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: 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:
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.
summary: you've hated remus lupin longer than you've known him, if that's even possible. you'll never be able to forgive him for everything he did to you. in fact, it's insulting that he even wants to try. you'll show him.
content: angst, lots of fluff
wc: 7.2k
Remus Lupin is infuriating—truly, you’re sick with hatred for him.
You had both graduated Hogwarts several years prior, and while you had left London for about a year, giving yourself a chance to acclimate to adulthood while your parents were still willing to pay your bills, Remus was all too content to be with the same people he’d always been with—Sirius, James, Lily. There were a few others, too, but those were the permanent fixtures in his life.
You tell yourself you never really cared that he didn’t make an effort with you, despite his making an effort with literally every other person in your year.
You’re over it. Totally over it. So why can’t you stop complaining about him?
“Love, you need to let it go.” Marlene doesn’t even look up from the fingernail polish she’s so painstakingly applying. “It’s been, what, 3 years?”
You don’t even have to think about it. “4 years. But come on, Marlene! He ruined my life!”
She scoffs a bit. “At best, he mildly inconvenienced it. What was the worst thing he did?” Your mouth opens, ready to spill all the bad things he did. Marlene holds up a hand. “Actually, never mind, don’t answer that.”
You roll your eyes. “Look, you still hang out with him, right?”
She gives you a side eye. “I hang out with all of them. We’re friends,” she says, emphasizing the last word.
“So then you would know.” You’re choosing your words carefully, because if Marlene suspects that you’re judging her, she’ll leave. “Has he changed at all? Or is he still the same self-assured, arrogant asshole he was in school?”
“That’s not fair and you know it.” She sets down the bottle of polish and begins to blow on her wet nails.
“So he hasn’t changed!”
This time, her scoff isn’t so quiet. “Of course he’s changed! You’ve changed too! As you said, it’s been 4 years.”
You can tell she has more to say, and with Marlene, it’s always better to stay quiet until she’s said what she really wants to say. There are a few moments of silence before she speaks up again, sighing heavily.
“He’s worse. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Not particularly–”
“He’s not evil or anything, he’s just really awful to everybody. I think Sirius only puts up with it because of everything Remus did for him.”
“Are you–”
Marlene suddenly jumps up. “Oh shit, I need to go. I promised Lils I’d go to her party tonight, and I still haven’t bought a gift.” Using the tips of her fingers, so as to not ruin her polish, she slides her purse up her shoulder. “What are you getting her, by the way?”
There’s a moment of silence. “I actually– uh, I didn’t receive an invitation.” You feel a little upset, which is weird because it should feel like vindication, to know that they don’t like you just as much as you don’t like them. “I don’t–”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “I’m so sorry, it didn’t even–”
“It’s fine, you didn’t know–”
“No, I’m so sorry.” To her credit, Marlene really does look terribly guilty. “Let me buy you tea sometime this weekend.”
“Marlene, really. I never speak to her anymore. I really don’t care.” You feel bad for lying, but everyone keeps some things to themselves
Marlene nods, chewing her lip. Honestly, her reaction is worse than the news. “She should have invited you.”
You force a laugh. Yes, she should have. “No, she shouldn’t have. We didn’t even hang out at school. Look, you’re gonna be late to the party if you don’t hurry up.”
“I’ll call you, okay?” Marlene hugs you tightly around the neck before she steps out. The door shuts behind her, and you’re left with the revelation she bestowed so callously.
Marlene, despite all of her new beauty and charm, has not changed. She was careless in school; she is even more careless now. Sometimes you wonder why you even spend time with her. But try as you might, you can’t hold this against her. After all, you’re keeping your own secrets.
Remus Lupin is one of your regulars at the bakery you own. In fact, he and his friends are regulars. About once a day, they come in. You’ve no idea how they’re affording it; the bakery is expensive. You certainly can’t afford it, and you own the place.
He’s never spoken to you directly, but you know he recognizes you. Lily always makes a point of asking after your sister. James then suggests maybe she could babysit their son sometime and Lily slaps him. You laugh. It’s a nice routine.
On second thought, maybe you are a little offended that they didn’t invite you to her party.
The night is quiet, and you decide to take a walk as the sun sets, but by the time you’ve put on your coat and scarf, it’s already dark outside. Still, the cool air draws you out and you find yourself setting a brisk pace down the barren streets of your side of London.
You wish Marlene hadn’t left. You would never begrudge her the time she spends with other, closer friends, but sometimes you wish you had someone to come home to. Someone who left events for you. Someone who thought about you, and not just when you texted them first.
Someone who chose you.
“Hey!”
That’s not what I meant. You pick up the pace, trying to ignore and simultaneously put distance between you and the man calling after you.
“Hey!” He shouts your name, and that makes you turn around.
“I don’t know who the–” It’s Remus. Of course it’s Remus. Your steps slow as you take in his staggering gait. As soon as he’s close enough, you grab his arm and drag him into the nearest, most well-lit alley. “What the fuck. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a party or something to be at?”
“No, silly. The party’s not happening.” Remus smiles lopsidedly, and your eyes narrow. A quick sniff, and you know– he’s drunk. Embarrassingly so. His breath smells strongly of firewhiskey, and you’re tempted to walk away right then and there.
“What are you doing here, Remus?” You force yourself to look him in the eye.
His hazel eyes are sliding closed, buried under their own weight. He looks, and sounds, bone tired. You wonder what exactly happened that Remus is miles away from the party.
“There’s… s’an accident.” He trips over his own feet and ends up burying his face in your neck.
“What? Remus, look at me.” You grab his shoulders and push him away from you. “What happened?”
He groans softly; his eyes are still squeezed shut. “Prongs, he– he kicked me out. Said I was being ‘too mean’ or something.”
“You are.”
“What?”
“Nevermind.” You glance at the sky. It’s getting late, and the last thing you need right now is Remus hanging onto your leg while you get ready for bed. You heave a sigh. “Look, what’s your address? I can–”
“I thought that was third date information.” He smiles lazily. Maybe he’s not as drunk as you thought.
“We’re not on a date, Remus.” You start to leave the alley, and he follows close behind you. Once you’re on the street, you turn to face him. “What’s your address? Or, just tell me the neighborhood and you can take us there.”
“I live with Prongs.” What?
“Wh–”
“James.”
“Oh…” Your voice trails off as you work out the problem in your head. “So you can’t go back there, obviously.”
He shakes his head. Suddenly his eyes light up. “I’ll just stay with you!” he suggests, the beginnings of a smile blooming across his face.
“Um, no.” You fight the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Sorry, but no. You’re– no. Not an option.”
Remus pouts. “But I need somewhere to stay!”
“I know, and I’m trying to figure that out.” For a moment you close your eyes, trying to think. “Wait, what about that guy you’re always with… uh, Sirius! Right, where does he live?”
He shakes his head. “No, he’s not speaking to me either.”
