synopsis: shifting for the first time to surprise your boyfriends leaves you a whirlwind of nerves, but with the guidance of your closest companions, you discover an animagus form that feels entirely, unexpectedly like you.
warnings: sweetheart!reader, r is shy and anxious, r is best friends with regulus and barty, animagus transformation, magic, snow, fluff, panic and anxiety, seasonal cold/snow, mild self-doubt, feelings of nervousness and vulnerability.
You stand nervously in the middle of the snow, your breath rising in small clouds as it meets the crisp winter air. Every nerve in your body feels alive, tingling with anticipation and fear.
Pandora and Regulus are both staring at you, their expressions calm but attentive, while you panic and spiral quietly to yourself.
Your thoughts feel heavy, though you are still very much yourself, very much human, in this moment.
“It is completely normal to feel nervous during your first transformation,” Pandora says gently, kneeling slightly in the snow to be closer to your level.
“Especially when you do not even know what your Animagus will be.”
You shake your head, panic prickling in your chest. “I… I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice trembling. Your hands fidget with the cuff of your sleeve. “What if I fail? What if I hurt myself?”
Regulus steps a little closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, his expression composed yet firm. “You will not hurt yourself,” he says, his voice low, carrying a quiet certainty. “I know you. You are careful, and precise. Even your first attempt will not be dangerous.”
Your eyes widen as worry twists in your stomach. “But what if my Animagus is dangerous? What if it is something wild or… I don’t know… something I cannot control?”
Regulus lets out a short, amused chuckle. “You are my best friend. You would not be capable of producing anything dangerous. And honestly, I would not be surprised if it turns out to be something completely harmless. Likea butterfly.”
You pout, shoulders tense, feeling a little relief at his attempt at humor but still trembling. “I don’t know how to transform. What if I just… cannot do it?”
Pandora opens her notebook carefully, the pages crisp against the cold air. “Don’t worry,” she says, flipping to the page she has marked.
“We will go through the instructions step by step. Focus on your breathing. Relax your muscles. Visualize the form you wish to take. Imagine every part of your body shifting, folding, and changing until it feels natural.”
Regulus crouches slightly beside you, watching you carefully, his dark eyes bright with encouragement.
“The first time I transformed,” he says, a faint grin tugging at his lips, “I became a cat. Tiny, soft, and like a black shadow. I hid under the couch for hours because I was terrified I would break something or scare someone. But I learned to control it. You will, too. It is just a matter of patience and practice.”
You bite your lip, your gaze dropping to the untouched snow beneath your feet. “It still feels… impossible.”
Pandora reaches out and gently rests a hand near your shoulder, careful not to startle you. “Nothing worth doing comes without some fear. It is natural. The important part is that you try. That you don’t give up on yourself before you even begin.”
Regulus leans a little closer, lowering his voice to something almost conspiratorial. “I will be right here watching and making sure nothing goes wrong. I promise. And if it does… well, we will handle it together.”
You take a deep breath, feeling the crisp winter air fill your lungs, and step carefully back onto the thin ice near the edge of the frozen stream. You pull your scarf tighter, though it is heavy and awkward against your suddenly smaller frame.
Pandora kneels a few steps away, her notebook still in her hands. She tilts her head slightly, watching you with gentle patience. “Remember the steps,” she says softly.
“Relax. Focus. Visualize. You have worked for months for this. You can do it.”
You tense your muscles, every fiber of your body trembling, and let the magic flow. It begins at your toes, a strange tickling warmth that moves up your legs.
The sensation is dizzying, surreal, like every bone and muscle is bending in impossible ways. Your heart pounds, and you stumble on the ice, flailing slightly before your hooves catch.
When the shift is over, you stare down. Your hooves press into the snow, delicate and firm. Your legs feel both fragile and alive. You take a small, tentative step and then another, testing balance and coordination.
The cold snow presses against your fur, sparkling on the tips of your coat.
You flick your ears nervously, eyes wide, and glance toward Pandora and Regulus.
Their reactions hit you like a shock. Pandora gasps softly. “Oh… my…” Her eyes are wide, full of awe.
Regulus steps closer, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his voice carries a quiet wonder. “Incredible,” he says, crouching slightly.
Your tail flicks nervously, and you back up a few steps toward the frozen stream. You pause at the edge and lower your head toward the ice, sniffing, trying to understand yourself in this body.
The reflection that stares back at you makes your chest tighten with disbelief. Small, wide eyes, soft brown fur, and delicate white spots across your back.
A little deer.
You paw at the snow, testing your legs, and take a careful step forward, then another, discovering the agility in your new form.
Pandora tilts her head, eyes widening with so much joy that she practically glows. Her breath bursts out in a delighted cloud as she claps both hands over her mouth.
“Oh my god, you are like a little fawn!” she squeals, bouncing on her toes as if she cannot contain the excitement. “Look at you! You are tiny and spotted and absolutely precious!”
She crouches down a little, leaning closer with shining eyes.
Regulus chuckles lightly, crouching so he is level with your eyes. “I would never have guessed, but it suits you.”
Your ears twitch at every sound—the whisper of the wind, the crunch of snow beneath Regulus’ boots, the distant caw of a bird.
A tiny, excited leap carries you forward, snow spraying around your hooves. Your movements are clumsy but joyful, and a little thrill of freedom surges through you.
Pandora claps her hands softly, and Regulus leans back, eyes bright with amusement and pride.
The snow, the forest, the cold, the magic;; it all feels like it is yours, in this moment, completely and beautifully yours.
The second you shift back into your human body, you stumble straight onto your knees in the snow. A rush of wild exhilaration bursts through your chest, so powerful you can barely breathe.
I did it!” you gasp, practically choking on your own smile. “I did it, I did it! Pandora, Regulus, did you see that?”
You don’t even wait for an answer. You throw yourself at Pandora so fast she lets out a startled squeal of laughter as she catches you.
“You did it, sweetheart!” she cries, gripping your shoulders and shaking you a little in excitement. “You were amazing! I knew you would get it!”
You shake with excitement and cling to her a moment longer before turning and launching yourself at Regulus.
He stands with his arms half-raised, pretending he is not expecting it, although his eyes soften the moment you collide with him.
“Regulus!” you gasp, grabbing the front of his coat and practically bouncing on your feet. “i was a deer—a real deer! with spots and hooves and everything!”
His arms come around you slowly, steady and grounding, as if he wants to hold onto your excitement without letting it overwhelm you. His voice is low, smooth, calm.
“I know,” he says. “I saw the entire thing.”
You pull back a little, cheeks flushed, breath quick. “Did I look strange? Did I look ridiculous?”
He tilts his head, meeting your worried gaze, and a small, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips. “No. You were amazing,” he says softly. “Even when if the transformation was a little sloppy, it was perfect. You handled it better than anyone could have expected.”
You cover your face with your hands, heart pounding, and he gently moves your fingers aside, brushing snow from your hair.
“But you were also adorable,” he adds quietly. “A very, very adorable deer.”
You couldn’t help but feel giddy on the inside at Regulus’s praise.
He may have been your best friend and closest companion, but it was rare for Regulus, of all people, to show any emotion at all—let alone let his pride seep through the cracks of his carefully maintained walls.
A word of praise from Reggie, meant the world to you. It made your chest feel lighter, your heart warmer, and every bit of hard work you’d poured into becoming an Animagus feel completely worth it.
Pandora laughs again, brushing snow off your sleeve. “You should be proud. What a beautiful Animagus form.”
Regulus steps back and lifts one eyebrow. “Well then. Off you go, amour. Go show your boyfriends before you burst from excitement.”
You gasp dramatically and clutch Pandora’s hands. “We have to go. I need to tell them right now.”
Pandora squeezes your hands with the same excitement. “Go. They will be thrilled.”
****
“James!” you call the moment you burst into the common room.
You don’t even wait for him to answer — you grab his wrist with both hands and start tugging. “Come on, come on, come on, I need to show you something!”
James barely has time to blink. “Merlin, love— what’s got into you?” He’s stumbling after you, curls bouncing, but he’s already smiling because you’re smiling.
“Sirius!” you call over your shoulder. “Remus! Get over here!”
A groan answers you from the couch. “It’s snowing,” Sirius complains, dramatically wrapping himself tighter in a blanket. “Do you know what snow does to my hair?”
“You’ll survive!” you say, breathless and glowing. “Please, Pads, it’s really— really— really important.”
Before Sirius can argue again, Remus appears from the hallway, book still in hand, scarf slung over his arm. He takes one look at you, practically vibrating with joy, and his whole expression softens.
He steps forward and gently cups your face with both cold hands. “Dovey,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “take a breath. You’re shaking.”
“I know,” you say, grinning so hard your eyes crinkle. “I’m sorry— I just— it’s important, Moony.”
“No apologizing.” He smiles faintly. “Just slow down enough so we can keep up with you.”
“Right— right, okay,” you say, even though you’re still bouncing a little on your toes.
Sirius slinks over now, muttering under his breath, blanket still draped around him like a cape. “This better be worth frostbite.”
“It is,” you say, nearly squealing.
James squeezes your hand, brows raised in playful intrigue. “Are we going to pull a prank? Because if this is about causing some trouble, I’d like to mentally prepare first.”
“No! Well— no. Not this time.” You tug him closer. “It’s a surprise.”
Remus lets out a small, fond sigh and flicks his wand. Scarves whoosh out of his bag and wrap themselves neatly around each of your necks, warm as a cup of tea.
“If we’re going out,” he says, adjusting yours with gentle fingers, “we’re doing it without any of you getting sick.”
Sirius brightens immediately as the warmth hits him. “You should’ve led with the free winter gear,” he says, looping his scarf twice. “Very persuasive.”
“Alright,” James says, squeezing your shoulders, “where to, sweetheart?”
“Outside,” you say, practically glowing. “Hurry!”
Sirius opens the door with a flourish, snow drifting in on a soft, icy breeze.
You step into the center of the courtyard, breath puffing in front of you in little clouds. The boys stand a few feet away, bundled in their scarves, waiting.
But now that they’re actually here, watching you… your heart stutters. Nerves flutter in your stomach. You take a small step back.
Sirius tilts his head, a curious smile tugging on his lips.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he teases, “what is it you’re dying to show us?”
James laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, love, you’re scaring us a little.”
You swallow, nod once, inhale deeply—
And then you shift.
The world ripples around you, magic curling over your skin like warm light, and in a blink, you’re standing on four legs in the snow.
A small, soft deer with your fur dusted with flakes, breath steaming in the cold.
Three pairs of eyes widen dramatically.
For one perfect moment, silence.
Then—
James absolutely screams.
“Holy— Merlin’s scruffy stag— when— how— what—!”
James grabs Sirius’s arm, his eyes wide as if holding onto someone might help him process what he just saw.
Sirius stays frozen, mouth slightly open, completely still, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
Remus just blinks, taking a moment to register it all, his expression caught somewhere between shock and awe.
You stamp your little hooves impatiently, looking at them with wide, pleading eyes, as if to say, Well??
James is the first to find his voice, stumbling over words in his excitement.
“When did you even—how did you go through the Animagus process without us knowing— ”
You can’t help it. The thrill of it, the joy of finally revealing yourself, bubbles out uncontrollably, and you jump, bouncing in the snow, spinning and hopping with excitement.
And suddenly Remus breathes out a stunned laugh. “Oh, sweetheart— come here—”
You don’t even let him finish. You gallop straight toward him and tackle him into a soft drift of snow. He goes down with a yelp and then bursts into laughter, wrapping his arms around your warm neck.
“Okay— alright— alright— you’re heavy like this—” he wheezes, still grinning up at you. “Merlin, you’re beautiful.”
You nuzzle his cheek before prancing away, hooves crunching through the fresh layer of snow.
James is already crouched, eyes wide with pure awe and giddy pride.
“Look at you!” he gushes, one hand reaching out carefully to stroke between your ears. “You’re perfect. D’you know that? Absolutely perfect.”
You lick his sleeve and he laughs like a little kid.
Then you turn to Sirius.
He hasn’t moved at all.
He’s standing like someone hit him with Petrificus Totalus, except his eyes are huge and soft and the tips of his ears are pink from the cold.
You trot up to him and blink up at him with wide doe eyes.
He inhales sharply. “Oh… oh no,” he whispers. “You’re— you’re literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He drops to his knees instantly, hands hovering like he’s afraid to break you.
“I have so many questions— so many— but I can’t think right now because your little face is attacking my soul.”
You poke his side with your velvety nose.
He giggles. “Oh, that’s illegal— don’t look at me like that— Bloody hell, you’re adorable—”
He finally wraps his arms around your neck, burying his face into your fur. “I’m never letting you be human again.”
You snort loudly, which makes him laugh even harder.
And then—
James shifts into his stag beside you, tall and magnificent, nudging your shoulder with a joyful snort.
Sirius rolls his eyes, stands up, and transforms in a smooth wave of magic — a huge black dog shaking snow from his fur.
You squeak (or… whatever the deer equivalent of a squeak is) and immediately bolt across the courtyard.
Prongs and Padfoot charge after you, hooves and paws thundering through the snow.
Remus stays human, arms crossed, scarf fluttering in the wind, laughing helplessly as you dart behind him for protection.
He places one steady hand on your back.
You press closer to Remus, hiding half behind him, peeking out just enough to flick your ears at the two troublemakers.
Remus laughs and pats your side.
“My brave girl,” he teases softly. “Hiding behind the man who can’t even shift.”
You nudge him indignantly.
Padfoot and Prongs are still waiting for another chase, but both of them stay where they are when Remus places one calming hand on your back.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “Take your time. Whenever you are ready.”
You close your eyes. The magic rises again, warm and familiar now, like sunlight curling through your limbs. Your shape shifts. Your hooves sink into the snow and dissolve. Your fur pulls inward. The world tilts once, gently, and then settles.
You are human again.
Your knees fold, and you collapse forward into Remus’s chest, breath coming out in a startled gasp.
His arms tighten instantly, closing around you with a fierceness that makes your heart swell.
Remus’s hand rests lightly on your back, his voice soft as he leans down. “You alright?”
You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze, still flushed and breathless, and nod. “Yeah.”
Then, with a little nervous grin, you stare up at him. “Soooo… what do you think?”
He lets out a quiet, fond chuckle, brushing a hand through your hair. “I think… you’re amazing.”
You peek up at him through the scarf, a little shy but still glowing with excitement. “You… really think so?”
“I do,” Remus says quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You were incredible. All of it. I’m proud of you.”
Your chest swells, and you can’t help the soft, delighted laugh that escapes you. “Thank you… I was so worried you’d think it was silly or—”
Before you can finish, a loud chorus breaks through the calm.
“There she is!” James cries, barreling through the snow toward you, his hair dusted with flakes, a grin plastered across his face.
“You have an unbelievable amount of explaining to do, darling,” he announces, although his voice is far too warm to be truly scolding.
You giggle and pull your scarf close, cheeks warm despite the cold. Remus keeps one arm wrapped firmly around you as if he refuses to let you go now that you are back in human form.
“I know,” you say, still breathless and glowing. “I know I should’ve told you sooner. I just… needed to be sure. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew it was real.”
James’ brows lift, but his eyes are nothing but warm. “So all of this… has been going on for a while, then?”
You nod, hands twisting together for a moment before you make yourself meet their eyes. “A little over a month. Pandora helped me with the theory — she’s brilliant, honestly — and she was so patient with me. Every single time I messed up, she just tried again with me.”
Sirius snorts softly, though his smile is fond. “Of course she did. Pandora Lovegood could teach a rock to dance if she felt like it.”
You laugh, cheeks warming. “And Regulus helped too with the practical pieces. Making sure I didn’t try anything too reckless. He’s… very steady. He kept me grounded.”
James hums under his breath, impressed. “So he knew before we did.”
“Only by an hour!” you say quickly, as if it matters. “Today was the first time anything actually worked. And as soon as it did, I ran straight here.”
That earns you three different smiles, all of them soft.
Sirius nudges your shoulder gently. “Good. Because seeing you turn into that little deer might be the cutest thing that has ever happened in my entire life.”
You hide your face in your hands for a second, which only makes James laugh and pull your hands back down so he can see you. “Hey,” he says softly, “none of that. We’re amazed. That’s all.”
Remus’ hand finds its place on your back, slow and steady, his touch radiating reassurance. “You did something incredibly difficult, love,” he murmurs. “And you did it beautifully.”
Your breath catches in your throat, not because of nerves this time, but because of how full your chest feels.
You end up pulled into all three of them at once, completely surrounded and impossibly warm despite the snow drifting around your boots.
James presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”
Remus tightens his hold just slightly, voice low against your ear. “We all are.”
Sirius rests his chin on your shoulder. “Our little Bambi,” he says with a grin you can hear.
You let out a tiny laugh, too flustered to hide it. “Bambi?”
James grins. “Well, we can’t exactly keep calling you dovey now that we know you’ve been prancing around the forest behind our backs.”
Remus leans in slightly, his breath warm against your temple. “So,” he murmurs, a subtle smile in his voice, “do you want us to stick with dovey… or should we be calling you Bambi now?”
Your cheeks warm immediately. You duck your head a little, trying not to smile too widely.
“I don’t know,” you say honestly, the words coming out softer than you intend. “Either one is fine.”
Sirius snorts lightly. “That’s not an answer.”
You laugh under your breath, nudging him with your shoulder. “I don’t have a preference,” you admit, eyes flicking between all three of them. “If it’s from you, I’ll like it.”
James’ smile softens, warm enough to melt the snow still clinging to your coat.
“Well then,” he murmurs, brushing a bit of snow from your hair, “come on, Bambi. Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”
summary: After your apparent betrayal, your boyfriends are left juggling with their unresolved grief and anger. That is, until Riddle is declared dead. The war is over. Then a bloodied body stumbles back into their lives.
tags: angst, lots of angst. hurt with various attempts at comfort. mentions of blood and violence. death is a plot point in this fic.
a/n: oooo my first poly!marauders fic!! and of course i had to make it unhealthily angsty! i’m sort of geeked about this one, it took me a while to finish it but i’m happy with the final outcome. as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated, enjoy!! xx
—
Sirius exhales deeply, looking away from the bed and the lumps of his boyfriends sleeping soundly in front of him, neither of them waiting to shake off their own high. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins as well, coming out in short puffs of smoke as he pushes the cigarette on the ashtray. The rage too, though he suspects it’s mostly a second skin at this point. An unwanted and constant visitor in their home.
So is your absence.
His eyes flicker to the door, then to the closet, the bed… where you’d be sleeping soundly between James and Remus. A lump forms in his throat at his eyes mapping out the movements you had done before he ceremoniously fucked everything up with his bothersome anxiety–when he yelled at you and pointed fingers for something he himself didn’t even understand. Sometimes, late at night when the weight of war is still heavy on his shoulders, he punishes himself remembering that night.
Tinkling lights, pecan pie smell in the air, laughter despite uncertainty. Your cottage was full of life despite the war outside its windows, where one would find you and Remus tutting to each other until one would tap out from one your endless banters to prepare dinner, James running around menacingly spreading his happiness and love with little sloppy kisses and cuddles to whoever was free and Sirius… always sitting back, basking on the home they’ve created, one he never thought he’d be worthy of in the past.
He laughs–oh, how wrong he was.
“Sweetness!” He yelled, pointedly ignoring James’ loving jab as he twirled around the bannister, glistening eyes waiting for you to appear by the end of the stairs. “Dinner’s almost ready!“
A thud. Then a muffled, nervous curse. Your steps picked up on movement.
Sirius had frowned in confusion, wondering whatever you’d be doing to cause such commotion. He cut a quick glance at his boyfriends, and after deeming them properly occupied with one another, climbed up the stairs to check up on you.
“Coming!” Your answer came quickly. Too quickly, and your voice sounded frantic. Sirius’ brows furrowed.
He stopped by the door, left ajar, almost closed. That was strange, none of you were in the habit of closing it. His heart twisted to its own accord, mind coming to different conclusions.
He knocked softly. “Lovely?” At the touch of his knuckles at the door, it opened with a creak.
Sirius stepped in despite his best judgments, not suspecting anything other than maybe a small misunderstanding–you probably had tripped, or dropped something, he foolishly thought. However, the sight he encountered was far different, a recipe for heartbreak and despair. You were packing a bag in haste, hurried movements, but froze as he pushed the door open, stepping in with slow steps.
“…What are you doing?”
Your shoulders gravitated to your ears, eyes wide much like your heart was on your throat, similarly to him. The remaining clothes in your hands shook, an indication of your own body betraying your nervousness at being found out. Sirius took a short, tentative step closer, his eyes not leaving yours.
“Sirius–I… I was,” you swallowed thickly, eyes flickering from the door to him, almost begging for him to close it. To get an opportunity to dig your secret, hide it along the bag left open by the bed. “It’s not–it’s not what you think, love. I promise.”
