Oooh with that new arranged marriage as you just posted, what if someone says something really disparaging to reader about being an outsider in her own kingdom and then in her own marriage, and reader suddenly starts reading james’a interactions with Remus and Sirius differently and she feels really bad, buttt in the meantime the marauders have grown fond of her so they’re not too happy when she starts pulling away?
Thank you for your request dusts <3
cw: muggle au, arranged marriage, hurt with no comfort (yet)
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 1.8k words
James makes you smile. It makes sense that he would—he’s sweet, funny, handsome enough to frighten butterflies into flight in your stomach—but it almost alarms you how true it is. Half the time you’re with him you’re giggling like a schoolgirl at every other word from his mouth. Being asked to leave the castle grounds so that the media can get photos of James showing you about your new kingdom should feel like a chore. Your smile should feel phony, the act of holding your fiancee’s hand forced and awkward, but after an afternoon of touring all of James’ favorite haunts your cheeks ache with genuine happiness.
“Of all the people who should be getting free drinks.” James shakes his head, taking another sip of his apple cider. He hasn’t let go of your hand even though you’re back inside the castle, and despite the forecast you’d noted before leaving this morning you haven’t felt the chill so long as he’s been touching you.
“I know.” You sigh, blowing some steam off your own drink. “I feel kind of bad for taking this.”
“Wha—hey, I wasn’t talking about you. You’re different.”
You grin up at him. (See? It’s impossible to stop.) “How am I different?”
“Well, you’re a girl.”
“Mhm, and?”
“Pretty girls always get free stuff.” You come to a stop in front of James’ room, his shrug casual as your hands swing between you. “They wouldn’t have to know who you were.”
A warmth spreads from your chest, washing over your face and down your arms. You wonder if James can feel it tingling in your fingertips. “I’ll see you later?” you ask softly.
James smiles. “Yeah, I’ve just got a couple of things to handle first. I’ll come find you, yeah? For dinner?”
“Sounds great.” Your answering smile is irrepressible. He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go, slipping into his room.
It’s difficult, not to collapse against the closed door with a sigh like a lovesick girl in a film. You’ve no doubt that to anyone watching you give the general impression anyway, huge smile still stuck to your face and hearts in your eyes.
You hear Sirius’ voice from inside James’ room. You’re sure Remus is in there as well, his presence only less audible than Sirius’. You suspect they’re James’ couple of things to handle. You don’t mind; James likes to have at least some time alone with his friends each day, and you wouldn’t begrudge him it. It’s sweet. Honestly, it only endears you to James more that he has such close friends, friends which go all the way back to childhood and whom he clearly loves fiercely. You’re glad you’re getting to know them as well—not only because Remus and Sirius are nice to be around, but you don’t imagine it can be a bad thing to get along with your partner’s friends. Sirius seemed to have some trouble getting used to you, but you think you might be finally moving past that; if you’re lucky, you could all be quite happy once you and James are married.
You meander the halls a bit on your way back to your room, still buzzing with a restless, giddy energy, a throat-squeezing feeling of possibility. It’s as you pass the open doorway of an office that you hear your name.
“...see how he was holding her hand? It’s cruel.”
You stop on the other side of the door. You don’t grow up in a palace without developing a healthy proclivity for eavesdropping; if people in Gryffindor are talking about you, you want to know what they’re saying.
“They’re engaged.” That’s Lily’s voice, matter-of-fact. “Holding hands is part of the deal.”
“It is when it’s for the cameras.” You recognize Mary’s cadence now, too.
“You know James. He’s touchy with everyone.”
“Exactly, but she doesn’t know that,” Mary argues. She sounds the tiniest bit upset. “James can—I know he’s only being friendly, he doesn’t mean to, but he can flirt without having any idea he’s doing it. She’s going to get the wrong idea.”
Your stomach quiets. You can’t tell if the butterflies you’ve been feeling all afternoon have frozen in place or fallen dead.
“I know.” Lily’s voice is a murmur. “I know, but what do you want him to do? I’m sure he wants to tell her everything, but Remus and Sirius will know better than to trust her yet. She’s only been here a couple of weeks. If they tell her and she calls off the wedding, how would that look for Gryffindor? Or if she tells anyone else?”