“What did you do again?” It’s time to face the facts. You’ll have to take him back to your flat and give him the sofa. “Okay, look, we’re going to mine for now. I can’t have this conversation when you’re drunk and it’s about to start raining.”
“Where do you–”
“I’m not telling you my address.”
Remus lets you pull him away from the alley and up your street, but when you reach your door he speaks. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“I don’t know.” His question makes you fumble with your keys, and you lose the right one amongst all the other pieces of metal on your keyring. Your hands shake. “Shut up, it’s cold,” you tell him, trying desperately to not be mad at him.
It’s definitely his fault that he’s here, drunk. It’s definitely his fault that James kicked him out. All of this is his fault. But if you know Remus at all, and you’re beginning to think you don’t, nothing he does is accidental.
Suddenly he gasps. “The stars! Look.” He whispers your name, almost reverently, and clutches your wrist. You curse under your breath. “Look at the stars!”
“Remus, I–”
“Look at the stars.” His voice has gone low; any trace of intoxication is gone. You’re a little taken aback by his intensity about this, but you figure it can’t hurt to take a quick glance. You do, and– wow.
The night sky is spread out like a canvas, deep blues and blacks painting over London. The stars twinkle through the fog, and even you can locate Orion’s Belt, though you’re no astronomer. Remus is still holding your wrist, and you’re trying not to focus on the steadiness of his breathing. That's when it hits you.
“You’re not drunk.”
He doesn’t say anything. It speaks volumes.
“You asshole! You made me believe I had to take care of you!” The keys still hang from your hand, but they’re completely forgotten in your anger.
“I never said I was drunk.”
“You didn’t correct me, either, though.” You yank your wrist out of his grip and turn to face the door. “I don’t– what is wrong with you?”
“Honestly, I was hoping you would forgive me.”
There’s the Remus you know. You were right, nothing he does is accidental. You finally manage to unlock the door and shove your way inside. Remus follows, because of course he does. He shuts the door behind him softly and flips on the light.
“Hey, can we just–”
“You were looking for me. Marlene told you I wasn’t invited, and you went looking for me.” You know in your head it’s really not the end of the world, and maybe a small part of you is flattered by the attention. But it’s overwhelmed by the realizations you keep making.
“About that invitation…”
“What now?” Things couldn’t possibly get any worse than this, you think.
Then he holds up a slip of cream cardstock printed with an invitation. “You’re formally invited to celebrate with us,” he reads, wincing.
At this point, all you can do is scoff. “I wish I was surprised.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He tries to hand you the invitation, but you knock it out of his grip. It goes sliding across your kitchen floor, and you’re suddenly struck with the realization that this is all so ridiculous.
“What are you even sorry for?” He looks at you for a moment. You keep going. “I’m serious. Are you sorry for hiding my invitation from me? For pretending to be drunk so I would take you home? For always ignoring me when you see me in public? For everything in school? What about before school? You were horrible to me.”
Remus’s eyes soften. “I’m really sorry.” He pauses for a second. “It’s just that– honestly, I really liked you in school. I wanted to be the only person who liked you, and everything was just a misguided attempt at keeping you to myself. I’m so sorry.”
Your eyes narrow. “I can’t believe you. You seriously think I’m going to buy that?”
“I… why wouldn’t you?”
“You haven’t changed at all.” Your coat suddenly feels stifling, and when you begin to pull it off slowly, Remus reaches for you. “I can take off my coat on my own. I’d like you to leave,” you ask. Demand. Whatever the right word is.
He nods. Picks up the invitation and places it on your counter. Then he leaves, and you’re left with your thoughts.
Here’s what they sound like:
Finally. I can’t believe he would do that to me. What an asshole.
Nice that he apologized, though.
I still hate him. No shitty apology will change that.
But it is nice. I don’t think I hate him as much as before.
I can’t believe he admitted that to me. Why would he do that?
Unless he had nothing to lose.
Unless he really meant it.
You wake up the next day with a pounding headache.
On instinct, you reach over to your nightstand for your glasses, and your hand knocks into a cup of water. It splashes a little over the side, and as you pull away, you feel two pills next to the glass.
And when you look up, Remus Lupin is standing there, wringing his hands.
“I made toast?” Oh, fuck.
His toast actually isn’t that bad.
It’s a little undercooked– soft in the middle where you prefer a bit of crunch, but he’s buttered it almost to perfection. He’s also got orange juice in a plastic pitcher in the middle of the table. You recognize the dish from your upper cupboard– it’s the one you can never reach. You shift a little in your chair at the visual of him reaching your topmost cupboard easily.
“Can we talk?” he suddenly asks, breaking the silence. He hasn’t touched any of the toast on his side of the table, you notice. With a shrug, you pour yourself more orange juice.
“Sure.”
“Okay, good.” He stops. Tilts his head at you. “Do you need some water? I should have refilled your glass. I’m so sorry. Here, let me–”
“It’s fine.”
Remus sighs. “I’m so tired. Honestly, I really didn’t know what to do.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” you suggest, already regretting this conversation.
“Right. Okay.” He takes a breath and launches into the story. “You were obviously still awake when I left here. I wandered around your neighborhood for a few minutes– not in a creepy way.”
“Thanks for quantifying that.”
“You’re welcome. I was just about to leave the way we came when I heard a loud crash from your apartment.” Remus brushes a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
Wolfish, you think.
“You had been drinking pretty heavily. I think you fell out of your chair and hit the ground hard.” You wince, and he notices, because he reaches out to touch your hand softly. “Your door wasn’t even locked.”
“Yeah, I guess I gotta start doing that.” Your hand pulls away automatically. Remus doesn’t seem to notice.
“No kidding. I put you in bed and slept on your couch. I also showered before you woke up. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask. I can pay you back for the water.” He actually looks nervous.
Remus Lupin. Nervous. Because of you. It’s a heady feeling, and you’re trying not to let it go to your head. But it’s awfully hard, when the most desirable bachelor in your graduating class is staring at you like that.
Like you hung the moon. Like there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. Like he really would pay your water bill if you asked him to.
“I’m not poor, Remus. I can afford your shower.” You stand up quickly, forcing down the nausea that rises up in you. You carry your plates to the sink and then return to the table. He’s still sitting there, looking at you. “What?”
“I’m really sorry.”
“You mentioned that.”
His forehead creases. “No, I mean for everything. Everything you said. I’m sorry for it.”
You duck your head, unsettled by his sudden attention. “I don’t really need an apology.”
He’s unphased. “Maybe not. But you deserve one anyways.”
“Yeah, well.” There’s a brief moment of silence. “Look, I would ask you to stay, but I have to go to work.”
“I’m a good driver. And you’re still hungover, remember?”
It doesn’t really feel like a hangover anymore. You suspect your drinking had actually been pretty light. You don’t drink all that often, anyway. “I’m fine. Really.” Remus looks at you dubiously, but he doesn’t verbally object. “Please let me do this on my own.”
