sees me. Loves me for me. Tells me to find love above all else. Doesn’t care who it is with. Just that it’s real.”

“I would love to meet your Mamie.”

“She would love to meet you.”

You two gaze and smile at each other — unhurried, and free.

“Two questions,” you add, feeling lighter than on a broom mid-flight. “Well, one really, 'cos I think I know the answer to the first.”

“Which is...?”

“How'd you get so wise.” You two answer together, “Mamie Céleste...” And chuckle, fondly.

“Your second question?”

“What's a... bottom?”

Robbie laughs so loud and high-pitched, several patrons either frown or join in, having no idea why. “Oh, you pure, pure, innocent sunshiny girl!”

☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎

As the two of you walk out of the pub arm in arm — the bonds of your friendship not only completely mended but deeper, more intimate, and unshakeable as ever — you can’t stop the chorus chanting in your head like a bloody terrace crowd: “Sirius! Sirius! Robbie and him would be… perfect!”

“You have to come to our Halloween party tomorrow. And don’t even think about saying no.”

“I don’t have a costume and I won’t have any time to get one.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a simple but clever idea, and I can help you sort the costume.”

“I’m not wearing ridiculous red pants over blue tights and a cape, if that’s what you’ve got in mind.”

You laugh. “Don’t worry, that’s not quite what I had in mind. But good guess, and close enough, Clark.”

Before you go back for the afternoon block of classes, you nip to a costume shop near the city centre and easily find what you need for Robbie.

♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️

TUESDAY, 31 OCTOBER 1978

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

🎃 HALLOWE’EN PARTY!!! 🎃

🎃 AT THE L/N–LUPIN FLAT!!! ☺︎⭐︎☺︎⭐︎☺︎⭐︎ 🎃

If you’re receiving this owl, it means you’ve been chosen — personally, by me — to attend the best Hallowe’en party of 1978. RSVP at once by owl, and LET’S BLOODY PARTY!

— Sirius Black, the one and only! 🐾

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Hallowe’en at the flat has Sirius diving head-first into his natural giftings and true calling: party animal, scheming madman, mayhem ringmaster. After convincing you and Remus (read: you needed no convincing at all, Remus endured two days of fiery debate before throwing up his hands in defeat) that this was the place to host your first post-Hogwarts big celebration, Sirius has dedicated every last brain cell to the cause. His only aim: make it the most legendary bash of 1978.

Which of course means he needs all the help he can get from you, Remus, Lily, and James to bring his madcap ideas to life, since all he can focus on is décor and how many mixed cocktails he wants to invent.

Remus comes home from St. Ailbe’s just a few minutes after you late afternoon, and your heart nearly gives out. Perched on his head are the fluffiest grey wolf ears you’ve ever seen, and his face is painted up like the sweetest little wolf cub: soft white and grey streaks finger-painted along his forehead and jaw, whiskers inked onto his cheeks, and a black nose dabbed right at the end. Too adorable for words.

“Oh, my Godric! You look like a lupine little dream! A wolf? You?? How come?”

“I set the year-fours a project on names and surnames last week,” he explains sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Apparently, several of them decided to research mine as well as their own. They surprised me during the Hallowe’en celebration today and insisted I let them paint me… like this. They even scraped together for the ears and this shirt, I couldn't really say no.”

That’s when you notice it — under his cardigan, a black tee stamped with a giant silver full moon, and the silhouette of a lone wolf howling at its centre.

He looks shy, unsure whether to be embarrassed or touched, and you could just about die. You want to kiss him senseless.

“You look absolutely smashing. Adorable, really. And this is a perfect costume for tonight.”

He's not so sure. A wolf? Too close for comfort. Even though pretty much everyone in attendance knows of his condition, and accepts him as he is, nonetheless. This is exactly what you remind him of next.

“Look. We can get that comfy grey cardi of yours I like, and I can charm it to look extra furry. That's all you need and you're perfect. Everyone will think it's brilliant or cute. Probably both.”

“I have to admit, I like the bit where all I have to do is chuck on a jumper and be done with one part of this nonsense.”

“That’s the spirit, Wolfie.” You ruffle the back of his hair before turning back to help Sirius charm the jack-o’-lanterns. You don’t see his blush or the hopelessly lovesick look he gives your back.

— 🎃 —

You and Remus spend the rest of the afternoon helping Sirius with the last touches round the flat. Magic whirls through every corner, subtle enough to pass as clever “special effects” if any muggles were to clock it: jack-o’-lanterns bobbing lazily near the ceiling; enchanted cobwebs glimmering silver in the candlelight; Victorian portraits bewitched to shriek or cackle if you got too close. Even the hi-fi sound system on the sideboard is charmed to switch between eerie soundscapes and muggle hit records without anyone lifting a finger.

It feels like a little piece of Hogwarts got transferred into London tonight, and you proudly admit that you are loving Sirius's vision so far.

After everything is looking “spookylicious-ly fabulous” (Sirius’s coined phrase), you and Sirius go to your suites to shower and change into your costumes. James and Lily will bring all the party food, which Effie enthusiastically helped to prepare. They should arrive soon.

You insisted on Sirius being Batman. Over several days you cleverly shoved your vision into his head (“You and I are going to be a pair, for shits and giggles!") and got him the bat ears, but he’s running with it full throttle now, adding his own touches, all approved by you, of course. A smear of black shadow round his eyes serves as a ‘punk-rock bat mask’ of sorts, his wizard’s cloak re-styled into the iconic cape. Underneath: a sheer black V-neck clinging to his chest, runic tattoos on his chest peeking, half-teased. And, of course, those scandalously low-slung leather trousers so tight Jim Morrison himself would approve. Or lust after.

You’re his Catwoman, naturally. Wearing a short and form-fitting black dress skimming every curve and ending high on your thighs; sheer black tights and ankle boots to match. Smoky eyes and crimson lipstick for a pop of colour; a painted nose and whiskers like a cartoon come to life to be added last; fluffy black ears and a tail that you charmed to move realistically. Sirius did your nails black after you painted his the same colour yesterday evening, both of you cackling like sleepover besties on the sitting room rug.

Together you’re a wicked double act: looking dangerous, a little camp, and far too attractive for anyone’s good.

And then there will be Robbie. When he shows up with his Clark-Kent-to-Superman look, the three of you will be a superhero trifecta. All part of your secret matchmaking scheme.

— 🎃 —

You knock once before slipping into Remus's room, your costume already on. He’s resting on his bed, sitting against the headboard, reading a book, and sipping on calming tea.

When he looks up at you and sees the little black dress, the ears, the tail, the feline eyes and red lips, Remus forgets how to breathe. His brain stutters like a record skipping. And down goes the tea all over his shirt. “Ah! bollocks...” he mutters while charming himself dry. “Tergeo...”

“Hey,” you say, casual, like you’re not the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did you find the jumper? Let’s see.”

“Uh— what? Oh. Right. Here.” He stumbles out of bed and fumbles the grey cardigan into your hands like he’s never touched clothes before.

You charm it quickly, making soft white-and-grey fur bloom across the wool. You also throw a quick charm on his wolfy ears, so they come alive and move like they’re real.

“There. Let’s see it on.”

He does, obedient as ever, and you fuss with the shoulders, tugging it straight, making sure the full moon tee is still visible under it.

It's painfully domestic and intimate, like a wife dressing her husband before work. It nearly kills him.

“Oh no,” you murmur. “Your nose and whiskers smudged.”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Might’ve forgotten they were there and touched my face.”

“Sit. I’ll fix them. Then you can do mine.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, wide-eyed, as you climb onto his lap without a second thought, straddling him to reach. His body goes rigid; his mind, liquid.

You lean close, tongue peeking out in concentration as you dip the tiny brush into the little pot of black liquid liner and glide it carefully over his skin, whiskers and little heart-shaped black snout reborn under your steady hand.

He can’t take his eyes off your red mouth.

“Can I blow on you?” You ask, voice almost a whisper.

“What?!” He's pretty sure he just misunderstood you.

“Blow, on your face. So it dries faster.” You clarify.

“Oh. Yeah, that's fine.”

You blow soft, warm, minty breath on both his cheeks. Your crimson lips forming the most beautiful, puckered shape he's ever seen.

“There,” you declare softly. “Adorable again. Don’t touch your face.”

“Alright, boss.” His voice comes out hoarse.

“My turn now.” You press the little bottle into his hand. “Do me, please.”

Blow you… Do me… Fucking hell...

Bloody focus, Remus!

Your knees bracket his thighs as you settle on him, your hands resting lightly against his chest for balance. He feels your warmth through the thin cotton of his tee, right over his pounding heart, and swears you must hear it. You tip your face up, trusting him completely.

“How many?” His voice falters again.

“Three on each side, I think.”

He dips the fine brush back into the tiny pot of liner, then leans close. Each stroke is unbearably gentle, feathering along your skin as if he’s painting on porcelain. His lips part in concentration, his breath mingling with yours.

You lock into his honeyed-green eyes and find yourself trapped there. His pupils are blown wide as he studies the curve of your cheek, the brush steady in his fingers.

Heat coils low in your belly, rushing outwards until you’re sure he must feel it: the warmth radiating from your tights into his trousers, the unbearable furnace sparking where your thighs bracket his.

So much. So close. So good.

His heartbeat kicks hard beneath your palms, and you close your eyes for a moment and focus on the rhythm. It takes you straight back to when you had your stethoscope on him for the first time, and how beautiful his heart sounded. You ache to do it again. You ache to do so many things with this man.