“It’s not…” he frowned, looking down to make sure he was, in fact, not imagining things. That his frail mind wasn’t concocting more illusions to harm him. “It’s not what I think? Why are you packing your things, then?”
You cringed, stepping back to put down the clothes. Sirius noticed the way you placed them into the bag, not away–proving it was exactly what he thought.
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“You’re leaving?”
You screwed your eyes shut, forcing the tears he had noticed in the corners of your eyes to finally let loose, sliding down your cheeks like a tide, a bad omen. Sirius sucked in a breath, watching as you pushed the clothes deep into the bag, and closed it with finality. To him, James, Remus–to all of them.
“I must go,” you whispered, passing a harsh hand over your cheeks. Sirius’ eyes stung with unshed tears. “It’s for your own good.”
At last, a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Since when do you have the bloody right to dictate what’s good for me?” he took a step to you, and his heart twisted at the way your grip around your wand tightened in response. “Tell me the truth. Now.”
You shook your head, turning to take your bag. And as a desperate instinct, his hand reached for it before your fingers could grasp the handle.
“Sirius–please. Don’t do this.” you pleaded quietly, your cold hands touching him over the handle.
Your promise ring glistened over his hand, his own ring shining in response. Its love charm had been working overtime to patch the cracks in his heart.
“Me?” he asked, a startled albeit bitter chuckle left his lips, staring at you in disbelief. “You’re the one packing your things.”
“I know… I know,” you nodded, the tears on your jaw continued their trail all the way down to your neck. Sirius’ lip quivered, his fingers twitching to reach for you to clean them. “I have to.”
Steps shuffled closer, then, an unsuspecting quip. “Oi, are you two leaving me out of something?” James called out, climbing up the stairs.
Your eyes widened more, if it was physically possible, and Sirius almost felt bad for it–but he was desperate. He fully opened the door as James walked closer. His steps faltered at what he saw, and you finally let go of your bag to turn away, to turn your back to them in order to collect yourself.
“Everything alright?” James asked cautiously, hazel eyes flickering between Sirius and you as he slowly entered the room. He frowned at the bag in his boyfriend’s hand. “What’s that for?”
Sirius’ jaw tightened, pointing at you.
“Ask her.”
James turned to you, tilting his head as he scanned you quickly. His eyebrows pinched at your tears.
“Is something wrong, lovie? What happened?”
It had Sirius’ desired effect, however, not the reaction he expected. You simply snatched the bag from him in his distraction, a hiccup leaving your lips before you could stop it as you pushed past him, running down the stairs before neither of them could get a word out. James had only thrown an accusatory look at Sirius before turning to run after you, firing rapid questions that only made your hiccups turn erratic.
He followed the voice of your sobs, of James’ hurried, desperate voice–then, Remus.
“Dove, you’re scaring me. Why are you crying?”
“I can’t do this,” you mumbled, shaking your head the closer Sirius got. It was only a matter of time until he met you three by the door. “I promised. I promised I wouldn’t say anything–Please stop asking.”
“Promised what?”
You shook your head, shoving your foot into your boots instead of meeting their gazes–their panicked, worried gazes. When Remus moved to reach for you, Sirius only raised an arm in front of his stomach, stopping him from even taking a step. His betrayed heart controlled him despite his own loving nature when it came to you.
“Promised who, y/n?” Sirius asked this time, voice purposefully cold. Both James and Remus cut a warning glare at him–at his implications. But Sirius only took a step closer. “Riddle?”
He watched in unusual satisfaction as you froze, his lip twitched in an almost bitter smirk when you stood straight to meet his own glare. A tense silence blanketed your otherwise cozy cottage, and both Remus and James’ stances changed as they fully registered the question thrown at you–and how your silence was an answer on its own.
You scoffed. “Of course,” you muttered, passing a harsh hand over your cheeks again. Your stance changed too, one of anger that they hadn’t seen in a while. “Of course you’d think that, Sirius.”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
You shook your head, shrugging your coat on with shaky movements–anger and despair radiating off you.
“I would never betray you that way and you know that.”
“You’re doing it now, aren’t you?”
“Enough.” Came Remus’ voice, cutting through the tension as he walked to you, pushing Sirius’ arm from his way. However, you took a step back, almost pressed against the door.
James sighed. “Love–please, just… just tell us enough to understand.”
“What’s the point? You’d still think I turned–that I’m leaving you to join Riddle.”
Sirius couldn’t help it. “And? Are you?”
“Sirius.”
“Answer me.” he only said, pointedly ignoring Remus’ frustrated plea.
“Sirius, enough.”
He watched, eyes stinging with tears, as you held his glare, then turned to your boyfriends as if saving the last images of their faces in your memory–all before tightening your hold on your wand and turning to walk out the door.
Not at all deigning to answer his question.
But the answer came, eventually. After weeks of silence, mourning your absence–his answer came in the form of a grainy, barely visible photograph in the Daily Prophet. Next to his well known death eater brother and his friends.
“…Sirius?”
He blinks, looking away from the closed door to meet James’ half-lidded gaze, his voice drowsy as if he just noticed Sirius wasn’t by his side.
“Go to sleep, James.” he only murmurs, reaching over to grab a brand new cig from his nightstand.
“Hey–”
“Go to sleep.”
Hurt passes over his face, and Sirius momentarily regrets his harshness, if only he had done such a thing months ago–if he had remembered he had two loving boyfriends left that surely wouldn’t leave him for a genocidal cult. But they all had their own coping mechanisms, if James can cling to his quiet denial, and Remus to his raging silence, Sirius thinks his anger is well earned.
Nights are mostly spent that way, heavy with grief and anger depending on who’s awake and willing to embrace it. Sometimes Sirius himself would wake up to find Remus wandering around chain smoking with that permanent frown on his face, others to James’ staring out the window, cheeks glistening with tears he never had the desire to clean. On rare occasions, they’d all be granted a full night’s sleep.
Tonight is, apparently, not one of them. As James rests back on his elbows and studies him over, knowing better than to insist, Remus only sighs from his side of the bed before pushing himself up to trudge out the room. Not emitting a single word, he hasn’t since you left.
The bad feeling clings to them like a bad omen again, and however they try to suppress it with mindless, empty sex, it seems to follow them deep into the night as the silence makes itself louder in the cottage. Sirius lights up his cigarette, pointedly looking away from James’ sad eyes as he exhales a puff of smoke, hazel eyes staring intensely to the side of his face.
He tilts his head ever so slightly, almost challengingly. “What?”
James’ parts his lips to speak, his Adam's apple going up and down as he ponders on his words. However, a loud crashing sound comes from downstairs, and soon a bright, almost blinding light enters the room. A patronus in the form of a Phoenix.
“He has fallen…. Riddle is dead.” Dumbledore’s voice echoes like a faraway hallucination, Sirius scrambles to stand, pushing the cig over the ashtray. “Location 3. Location 3.”
James jumps off the bed, running to take his trousers and put them on. Remus comes stumbling to the room, usual emotionless eyes staring wide open in shock. The patronus fades into nothingness at their lack of answers, and they remain frozen looking at one another almost in fear of breaking the fantasy of what they just heard.
“Is he…” James clears his throat, very slowly lowering his jumper over his head. “Could this be a trap?”
Remus only shakes his head, but doesn’t offer a logical answer like he normally would’ve done time ago–when his words were a balm to your and all of their war-driven anxieties.
“Well,” Sirius says, pushing past Remus to walk up to the closet, shaky hand reaching for a shirt so harshly the hanger flies off. “There’s only one way to find out. Location 3 is here, whether it is good or bad, we must be ready.”
Remus and James share a look, but both follow Sirius down to the sitting room in silence. Where, ever so faintly, a quiet tinkling sound increases in sound–a pattern well known among Order members to announce their arrival to a secret location. James swallows down a relieved sigh and mirrors his boyfriends’ stances, wands drawn and readily pointing at the door.
However, as it opens, the relieved sigh does leave his lips when Lily walks in with an equally frazzled Marlene in tow, both with red-rimmed eyes searching for answers none of them could offer.
“Did you receive one, too?” Marlene asks, shaky hands brushing hair away from her tear-streaked face. “Has anyone else arrived?”
Sirius shakes his head, at last lowering his wand. “No.”
“Do you think they’ll be able to…” Lily hiccups, but stands tall as she wanders around the room. “To tell us? Where they are? Or if they–”
“Shut up, Lily.” Marlene nearly barks, but shakes her head afterwards, lips turning downward in guilt. “Sorry… sorry, I just–just… don’t say that, please.”
But it’s too late, the ever consuming thought lingering between them grows heavy as the silence stretches on. Secret coding and messages are shared as each member arrives, all of them with endless questions at the tip of their tongues and no one to answer them yet.
Dumbledore’s arrival comes almost an hour later, finding twenty-somethings walking around in dread and anxiety as they wait for him. The old man only makes his way into the cottage in calculated silence, as if testing the tension before launching into explanation.
James, surprisingly, is the first to snap. “Well?” He raises an eyebrow, knuckles white from holding his wand tightly. “Is he really dead?”
“It appears, so, yes.” Dumbledore nods, making a point of turning to look into everyone’s eyes as the truth settles in the room. “I apologize for my late arrival, I needed to confirm certain details with my spies before coming here to deliver the news.”
“Spies?” Someone asks.
“As in Death Eaters?" Someone follows.
A diaspora of questions fly around the room, and all it takes to lower its volume is Dumbledore raising a hand ever so calmly to put an end to their questioning. Sirius cuts a quick glance at his boyfriends, both with tense jaws and staring holes into their past headmaster’s head.
“Many have fallen to serve this cause and secure our victory tonight… Many friends, families, brave people who gave their lives so others may live to see this happen.” He starts, voice monotone and lacking any real comfort to their distress.
Sirius’ fingers twitch for another cig.
Dumbledore clears his throat. “Among them,” He says, tone taking a rather tentative edge that has everyone holding their breaths. “Those who walked in the shadows to fight, who tarnished their reputations in order to secure our future, those whose sacrifices we may never fully know–or comprehend.”
“You mean the spies.” Sirius cuts in, arms crossed tight as he glares at the man, who only nods in return. “Who were they?”
None of them miss the way a sorry look passes over his eyes, hand fixing his half-moon glasses as he turns to continue addressing the room.
“Let us honor our well loved soldiers and friends, Dorcas Meadowes, Regulus Black, y/n y/l/n and Peter Pettigrew in their ever consuming battle to ensure we see the day we’re freed of Riddle’s tyranny.”
And just like that, Sirius feels like the air has been completely, violently sucked out of him. His chest tightens in a way he has to wheeze to get oxygen through, hand clasping his wand desperately as two sets of hands find his back with equal shakiness to what he feels.
However, Dumbledore continues on as if the well deserved reactions were merely a distraction to the monologue he had prepared to explain their victory.
“They bravely took on a very dangerous mission that none of them knew if they’d return from–yet they did to honor the cause, for all of you. Let us not forget their sacrifices.”
Sirius blinks. And his anger comes aflame as he nearly pushes his boyfriends away from him.
“You–you made them go?” Sirius seethes, glaring at the man and seeing red. Who, in return, only sends him a sad smile. “You forced her to go?”
“I merely presented the mission. The decision was theirs to make, Mr. Black.”
Marlene stands, her own eyes a fiery shade. “Why them? Why not any of us? Why… why would you do something so selfish?”
“Because they were the most prepared and skilled people in this Order to fulfill this mission–it was imperative for it to be done by them, otherwise it would’ve failed.”
James frowns. “What was the mission?”
“Horcrux hunting.” He replies easily, as if he was back in Hogwarts, explaining a concept to a first year. James’ clenches his fists. “Mr. Black came to me one night, and told me intel about how Riddle apparently split his soul into six objects to remain immortal. However, he couldn’t pinpoint the location of said objects.”
“So you sent them to a bloody scavenger hunt? Is that it?” Lily’s voice snaps, sucking the air out of the room at the anger taking over her words. “Was it successful, at least? Or you just sent them to their own deaths?”
Dumbledore has the gall to smile. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
The Order falls into an almost silent state, thick with whispers and sniffling as some members begin coming off their high at the news of their victory, others in grieving silence as the truth lingers in the atmosphere. Sirius wants them to leave, to get every single person, whether they deserve it or not, out of his home to let him rage and grieve in silence. To drown in his own guilt, his regret at all the times he wrongfully thought you had betrayed them. By the looks of Remus and James, they’re not so far off from breaking as well, it’s only a matter of time.
Dumbledore clears his throat, but Marlene speaks first. “Were they the ones who killed him?” She asks in a small voice, strained by months of pain and sobbing. “Are they… are they dead, too?”
Every set of eyes fall on the man, who only sighs. “They did, however I can’t tell you who survived and who didn’t.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” James jumps to his feet. “You just said you talked to your spies! Are they dead or not?”
“They weren’t the only spies in our group, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore says in infuriating calmness. “We know as a fact that they were present the moment Riddle was pronounced dead, but they couldn’t tell me who did it–and if they survived.”
Sirius pushes his wand on the back pocket of his jeans. “Who’s this bloody spy? I’ll talk to–”
A hand holds his arm, with enough strength to pull him back as he takes a step to the door. Remus only shakes his head when he whips his head to meet his gaze. Sirius has half the mind to push him away, to throw cruel words to finish him off, but at the first indication of tears glistening in his boyfriend’s eyes, his shoulders slump.
“No need for such ruckus, Black. I’m here.” A deadpan voice calls, drowned out by the murmurs and whispers among the group.
Snape steps out from his place, his presence silencing the room.
“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore says, sounding almost relieved at his arrival. Sirius bites back a comment. “What news do you bring?”
Snape’s eyes, ever devoid of emotion, flicker around the room. “Dead, all of them.”
A strained sound comes off James’ lip, denial wrapped in a badly contained sob.“What…? She… she’s dead too?”
“Yes.”
“No.” Sirius says then, before he can stop himself. He shakes his head in anger, taking long strides to Snape before any of his boyfriends or the order members could react. “You’re a bloody liar, Severus–I know you, you’re doing this to taunt me, isn’t it? Is this your well earned vengeance?”
“Sirius.” Lily speaks, her shaky hand comes around his wrist where he’s pointing his wand directly at Snape’s throat. “That’s enough.”
But Snape only swallows, lips twitching. “I’m sorry, Black.” He says, almost sounding a little sympathetic. “She put up a good fight until the end.”
Sirius only steps back, reeling in shock. A hand finds his hand, and he’s being pulled away to his usual spot in a wingback by the chimney. His fingers go numb, so does his mind.
Dumbledore parts his lips to speak, probably at the ready to mutter another vague sentence to cement them in their uncertainty and grief. But then, just to the untrained eye, a simmer begins, increasing in its intensity as the silence stretches on. Remus, already on his feet, draws his wand before any of the order members can realize something shifted.
Sirius, in all his mildly dissociated state, stiffens visibly at the vibrating under his boots, increasing as he stands. The protection charm goes off then, signaling in a frightening way that someone has crossed the concealed, protected barrier around the cottage. All signals that an unknown presence lingers just outside the meadows where Remus and you had placed the first protection spells.
Sirius snaps into action, and so does the rest of the order, members apparate away in panic, others take the Floo powder and flee the scene without a second thought–the small group that stays, jump to action with wands drawn pointed in every direction with a hex at the ready.
Except… for a while, nothing happens. The meadow is as still as ever, wheat flowing with the small busts of wind coming from the west, the starry sky tinkles unsuspectingly.
He’s about to retreat, blaming his paranoid tendencies when he hears it–the quenching sound against the mud, coming in quick, hurried steps as if they were running away from something.
Then, a flicker. Movement beyond the trees, quick enough to pass in a blur, a figure–no, a shape, half-running out of their hideaway, breath louder and louder the closer they get. A person, covered in red–head to toe–sprinting towards the cottage with utter terror, their eyes a blinding, widened white a stark contrast to their bloodied state.
Someone growls a warning, probably him. Sirius sees from his peripheral vision as all Kingsley, Moody and Dumbledore lift their wands, Lily and Marlene take a tentative step forward with shaky movements. But Remus and James still, hands lowering just a smidge. He does, too.
Because they know that run, that gait.
James takes a step forward, then another, and before anyone can react, you slam against his chest so harshly you tumble backward. His arms move to catch you before he can even comprehend what happened, but you’re already scrambling back on your elbows. Eyes wide with feral terror as your hand hurriedly pats the wheat in search of your wand, snatching it like a lifeline once you find it. You’re panting, chest heaving and eyes wild and dilated with survival, you whirl towards James.
Wand pointed directly at him.
James freezes, “Don’t–”
But your hold doesn’t waver, eyes not even looking at him, more like through him, as if assessing his stance. You don’t hear your name in his mouth.
The moon casts its glow on your form, catching on the sticky and sheen of blood all over you, on your neck, your face. your arms, everywhere. You’re soaked with your blood, or someone else’s, most definitely, wearing it like a second skin as you point your wand up at them.
Sirius swallows the lump in his throat, and your eyes snap to him, widened and ferocious with adrenaline as you point your wand at him, then at Remus, then back at James. It seems you’re knee deep into your survival instinct that has barely registered to your traumatized mind that you’re not supposed to fear them–that they would never hurt you.
He holds your crazed gaze, and his chest heaves as you crawl backwards on your elbow, wand still drawn like an injured animal retreating from imminent danger. What sort of hell did she have to claw through in order to survive? Sirius thinks, though he suspects it’s a thought he shares with his boyfriends as they finally lower their wands at you.
“Put it down,” someone says, voice commanding but far away. Maybe Moody, or even Kingsley, it’s hard to make out the tone. “Put the wand down.”
Your grip doesn’t loosen, you don’t blink.
James clears his throat, trying to soften his voice. To swallow his sorrow. “Put it down, love.”
If anything, your shaking increases in intensity, leaves crushing beneath your weight as you crawl away from them. Wand still pointed like a lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, adrenaline pumping through every fiber of your body with such vigor Sirius knows he’s not the only one picking up its sound.
At last, he completely lowers his wand with finality, a stark difference to yours as your arm trembles under the weight of your wand, of your instincts to fight. Blood drips from your elbow, fresh, crimson blood. Your jumper is torn, twisted here and there like whoever tried to attack you reached for anything to hold you back. But you don’t move, only your chest up and down as your pants lower in sound until they echo very faintly through the air.
Remus dares to take a step closer, hands out, leaves crunching under his boot as he moves, and your eyes snap to him, fury and dread mixed with the remains of your last duel echoing behind your gaze. Like you’re still running, still surviving.
And James–who is seemingly still reeling, chest heaving from where you slammed into it, says your name again. Softly, like a plea.
“It’s me. James.” He says quietly, voice breaking.
You blink. Very quickly, like you can’t afford a moment of darkness, of uncertainty. But when your eyes flicker between them, there’s confusion–slow recognition of something distant, a life so far away. Your wand lowers a fraction.
Another step, leaves crunching closer to you. You crawl back, half of a movement as you whip your wand at Remus, who only gets closer with every release of air from your lips. His scarred hands come into your view, spread in front of him to show his compliance, that he’d never hurt you.
“D–Don’t,” you mutter, voice cracked and strained, like it pushes through your throat to come out–thick with blood and mud. “Don’t.”
There’s a flicker of movement, and you turn to point at Moody as he limps to you, your eyes hardening where they meet his eyes. “Identify yourself.” He snarls, pointing his wand at you in return. Then, as if he thinks better of it, “Were you followed?”
“Don’t speak to her like that.” Sirius snaps, withdrawing his wand to his back pocket, away from sight.
Moody pointedly ignores his jab, holding your glare with one of his own. “Who are you?”
You back away, grip tightening once again around your wand in response. The fight simmering in your veins waiting for the moment to lunge at him, to fight or flight.
“Did Riddle send you?” He presses, eye twitching when you visibly flinch at the mention of your fallen leader. “To finish us off? Speak.”
You shake your head, swallowing thickly. “I–I didn’t mean to,” you say, voice wavering and at odds with the stoicism in your hold around your wand. “I didn’t… I didn’t–” you falter, so does your arm.
Then, in a second of thick silence, where your erratic breathing slows to a simmer of survival, Remus lowers himself in front of you, shaky hands still spread out in soft warning. Your eyes follow his movements, widened and studying him to find a flaw in his attempt at proximity. Leaves crunch under his knees, which crack as he kneels before you with nothing but care to offer, however you seem too deep into your own head to recognize his comforting presence.
“Don’t–Don’t,” you whisper, watching with a flicker of confusion as he leans, very slowly, closer to you. The tip of your wand hovers inches in front of his chest. “Please, I… I–Not you, too.”
Remus’ lips twitch, eyebrows furrowing in a faint movement. Then, “Dove...” He says, his own voice barely a whisper and strained over the months he hasn’t spoken.
You shake your head, blinking furiously as the beginnings of reality come crashing down. Your wand lowers just a smidge, pausing mid-air as your brain manages to register the shape in front of you over the fog of your instinctual dissociation.