Mary sighs.
“He’s the prince,” Lily says gently. “He has to consider the whole kingdom, and we can’t afford for this to get out. Not everyone is ready for…for…”
“For their king to be in a gay polycule?”
You choke on air.
“It’s not like it would be the first time,” Mary offers.
“Allegedly,” Lily says, though there’s a hint of a smile in her tone.
Mary scoffs. “Right, allegedly.”
There’s a long pause. You hear the scrape of wood against the floor and imagine Lily scooting her chair closer to Mary, playing with the ends of the other girl’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It does feel…well, it’s not ideal. Maybe I can talk to James about being a little less…James.”
Mary’s voice lowers. “I just feel bad for her. She left her home, her family didn’t even seem to hesitate about sending her away—forever—and now she’s an outsider in her own marriage.”
The barb of their pity stabs through you. Lily murmurs something in response, but you don’t stick around to hear it. You’re done being gossiped about for the day.
You’re moving so quickly, you walk past the hallway to your room twice before finding it. There’s something warm and sour curdling in your gut, and you’re—you don’t know what you are. Hurt, indignant, nauseous. You feel like an idiot.
It all seems so transparent now. Horrifyingly, glaringly obvious. Remus’ hand on James’ knee when his bouncing was shaking the table. The private look on Sirius’ face when James fished a leaf out of his hair. How comfortable they all are with each other, touching and joking and speaking in a language you hoped—foolishly—you might one day crack. But it’s not meant to be shared with you.
You’ve thought, once or twice, that James hasn’t seemed as nervous as you are when you spend time together. Not since that first day. You told yourself it was part of his personality—he’s a confident man, not the sort to trip over his own feet when he likes someone, you shouldn’t read into it—but now, of course, this makes sense. None of this is real to him. The performance is as much for you as it is for the cameras, meant to keep you happy and incurious.
You would never have gone along with it if you’d known. It’s no wonder Sirius hasn’t been friendly to you; you’re encroaching on his relationship. On all of theirs. You’ve flirted with James in front of all of Remus and Sirius, planned dates, talked about your wedding. You wouldn’t have—god, you’re not trying to stand in the way of what they have. Even when you thought they were only friends, their love for each other was so obvious they couldn’t hope to mask it. You would never want to get in the way of that. You don’t want to do this to them.
But just as the acidic tang of guilt rises in your throat, another force shoves against it. You aren’t doing this to them. Every part you’ve played in this has been against your will. If you’d gone into this arrangement with your eyes open, you could have done things completely differently. Only you hadn’t been given that choice.
You don’t think James hates you. Remus might not, either. But whatever progress you’ve made with each of them seems pointless now. The impression you had upon first entering Gryffindor has never felt more true. No one wants you here. They never did.
You’re every bit the girl in a film now, laying on your bed letting tears slip down to wet the pillow. You register the cliche and do nothing about it.
You don’t know what to do. You can’t go home. Riddle is at Peleria’s doorstep. Even if you could get the King and Queen to commit Gryffindor’s armies without going through with the marriage, Lily is right; it would look bad for both of you to call it off now. You have to marry James. It’s all that’s been asked of you. It’s all you can offer your family, your kingdom. You can’t go home.
Gryffindor was supposed to be your new home.
A soft knock on your door summons you from the smog of your self-pity. You sniffle, scrubbing mostly dried tears from under your eyes and checking your reflection in the mirror before saying, “Yes?”
Remus pokes his head in. The sight of him makes your chest hurt—the slight uptilt to his mouth, the kindness of it. You wonder if this whole time, he’s only been kind to you out of sympathy. “Sirius is jealous that you and James got to spend all day in town,” he says. “He wants to go out for dinner. Are you ready?”
“Um.” Your voice comes out rough, and you clear your throat. “I’m a bit tired, actually. You guys go ahead.”
Remus’ almost-smile fades. “If you’re tired, we can eat here.”
“That’s okay.”
“Sirius doesn’t always have to get his way,” he says wryly. “It’ll be good for him.”
“I think I’m just going to…” You give your pillow a lame pat. “...go to bed.”
