Not the important things—never those. He remembers dates, passwords, obscure footnotes from books he hasn’t touched in decades. He remembers the exact tone of Sirius’s laugh when it’s real versus when it’s performative. He remembers how many steps it takes from the bedroom to the kitchen in the dark.
But the small things slip.
Where he left his glasses. Whether he already fed the cat. If he took the kettle off the stove or only thought about doing it.
Sirius notices before Remus does.
At first, he assumes it’s stress. They’re older now. Life has weight. Some forgetfulness is expected. Sirius makes jokes about it, gentle ones, the kind meant to cushion rather than poke.
“Professor Lupin,” he’ll say, handing Remus his wand, “you dropped this again. Honestly, I worry.”
Remus laughs, because Sirius expects him to. Because laughter is easier than admitting the quiet panic that sometimes flickers when his mind comes up empty.
The forgetting isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t arrive all at once. It drips in.
Remus forgets the name of the shop they’ve been going to for years. Forgets a conversation they definitely had—Sirius is sure of it, because he remembers being annoyed. Forgets what he was about to say mid-sentence and trails off, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” Remus says too often.
Sirius hates that part most.
One evening, Remus stands in the doorway of their bedroom, frowning faintly.
“Did we… move the wardrobe?” he asks.
Sirius looks up from tying his boots. “No.”
Remus nods slowly. “Right. That’s what I thought.”
He doesn’t sound convinced.
That night, Sirius lies awake listening to Remus breathe, counting it without meaning to. In. Out. In. Out. Like a spell he’s afraid to break.
The forgetting has edges. Sharp ones. It snags on Remus’s old habits—his tendency to blame himself first, to assume fault where there might only be chance.
“I’m just tired,” Remus insists, when Sirius finally brings it up. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something,” Sirius says gently. “It doesn’t have to be terrible to be something.”
Remus looks at him for a long moment, eyes tired but steady. “I don’t want to be… difficult.”
Sirius’s chest tightens. “You’re not.”
“I don’t want you to have to—”
“Remus.” Sirius takes his hands, grounding them both. “You don’t get to decide what I’m willing to do.”
Remus exhales, shaky. “I don’t want to forget you.”
The words land hard and quiet.
Sirius presses his forehead to Remus’s. “You couldn’t forget me if you tried.”
That makes Remus smile, just barely. “I have tried,” he says. “You’re rather difficult to misplace.”
They don’t name it. Not properly. There’s a doctor, eventually. Conversations with too many pauses. Words like progressive and monitoring and we’ll see.
Forget is a gentle word for it. It sounds like something you can choose.
Remus forgets the ends of things first. The last line of a poem. The conclusion of an anecdote. Sirius learns to fill them in without making it obvious.
He forgets where he put his notes. Sirius starts putting them back in the same place every time.
Remus forgets what day it is. Sirius writes it on the fridge in big, looping letters.
They build a life designed to catch what falls.
Some days are better than others. Some days Remus is sharp as ever, teasing Sirius over breakfast, correcting his pronunciation of obscure French authors. On those days, Sirius pretends not to notice the relief humming through his bones.
Other days, Remus stares at a book he’s read a hundred times and frowns like it’s written in a foreign language.
“I know this,” he murmurs.
“I know,” Sirius says.
Remus presses his fingers to his temple. “I hate this.”
Sirius sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “I know.”
“I don’t want to be someone you have to remember for.”
Sirius turns, eyes fierce. “You are not a burden.”
Remus flinches anyway. Old instincts die hard.
That night, Remus forgets Sirius’s middle name.
He knows instantly that he’s lost it. He feels the gap where it should be, like a missing tooth. Panic blooms fast and sharp.
“Hey,” Sirius says softly, catching his expression. “What’s wrong?”
Remus opens his mouth. Closes it.
Sirius’s heart stutters.
“…Remus?”
“I—” Remus swallows. “I know you. I know you. I just—there’s a word. I can’t—”
Sirius doesn’t let him spiral. He takes Remus’s face in his hands, steady and warm.
“It’s Orion,” he says. “Sirius Orion Black. Named after a constellation and an ego problem.”
Remus lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Sirius says. “That one’s my fault anyway.”
Remus laughs weakly, tears in his eyes. “You always did hate it.”
“Desperately.”
They hold each other for a long time after that. Sirius’s arms are a constant. A promise.
The forgetting continues. Slowly. Unevenly. Cruel in its unpredictability.
But there are things Remus never forgets.
He never forgets the way Sirius smells—leather and soap and something indefinably him. He never forgets the sound of Sirius’s footsteps, the weight of him in the bed, the way he says “Moony” like it’s a secret.
He never forgets that he is loved.
One morning, Sirius wakes to find Remus already up, standing at the window, sunlight catching in his hair.
“Morning,” Sirius says.
Remus turns. Smiles. “Morning.”
There’s a pause. Sirius’s chest tightens, bracing.
Then Remus says, softly, “I know you.”
Sirius crosses the room in three strides and pulls him close, burying his face in Remus’s shoulder.
“I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know.”
Later, much later, when the forgetting takes more than it gives, Sirius becomes the keeper of their shared history.
He tells Remus stories. About school. About the war. About the day they finally stopped pretending.