Sirius dares to take a step closer as well, moving despite himself, guided by his heart more than his own instincts. Your eyes snap to him, less widened as they, too, register his face for flaws that could uncover his true intentions–he has half the mind to put your mind at ease, to remind you once again they’d never cause you harm.
That you’ve returned home, however you managed to, but you’ve clawed your way to them.
“I… I didn’t mean to,” you repeat, with less conviction this time, eyes snapping to Remus where he meets your gaze with comfort and patience. Your hand drops between you, silence thickening by the second. “He… He was going to kill us both, I couldn’t–”
Moody mutters something under his breath. Kingsley only hushes him with a hand up, all eyes on Remus’ back where it’s eclipsing you.
“Who, dove? Who was going to kill you?” Remus asks softly, his own hands lowering as your breathing visibly calms down.
“I didn’t mean to,” you say again, eyes frantic as your mind refuses to let go of the memories, to let your guard down. But your body has other ideas, stilling as Remus shuffles ever so gently towards you. “I… I didn’t–”
“It’s alright,” he nods, swallowing thickly as his shaky hand comes closer to you. You hold your breath where he places it on your arm, warm hand touching the sticky substance over your skin where the sleeve is torn off. “You’re safe now, you… you’re home.”
Your chest heaves as you inhale sharply, eyes snapping up to meet his gaze. “…Home?”
Remus nods with hopefulness, and you mirror it mostly as a reflex. His hand, trembling, moves up and hovers over your face–not at all phased by the way you flinch inwardly in response. Then, very gently, he places it on the side of your face. Filthy with mud, blood, your body temperature borders on iciness.
James lowers himself by your side, eyes glassy as he studies your bloodied form with a tightness in his chest.
“Yeah,” he smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You blink again. “Home, you… you came back.”
A light flickers in your eyes, not quite calm. Not peace, just… recognition. Your lips part, head shaking mostly like a reflex of the fight still simmering under your skin.
Then, Remus moves again. Slowly, without hesitation as he gathers you into his arms. Blood be damned, flare up aches be damned. Because you’re home, in his arms again, and Sirius, caressing the nape of his neck with his ringed hand, is finally capable of offering comfort after months of nothing but rage. And James is there, crouched next to him, eyes glistening with tears as you slowly return to them not only physically–but emotionally as well.
…
The chimney has long past casted any warmth since they walked in, James holding your limp form in his arms before you put up a fight against his hold–seemingly slipping in and out of disorientation at their attempts at comforting you.
Sirius paces once again around the room, pinching the bridge of his nose as they wait for any indication that you’re done doing whatever you’re doing up in the room. You had requested space—and they granted it without a second thought, but even for them it was far too eerily silent to indicate any movement from your part. Almost like you’re not even there.
Remus is somewhere by the kitchen shakily preparing tea by the stove, passing a sleeve over his eyes to clean the tears that escape his attempts at holding them back. James isn’t so far better, sitting by the chimney with hazel eyes lost on the barely visible fire before him. The room is thick with silence.
Then, a loud thump noise, and before he can stop himself, Sirius sprints up the stairs, boots stomping on each step as he runs to you–if you’re there, or if your body has finally given out after the fight you crawled out of. Whatever it is, his heart jumps up his throat at the repetition of the same mantra, the same thought that you’re gone again, that you fled.
When he pushes the door open, his eyes immediately land on the bathroom door, left open ajar in a cruel parallel to the last night he saw you–when he cornered you demanding answers and pointing accusations he had no right in uttering. But now, he’s learned his lesson. He doesn’t wait to knock, only opens it cautiously, almost in fear of whatever he might find.
Steam fogs the mirror, it’s what he first notices as he steps in–the light is warm, but dimmed and flickering ever so slightly in the corner. You’re hunched over the edge of the tub, bloodied trousers and jumper discarded in a crumbled mess by the sink. As his grey eyes scan the scene, his heart skips a beat when they land upon the fabric clinging to your form, a blue graphic tee you had stolen from James years ago–a relic of another life.
You inhale sharply, knuckles holding the edge of the tub tightly as your eyes snap to him. “Sorry,” you mumble, swallowing thickly and eyes widened like you had been caught doing something wrong. “Sorry. It’s just, this… this wasn’t here… before.”
His eyes flicker to the tub, then back at you. The water running provides a calm, ever present sound to the silence surrounding you both in the bathroom, droplets of water running down your bloodied arm where it’s holding a sponge in your hand. Crimson red where you’ve tried to scrub your thighs.
Sirius’ lips part, torn between reminding you the tub has always been there–that you used to love it, and your time alone to take a bath in the midst of the chaos. But, at the faraway look that seems to come and go in your face, he only swallows any comment that would make you close off.
He clears his throat, “Uh, yeah, it’s… it’s relatively new,” he lies, taking a tentative step inside. He closes the door behind his back. “Are you alright?”
You nod, eyes flickering down at the sponge in your hand, and how it seems to do a futile job to scrub the blood away from your skin. Sirius only wets his lips–salty where his tears had finished their trail down his face moments prior–and extends a hand out, palm open in silent question as he holds your gaze.
“Do you need help?” He asks softly, pointing at the sponge in your hand.
He half expects you to flinch back, to reach for your wand where it’s by the floor next to the tub. But your eyes have that foggy quality again, like you’ve slipped into dissociation. He waits, heart thumping loudly as you take a deep, trembling breath before nodding your head very slowly.
Sirius nods in response, sitting on the floor, legs folded uncomfortably under him. And then, very gently, he rolls up his sleeves, like he’s preparing himself to touch something important, something sacred. Your eyes follow his movement, not emitting a word as the back of his cold fingers brush your skin on your abdomen, pinching the hem of your shirt in question.
“I’m just going to…” he looks down at the bloodied shirt, and you follow his gaze, lips parting like you’ve just realized the state you’re currently in.
“Yeah, um, sure.” you whisper, raising your arms as he very gently pulls it up and over your head. “Just–just don’t throw it out, please.”
A lump forms in his throat, and he nods wordlessly as he puts it down by his side on the floor. It pools in a little puddle of blood against the tiles.
You step into the tub with cautious movements, and Sirius only reaches for the washcloth under the sink, soaking its soft fabric in warm water before wringing it out.
And so, he begins.
His hand finds yours, guiding it away from your knees as he takes it in his, passing the washcloth over your skin with tender movements. There’s blood everywhere, between your fingers, under your nails, in the little cracks of skin in your knuckles, traveling all the way up to your forearm.
The source of it, he suspects–where he half expected a dark mark staring at him in mockery, he only finds burned off flesh and scars like someone had tried to strip you off the skin. Only remains of scars are barely visibly surrounding the poorly tended wound, and he tries to make his movements even more careful as he dabs at it very gently to clean it.
He moves up its trail to your arm, and your eyes follow each of his movements with such intensity he has to pause a few seconds to allow you some time to yourself, to remember you’re safe. Sirius wishes you’d had this fact well imprinted in your head, but he doesn’t mind reminding you–if pausing his careful cleaning to allow you peace of mind, he will give you all the time you need.
He looks back at your hand, now clean and bare where it rests over the edge of the tub. He tries to not dwell on its nakedness, at the lack of rings–the one you nicked from him back in fourth year, the amethyst one you’ve bought off a street vendor at Diagon Alley, the little, thin ones you’d occasionally use depending on your mood.
A fear creeps up his body, his veins, taking over his heart as it skips a beat in restraint before he casts a quick glance at your other hand over your knee. Still bloodied and waiting to be cleaned, but most importantly–most heartbreakingly, where it lacks your promise ring.
His hold on the washcloth loosens just a fraction, and it takes him a small movement from you as you press your knees closer to your chest to shake himself off his despair. Sirius only has a moment to collect himself before you could swat him away–or recoil as you come to your senses and find him so close to you.
Almost like you would’ve done years ago–when being fussed over was something still new to you. Something they had helped ease you into.
Sirius cuts a quick glance at you, lips twitching mostly at the memory than at what he finds–your faraway eyes staring a hole into the wall. His thumb brushes at your palm, a smooth motion that causes you to blink at the tiles before turning to meet his gaze.
He doesn’t ask where the ring is–if you threw it away, or if it was taken from you in a battle. He doesn’t ask why. He just holds your hand gently, like it’s made of glass, like you might dissolve if he lets go–and continues scrubbing. Quietly, lovingly, with aching care.
…
As soon as Sirius jumps down the last step of the stairs, James and Remus are on their feet. Equal widened and red-rimmed eyes staring at him with questions at the tip of their tongues.
He sighs, eyes glassy, sleeves rolled up, there’s a smudge of blood on his shirt by his stomach where it’s clinging to his skin from warm water. He doesn’t say anything at first, but there’s a wet, bloodied piece of fabric crumpled in his hands.
“She, um,” His voice is thin. He blinks as if to stop the tears from finally cascading down his cheeks. “She asked if we could wash it for her.”
There’s a funny tilt to his voice–faint and almost unrecognizable–he sounds like he could almost laugh in amusement, though it’s hollow when he looks down at the shirt. And it isn’t amusing, because your shirt, the battered and torn thing in his hands, still matters to you despite everything. That you carried a piece of home with you and even now, when you’re safely back, you’re pleading for him to take care of that piece that anchored you to them.
There’s a faint creak as the door opens upstairs. Then, tiptoeing the floodboards silently, you appear by the end of the stairs. They freeze. Your hand clasps your wand by your side as you climb down in careful, calculated steps, before meeting them by the sitting room. Wide eyes flickering between them in a manic albeit less alert manner like you’re calculating each of their movements as much as they are to yours.
Remus almost parts his lips to speak, probably knee deep in a memory as his eyes clock your bare feet against the freezing floor. The fabric of the clothes Sirius laid out for you swish softly with every tentative step you take.
Your fingers twitch around the wand, seemingly stuck in defense or attack at the sight of three boys in front of you. Sirius’ chest heaves when you take a tentative step back in reflex.
James clears his throat, “It’s alright–you… you’re safe. See?” He spreads his hands open, then points at Remus and Sirius, who mirror him unconsciously. “No wands.”
Your eyes scan each of them in silence, and your grip loosens just a smidge, imperceptible to the untrained eye–but they are completely attuned to you, despite the months away, they can notice your tells, your fidgeting. Doesn’t help that your heart is going a kilometer per hour, with no indication of slowing down any time soon.
“My… my clothes?” you turn to Sirius, who blinks back the tears when he meets your gaze. He looks down at his hands, at your crumpled shirt. “My necklace… it was in my jumper. I–I need it.”
“Your necklace?” Sirius echoes dumbly, eyes falling to your chest just barely visible over the hem of your oversized shirt. You nod. “I haven’t thrown them out, let me… I’ll check.”
You nod, bringing your hand to your forearm, nails scratching the tender flesh of your wound. James frowns when he notices the wince in your face when you touch it.
“Don’t… You’ll get it infected,” he manages, voice coarse like it had been scraped out.
At last, he snaps into action, so does Remus as each reaches for the healing potions they prepared for you while Sirius helped you get cleaned up. Your eyes follow their movements, and it seems to take you an enormous amount of courage to prompt your feet to move forward, tiptoeing your way to the couch in careful motion. James visibly swallows the lump in his throat at your evident distrust for them.
A scarred hand squeezes his wrist as he unpacks the bandages, and he’s eternally grateful when he looks up to find kind, amber red-rimmed eyes staring at him with softness. He clears his throat, and continues with his task as Remus moves and lets go to fully turn to you, washcloth at the ready wet with his healing potion of choice.
You’re nearly pushed deep between the cushions, leg bouncing with apparent nervousness as your eyes scan each boy inquisitively–like your brain knows they’re safe, they’re yours, and yet your body keeps betraying you, rejecting any feeling of comfort they offer.
“It’ll sting a bit, okay?” Remus whispers, patient hand open until you offer your wounded arm. As your eyes flicker from his hand to him, he tries to make his voice extra soft. “Would you like some calming draught?”
“No.” You shake your head quickly, placing your arm over his hand in response. He startles at your immediate compliance. “No calming draughts.”
“Okay, that’s fine.” he nods, dabbing the washcloth on your arm very gently. You still wince.
Remus continues dutifully dabbing at your wound, amber eyes patient and gentle hand stopping when a specific movement snaps you back into survival mode, yanking your arm away from him. It’s okay, he says every time–he’s well aware of the intimacy of getting healed up. He wishes you could remember how you’d done the same to him countless times after violent full moons.
Sirius emerges from the back of the kitchen a moment later, torn jumper in his hands and a face like he can’t quite understand where you could possibly leave your necklace–by his pinkish fingers, it’s obvious he tried to save you the hassle of searching for it yourself. But to no avail, there’s no glistening or indication that said necklace got tangled up with the fabric. He doesn’t really have the heart to tell you it’s probably lost, maybe during your escape.
Instead, he walks up to you, stopping to give you your wished space. “I… I couldn’t find the necklace, I’m sorry.” Love, he almost says. But bites his tongue, his heart cracks.
Despite everything, you don’t seem devastated by this fact. Free arm reaching for the jumper when he hands it over to you. Both James and Remus pause on their healing when you place it over your knees, smudging your skin with the mud and blood clinging to the fabric. You’re not deterred though, eyes intense and nimble fingers working over the threads until the jumper is torn into pieces. There, in a hidden pouch none of them can comprehend you managed to knit, you take out a large, thin chain with a ring hanging at the end.
Your promise ring.
The air is sucked out of the room–and their chests, as you push the fabric away to put the necklace over your head. It’s so long it nearly reaches your sternum, shining under the dimmed lights of the sitting room.
James exhales sharply, “You… you kept it? All this time?”
You nod, chewing at your lower lip. He swallows thickly, fingers fidgeting with the bandages in his lap.
Remus only wets his lips, blinking in surprise when you wordlessly stretch your arm back at him to resume his healing. He lowers the washcloth again, and tries to not think about his own promise ring glistening against the damp fabric.
“It’s charmed–they… they would’ve taken it away if they found it.” you reply quietly, almost in fear. None of them dare to question who’s they. “It was easier to keep it in a necklace.”
Sirius swallows the lump in his throat, blinking as he looks down at his own hands. The silence stretches on as Remus continues patiently cleaning your arm, multitasking as his warm eyes scan you for any other wound that may need tending to.
When he blindly opens a hand to James, asking for the bandage, James only clears his throat. “Is it okay if it…?” He points at your arm, and Remus looks up to meet his gaze with surprise. He nods, but tilts his head at you where you remain silent looking at the now dead chimney in front of you.
He calls your name softly, and you snap your head to meet their gazes, blinking as if to clear the fog from your mind. James only shuffles closer where he’s sitting over the coffee table, movements slow and tentative as he fidgets with the bandages.
“Is it okay if I…?” He points at your arm, now fully tended and skin slowly healing around your wound.
You swallow, eyeing him more curiously than apprehensively, arm now clutched to your chest. Remus tuts, very slowly detaching it where the sticky potion on your skin clung to your shirt. James winces, and you watch in silence as he dabs the washcloth again. None of them make a comment, they begin healing your arm again.
When Remus deems it fixed, they blink in surprise when you turn to James expectantly. His hands are still holding onto the bandages like a lifeline, and all it takes is a gentle nudge from Remus and Sirius clearing his throat for him to snap out of his shock. He shuffles closer to place the first bandage over your forearm, his hazel eyes landing on the remains of ink around the wound–like whoever caused it had tried to burn off a tattoo… a mark.
You draw back into yourself in shame, eyes scanning his face for a reaction when his hand stops. James clears his throat, making a point of sending you his most comforting smile–the one you had said you secretly loved years ago–before resuming his work around your forearm. No questions asked.
However, your shame has other intentions.
“They… they burned it off when they realized I was a spy.” you mumble, looking away from them. You withdraw your arm from James’ hold, clutching it back to your chest. “Healing charms aren’t really my strength.”
They all share a look, all seemingly shocked. No one could do a healing charm better than you. Before.
“Reg… Regulus tried to tend to it but we didn’t have much time.” you cut a quick glance at Sirius, who stiffens visibly at the mention of his brother. You wet your lips nervously, fingers twitching around your forearm as an unconscious tick. “We… we had to run, we had to destroy the locket.”
Sirius frowns. “What locket?”
You flinch very faintly at his interruption, and he has half the mind to mutter an apology when his boyfriends throw warning looks at him. However, you only swallow thickly, eyes flickering between each boy.
“The… the last horcrux.” you say, each word tilting in a tentative way as you look at him, as if gauging his reaction. “When we got to the cave…. he–he said he’d destroy it, that he would replace it with a fake one.”
As you speak, your hold around your wand tightens, knuckles turning white as if the mere memory is pulling you away from reality–like you’re back at that cave fighting for your life. A silver lining of tears appears in the corners of your eyes, shining despite your futile attempt at blinking them away.
You swallow, “It was a trap–he… he was there, they were there–ready for us. Riddle.” you whisper, though your breathing takes momentum with each word. You don’t flinch when James’ thumb brushes the skin just shy of your bandage. “K–Kreacher tried to hold them off, but… but they were stronger. We were outnumbered.”
Remus’ eyebrows pinch slightly, as if he can’t decide if he’s sympathetic or plain angry for you, for everything you had to endure. He schools his face as the first signs of movement pass from his peripheral vision, Sirius moving to sit by your side in intense silence–his own eyes hardening with every word you mutter.
“I didn’t mean to,” you repeat, the same mantra you’ve whispered like a plea since you crashed back into their lives. “I… I only wanted us to survive, I didn’t mean to–”
Your hand trembles, knee resuming its bouncing under James’ touch. His own promise ring glistens with each movement, though its love charm does nothing to slow the upcoming anxiety that’s pumping in your veins.
Remus lowers his head, searching for your eyes. “You didn’t mean to what, dove?”
You swallow, frantic eyes flickering from his soft eyes to James then Sirius, each boy pouring everything they can to hold back their tears at your evident distress.
“I… I didn’t mean to kill them all. It was.. I didn’t… I didn’t know what else to do,” you say quickly, almost in one single breath like the words are pushing to be said at once. Like you’re desperate for them to hear your side of the story, to grant you at least the grace to explain. “I didn’t know it would happen that way–the curse… the curse Regulus taught me, he said only to use it in case it was necessary. I didn’t–I didn’t think it would end that way.”
They lean back, but James’ fingers gently press over your knee, moving up until his hand is holding yours with one tentative move. His sad, teary eyes scan your face and the way it twists in pain as you retell the hell you endured to get to them–he suspects it’s only the tip of something worse, something more sinister none of them will ever be able to understand. The horrors you clawed your way through to ensure Riddle would fall.
“What curse, my love?” he whispers, pointedly searching for your gaze. You look away, throat closing up as your breathing comes in quick puffs of air. “Hey, it’s alright–you’re alright. You don’t have to say more, not if you don’t want to.”
“It… uh,” you press your lips together, looking down at your shaking hands in fear. Your hand drops the wand like it burns your skin. “It was called sectumsempra… Snape taught it to him, said it was a dark curse he created to, uh, to create imminent death and suffering–that’s what he said. I wouldn’t–”
They nod. “I know.” James smiles softly, mostly for your sake.
The thing is, months ago, they knew you wouldn’t, that you’d never inflict harm to someone else–not even if they deserved it. But now?
You look down at your hands, which moments prior were stained with someone else’s blood–hell, even Riddle’s blood if they really think about it, if they connect the dots.
Sirius shuffles next to you, energy coursing through his body and nowhere to channel it–his anger, his frustration, his grief… Now that he knows your true purpose in the war, where will all those feelings go? Is he even allowed to feel them at all?
“Regulus… he… he didn’t–” you whisper, not daring to search for his eyes. James’ thumb brushes the back of your hand. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Sirius nods, the movement prompting the tears hanging by a thread on his eyelids to finally cascade down his cheeks. A sniffle, and his fingers twitch to hold your face in his hands–to show you he would never blame you. “I know, love. It’s okay.”
You pull your legs up, hugging them close to your chest in response, desperately trying to make yourself smaller between the cushions–if it’s physically possible.
Remus’ lips twitch as he scans your heavy eyelids and the way you slump back into yourself against the couch. Exhaustion making its way into your body before you can even let yourself accept it–but so does your shame, coursing through you like it’s the only emotion you’re allowing yourself to feel.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, voice wavering like the weight of your guilt is shredding its way up your throat. You swallow nervously. “I didn’t mean to leave, I… I didn’t want to.”
Three things happen at once at your words. Sirius looks away in shame–unable to control his tears as he passes a trembling hand over his face. Remus, who had been characteristically quiet during your confession, stands from his sitting position, thumbs pressing hard at his eyes with such harshness the tears roll down his cheeks anyway. And James? He finally breaks–after months of denial, he finally lets his heart accept the grief and heartbreak his mind denied every single day since your departure.
Your hand flies to the necklace against your sternum, fidgeting with it almost unconsciously as your eyes flicker from each boy with something akin to guilt–the only feeling strong enough to overpower your shame.