You don’t look out the window, at the sun hardly beginning to set; neither does Remus. His brows furrow, and you fuss with your comforter so as not to meet his eyes. Too clever, too discerning.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Hm?”
“You sound a bit hoarse.”
“Oh.” You press your lips into a smile. “I think it’s just the weather.”
He makes a soft hum. “I’ll have someone bring you a tea. We’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, lying back down. “Thanks.”
The door clicks shut behind him. A wave of feeling washes over you—silly, feeling abandoned when you’ve asked to be left behind. A couple more tears squeeze from your eyes nonetheless. They trace meandering paths down your face, the wetness cooling in their wake.
You wonder if this is how your life will be. Going out in front of cameras with James, smiling, holding hands, then delivering him to his true partners so you can return to your room. Alone. This arrangement isn’t what you thought it was, but you can play the part. For Gryffindor and for Peleria, for James and Sirius and Remus, you can.
You hope they’re enjoying their night without you.
𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: public sex/orgasms, multiple orgasms, kind of edging, use of remote control vibrator, poly!marauders, but not written very well, everyone subs for remus, not proofread
𝗔/𝗡: i’ve never written poly!m before so this sucks.. and there’s only so many ways you can describe a vibrator 🥴 hope you love it anyway <3
You’d never had a birthday present so torturous.
And having three boyfriends who all had the app on their phones, and liked to use it in different situations? That was even worse. The first time you tried it was at home, all three boys switching their gazes from Remus’ phone screen to you, shaking and whining in a messy heap on the bed.
“Worth the money.” James remarked.
Remus nodded in agreement. “S’gonna get a lot of use.”
“Especially in public.” Sirius added, and the other two agreed again, so fascinated with the intricacies of the vibrator that they’d forgotten it was still buzzing away at full speed inside you, and you had already orgasmed three times since it had turned on.
And they used it in public, alright.
Remus liked to use it in places where you had to struggle harder to be quiet. The library, quiet cafes- once he turned it on when you were sat in the dead silent waiting room of your doctor’s surgery, full of people, not one of them saying a word. That was torture.
You had to squeeze your legs shut, because even though the boys swore it was inconspicuous, you were worried that anyone in close proximity would be able to hear the buzzing. Your eyes rolled back into your head, which you dropped onto Remus’ shoulder, trying to steady your breathing.
Remus just chuckled, interlacing your fingers with his own. When you curled both of your arms around one of his, he placed a soft kiss into your hair, as if there was nothing amiss- that maybe you were just tired, or suffering from whichever ailment had brought you to the doctor in the first place.
“You can say stop,” he whispered against the top of your head. “Tell me if you want me to turn it off.”
“No- s’fine..” you breathed. It probably wasn’t the best idea, but you had already been wound up, and you were chasing a release. The vibrator buzzed continuously, gyrating against the right spot inside of you, which sent butterflies tearing through your stomach, akin to that feeling of the slow climb up a rollercoaster.
“Moony..” you croaked after a few minutes, as quietly as you could. Your grip tightened around his arm, and he smoothed a hand over the back of your head, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
Remus didn’t need you to finish your sentence. He was smart enough, and clued in enough on your cues that he recognised the tone of your voice- the one you adopted when you were about to cum. Whiny, hushed, and positively breathless. The sound of it caused his cock to strain against his jeans, aroused by the knowledge that you were trying to stop yourself from having a screaming orgasm in front of all of these people. The nearest people were a few seats away, sure, but it’s not like they wouldn’t have perked up if you’d suddenly started moaning.
“Nice and quiet for me, sweet girl.” Remus whispered, holding you against him as your legs started to shake gently. “That’s it, cum for me, but don’t make a sound, you’ll get us caught.”
James liked to use the vibrator on you when you were out and about, running errands. He preferred to spice up the mundane parts of life, otherwise he’d never get them done, so his favourite place to torture you was the supermarket. You often went food shopping together for your one-on-one time, and you’d fallen into a habit of doing it late at night.
So, it wasn’t a people thing for James. It was more like he enjoyed the sight of you failing to function whilst carrying out tasks that you’d typically be able to complete- such as food shopping. The most notable time was the one where there were only a few other people in the shop, but it would still be considered busy for 11pm on a Thursday.