Remus listens, eyes bright, like it’s new every time.
Sometimes he says, “That sounds like us.”
Sirius smiles. “It is.”
On a quiet evening, Remus looks at him suddenly and asks, “Have I ever loved you?”
Sirius’s throat tightens.
“Yes,” he says. “You do. You still do.”
Remus considers this, then nods. “Good.”
He reaches for Sirius’s hand, grip firm.
“I might forget things,” Remus says. “But don’t let me forget that.”
Sirius squeezes back. “Never.”
And if Remus forgets everything else—names, places, years—Sirius will remember for both of them.
sirius and remus running away together at sixteen. the two of them wandering the city streets late at night, and for a fleeting moment, they’re able to pretend that they’re on a night out together like normal teenagers. them trying to share remus’ worn out jacket but it keeps slipping off their shoulders so remus just wraps it around sirius without saying a word while remus pretends he isn’t freezing. sirius giving remus his gloves despite them not really fitting but remus’ hands are beginning to turn pale and sirius swears he doesn’t need them, even though he’s having to tuck his own hands into the crooks of his arms to keep them warm. them sitting at the park in the middle of the night, talking about what their future house is going to be like as if they don't have to worry about having a place to sleep at all in the first place. maybe one day they’ll get a little reading corner, a record collection they get to display and a kitchen with mismatched cutlery and wonky pictures on the fridge but for now, its just the two of them, the empty open air, and fear and uncertainty keeping them company while the world — their world — rejected them.
Wolfstar said, “I love you!” after every argument to prove that they would fall back into each other no matter what, but after the prank Remus stormed off saying, “I hate you.”
summary: A mid-match brawl between you and Malfoy is all the proof Remus and Sirius could ever need that you are, without a doubt, their daughter.
tags: wolfstar!daughter. fem!reader. mentions of blood and violence, but it’s in the name of the greater good. general parenting wolfstar fluff.
a/n: hiiiii is this anything???? not sure where this came from but i sort of liked it too much for it to be forgotten in my drafts. as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated, enjoy!! xx
…
“Ow!”
“Stop moving.”
You press your lips together, swallowing a hiss when your father presses the ice pack over your cheekbone. It only makes your ire stronger, taking up most of your body and coursing through your veins the longer you sit in silence, begrudgingly letting him tend to your face.
Somewhere deep in the infirmary, a groan echoes loudly, followed by Madam Pomfrey’s quiet but stern scolding. You roll your eyes at Malfoy’s dramatics–you didn’t even hit him that hard.
Remus levels you with a look. “Stop that.” he taps your chin with his finger, prompting you to look away from the small group gathered around your perpetual archnemesis’ bed.
With an eyeroll, you turn your head to meet your father’s eyes, warm yet swirling with suppressed amusement.
“Was this necessary?” you ask, crossing your arms much like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Your father hums, turning to take the balm from his lap. “It was an accident.”
He pauses to send you another look, “You didn’t mean to get into a fight with Malfoy’s spawn?” he asks, his free hand guiding the cloth back to your nose, blood still runs down and to your chin with no signs of stopping anytime soon.
“No, I didn’t mean to fall off my broom.” you say quietly, a hiss escaping you at the pulsating pain in your nose. “That git deserved every bloody punch–And I’d do it again!” you turn to Malfoy, pointedly raising your voice for him to listen.
“Fuck off, Black.” one of his minions calls out, not even casting you a glance.
You bristle, making a move to stand from the bed. Remus is quicker though, hands at your shoulders pushing you back down.
“Enough.” he says firmly, hands still pressing down at your shoulders. You scoff indignantly, looking away from your father’s frown. “You’ve proved your point, no need to get into more trouble.”
“Trouble?” you repeat, aghast. Remus raises an eyebrow. “Why must I be the one getting in trouble? He started it.”
He nods, taking the healing balm to dab it at your skin. “I believe you started it.”
“He did–I wasn’t the one calling his girlfriend slurs here and there!” your father frowns, leaning back as the anger seems to take over you once again.
He lowers the healing balm to his lap as you huff.
“He doesn’t even have a girl, mind you. Or boy. Whatever he’s into. No wonder he’s got that rotten attitude, if I hadn’t shagged in ages, I too would be an insufferable twat.” you continue raging on, growing momentum the more said boy milks his barely existing injury from the other side of the infirmary.
Remus lets out an amused laugh, shaking his head as he listens to you monologuing about the injustice of your punishment, whatever it may be. He dabs gently at the bits of skin he can manage as you move your arms around to get your point across.
“Merlin–what’s that?” you purse your lips, face twisting in disgust as he caps the healing cream. “It smells awful.”
“Just some healing cream.” he explains briskly, patting behind him to search for his wand. You follow his movements with a raised eyebrow. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“I need to tend to your nose, it can’t stay like that.”
You sigh rather dejectedly, nodding as you lower the cloth from your nose. Remus tuts, readily raising his wand as the blood cascades down your face. Just as he mutters a quick episky, followed by your pained shriek, the doors to the infirmary slam open to reveal a very distressed Sirius storming into the room with your friends in tow.
“Where’s my darling girl?”