“I wanted to tell you. I–I promise, many times I almost did.” you continue, swallowing sobs that are fighting their way up your throat. “I’m sorry.”
Then, another thing happens. You break.
“I’m really sorry, I… I didn’t think I’d ever come back,” you take a breath, your other hand joining the one gripping the necklace on your palm. Both hands desperately hold it like a lifeline, like it could simmer your pain and theirs altogether. “I thought–I just thought it’d be better if–if I just left. I didn’t want to… to be another fatality… another tragedy to mourn.”
You wet your lips, now salty with tears. And when you open your mouth to speak, to continue, a sob comes out instead. High and strained like it had been kept captive in your throat for months, and, apparently, it’s all it takes to activate your survival instinct once again–you clasp a hand against your mouth. You close your eyes and breathe slowly as if to calm yourself down, to make your pain smaller in order to stay alive.
You press your face against your thighs, swallowing thickly as you control your breathing, slowing it down to quiet and shorts exhales of air. Voice very low as you whisper calming mantras to yourself. All it does is break their hearts further as they watch in agony as you regulate yourself like someone that has endured indescribable horrors.
A hand, very tentatively, finds your shoulder, moving in gentle strokes as you slowly come down your spiraling. You drop your hands from your chest, the necklace returning to its resting place as you look up to meet Sirius’ equally teary eyes–his eyelashes wet with unshed tears as his hand travels up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing at the dampness of your face.
“You don’t have to be sorry… or explain.” he whispers very softly, making a point of searching for your eyes when you look down. “Just–don’t ever think you’d be better off gone. I–We would’ve never thought of you as a fatality…”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, mostly as a reflex.
He nods, thumb intercepting the tear cascading down your cheek. “I know, love… I know.”
“You… you battled worse than us, and faced horrors we’d never understand. Alone. And you came back… you came back despite everything.” Remus steps in, hands wringing together in evident distraction, but his amber eyes remain fixed on yours. “That’s more than enough, dove. You’re here… alive. And that is what matters to us right now.”
“I… I,” your lower lip trembles, and you shut your mouth to stop any other sound from coming out. They all share a look. “I’m sorry.”
They all nod, almost in unison. And you mirror it unconsciously, mostly like you’re convincing yourself more than them. Sirius hands drop from where they cradled your face, and your head rests over the back of the couch, eyelids dropping as if your body is finally allowing itself to give in to your exhaustion.
James calls your name softly, clearing his throat as he passes a quick hand over his eyes. He sends you his most comforting smile when you pick up your head to meet his gaze.
“Ready to get some rest?” his smile widens when you nod, looking more sure in yourself with your decision. Remus’ lips twitch as well, though he tuts softly when you shift on the couch to lay down to sleep. “Oh–no, we prepared you a room. If that’s okay.”
You pause, looking up to meet his gaze in surprise. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Sirius breathes out, voice tilting, once again, in suppressed amusement at your reaction. Remus sends him a look. “Of course. We thought it’d be better than this ratty thing.”
“Now, Sirius, no need to insult my couch.” James jokes half-heartedly, it doesn’t really land–especially when you’re looking around the cottage with wide eyes. He stands slowly, hand open for you. “Come, lovie, let’s get you to your room.”
You send both Sirius and Remus a quick look, as if assessing their stances before taking James’ hand, who doesn’t let go even as you climb up the stairs by his side. They watch in silence as he ever so gently guides you through your own home, like you’re a ghost visiting after a long night. Their hearts twist lovingly when James’ arm comes around your back, supporting your weight when you trip over the carpet.
“Oh, careful there,” he smiles, his own heart skipping a bit when your hand reaches for his forearm as a reflex. “I’ve been meaning to fix that–I just know Moony will be scolding me later.”
Your lips twitch, head tilting to look behind your shoulder where Sirius and Remus are observing from the bottom of the stairs with twin glassy eyes. Their hands clasped together and promise rings offering comfort to one another.
James smiles at you, and guides you deep into the hallway, arm spread open at the door just across their room–your shared old room, mind you. He swallows the quip, smile dimming when you step into the guest room with tentative steps.
“I… I forgot this room existed,” you mumble, looking around as you sit down over the bed. James studies your movements, heart cracking at how out of place you look. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah, we never use this room much,” he fixes his glasses, looking away as you turn to get into the covers. The bedding looks insanely colorful in contrast with your dulled skin. “or, well, unless one of us forgets to empty the bin. Then it’s got plenty of use.”
Your lips quirk ever so faintly, looking down as your hand moves around the covers, testing its softness against your skin. James swallows nervously, shifting his weight with awkwardness–he used to have tons of things to say to you, now he finds himself scared of even cracking a joke. He wonders if whatever he comes up with would even make you laugh.
“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll just… uh, we’ll be across the hall.”
You nod, and he steps backwards, sending you one last smile. “Thank you, Jamie.” you say quietly, and he almost trips over his own feet as he makes his way out. “Oh, um, please don’t… don’t close the door.”
His hand hovers just over the knob at your request, pausing mid-air where he had reached to close the door. “Of course, yeah. That’s okay.”
“Thank you.”
“Goodnight, lovie.”
“You, too.”
James only walks out, leaving the door open behind him as he climbs down the stairs, his straight and relaxed posture crumbles with each step closer to his boyfriends–who readily embrace him as he finally breaks down. His quiet sobs mix with their sniffles as they all come down the high of seeing you again–at the cost of your sanity.
“It’s okay, love–she’s alright.” Remus whispers, his scarred hands thumbing at the tears cascading down James’ cheeks. His own red-rimmed eyes sting with tears. “She’s alright, she’s here.”
The bespectacled boy nods, sniffling quietly. The ringed hand at his back, moving in comforting circles and warming his skin with aching care–Sirius continues his dutiful work to comfort him until James’ back stops shaking, his sniffles subduing to short exhales. The sitting room falls into a silence as they collect pieces of each other, love poured into each whisper and comforting word.
Remus steps back, managing to force a half-smile on his face. “Let’s call it a night, yeah?” He tilts his chin promptly at the stairs. “We’ll face tomorrow. Together.”
“All of us.” Sirius adds quietly, pressing a quick kiss over James’ cheekbone. Not at all minding the dampness he finds.
But first they all bask in each other’s hold–something they hadn’t done since you left. Since they thought they weren’t worthy of love or compassion without you to share it with as well.
“Come on,” Remus half-smiles, guiding James up the room like he had done to you. He sends Sirius a quick look as they climb up the stairs.
Sirius follows wordlessly after a while, watching with several healed cracks in his heart as his boyfriends share comforting whispers to one another as they walk to their room–pausing just enough to send you a quick look from the hallway into the guest room.
He sighs deeply, turning off the lights of the sitting room before climbing up each step of the stairs, passing the wall of photographs he usually wouldn’t have the courage to even glance at. Mementos of your shared life before the war–before you were taken from them because of your selfless and courageous nature.
He brushes a hair behind his ear, trying not to think about the way you used to do it time ago–and pauses just by the threshold of the guest room, leaning sideways to allow himself a selfish moment to bask in your peace.
His eyes fill with tears once again at the sight of you, finally home, sleeping peacefully after months and months of indescribable horrors. Sirius’ hand reaches for his own promise ring, not looking away from your curled up form. Your own hand is clasping your ring unconsciously, love charm warms your skin and tethers you to them even in your sleep.
The adrenaline, despite everything, is still simmering slightly through his veins–but so does another thing. Forgiveness.
At you. For, even if he still doesn’t fully understand your reasons, leaving to fight a war not only against the tyranny of blood supremacy, but against every single person that ever put your right of existence into question.
At James, for denying himself the power of feeling your absence and protecting himself and his boyfriends with the optimism of hoping you’d return.
At Remus, who spent every waking moment imploding inwardly and keeping his pain to himself instead of overbearing him or James with it, who punished himself with silence in hopes you’d return one day to hear his voice again.
And at himself, for the rage and frustration he put out into the world and his boyfriends at the cause of your disappearance. For thinking, for one moment of pure idiocy, that you’d ever willingly leave them without putting up a fight first.
Sirius passes a hand over his face, ignoring the dampness against his skin as he turns to walk into the room, where Remus and James are already getting ready for bed. He sends your sleeping form one last look behind his shoulder, and lets his heart settle for peace at last.
summary: You and Remus are married, and it just so happens that Dumbledore has hired him to be Hogwarts new DADA professor while you already work at Hogwarts as Madam Pomfrey’s assistant.
pairing: Remus Lupin x professor(?)!healer!reader
includes: MAJOR FLUFF, you and snape act like children, remus being the best husband, the golden trio being the golden trio, making out, essentially everything you could find in any HP fic, minimal use of Y/N
a/n: I’m rereading the HP series and I forgot how much love I had for Remus 🩷
You and Remus had known each other since you accidentally tripped in front of him during your first year at Hogwarts—well, more like fell into his back on the express going to Hogwarts. Granted, you weren’t looking where you were going, but it’s not like he was supposed to be standing in the halls for that long. No matter, the two of you have always been as thick as thieves since then, and it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when you began dating during your sixth year and eventually got married soon after graduating.
And when you had your heart set on becoming a healer—specifically one for Hogwarts—Remus was your number one supporter. He was your backbone during the NEWTs in your seventh year and during your training at St. Mungo’s. Remus was always there when you needed a breather. Then, when Dumbledore hired you as Madam Pomfrey’s assistant, he was the first one to congratulate you on the achievement.
Moreover, you were always there when he needed support, too. During the first wizarding war, there were so many casualties that it was impossible to count them. And when James and Lily died, you were the first to comfort Remus—especially when it was brought up that Sirius might have been the one to expose their whereabouts to Voldemort and even kill Peter when he tried to defend the Potters.
You weren’t close with James and Lily, but Remus was their best friend, and you knew losing nearly all his friends in a span of a few days hurt like hell. It took a lot of love and reassurance to get Remus to get out of your shared bedroom and get ready for their funerals.
Nevertheless, it was trials like those that made the two of you the perfect pair. But something always ate at your insides. Since Remus was a werewolf, no one in the wizarding world would want him to work for them. Even if he never told them about his condition, they could easily piece together why he would disappear from work every full moon.
Remus told you he didn’t mind staying home and caring for the house, but you swore you saw the light in his eyes dim a little more every time he came back from an unsuccessful job hunt. So—against your better judgment—you sought out Dumbledore after a term at Hogwarts, when another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had been sacked.
“Professor Dumbledore, sir!” You chased after him after you watched the last student leave the castle, smiling up at him with the same smile from your own years at Hogwarts. “Sir, I think I have the perfect replacement for the DADA position.”
Dumbledore hummed and waved his hand, lighting the rest of the candles in the corridor. “How many times have I told you to call me Albus? We work together, Y/N.”
“Sorry, sir— Albus.” You correct yourself before shaking your head. Twisting your wedding ring, you spoke up with a sparkle in your eyes. “As I was saying before, I think—”
“I know you want me to hire Remus for the job.” He cut you off, putting a hand up when you were about to speak up again. “I believe that’s a wonderful idea. And given what he is, I’m sure he knows all about what should be taught to the students.”
You beam up at him, “I’m glad we’re on the same page then, sir—Albus.” You correct yourself once more when he stares at you intently, your face flushing before clearing your throat. “Sorry, it’s a habit already… I should probably tell him—”
“Do not worry about telling him about the job, Y/N,” Dumbledore said calmly, patting your shoulder. “I will handle telling him when the time comes.”
What you didn’t expect was that Dumbledore practically waited until the very end of the summer holiday to inform Remus about the available position at Hogwarts. Every day, it became more and more evident that you knew something was going to happen. Even when Remus questioned your odd behavior, you simply brushed him off and kissed him silly until he forgot what he asked.
Well, up until Dumbledore told him.
“Dovey, you won’t believe who I ran into at Diagon Alley.” Remus entered the living room with paper bags, kissing your cheek when you took them from him and thanked him for buying ingredients you needed for remedies Madam Pomfrey requested you make over the holiday.
You furrow your brows in response to him, waving your wand and sorting the different ingredients alphabetically. “Who, Rem?”
“Dumbledore.” He stated and leaned back on the counter, watching your shoulder stiffen before they relaxed once more. Remus thought you couldn’t be more obvious, but he still played along. “He offered me a position at the school as the Defense Against Dark Arts professor.”
“Did he?” You murmur, refusing to turn around because you knew your eyes would give you away. You felt him get closer, his arms snaking around your waist, causing you to tilt your head in his direction, begging Godric that your eyes weren’t hinting at anything too revealing.
He hummed, “He said a little bird told him I’ve been lonely back home.”
“Lonely?” You scoffed and pulled away from him, putting your hands on your hips. “I did not call you lonely.”
Remus raised a brow at you—watching your face go from defensive to horrified to sheepish. He was probably more surprised than you when apologies began spilling from your lips, making him hold your arms to stop your rambling.
“Why are you apologizing?” He rubbed soft shapes into your arms.
“Because I offered you up for the job even when I didn’t ask you.” You murmured, pulling on the ends of your sweater. Well, technically, it was his sweater that you promptly stole from him one day. “I understand if you don’t want to take the position. I just thought—”
“Don’t be sorry. This is good.” He nudged his nose to yours, making you look up.
You blink and look between his eyes, searching for any kind of lie. “This… is?”
Remus chuckled and kissed your forehead, his chest rumbling when you went to wipe off the kiss in confusion, thinking it was a pity kiss. “Dovey, you and Dumbledore are the only ones left who still believe in me.” He shrugged. “I think this is a great opportunity.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Of course not.” He creased his brows together before balancing himself when you threw your arms around him, his hands splaying on your back carefully. Before he could ask, you spoke, your mood greatly improved from when you thought you were in trouble.
“I’m excited to work with you, Rem.” You smiled brightly when you pulled away, punching his arm lightly. “You’ll love it just as much as you did all those years ago.”
Unfortunately, you weren’t the only other employee at Hogwarts. While McGonagall was happy to have Remus as a professor—mainly because he was a star student back when he attended Hogwarts himself, and she trusted him to teach a class such as Defense Against the Dark Arts—Snape was anything but joyous to have him teaching a subject he wanted for himself.
“You have to be joking.” Severus drawled as he looked between you and Remus before his eyes settled on the headmaster himself. He sighed through his nose, “Albus, I simply cannot allow a werewolf to teach the students as you put them in danger—”
“Remus knows exactly what to do during his transformations.” You defend your husband, standing in front of him despite his warm hand on your waist to calm your fire, even though Remus wanted nothing more than to hide in the shadows of Dumbledore’s office. “And we both know wolfsbane is the perfect solution to his lycanthropy, Snape. Unless you want him to suffer just so you can teach—”
“Enough.” Dumbledore put a hand up, silencing whatever argument you and Severus had left. “You have been working together for several years, and only when Remus begins working here do the two of you begin arguing like first-year students.” He looked at the man mentioned with a soft smile before staring down at you and Severus through his moon-shaped spectacles. “While Remus teaches here, you cannot act like this, do you understand?”
You sigh and nod, crossing your arms while Severus begrudgingly agrees, somesort of grunt leaving his mouth. Still, the two of you glared at each other as if Dumbledore hadn’t said anything. Remus pursed his lips in discomfort and kissed your temple in an attempt to diffuse the tension between the two of you, causing Severus to finally look away with a grimace.
“I expect you three will be responsible and respectful this year.” Dumbledore finished in expectancy before sending you all out of the office with a simple wave of his hand.
The three of you descended his office, the pressure between the three of you still heavily weighted down until Severus spun around abruptly. He briefly looked at you before sighing again, his eyes trained on Remus with bitterness.
“Don’t expect me to be at your beck and call, Lupin.” He sneered before taking his own leave toward the dungeons, his cloak following behind like a foreboding shadow.
You scoff under your breath, “Arsehole.”
“Dovey.” Remus suppressed a laugh, shaking his head. “Let’s go home.”
The following week was hectic for you and Remus. Having to move his stuff over to yours—now your shared quarters at Hogwarts, and then planning lessons that the last two professors failed to complete. And when the students began arriving, Remus thought it would be better for him to take the express for old times’ sake, making you roll your eyes in affection at how nostalgia hit him like a brick.
But when you were taken away from the start-of-term feast to tend to Harry Potter because of a dementor attack, you thought the express ride was far more terrifying than nostalgic.
“What trouble have you gotten into this time, Harry?” You tut at the boy who always came rushing to you whenever he got cut by something magical that even Ron and Hermione couldn’t explain. “I swear, you’re always back at the hospital wing at the beginning of every term.”
Harry messed with his Hogwarts robes and pushed your hand away when you put the back of your hand on his forehead. “S’not my fault. The dementors came onto the train.”
You send him a somber look, “I heard all about it from McGonagall when she called me over. Let me get you some chocolate—”
“Oh! The new professor, I think Professor Lupin was his name, gave me some already.” Harry interrupted before you could shove more chocolate in his mouth. If he was being completely honest, he was getting pretty tired of chocolate already, and the term only just started.
“Did he?” You ask almost cheerfully, confusing Harry while he nods slowly, furrowing his brows when you clapped your hands lightly. Maybe it was because he was confused about why you were clapping about the attack. “That’s good.”
And before he could even ask, Madam Pomfrey walked in and checked Harry’s temperature and then heart rate, checking in with you about other important vitals. “I hear we finally got a good DADA professor. It’s nice to have someone who knows what they teach.”
“I agree.” You nod swiftly, making Madam Pomfrey roll her eyes in your direction. Harry looked between you two again, getting more and more confused with each passing second. “What?”
“Go down to the feast, you two.” She finally waved you and Harry off.
You tilt your head in mock offense, “I’m not a child, Poppy.”
She raised her brow, “Say that to me when you aren’t coming to me whining about being tired when the twins spell first years.” You feel your face warm at her words, but she continues. “In fact, that’s what your husband is for now that he’s—”
“That’s unfair!” You complain before catching yourself, clearing your throat, and scratching the back of your neck. She stared at you expectantly, shaking her head in amusement as you apologized hastily. “Sorry, Poppy.”
“Husband?” Harry turned to you once the two of you were out of the hospital wing, catching up to your surprisingly quick pace. “You’re married?”
It was quiet for a second, the words not processing through your mind until you were at the oak doors that concealed the Great Hall, where everyone else had already begun eating. You stop just before you could push the doors open, turning to look at him face-to-face.
“Of course, I am.” You send him an odd look, yet a smile appeared on your face. “To one of the smartest wizards I know.”
“Wait a second, do we even know who it is?” He inquired, taking notice that you were getting more impatient with all his questions. For once, you seemed more eager to get inside the Great Hall than he was.
“Oh, Harry.” You coo as if you were talking to a baby and pat his head, making him push your hand away again. “Let’s not ask the obvious.”
And with that, you pushed the oak doors open and entered the hall as if you hadn’t left Harry with so many unanswered questions. He watched you bound toward the staff table at the very front of the hall, taking your usual seat between McGonagall and whatever new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they had this year, except the excitement he saw from you earlier only seemed to increase when you sat down.
What was even more unusual was that Snape’s glares seemed to be aimed at the new professor and you rather than Harry.
Harry took his seat beside Ron, looking over at Hermione. “Did you know Y/N is married?”
Hermione raised a brow at him and put her fork down, her gaze drifting toward the staff table along with Ron, who was busy stuffing his face full. “The ring on her hand wouldn’t suggest otherwise, why?”
“Because…” Harry trailed off before shaking his head. “Nevermind, it’s not important.”
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other before shrugging, although Hermione was already planning to keep an eye on you this year. Not that it was prudent to know who exactly you were dating, but if Harry mentioned it and found it a little interesting, it wouldn’t hurt to do a little investigating.
As the first term went by, it was more or less rough with how Remus was adjusting to teaching at Hogwarts, and with Snape constantly making snide remarks whenever Dumbledore wasn’t around, you were starting to get pissed. Even more so when Snape threatened not to make the potion for Remus one afternoon simply because you looked at him funny.
“Severus, it is completely unjust if you refuse to make the potion.” You hiss one day in his empty classroom, staring at him with nothing but pure hatred. “Frankly, I don’t care what happened back at Hogwarts when we were younger. What I care about is whether or not he is going to be okay during the next—”
“Is it unjust?” Severus narrowed his eyes at you. “I may be crude, but what if he is helping him get onto the school grounds?”
You scoff out a laugh, “I know my husband, and he would never—”
“Er— Professor Snape?” You heard a voice coming from the potion’s doorway, making you freeze on the spot. “Professor McGonagall asked me to fetch you for—”
“Weasley, can’t you see I’m busy?” Snape sneered before taking his leave without even taking any points off the Gryffindor house. You left the classroom soon after, leaving behind fury and annoyance from the earlier conversation—not even acknowledging Ron’s existence at the moment.
Against his better judgment, Ron followed you as best as he could, hoping you wouldn’t catch him in the act despite your indignant mood. However, when you turned west of the hospital wing, he saw a glimpse of where you were heading, only briefly hearing a voice before you slammed the door shut.