“We need to go down here,” you said as you rounded on James, and you could tell by the smirk on his face that you knew what was coming. “There are people. Please, do not-”
“Don’t do what?” James asked innocently, looking up from his phone. You tried to muster your best death stare as it kicked in, your hands flying out to grip the handle of the shopping trolley. It was on a low level, to begin with, so you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and stormed off down the aisle.
So James turned it up.
Just as you reached up to a high shelf for something, you had to fight not to double over and make it obvious that your walls were tightening around the toy that was pulsating rhythmically inside of you. You shot James a glare, and he just laughed to himself.
As soon as you had made it out of that aisle and into the next one, which, thankfully for you, was empty, you sighed. Your head dropped back against one of the shelves, and you let out a quiet moan, chest heaving up and down.
“Y’alright, darling?” he checked, feigning ignorance again. You nodded, and another soft squeak left your lips.
“Yes- just- cumming- give me a minute-” you choked out. You felt the climax crashing over you, hips shuddering against the shelf as James leaned over you, bringing his lips down to meet yours so that you could moan freely against his mouth, muffling the sound as much as he physically could.
Sirius was a lot riskier with it. Almost as if he wanted people to know that he was making you squirm just by pressing buttons on his phone. He liked to do it at parties. Typically, you begged him not to, but on his birthday, you supposed it was the nice thing to do.
You were stood in the kitchen, holding a drink, talking to Mary and Lily about the getaway they had planned to go on together, when you felt it start up. You knew it was coming beforehand, because you had felt Sirius’ eyes on you, assessing. When he pulled out his phone shortly after, you knew it was coming. But it still caught you off guard.
“I’ve heard that it’s really nice this- ahem- this time of.. year..” you faltered, forcing a smile onto your face. Mary eyed you suspiciously, but brushed it off when you carried on speaking.
You felt the toy whirring away inside you, and it you were stood at such an angle that it was brushing against your cervix every time it pulsated- because Sirius was oddly amused by the stupidly rhythmic settings, and often teased you with them- but you had to steel your gaze and pretend you were listening to Lily.
“I’ll send you the link so you can look at the photos!” she offered brightly. You tried for a casual, but still enthusiastic ‘Mhm’, and you just about managed it, even though your voice cracked.
“Tell Lils and Mary about where we went last week, babe.” Sirius instructed. You sighed, cutting him a look, but cleared your throat and tried to keep things inconspicuous.
“We, um- we went to that bar that you told us about.” you began, proud of yourself for managing to get through a full sentence, but just as you went to speak again, you felt your walls tightening around the vibrator. “S’nice. I had a- a really good time. James was sick in a bush.”
Mary asked you questions, and you answered them with increasing levels of effort. You were halfway through inviting Lily to the hairdresser’s with you when you felt your resolve shattering completely.
Determined not to lose this little game you had silently established with Sirius, you just gripped the kitchen counter, gritted your teeth, and rode out your orgasm as it unravelled you.
“What’s wrong with her?” James asked lowly, leaning down to speak into Sirius’ ear as he walked into the kitchen and picked up on your body language. Sirius tilted his phone in James’ direction. James laughed, shaking his head.
“Moony.” he called, turning around to catch Remus’ attention as he walked past. Remus leaned in the doorway, eyes roving over your body. You looked away from Mary and Lily just long enough to catch the three of them, leaning in the doorway, all smirking as they watched you, and that cemented the knowledge that your torture was far from over.
The Secret in the Castle Walls 2 - poly maruders royal au
𝓹𝓸𝓵𝔂!𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝔁 𝓻𝓾𝓷𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻
Summary: A runaway princess living as a maid in Gryffindor Castle is determined to stay invisible and forget the crown she left behind. But when she accidentally uncovers the Marauders’ forbidden secret, she’s dragged back into danger—caught between protecting her own identity and saving the three men whose lives could be ruined by what she saw.
Warning: secret identity, class divide, betrayal, forbidden relationships, emotional tension, mild violence, guilt, secrecy, angst, slow burn , mention of blood , toxic brother , reader has canon features (sry guys)
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To the Honored Monarchs and Regents of the Allied Kingdoms,
It is with a heavy heart that I, Prince Alaric of Solis, write to inform you of a grievous matter that has befallen our realm.