“Okay.” He takes your rejection in stride. You make a mental note of that. “I’ll call you, okay?”
You nod absentmindedly, glancing around the room for your bag. The door shuts behind him softly, and you can hear his footsteps down the stairs leading away from your flat.
You never gave him your number.
The next time you see him, Remus is babysitting for Lily and James.
He’s actually wearing a baby carrier strapped to his chest. It makes him look older, a little. More mature.
“Remus!” you call. He spins around, and when he sees you, he smiles widely.
“Hi! It’s good to see you!” Remus looks down at the baby. “This is Harry. Lily and James are out for a date right now.” He glances around the park. “What are you doing here?”
You gesture vaguely at your blanket laid out on the grass. “Just reading.”
“Mind if I sit down?”
“No, go ahead.” You make enough room for him to take off the baby carrier and lie down, but he and Harry seem content to remain upright. Suddenly it hits you. “Oh, hey, I had a question.”
“Go ahead,” Remus says. He shades his eyes with a hand so that he can look directly at you. His full attention is a little overwhelming.
“My mother is getting married, and I don’t have a plus one. She didn’t ask me to be a bridesmaid or anything, so it’s kind of awkward if I show up alone. I don’t really ever talk to her. I don’t know anyone else there.” You’re rambling. “Would you want to go with me to the wedding?” You’re not sure what you’re so nervous about. Everything is totally fine. Of course he’ll say yes; he’s a man overcome with guilt. You suspect he’ll do just about anything you ask him to right now.
“I would love to,” he says immediately. “When is it? And am I pretending to be a boyfriend or is this completely casual, no impressive attire needed?”
“The latter.”
“Good to know.” Remus reaches behind him to undo the carrier, but his hands can’t quite get the straps without seeing them. You instinctually lean towards him, and your hands brush his as you unbuckle the carrier. “Thanks,” he whispers.
You can actually feel your cheeks flush; it seems to happen more and more around Remus. Busying yourself with smoothing out the blanket, you remember his first question. “It’s in two months. Is that enough time?”
“Sure. That sounds great.” Harry is now crawling towards you. He looks so much like James that it’s a little unsettling. “Oh, they wanted me to ask you– sorry, they being Lily and James– if your sister could babysit for them this Saturday.” Remus looks up at you. For the first time, you notice just how golden his eyes are. It spooks you for a second– you’re not sure why.
You realize you haven’t answered. “Um, I actually don’t know. I can ask her. When I see her next. Which will be in a few days. She lives in my flat, did you know?”
He tilts his head curiously. “Really? I had no idea you two were so close.”
“Yeah, well, she’s graduated now, and she needed somewhere to live.” Silence. He’s still looking at you with that intense stare. It doesn’t seem to lessen. You wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.
You won’t need to get used to it. He’s not a permanent fixture in your life.
Suddenly he begins to stand. “Hey, I don’t want to make things awkward for you.” Remus begins to fit the carrier back on and place Harry snugly in the middle. “I always enjoy spending time with you.” But I can tell you don’t feel the same way is the sentence’s unspoken conclusion.
“Yeah. Sorry, yeah. I guess I’ll see you around, then.” You lift your hand in a wave, and he does the same, smiling, before walking off the same way he came, occasionally pointing at something he thinks Harry would be interested in.
At least he’s trying. At least his shitty apology comes with some actions.
And at least you got a date to that wedding.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to see you.”
You wish you could hate him. You really do. But with each renewed effort he makes, you can feel your disdain slowly fade away. It’s replaced with a steady admiration– maybe even affection.
Remus comes by the bakery almost every day now, and he always makes sure to let you know when he won’t be there. Remus calls you regularly, and he already has a suit for your mother’s wedding, even though it’s not for another four weeks. Remus makes time for you in ways that no one ever has.
You, on the other hand, are still reluctant to forgive him entirely. A small part of you is worried that once he has your forgiveness, he’ll stop trying. You’ve seen it happen enough times in school.
Well, not exactly. You saw him chase girls like this over and over again only to drop them when they admitted they liked him, and isn’t that kind of the same thing?
Either way, it’s addictive to know that you could ask almost anything of Remus, and he would come to your assistance. You already have, in fact. Once or twice you ran out of milk in the middle of baking, and he showed up at the bakery not ten minutes later with enough milk to feed a small army. A few weeks ago, some dick stood your sister up, and Remus was there for her in ways that you couldn’t be. He took her to dinner and waxed poetic about her skin, her hair, and her eyes until she laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe.
“Hey,” he says one night.
You hold the receiver closer to your ear. “What’s wrong?”
“I was actually just about to ask you that.” You let a slow smile creep across your face, and Remus’s own smile tints his words. “You sound anxious.”
“I’m always anxious.”
“I know.”
Music streams through your open window. You tilt your head to hear it better. “I don’t like these days. Winter is hard for me.”
“How come?”
“It’s just not the most social season. I feel abandoned.” Your heart twinges a little at the thought of pouring your heart out to Remus. He listens, though. “I don’t have a lot of friends, you know that. It’s mostly just Marlene. Sometimes I think even she doesn’t like me all that much.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. It just is.”
“I wish you knew that it isn’t your fault.”
“What, the not-having-friends thing? It’s definitely my fault. I’m not nearly as social as I should be. I don’t spend time with people as often as I should. I rarely reach out, and when I do, it’s not enough.”
“I hope you consider us friends.”
“Yeah,” you say automatically.
“I’m serious. I’m your friend.”
“Right, yeah, I know.”
There’s a pause. “I understand if you don’t understand, really, I do. But I hope you know that I care about you.”
You stifle a sigh through your teeth. “I understand.”
You don’t. He doesn’t push it.
Another night, another phone call.
It’s raining this time, and you’re feeling nostalgic. “You said you liked me in school.”
“Yeah,” Remus says, without a hint of hesitation. It’s funny how confident he is in everything he does when you can barely text Marlene without immediately turning your phone off and throwing it across the room so you don’t see her response.
“When did you stop liking me?”
“...What?”
“When did you stop liking me?”
“No, I heard you. Just– I didn’t stop liking you.” Remus’s voice has changed. He sounds earnest. He sounds repentant.
“You must have. Because you don’t–”
“I didn’t stop liking you,” he repeats. “I didn’t even stop chasing you.”
“So you still like me?” Fuck. Your voice has chosen that exact moment to break, betraying your true feelings on the matter.
Remus says your name, and wow, it sounds good on his lips. “How could anyone not like you?”
That’s when things change.
Even Marlene can see it.
“So, you and Remus,” she starts one day, when you’re out to tea with her. “Are you official or just trying something out?” Her tone is casual, but there’s an unnatural glint in her eyes.
“We’re nothing,” you’re quick to assure her. “I’m not even sure I like him. He’s annoying. He’s clingy.” Lying liar who lies.
“Ah, okay.” Marlene takes a generous sip of her tea and sets the cup down a little too harshly. “I’ll let him know. He’s been asking about you.”