“Dovey—”
By the start of the second term, Harry, Hermione, and Ron still had no clue who you were married to. And it’s not like you were going to give them hints—you were always one to avoid talking about your personal life whenever they tried to pry. Honestly, they were about to give up by the end of January when Ron came up with such a crazy theory on the way to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
“You don’t think she’s married to Snape, do you?” Ron muttered as a group of Slytherins passed, rolling his eyes when he saw them trip a Hufflepuff.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron. We’ve known them for three years now. If they were married, we would know.” Hermione shook her head in exasperation, adjusting her shoulder bag. “Besides, her husband could very well not work at Hogwarts. There are thousands of wizards out there.”
Harry scuffed his shoe against the stone, his voice uncertain but clear. “But Ron said he heard someone when she entered the faculty tower.”
“That could be anyone.” She shook her head. “Come on, we'd better get to class before Malfoy decides it’s funny to take our seats again.”
At the same time, you were cooped up in Remus’ office. You just went up to check on him one last time since the full moon was coming up soon, when one thing led to another, and well… It’s not like you were doing anything indecent, but it was enough to traumatize someone if they walked into his office.
“Okay, I have to go.” You murmur as you pull away from his kisses, laughing when he pulls you close by the waist, not wanting to let go just yet. “Remus—”
“Yeah?” He grinned and kissed you once more, making you soften under his touch.
Smiling into the kiss, you pull away again, putting a hand up against his lips. “As much as I would love to stay here and kiss you dizzy, you have a class in about five minutes, and—” You reinforce your tone when you feel him open his mouth against your palm. “—Poppy will come after my head if I don’t show up to help her reorganize our remedy cabinet.”
Remus lolled his head to the side with honey eyes that made you melt on the spot before you shook your head, already walking backwards toward the exit of his office. “Don’t miss me too much, Lupin.”
“I’m already dying, dove.” He grinned and followed you down the stairs, hands in his pants pockets as his room began filling with Slytherins and Gryffindors, the golden trio entering the classroom with curiosity. “The three troublemakers.”
“Yep.” You murmur with a smile, waving to the three of them as you head for the door.
Ron, however, stopped you from advancing, suspicion lacing his voice when he spoke. “What were you doing here?”
You shrugged, taking small steps toward the exit, glancing at Remus momentarily before answering Ron. Technically, you were lying to them, but they didn’t need to know your husband was a werewolf or that you were basically making out with their professor for the past twenty minutes. “Giving the new professor tips and tricks on how to deal with you lot.”
Hermione frowned, “But it’s been an entire term—”
“Have fun with DADA!” You cut the busy-haired girl off, finally taking your leave as Remus calms the class down to start their lesson on Red Caps.
Then, in February, you and Remus decided it would be nice to actually get out of the castle for once. Of course, since there wasn’t anywhere else to go, you landed on going to Hogsmeade for the weekend. There wasn’t an exact shop or place either of you wanted to go to, but it had been a while since you and Remus went out on a date without having to be needed by the students at every waking minute.
But it wasn’t like they didn’t approach. On the way, several students came up to you and Remus to simply say hi or how are you? You were both kind enough to respond, but truly, you just wanted to spend time together. And just as a first-year Hufflepuff named Julie left the two of you alone, you finally turned to Remus—seemingly exhausted by the number of students coming up to you.
“We could get butterbeer?” You suggested, your arm curled around Remus’ while your old scarf billows in the wind, the stone path covered in bits of snow. You carefully stepped over a pile of gray snow, nose scrunching as you spoke. “And then we could go to Tomes and Scrolls after.”
“I like the sound of that.” He nodded and pressed a muted kiss to your temple, guiding you into the Three Broomsticks.
As you entered, Madam Rosmerta’s eyes flickered up when footsteps entered the pub, gasping when she saw the two of you appear in front of her. Instantly, she rushed over to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek before doing the same with Remus, just as though the two of you were the children she saw dancing around each other’s feelings.
“Well, isn’t this a sight to see. My favorite Gryffindors together once more.” She gushed, squeezing your arm.
You smile and pull your scarf off, gingerly teasing her when she kept looking at the two of you in awe, as if she could hardly believe her eyes. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.” You wave her off, your own gaze shifting to pride when you catch Remus’ eyes. “Actually, Remus got a job at Hogwarts.”
“I heard.” Madam Rosmerta tilted her head with her own smile before gesturing for both of you to take a seat, wiping her hands on her apron. “I think a batch of butterbeer on me is in order.”
Remus raised his brows in surprise, shaking his head at the offer. “Please, there’s no need to—”
“I’m doing it anyway, Lupin.” She insisted and shooed you away, gently pushing the two of you away from the bar.
You laughed softly as Remus took you to a booth, humming as you calmed down. Tilting your head, you rested your chin in your palms and studied Remus as if he were a textbook you were supposed to be studying for an exam. He raised a brow in your direction, silently asking you what you were thinking.
“Seriously, though, I’m happy you’re here.” You say in response, eyes still trained on him. You feared that if you looked away for even a second, he would disappear. Before he could say anything, you asked him a question that you hoped would yield a positive answer. “Are you happy to be teaching here?”
Remus nudged your foot with his, a small smile making its way to your face at the simple action that filled your chest with his oh-so familiar warmth. “I would like to say so. The students are quite wonderful and are curious about what we seem to be learning.” He waved a hand around, a recognizable grin plastered on his lips. “And I guess it’s a bonus that you work here too.”
“Aw, you love me.” You chuckle, reducing to a puddle when he cupped your face and placed a tender kiss on your lips. “Remus…”
“And you know that is completely and utterly true.” He rested his forehead on yours and pressed one last peck before pulling away, acutely aware of how students from Hogwarts were gaping at you both.
It almost seemed quiet in the Three Broomsticks now, all heads turned to where you and Remus sat. Then, several seconds later, whispers began to fill the air. Some were giddy, and some were in repulsion at the thought of the staff having a relationship outside of the school.
“I think they know.” You mumble with a tiny smirk, thanking Madam Rosmerta when she delivers the butterbeer tankards at your table. Stirring your straw around the drink, you look around the pub as well, choking on your drink when you catch Ginny Weasley staring like she saw a ghost.
Remus shrugs, “They definitely know, but who cares, really?” He sipped his butterbeer, causing you to wipe the excess from the corner of his lips. “I mean, the other day, we nearly had the Weasley twins walk in my office while you were—”
“Enough.” You cover his mouth, face burning from the memory. Your next words came out in a low whisper, “I thought we agreed to never mention that ever again?”He laughed against your palm and kissed the skin there.
After your date at the Three Broomsticks, you were sure everyone knew that you and Remus were in a relationship, as there were students who seemed to tease you whenever they saw you walking in the hallway. Even McGonagall now had her fun at poking at the two of you, saying how she was the sole reason you even got together in the first place.
Unfortunately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione still couldn’t piece together that the two of you were married. Not until the three of them ran into Remus when he was on his way to see you. They suppose he was just visiting the hospital wing since he tended to be ill a lot, but he looked physically fine, confusing them for the last time, since Remus had told them that he would be busy after his final class.
“Professor!” Harry stumbled over his own feet when he did a double-take, taking notice of how Remus was actually walking quite happily compared to most days whenever he navigated himself to the hospital wing. “I-I thought you said you were busy?”
“I am, Harry.” Remus corrected, not even sparing a glance toward the young wizard. “I’m off to the hospital wing.”
Ron furrowed his brows and looked at Harry and Hermione sideways before speaking, “Are you feeling… Okay? I mean— You know… You look fine, professor.”
He nodded and made a sharp left turn, causing the three Gryffindors to crash into one another. “I’m feeling great, Ron.”
Hermione brushed herself off and quickly chased after Remus, not bothering to even check up on Ron and Harry. She was out of breath by the time she caught up with him, equally shocked at how lively Professor Lupin was today. Typically, they’d have to slow their own pace so he could catch up with them.
“Sir, why—?”
“Remus! What took you so long?” You call out to him when you see him enter the hospital wing, smiling knowingly when the golden trio walks in behind him. Waving at them, you shook your head, all pieces clicking together. “I should’ve known it was you three who would slow him down.”
Hermione tucked her curled hair back, chest still rising and falling from the journey it took to get here. “Well, we were actually heading to the library when we ran into Professor Lupin—”
You clicked your tongue when you looked at the giant clock displayed above the door, “Luckily, Remus made it here on time. We’re cutting it close with our reservation at the Gilded Griffin.”
Only then did the three Gryffindors notice what you and Remus were wearing. While Remus was wearing black, sharp dress robes, they didn’t even know he owned—for he always dressed in his shabby, torn ones—you were dressed in a maroon dress that they thought was far too fancy to even wear for any occasion besides a wedding. Ron’s mouth dropped open before Hermione shut it with the tip of her finger, but equally shocked at the way the two of you dressed.
“Ready, dove?” Remus let you take his arm, his smile softening as he looked you up and down.
“Always.” You nod cheerfully and pull your wand out, not noticing the way the trio was looking at you like you had both grown multiple heads.
And before you could apparate—special permission given by Dumbledore himself because he definitely favored the two of you over others—Harry snapped out of his astonished gaze and practically shouted at you like he was bleeding out to die.
“YOU’RE MARRIED TO PROFESSOR LUPIN?”
You break away from admiring Remus and tut at Harry, patting his head once more. Ironically, Harry was starting to believe you loved to treat him like your own child because of how often you did that to him. He pushed your hand off his hair, scowling a little when you spoke to him with a mocking tone.
“Oh, Harry… Of course, I am.”
Hermione’s mouth opened and closed several times before settling on something, “B-but how come—”
“If you ever asked what my last name was, we wouldn’t be here, now would we?” You tilt your head before smiling at them, watching the three of them look at one another incredulously. “I will see you three later. For now, behave and don’t go looking for trouble.”
And with that, you and Remus disapparted with three very surprised Gryffindors.
“Well, Professor Lupin. I think we really deserve this now.” You laugh when you appear at the entrance of the restaurant, propping your chin on his shoulder.
Remus pressed a kiss to your lips, “I couldn’t agree more.”
synopsis — remus returns from his first date with you, a slytherin girl, and has to face his friends’ teasing in the common room.
fluff
remus entered the gryffindor common room.
he felt his heart beating harder than usual and his nose and cheeks were flushed from the cold air, and perhaps something more. the fire crackled softly in the hearth. before going in, remus knew the common room won't be empty. his friends had been insufferably annoying all week about this day and remus had a feeling they’d been waiting for him to return.
and sure enough, they were there. sirius lounged across the armchair closest to the fire, his legs draped over one arm and his head resting against the other. james was seated on the couch, reading a copy of quidditch weekly, while lily was resting against his body, with her head on his chest. peter was lying on the floor talking to her.
—moony's back! —peter announced. not even a second after remus set a foot into the common room. the moment those words left peter’s mouth, james, lily and sirius jumped from their seats.
—oh he's cheeks are more red than his gryffindor scarf!
remus touched them with the back of his hand as he took off his coat and scarf and left them hanging on a chair. —it's because of the snow outside.
—yeah, sure it's not because of that slytherin girl.
—did she kissed you? —peter asked straight up.
remus cheeks grew even hotter but he didn't answer to the question.
—you gotta tell us everything, moony! come on!
lily dragged him next to the fireplace and forced him to sit on the rug.
—is it really necessary? —remus asked, dying of embarrassment as he glanced up at his friends, who were eagerly looking back at him. james and sirius went back to sit on the couch, lily and peter were sitting in front of him on the floor.
—of course, it is! —lily said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
—oh, come on, moony, we’re all dying here, we've been waiting all afternoon. we just want to know how the date of the century went.
remus rolled his eyes at sirius words.
james decided that it was his time to join sirius' teasing. —yeah, and with a slytherin girl, no less. did she try to hex you? or, i dunno, bite you?
—good question, prongs. did she call you a blood traitor between compliments?
lily let out a dramatic sigh, giving them a sharp look. —you two are absolutely insufferable, —she said and turned back to remus, her voice softening. —don’t listen to them. they’re just jealous you had an actual date.
—she didn’t hex me, bite me, or called me a blood traitor, alright? she was perfectly nice and we had a great time, —remus stated.
james and sirius huffed a laugh.
—a great time is suspiciously vague. care to elaborate?
remus played with his hands, the heat coming back to his cheeks when he started to remember everything.
—did she like the flowers, remus? —peter asked with excitement.
remus stood at the door of the castle, waiting for you. every time he looked at the bouquet in his hands, the wildflowers he carefully picked himself, he felt a little ridiculous. maybe it was too much for a first date. what if you thought it was silly? or worse, what if you didn’t like flowers at all? what if you were allergic to flowers?
—flowers, moony? bold move. what’s next, planning the wedding?
he shouldn't have told james and sirius. they spent the whole morning teasing him, and now their words were stuck on repeat in his mind. but peter told him it was a good idea, you were always so focused in herbology so you'd most likely loved them. in the middle of all the overthinking, remus heard the soft sound of footsteps on stone. he looked up, and there you were, walking down the stair with a shy but bright smile.
your heart beat faster after seeing remus and you had to focus on the stairs, the last thing you wanted was to trip and make a fool of yourself in front of him. still, you only could think about how sweet he looked, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
—hi —you said, your voice a little breathless but smiling.
—hi —he replied. remus held out the bouquet. —these are for you. i thought you might like them.
your eyes fell to the flowers. it was a careful mix of pinks, yellows and whites. the gesture made your chest ache in the best way because you know that he picked them himself for you. —they’re beautiful, —you said, your fingers brushing his as you took them. —thank you, remus. i love them.
—yes! i knew she'd love them —peter said, triumphant.
—tell us, moony, did you hold her hand?
—padfoot, the audacity! —james gasped dramatically. —you held her hand on the first date, moony? i don't know who you are anymore!
remus rolled his eyes while he rubbed his hands, brushing over his thick scars. he tried not to hold your hand, not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew you’d notice the scars. and though he knew you weren’t the kind of person to say anything unkind, the thought of you touching them, of you asking about them, made his stomach twist.
to avoid falling in the snow, you had hooked your arm in remus'. you were laughing, your boots crunching through the snow, the conversation had flowed easily as always happened between you two. you were so comfortable in his presence that you didn't even realize that your hand began to slide down his arm, fingers tracing along the thick fabric of his coat until they slipped into his, curling naturally around his hand.
when you glanced up at him, his cheeks were red but his lips curved into a shy smile. remus didn’t pull away. if anything, his hand tightened around yours.
the scars on his hands didn’t matter to you. you noticed them long ago, during one of those afternoons in the library when the two of you studied together. he was flipping through the pages of a book and you saw them. it wasn’t hard to tell that he was self-conscious about them, he always wore the longest sweaters, ones that hung just past his wrists and sometimes even covered all his hands. that’s why you never asked him about it, except when you noticed some fresh ones, you couldn't help but ask him if he was okay.
—she was the one who held your hand! —james repeated. —moony, i think this girls wants to marry you.
—we’ll start planning the wedding now. peter, you can handle the flowers, moony’s already set the tone with that bouquet.
and they all laughed, even lily, who usually rolled her eyes at sirius and james’s relentless teasing, and remus, who usually found himself the victim of their jokes, couldn’t help but crack a smile.
—but come on, keep telling us!
—well, we walked to hogsmeade and we first visited some bookstores. she loves reading, she was so excited, practically dragging me around the place to show me her favorite sections and i had no complaints, as you can imagine.
james and sirius exchanged a look in disbelief and for once, neither of them could think of something to say. they had never seen their friend remus like this.
it wasn’t that girls hadn’t shown interest in him before, they had. but remus had always been polite, reserved, never letting things go past a conversation about books or classwork. he’d keep his distance, waving them hi in the corridors, showing them shy smiles, remembering their names, listening when they spoke, even sharing his notes if they needed help.
but dating? that had always seemed beyond him. it was complicated, messy, and exposed.
—merlin’s beard, —sirius murmured not wanting to interrupt remus who kept talking about you. sirius glanced at james with wide eyes. —she’s breaking down his walls.
james nodded slowly, an incredulous grin spreading across his face. —and he’s letting her.
the moment you turned the corner, your eyes landed on the familiar wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze, your favorite bookstore. it was small, away from the main street of hogsmeade, often closed when you visited, as if it only opened for those who truly needed it.
you gasped, catching your breath in surprise. —it’s open!
and he didn’t resist, letting you drag him toward the door. remus could immediately see why you liked the store so much, it was cozy, small but inviting, and it smelled like coffee and wood. run by an elderly woman who greeted you both as you entered, she gave you a knowing nod, as though she’d seen your excitement countless times before.
—it's good that you've finally brought your boyfriend here. a handsome gryffindor boy, no less, welcome dear.
remus froze for a split second, his cheeks hot red. —oh, i... um... —he looked at you for help.
you couldn’t help but laugh at his expression, though your own cheeks felt a little warm. —he’s not my... —you started, but the old woman waved you off with a twinkle in her eye.
—no need to explain, dear, you don’t have to tell an old woman what’s plain to see —. she winked at you both before turning back to her counter.
you nudged him playfully. —don’t worry, she says things like that to everyone. probably —remus gave you a skeptical look but couldn’t help smiling as he let you lead him deeper into the shop.
of course, he didn't tell his friends about this, he didn't even want to think about how much james and sirius would tease him.
remus continued talking about you. lily looked at him closely, wanting to know everything he could tell her about you. —she has good taste in books, she recommended me one about history of magic, she says it will make that class more interesting and help me pay more attention.
—that's so sweet of her. she noticed that you zone out during history of magic —. a sweet giggle escaped lily's lips.
remus rubbed the back of his neck. —yeah, i guess it’s not exactly a secret. —he shook his head, he didn't want to talk about history of magic right now, he wanted to keep talking about you. —then we went to the three broomstick.
—let me guess, she ordered something weird, like firewhisky, and you had to pretend to be cool with it?
remus rolled his eyes. —no, sirius. she ordered butterbeer, like a normal person.
—remus, you two seem to be very comfortable around each other —lily said, her tone innocent, but the mischievous twinkle in her eyes betrayed her. —there had to be a kiss.
sirius and james shared a look, they seemed genuinely surprised by lily’s boldness but they didn't say anything because they were more interested in remus' answer. the heat of his cheeks spread all the way up to his ears. james’s eyes widened as he caught remus’s expression. —so there was a kiss! —he exclaimed, pointing a finger at him like he’d just solved a mystery.
—do we really need to talk about this?
—yes! —all four of them said in unison.
you sat across from remus, the soft light from the lanterns of the three broomsticks lightened his face with a soft glow. it caught the silvery scars that lined his cheek, making them shimmer faintly, though he seemed oblivious to it. a single butterbeer sat between you, the two of you had been sharing it. you pointed at the corner of remus’s mouth.
—oh, you have something, —you said, gesturing to the spot.
—where? —he asked, looking confused as he swiped at his mouth.
—no, it’s more to the... —you leaned over the table. —here, let me.
you reached out and used your thumb to gently wipe away the trace of butterbeer at the corner of his lips. the moment leaned in closer, just a few inches apart now, his golden-brown eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as he looked at you. you closed the gap, your lips brushed his in a sweet kiss. remus froze for a moment but then he closed his eyes and melted into it.
when you pulled back, his cheeks were pink, his expression soft as he said —you, um... you missed a spot.
you laughed, your own cheeks warm as you sat back down. —i’ll get it next time.
the room went silent for a beat. peter sat there thinking, confusion spreading across his face. james was the one who broke the silence as he threw his head back, laughing. —that’s brilliant! the old ‘you’ve got something on your face’ trick.
peter was still confused. sirius shook his head. —she’s bold. i like her.
lily was smiling warmly. —i think it’s cute, —she said. —clearly, she’s not afraid to show how she feels.
peter’s eyes widened and he gasped as the realization hit him. —so she kissed you twice! —he exclaimed.
sirius groaned. it was working just fine, they were all surprised that remus had told them about another kiss and not the one they had seen from the common room, but they handled it just fine and knew how to hide it, all except peter. sirius threw one of the pillows at him. —you idiot!
remus frowned, it was true that you kissed him twice but how could peter possibly know that? —you spied on us?!
—spied is a strong word —. james said.
peter lifted his arms defensively, ducking as another pillow came flying his way. —no, not spy! we just… saw you two walking back to the castle. by accident! while we were… uh, checking the weather.
james smirked, leaning back in his seat. —exactly and that second kiss? didn’t think you were that much taller than her, moony, but there she was, standing on her tiptoes in the snow. pretty romantic, actually.
remus was mortified.
you walked arm in arm with remus back to the castle, his presence keeping you warm enough from the cold weather outside. the date went better than you ever could have imagined. remus was charming, thoughtful, and surprisingly funny. every moment with him felt genuine, like the two of you existed in a bubble where nothing else mattered.
as you neared the castle, you found yourself thinking about how you didn't want the evening to end.
you stopped face to face, you had to say goodbye but the words didn't come out of any of yours mouth. you didnt want it to end. remus stood there, his hands awkwardly tucked into the pockets of his coat, his gaze flickering between your face and the ground.