Said darling girl, Remus wants to say, is currently leaning over her thighs, hands pressed over her face as she comes down the pain of the bones in her nose snapping into place–after getting into a rather terrible brawl with her cousin, no less. But yeah, she’s a darling.
He settles for a quick wave, beckoning his husband to their side of the infirmary. Sirius goes obediently, swarm of teenagers behind him. He does cut a glare at Malfoy’s huddled bunch as he walks past them on their way out.
Remus is awfully reminded how he has to handle your attitude multiplied by two.
Sirius steps to you, evidently making a move to get closer, though a blur of hair bypasses him in a hurry. Soon Hermione is crouched by your side where you’re sitting by the edge of the bed, her hands on your knees as you seemingly have swallowed down the pain from your nose.
“Oh, hi.” you breathe out, blinking when you sit straight to look at her eyes. Despite your noble intentions to suppress it, you visibly soften when she frowns worriedly. “Hello.”
It had been, apparently, the wrong thing to say.
Hermione swats your knee with her mittens. “Hello?! You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack and all you have to say is hello?!”
“Um,” you cut a quick glance at Harry, then Ron. When your eyes land on Remus, he only shrugs. “yeah?”
“I’m cross with you.”
You gawp, but it’s Harry who speaks first. “Come on, ‘Mione, you didn’t hear what that git said.”
“Yeah!” you nod, pointing at your cousin, feeling vindicated and not at all sorry for what you did.
Sirius raises an eyebrow, sharing a look with his husband as he studies you. “You’re telling me all this started ‘cause he taunted you? Like one does at Quidditch?”
You point at said spawn, still groaning as Madam Pomfrey tends to his made up injury. “He called her things!”
“What things?”
You level him with a look, and Sirius finally notices first hand how much you’ve inherited from him.
“You know what.”
“I’ve told you countless times, y/n, I don’t need you to fight that sod for me.” Hermione steps in, the edge on her voice softening as she scans you over. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
“Does that mean we can?” Harry perks up, and you mirror his smile. Both your fathers groan in exasperation.
“No one’s getting into another fight.” Remus says, standing up, looking into everyone’s eyes to get his point across. “Doubt that scrawny little boy can handle another scare, anyway.”
“Scare?!” Malfoy shrieks from his bed, leaning over his elbow as he glares at your huddled bunch. You stand with a similar expression. “That bloody witch hit me!”
“Oh, sod off, Malfoy.” Ron drawls, rolling his eyes at the blond boy. “She barely even touched you.”
“You deserved it, anyway.”
Malfoy purses his lips angrily. “My father will hear about this.”
Sirius barks a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, alright. What will daddy Malfoy do? Hasn’t he told you the share of bloody noses we so lovingly gifted him?”
Remus groans, dropping his face to his hands.
“Sirius.”
You smirk, passing a sleeve over your face to clean the blood off your chin. “It seems some things are inherited, don’t you think?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Malfoy nods, mirroring your smirk. “Just like your need to associate with the likes of mudbloods.”
It’s at record time in which you’re moving, stomping across the infirmary with clenched fists. Sirius scrambles after you.
“You fucking loathsome evil little cockroach!” His smirk is quickly gone from his face as your fist connects with his face again.
“Miss Black!” Madam Pomfrey gasps, and you huff as Sirius pulls you back. His own smirk barely contained.
“I’m alright,” you mutter, waving your hand as you let your dad pull you away from the boy’s bed. He guides you back to yours. “Fuck–what do they feed these inbreds?” you pass your thumb over your knuckles.
“Oi, be careful with that word. I’m inbred too.” Sirius says with a slight frown, though it’s quickly eclipsed by a grin. “That was a good one, my love.”
“Don’t indulge her.” Remus scolds firmly, beckoning you to sit back on your bed. He uncaps the healing cream again with a sigh.
“Uh, professor?” Hermione steps in, rather shyly. “Can I?” she points at the cream, and you flush red at her insinuation.
Your fathers share a look.
“Of course, Hermione.” Remus nods, handing her the cream with a soft smile. He steps aside to let her sit in front of you.
You swallow nervously when she sits on the bed, gentle hands reaching for yours to dab the healing cream. Sirius bites back a smile at your pink cheeks and the way you’re looking around the room to avoid her gaze.
“It’s alright, ‘Mione. Doesn’t hurt that much.”
The girl only raises an eyebrow, pointedly dabbing one last time at your knuckles. “I could hear the crack of your bones from here.”
“Why is everyone attacking me today?” you sigh in faux offense, fixing your Quidditch gear. “If I remember correctly, I got into the fight but Harry cancelled the match.”
“Oi!” your cousin frowns, surprised at being thrown under the bus. “Don’t drag me into your mess.”
Ron crosses his arms. “Yeah, Harry, was cancelling the match necessary? We almost beat them.”
Sirius snorts. “That you did.” He nudges you jokingly, and you laugh.
Hermione sends you a stern look, and you quickly disguise your chuckle with a cough.
It seems the high adrenaline begins settling down as you lean back, resting your elbow over the railing as you listen with a deadpan look as Madam Pomfrey tends to a bruised, jaw-dislocated Malfoy.
Remus hums. “Do you think we can leave you here a bit without getting into a row again?” he asks, sending you his most challenging look.