Your eyes widen. “No, no, Marlene. Please don’t. I really really don’t want this to end.” It’s a hard truth. His attention is overwhelming and lovely. You enjoy his company, and you’ve actually begun to look forward to his phone calls.
You can never admit this to him, of course. “I knew it!!” she shrieks. “I knew you were in love with him! When’s the wedding?”
“There’s no wedding!” You set your own cup down and begin to pour yourself more. “Remus doesn’t like me like that anyway.”
“Oh, you’re so naïve.” Marlene smiles slyly. “He likes you. I’d even go so far as to say he loves you.”
“That’s not true. Don’t go getting my hopes up for nothing.” You add a generous splash of milk and take a sip of your tea. It’s still a little too bitter for your liking. “He’s only doing this because he feels guilty.”
Her jaw almost hits the floor. “How are you so blind?”
“What?”
“Men don’t do the things he’s doing for girls they don’t like.” She says it so confidently, so simply. You wish it were that easy. “Remus really likes you.” Marlene reaches across the table for your hand. “You know this already.” It’s true. As much as you deny it, a small part of you is aware of his attention. You know that this isn’t common, and you’ve never seen him go this far for one girl.
“Marlene, what if he’s using me?”
There it is. A tendril of fear wraps around your heart at the mention of it, and you can’t brush it away. It’s always there these days– watching and waiting for Remus to reveal his true intentions. Everything he does looks a little like abandonment. You have a hammer, and all you see is nails.
Marlene’s eyes soften. “Remus wouldn’t do that.”
“But you said he’s awful!”
She nods, thinking. Finally she speaks with care. “I have seen him say and do horrible things. I have seen him at his worst, and so I can say with genuine certainty that this is him at his best.”
The words hang in the air for a moment. They settle in very abruptly. “I have to go find him.”
“...and that was two weeks ago.”
Your therapist doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and you try not to fidget as you wait. Her eyes dart from you to the floor while she thinks. It takes all of you not to keep talking.
Jennifer is a petite woman with pin-straight black hair and kind eyes. Her glasses soften her face and turn her wrinkles into laugh lines. You’ve only been seeing her for a few months, but she seems to have you down cold. Her premeditated pauses always have you on the edge of your seat, waiting for her verdict.
“You haven’t spoken to him since?”
“No.” You bite back a smile. It really wasn’t funny.
“When is the wedding?”
“Two weeks.”
Jennifer nods. You wait. Finally she leans forward in her chair. “Why haven’t you called him?” she asks, her eyes narrowed.
“I– Because it would be weird.”
“Has he called you?”
“Uh, yeah. Just a few times.” Code for: twice a day, every day. “I want to pick up, but I don’t.”
“Why is that?” she asks.
“I mean, I’m not really sure.” Your brows furrow as you search for a reason to give her. “It’s like, when I want to talk to him I reach for my phone and then I get this thought, like, he hates you and Marlene was wrong. I don’t know. That’s just– that’s how it is.”
“Does he hate you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you hate him?”
“No! No, definitely not! I’m just… maybe I’m just afraid.”
Jennifer reaches for her yellow notepad and jots a few things down, her fountain pen making little scritch-scritch noises. When she sets it aside, she’s smiling. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to write him a letter.”
“Wait. What?”
“You don’t have to send it if you don’t want to, but this will help you make sense of how you feel.” She hands you a small sheaf of paper and produces another pen from her drawer. “Take as long as you need. Let me know if you have any questions.”
So here is what you write.
remus,
i don’t know how to say this to your face, so i’m writing it down where you will, in all likelihood, never see it. i think maybe i’m prone to idealizing people. you are so smart and so funny and so kind, so kind, that i think i made you out to be someone that you might not be. i’m realizing now that i don’t really know you. i don’t know your favorite color or your least favorite food. i don’t know if you’re a morning person or if you like sleeping in for hours. it’s one thing to spend dedicated, concentrated time with someone and feel the way about them that i feel about you. it’s quite another to have a few jokes, have some physical contact, know names, and feel this way.
i like you. a lot. i think your smile is beautiful. i like the way you always have something to say, and i like that you look like you had a haircut when all you did was brush your hair. i like that you’re so enthusiastic about life. i like that you’re kind to me.
i don’t know your motive for being so kind. i think that’s why i get confused sometimes. i’m a cynical person; i don’t hide this. if someone is kind to me i always wonder why. but you’re different, smarter. you must know something about human nature that i don’t.
i’m so sorry for leaving the way i did. i don’t even have a good reason. i got scared, i guess. i want so badly to make it right, but i don’t know where to begin.
yours,
dove
When you look up from the letter, Jennifer is unwrapping a piece of caramel. She crumples the plastic casing and tucks it into her pocket. “Would you like one?” she asks, noticing your stare.
“No, sorry. I’m good.”
“Are you done?” She gestures to the paper on your lap.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m done.”
“What are you thinking?”
You’re silent for a few moments.
Things with Remus had been… great. So good. They’d never been that good with anyone before. And of course you had to run out on him just when you were getting to be more than friends. It was almost like you couldn’t let yourself be happy.
“I don’t think I’m allowed to be happy,” you admit. “I feel like there’s something inside of me that won’t let me be happy with Remus, and it kills me. Why can’t I just let him love me?”
Jennifer tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“Like… Remus makes me feel so happy. But I also feel like it’s too good to be true, and there’s something else going on. I know that’s fucked up.”
“Like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not unusual in people with anxiety.” She grabs her notepad again and takes a few notes, her hair falling around her face. It reminds you of Remus’s perpetually ruffled hair. Then she looks up, and you force yourself to refocus. “I don’t know Remus, obviously, but I think you should talk to him. Tell him your fears and concerns, and see what he says. To me, it seems like he does care about you, and you’ll never know if you don’t say anything.”
You nod, semi unconsciously. Jennifer knows damn well you aren’t going to talk to him, but it still seems polite to keep up the facade. “Yeah. I will.”
“Will you?” she asks, smiling.
“Yes! Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Our time is about up, but I appreciate you telling me about Remus. I can see that he’s near and dear to your heart.” She stands up, leading you to the door of her office. “I hope you do talk to him. I think it would do you good.”
“Thank you, Jennifer. I’ll see you next week?”
“Yes, go ahead and schedule an appointment with the front desk. See you then!”
The walk back to your flat is quiet and cold. It gives you time to think. About Jennifer, yes, and therapy, but also about Remus and your plans, and your friends, and what it meant to be happy with someone, and were you even happy with Remus? Even as you script out the inevitable conversation with Remus, the words keep getting caught in your throat.
Hi, Remus. Listen, I really like you. I do. But I’m also so scared of you, because if I admit that to you, you will have power over me. I’d rather keep the power I have over you. That’s fucked up? Yeah. I know.
You squeeze your eyes shut and try to shake the words out of your head. It’s hard to even think about.