When he finishes the last delicate curve of your heart-shaped cat nose, you open your eyes, and you’re so close. Close enough that if either of you moved a centimetre forward, it would all be over.

Remus’s eyes are now blown dark, pupils swallowing the colour until they’re almost black. They flick down to your lips and back up again. A nanosecond, no more. But you see it, and you do the same — tracing the shape of his pouty mouth with your mind, lips so lush they would never need any cosmetics help to look kissable and tempting as hell.

You two move slightly closer. On instinct. Hypnotised. No thinking at all.

“Oi! Sorry to interrupt,” Sirius bursts in, still shirtless, leather pants still unbuttoned, voice all sing-song, “but Emily is on the felly for you. What should I say?”

You nearly leap out of Remus’s lap, crashing back to bleak, Emily-containing reality.

Ever since Arthur Weasley once called it a fellytone during a Ministry visit, the name stuck like a private joke between the marauders. Although Remus had to explain to the other three why it was funny at first.

Remus groans. “Tell her I’m busy tonight and tomorrow. I’ll see her at the library Thursday and we can talk then.” His tone makes clear he means: end it then.

Sirius pads off, muttering something rude about the ‘whiny blondie bitch’ under his breath. As he picks up the receiver to relay the message to Emily, James and Lily arrive, and he exchanges greetings with them, yelling loudly enough for anyone — anyone — on the other end to catch.

“Oi! Who are you supposed to be, Prongsy, Snivellus?”

James's laugh booms back: “Fuck off! I'm a sexy vampire! At least I’m not prancing about in leather trousers, Pads.”

“I’ll have you know,” Sirius shouts, holding the receiver away from his face, “I’m BatBloke, mysterious muggle hero of the night!”

“It’s Batman, Sirius!” Lily yells, shrieking with laughter. “Merlin’s sake, learn your superheroes!”

“Just put all the food and sweets around however you fancy. I want people to have access to whatever they want anywhere!” Sirius instructs them.

“We got it! We're rather good at parties, you know, but thanks!” Lily sasses him.

“Anyway, Jennifer,” Sirius says breezily into the mouthpiece, always happy to antagonise the demon-girl every chance he gets, “Remus is terribly busy tonight and tomorrow, but he’ll see you Thursday at the library, alright? Gotta go. ‘Night!”

The sharp clatter of the receiver crashing back into its cradle rings through the flat.

🎃🎃 ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ 🎃🎃

The party begins to fill, one brilliant costume at a time. Sirius, now fully kitted out as “BatBloke” (as he continues to get it wrong throughout the night), leather trousers low on his hips, cloak billowing dramatically every time he opens the door — takes it upon himself to greet every guest like a master of ceremonies… or a Peeves-inspired bouncer who won’t stop taking the piss.

Frank and Alice are the first through, dressed as Romeo and Juliet. Alice’s dress is floaty and beautiful, Frank clutching his chest with a theatrical dagger. “Bloody hell,” Sirius declares, eyeing Frank’s tights. “Romeo’s really packing, eh?”

Marlene and Dorcas arrive next — Marlene as her sapphic interpretation of Eros, bow and arrow slung across one shoulder, golden bustier and short skirt; Dorcas floats in next, white and gold as Psyche. “Merlin’s tits, if Cupid actually looked like you, Marls, we’d all be cooked, well done. And Dorcas, darling, you’ve never looked more worshippable.”

Peter and Mary shuffle in after them. Peter’s still in his office suit, Wizengamot staff badge poking out of his robes, while Mary flits beside him, butterfly wings glittering in the lamplight. “Oi, Wormtail,” Sirius smirks, giving Pete an exaggerated bow. “Brilliant costume — Ministry minion. Kissing the Wizengamot’s arse even after hours, I see. And Mary, you’re gorgeous as ever. What are you doing with this git?” Peter shoots him a totally fake smirk and chuckle.

Xenophilius and Pandora make a grand entrance — Xeno with weird-looking horns strapped on, Pandora with a wild feathery headdress. They announce themselves as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack and a Blibbering Humdinger. Whatever the hell those are…

Emmeline Vance sweeps in, wrists bound with mock chains, fake flames tickling up her legs — a witch enjoying her time at the stake. “Gorgeous and historically accurate. What a combo. Careful near the pumpkin punch though — fire hazard.”

Caradoc Dearborn turns up resplendent in flowing purple robes, half-moon glasses, and a long silver beard, wand in hand. He bows with exaggerated grandeur. “Dumbledore!” Sirius crows. “The real party animal has arrived! Shame you shaved twenty years off his beard though. You only look ninety-nine.”

Amelia Bones follows, sparkly tiara atop her head, wand disguised as a glittery sceptre. “Our Fairy Princess! Amelia, darling, keep that tiara safe — if James clocks it, he’ll nick it for Lily. Or himself!”

The Prewett twins, Fabian and Gideon, arrive next, lumbering through the doorway in absurdly oversized dragon costumes — Fabian a Chinese Fireball with enormous golden horns, Gideon a Hungarian Horntail with wings that will probably knock something down every time he turns. Their bobbing dragon heads and ridiculous tails sway with every step, eyes glowing enchantingly thanks to a charm they clearly worked far too hard on. Sirius nearly chokes on his butterbeer laughing. “Oh, bloody hell, that’s magnificent. Best costumes of the night! But mind the floating jacks, you pillocks — if you knock them down with those oversized heads, you’ll ruin my décor!”

Finally, Barty Crouch Jr. slips in, wrapped in tattered robes and ghastly grey make-up, his cloak trailing like smoke. “Bloody hell, Crouch!” Sirius says with honest admiration. “Now that’s commitment. Dementor chic. Terrifying! Kiss any party crashers for me, will ya?”

Speaking of possible party crashers — After Sirius distracts himself mingling with the guests, someone else arrives, disappearing right away somewhere in the crowd; someone in a Venetian black mask and a beautiful dark-emerald velvet cloak that almost looks black.

— 🎃 —

“Pete, my boy! Look what the cat dragged in!” James greets his long-lost mate with his trademark warmth and cheek. “Finally managed to escape the Ministry dungeons, have you?”

“Sorry, Prongsy. Getting promoted to assistant to the Undersecretary of the Wizengamot is a blessing and a curse. There’s so much bloody admin. I have to sit in on every assembly, every vote, every trial. Document everything. Chase absentees. Transcribe the minutes. Send owls till my fingers cramp.”

“How… important,” James teases, grinning. “Hopefully we’ll see you more come January then?”

“Absolutely. You and Pads must be chuffed to start the Auror programme, I reckon?”

“So chuffed. We’re gonna revolutionise that lot, just you wait.”

“I believe it. Better order more V-serum now — I bet interrogations will triple once my two clever mates get the badge.”

“Speaking of…” James lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Any chance you’ve got a flask of V-juice on you tonight?”

Peter’s eyes brighten immediately. “Course I have. Why? Are we pranking someone?”

“Something like that… maybe. I just… have a feeling.”

“Tell me more!” Peter seems eager to relive his marauder glory days.

— 🎃 —

The last invited guest of the night finally strolls in — and Merlin help you all, he looks delectable, in his “Clark Kent about to burst into Superman” get-up: crisp and tight white shirt rolled at the elbows and left open all the way down to below his sternum, charcoal trousers fitted to perfection, and beneath it all, that two-sizes-too-small blue tee emblazoned with the big scarlet “S” you found, along with the fake black frames perched on his nose, giving him that nerdy-but-ready-to-rip-them-off vibe. Simple, sexy, and so Robbie.

I'm a genius, you think smugly as you walk towards him. And oh, how you hope Sirius notices him soon! You can't wait to see his lovestruck face!

“Robbie! Or should I say, Clarkie! You're here!”

He gives you a once-over and lets out a wolf whistle as he air-kisses your cheek three times, like an irresistible French stereotype.

“Bloody hell, Witchy. Meow meow, you look… catty-licious! Well done!”

“Well, thank you! Come on, meet everybody! Just beware: my former schoolmates are weird. All. Of. Them.”

“No problem. I'm good with weird.”

“Good.” You loop your arm through his and tug him into the throng. “HEY EVERYONE, THE MUGGLE IS HERE! BEHAVE!!!”

“What did you just call me?”

“I'll explain it later.” Much later, when he and Sirius fall in love and you're allowed to break the Statute of Secrecy to him. You can't wait. It will happen, you have no doubt.

You parade him around the flat, saving Sirius for last — though part of you is almost nervous for it. Everyone treats him nicely, intrigued by the handsome Adonis of a muggle in their midst. Amelia and Emmeline (and Barty too) can’t help but admire his well-toned muscles under the super fit clothes.

Robbie is as charming as ever, already breaking hearts with his velvety baritone flirty jokes and his dimpled smiles.

“Now I see why you were tempted for a bit there… Oh là là!” Lily whispers in your ear and giggles maniacally when you slap her arm lightly and whisper-shout “Shut up!” while giggling right along.

After meeting everyone else, Robbie clocks him before you even call his name. His eyes widen, twice their usual size.

“He really does look like Jim Morrison, blimey….” Robbie mutters into your ear.

“Told you... HEY, PADS! Come ‘ere, there's someone I want you to meet!”

Sirius swivels round at your call, already smirking. But the moment his eyes land on Robbie, the smirk ices over into a scowl. You frown slightly.

“Sirius, meet my Oxford partner and good friend Robbie Emery. Robbie, meet one of my best friends in the world, Sirius Black.”