“Yeah,” you send him your most innocent smile in return. “I’ve already proven my point.”
Your father sighs, but Sirius steps in. “While I’m enjoying this very much, I do have to agree with your dad, love. Enough violence for today.”
“Yeah, I know.” you say, blushing harder when you accidentally look at Hermione. An unconscious move, really. “I’ll behave, I promise.”
While they know you’re speaking the truth, your fathers turn to Harry anyway, who nods much like a soldier accepting orders.
“I’ll take her to the common room as soon as Madam Pomfrey dismisses her.”
Sirius beams, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you, Prongslet.”
“You’re not taking me anywhere, Potter.” you hiss. “I’m perfectly capable of taking my own arse to the common room.”
“Not with that attitude you’re not.” Sirius quips, pausing his ruffling at his godson’s hair to turn to you. “An independence ban is in order after today.”
“What?!”
Harry has the nerve to laugh. “You heard the boss, Black.”
“Bite me.”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Remus steps in, though his lips are quirked in a bemused little smile. “No one is biting anyone, and you,” he points at you. “We're not done. I’ll be expecting you at the cottage later.”
You swallow nervously, nodding at your father’s firmness. “Of course.”
Ron whistles. “Wow, Black, haven’t seen you freeze up since that time Hermione–”
“Shut your sodding mouth, Weasley.” you seethe, sending him your most powerful glare. Doesn’t really work as your face turns crimson red, Hermione does as well. “I’ll hex the living daylights out of you.”
“Calm down, woman.” The redhead chuckles, looking like he’s completely enjoying your reaction. His eyes flicker from your flushed form to Hermione. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
“Don’t talk about my girlfriend’s knickers, Ronald.” Hermione hums, capping the healing cream with eerie calmness. “Or I’ll be the one hexing you.”
Sirius gawps. “Girlfriend?!” he whips his head at you, eyes wide and swirling with every emotion known to man. Offense mostly. “Since when?! Why wasn’t I aware of this?”
“Dad.”
“Speak, child.” Sirius says, tone balanced between demanding and joking. You send Remus an exasperated look. “I’ve just created a new ban for you, a secrets ban. Out with it now.”
Remus raises an eyebrow at his husband, sighing as he pulls him away from you. “Your daughter just got into an awful brawl and you’re offended ‘cause of this?”
“I ought to be offended!”
Harry nudges you softly, leaning over to speak to your ear conspiratorially. “And you thought my mum’s reaction was melodramatic.”
It had been, apparently, the wrong thing to say–Again.
“Lily knows?!”
“For fuck’s sake,” you mutter, coincidentally at the same time Remus does. Unconsciously mirroring the way you drop your face to your hands. You send Harry your best glare. “Thanks a lot.”
“Pads,” Remus sighs, hands at his husband’s shoulders to guide him away from your bed. “That’s enough, you have things to do.”
“Well now I have more things to do!” Sirius calls out, flailing his arms around. “I shall pay Lilibeth a visit.”
“You will not do such a thing.” Remus says firmly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re coming with me to talk to Dumbledore to solve this mess and later we’ll go home and prepare supper. No more nonsense.”
Sirius levels him with a look, one Remus returns with more intensity that has your shoulders gravitating to your ears. You’re secretly thankful that you’re, for once, not on the receiving end of either those looks.
Your father sighs, relenting despite himself. “Alright, whatever.” Sirius waves him off, turning quickly to send you a quick kiss. You flush with teenage mortification. “See you later, my girl. We have things to discuss as well.”
A muffled groan comes from their side of the infirmary, Malfoy leans over his elbow again. His other hand pressed hard over a bloodied cloth.
He points at you. “We’re not done, Black. You will pay for this.”
“I will gladly beat your arse again, Malfoy. Just say when.” you call out, not even casting him a glance. Hermione throws her arms out in exasperation.
“Listen, you little–”
“Mr. Malfoy, stop moving.” Madam Pomfrey says firmly, guiding him down on the bed.
“Yeah, spawn. Listen to the matron, she can be quite terrifying sometimes.” Sirius drawls boredly. Madam Pomfrey sends him a deadpan look. “But lovely most of the time, Poppy. Don’t listen to me.”
“Typical of your lot,” Malfoy sneers, rolling his eyes as the matron tends to his nose. “Storming in and doing a spectacle of yourselves, bunch of classless blood traitors.”
Your hands twitch, fists clenching to their own accord. Your knees jerk forward as if to jump to make your way to him, however both things happen at once. Madam Pomfrey taps his nose and casts a quick episky, causing the boy to wail and scream bloody murder.
“I told you to stop moving, Mr. Malfoy.” Madam Pomfrey says, shaking her head as she collects her ingredients. Not at all glancing at the boy crying and whimpering in pain. “Once the pain subdues, you’re free to head to your dorm.”
You huff, feeling your girlfriend’s hands on your shoulders, pushing you down on the bed despite your own futile attempt to stand. Hermione levels you with another stern look, and you only roll your eyes in annoyance.
Ron laughs. “Calm down, we’ll get him soon enough.” he pats your back in camaraderie, you smile at him with mischief.
“Ronald.”
“What?” the redhead shrugs, looking between you three with raised hands in surrender. “Can’t I give my friend some moral support?”