You round the corner of your street and freeze. There, standing in front of your apartment, is a tall man in a navy peacoat. He’s wound a red and gold scarf around his neck, and his hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it.
It’s Remus. Hands shoved into his pockets and head bent into the wind, pacing back and forth in front of your door.
You fight the urge to run– where would you even go? Away or towards him? Instead, you slowly make your way to him, bracing yourself for his righteous anger. The letter you’ve just penned feels like a thousand pounds in your pocket.
“I’m so sorry–”
The rest of your words are muffled into the front of his coat. He pulls you into a hug before you can even finish your sentence. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just glad you’re okay.” It’s the first time you have heard his voice in two weeks.
“I’m so sorry, Remus. It wasn’t okay, and I shouldn’t have just ghosted you like I did.”
He holds you away from him, his hands at your shoulders. He breathes your name like a prayer. Like a promise. “I forgive you. Now let’s get inside, it’s cold.”
You fumble for your key ring, and it feels just like the first time he came over. The winter chill still clings to the air, and you know it will be a few more weeks before the season finally moves on. As it is, the longer you hold them, the more your hands freeze to the keys.
You finally manage to get the door open. Remus follows you inside, keeping his gaze trained on you. When the door is shut and the heat is on, you allow yourself to relax. “Can I make you some tea?” you ask.
“How about I make you some tea?”
“That’s not fair, you’re my guest!”
“Yes, but you’re exhausted.” He smiles when you glare at him. “I can see it in your face. Go sit down, I’m sure I can handle your teapot.”
As it turns out, he can. His tea is both stronger and hotter than yours typically comes out, but you try not to let it show. His tea is better than yours, but if he knew that, he would never leave, always insisting on staying to take care of you. It makes you nervous, how easily you can imagine his care.
You accept the cup with murmured thanks, and for a moment, you both sit in comfortable silence. “What happened?” he finally asks.
The letter springs to your mind unbidden. It would be so easy to just hand it over. To just give it to him. Dear Remus, here’s why I can’t be what you want me to be. Or, Dear Remus, I’m not the perfect girlfriend and maybe you never even wanted that. No matter how he reads it, you could never explain it.
So, instead, you tell him what you told Jennifer. “I don’t think I’m allowed to be happy.” Remus’s gaze remains on you, even as you duck your head. “Everything is so easy with you, and I feel like there has to be a catch.”
“Do I overwhelm you?” he asks. His brow is furrowed adorably, and you barely resist the urge to reach over and smooth it with the pad of your thumb.
You’re tempted to lie. Say no, and move on. But it’s not that easy, and Remus has already shown that he’s more than capable of seeing right through you. “Yeah, a little,” you admit. “But it’s not you. I just– I don’t know what’s wrong with me, that I can’t just accept happiness. It’s not weird to like someone. I don’t– sorry. I’m really sorry.”
A change comes over his face– you can’t identify it, but he looks sadder, somehow, and older. “You don’t owe me an apology.”
“I know. I just… you never stop being good. Not only to me, but to everyone around you, and–”
“I’m not a good person,” he interrupts. “You probably know this more than anyone. I’m not kind. Not when I need to be.”
“You are, though,” you insist. “You babysit Harry, and you buy me milk, and you take my sister out for lunch when she’s had a bad day.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you keep going. “You kept seeing her even when I wouldn’t answer your calls.”
His lips curl into a small smile. When he says your name, your heart snags on a beat. You don’t think you’ll ever be quite used to him saying it. “I can do good things and still be a bad person.”
“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think you can.” You take a moment and collect your thoughts; Remus doesn’t say anything. When you begin to speak again, he listens intently. “There’s a difference between not being a good person and being a bad person. Everybody is not a good person, but rarely do you meet a bad person. And if you were the bad person, you wouldn’t know, because you would think of yourself as good… Does that make any sense?”
He’s smiling again. “Yes. It does.”
“I just– you’re not a bad person. You are not a bad person.”
“Honey, our whole relationship is built on a lie. My lie.”
You can feel your cheeks flush, and you hide it with a sip of tea. The cup rattles as you place it back on the saucer, a reflection of how you feel. “I forgive you.”
Remus’s eyes dart to yours. “What?”
“I forgive you.”
“For–”
“For everything, Remus. For school and for after school. For ignoring me and lying to me. For pretending to be drunk so that you could get my attention. You have it– my attention and my forgiveness.”
He looks at you for a moment– really looks at you, and for that brief moment, everything makes sense. You know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you can tell him anything. You can trust him, for better or for worse. The Casanova of Gryffindor Tower, looking at you like he could kiss you.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers. You nod silently, and then his lips press into yours. Your eyes slam shut, and you feel his hand drift up to cradle your cheek. He leans farther into you, and you allow yourself to be guided.
Remus breaks the kiss, his forehead flush with yours. You’re both breathing heavily, and he laughs. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“Enlighten me,” you whisper, reaching for his hand to lace your fingers together. His adoring eyes watch you lean your head on his shoulder.
“Third year,” he tells you. “I saw you in the hall for the first time. You were laughing with Marlene, and when you looked at me, you smiled. My heart was still pounding two days later. I have wanted to kiss you ever since then.”
“For me it was sixth year. I was at a Gryffindor party that I definitely wasn’t invited to. You were dancing on a table with James, and you were so drunk. I thought, if he doesn’t die in the next few hours, I want to kiss him.”
“Wait, hold on. Sixth year was when–”
“Yeah, I know. You were the reason Elijah broke up with me. I was so mad at you, but… there was something about you. I really wanted to kiss you.” You want to say more, but a yawn interrupts your train of thought.
“Sweet girl, you must be exhausted. I don’t want to keep you up when you should be sleeping.” Remus helps you up and down the hall, but when you’re in front of your bedroom, you turn to grip his arm.
“Stay over.”
His brow furrows. This time, you don’t resist the urge. You lean into him and smooth the pad of your thumb over the anxious line. “Are you sure?” he asks.
Hiya :3!!! I really really love and admire your writing and I’ve been in such an angst addict mood for some reason😭. I was wondering if you could perhaps write somthing for Sirius Black or poly!marauders and (usually)bubbly!fem!reader where they get into a heavy argument and the reader kinda just shuts down/goes really quiet and doesn’t talk to anyone since she’s worried it’ll just bother sirius (and/or the rest of the boys)? It’s completely understandable if not though, I hope you have a wonderful day/night!!💜
No Going Back Now
poly!marauders x reader ✰ 4.5k
summary: as sirius is overwhelmed by the anniversary of a certain day, his anger finds its way directly to you. caught in the crossfire of pain that was never yours to carry, you’re left to navigate his cruel temper and the silence that follows.
warnings: angst, heated arguments, screaming, lashing out, crying, mental health struggles, past abuse, toxic behavior, emotional, verbal conflict, intense guilt, insecurity, remus and james are protective, fear of abandonment, sirius being a shit asshole but then grovels, realistic conflict, hints of bubbly!reader, fluffy happy ending.
authors note: the divider was actually suggested by @yasministration, she knows too well that i live for angst ;)
“Guess what!” you call out, already smiling, already alight with whatever news is glowing in your chest. “Guess what, guess what, guess what!”