“So… this is the infamous swotty friend then,” Sirius drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Pleasure.”

Robbie beams like he’s just been complimented. “Infamous? Oh, I'm flattered. I was hoping to make an impression. Robbie Emery. At your service.” He extends a hand with all the casual charm in the world.

Sirius looks at it as though it’s something he’s meant to hex. Not taking the handshake, he simply says unenthusiastically, “Black. Sirius Black.”

You blink. What the hell? This is not the reaction you’d wanted, where's the sparkly soulmate collision? Sirius is supposed to be starry-eyed, not… tetchy.

But there are sparks, all right.

For Robbie, the smitten kind: his eyes go soft, crinkling at the corners as he studies Sirius like he’s already found his next muse.

For Sirius, the stormy kind: something sharp crackles behind his bluish-grey eyes, his jaw tight as though Robbie’s very presence has soured the whole party.

For a split second, though, there’s just a flicker of something else in his gaze, something you can’t quite place. Heat? Hunger? Or maybe it's just wishful thinking on your part. You blink and it’s gone, leaving only the initial disdain.

You feel your excitement deflate, shoulders sinking just a little. “Right,” you mutter, forcing brightness into your tone. “Come on, Robbie, let’s go find Remus.”

Robbie only winks at the leather-clad man, and Sirius, despite himself, ogles him like Batman is the one with X-ray vision… until you two disappear into the crowd.

You find Remus hovering at the end of the hall, half-hidden in shadow like he’s trying to blend into the wallpaper.

“Remus,” you whisper, tugging him forward, “for Merlin’s sake, stop sulking. You look brilliant.”

“I feel ridiculous,” he whines, tugging self-consciously at the fur-charmed cardigan, ears twitching on top of his head.

“You look adorable,” you counter, before dragging him straight into Robbie’s line of sight.

“Aw! You really do!” Robbie beams. “Hello, handsome!”

Robbie studies his tall figure up and down. “Blimey, Wolfie, you pull this off so perfectly, I should watch out for you on the next full moon, yeah? Awoo, awoo!”

And, right before Remus has a heart attack, you explain, “Robbie noticed your parents’ choice of name, just like your students, you know.” It’s okay, he doesn’t know, your eyes implore. Calm down.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, definitely what I'm going for here. Or rather, what's been decided for me.” His grumpy voice squeaks just enough to betray him.

Robbie leans closer, lowering his voice teasingly. “Well, great choice then! I imagine this beautiful feline is involved somehow? You two look like two furry dreams come true, mon loup!”

Remus flushes scarlet at the French pet name. Instantly getting ‘Nam flashbacks’ from that fucking wet dream of his; flustered, jaw working but no words coming.

Then he twists his face into the cutest and grumpiest frown-and-pout in the history of his existence.

You rescue him with a gentle shove to Robbie’s arm. “Go on, get yourself a drink before you make him combust, or… something.”

He smirks, sweeping off toward the drinks table. You catch Sirius’s grey eyes following him like daggers until Robbie brushes past him, definitely on purpose. Sirius's stare becomes more like sparks leaping off a live wire. And then, he turns around and starts stomping his way upstairs, to his room.

You turn back to Remus, who’s trying very hard to study the floorboards, arms crossed tightly.

“First of all,” you whisper fiercely, “stop hiding your beautiful self. Second — what’s going on with you and Sirius tonight? You’re both being cheesed off, absolute dicks to Robbie.”

Remus shrugs, a little too casual. “Dunno. No reason. You’re imagining things.” But the faintest twitch of his eyebrow gives him away.

— 🎃 —

Robbie heads for the drinks table, but not before deliberately brushing past Sirius with a smirk. Sirius stiffens at the touch like he’s just been stunned, lets out a huff like a Thestral having a bad day, and stomps off toward the stairs, cape swishing furiously behind him.

Robbie, meanwhile, looks thoroughly amused. He pours himself a drink, his eyes flicking up toward the staircase, tracking where Sirius scarpered off to, seeing his cape disappear up the top steps.

He makes his way back, trades a joke with Gideon and Fabian — both dragons bobbing their ridiculous oversized heads in approval — and downs half his glass in one go. When he drains the rest, he sets his empty glass aside and saunters casually toward the stairs, his heart pounding in anticipation, with every intention of finding Sirius Black again.

— 🎃 —

Robbie looks around the upstairs area curiously. It's a nice, glass-enclosed sunroom of sorts, which leads to a hallway with a few closed doors on the left, and large glass doors that lead to the large and beautiful rooftop terrace to the right. The terrace would have been a beautiful nocturnal setting for a Halloween night, if it wasn't so damn cold this time of year.

He approaches the first door on the left hallway, intent on peeking inside in hopes of finding the beautiful caped crusader that's stolen his breath already.

Just as he starts rotating the doorknob, Sirius opens it abruptly from the other side.

“You?! What the hell are you doing up here? Haven't your parents taught you about respecting people's privacy?”

“Hey, Brucie. I was looking for you, would love to chat a bit more.”

“That's not my fucking name.”

“I know that? I meant Bruce? Bruce Wayne?”

Sirius seems confused about the very character he chose to portray tonight. Robbie just smirks, shakes his head, and lets go. Witchy wasn’t lying, her friends really are weird…

“So, Sirius... Heard quite a bit about you already. And I'm not disappointed, I must say.”

“Hmpf! That makes one of us then.” Sirius bristles.

Sirius is fighting for his life against the conflicting feelings Robbie is eliciting in his chest. An urge, a spark of fire and light he never felt before. But he can’t. He has to hate this boy on principle. The rival. The nuisance. The tall, dreamy… NO! FOCUS!

“Where do you get off, eh, Emery? Prancing around all innocent-like, as if you're wanted here. As if you didn't try to drive my two best friends apart with your little seduction game. Stay away from Y/N, she's like a sister to me!”

“Funny... You like snogging your siblings at parties, then, gorgeous? I heard your dare with her was incandescent. Wish I had seen it…” Robbie is loving every second of this.

“Fuck off, Robbie.”

“Wow. Pretty and eloquent.” Robbie can't help himself.

“Get lost, will ya? Don’t even know why you’re here at all, you were not invited.”

“As a matter of fact, yes I was.”

“Oh yeah? Where's my owl then? Don't remember sending you one!”

“Your… what?”

“My— fuck, my invitation, I mean.”

“Well, I'm what you'd call a VIP, I reckon, seeing as I was personally invited by the flat owner herself.”

“Well, I don’t give a toss about that!” Sirius bites.

“Why so stroppy with me, Jimmy? Y/N and I are just friends, for your information. No need to be jealous, I’m available.”

“That’s not my name either, tosser.” Sirius tries to deflect, cheeks on fire.

“Yeah, but you look so much like Jim Morrison, I'm here thinking, Baby, you can light my fire.”

Sirius is once again utterly gobsmacked.

“No? Nothing? No Bruce Wayne? No The Doors? Mate, what rock did they raise you under?”

“Don't talk to me in your muggle little daft riddles, git. I'm not amused.”

“That's that nickname again. Muggle. What does it mean? Sexy pest, I hope?”

“How about, berk? Nosey sod, homewrecker, twazzok? Because that's exactly what you are to me.”

With all the aggressive energy Sirius is trying to project, unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, he’s coming across as an adorable ‘grumpy puppy’ and endearing the other man even more to him. Must be the sparkle in his eyes. Or the way he’s biting his lips in between insults, while sneaking quick glances at Robbie’s lips.

“Mardy and mouthy, are we?” Robbie takes a step closer.

“Fuck. Off. I swear I will knock your block off.”

“I like that you’re mardy and mouthy, by the way.” One more step. Dangerously close now.

Sirius grabs him by his shirt collar, furious. Pulling him so close, their noses almost touch.

“Get away from me, you bloody arsehole!”

And then, he lets go of him aggressively as if burned, causing Robbie to stumble back a bit.

Sirius turns towards the wall, trying to calm himself down. He switches to French muttering, instinctively — which he usually does when he wants to insult someone without them knowing:

“Écarte ta foutue gueule de moi, joli garçon, avant que je la ruine et que je t’offre exactement ce que tu demandes.” (Get your stupid face away from me, pretty boy, before I ruin it and give you what you're asking for.)

Robbie doesn't miss a beat, doesn't even blink. He just whispers back right against his neck, breathless:

“Alors vas-y, mon rêve… je suis déjà amoureux et prêt à supplier comme un chien, Étoile.” (Then do it, my dream. I'm already in love and ready to beg like a dog, my Star.)

Sirius whips around. Freezes. His brain now proper-fried.

They lock eyes. Lips parted. Breaths panting.

And then… They pounce.

The collision is instant, violent, and glorious. Their mouths crash together, sloppy and desperate, their lips and teeth clashing, tongues tangling as if they’ve been starved for each other all their lives. Sirius fists Robbie’s shirt, yanking him closer by the collar, while Robbie cups Sirius’s jaw with both hands, thumb smearing at the corner of his mouth like he wants to memorise the feel as well as the taste of it. They dissolve into a mess of spit and breath and pure need, neither of them caring who’s biting who.

They stumble back towards the bedroom door, capes, glasses, buttons, and zips already under attack. Sirius fumbles the door handle, and together they tumble into the room in a mess of limbs and groans and laughter, half-falling onto the bed. The mattress dips and the duvet swallows them, and they’re pawing at each other, pulling at leather, tugging at cotton, mouths still fused, love-drunk on first contact.

“Fuck. Me…” Sirius huffs between frantic snogs, voice wrecked and lungs thirsty.