“Not when it comes to hitting someone.”
“Bit rich coming from you, isn’t it, ‘Mione?” Harry smirks, nudging you with a mischievous smile of his own. “Weren’t you the one planning an elaborate hex for the Slytherins?”
She scowls as you snicker with your friends, sound echoing throughout the infirmary and drowning out the groans from your perpetual arch nemesis.
From the other side of the room, your fathers share a fond smile. Watching as you laugh around your friends despite all of you being in big trouble. A lovely parallel to the way Sirius would get into trouble for defending his boyfriend’s honor, spending countless hours between detention and the infirmary juggling all kinds of punishments and healing treatments. They watch as you let your own girlfriend tend to your injury after fighting for her honor, muttering crude jokes with Harry and Ron between pauses. They have never felt prouder of calling you their daughter.
summary — after being recruited into the order of the phoenix, sirius is the one who makes the hard decision. which also happens to be the easy way out
content — established relationship between remus, sirius, and reader - established friendship with the marauders - poly!wolfstar - sirius hides his decision from remus - blame is mostly on sirius (im sorry) - hurt... kinda comfort - hurt no comfort - angst angst angst
note — this could have a part two (maybe a happy!!! prequel??) but as of right now i wanted to write heavy angst with no happy ending... maybe i'll add a second part so no ones miserable tho :)
inspired by this beatiful fic by @colouredbyd where the hurt actually gets comforted<3
Something had shifted, you wrote; your feelings all stored in a small black diary that you took everywhere.
It started slow, small, then suddenly it was all at once. Suddenly, you knew. You saw it in the way Sirius got up when you came over, excused himself. He used to kiss your lips when he did it, then it became your cheek, then your head — a spared glance. Nothing at all. The way Remus quieted when you walked with them in the halls, taking your hand, and if he spoke, he’d only speak to you because Sirius was silent. The way the bed you’d shared since fifth year had started to feel too crowded, but somehow also cold — how your spot had changed from between them, to outside of Sirius only for him to gravitate away from you, to outside of Remus, who fell asleep holding you but had you waking up with just a blanket around you.
Something had changed. You weren’t sure why, or how, or what you’d done to make it that way, but you knew.
And everyone else did, too.
You knew the moment James asked if you wanted to sleep in his bed one night, when you hesitated to get into Sirius’. Usually, the three of you — if you were staying over — slept in Remus’ bed, but when you got there, you realized Sirius had gone to his own and Remus went with him.
“Come on,” James said, opening his arm for you. “We haven’t gotten to have one of our own sleepovers in months. I miss my friend.” He was trying to lessen the tension, lighten the mood, but you only mustered a halfhearted smile as you set your diary on the trunk and went to him, curling into his embrace.
Sirius was angry the next morning. You knew it before you even got up. Maybe he expected you not to come, even though you’d already settled on that night. Maybe he wanted you alone in Remus’ bed, even though you only came to sleep with them. Maybe, you thought, he wanted you on the outskirts, feeling as if you were only there because you always had been. Not because it mattered, but because you were just another constant he couldn’t have changing right now.
For two weeks, he wouldn’t look at you unless you were writing in that little black book, didn’t speak, and deliberately walked away. He moved when you sat next to him at meals or in classes, and when Remus beckoned you over in the common room, he got up and left with a brush of your shoulder as he went by.
You didn’t notice that was how he slipped the black book from your hand, too shocked to realize as he walked off without a second glance.
Even Remus looked shocked by him, like their whispered conversation hadn’t involved him leaving like that. “I’ll talk to him,” he said, flinching when their dormitory door slammed shut. “Sit with me?” He was pulling away now, too; you could feel it, and he knew you could when you didn’t come. He started to say your name, started to try and explain, but you cut him off.
“It’s okay,” you said quietly, looking to the boys’ rooms. “Go check on him. I think… I think I’ll go to bed.”
He frowned. You were supposed to spend the night that night, you’d been planning it for weeks, and he knew you wouldn’t be able to spend the night for the next three with all the tests you had coming up — you’d be up late, studying with Lily, which meant you couldn’t sneak off. “But—“ You were shaking your head. “I want you there.”
There it was, you thought, proof that Sirius didn’t. “I’m tired,” you said, and he didn’t argue. He knew he’d ruined any chance he had at convincing you by saying that.
“I love you,” he said, like he was asking you to say it back, a question rather than a promise.
“I know.”
“He does, too.” He stood, taking your hands in his. “You know that too, don’t you?” You said nothing, giving the smallest hint of a nod that he forced a smile for, but you both knew Sirius had never said it to you. He never would, but he would — and did to Remus, who was leaning in. You turned your head to the side, forcing him to kiss your cheek. He did it with care, lips more gentle than they’d ever been. “Can we talk—?”
“I, just,” you stepped back, “I just need some space,” you said, hands tucking in your pockets as you looked at the floor, “a break, even… I’ll be busy anyway. You won’t even notice.”
“Yes, I will.” One step forward from him, and a step back from you. “We will," he corrected. “You know he will—“
“I don’t.”