On the eve of our late King’s illness worsening, my beloved sister — Her Royal Highness Princess Aurelia of Solis — vanished from her chambers under mysterious circumstances. Despite the tireless efforts of our guards and council, no trace of her has yet been found. The circumstances suggest foul play, and there is grave concern for her safety.
Princess Aurelia is twenty summers of age, of fair complexion and golden hair, bearing upon her left collarbone the mark of Solis — a sun entwined with flame, proof of her royal lineage. She was last seen wearing a nightdress of white silk and a cloak of deep crimson, though her attire may have changed since her disappearance.
I implore all neighboring kingdoms to remain vigilant. Any traveler or servant whose origins are unclear, any woman matching the Princess’s likeness or age, must be brought to attention. Should Her Highness be discovered or any information regarding her whereabouts arise, such intelligence is to be sent directly to the Solis Court.
Let it be known that harboring or concealing a member of Solis royalty — intentionally or otherwise — will be regarded as an act of treason against the Crown of Solis and shall be answered accordingly.
May the gods grant swiftness to our search and justice to those who would harm our house.
By my hand and seal,Prince Alaric of Solis
Acting Regent of the Sunlit Throne
Written at Solis Palace, under the sign of the waning moon.
You had reread the letter again and again until the ink bled at the edges of your sight, until the words rearranged themselves into a thing both familiar and monstrous. Prince Alaric of Solis… Princess Aurelia… vanished… mark of Solis… treason… Each line landed like a flat, cold stone on your ribs. The proclamation’s seal — a stamped sun with flame — stared up at you from the paper with the same indifferent authority that had chased you from your home.
It had been found wedged between a pile of unclaimed shirts on the top shelf of Lord Potter’s wardrobe — a careless place, and therefore perfect. Maris, thin-shouldered and loud, had shrieked and waved it at the laundry table until half the servants clustered around, linen forgotten. Fingers trembled; gossip flew like sparks.
“Did you see it?” Maris hissed, eyes bright as if she’d swallowed a secret jewel. “They say she’s the king’s own daughter. Twenty summers. A mark on her collarbone!”
“Princess?” Hestia’s voice was all breathless delight and fear. “Do you think — do you think she could be here? In the castle? Imagine her asking for work and—” she trailed off, already tasting the story.
Around them, the other maids embroidered the tale with the hungry inventiveness of people who had too many hours and not enough belonging. Someone suggested a ransom, someone else whispered of kidnappers and highwaymen. The words folded and unfolded into versions that were always larger, always more spectacular than the last.
You moved through the room as if through water. Glass clinked somewhere; the scent of lemon oil and damp wool hung in the air. They jabbered at you, nudging, showing the page like a relic. “You should read it, dove,” Maris urged, thrusting the paper at your face. “Isn’t it strange? Found in Lord Potter’s rooms—what a scandal.”
Your hands remembered things your heart tried to forget: the scissors, the falling gold; your fingers stained with dye that had smelled like ink and desperation. You felt the phantom weight of boots as you’d fled the palace. Every scrap of silk you’d buried in a trunk, every midnight plan to slip away again, all of it tightened into a single, immediate fear — that the letter would travel faster than you could unmake yourself.
You mouthed words to yourself that weren’t spoken. Don’t show them. Don’t let them look. Don’t let anyone trace the mark. A thousand small instructions, each a thread pulling at the cloth of your composed face.
Maris leaned closer, breath hot with rumor. “They say the prince is demanding anyone who’s seen a woman of her description be reported to the Solis Court directly. Imagine what they’d do if they discovered she was hiding here…”
Imagined. The word ignited a dozen scenarios: questions from guards at the gate, the red-inked letters of inquiry, a search of the servants’ quarters. You pictured the patrols, the sharp-faced men pushing open trunks, the way your gosling of a lying heart would sound against your ribs if they found the cut hair hidden under your bed.
Someone reached for the letter, and your hand moved without thought — faster than caution — a soft, instinctual motion to cover what needed hiding. You felt the edges of the wax seal graze your thumb; warmth bloomed there as if from a living thing. It steadied you, oddly, to hold it.