“Sure, baby.” Robbie grins against his mouth, finally freeing Sirius’s cloak from his shoulders and tossing it to the floor.

🎃🎃 ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ 🎃🎃

Meanwhile, downstairs… things are about to get… interesting.

The front door opens. And in comes a deranged-looking Emily.

James and Lily see her first. And they are instantly horrified and disgusted.

Because she’s wearing a wig pulled into a pony to mimic your hair. She painted exaggerated freckles on her nose and cheekbones, because you have them. And she’s wearing a yellow dress that’s very similar to the one you wore at the rooftop party a month ago, complete with a red wine stain at the front. She’s hacked the hemline short, making it deliberately provocative. And then completed the unhinged look by slapping a name tag across her chest that reads: WHORE.

“Fucking called it...” James whispers to a gobsmacked Lily.

“Why the fuck is she here? What the fuck is she wearing? Fucking psycho!” Lily hisses back, furious; then instantly scanning the room for you and Remus, her protective big-sister instincts activated.

“Fucking hell, is that—?” Remus almost has a conniption from the opposite side of the large open room.

“My dress. Well, not my dress, but… close enough…? I think she’s supposed to be me.”

“Come on. Emergency flatmate meeting.” Remus pulls you by the hand and rushes into your bedroom. A quick Colloportus on the door follows.

— 🎃 —

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck...” Remus paces around the room, muttering like a scratched record.

“Breathe, Rem. We’ll… think of something.”

“Or we can just stay locked in here and have our own little party until it’s all over and she’s gone?”

“Well, that’s not a bad idea.”

You two lock eyes. Being together here really wouldn’t be a bad Halloween, at all.

James does his signature ‘Marauder knock.’ Remus charms the door open. He, Lily, and Peter pile in, already bearing nibbles, drinks, and a plate of fairy cakes with lurid pink icing for all of you.

“Operation C.T.S. Emergency meeting then. Except we can’t find Padfoot.” James is already stress-eating.

“Operation… what?” You ask.

“Operation C.T.S. stands for Chuck The Succubus. It’s what we came up with to get Jennifer out of his life.” James explains, mouth full of pink-frosted fairy cake.

“Who the hell is Jennifer?”

“Jamie and Siri love to call her that, because she hates when people get her name wrong, doesn’t she?” Lily supplies.

“Ha! Brilliant! You know, I did that too when I met her. Called her Emma on purpose and she looked like I was a pile of Graphorn shit she just stepped on.”

Remus is still pacing.

“Sit down, lovie, before you wear a hole in the carpet.” You pat the edge of your bed for him to join you there. He finally obeys, sinking down beside you. Your hand finds the nape of his neck without thought, stroking gently. He swallows hard, suppressing the desperate urge to nuzzle your neck like a restless pup.

In a moment of what could only be described as ‘soulmate telepathy,’ you actually pull his head gently towards your shoulder.

“S’alright. Come ’ere.”

Remus doesn’t hesitate, grounding himself in your pulse, your skin, your scent. His lips brush, feather-soft, against the hollow where your pulse point thrums. Not a kiss, not quite; just the barest press of warmth. But it floods you with molten honey all the same.

Peter observes the whole thing, deep in thought. He’s been out of the group for too long, and can’t help the twinge of left-out syndrome that scratches at his old insecurities. Never mind that he chose career over the pack after Hogwarts, and now he feels the gap like the draught under the door.

The mood in your room is heavy and strange.

Remus is not happy Robbie and Emily are here now.

Emily is probably about to lose her rag out there if Remus doesn’t give her the time of day. Might be too late anyway, since she wasn’t invited to this.

You are definitely not happy that Emily is here. And your chest is knotted by Robbie and Sirius possibly not working out. That’s a kick in the teeth on top of everything else.

James and Lily are stressed for their friends, miffed at Emily’s audacity, and worried by the turn of events.

And Peter… Peter sits back, biddy blue eyes darting, like he’s weighing the scales. Trying to decide where to hitch his loyalty-horse this time round. Always calculating. Always hedging.

“How the hell did she find out about the party?” Remus lifts his head, scratching at his hair and jostling his wolf-ears slightly out of place. He’d worked so hard to make it look like he was buried in schoolwork today, too busy for anything with her at all.

“Oh. That might be… indirectly our fault,” Lily admits, wincing. “We were shouting back and forth with Pads about the food and costumes when we came in. Didn’t realise he was on the phone with her until he’d hung up.”

A chorus of exasperated sighs fills the room.

“We’re sorry, Moony.” Poor Jamie looks properly stricken. And on his fourth fairy cake already.

“‘S alright, Prongsy. You didn’t know.” Remus waves it off with a weary shrug. “Anyway, what’s done is done. She’s here now, and I don’t feel like interacting with her in the slightest. So I’m staying put. We’ve got food, drink, and a telly — we’ll be fine.” Remus squeezes your hand and you nod in full agreement.

“I think that’s a good plan. In the meantime, we’ll track down Pads and work out a way to get her to shove off without causing a full-blown scandal.” Lily’s already switched into strategy mode.

“You think she would do that? She seemed so… mild, from what I remember.” Peter tries to join the conversation.

“Where have you been, Wormy? She’s a bloody nutter! We need to get her out of here, and out of Moony’s life, as soon as possible!” James spits more pink crumbles in his fury.

Remus downs a minty green swirly cocktail in one go. You grab an orange one and follow suit. The glasses refill themselves instantly. Sirius is a bloody genius when it comes to magical frivolity. If James is prone to stress-eating, you and Remus are stress-drinking pros.

“Just don’t overdo it, Moons,” James warns, pointing with his fairy-cake. “You know you don’t make the best decisions round that girl when you’re sloshed.”

“I don’t plan on being around her at all. I’m fine.”

“Alright. I’ll come back to check on you later. Let’s go, lads. We need to assess the crazy out there.” Lily ends the impromptu meeting and they leave you and Remus alone again.

“Well… we’d better get comfortable then, see what’s on the telly. Maybe a nice slasher, yeah?”

You scoot up against your headboard and grab the remote. Remus kicks off his shoes with a grunt of relief and joins you, his wolf ears twitching as he settles beside you.

This is definitely not bad. At all.

🎃🎃 ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ 🎃🎃

“Hey — Emily, right?”

Emily jerks, caught out of her periscope-like hunt across the room for Remus.

“Yes. You are—?”

“I’m Peter Pettigrew,” he says quickly, puffing up a bit. “One of Remus’s old roommates. One of his best mates, actually. I remember you from the garden party last month. You’re his lovely girlfriend, right?”

“Oh… yeah, that’s me. Hello, Peter. How come you’re not around as much?”

“Got a busy government internship, it’s been taking all my time, you know.”

Peter loves telling anyone he can how important he’s becoming in the world.

“Has Remus seen you arrive yet? I’m sure he’ll love to see you, what a hilarious and pretty costume! Is this supposed to be… Y/N, by any chance? I remember the wine spill, uh, mishap.” He winks.

Emily stiffens, then tests him cautiously: “Are you… friends with her?”

“Hells, no. Too full of herself for my liking.” He taps the side of his nose, letting her in on his little secret. She grins.

“I’m loyal to my boys, I reserve judgment to whoever they choose to associate with outside of that.”

Emily beams, relief washing over her. This Peter Pettigrew seems like a good one: clever, sharp, and most importantly, a potential ally from Remus’s inner circle. Finally.

“I think you’re fab, by the way,” Peter continues, lowering his voice as though confiding something dangerous. “It’s obvious you and Remus make a cracking couple. That kiss he gave you during Truth or Dare? Oof… unreal. Proper chemistry. The stuff of fairytales.”

Emily softens, pleased. “Yeah, I thought so too. Unfortunately, that flatmate of his seems to be doing a great job keeping him away from me.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry to hear. Sounds like her, all over. Never liked her, not one bit. Always swanning about like she owns him, monopolising him, cutting him off from his mates… from me. It's infuriating. I was his best mate first, you know.”

Peter’s tone drips with resentment, each word sharpened by years of old insecurities.

Emily’s chest loosens; the sympathy, the solidarity… it’s exactly what she’s been craving. She feels touched, even seen.

“If you ask me, Remus is lucky he’s found someone as beautiful, passionate, and devoted as you.”

“Thank you. If only I could get him to see sense and make up with me… That’s all I want, Pete. But everyone around him seems to be against me for some reason. Against us.” Her eyes glisten, tears threatening to spill.

“Not me, consider me a friend and ally. Hey, don’t cry. They don’t deserve to see that.”

“Y/N has such a stranglehold on him, I’m just… I’m not strong enough…”

“Yes, you are! Don’t back down! Fight for what is yours, I say. She’s all bark and no bite, you know. Whatever I can do to help, let me know, yeah?”

“Thank you. You’re really sweet. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“By the way, keep an eye out for those two,” he jerks his chin toward James and Lily who are handing out drinks around the room, “and don’t drink anything they try to hand you. I think they’re planning to… slip you something vile. I heard James talking about it.”

Emily’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, thank you, Peter! That’s so evil of them!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on them and I’ll make sure nothing dodgy ends up in your hands, how’s that?”

“That’s… really nice of you. Finally, a true friend that has Remus’s best interests in mind.”

“He’s always been my best mate out of the three. Very special to me. He deserves someone just as special. Like you.”

Emily beams. “Thank you!”

“Come on, let’s find a place to sit. I’ll tell you Remus Lupin stories that will make you laugh. And swoon. And fall even more in love with him.”