There was a long silence, Remus stepping back until his legs hit the couch and he sat down. Like he knew this was coming. “This is what you want? Really?” You said nothing because, no, it was so far from what you wanted, but it felt like this was what would happen anyway — what Sirius wanted. “Okay,” he agreed. “Fine. A break. I’ll tell him.”
You couldn’t even tell him yourself because of how he’d been acting.
Remus stayed on the couch as you went toward the girls’ dormitory. You sighed, looking back and ignoring your better judgment to walk over to him. “I’m sorry,” you said.
“Not your fault.” But he was mumbling, wouldn’t look up, and you didn’t blame him.
“And…” You leaned down to kiss his head, hand on his shoulder that he immediately reached across his chest for. “I love you, too. Very much.” He seemed relieved to hear it, shoulders relaxing and breath releasing as he closed his eyes. Like he was savoring it, thanking you for saying it back, thinking it would be the last time he heard it from you. “If you need anything…” The words died in your throat, and Remus let out a bitter laugh as you dropped your hand. You stopped there, let the words hang, left them for his interpretation. “Goodnight.”
You didn’t mean to do it before a full moon, not a day before anyway. Not at a time when Remus always came to you, needing you, wanting you, clinging to you like you grounded him to the world. You felt awful when you saw him two days later, weight in his cane and skin clammy and pale as he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast.
But then Sirius came. Remus brightened immediately, welcoming him into his arms like he wasn’t weak or tired, and Sirius was smiling like Remus held the sun in his hands.
You hadn’t seen that smile in so long.
And his eyes found you, sitting with Lily, Mary, and Marlene. You expected his smile to fall, for his gaze to harden, or even for his lips to pull into a thin line, but his smile stayed. It saddened, but it stayed. His eyes softened, but they weren’t unkind. He looked at you like he looked at the moon — like it was an otherworldly beauty he couldn’t quite grasp, unattainable, haunting, and never belonging in his world.
You smiled back, and that was when it fell, his gaze dropping to the floor as he slipped from Remus’ hold and hurried to Peter and James. Remus seemed confused, in the same way that you had when Sirius started to pull away from you, and looked for an answer.
He found you, and his expression didn’t change before he turned and went toward Sirius, sitting next to him and putting his hand on his shoulder to comfort him.
“What happened?” You heard Mary asking, making you peel your attention away from them, humming in question. “You’re not sitting with them?”
“Oh…” You weren’t sure what to say as you looked at each of your friends, all waiting for answers.
“You broke up,” Marlene concluded, and they all seemed to agree that was it without a confirmation.
“What?” Even Lily seemed shocked. “Why?!” She scowled over at the group of four boys. “They’re so—“
“Stop it, Lily,” Marlene said softly. “Things looked like they were going so well,” she continued, “what is it? Was it Sirius?” She was closest with him out of the four of you — now that you thought about it, probably closer to him than you — and she said it like she knew something you didn't. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
But you didn’t have to. They’d noticed it, too. Maybe the whole school had.
Where you’d once been so affectionate, where he’d come up and kiss you in the middle of a conversation with your friends, hug you from behind, or steal you away, snag your hand from Remus even, it had suddenly stopped. Where your affection with Remus had been more private, more how he liked it, it had become comforting in Sirius’ place.
You wondered if he resented you for it — or maybe the privacy was out of embarrassment. Because he was never private with Sirius. Not even now, when everyone could tell something had shifted, they loved loud, while you were in the echo of it, sound fading out and distant, until it was gone. Like you were now.
You excused yourself, took your things, left your breakfast, and went to class exceptionally early. Perhaps, if you threw yourself into your studies, you could forget the looks they’d given you, forget the way they’d been making you feel, forget that everyone knew.
But they wouldn’t let you.
“Don’t,” you could hear James’ voice at the door before class started. “Just — Pads — sit here.” It was no use.
You braced yourself, continuing to look at your book as he sat next to you. He never did that before. He took something out of his bag, a book, small and black and locked with an enchantment that he could easily bypass. “You keep leaving this behind.” He’d returned it to you before, but it never felt as finite as this. Like he was returning something to someone whose things he didn’t want around. “Open.” That was the first he’d really spoken to you in a month, but he’d never told you that it was left open before. You took it carefully, and the moment you did, he got up.
“Sirius,” you said quickly, turning to catch him before he walked away. “Did you…?”
“Did I read it?” You nodded, and he looked at the small book. “I stopped,” he said, and you didn’t know what to say. It didn’t seem to affect him, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe he didn’t care at all. “But Remus… You know how he is.”
“Remus read it?” He nodded and walked away. You looked back at the book, opening it swiftly and starting to read.
Every bit of anger you might’ve felt, every time you’d been hurt, your feelings detailed in a way you’d never say, were staring back at you in a jumble of hurt words. Some of them seemed harsh, mean even, in the way the ink bled and your handwriting got sloppy. Some were desperate, desperate for explanation or a reaction, just a glance. Some were just sad, making you shut the book as you had to reread the way you’d been feeling while this was going on.
You knew Sirius was lying. You know he read it. But why would that make him upset with you? Why would he keep his distance when that was the last thing you wanted? Unless he did want it. Unless that was his excuse.
You wanted to write about it, wanted to get your feelings out on paper so that you could push them aside, but it didn’t feel safe now. Where you could have written in class before, you knew that seats behind you they were there, knowing you were writing about them.