—well... —you both said at the same time.
—see you tomorrow in class.
you nodded. —yeah, see you tomorrow —. your arms wrapped around him in a gentle hug. his arms slowly went around your waist, pulling you in just a little bit closer.
when you pulled back from the hug, the space between you was closer, and you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on your lips. your heart beat faster in your chest, and before either of you could think too much about it, you stood on your tiptoes and closed the distance, pressing your lips to his one more time. remus took his hands out of his pockets to hold your face and yours pressed against his chest.
when you finally pulled away, the smile on remus’s face told you everything you needed to know.
—see you tomorrow, then? —you whispered softly, still a little dazed from the kiss.
he nodded, his smile never fading. —yeah. tomorrow.
—and you should be grateful that i didn't let them use the invisibility cloak —. lily added.
remus groaned, dragging his hands down his face. —grateful? you’ve got to be joking.
lily's expression softened as she leaned forward. —but seriously, remus, it sounds like it was a nice date. it’s good to see you happy.
—yeah, it was great seeing that slytherin trying to suck your soul and you gladly letting her do it.
lily gave sirius a sharp look, but even she couldn't suppress a small smile at his teasing. remus, however, looked like he might die of embarrassment as he buried his face in his hands again.
—i'm so done with this conversation —. remus added as he stood up from the floor. he wanted to go to sleep as soon as possible so that tomorrow he would arrive earlier.
james just grinned. —you can’t stop now, moony. we’ve just started.
hi lovely!! this is my first time requesting, i was wondering if you were willing to write remus x gn!reader comfort where reader often has anxiety regarding their relationships? maybe they often worry that their affection towards others is not reciprocated (at least to the same extent), or maybe they misinterpret remus' behaviour as him being closed off/losing interest in them?
even if you choose not to write this i just want to say i love your work!! i've probably been reading your drabbles + larger works for at least two years now! :-) just wanna give you some appreciation for being one of my fav pages on here!! 💞
Thank you for requesting angel! I sort of mixed this with another request about love languages conflicting, so thank you to that anon too!
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
Remus Lupin x gn!reader ♡ 1.2k words
You don't know which of you is being more selfish. Remus, for drawing it out, or you, for knowing, and letting him.
It's probably you. You love Remus so much it hurts, even though you don't think he loves you anymore. You're holding on to him for as long as you can. You keep trying to win him over.
It's a futile hope—that if you love someone well enough, they'll have to love you back—but you're trying anyway.
"Christ." He covers his eyes with a hand, grimacing.
"Oh, come on." You tug at his wrist. "Don't be a wuss."
"I don't know how you can watch this."
"It's funny!"
"It's horrible." He shudders as the character in your film launches into a particularly shudder-inducing speech. "I don't know how you can stand it."
You laugh at his misery. "I love that you're so compassionate, but maybe this could be good for you. You should see what life is like for those of us who make fools of ourselves more regularly."
Remus scoffs. Only when the scene ends does he he uncover his eyes, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. "You're a masochist," he says, munching anxiously.
You lean your head on his shoulder. "You love me anyway."
You get a hum in return, and then Remus' body tenses as more on-screen embarrassment ensues. With little warning, your eyes begin to burn fiercely. You stand and mumble that you're going to the restroom. Remus reaches for the remote.
"No, don't pause it," you say. "I've already seen this part."
You lock the bathroom door behind you. Stare at your reflection in the mirror, like you can stop this before it starts if you're stern enough with yourself. It doesn't work.
An uncomfortable heat builds in your throat as tears form indistinct deltas on your cheeks. You take a piece of toilet paper from the roll to wipe beneath your nose when it starts to run. It was petty and cruel to test Remus, but you keep doing it anyway, and it never goes how you wish it will. You only wanted him to say that he loved you. Even if it was only in agreement.
You make yourself breathe slowly. No sounds escape the bathroom.
When your eyes look normal and you feel like you have a leash on your emotions, you unlock the door. Remus has paused the film. You're self-conscious of the squeak of the sofa as you sit down beside him.
"I told you you didn't have to pause it," you murmur.
"I know," he says, nudging the bowl of popcorn back into your lap, "but you like this film, and I didn't want to watch without you. Is everything okay?"
You're grateful to have the popcorn to avoid giving a full answer. You hum around a mouthful.
Remus pokes your leg, where you've curled up with your cold toes underneath you. Ordinarily you'd stuff them under Remus' thigh while sitting here like this, but you've kept away from him unconsciously. "Cold?"
"Guess so."
Remus hums knowingly, standing. He sets his hand briefly on the top of your head as he passes by, a small gesture of affection. Your heart wrings itself out like a wet rag.
He returns shortly with a pair of your winter socks. You can hardly look at him as he tugs them on for you, breathing out a soft, "Thanks."
"You alright?" he asks, with all the lightness of unsuspicion; he probably assumes you're only tired, or possibly suffering an upset stomach.
You reply that you are, thinking that it's you who should be asking him. Remus doesn't usually beat around the bush, but he has been for weeks with this. If he's going to end things with you, you don't understand why he hasn't done it yet. Why you're sitting here watching films and bantering when he can't bring himself to say that he loves you.
Remus reaches for you. "Come here, then."
It's the simplicity of it that does you in. To be asked for your closeness so casually, and to know that each night you have with him could be the last, and you won't know which it is. Heat floods your sinuses.
You press your lips together hard to keep them from trembling. Remus looks stricken.
"What?" he breathes.
You shake your head, cheeks wet again. "Sorry."
"Did something happen?" His tone is all soft concern. "Lovely, what's wrong?"
"I—"
Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Remus drags you into his lap.
"That's alright," he shushes you. "I'm sorry, take your time. You're alright."
It is easier to voice it into the curve of Remus' neck. Even now, his scent is lulling, like home. He holds you steady until you work up the guts.
"I don't think you love me anymore," you whisper.
Remus goes still.
His lack of a denial hollows you out. A rushing fills your ears, and you almost don't hear him when he asks, "Don't I get a say in that?"
You back off from him, confused. Uncaring of your swollen eyes and wet nose.
Remus doesn't look very different. Less of a mess, more hurt than heartbroken, but doubly as confused. His hands settle on your hips. "I think if I'd fallen out of love with you, I'd have noticed," he says.
"You never say it." You don't mean for it to sound as accusatory as it does; the wounded bent to Remus' brows deepens.
"I don't?"
"No," you murmur.
"Well, I…" His eyes flit over you, like he's looking for something. You'd give it to him if you knew what it was. "I suppose I didn't think I had to. I thought you knew."
Your voice thins, but you force it out. "Do you still love me?"
"Yes," he breathes. "I thought that was obvious. Do you, still?"
"Of course." It feels awful of him to ask you, as if you haven't spent the past month loving him so loudly, hoping it would echo back at you. "I tell you all the time."
"People can say things they don't mean, sweetheart," he murmurs gently. "Did you mean it?"
Whatever pain breaks across your expression is enough to make Remus flinch, his fingers tightening around your hips. "Of course," you say.
"Okay." Remus' forehead drops to yours. Tears drip from your chin into the space between your bodies. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding hoarse, "that I haven't made you feel loved."
"It's not about how I feel. It's that you never say it."
"I didn't think I had to," he says again, quietly. "I do love you, though. Very much." He finds your hand, rubbing his pinkie against yours. "I don't put on masochistic comedy films for just anyone."
A wet laugh bubbles out of you. It's a joke, but it's true. Remus bears a number of things he ordinarily wouldn't, even for James or Sirius, because you ask him to. He does things you don't ask him for, too. Putting on the kettle just before you get home on chilly evenings, and keeping track of your car's maintenance so he can take it to the mechanic for you. Bringing you a pair of warm socks when he notices your feet are cold.
Remus threads his fingers through yours. "I'm sorry. I can say it more often."
"I think," you hesitate, "I could probably listen better. To when you tell me in your way."
It starts the way most nights do: late, quiet, the two of you tangled in homework and soft lamp light, the bed creaking every time Remus shifts his weight.
You’re on the floor by the bed, surrounded by flashcards. He’s stretched out above you, flipping through his notebook with his reading glasses slipping down his nose, murmuring incantations to himself.
And then, without any warning, he says it.
“Don’t worry, baby. You’re doing so good.”
You freeze. Your pencil drops. And something low in your stomach aches.
You don’t mean to make a sound. You really don’t. But the tiniest breath escapes you, a hitched, high-pitched whimper you try to swallow back.
It’s not loud, but Remus hears it.
He glances down at you, confused. “You okay?”
You nod too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I just.. I’m fine.”
But your legs are twitching where they’re folded under you, and your face is hot, and your eyes won’t meet his.
He sits up straighter, peering at you. “Wait. Was it something I said?”
You want to disappear.
But he’s Remus. Sweet Remus, who tucks his hair behind his ears and bites his lip when he’s nervous. You can’t lie to him.
“You said I was doing good,” you whisper.
He blinks. “You are doing good.”
“No, I mean…” You pause. Squirm. Press your thighs together again, like that’s going to help. “It, um. It did something to me.”
There’s a long silence.
And then. “Oh”
Remus’s voice goes low.
And then. “Ohhh.”
You can’t even look at him. You just bury your face in your hands.
“That’s what does it for you?” he asks, breath catching. “People telling you you’re doing good?”
“Please forget I said anything,” you mumble.
But he’s already crawling to the edge of the bed, glasses hanging low on his nose, eyes wide and glassy.
“You’re telling me all I have to do is praise you and you fall apart?”
You say nothing. Which says everything.
And then he groans, like he’s the one who’s overwhelmed.
“God,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking cute.”
Your body trembles.
Remus slides down off the bed, kneels in front of you. His hands hover just over your thighs like he’s scared to spook you.
“Can I touch you?” he whispers. “Can I say it again?”
You nod, and his hands finally land on you, warm and reverent.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, voice low and shaky. “You’re so fucking pretty. So sweet for me. My perfect girl.”
You whimper, thighs shaking.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “God, look at you. Can’t even sit still, can you?”
“Remus,” your voice cracks.
“Shhh,” he soothes, pressing you gently back until you’re on your elbows. He tugs your shorts down so slow you think you’ll cry, and his breath catches when he sees the wet patch on your panties.
“All that,” he whispers, “just from me telling you how good you are?”
He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then lower, and lower.
“So pretty, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
You moan, head falling back.
He kisses over your panties, nose brushing your soaked center.
“You’re my best girl,” he whispers against the fabric. “You’re doing so fucking good.”
And then, finally, he drags them down and moans when he sees you.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes. “You’re.. fuck, baby, can I taste you?”
You nod frantically, and he dives in.
There’s nothing cocky about it. No teasing. Just Remus’s mouth, greedy and desperate and reverent, like he’s praying between your thighs.
He murmurs praise into your skin like a mantra. So good, so soft, you’re perfect, you’re mine. And every word makes you clench harder around nothing.
You’re already so close it’s humiliating.
“Remus, please.”
He pulls back just long enough to look up at you, eyes dark behind his glasses.
“Come for me,” he says softly. “Let me hear how good it feels, dove.”
And you shatter.
You cry out his name, legs clamping around his head as your whole body pulses with it, and he groans against you like he’s the one coming.
But he doesn’t stop.
Even when you start to twitch. Even when your hips lift in protest. Even when your fingers claw the sheets.
“You can take it,” he murmurs. “You’re so good for me. One more, yeah?”
You sob, already too much, and still nod.
He keeps his mouth on you, gentle and coaxing, and whispers:
potter!reader x remus secret relationship au
summary: james finds you crying to remus because of slughorn's disrespectful comments, and decides to tell professor mcgonagall a few opinions about his potions professor
wc: 0.6k+
James Potter had never done so much as bat an eye when he saw couples making out in the hallways, but the second he saw his sister sitting on a platform in the courtyard, bag settled down beside her as she locked lips with his best friend, standing right in front of her, he knew he had to intervene.
James huffed, ignoring the amused calls of his name. Sirius only half-cared that James was about to wrench Remus away from you, but when he saw Remus pull away from you, revealing your face that was glistening with fallen tears, he felt his eyes widen, rushing over to hold James back. But it seemed that your brother noticed your tears at the same time Sirius did, because he suddenly halted in the middle of the courtyard, watching as Remus hugged you closer to him, pressing his lips against your forehead in a long, comforting kiss.
Then, as though a switch flicked in his head, James hurried towards you, calling your name worriedly. You glanced towards your brother, sniffling softly as you rested your head against Remus’s chest. James put a hand on your shoulder, a frown on his face as he asked “Are you okay? Who do I have to talk to?”
You laughed quietly, wiping the tears from your face as you replied “No one James, I’ve just had a lousy day.” But Remus furrowed his eyebrows, and James immediately knew you were lying to him.
Remus caressed your back, one hand gently running up and down your skin over your jumper. James mumbled your name once, but you refused to meet his gaze, keeping yourself busy by glancing over to Sirius behind him, eyes glazed over with worry. James looked over to Remus, a question written in his eyes, but Remus wouldn’t tell him, not in front of you. Not if you didn't want to. “Sweetheart.” Remus mumbled, prompting you to tell your brother the truth.
“It’s nothing!” You insisted, though tears gathered in your eyes once more as you recalled the situation. “It’s dumb!” Remus sighed, debating on whether to say anything. Would it benefit you more if he told James? “Professor Slughorn was mean to her in class. He gave her a detention for standing up for herself.” James crossed his arms in front of his chest, anger bubbling inside him. You sniffed loudly, voice cracking as you dug your face in Remus’s chest one more, wailing softly “It’s not fair!” Remus cradled the back of your head, peppering kisses across your hairline as he said “I know sweetheart, I know.”
Still crying, you pointed at James, scolding him “You have a lesson now.” “Yeah, I know love. ‘M worried about you, though.” You shook your head, saying, “No it’s fine. I’m gonna go finish my essay now.” In unison, James and Remus both pulled away from you, muttering “No, it’ll exhaust you now” and “Sweetheart, let’s go rest, yeah?” Looking up at Remus, you furrowed your eyebrows. “I’m not done with my homework, though. Put it off for too long.” Remus pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you lifted your head up, a pleading look in your eyes. Remus smiled, leaning down slightly to capture your lips in a short kiss. “Let’s go sit by the black lake, yeah? Get some sun whilst it's still out?”
James stared at his friend fondly as he gave you suggestions for what to do. He was happy that you nodded along to Remus’s words, and was glad that despite the fact that he will always worry about his sister, at least you had someone else to look after you too. “Okay, we’re going to class. You’ll be okay?” You hummed, fingers gripping the bottom of Remus’s jumper. James glanced at Remus, slapping a hand on his shoulder before turning around and hooking an arm with Sirius. “I’m assuming we’re not going to class.” The curly haired boy stated when they were out of earshot, glancing back at you and Remus, who were still cuddled up together.
“No, we’re paying Professor McGonagall a visit. Have a few opinions to share about Slughorn."
summary: on your hunt for a new flatmate you come across Remus. Lovely, handsome Remus. Over the summer months you slowly grow closer to each other.
cw; vague smut (not detailed) but still 18+, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, tiny bit of angst, miscommunication, both reader and remus are a little emotionally constipated.
✩ May ✩
The harsh glow of your laptop screen, paired with the dwindling list of options, is giving you a headache. The pain pulses behind tired eyes, you’re exhausted. Landlords are pricks. The notice came a few weeks ago: your tiny flat, with its damp-stained walls (despite your investment in a fancy dehumidifier), a temperamental oven, and heating that barely registers in winter, is about to cost far more than you can afford. It’s barely worth what you pay now.
It turns out that most places in your price range are even worse than this, you must've seen upwards of twenty flats. So you’ve resigned yourself to looking for someone, anyone in need of a flatmate. Something entirely out of your comfort zone. A quiet, lonely girl by nature the idea of living with a stranger is alien and uncomfortable. But what other choices do you have?
There's a listing that seems like a good fit. Close to your work in a nice area, walking distance from a Tesco and it’s seemingly a good size. The only thing that puts you off is the fact it's a man, similar in age to you, advertising for a flatmate.
You don’t love the idea. But you’re running out of time. So you grab your phone and hover over the keypad, your mind racing while your fingers tremble as they type in the number.
Each ring after you press call makes your skin crawl with second thoughts. Still, you don’t hang up. And just when you’re about to, he answers. His voice makes you jump.
“Hello?” It’s low and calm.
“Hi,” you manage, your voice thinner than you’d like. At least he sounds nice, you think. “I, um… I saw your ad for a flatmate and I was wondering if you're still looking?”
“Yes–yeah,” he replies, sounding almost relieved. “You’re welcome to come by, have a look around? See how it feels?”
“That would be great, actually,” you say, breathing out slowly. “Would this afternoon work? Or whenever suits you.”
“This afternoon is perfect.”
You confirm the address and end the call, only then realising that you don’t know his name and he doesn’t know yours. Still, something about the tone of his voice settles the panic in your chest. It’s probably foolish, but for now, it’s enough.
-
The tube ride over is a blur. You're tucked into a corner seat, fingers clenched tight around the handle of your bag, knees bouncing in spite of your best efforts to seem composed. The whole journey, you’re rehearsing what you might say. Hi, I’m here about the flat. Too stiff. Nice to meet you, thanks for having me. Weirdly formal. Please let me live here, I’m very quiet and I won’t use your milk. Pathetic.
The closer you get, the more you regret not backing out. Your stomach’s knotted, heart thudding. It doesn’t help that the sky’s overcast, a flat grey pressing down like it might rain at any moment. You find the building easily – it’s a narrow brick townhouse with peeling paint around the windows but an otherwise respectable facade. Not too posh, not too grotty.
You buzz the number he gave you. A beat, and then the door unlocks with a clunk.
You’re greeted at the top of a narrow stairwell. The man from the listing is already waiting at the threshold of the flat, leaning lightly on the doorframe.
You freeze.
He’s beautiful.
Not in a clean, shiny way like the men in ads. No, he’s something quieter, warm brown eyes, framed by tired lashes and shadows that suggest long nights. His jumper hangs loose on a tall frame, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. There’s a scar that cuts across the bridge of his nose – thin, pale, old – but it fits his face. You’re staring.
He shifts, and you realise you're just standing there like a lemon.
“Hi,” you manage. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”
He smiles. “I’m Remus.”
You nod like that’s normal, like his voice isn’t curling around you in a way that makes your breath catch. Remus. You tuck the name away for safekeeping.
He steps aside to let you in. “Come on, I’ll show you around. It’s not Buckingham Palace or anything, but it’s solid.”
The flat is surprisingly nice. Wooden floors, worn but clean, a big window in the living room that lets in more light than you’d expected. There are bookshelves and a threadbare sofa that looks deeply comfortable. The kitchen is small but tidy, and he opens a cupboard to show you what would be “your half”.
“And the bathroom’s through here–no mould, promise,” he says, glancing at you over his shoulder with a grin that’s too charming to be fair. “And I don’t take forever in the mornings.”
You follow, nodding, your voice still lodged somewhere near your collarbone. “You, um... seem very prepared.”
He chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I try my best.”
You breathe in through your nose, trying to summon enough courage to sound like a normal person. “Well,” you say, your voice higher than usual, “as long as you don’t kill me in my sleep, I think we should be fine.”
The words are barely out before you regret them. Why would you say that? You flush, gaze snapping to the floor. But then—
Remus laughs.
Not just a polite huff, either. A real, warm laugh that starts low in his chest and melts into something softer.
You blink, stunned.
“Fair enough,” he says, still smiling. “I promise not to kill you. I make a mean cup of tea, though. That help balance it out?”
You nod, trying to hide the way your mouth twitches. “Yeah. That might do it.”
-
Living with Remus is fine, better than you expected actually. You’ve found him to be a perfectly amenable flatmate and his claims were true, he doesn't take forever in the mornings and he does make lovely cups of tea.
Still, you find yourself hiding away in your bedroom most of the time, listening for when he vacates the living room and kitchen before making some quick food to eat and retreating back. He spends a lot of his time sitting at the dining table working on his manuscript and you'd hate to disturb him.
It's no fault of his that you hide away, you dont think you’ve met a nicer, more gentle boy in your life. It’s more like, you're so worried about imposing on his space and routine, being an annoyance that you avoid him.
So, when you hear the sound of his bedroom door shutting you make a break for the kitchen, stomach rumbling.
You rummage through the fridge, the cold light humming against your skin, illuminating a disappointingly bare shelf. Half a tub of hummus, a sad-looking cucumber, and a block of cheddar that’s luckily mould free. You sigh and close the door with your hip, already drafting a mental shopping list.
Tomorrow, definitely. You’ll go tomorrow.
For now, you settle on a sandwich – cheese and cucumber. The bread’s from the freezer, so you wedge two slices apart and drop them into the toaster, rubbing sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand while you wait. The flat is quiet, save for the low tick of the kitchen clock and the mechanical whirr of the toaster heating up. It’s peaceful like this, when it’s just you and the hum of appliances. You suppose it's always peaceful really though, Remus isn’t very loud.