Her eyes light up. “I have so many questions.”

“I have so many answers. And secrets.”

🎃🎃 ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ 🎃🎃

Half an hour later, Remus and you are hammered off your faces, still absconded in your bedroom, giggling like schoolchildren as the telly plays that classic old black-and-white cartoon where skeletons clatter their bones like xylophones and wiggle about like lunatics.

Remus, of course, starts mimicking them next to the bed — putting on a show for you, hips wiggling, arms flapping, his wolf-ears twitching with every jerky sway. You shriek with laughter, clutching your magically refilling cocktail.

And then he freezes mid-wiggle, eyes going glassy with inspiration. “I’ve got a brilliant idea.”

“Brilliant! What?” you ask, intrigued and breathless with giggles.

“Dance with me.”

You blink. “What?”

“D-dance with me,” he repeats, grinning crookedly, hand extended like a challenge.

You glance at the small space between bed and telly. “Here? In the room?”

“No! Out there!” He jerks his head toward the door. “The music’s perfect!”

The muffled thump of disco filters through the walls. Disco. Remus Lupin hates disco. He’s really off his pickle by now.

And you’re no better.

James was more right than he knows: bad-decision alchies, you both are.

Remus Slurs “Alohomora!” at the door, and it swings open. He seizes your hand and drags giggling-you straight into the middle of the makeshift dance floor.

He plants you there, grips your waist with one hand, and flings your other arm up with his own in some bizarre tango first position.

The reaction is immediate: the crowd circles you both like sharks scenting delicious blood. Hollers and whistles erupt. Someone wolf-whistles (fitting), someone else yells, “Go on, Lupin!” The volume of the disco track suddenly cranks louder, and a rhythmic clapping with drunken high-pitched ‘ooh oohs!’ starts.

And then Remus Lupin — moody, broody Moony, shy, scholarly, serious and mysterious, never-dances Remus — starts rotating his hips. Slowly. Suggestively. Against yours. His hazy green eyes lock onto yours like he’s convinced this is the best, sexiest idea he’s ever had.

And the worst (best) part? You’re not opposing a single bit of it.

The music thumps, the circle tightens, and the hollering reaches an ungodly pitch.

“Oi, Lupin! That’s right! Put your back into it and make that pussycat purr!” Marlene howls, doubled over with Dorcas wheezing beside her.

And then Barty Crouch Jr., eyes glittering with wicked glee, cups his hands around his mouth and bellows:

“SHOW US HOW YOU EAT, LUPIN!”

The room erupts in shrieking laughter.

Fabian and Gideon stomp their oversized dragon feet in unison, giant bobbing heads nodding along like some deranged carnival act.

Xeno and Pandora are off in their own galaxy, ululating in bizarre alien tones as though they’re summoning fertility spirits to possess you two.

Lily’s face is frozen in a horrified rictus grin as she hisses, “This is NOT what we planned, James— we need to get them back in the room!”

But James is actually doubled over, clutching his ribs, laughing so hard he’s nearly pissing himself. “Merlin help me, Lil— he’s grinding! Bloody Moony’s GRINDING in public!”

“You li–like it, huh?” Remus’s voice is rough in your ear, liquor-thick and stumbling. “Bet… bet Robbie could n-never—” His dizzy brain sways like his bum, the words slipping out anyway, sultry and jealous and somehow stupidly hot.

“Oh, s-so we’re talkin’ about Robbie now?” you hiss back, words tripping, breath hot, even as your nails bite his shoulder. “F–funny. I didn’t see you— didn’t see you tellin’ Emily to sod off when she— when she threw her c-crussssty cow arssse all over youuuuu.”

Remus’s jaw flexes, his grin crooked and sloppy. He grinds his hips harder, so deliberate it’s almost like he rehearsed the moves. “Tha’s— tha’s ‘cos I n–never… never touched her like thish. N-never would. N–never will. Not in a million fuckin’ millennium of fuckin’ years.”

Your breath catches, fury tangled with need. “An– and what the hell is this, then?” you slur, words too loud now. “Practisin’ your wolf— your bloody wolfy mating dance?”

He dips you so low you squeak, nearly toppling, his nose brushing yours, pupils wide as saucers. “N–no… Yeh… mate…” he pants, lips brushing, words slurring worse. “Thish— This ish me showin’— showin’ everyone y-you’re… mine, m–my kitty cat-cat. Puss... Pusssss— Pussy cat. My pussy. My-my cat. Y’r pussssssy… my pussssssy…”

You throw your head back and cackle like a banshee at this batshit declaration that you both will not remember at all in the morning. “Rem— Rem, Remmmm… You’re off your ffffuckin’ trolley, you arrrrre!”

He twirls you like a drunken music-box ballerina, and you both nearly go arse over elbow on the floor. He only just catches you, arms around you like a vice, swaying but steady enough to haul you both upright in the nick.

Your faces are so close now, noses bumping, breaths hot and heavy. The circle around you explodes with catcalls and whistles.

“I’ve… I’ve g-got ya… yeh, I’ve got ya…” Remus slurs, forehead thudding gently against yours, voice wrecked. “B–beautiful. My… my fuckin’ beautiful… mine. M–mine, mine, mine.”

“Th–thank ya… love ya, Wolfie.” Your words tumble out like spilt drinks, sloppy and loud.

“Love ya… love ya, loveyouuuu,” he echoes, slurry and cracked, before nearly toppling forward again.

This is the moment.

Remus’s hazy brain screams ‘Kiss her, go on, devour that wicked red mouth you’re been daydreaming about all night!’

Your faces are mere millimetres apart, music pounding, circle whooping, and you can feel him starting to close the gap.

His lips barely brush yours and fireworks explode inside you.

And then—

Perfectly manicured fingers clamp around your arm like a vice. You’re wrenched backwards with such force your feet skid, knees giving out, and you hit the floor hard, graceless, like a sack of rotten tomatoes hurled from a cart. Gasps ripple through the circle.

Emily Barrett, eyes wild and wig askew, towers over you in her shredded yellow frock and painted freckles, breathing like she’s just apparated straight out of hell.

Remus is livid.

Emily lunges again, clawing for his arm as if she can drag him away from you on her own right. But he wrenches free, hard enough that she stumbles.

He’s done. This whole charade is over as far as he’s concerned.

“What the fuck’ss wrong with you??!!” he snaps, voice like a clap of thunder. He then turns his focus back on you, crumpled on the floor. In two strides he’s down, hauling you gently up into his arms, cradling your waist as if you’re made of glass. “D-dovey, you alright? ‘Re you hurt?”

That does it. Her mask of victimhood starts to rip into a scary hag.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Remus? Not telling me about this party? Grinding all over this fucking whore in front of everyone like some— some cheating arsehole?”

He rounds on her, eyes blazing, voice low and dangerous, just frayed enough at the edges. “Shut your filthy mouth about my Sunny! Wh–what the fuck I do, Emsy, iz none of your fuckin’ business!”

“I am your business! I’m your girlfriend!”

His laugh is short, sharp, bitter. “You are not my girlfriend,” he spits, words slurring still, but each one a whipcrack. “I t-told you a MILLION- A BI-BILLION TIMES, We were never that. NE–VER! We are nothing to each other. D’you hear me? Nothin’. You shh-shouldn’t even be here tonight—”

Her face pinches, shrill and desperate. “Oh, so she gets to put her dirty paws on you, and I get tossed aside for this— this— fucking—”

“You don’t—” his jaw clenches, breath ragged, “—you don’t get to call her anything.” His voice rises, a growl beneath the slurring. She tries to grab his arm again, and he shakes her off again, almost stumbling with the reflexive movement; then Remus plants himself solidly between her and you, to protect you from the crazy, boozy blonde.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Turnin’ up here dressed like— like her? D’you even hear yourself?”

“You can’t do this to me! To us! We have a future and I’m fighting for it!”

Somewhere in the crowd, Peter Wormtail Pettigrew smirks and nods conspiratorially at her declaration.

“Go home, Emily.” His voice is low and raw with finality. “There’s no future here. Not with me. Goodbye.”

Remus turns away, taking your hand in his, leading you back toward your room. James and Lily move as if to follow, ready to shield you both.

“What if I told you I’m pregnant, Remus?!”

Everyone gasps. Remus has stopped moving. So have you.

“W-What did you say?”

“That’s right. Pregnant. What, you think you could just fuck me left and right, even without protection, and not have any consequences?”

James is dizzy. The three lads just had this conversation last moon. He hates how right they were.

“Once this comes out, my family is coming for you. We will have to get married. But that’s alright, Remsy. I want it. I love you. This child already loves you. We will be so happy together.”

Remus is going into shock.

His body goes very still, as if every muscle in it has locked up at once. A sheet of pure ice has drenched every bone in his body. His thoughts are spinning too fast to catch. Pregnant. She's pregnant.

His breath stutters, shallow and ragged, chest heaving like he’s been punched. A baby. A baby that is probably his. A baby that will carry the curse he’s fought his whole life to hide. His chest burns with terror at the very thought of it: a child condemned before it’s even born. His child. With evil, crazy Emily.

The colour drains from his face, freckles standing out stark against parchment skin, cold sweat sliding down his spine beneath the fur cardigan.

And then the rest of it crashes in: her family baying for blood, the scandal in every whispering corner of society, the forced wedding he’d be dragged into, shackled to this manipulative stranger for life. His own parents’ deep disappointment. His poor mam, oh, Godric. His life, over in an instant.