The door swings open into familiar air — warm parchment, faded cologne, and the sweet tang of whatever James spilled last night.
You step in without pause, satchel bumping your hip, shoes tapping lightly on the worn floor.
They are all here. James lies on his bed, his arms behind his head, his eyes fixed upward as though the ceiling might offer him an answer he has not yet found.
Remus stands near the window, his shoulders tight, arms folded across his chest. Sirius sits on the edge of his mattress, hunched forward, head resting heavily in his hands.
The silence in the room isn’t normal.
The joy within you is too fresh,and it pulses insistently through your body like a secret desperate to be shared.
“I finally did it,” you say, nearly breathless with excitement, your smile unfaltering. “That ridiculous elemental incantation Flitwick said we’d maybe manage by NEWTs if we were lucky? The one I’ve been practicing every single night, the one that nearly scorched my eyebrows off last week? That one. I got it!”
You don’t yet register the way James shifts only slightly, his eyes flicking sideways toward Sirius as though bracing for an aftershock. Nor do you catch how Remus exhales, not in amusement or pride, but in something resigned.
You step toward Sirius, drawn to him without thinking, your joy still undiminished.
“You remember, don’t you? You told me I was rushing the second syllable, that I needed to breathe through it more gently—”
“Could you fucking shut up?”
His voice cuts through the room with such clarity and force that it steals the breath from your lungs.
You freeze.
He does not look at you. His hands fall from his face, but he does not raise his eyes. They remain fixed on the floor as though his anger has rooted him there, refusing him even the small grace of meeting your gaze.
Then, all at once, he stands. The motion is sudden and graceless, and your outstretched hand — the one you had extended instinctively— is knocked aside, brushed away as though it meant nothing at all.
“For fuck’s sake, do you ever shut up?” he snaps, voice cracking with the weight behind it. “Every time you walk into a room, it’s like it has to be about you. You talk and talk like nothing’s wrong, like the rest of us don’t even exist!”
Remus is out of his chair in a heartbeat, the wooden legs screeching against the floor with such force that it sounds almost like a protest.
He places himself between you and Sirius with no hesitation. His face is pale with anger, jaw tight, eyes ablaze with something you rarely see from him — not frustration, not even disappointment, but true, quaking fury, pulled taut by a restraint that is already beginning to snap.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Remus shouts, loud and shaking with rage. His hand slams hard into Sirius’ chest, shoving him back a step. “You don’t get to talk to her like that! You don’t get to talk to anyone like that! Not here, not while I’m fucking standing here—what the bloody hell is up with you?”
Sirius doesn’t flinch. If anything, he stands taller, jaw tight, hands curled at his sides. He starts pacing, back and forth in short, jerky lines like he needs to burn the anger off before it eats through him.
“Oh, spare me the fucking lecture, Remus,” he spits, his voice cracked open at the edges. “Not tonight. You think you’re so bloody noble, don’t you? Always ready to play the saint, always ready to jump in and protect the one who needs saving. You never miss a chance to be the hero.”
“I’m not trying to be anything,” Remus shouts back, louder now, all restraint gone. “I’m standing here because you screamed in her face. And I’m not going to let you pretend that’s just something we let slide.”
“You think I planned that? You think I wanted to be like—”
“Sirius,” James says, quiet but firm from the corner.
Sirius falters for the briefest moment. His hands clench at his sides. His chest rises and falls too quickly, as though he is losing the rhythm of his own breath. But the moment passes, and he sets his jaw again, a wounded animal dressing itself in anger because it has nothing else left to wear.
“Right,” he says flatly. “Because you two are always right. Always calm and rational.” He turns his gaze to James for only a second before looking back at Remus. “Must be easy for the two of you, always thinking the same thoughts, always knowing where you stand. I wonder what that feels like.”
Remus takes a single step forward. “I’m not ganging up on you,Sirius,” he says, his voice low, firm. “I’m calling you out. There is a difference —one you used to understand.”
Sirius scoffs, sharp and cruel, like he wants it to cut. You flinch instinctively, even though it’s not aimed at you. He spins on his heel and storms off, the slam of the door rattling the frame behind him like the final punch of a fight.
You’re frozen in place. You hadn’t noticed how quiet it had gone until now, the only sound left is the soft buzz of tension still lingering in the air like static. Remus and James both turn slowly to face you.
And then they see you.
Your lips part slightly, as if you’re trying to draw breath through the tight knot choking your throat. Your eyes burn, vision already hazy, and then—like a thread finally snapping—you start to cry. It is the kind of sob that tears through you without warning, as if it had been gathering in your chest all day,waiting for this very moment to break free.
James reacts first. “Hey—hey, love—oh, sweetheart—” he says, crossing the room in three strides, already pulling you into his chest. His arms wrap around you instinctively, strong and steady.
You don’t even remember moving, but suddenly you’re curled into his chest, clutching his jumper with shaking hands and sobbing hard enough that your whole body trembles. Your voice is muffled against him, broken up by hiccups and sharp gasps between tears.
“I—I'm sorry,” you stammer, barely getting the words out. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know I was bothering him—I didn’t mean to.”
“Hey, hey—shh, no. No, none of that,” James murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, and then another. “You are not bothering anyone, love. You hear me? Sirius is being an arse today, yeah? He’s being a bloody prat. That’s on him. Not on you.”
You just keep shaking your head into his chest, as if you can argue with him by movement alone. Your voice is raw when you try again. “But I came in laughing—I didn’t know you were fighting—I was being loud, I was just—”
“Sweetheart, no. You weren’t doing anything wrong,” he says firmly, almost fiercely. “You came in happy. You didn’t know. You were being you, and that’s never a bad thing, alright?”
“I should’ve seen it—he didn’t even look at me, James, he just—he looked at me like I was—” Your voice breaks again. “Like I was a burden. Like he didn’t even want me there.”
James pulls you tighter, almost rocking you now. “He doesn’t think that, love. Not really. He’s just… he’s angry, and he’s hurting, and he’s taking it out on the wrong person. Which is not okay. But don’t you dare start thinking it’s because of you.”
“I know,” you whisper weakly. “I just… today’s hard for him. It’s the day he left Grimmauld Place, remember? It’s been a year. He always gets like this, and I should’ve been more careful—”
“No.” James tilts your chin up, gently but firmly. “No, we are not doing that. You don’t have to tiptoe around him just because it’s a hard day. It doesn’t give him the right to hurt you. He’s not a bloody storm you have to weather. He’s supposed to be your boyfriend, not some landmine.”
You try to wipe at your tears, but they’re falling faster than you can stop them. “He’s just—he’s never looked at me like that before.”
“I know,” James says softly, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “And I’m going to have words with him about it. You didn’t deserve that.”