You’re halfway through slicing the cucumber when you hear it: the soft creak of a door down the hall. Footsteps. Then Remus appears, yawning into the sleeve of his jumper, his hair mussed like he’d been lying down.
“Oh–I’m sorry,” you blurt, stepping back from the counter instinctively, knife still in hand. “I didn’t mean to take over the kitchen.”
He blinks, confused for a half-second before smiling. “You’re fine,” he says gently. “Just need to get in there–” he nods at the cupboard above your head.
You quickly sidestep, hugging the counter as he reaches past you. As he opens the cupboard, his fingers brush your shoulder in passing, a light, friendly touch. You flinch, just barely, but he either doesn’t notice or chooses not to mention it.
From the shelf, he pulls down a small box full of blister packets of painkillers, the label worn from use. He moves to the sink, filling a glass with water as you return to your sandwich-making, quieter now. More self-conscious.
“I, um–didn’t mean to interrupt your rest,” you offer, hoping it doesn’t sound too awkward.
Remus looks over his shoulder at you, then downs the tablets with a quick gulp. “You live here too,” he says easily, setting the glass in the sink. “You don’t have to apologise for being in the kitchen.”
You look at him, a little surprised by the softness in his voice.
“Still,” you murmur, pressing the sandwich together, “you’ve got your routines. I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“You’re not,” he says, and smiles. It's a little crooked, a little tired. “Seriously. Come in here whenever you want. Cook something that stinks. Use the last teabag. The whole kitchen is yours too.”
Your eyes lift to meet his, and there’s something about the way he says it, like he means it, that makes your throat go tight.
“Oh,” you say softly. “Okay.”
Remus excuses himself with a quiet smile and a muttered, “Back in a bit,” before padding back down the hallway.
You catch it just as he turns: a slight shift in his gait. Barely noticeable, the way his weight tips unevenly between steps, like one side of his body isn’t quite cooperating with the other. It slows him, just slightly. Enough that your brows draw together before you even realise you're staring.
You stand in the kitchen for a long moment, sandwich forgotten in your hand. It’s not like you to pry. You hate when people ask about things you haven’t offered up willingly – hate the sharp, intrusive edge of what’s wrong with you?
You take your sandwich to the little dining table where his laptop still sits closed, charger curled beside it. The seat across from you remains warm from where he’d been earlier. You chew in silence, mind gnawing at the image of him walking away with that faint limp. He hadn’t mentioned anything. No sign of injury.
Your chest prickles with quiet unease. Maybe it’s not your place. Maybe he doesn’t want questions.
The sandwich is half-finished when he reappears, this time in fresh pyjama bottoms and a different jumper, a little looser in the sleeves. He walks slower than usual, and now that you’re looking for it, the limp is unmistakable. It’s subtle but deliberate, a kind of favouring of one leg over the other. You feel that pinch again, behind your ribs.
Remus notices your eyes on him, and he offers you a faint smile, tired but open.
“Sorry,” he says, lowering himself gently into the chair opposite you with the kind of care that makes your heart ache. “Was hoping the tablets would kick in faster.”
Your voice is quiet when you speak. “Are you okay?”
He glances up at you, blinking like he hadn’t expected the question. For a moment you think he might brush it off, toss out some polite, yeah, all good lie. But then his expression softens. Honest.
“I will be,” he says. Then he hesitates, eyes flicking down to the grain of the wooden table, fingers brushing over a faint coffee ring like it might help ground him. “It’s just a flare-up. Happens sometimes.”
You nod slowly, waiting. Letting him lead.
“My joints,” he says eventually, voice low but calm. “They’ve been wrecked for years. Doesn’t usually act up like this, but sometimes–weather, overdoing it, not sleeping right–it just hits harder.” He gestures vaguely toward his leg, then his shoulder. “Today’s one of those days.”
You don’t say anything at first. Not because you don’t know what to say, but because your first instinct, that sounds awful, I’m sorry, feels both too much and not enough. You don’t think he’d want the sympathy of it anyway.
Instead, you offer him your full attention. “Is there anything you need? I mean, anything I can do?”
Remus looks at you, properly this time, and something unreadable passes behind his eyes. Gratitude, maybe. Surprise.
“No,” he says gently. “Thanks, though. Just rest, really. Try not to be on my feet more than I have to.”
You nod. Then, quieter, “I didn’t realise you were in pain.”
“I hide it well,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting in something that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Comes with practice.”
“I could make tea?”
He smiles, just barely. “Only if you make it as good as I do.”
✩ June ✩
Downpours in June always catch you off guard. In your mind, the month should be full of sun and warmth even though it never is. Shockingly, the rain does little to dampen your mood on the walk home, too excited with the knowledge that when you get into the flat, Remus will be there, probably writing, ready to talk to you and listen to your day.
You found quite quickly, after you got more comfortable, that you and Remus have a lot in common. You like the same shows and takeaways, both reading copious amounts of books and both of you are quiet and calm a lot of the time. You think he might be your only real friend and maybe that's a bit pathetic but you can’t bring yourself to care.
Your trainers squelch faintly as you step into the building, hair sticking to your forehead and the back of your neck. Still, there’s a smile tugging at your lips. You’re soaked and half-frozen, but the thought of the flat and Remus keeps your spirits high.
You shake the worst of the water from your coat before unlocking the flat door. It swings open, the familiar creak greeting you–
–and then a sound you weren’t expecting.
Laughter. Loud, overlapping voices. And not just Remus’.
Your eyes flick up as you step into the living room and stop short.
There are people in your flat.
Three strangers are sprawled across the sofas, legs thrown over armrests, half-drunk mugs of tea and empty crisp packets scattered across the coffee table.
The girl with striking red hair and green eyes is curled into the far corner of the loveseat, gesturing with a half-eaten biscuit and grinning. Next to her, a tall, dark-haired boy is half-lounging, half-sliding off the cushions, knees spread like he owns the place. His shirt is rumpled, his hair even more so, but it works on him. On the floor, sitting cross-legged and sipping from a mug, is another man, long dark hair, an open leather jacket.
And in the middle of it all, Remus.
He’s leaned forward in his usual seat, elbow braced on his knee, a lazy sort of smile tugging at his mouth. He looks comfortable. At home. The sleeves of his jumper are pushed up, and there’s a small ink smudge on his knuckle. He lifts his head at the sound of the door and lights up when he sees you.
“Oh–hey!” he says, already standing. “You’re back.”
All at once, the three others look up. At you.
You freeze in the doorway, suddenly aware of your rain-slick hair, damp jeans, the drip of water off your coat. Your bag sags heavily at your side.
“Hi,” you manage, blinking.
Remus crosses to take your bag, entirely casual. “Didn’t think you’d be back this early. I’d have warned you.”
You shrug, trying for a smile. “The rain chased me home.”
“Let me get you a towel in a sec–uh, this is Lily, Sirius, and James.” He gestures over his shoulder, and they all wave.
Lily smiles kindly. James does a salute from the couch. Sirius raises his mug.
You nod, stepping a little further into the room, wringing your hands slightly.
Of course Remus would have friends like this, you think. People who look like they stepped out of a film set or an advert or maybe an indie band that never quite went mainstream. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume they were all built in the same beautiful factory.
Sirius leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes glinting with mischief. “So you’re the one living with Moony. Brave soul.”
James chimes in, grinning. “Yeah, seriously. Does he still snore like a bear, or has he grown out of it?”
You blink, then giggle – actually giggle – which surprises even you.
“I haven’t noticed,” you say, glancing at Remus as he hands you a towel, whose ears have gone slightly pink. “He’s actually… really great to live with.”
You miss the way he straightens slightly at that, how his expression softens. You’re too busy trying to unstick a strand of wet hair from your cheek.
“I’m just gonna–” you gesture vaguely down the hall, “–shower. Before I mildew. I’ll be back.”
You duck into the hallway with a grateful glance toward Remus, clutching the towel he pressed into your hands like a lifeline. You’re still soaked through, jeans sticking to your legs, and your skin feels clammy beneath your shirt. In the bathroom, you peel out of your wet clothes, your cheeks still warm from the shock of unexpected company.
The shower helps. Hot water pounding against your back, steam curling around your face, loosening the tension in your shoulders. You scrub quickly, methodically, trying not to think too hard. You don’t know why their presence made your chest tighten like that – maybe it was the surprise, maybe it was how pretty they all were. Maybe it was the way they all seemed to belong here.
It’s not jealousy, exactly. Just a small ache, like being on the outside of a joke you’d love to be part of.
-
Back in the living room, as the sound of the bathroom door clicks shut, a shift happens.
Sirius, who had been half-sprawled on the floor with his mug, shoots a look at Remus – slow and smug. “Mate.”
Remus doesn’t look up from where he’s fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Don’t.”
“Oh, I will.” Sirius grins, wolfish.
Lily lets out a snort, raising her brows at James. “Did you see the way he lit up when she walked in?”
James nudges Remus’s knee with his own. “It was sweet, actually. Like a dog seeing its favourite person.”
Remus groans, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re all insufferable.”
“Not denying it, though,” Lily singsongs.
“There’s nothing to deny,” Remus mutters, flushing down to his collarbones. “She’s just my flatmate.”
James grins. “Flatmate. Right.”
Lily’s voice softens just slightly, teasing but kind. “It’s okay, Remus. We like her. She seems sweet.. And clearly into you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.”
Remus shifts in his seat, pulling his sleeve back down like it might shield him. “She’s not. And even if she were, she deserves... more.”
Sirius tilts his head, tone quieter now. “More than what?”
Remus doesn’t answer.
The conversation lapses just in time for the soft pad of footsteps down the hallway.
-
You return with damp hair falling to your shoulders, the sleeves of your jumper pulled over your hands. The soft scent of your shampoo trails after you. You hover at the edge of the living room, unsure if you’re intruding again.
Remus looks up first, his face softening instantly. “Feel better?”
You nod, giving him a small smile. “Much.”
There’s a pause – comfortable, this time – before he gestures to the seat beside him. “Come sit?”
You do.
The sofa is warm from where he’d been sitting earlier. Close, but not too close.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, turning slightly toward you. “We’ve got crisps, biscuits. Sirius tried to eat all the digestives but I fought him off–”
“I let him win,” Sirius adds from the floor.
“–or there's your leftovers in the fridge.” He continues, ignoring his friend's input.
You shake your head. “I’m okay, thank you.”
Lily leans forward, her smile easy. “So, how’s it been living with this one?” She jerks her thumb toward Remus.
You glance at him, then back to her. “Honestly? Pretty great. He’s... very considerate.”
“She’s being polite,” Remus mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She’s being nice,” Lily corrects, then turns back to you. “It’s very commendable of you, I’m sure there's something about him that annoys you.”
“Charming, Lils.” Remus says with a fond eye roll.
Lily is wrong, you think, at this point in time you can't think of anything about remus that annoys you. He’s not a perfect person, obviously, but any little annoyances you have with him are forgotten quickly after they happen.
The conversation rolls on from there. They ask about your job, your favourite books, where you went to school. You end up laughing more than you have in weeks, tucked into the corner of the sofa beside Remus, your shoulder just barely brushing his arm.
By the time the clock on the wall nudges past ten, the living room has slipped into a comfortable sprawl of conversation and low laughter. Mugs have been refilled more than once, empty wrappers tucked under cushions, and Sirius has taken to stacking biscuit crumbs on James’s shoulder like a game of Jenga.
Eventually, one of them – Lily, predictably – checks the time and groans. “Alright, we’re off,” she says, pushing herself up with a dramatic sigh. “Some of us have to be adults in the morning.”
“Tragic,” Sirius mutters, already reaching for his jacket.
There’s a flurry of movement – shoes tugged on, bags slung over shoulders, mugs gathered into a clumsy stack for the kitchen. You stand too, a little uncertain, hanging back near the hallway door as the group bunches near the entrance.
Then, unexpectedly, Lily turns to you
“You coming to the pub quiz next week?” she asks, suddenly warm and familiar, like you’ve known each other longer than just a few hours. Her voice is bright but her eyes are kind, like she really means it.
You blink. “Oh. Um—”
“It’s good fun,” she says quickly. “Low-stakes. Mostly an excuse to drink.”
Your lips twitch despite yourself. “That sounds nice.”
“Perfect,” Lily beams. Then, before you can overthink it, she wraps you into a hug.
You freeze for a second. Her arms are confident and soft around you, her hair brushing your cheek. But after the initial surprise fades, you lean into it.
“See you there,” she murmurs as she pulls back, with a wink
The others say their goodbyes in overlapping waves. Sirius claps Remus on the shoulder with a dramatic flourish, James promises to text him about the weekend, and Lily gives Remus a kiss on the cheek.
Then they’re gone – the flat door swinging closed behind them with a satisfying click, their chatter already fading down the stairs.
You’re still standing in the living room when Remus comes back a few minutes later, having seen them out to the street. He exhales deeply as he toes off his shoes, running a hand through his hair.
You’re already moving, collecting empty mugs from the coffee table and straightening a blanket draped halfway to the floor.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, voice gentle as he returns to the room. “It’s not your mess, love.”
You glance up at him. The endearment settles warm and light in your chest. He says it so naturally you’re not sure he even notices.
“It’ll be faster if we do it together,” you reply simply, heading into the kitchen with a stack of cups.
Remus follows, quiet but not resisting. The two of you move easily in tandem – like you’ve done this before, like you’ve lived together for years instead of just a month. He wipes down the coffee table while you rinse out mugs. You clear the sofa of stray crisp bags while he tucks the blanket back into shape.
It’s domestic, almost absurdly so. The kind of soft, mundane routine you used to dream about without realising it.
When the last mug is tucked into the drying rack and the cushions on the sofa are more or less back in their proper places, you find yourself standing in the middle of the living room, blinking in the stillness. It’s quiet again, but a good kind of quiet.
Remus glances over from where he’s just finished folding the throw blanket across the back of the sofa. “Right,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Mission accomplished.”
You nod, suddenly aware of the ache settling into your limbs – the kind of tired that follows a long day and warm company.
“C’mere,” Remus says, and without really thinking, you follow as he flops down onto the sofa, sprawling into the corner he always claims. He gestures for you to join him, and you do, curling up on the opposite end. Your knees tuck beneath you, your elbow sinking into the cushion. The warmth of the evening clings to your skin, a pleasant, weighty tiredness settling in.
You let out a breath, soft. “Your friends are really nice.”
He hums in agreement, tipping his head back against the cushion to look at the ceiling. “They are.”
Then, quieter, you add, “Sorry if I was... imposing. I didn’t mean to crash your night.”
His head tilts, gaze sliding over to meet yours, brows gently pulled together. “You’d never be imposing.”
You blink at him, something tender sparking behind your ribs.
“They liked you,” he says, like it’s the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.
You smile, small and uncertain. “That’s a relief. I’d have to start hiding away again if they didn’t.”
He huffs a soft laugh, turning more toward you, one leg tucked up beneath the other. “I don’t see how anyone wouldn’t like you.”
The room goes still for a beat.
It’s not even the words that hit you so hard, it’s the way he says them. Quietly, plainly. Like it’s not even a question. Like he believes it.
You swallow. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jumper.
“You’d be surprised,” you murmur.
Remus watches you carefully, eyes soft and steady. “No, I wouldn’t.”
You look away first, heart thudding too loud in your chest. It’s not flirtation, what he’s doing – it’s too sincere for that. It feels heavier somehow, more honest.
He shifts again, this time stretching his legs out, one foot brushing yours beneath the throw blanket. He doesn’t move it away.
You try for something lighter. “You didn’t tell me you had friends that were basically a rock band.”
He chuckles, running a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, they’re a bit much, aren’t they?”
“They’re... great,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t think I’ve ever met people that easy to talk to.”
His smile is quiet. “They’ll love that. Especially Sirius. He lives for being charming.”
“I could tell.”
Remus’s laugh is low, and it lingers. “I’m glad you stayed. You looked like you were going to bolt.”
You flush, ducking your head. “I was.”
There’s a pause.
“I get it,” he says eventually, voice softer now. “Crowds. Strangers. It’s a lot sometimes.”
You nod. “It’s not that I didn’t want to be there. I just… didn’t think I’d belong.”
Remus’s gaze sharpens slightly, something almost fierce behind his tired eyes. “You do. You absolutely do.”
The words land between you, sure and solid. You feel them take root within you.
You glance over, meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t look away. “Anytime.”
Your foot is still touching his under the blanket. You don’t move it.
The telly is dark, the flat dim except for the soft glow of the kitchen light and the little lamp in the corner. Everything feels slow. Settled. The way conversations stretch late into the evening when neither person wants to be the one to end it.
Eventually, you yawn. An embarrassingly large one that catches you off guard.
Remus smiles. “Go to bed.”
“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” you ask, though your limbs are already heavy.
“I’m older,” he says, mock-stern. “I get to decide.”
“You’re not that much older,” you mumble, rising reluctantly.
As you pass him, he catches your wrist gently. Not to stop you – just a brush of fingers, warm and grounding. You pause, and he looks up at you from where he’s still curled on the sofa.
“Hey,” he says, low. “I meant it, you know. About people liking you.”
You nod, throat tight again. “I know.”
He lets go. You head to bed. And long after the door closes behind you, the warmth of his touch lingers.
✩ July ✩
“Please tell me you didn’t actually do that!” you exclaim, laughing at Sirius’ expense.
“I did,” he responds, having the decency to look ashamed, “I didn’t expect him to cry though.”
“He must’ve been a sensitive soul.”
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, doll?” Sirius shoots back, grinning as he nudges you with his foot under the table.
You move to swat him, but he’s already leaning back, laughing like this is his favourite game. And maybe it is, because you’ve learned Sirius loves nothing more than winding people up, especially the ones he likes.
You can’t be sure when it happened but somewhere between meeting Remus’ friends and now, they became your friends too. The pub quiz is a weekly ritual for you all now. You have silly in jokes with them and you're almost at a point now where you speak with them as freely as you do Remus.
You’re just about to fire back a quip when a familiar hand places a drink in front of you.
“Here,” Remus says softly.
Your eyes lift to find him standing beside you, the warm pub lighting casting a soft glow over his features. He sets down his own glass as well, then, without really thinking, slides into the booth beside you.
As he sits, his hand drifts up and settles between your shoulder blades, thumb brushing idly in a slow arc. It’s not the first time he’s touched you lately – little things, small and familiar. A hand on your lower back when guiding you through a crowd. Fingers brushing your knuckles when you pass him a cup of tea. But this, it still catches your breath a little.
“What have you done to get her attacking you already?” Remus asks, shooting Sirius a look that’s half amused, half exhausted.
Sirius throws his hands up. “I didn’t do anything. She’s just violent–where’s my drink?”
“You didn’t ask for anything,” Remus says with a small shrug, taking a sip of his own pint.
“I didn’t know I had to ask,” Sirius complains, scandalised. “I thought we had a system.”
“You thought wrong.”
You shake your head, trying to hide your smile as you pick up your glass. “Thank you,” you murmur to Remus, your voice quieter than before.
He turns his head toward you just slightly, expression softening, “Anytime.”
You take a sip.
Sirius groans dramatically, flopping back in his seat. “This is blatant favouritism.”
“You’re just mad because she doesn’t threaten to hit me,” Remus replies, entirely deadpan.
“I’ll start,” you offer, raising your eyebrows at Remus in mock challenge.
He grins, a slow, crooked smile. “I’d like to see you try.”
Before you can respond, the door to the pub swings open and a gust of summer air follows James and Lily in. James is grinning, his hand causally linked with Lily’s as she glances around, eyes landing on your table.
James and Lily slide into the booth with the easy comfort of long familiarity – James immediately reaching to swipe a chip from Sirius’ plate, Lily pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as she squeezes in beside you.
“We’re not late, are we?” she asks, already pulling a notepad and pen from her bag.
“Perfect timing,” Remus says, glancing towards the bar where the pub quiz host is fiddling with a mic.
“Brilliant,” James says, cracking his knuckles. “Because I’ve been revising.”
“Revising?” Sirius snorts. “Is this the A-Levels again?”
“Better,” Lily says, shooting a grin across the table. “He made me quiz him on obscure geography facts while I was straightening my hair.”
James winks. “Multitasking, babe.”
You laugh into your drink, heart buoyant with the energy around the table. You’re hemmed in by Lily on one side and Remus on the other, the heat of his thigh brushing yours beneath the table. He’s not moving away, and neither are you.
The quiz kicks off not long after – a crackly voice through the speakers announcing the rules as the pub dims the lights slightly and the host launches into the first round.
It starts out strong. Lily knows every answer in the literature round. Sirius, unsurprisingly, nails the music one, especially anything classic rock or 80s synth. James and Lily dominate the sports and politics sections, passing the pen back and forth like it's a baton in a relay.