His fault. His recklessness.

And worse than all of it, worse than the ruin and the shame, is the jagged certainty slicing through him: You and he are finished. Whatever fragile, impossible magic bound you together is gone now, strangled by this nightmare. Not even a friendship between you and him can possibly survive this.

Except — you’re still gripping his hand with both of yours, like… like you’re never letting go.

Someone slowly approaches you, Remus, Lily, and James. Someone you hadn't seen all evening. No one had. The figure is cloaked in green-black, an elegant 16th-century Venetian carnival mask obscuring their face — lacquered onyx, etched with filigree only the most ancient, noble families could afford to keep in their vaults.

“She’s lying.”

You recognise your friend’s voice at once.

Regulus Black.

Inconspicuous like a perfect Slytherin, brilliantly cunning as a perfect Black. Making intense eye contact with Emily the whole time. Reading her for filth.

Gasps ripple through the crowd again, like a bizarre Greek chorus. Regulus doesn't flinch. His dark grey eyes stay locked on Emily, pinning her in place even deeper now that he's taken his mask off, the elastic band snapping around his loose curls with drama that matches the moment. He will strip her mind bare with a gift far more powerful and ruthless than a pint of Veritaserum.

Severus Snape wishes he was this good a Legillimens. No one can ever get close to Regulus Black, the true master of mind magic. Except Albus Dumbledore, of course.

Barty smirks nearby with satisfaction directed at his sly boyfriend. He knew. Of course he did. He winks at you next, and you shake your head with grateful affection for your Slytherin lovely friends.

Besides you, Remus sucks in a breath like he’s been underwater too long, and intertwines your fingers together tighter, holding on to the hope of this moment like it's his last chance. He's never letting you go either. No matter what.

“Who's this weirdo?!” Emily bellows. “You don’t know me, batty. Shut your bloody mouth!”

“Aww, but here’s the thing though, he does, actually.” James coos, positively gleeful. “He already knows everything there is to know about you. You see, he’s got mind-reading superpowers.” James taps his temple, loving this.

“Stop saying stupid lies to scare me off.” Emily spits back derisively.

“Go on, tell her, Reggie.” James can't wait for this.

“She recently tried sleeping with another bloke that looks a bit like you,” he says to Remus, “to get pregnant and pin it on you, since she couldn't manage to get you to do it unprotected.”

A ripple of gasps breaks through the party like a wave. Someone mutters, “Bloody hell…” while another whispers, “You’ve got to be joking…”

“You’re lying!!!” Emily shrieks, clearly terrified and wondering how he could possibly know.

“His name is… Kevin. Kevin Surrough.”

“Comic-book Kevin?” Remus recognises the name as the twenty-something bloke who spends half his life at the library, always getting blissfully lost for hours in the comic book and RPG sections. Shy bloke, always nice to him. “You seduced him?”

“He looks like you, Moons?” James asks, appalled.

“Maybe? I mean, he’s at least a decade older, shorter, and a bit on the heavier side. But… aye, same hair and eye colour as me.”

“You’re really determined, aren’t you?” Lily says, voice sharp with disgust.

“But it didn’t take. No pregnancy. Hostile womb.” Regulus states, coldly.

The room erupts into shocked murmurs again.

Emily gasps and looks panicked now.

“Hostile womb…You don’t say…” James quips, wondering once more where the hell Sirius is. He would be living for this, he guessed everything bang on about the succubus.

“Em? You alright?” Peter approaches Emily, bringing a chair and a glass of water — the only one offering her any support.

“You lot should be ashamed of yourselves! Here, Em. Drink some water. You look pale.” Peter hands her the glass and she drinks it, playing up the fainting-pregnant-damsel symptoms.

Peter winks at James who smiles with all his teeth, and Lily bristles.

“What are you up to?” She presses her fiancé.

“Nothing, Pete just gave her a tiny dose of—”

“Time for some truthful answers then, don’t you think?” Peter asks out loud, rubbing his hands together. He may have been absent these past months, but he’s still pretty much a marauder. Still a rat at heart, but at least he’s ‘ratting’ for the right side.

“How about you start by telling everyone why you’re so obsessed with our dear Remus here?”

Looks like Peter has learned some impressive lawyer oratory shit from his job at the Wizengamot.

Emily’s pupils look enormous. She’s shaking, panicking with the realisation that Peter played her like a fiddle, and she can’t stop herself from letting the truth out of her bubbling throat for some spooky reason.

She tries to keep it vague, sweat beads already forming at her fake hairline.

“My aunt… my great-aunt told me loads about him. She’s been trying to set us up since summer.”

“Were you in on her schemes to get him to date you?” Peter presses, tone smooth as silk.

“No…” Emily chokes on nothing. “Not… at first. Sounded like maybe a good idea, but I didn’t start being interested until… I met him in person.”

“Why the instant obsession then?”

“He looked good. He was nice. Smart. Charming. He was wearing designer clothes and looked like he came from money. Checked all my boxes.” It all comes out before she can possibly stop it.

A mix of more gasps and a few giggles — from those who know Remus best — fill the air.

Remus can't help but bark a laugh. “Sorry to inform you, Emsy, but I’m just a povvo bastard. Not a pot to pissh on.”

“Don’t lie! You have a really posh, elegant wardrobe, you went to a posh and exclusive boarding school, and you live… here, in this ridiculous bloody flat! Anyone who’s got the money to sublet a place like this with just one other flatmate must be loaded!”

“So, you’re just after his alleged money then?” Peter is in full form tonight.

“No! He’s charming and dreamy and I’m obviously attracted to him besides his money. And he’s soft and mild-tempered enough, I knew he wouldn’t give me any problems once I got him to be completely devoted to me.”

Emily is as shocked as everyone else by what’s coming out of her. She slaps both hands over her mouth, but some strange force yanks them back and glues them into her lap.

No one noticed Lily's wand flicker, or heard the muttered incantation she just sent into Emily's hands. She's going to talk and she's going to spill it all tonight.

“But Remus hasn’t exactly shown devotion to you, has he?” James chimes in, smart and sharp, trying his future Auror interrogation chops for size.

“No. The stubborn fucker doesn’t seem to have fallen for me like I predicted, which is ridiculous really, who wouldn’t fall for me? It’s almost like… he’s bewitched or something…”

She’s not entirely wrong and Remus instantly pales. James catches it and quickly bulldozes forward.

“And so you’ve been trying to get him to impregnate you, is that right?”

“Yes.”

More gasps and some cursing reverberates in the room.

“Why? Do you love him?”

“No. But I like him enough,” Emily shrugs, almost bored. “A baby would just ensure that he would marry me. That he'd be mine.”

Remus squeezes your hand so hard it turns both your knuckles white.

Regulus steps in, following another disturbing series of memories he uncovered during his Legillimency probe.

“Why have you started to dress like Y/N? Going to boutiques looking for exact replicas of some of her outfits? Beatles Revolver tee. Plimsolls. This yellow dress. Sun pendant. The wig. You even tried to sniff out her favourite fragrance.”

Everyone gasps, again. Remus stiffens at your side; the memories stab back into him all at once. Blood-y hell… It wasn't just tonight. He's seen it all before. How in the buggering fuck could he have missed that then? He’s even more spooked by her crazy now.

“She infuriates me. And she… intrigues me,” Emily blurts, voice trembling against the Veritaserum pull. “He’s obviously mad for her for some reason. I still think I’m much prettier. But… part of me… wishes I were her. Living here with him. Having her kind of money. And looks. And brains. He would be eating out of my hand if I could just… be more like her.”

At this point, all the crowd gasping and muttering sounds as constant as the music still playing softly in the background, like a bizarre dark dramedy being filmed.

“So, you're obsessed with her too?” Lily accuses.

“I hate her! I wish I could make her disappear forever!”

“Why?”

Emily points a sharp, trembling finger towards you. “Because, as long as she’s near him, I have no chance! No one has!”

Remus chokes on the air stuck in his throat. Because Emily's is right. Merlin help him, she's right. As long as you exist, as long as you breathe the same air as him, no other girl will ever stand a chance. His heart, his soul, have already chosen, long ago. And he’s been too much of a coward to face it.

A sheen of sweat breaks along his brow; he looks half feral, half stricken, like a cornered animal. His grip on your hand goes tight, painful, and then suddenly loosens. He tries to let go. To run. To retreat, as he always does when the truth gets too close.

But you don’t let him. You clutch tighter, fingers threading harder through his, your other hand sliding to his arm, stroking along his bicep like a whisper: It’s alright. You have me. Stay.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Lily cuts her off, also concerned for her friend's secrets. This is not the way it should happen, and she'll protect that. The whole pack will.

But Regulus isn’t done.

“Wait. I have two more things I want to address. Why did you make up lies about past abusive boyfriends to Remus? You were the domineering one in the three prior relationships you’ve had in school.”

Emily wants to cry. This weird boy seems to really have mind powers. And she cannot hide anything for some reason. “Because that strategy usually works with sensitive and protective nice boys, like him.”

Regulus gives it a few seconds to let it sink in. How she is a manipulative liar through and through. How there’s very little truth in anything she says or does. Because Remus needs to know, and understand, how far her evil goes — so he’ll never fall for any of this again. But Reg’s also doing this for his good friend — you — so you will never have to deal with her again after tonight. The Emilyfest is over.

“You spilled that wine on Y/N on purpose during the rooftop party last month, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

The crowd gasps are starting to sound like Panto now, ridiculous. Remus looks so disgusted at her, he has to swallow the alcohol and bile that threaten to come up his throat.