Behind him, Remus has sat down on the arm of the couch, his breathing still shallow, a hand pressed to his side where the worst of his post-moon aches usually settle. His gaze is tired, but gentle when it meets yours.
“He’ll come back when he’s cooled off,” Remus says, voice rough but steady. “And when he does, he’ll have some explaining to do. But James is right, love. This isn’t on you.”
You nod, barely, your fingers still clutching at James’s jumper like letting go might break you.
James pulls you back into his chest, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. “C’mere. No more tears now, yeah? I can’t bear seeing you like this. He’s not worth your tears today.”
You sniff, managing a breath that doesn’t quite catch. “Sorry. I just—I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” James says firmly. “You’re the best part of this bloody day, alright? And I won’t hear another word otherwise.”
He leans back just enough to smile gently down at you, thumbing a tear off your cheek. “Now—tell me about that spell you were working on. You said you finally got it right, yeah? What’d you do?”
Despite the ache in your chest and the weight of Sirius’s silence, a faint, tear-wet laugh escapes you.
You don’t quite recall when the conversation shifted—from laughter at some ridiculous comment James made about Filch to the quiet companionship that settled between you both.
You find yourself now, a few hours later, slouched beside him on the common room floor, wrapped in the soft stillness of the late hour. The fire has faded to glowing embers, casting a warm amber light across James’s glasses, which slip down his nose each time he tilts his head in amusement.
But even through the warmth of it, you could feel the weight pressing down beneath the laughter. James’s smile did not quite reach his eyes. There was a faint tremor in the way he exhaled, a hitch that never used to be there.
His eyes kept flickering toward the staircase as if expecting a particular someone to come storming in, grinning and reeking of cigarette smoke. But the staircase remained stubbornly empty, and Sirius remained nowhere to be found.
Deep down, you knew James was trying. Trying to distract you, to fill the growing silence with noise and nonsense and jokes he did not believe in, because it was easier than admitting how much it hurt.
And you, ever so foolish, let yourself believe it for a while. Let yourself be pulled under by the laughter like it could somehow drown out the ache blooming like rot in the hollow of your chest.
But Remus was not so easily deceived.
He had excused himself hours ago, saying something about needing rest, though you all knew it was more than that. He simply did not have the energy to pretend tonight.
He curled up on one of the beds with his back to the room, his breathing shallow and uneven in that way that told you he was not quite asleep but trying hard to be.
The truth was plain between the three of you, though no one had dared voice it: Sirius had been awful today. A bitter edge to every word, sharp where he usually was quick, reckless in a way that no longer felt charming.
Still, as the clock crept past eleven and into the deeper folds of night, your heart began its quiet unraveling. James had dozed off on the couch barely twenty minutes ago, one arm thrown over his head, mouth slightly parted.
You turned to glance toward the boys’ dormitory bed where Remus lay in unsteady sleep. He had not stirred in four hours. For a moment, you wished you could lie down beside him and let unconsciousness take you too. But you knew yourself too well.
You were not going to sleep tonight.
So you pulled on your shoes, fingers fumbling clumsily with the laces. You wrapped a scarf around your neck—thick enough to hold back the midnight chill—and slipped out of the common room without a sound.
The halls of the castle were as silent as a graveyard, shadows stretching long across the stone floor like they, too, were searching for something they could not find. You moved quickly and quietly. You knew exactly where to go.
The Astronomy Tower.
There had only ever been one place Sirius went when he was like this. When the weight of the world pressed down too heavily on his shoulders.
You climbed the last steps with your breath held in your throat, heart pounding.
And there he was. Sitting near the edge, back turned, limbs sprawled with a kind of exhausted elegance that only Sirius could pull off. He was staring into the dark, but not at anything in particular. His head was tilted slightly down, as if in conversation with someone you could not see.
You stepped forward softly, your footfalls just audible enough to betray your presence.
“Just go away, Remus.” His voice was low, nearly hoarse, as if strained from crying.
You smiled despite yourself, though it felt like trying to catch sunlight through a cloudy sky. You folded your arms gently across your chest, steadying your breath as an uneasy thought settled in: you were here alone with him. And for the first time, you weren’t quite sure how to feel about that.
You knew Sirius cared for you deeply. Still, there was something unfamiliar in the quiet between you—a chill of distance, a restless tension you hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t fear of him, but of walls he built around himself when things got too heavy.
That uncertainty was new to love. Yet it lingered quietly in your chest, impossible to ignore.
Your voice came out soft, almost uncertain. “I’m not Remus.”
He turned quickly, eyes widening in surprise that you were the one standing there. You watched as his expression shifted—confusion, then recognition, and finally something raw he tried to conceal.
He blinked as if unsure whether he was really seeing you. The moonlight painted silver into the hollows of his cheeks, the tired beneath his eyes, the bruised curve of his mouth.
You sit down next to him slowly, like you’re unsure if you’re allowed to. He doesn’t look at you right away, just stares out ahead, jaw clenched, hands limp between his knees. You part your lips to speak—
“Sirius—”
“I—”
You both pause, voices overlapping in the quiet like a tangled thread. There’s a beat of stillness before the corner of his mouth twitches. You let out a breathy laugh, and so does he. It’s soft, but real.
Then, finally, he turns to look at you, properly. His grey eyes are tired in a way that makes your chest ache. “I’m sorry.”
You nod. “I know.”
“No, no—don’t do that,” he says quickly, the words catching on something raw. “Don’t do that thing where you—where you say ‘I know’ like it’s nothing.”
“What thing?”
“That. That thing where you just—nod and understand like I didn’t fuck up, like I didn’t snap at you when all you were doing was—being good and sweet and you.” He blows out a shaky breath, fingers carding through his hair in a frustrated, frantic motion.
“And I—God, I was a complete arsehole. Not just to you, but also to James and Remus. And you just…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head with an incredulous scoff. “You act like it’s fine. Like it's nothing. Matter of fact, this is breakup-worthy and you’re still here, and it’s—”
“I’m not breaking up with you, Sirius,” you cut in gently, your voice soft but sure, as certain as the way your fingers curl into the fabric of your coat to keep them from trembling.
His head snaps up at that, eyes wide, almost hurt by your forgiveness. “I know!” he blurts, almost like it’s an accusation.
His voice falters on the edge of cracking. “That’s the worst part! You should be mad. You should be screaming at me, throwing shit, telling me I’m a bastard and that you deserve better because you do—you do.”
His hands tremble slightly in his lap as he goes on, a little breathless now. “And instead you’re here, looking for me, when I should be the one crawling on my fucking hands and knees trying to fix this.”
You don’t speak immediately. You just let the heat of his self-loathing rise and settle. The quiet between you stretches only as long as it needs to, and then you sigh—softly, almost like it escapes you by accident.
“I am mad,” you say finally, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Just… not in the way you want me to be.”