Professor Flitwick must have seen the way your face paled as you started to feel sick. Started to feel like you’d done something wrong, you’d ruined things, your feelings had ruined everything. He called you by your last name, hand on your desk. “You don’t look well,” he said quietly and nodded to the door. “Go on — Black, would you mind escorting her—“
“I’m alright,” you said quickly. “I just… didn’t eat much.” He settled for that answer, not wanting to press it, and went on with class, which he had you go to the great hall at the end of to finish your breakfast.
The day was miserable, all that was on your mind being Sirius and Remus, reading that stupid diary until they resented you.
You had to excuse yourself from studying with Lily because you couldn’t focus, and went back to the common room alone. Thankfully, there was Quidditch practice, meaning neither of them was there as you tossed the diary into the fire and sat on the couch. You hoped to distract yourself with a book, curling beneath a blanket and starting to read, but it was no use. It reminded you of reading with Remus, leaning against Sirius as he read and made jokes over your shoulder, and you wanted to fling yourself into the fire when water hit the pages of your book — a book Remus gave you.
You sighed, but didn’t bother wiping your eyes as you shut them and drew your knees to your chest, resting your forehead on them and trying to read in shadow as you sniffed and blinked hot tears onto the pages. It took ten minutes to get through one page, fifteen for the next, and you didn’t even bother flipping it as you shut the book and hugged your legs closer.
You didn’t know how much time passed before the door opened, but you were quick to wipe your eyes and pretend to still be reading as those recognizable voices came through the portrait-hole.
James and Peter went to the couches like always, like you could all still sit together. “I thought you were studying with Lily,” he said, looking back at Remus and Sirius, who were making their way over to sit on a loveseat to the left of you. “Not that we’re not happy to see you — you should’ve watched practice.”
“I…” You’d started, but it was like you suddenly didn’t know how to talk to any of them. Had James read it, too? Peter?
“Why’s the fire so hot?” Sirius mumbled, attempting to change the topic as he groaned in annoyance and looked at the fire, your leather book sitting in it. He said nothing.
“I completely forgot,” you said, sniffing as you stood. “About Lily. Thanks, James.” You went for the door, ignoring him telling you you left your book, and rushing to leave. You didn’t know where, and you felt like you couldn’t go anywhere. Every spot that was yours was theirs, too. The old classroom on the fifth floor, the Room of Requirement, the Astronomy Tower, even the library.
But then you reminded yourself that they wouldn’t follow you. They wouldn’t care that much. It didn’t matter where you went, because they would leave you alone. And so you went where you always had to comfort Sirius, where he went to cry alone when he left home, when his brother stopped speaking to him, when he felt like his world was crumbling down. You went to the Astronomy Tower because it did mean something to you — it did matter.
And the sadness that it provided was comforting.
“I’ll take it to her,” Remus said, reaching for the book that was pulled away from him.
“Maybe Sirius should do it,” Peter suggested quietly, earning a glare. “Just get it over with, mate,” was his response. “You’re dragging it on—“
“I think you’ve done enough,” James said. “The both of you.” He stood. “I’ll bring it to her, and I’ll talk to her because, in case you two forgot, we were all friends before you ruined everything—“
“Nothing’s ruined,” Remus said weakly, “I’m just — I’m giving her space. She wanted space. Then I’ll fix it.”
“I know you’re not that stupid.” Remus groaned, leaning back into the couch. “And you know this should’ve been fixed a month ago.” He looked at Sirius, his best friend, like he hardly knew him. “You fucked up,” he said quietly, like he didn’t want to tell him, and held the book out to him. “I’ll take it to her if you want, but Pete’s right, you could do it, too… Now that you’ve made everything worse.”
He sighed, taking the book and swallowing down whatever fear he had of talking to you now and leaving. He had no idea where you’d go. There was nothing private between the three of you, no space in the castle, no secret feelings — at least there didn’t used to be.
He went to every place but his, thinking you’d want to stay as far from him as you physically could, but as he went to every spot he knew and felt himself starting to worry that you went somewhere he couldn’t, he found himself going to the Astronomy Tower and preparing not to see you there.
His steps were too loud to be careful, boots heavy on the metal ground and echoing as he climbed the stairs. He prepared for it to be empty, to prove he didn’t know you as well as he thought he did, that all his doubts had been right. At first, he thought he was. He thought it was all right as he saw the front vacant, but he looked toward the balcony, saw you sitting behind the railing and leaning on the wall, and felt his chest tighten and a need to go to you.
“James?” You asked, turning back and meeting his eyes. “Oh…” Was all that came out of your mouth as you turned back toward the ledge. “I’ll go if you needed to—“
“I was looking for you.” A silence fell over you as he walked to the ledge, taking a seat next to you and setting the book aside. He took in a breath like he was preparing for something, like he’d planned out what to say if this moment — you two alone — ever came again. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Why did you come?” You asked, not bothering to wipe your eyes. “Did James tell you to?”
He was quiet, looking at the book beside him. “You left your book.” You sighed. “And I want to talk, just…”
“You want to talk to me now?” Your voice was small, broken in a way he’d never heard it before.
“I know I can’t fix this.” He still couldn’t bring himself to look at you. “But… Can I explain myself?”