“Why?”

“She looked too stunning in that dress and Remus wouldn’t stop staring—”

“That’s all we needed to know. You can stop talking now.” James interrupts her.

You glance at Remus. He’s mortified, his real ears burning purple.

“It’s alright, Rem. I did wear it for you, I know you like it when I dress all girly.” You confess under the alcohol’s effect with a sweet smile for him and a loving squeeze on his hand. He huffs a little sheepish chuckle. His body finally relaxes a bit.

“Anything else you want to know, Lupin?” Regulus asks Remus, bored like he’s just asked for the time.

“Bloody hell no, that’s plenty.”

While Emily is crying into her manicured hands, Peter fetches the antidote from his pocket. Lily pours it on another glass of water and hands it to her. “Drink this, it will make you stop spilling your dirty secrets.”

“No! You’re trying to poison me! Peter said—”

“Haven’t you cottoned on yet? I was lying.” Pete scoffed. “Fucking succubus…”

Emily stares between them, suspicious and panicky.

“Oh for fuck’s sake… here, look.” Lily takes a large gulp. “See? Still breathing.” Lily knows the antidote shouldn’t have any effect on her at all, since there’s no Veritaserum in her.

“Unless you want to keep telling all the ugly truths you’ve been hiding…”

Emily grabs the glass and drains the rest of the water. The effect is instant: her tongue is her own again, her mind unshackled.

And now she’s fully unhinged and feral. The demons come screaming out of the scorned blonde, every inch of her face twisted into something venomous and cruel.

She stands up so fast, the chair clatters to the floor, overturned. Her whole body shakes with heaving breaths, ready to blow like dynamite.

“You… FUCKING FREAKS!!! What fucking kind of black magic fuckery is going on here?!”

She points straight at Remus, her voice like a dagger, hoping to cut his heart out.

“YOU!— you’re a JOKE! The biggest joke of all. Ugly, scarred, deformed freak, who could ever want you looking like that? With your pathetic limp-dick softness and your precious little circle shielding you from the real world?! You’ve got nothing, Lupin. No money, no future, no prospects. A fucking failure! You live in someone else’s bloody posh palace like a freeloading, gold-digging stray! You think this bitch loves you? She pities you. You’re a burden she drags around, a pathetic worm she lets stay, probably because she likes to play with the one thing you have going for you—”

She drags her gaze down his trousers, cruel smile splitting her face.

“—between your stupid, ugly legs. That’s it. That’s all you are. A massive cock on bandy legs! Maybe you should get into porn, hm? Or start whoring yourself properly. Only way you’ll ever make a pound in this world! All that supposed brain and incapable of going to uni, of having a proper career… My aunt having to throw you crumbs with a library job because you can't get anything else beyond that or a pathetic supply teacher for stupid kids who can't even read! Spineless! Coward! Parasyte! What a waste of my bloody time you are!”

For once, the room is stunned into silence.

Remus is, once again, paralysed. His throat has closed; no air, no words. His lower lip trembling and his eyes brimming with tears of shame and humiliation. His stomach drops like moonstone. His ears roar with white noise, drowning out everything but her voice — the voice of his own self-loathing, spat back at him. His skin goes clammy, blood rushing out of his face so fast he sways. His heart seizes, his knees threaten to buckle, his fingers twitch uselessly at his sides.

He can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t defend himself. Because every vicious word is something he’s thought himself, in the darkest hours. And shame shackles him into silence.

He wants to vanish. To sink through the floorboards and never surface again.

As for you…

Your mind is addled by alcohol. Your body feels heavy as lead, your eyes unsteady.

But this? What you just heard from Emily's mouth?

It triggers something inside you — something magical, dark, and terrifying — you never knew you possessed before. Or rather, that it could possess you like this.

And before you even know what just took over you, you've already whipped your wand.

No thinking. No judging. Just pure, undiluted fury, egging you on.

Slash. Stop her. End her.

You barrel towards her, wand pointed at her chest.

“SECTUMSEM—”

“DOVE! NO!”

It all happens as if in slow-motion: In a heartbeat, Remus gets between you and your almost-victim, his hand clamped over your mouth before you finish the last syllable of the slashing curse, his other arm locking around your waist. James lunges in too, snatching your wand clean away.

“Whoa, you lost your marbles, Sunny? Wanna end up in Azkaban? I don’t think so, not for that!” James kisses your hair, half-panicked, half-giddy in disbelief.

Everyone is holding their breath.

Emily blinks at you, baffled at first by the “silly chopstick” pointed at her. But then… then she sees your face. That look. Pure murder, blazing out of you like hellfire. She recognises it; she’s seen it once before in your eyes, but this time it’s ten-fold.

Her bravado shrivels. Her body cowers, and her voice chokes in her throat. She knows, on some animal level, that you really could have killed her just now. Probably by shoving that sharp twig through her throat or her eye. And it terrifies her enough to shut her up for good.

Remus still holds your mouth shut with one hand, while the other is firmly wrapped around your waist. His eyes are wide open and laser-focused. He’s so close, you feel and hear each other’s breaths over the noise. His chest heaves ragged against yours.

He wants nothing more than to replace his hand with his mouth. To kiss the fury out of you, to drown out your fire — fire that burns so hot that you’d spill blood for him.

You squirm and wiggle trying to free yourself from his grip; you are beyond reason, completely beside yourself. You want to hurt that bitch and can’t think of much else.

“Dove… No. Not for me.”

You nod furiously, your eyes and deep frown saying, Yes, for you. Anything for you.

“Not worth you getting in trouble, cariad. She’s not worth it. Please, look at me. Calm your fire. For me? Please?” He touches his nose to yours, rubbing them together in a soft kunik kiss.

Your eyes still blaze. But you stop. Relax in his arms. And finally, you nod slowly, focusing completely on your best friend’s closeness.

“Thank you, dovey. Thank you. My hero. My love.”

He slowly takes his hand from your lips but keeps you pinned close, forehead to forehead.

Tears run down your eyes, but your fiery gaze remains. He wipes them with his thumbs. And then with his lips, as he kisses your cheekbones, gratitude and adoration spilling out of him.

Finally, Remus turns, still holding you like you’re his lifeline, and faces Emily.

“Emily?”

His voice is quiet but solid, like steel.

“Get the fuck out of my life.”

🎃🎃 ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ 🎃🎃

The last thing Emily sees before she's escorted out is the image of you two, standing there, faces so close that it looks like you're kissing. Like lovers. Remus looking at you and touching you like he'd never done to her.

Because she is not the one. She is not you.

It's over.

“You see that?” Marlene taunts, hand firmly around her right arm. “That's real. Them. You never were. You could never have what they have. But you tried, didn't you?”

Lily is holding her left arm, of course. “You better thank every god you know the boys didn't let her get to you. You would not be standing right now if she had.”

The girls escort her out of the flat. Into the lift. Down all thirty-three floors to the lobby. Not letting go of her.

Lily addresses Ari, the night-shift security guard, and a friend. “Ari love, this girl’s name’s Emily Barrett, and she’s been harassing Remus and Y/N, and actually just attacked them tonight. Help us make sure she never comes in here again, will ya?”

“Miss Lily, that's most unfortunate. Of course, I'll keep an eye out for her from now on. And I'll tell the others too.”

“Thank you. Will you please call her a taxi? We'll wait with her by the door.”

Emily whimpers, but Marlene instantly presses.

“One word, Emsy. One. Fucking. Word.”

She gives up on protesting.

Lily and Marlene frogmarch her to the small glass entryway between the two sets of doors, out of Ari's sight. They sit her down on the waiting leather sofa, trapped between them.

“Actually, let's make sure Ari doesn't have any trouble with you, shall we?”

Emily's eyes grow twice as big as she sees Lily discreetly pull a similar twiglike thing from her vampire cloak pocket.

Lily whispers, quietly as ever, into her ear, humming wand tip cool and sharp on her temple.

“You will not remember this address, ever again. Or their phone number. Or any magic you may have seen tonight. You will leave Remus alone if you ever see him again. Obliviate.”

🎃🎃 ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ 🎃🎃

The party upstairs seems to have resumed, albeit with a weird new vibe all around.

Remus and you are slumped on the sofa, disorientated. The Sirius-potioneered alcohol is doing weird things to your mind now that the magical adrenaline has subsided.

People are back to nibbling, drinking, gossiping about everything they just witnessed, watching the gigantic telly in awe, trying to get more juicy details out of Regulus, now sitting on Barty's lap and back to his broody disinterest in the whole thing.

James is tending to the two of you, when suddenly, a door slams upstairs.

And — there he is. Finally, after being gone for hours.

Sirius prances downstairs, looking rumpled, make-up smudged, hair a mess, legs wobbly, neck peppered with bruises, and totally floaty in the eyes, like he just stepped in from another dimension.

“Lovely bitches! What did I miss?”

“Oi, mate! Where the buggering hell have you been?” James asks him in exasperation.

“Erm… Up in my room…?”

“What the fuck for?!? You missed the kerfuffle of the century, you prat! The glorious finale of Operation C.T.S.! Jennifer got her fucking dues, thanks to your brother, Pete, and a few drops of V-serum. You must have heard all the yelling, no way you didn't!”

“Erm…”

“Hold on… What were you doing up in your room this whole time? And what, you didn’t even hear the noise?”

“Because you… cast Silencing Charms maybe?” Peter hasn’t missed a single one tonight.

Sirius lowers his head. And slowly, the shittiest eating grin forms in his lips.