You’re good at the random ones. The weird general knowledge stuff no one expects anyone to know. But every time you offer a hesitant guess, Remus is the first to jot it down without hesitation.
“She’s right,” he murmurs after you mutter something about which planet has the longest day. “It’s Venus.”
You glance at him. “Are you sure?”
He taps his pen, smirking. “Positive.”
And he’s right.
Remus is the dark horse of the whole night. Quietly scribbling answers during the history and science rounds, barely even hesitating. Everyone starts deferring to him, especially when it gets harder.
At one point, James throws down his pen and mutters, “Where do you keep all this stuff? Is there a little librarian in your brain with a filing cabinet or something?”
Remus shrugs, barely biting back a smile. “Just... remember things. I read a lot.”
You lean over and murmur, “You know so much weird information. It must be all the books.”
He turns to look at you, eyes crinkling. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No,” you say, grinning. “It’s kind of impressive. Annoying. But impressive.”
Remus nudges your knee with his. “Thanks, I think.”
But when the final scores are tallied, and the host calls out your team’s name as the winners, the entire table erupts.
You blink in disbelief, then burst out laughing as Sirius howls, leaping to his feet and banging on the table like a victory drum.
“We won! We actually won! We’re legends! Immortalised in pub quiz history!”
Lily rolls her eyes fondly and raises her glass. “To Remus, our walking encyclopaedia.”
They present the prize – a bottle of cheap prosecco and a £25 bar tab – and you all decide to split one more round with it. The drinks are sweeter, the laughter looser. There’s music playing now, and you find yourself talking to Lily about your favourite poetry collections while Sirius tries to convince Remus to dance.
Eventually, the evening wanes. The pub thins out, chairs scraping, the air thick with the scent of beer and summer sweat. You and Remus walk home together under a sky lit dimly by street lights and stars.
It’s warm enough now that your jacket’s slung over your arm. Your trainers scuff the pavement in easy rhythm beside his.
The walk home is slow, lazy with the warmth of the evening and the quiet hum of contentment between you. The street is dappled with soft pools of golden light. You and Remus fall into step like always, shoulder to shoulder, the occasional brush of arms sending quiet ripples through the comfortable silence.
You’re still buzzing from the night, from the win and the wine and the lingering warmth of everyone’s laughter. Every time you glance at Remus, he’s smiling, that soft, secret smile that curls at the corner of his mouth when he thinks no one’s looking.
“I still can’t believe you knew the name of the first cloned sheep,” you say, bumping your shoulder into his.
“Dolly,” he replies smugly.
“I know,” you groan. “I’m saying I can’t believe you knew that.”
Remus shrugs, casual. “It’s basic trivia.”
You huff a laugh. “It’s bizarre trivia.”
“It’s useful trivia,” he counters, giving you a sidelong glance that makes something flutter low in your belly. “Won us a bottle of cheap prosecco, didn’t it?”
You grin, and the quiet stretches between you again.
Your hands swing close again, knuckles brushing lightly. Neither of you pull away.
He shifts slightly, just enough that his fingers brush yours again, and this time, they stay. You glance down, heart in your throat, and feel his hand open, tentative but waiting.
You don’t think. You just slide your hand into his.
His fingers curl instantly around yours, warm and certain. You both keep walking, pretending it’s nothing, pretending your heart isn’t hammering so hard it hurts.
-
You step inside, the familiar hush of the flat wrapping around you both. Remus toes off his boots and hangs his jacket up, and you do the same, suddenly hyper aware of the proximity, the quiet.
He turns to you, lingering just a step closer than he needs to be. The air between you feels too full, your skin thrumming where he’s still holding your hand. His eyes flicker down to your mouth, just for a second. Barely a heartbeat.
Then he leans in.
It’s subtle at first, a shift in weight, his eyes still locked on yours. And then he’s close, close enough to kiss you.
And he almost does.
His breath ghosts over your lips, and you tilt your chin up instinctively, eyes fluttering shut—
But at the last second, he stops. Pulls back.
Just a fraction.
You blink up at him, startled and flushed and blinking hard, heart suddenly thudding in disappointment.
He opens his mouth like he wants to explain, but nothing comes out. You clear your throat, trying to save the moment, to make it feel less heavy.
“Right. Um–goodnight, then,” you murmur, stepping back and turning toward the hall.
You don’t get far.
“Wait–” he says, voice low and rough.
You freeze.
Then you feel it, his hand catching your wrist.
You turn, breath held tight in your lungs, and he’s right there again. Eyes stormy and wide, jaw tense.
“I can’t–” he starts, but the words twist out of him like they’re too slow for what he’s feeling. “I’ve wanted to–”
And then he kisses you.
It’s not gentle.
It’s urgent – a bruising, heated thing that steals the breath from your lungs and sends your hands into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight. His mouth moves over yours like he’s been holding this back for too long, like he’s starving for it.
You gasp, just slightly, and he swallows the sound with a low groan, his hands sliding up your arms, into your hair, down your back. You’re pressed against the wall before you even realise he’s moved you, his body warm and solid against yours, his mouth insistent.
There’s no space between you anymore. Just warmth, friction, hands fumbling and mouths desperate.
You break for air only to pull back in with even more hunger, his lips on your jaw, your neck, then back to your mouth like he can’t decide what part of you he wants more.
“Remus,” you breathe against him, dizzy.
His hands settle on your waist, gripping tight like he’s anchoring himself. His forehead rests against yours for a breath, and then he murmurs, “Come with me.”
You nod.
He leads you to his room without another word, fingers still laced with yours, and when he closes the door behind you, the air changes again.
Slower, now.
More deliberate.
The urgency is still there, but it softens into something deeper, more consuming. He kisses you again, slower this time, reverent. His hands roam, mapping, remembering. Yours find the hem of his shirt, the warmth of his skin.
You don’t rush.
You undress each other like a secret being unfolded. You climb into his bed like you’ve always belonged there.
And when he finally sinks into you, it’s not rushed, not hurried.
He holds you like he’s afraid to let go. Like he’s wanted this for months and is still struggling to believe it’s real.
And when you come apart beneath him, it’s with his name on your lips and your hands in his hair, and the kind of breathless clarity that tells you nothing will be the same.
-
The first thing you feel is warmth.
From the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the steady heartbeat you must have drifted off to somewhere between kisses and whispered breaths.
You’re tangled up in Remus Lupin.
The duvet is twisted around your legs, one of his arms is slung heavy and loose around your waist, and his bare chest is the perfect place to rest your cheek. His skin is warm, smooth in some places, scarred in others. You trace a lazy finger over one of the faded marks near his collarbone, remembering where your mouth had been hours earlier.
He’s still asleep, face tilted slightly toward you, lips parted just enough to show the edge of a tooth. His hair’s a mess – curling against his forehead in soft, unruly waves – and he looks younger like this. Softer. The tension that he sometimes carries, that quiet weight he doesn’t talk about, has slipped away entirely in sleep.
You smile without meaning to, letting your eyes wander across his face.
How is this real?
You stay like that for a while, not quite ready to break the spell, watching the soft flutter of his lashes, the faint rise of his chest. You feel safe, grounded, like the world could wait a little longer.
And then–
Your phone buzzes.
You blink, reach for it blindly, and when the screen lights up, your stomach drops.
“8:43 AM – New Message from Manager: Hey! Just checking you’re still coming in?”
You sit bolt upright.
“Shit–shit, shit, shit.”
Remus stirs beside you, brow furrowing slightly, but doesn’t wake. You scramble out of bed, moving towards your own bedroom trying to get ready as quickly as possible.
You do a rushed version of your morning routine in the tiny bathroom – brush teeth, splash water, a swipe of mascara and a spritz of dry shampoo that does absolutely nothing. When you return to his bedroom, Remus hasn’t moved. He’s sprawled diagonally across the bed now, hair mussed, arm half-reaching toward where you’d been.
And then you’re out the door, down the stairs, and into the rush of the day.
-
The hours drag.
Your body is at work, but your mind is still back in that bed. On the way Remus had looked at you. On the way he’d touched you. You spend the day replaying it in loops, trying not to let it show on your face.
It’s hopeless. You catch your reflection in a window around lunch and see it: the too-bright eyes, the almost-smile that keeps slipping onto your face for no reason.
-
By the time you get back to the flat, you’re not sure what to expect.
Remus is in the kitchen.
He looks normal.
Hair still messy. Wearing one of his old jumpers – the navy one with sleeves that swallow his hands – and stirring something in a pot on the stove. You hover in the doorway, your bag still slung over one shoulder.
He glances over, smiles. “Hey. How was work?”
It’s his usual voice. Easy, casual. Like it’s any other day.
You blink. “Uh... fine. Busy.”
He nods, turns back to the stove. “You want dinner? I made pasta.”
Your heart sinks a little, stupidly. “I’m not super hungry right now,” you murmur. “Thanks though.”
He doesn’t push. Just shrugs and says, “Alright,” like nothing’s strange.
But it is. You can feel it.
The thing that bloomed between you last night, heavy and breathless and real, has been tucked neatly out of sight.
Maybe he regrets it.
Maybe it was a one-time thing.
Maybe he doesn’t want it to mean what it meant to you.
Eventually, you mumble, “I’m gonna go change,” and head down the hall before he can answer.
You close the door to your room with more force than necessary, leaning back against it with your eyes squeezed shut.
You feel foolish. You’d thought...
Well.
You’d thought it might change things.
Instead, it feels like everything’s gone backwards.
So you do what you always do.
You hide.
You crawl under your duvet and pull your knees up to your chest, pretending you’re tired. Pretending you’re not waiting for a knock on your door that never comes.
✩ August ✩
You’ve fallen back into your routine from when you first moved in. Hiding away in your room, when Remus is in the living room. Retreating into yourself, an act of self-preservation, you think.
You’ve escaped from your room today, Remus away at the doctors. Laying out on the sofa with a glass of cold water to combat against the heat that seeps into the flat, the hottest day of the year. You stare at the tv, staring unseeingly.
You’re halfway through the world’s most pointless reality show when the front door clicks open without warning.
You flinch slightly, half-rising off the sofa, until a familiar voice echoes from the hallway.
“Don’t get up on my account, sweetheart.”
A second later, Sirius is leaning over the back of the couch, sunglasses perched on his head and a takeaway iced coffee in each hand. He pokes you in the shoulder with one long finger, smirking.
You blink up at him, disoriented. “How did you get in?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Still have the spare. You lot never changed the locks after that one time I borrowed the toaster.”
“Stole,” you correct automatically.
He walks around the sofa and flops down beside you like he owns the place, long legs kicked out, one arm draped over the backrest behind your shoulders. He hands you one of the coffees. “Drink this. You look like you’re dying.”
“Thanks,” you mutter, finally slumping back into the sofa, gaze returning to the screen, where someone’s just burst into tears over a ruined meringue.
Sirius watches you for a beat. Then he leans in again, voice pitched low.
“So… what’s going on with you and Moony?”
You blink at him, your brain stuttering.
“What?” You shake your head. “Nothing. I mean, I have no idea. We don’t really… talk.”
Sirius clicks his tongue.
“Ah. Problem found.”
You glance over. “What?”
He gives you a look that’s both amused and just this side of exasperated. “He’s mopey. Has been for like, a couple weeks.”
You try not to let your expression betray you. “I don’t think that’s about me.”
“Yeah,” Sirius says dryly, “and I’m the Pope.”
Sirius watches you steadily, the smirk slipping off his face just a little as the silence stretches. You take a long sip of the iced coffee, letting the condensation chill your fingers, and avoid his gaze.
Finally, you exhale. It’s a slow, reluctant thing. “We slept together,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t… nothing. I mean, it didn’t feel like nothing.”
Sirius’s eyebrows shoot up, but to his credit, he doesn’t interrupt. Just takes a slow sip from his own drink and waits.
You run a hand through your hair, the heat of the day clinging to your skin like guilt. “It was after the quiz. We were walking home and then–god, it just happened. And it was… really good. But I had to go to work the next morning. And then when I came back–he didn’t bring it up.”
You swallow. The words are harder to say than you thought they’d be.
“I figured if he wasn’t talking about it… maybe it was just one of those things. A mistake, even. So I didn’t either.”
Sirius lets out a low whistle, tossing his head back against the cushions. “Bloody hell.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”
There’s a beat of silence. You focus on the way the ice is melting in your cup, the way your pulse hasn’t quite calmed down.
Sirius shifts beside you, his voice quieter now. “Look. Rem’s a smart bloke. But sometimes…” he trails off, shaking his head. “He forgets people can’t read his mind. Thinks if he doesn’t say it out loud, it’s safer. Like he can keep it from meaning too much.”
“And he’s got it in his head,” Sirius continues, nudging your knee with his own, “that you’re far too good and far too pretty for him.”
You snort. “What, so he thinks I pity fucked him? Are you serious?”
Sirius deadpans, “Unfortunately.”
“That’s–” You set your coffee down with a soft thud, sitting up straighter. “That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. He’s gorgeous.”
Sirius flashes a grin, all teeth. “Preaching to the choir, babe.”
You blink at him. “Wait, you–?”
He waves a hand. “Not the point. The point is, he’s probably thinking he’s ruined everything and you’re here thinking you did. You’re both being daft.”
You sigh again, pressing your fingers to your temples.
“You think I should talk to him.”
“I think,” Sirius says, voice level now, “that you need to. Because he’s not going to. Not unless he’s sure you want him to.”
“Okay,” you say finally, softly. “Okay. I will.”
Sirius reaches over, squeezes your shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Good girl.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t push it.”
He winks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
-
You feel grosser and grosser as the day goes on, becoming more sweat than girl. Whether it’s because of the heat or nerves you’re not sure. An unhealthy mix of both, probably.
You’ve run through what you want to say a million times in your head.
Maybe more.
Every version sounds wrong. Too much. Too vulnerable. Not enough.
So you sit on the sofa, legs crossed, iced coffee long since gone watery, clutching a cushion to your chest like it’s armor. The fan is humming in the corner but it does nothing to move the heat pressed into the walls of the flat.
When the front door creaks open again, you sit up so fast your spine protests.
Remus walks in slowly, his posture heavy with the weight of the day. He pauses when he sees you sitting there, like he wasn’t expecting it. There’s a split second where his face flickers. He gives you a tight, polite smile. The kind you might offer a stranger you bumped into at the shops.
Then he turns wordlessly toward the hallway.
“Remus.”
You say it before you can talk yourself out of it. Your voice doesn’t shake, but it’s close.
He stops. Still facing away. One hand resting on the edge of the doorframe.
“…Yeah?”
You take a breath that doesn’t help at all. Then another.
“I did want to talk about it.”
His head tilts slightly, just enough that you see the edge of his profile. There’s a pause. Like maybe he’s hoping he misheard.
“About what?” he says finally. Neutral. Careful.
You press your palms against the cushion like it might anchor you.
“About us having sex,” you say plainly. Then, softer: “And the day after.”
He winces.
You see it even from across the room – pain flashing over his face before he schools it away again. But not fast enough. Not before it lands in your chest with a hollow thud.
“I just…” You trail off, shake your head, try again. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Because it did. And it wasn’t nothing to me.”
He turns at that, just enough to look at you properly. His arms are crossed, but not in that closed-off way you sometimes see, more like he’s holding himself together. His brows draw in, mouth set like he’s bracing.
“I know it wasn’t nothing,” he says quietly.
You sit back a little, heart thudding so loudly you’re sure it’s rattling your ribs.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” It comes out softer than you mean it to, more hurt than accusatory. Your voice dips at the end like you’re hoping he’ll have an answer that makes it all make sense. Something that takes the last few weeks and peels the ache from them.
Remus hesitates. Then he laughs – dry, self-deprecating. Not unkind. Just tired.
“Because you didn’t say anything either.”
Your mouth opens. Closes again. You hadn’t expected that.
He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, the gesture tight with nerves. “I thought I’d messed it up. I thought–I don’t know. That maybe I crossed a line. You left so quickly that morning, and then you just–disappeared. And I thought, alright, that’s fair, it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. And I didn’t want to make it harder by pushing.”
“But I didn’t disappear,” you whisper. “Or I didn't mean to, I had to go to work. You acted like nothing happened when I got home.”
He meets your eyes then. And for the first time since that night, he looks open. Vulnerable in a way that makes your stomach twist.
“Because I thought if I let myself believe it meant what I wanted it to mean,” he says, voice low, “and I was wrong… I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye again.”
You blink. “What did you want it to mean?”
There’s a beat of silence between you. The fan hums on, useless. The world waits.
Remus’s eyes are soft, almost pleading. “Everything.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
He exhales like he’s been holding it for hours. Days. Weeks, maybe.
“I wanted it to mean we’re not just friends who got carried away,” he continues, stepping closer, careful. “I wanted it to mean I get to look at you in the mornings and kiss you before you leave for work. I wanted it to mean you wanted me, too. Not just that night. After.”
Your heart cracks wide open.
“I do want you,” you say, voice trembling now, but sure underneath. “I never stopped. I thought I’d imagined it–that you regretted it. That it was a mistake.”
“It wasn’t,” he says, quickly. Firm. “Not even close.”
You stare at him, all those weeks of doubt pooling like ink in your chest. Slowly, you set the cushion aside, like shedding a shield.
He watches you. Doesn’t move.
“I wanted to tell you,” you say, standing slowly. “I just didn’t know how.”
“You’re telling me now,” Remus says softly. “That’s enough.”
You cross the room in four steps, barefoot and shaky and brave, and then he’s in front of you, warm and real and still yours to choose.
“I missed you,” you whisper, hands coming up to rest against his chest.
His arms come around you immediately, pulling you in like he’s been waiting this whole time. His face presses into your hair, his breath warm against your ear.
“I missed you more than I know how to say.”
You lean back enough to see his face, your hands curling in the hem of his jumper.
“Then say it like this.”
And you kiss him.
This time, it’s not urgent. Not desperate. It’s steady and soft and full of all the things you didn’t say. His lips move slowly over yours, reverent. Familiar. Like a promise.
He smiles into it. And when you pull away just enough to look at him properly, you find his eyes lit up with something you’ve only seen once before.
Hope.
“You’re not getting rid of me now, you know,” you say, resting your forehead against his.
“Good,” he murmurs. “I was hoping you’d stay.”
✩ September ✩
The days stretch a little shorter now, but summer’s warmth still clings stubbornly to the air, trailing behind in the soft buzz of bees and the golden hush of late afternoons. The flat’s windows are thrown open, letting in the scent of sun-warmed pavement and the rustle of dry leaves skittering along the street below.
Remus is barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming something low under his breath as he chops herbs with practiced ease. The late light catches in his hair, softens his features into something dreamlike. There’s a faint breeze lifting the curtain near the sink, and the clink of glass as he pours two drinks, glancing toward the living room where you’re curled on the sofa, legs tangled with Sirius’ across the cushions.
Lily and James arrive a few minutes later, the door swinging open with a chorus of greetings and laughter. Lily’s holding a warm loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel; James has a bottle of wine under his arm and a grin too big for his face.
“Boo! I hate you guys being happy and in love,” Sirius announces, flinging himself into a new position across the armchair.
“You love it,” you say without looking up, one hand reaching blindly for Remus’ as he passes you a glass. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before he settles beside you, his arm slung across the back of the sofa, fingers brushing your shoulder in a quiet rhythm.
He hasn’t stopped touching you since that night.
It’s not overwhelming, not loud. Just soft, consistent reminders that he’s here, that you’re his, that he’s yours. A hand at the small of your back, knuckles brushing your thigh under the table, lips against your temple as he passes. Like he’s still learning how to believe it, but he’s trying every day.
Dinner is chaotic and loud, wine-stained and full of clattering cutlery and overlapping stories. Someone burns the garlic bread, Sirius knocks over a candle, and Lily accidentally flings a piece of tomato into James’ lap.
Later, when the plates are stacked and the last of the wine has been poured, Sirius puts a record on — something old and scratchy and perfect — and Lily pulls James up to dance. They sway messily in the living room, laughing, bumping into the furniture.
You’re half-tucked under Remus’ arm when Sirius offers you his hand.
“Come on, one dance. For your favourite.”
You shake your head, smiling. “No way. You’ll trip me up.”
“Probably,” Sirius concedes cheerfully. “But what a way to go.”
Remus chuckles beside you, warm and low, and you turn your face toward him instinctively. His gaze catches yours, steady and soft. Like everything else has blurred out.
“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here.”
You kiss him once — quick and fond — before letting Sirius spin you clumsily around the room, both of you laughing like children.
When the night winds down, James and Lily head off with matching yawns and promises to host next time, and Sirius dramatically declares he’s staying the night, already halfway through making the sofa into a makeshift bed despite your offers for him to sleep in your room that goes largely unused.
You and Remus retreat to his room, quiet and content. You curl into bed with the windows still open, letting the night breeze ghost across your skin. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your shoulder, murmuring something half-asleep against your skin.
It’s nothing dramatic. Just a slow, steady settling. A feeling in your chest that hums: this is it.