He shakes his head before you’ve even finished. “No, not mad enough. You’re not—God, you’re not even reacting. You’re just so fucking calm and—kind—and I don’t deserve that from you. I keep being… awful. And you keep loving me like I’m not. It doesn’t make sense!”
You shift a little closer without really thinking about it. Your knees bump his, and he doesn’t flinch. Just watches you warily, like he still doesn’t understand why you’re here.
“You think I’m not reacting?”
He’s startled into silence, eyes caught on yours.
You exhale, but your breath shakes this time. You can feel the lump in your throat rising like floodwater, but you press forward anyway.
“You don’t know what it’s like, Sirius. Walking in and feeling everything in the room shift. The silence hit me like a slap. I knew something had happened. I could feel it.” Your voice thickens slightly.
“And my first thought was—what did I do? Was I too loud? Did I say something wrong? Was I too happy today when you weren’t? Did I annoy you without realizing it?”
He opens his mouth, eyes softening with horror, but no words come out.
You keep going, voice lower now, but steady. “I tried to ignore it. Told myself to just be normal. That maybe if I was just… me, it’d go away. That maybe you’d come around if I stayed out of your way. And then you snapped. And for a second, I thought you—” you pause, because it still stings, “—I thought you hated me.”
His entire expression folds like paper. You see it all over him—the guilt, the shame, the way regret buries itself deep.
“But then,” you add, and your tone shifts, gentler, “I remembered what today is.”
He closes his eyes tightly like hearing that physically hurts him.
“I remembered what it means for you. What it always has. And I knew it wasn’t just about me. That it couldn’t be. The way you were cold, distant… it wasn’t about something I’d done. It was about something you were feeling. Something bigger than either of us. And yeah, it hurt. It still does. But I chose not to throw it back at you, I chose not to escalate it.”
You breathe slowly, not even sure if you’re trying to convince him anymore or just saying what’s been sitting on your chest since this afternoon.
“It’s not that I didn’t feel it. I just… didn’t want to make things worse.”
He stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, as if committing you to memory will somehow absolve him.
“And it’s not just you and me,” you say, your voice softer now, edged with a quiet kind of certainty. “It’s you, me, Remus, and James. I’m part of this. But I’m not the only part. I know that when you go back, Remus and James are going to give you an earful. Probably more than that. I mean—Remus might even greet you with his infamous disappointed silence.”
Your lips quirk. “And James is going to throw an absolute fit. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t already drag you by your hair back to the dorm.”
Despite himself, Sirius lets out a hoarse laugh. His eyes are still glassy.
“I just thought,” you say, shrugging, “maybe I don’t need to pile on. Maybe what you needed from me wasn’t anger.”
His laugh slips into something more fragile. He wipes at his eyes quickly, like pretending he’s fine will keep the weight of it all from caving in.
“You make it really hard to hate myself when you’re like this.”
You lean your shoulder against his. “Good.”
He looks at you like you hung the stars. His voice breaks a little as he speaks.
“I don’t deserve you.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart aches. “That’s not up to you.”
He shakes his head. “You’re going to make me cry, and I hate crying.”
You laugh, and it’s soft and real. “Sirius, I’m not not mad. I’m just… mad in a way that still loves you. Mad in a way that says, ‘Don’t do that again.’ In a way that wants you to talk to me before it gets that bad. And I just really want you to feel safe enough to say, ‘I’m hurting,’ instead of pushing everyone away. You get that?”
His fingers find yours slowly, weaving them together. He holds on like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“I get it,” he whispers.
You reach out and gently squeeze his hand, your touch steady and grounding. “I know some days carry heavy meanings, many days, in fact. I know those days bring back memories that hurt—memories you don’t want to face. But I think, instead of making those days harder on yourself, you could let us in. Let us be there for you.”
He nods once, quickly, like if he speaks he’ll lose it again. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
After a moment, he speaks again, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper.
“Do you think they hate me?”
“Remus and James?” you ask quietly. “I think they’re probably worried sick and probably mad. But hate you? Never.”
He stares down at your hands like they’re the only thing tethering him to the ground.
“They’ll come around. We all do. You’re not quite easy to hate, Sirius Black.”
He snorts quietly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks.”
“But you’re worth it.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into you, head resting lightly on your shoulder, like he’s finally letting himself exhale.
“Stay with me a little longer?”
You don’t even have to think about it. “Always.”
He exhales slowly, as though the air inside him has been waiting for this moment to be let go.
The silence has softened now, no longer brittle with hurt, only heavy with the aftertaste of it.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice quieter than before, almost reverent. “I know I already said it. But I am. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I shouldn’t have looked at you like that. It wasn’t about you. It never is. You just… walked in at the wrong time, and I lost control.”
You gently cut him off, your voice soft but firm. “Sirius, it’s okay. You already apologized.”
He shakes his head, voice stubborn but honest. “No. I need you to hear it. I need you to know I mean it.”
You nod gently, your fingers brushing his wrist in a silent reminder that you’re still here.
“I need to do better,” he continues, looking down at the floor. “I don’t want to be the kind of man who takes his anger out on the people he loves. I’ve seen what that turns into. I won’t become that. I promise you.”
His eyes meet yours, unwavering.
“I need you to promise me something too, though,” he says, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Next time I do something like that—anything close to it—I want you to slap the shit out of me. And I mean it. Don’t forgive me until I’m grovelling. Make me work for it. Make it hurt.”
A surprised laugh escapes your mouth before you can stop it. He smiles at the sound, a genuine one this time, laced with relief.
“Hopefully,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder, “there won’t be a next time.”
He lifts your joined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Hopefully.”
By the time the conversation has exhausted itself into something tender and quiet, the room is dipped in deep night. It’s already two in the morning. Sirius rises first and holds out his hand.
“Come on,” he says softly, “let’s get you back.”
You take his hand and let him pull you upright. His lips find yours for a moment, the kiss gentle and unhurried, like a secret kept between just the two of you.
As you pull away, a wide, helpless yawn escapes you. He laughs softly, warm and low, and draws you gently into his arms.
“Yeah,” he murmurs against your hair. “Me too, baby. I’m sleepy too.”
You rest your head against his shoulder as the two of you walk slowly down the corridor, your body leaning into his like gravity has made its choice. Your steps falter more than once, your eyes fluttering closed between blinks.
By the time you reach the door to the dormitory, you are half-asleep, barely upright.
But the moment the door swings open, the haze is shattered.
James is pacing by the desk, arms crossed, jaw set. He looks up sharply at the sound, his expression a storm just barely contained. Across the room, Remus is already seated on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his eyes locked on Sirius with a gaze so serious it slices through the room like a blade.
He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even raise his voice. He just says, in a voice far too calm to be anything but furious—
“Sit down, Sirius. We need to talk.”
The sleep drains from your body like a bucket of cold water. Sirius stiffens beside you. You feel him swallow, his hand tightening slightly around yours.
Then he lets out a long, weary sigh, muttering quietly under his breath, “Well. I’m in for it.”