At that moment, someone else appears at the top of the stairs. Just as rumpled, wobbly, and floaty-looking. A huge ‘S’ peeking out of his wrongly buttoned shirt.

All eyes go to him. And back to Sirius. And back to him.

Your jaw hits your chest, your hand over your mouth tries to hold the sounds in. You start silently giggling, so hard, your eyes squint and tears run down. You want to scream.

Remus is equally as flabbergasted, a strange double-elation taking over him. Robbie. And Sirius. Robbie and Sirius. Bloody fuck... If he weren’t still pissed as a fart, he thinks he’d keel over from the whiplash of it all.

Robbie’s eyes run from one side to the other down on the scene.

“Erm… Happy Halloween?”

🎃🎃 ☽ ☀︎ ♥️🐺♥️ ☽ ☀︎ 🎃🎃

A final Operation C.T.S. debrief meeting of sorts has been summoned by the sitting room fireplace — which consists of all four marauders plus you and Lily, huddled in a tight circle. James and Sirius are finally getting their twin giggles that were denied before during the action.

“She tried to do what?!? That’s batshit nutter-butter madness!” Sirius wheezes.

“Oh, that's nothing! This one right here, our sunshine incarnate, almost murdered her with the slashing curse!”

“No fucking way!”

“You should've seen her. Her black wand glowed red, mate. That was going to be some Avada-Kedavra level shit.”

“Straight to Azkaban.”

“Straight to Arse-Kaban. For life.”

The two idiots giggle at their own stupid dark puns, as per usual. Lily rolls her eyes.

You and Remus giggle right along, sluggishly. Not really catching much of what's being said.

“Oi! Don't forget the dance! The wobbly horny tango these two did before it all blew up!” Peter chimes in.

“Oh, yeah! They were completely sozzled. Like Hagrid on Bonfire Night, remember?” James said, giggling again.

“Which of my creations did you two lovely idiots drink then?” Sirius asks, intrigued and proud.

“Creamy green swirly one for Moony, Orange-spicy bubbling one for her.” Lily remembers.

“Oh… That will be… Swamp Party-Monster and… Pumpkin Spice Euphoria. Alright! Self-refilling glasses, I reckon?”

“Yuuup...” You and Remus respond in slurred unison, popping the ‘p.’

“Who knows how many the pair of numpties downed, while hiding in her room…” Lily mutters, already marching off to fetch water like the one responsible adult in the flat.

“Right on! You're welcome! Wish I could've seen it!”

“Well, by the looks of it, you were doing a whole horizontal tango of your own…” James teases, beaming.

“Mmmmm… Speaking of… I'll go find Robbie. Talk more later, yeah?”

You give Sirius the widest, most dopey grin ever. He returns it, with a knowing wink of eternal gratitude before leaving.

“How are you two feeling?” Lily asks, back with two glasses of water and chocolate muffins.

“Dunno? Alright, I guess?” Remus mumbles, his spinning head lolling toward yours.

“Ask me tomorrow,” you manage, your own head tipping against his shoulder like it weighs a tonne.

“Mm-hm. That’s what I thought.” Lily tucks a blanket around your legs, maternal to the last. She ruffles your hair fondly and smooths Remus’s cardigan back into place, before pointing a finger like a warning. “Stay here. Hydrate. Eat that. I’ll check on you again in ten.”

James looks around at the lowered energy of the place. That won't do. It's barely nine-thirty.

“Come on, everyone! Party's not over! In fact, now it can really begin!” He bellows, waving his wand at the turn table.

Dancing Queen starts blasting. Remus groans and you giggle.

“Padsy! It’s your song! Where the hell are you?!?” James scampers around looking for his mate, who’s disappeared again. With Robbie, no doubt.

— 🎃 —

You and Remus have remained slumped against each other by the fire, the beginnings of hangover amnesia already blurring every memory to fuzzy, by the time the party is over.

“So… Sorry about your loss?” You snort.

Then Remus snorts. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, no shit.” you tease.

You two cough up a wellied chuckle.

“Seriously though, I still don’t understand why the hell you got with her in the first place.”

Remus won’t tell you the truth, so he just shrugs.

“I dunno... Seemed a good idea for a minute?”

“If you don’t mind me saying, it was clear from the off that you two were not a good match.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Remus calls you back.

You smirk, despite still feeling salty about it.

You spot Peter and Mary getting ready to leave, and call on him.

“Thank you for your help tonight, Petey.” You kiss his cheek and he blushes.

“Anything for you two, Sun and Moon.”

Truth is, if it wasn’t for you and Remus, Peter would’ve never gotten good enough O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s to end up where he is now. He owes you two a lot. And he always liked you. A lot.

He goes back to find Mary by the entrance, who waves tiredly.

“Can’t believe you almost bought a one-way ticket to Azkaban for my sake. Sectumsempra? Really?”

“I know. Can’t believe it either. Dunno what came over me…”

Except, you sort of know. Protective Soulmate magic can be quite scary, it turns out.

“Alright. Pull it out then.” You ask, pulling out your wand.

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“Sewerhead, I’m talking about your wand.”

“I beg—”

“Shut up! Your real wand! Wanker…”

Remus giggles way too high-pitched to be considered sober.

“What are we crossing them for, dovey?”

“Renewed friendship. Renewed promise that no one, absolutely no one, will ever get in between us again.”

“Brilliant. Agreed.”

“And if we ever think something is going on again, we will ask each other. Have a conversation. Clarify things. No more daft assumptions or running away without communicating.”

“Alright. Clarity and communication.”

“Yeah. Anything else?”

“Mmm… No more monkeys jumping on your bed, please?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Alright. No more monkeys jumping on the bed. Ready?”

You lift your wand into position.

“Ready.”

🪄Un. 🪄Dau. 🪄Tri.

You look at both wands intensely, as if having a realisation. And then you start chortling.

“What’s funny?” Remus is already laughing by association, not even knowing why.

“I just realised… When we cross wands, it’s like… our wands are kissing each other. You know, like the French do?”

The magical alcohol is still running through both of you, obviously.

So Remus gets a bit naughty with the thought. And he grabs your wrist and starts stimulating some serious snogging between your wands.

“Kissing? It’s more like they’re bumping their bits, right in the middle, look!” Click click click.

You are laughing in earnest now. “Remus! Stop, I can’t!”

“Oh no! What are they doing now? Oh, they’re getting frisky! I think they dipped into our drinks!”

Remus makes ridiculous little cartoon voices for them, rubbing both wands together like deranged sex puppets.

“Oh, you’re so big and shiny and brown and hard! I fancy the really long ones!” The voice he makes for your wand is high and nasal, posh-sounding. Then he switches to an exaggerated low, Welsh-lilted tone.

“And you my beauty, you look thoroughly polished! So smooth! With nice ridges down there!”

“Remus! I’m gonna piss my pants! Stop!” You are crying and holding your belly now.

“Oh look! It looks like your wand is going down on my wand! Oh, she likes its… bulbous handle!”

“Oh, my godric! Remus!” Your laughter is turning to squealing.

“But really, my wand wants to go down on your wand instead! “Oh yeah, been dreaming of it ever since we were stored back at old Ollivander’s! Oh yeah, nice curvy and swirly, yeeeahhh...”

The clicking of the wands causes some light sparks to fly. Remus doesn’t miss a beat.

“Oh no! Sparks flying! She likes it! She reeeeealy likes it!”

You have fallen to the floor, completely gone now.

“Next thing you know they’ll be having little twigs!”

You are screaming, laughing, about pissing yourself.

“I’ll never be able to cross wands with you again, you pillock!”

“Come on, embrace their sordid, filthy love!”

Remus returns your wand to you. And then, he looks intently to his for a few seconds.

“Y/N. Look.”

He slowly lifts the tip to an upright standing position impishly, while making a whistling sound effect.

“Morning wood.”

And you’re both gone, again. Faces buried in the carpet, howling and giggling like deranged muppets.

You won't remember half of the shitfest you were part of tonight, and yet…

All in all… not a bad Halloween night, after all.

♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️🐺♥️

PART 9

Nerdy-Ravenclaw fun facts!

Betamax videotape format was introduced by Sony in 1975, and JVC launched the rival VHS format in 1976.

In 1978, the first pre-recorded movies on video cassettes became available for sale and rental in the UK. However, the selection was extremely limited at first. But it’s not far-fetched to believe that affluent, tech-savvy people like Andrew would be on top of it and already collecting films by then.

The GE Widescreen 1000 is a real, first attempt at a 45-inch, luxury rear-projection widescreen tv. It was first available in 1978. You can find their vintage commercials on YouTube. https://youtu.be/3xpKRr86TrE?si=gmJvL0l0YHiNyqQ4

A/N: WASN’T THIS ONE MAD FUN?!?!? Emphasis on MAD, I know. I know! Unhinged chapter! I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. It’s so ridiculous at times, but it makes me laugh and scream and kick my feet. I hope you cheered right along with me.

Long live MOONSHINE!!! ♥️🐺☀️♥️ Long live ROBBIUS!!! ♥️🐾🩺♥️

I've been waiting to intro this pairing ever since I introduced this OC character back in chapter 4! I'm so happy for them I get emotional!

Please give it a little ♥︎ and send me a quick comment if you’re enjoying this story! I write for me and what I love, but I appreciate you being here very much! ♡♡♡

The Mumbly Cartoon show – The UFO's a No-No: https://youtu.be/jDR0dYEPBt4?si=W23hsRnQqxClO3N-