“Please.”
He took in a deep breath, ready for your reaction like he’d been planning all the ways it could go. “I was never upset with you — or wanting to push you away. Not at first.” You said nothing, and neither did he for a while. “I was trying to figure out how to tell you… something I’d been wanting— needing to tell you for a while now. I was trying to plan it out, how to do it, how to say it, and suddenly it was like we were thirteen again, and I had no idea how to talk to you without making a fool of myself… and with everything going on, it never felt like the right time. I wondered if you even felt the same way, and I… I shouldn’t have been, but I was…” He was half in his head, half speaking to you. “But you and Remus did it so easily. The couple thing, the I love yous, the comforting…” You shook your head. There was no way he was feeling jealous — or set aside. There was no way he felt what you did. You made sure he didn’t; you had the courtesy. He didn’t. “Then one night you left your diary in our room — I didn’t mean to — it was open — I never realized—“
“Breathe,” you told him, falling back into that comforting role you always took.
“Don’t,” he told you, voice warning. “Just let me finish.” You quieted. “I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way, and when I first read it I was hurt — angry, more at myself than anything, but I wondered why you wouldn’t say anything, and I was just… The way you acted like everything was fine, when I knew how you were feeling, it was infuriating, but I couldn’t bring it up. Not when I’d invaded your privacy, and it was all I could think about… I could see you writing and I knew it was about how I was hurting you, how Remus came to you second, how you felt like there wasn’t room for the three of us anymore — and when I woke up and saw you with James…” You sniffed, but he kept talking. “I thought maybe you’d see that it wasn’t you, that I wanted you there, that I asked Remus for you to be on my side of the bed instead of his because I missed holding you, but I didn’t realize I’d hurt you enough to push you away.”
“I just wanted you to talk to me. I wouldn’t have cared if it was about the diary or not. I—“
“I’m not done,” he said quietly. “You won’t be as caring when I finish, so just… let me get it out.” You nodded warily. “I did start pushing you away after that. I know that. I decided to do it. I wanted you to leave,” it stung, and it made the tears start again, but at least it was the truth, “because if I couldn’t be good enough to you, why should you stay? Why put yourself through that—?”
You scoffed at him. “Because I love you?” You said it like he was stupid. “And I thought you loved me — even if you never said it, I thought…”
He shook his head. “I was waiting for you to say you were done, hoping you would because I didn’t want to keep hurting you, and I didn’t know how to talk to you anymore,” he was saying everything, getting it all out, because he knew this would be the end of it, “but then when it actually happened it was like — I didn’t even give you the chance to say it to me — it was like you really were done with me and I…” His hand went to his chest, like he could soothe his heart with his own cool touch. Like it would ever compare to yours. “I knew it’d hurt, because I knew you’d stay just for Remus, and I was the one who ruined it, but… and when he read it…” He was going from topic to topic again, shutting his eyes to try and focus himself into staying together. “I didn’t want him to know, but I showed it to him so that he at least knew why… and it hurt even more because he wasn’t even mad at me. He wouldn’t let himself be mad, but I know I ruined it even though I could’ve— I shouldn’t have let it get to this.”
“What could you possibly want to tell me that would mess things up this much?” You asked, tearful and taking in his words like they didn't break everything further. You had an idea, and you knew by his silence that you were right, but you didn’t want to hear it from him anymore. It was too late. “You were that afraid?” He wouldn’t speak. “You say it to Remus all the time—“
“Remus is different.”
If there was anything that could’ve been fixed, it'd have been turned to dust right there, his words hanging in the air like a secret you both knew and silently agreed not to tell.
Your cries were silent as you bit down on your lip, feeling him reach out to you and pull you to his chest. It made you cry more. His hand, cradling your head to his chest, made you cry harder. Your body instinctively leaning into him made you want to scream. To shove him off of you. To tell him you hated him.
He knew what he’d done. He knew that would drive you away for good. Away from the reality of his world, from the danger he couldn’t protect you from, from the eventual goodbye that would’ve been even worse than this.
The truth, in its simplest form, was that he was too afraid after Dumbledore recruited them to the Order. Too afraid now that he knew he could leave one day, unable to tell you where he was going, and never come back. Too afraid that he would come back and you wouldn’t be there.
At least Remus knew. At least Remus was with him, but they’d made the decision to keep you out of it. To keep you safe, they’d made the decision to let it fade with time, but he couldn’t do that. He knew it wouldn’t do that.
He loved you too much.
So, he needed a finite break, a guarantee that it wouldn’t mend itself. He knew Remus wouldn’t be able to do it, that he wouldn’t even agree to it. He knew he would have to be the one to hurt you, the one you would never look at the same, the one you wouldn’t extend care to after it was over. He knew Remus couldn’t live with being the one to do that, no matter what he said. No matter how strong he tried to be, you made him weak in a way that wouldn’t let him end it, even when it got this bad.
And as he held you, he knew this would be the last time.
But he also knew that it was so much harder to love someone, when the prospect of losing them was higher than coming home.
"looked at your picture and cried like a baby" except it's remus seeing sirius' mugshot in the paper and just crumbling. like he knew he was arrested he knew it all but that was the moment it became real.