“No one else should see this,” you murmured, because it was true in more ways than the maids understood. They stared at you. “Someone should fold it back and put it where it was found. For safety.”
They blinked at your sudden seriousness, then nodded. “Aye, dove, you’re right,” Hestia agreed, handing the folded page to Maris. The paper left your sight like an ember snuffed in cloth.
.. ▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰
It had been a week since that night — the walk-in that none of them wanted to talk about but couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. You hadn’t said a word since, not a sarcastic remark, not even one of your half-smiles that always came at the worst possible times. You moved through the castle as though you were half-ghost, careful and contained, keeping your gaze low and your tone soft. It was so unlike you that even the walls seemed to notice. Silence had never suited you; it wasn’t part of your nature. And yet, there it was — sharp, deliberate, and heavy enough to make all four of them feel it whenever you entered a room.
At first, James had tried to brush it off — said you were probably embarrassed, or maybe just tired. Sirius had joked about it once, then stopped when no one laughed. Remus, ever the reasonable one, had insisted that it was none of their business. But still, something about you had shifted in a way that none of them could ignore. The way you walked — it wasn’t the quick, uncertain shuffle of a servant trying not to be noticed. It was measured, graceful, almost deliberate. Every gesture, every turn of your wrist or tilt of your head seemed… trained. Like you were used to being watched. Like you were used to commanding a room, not slipping through it unseen. Even when you bowed your head or bit back your words, it didn’t feel like submission — it felt like restraint. And that, more than anything, made them stare longer than they should have.
Then came the letter.
The missive from Solis had arrived sealed in gold wax, the symbol of a sun wreathed in flame gleaming faintly beneath the candlelight. It spoke of tragedy, of disappearance, of a missing princess whose absence had thrown an entire kingdom into unease. It was the sort of political drama they usually couldn’t care less about — faraway courts and their endless scandals. But this one... this one felt closer somehow. Maybe it was the desperation in the prince’s words, maybe it was the eerie timing of it all, or maybe it was because when James read it aloud, your name was the first thing that flickered across their minds.
They didn’t say it out loud, of course. Not then. But each of them had seen the way your face drained of color when you overheard the name “Solis” in the corridors. The way your hands had trembled when you’d been caught holding the discarded letter later that evening. The way your posture straightened — shoulders back, chin lifted — as though instinct alone wouldn’t let you look small, even when you tried. You spoke differently too. Not in words, but in manner — the careful enunciation, the quiet authority that laced even the simplest sentences. It wasn’t arrogance; it was breeding. It was the kind of composure that came from years of etiquette lessons and royal dining halls, not from servant quarters.
They began to notice the little things after that. How the other maids unconsciously made room when you walked by. How Sirius once joked that you gave orders better than James did — and no one disagreed. How your presence had a strange gravity to it, something no one could quite explain but none could deny. You carried yourself like someone who had once been obeyed. Like someone who had forgotten how not to be seen as more.
Still, it was ridiculous to even think it. You, a princess? A runaway royal hiding in plain sight? It sounded like something out of a bard’s tale. And yet… the thought lingered. Soft and dangerous, curling at the edges of their curiosity. Because if it wasn’t true, then why did it feel like it was? Why did your silence seem less like fear and more like a secret?
.. ▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰
The silverware gleamed beneath the candlelight, each piece aligned so precisely it looked almost ceremonial. You’d been standing there for over an hour, your hands moving automatically—fork, knife, goblet, repeat—trying to ignore the way your heart wouldn’t quite settle. The ballroom had been transformed for the night: crystal chandeliers hung like frozen constellations, the banners of every visiting kingdom draped from the rafters, and the crest of Gryffindor embroidered in gold along the walls. But it was the one crest that hadn’t been hung yet—the blazing sun of Solis—that made your stomach twist. You had rehearsed this in your mind for days. The plan was simple: help prepare for the banquet, make yourself scarce before the Solis delegation arrived, and disappear to the servant’s wing until the ball was over. You knew the timing by heart. The royal carriage would reach the gates an hour before sunset. The prince and his knights would be received in the courtyard. They’d dine, they’d smile, they’d pretend to be gracious. You would be long gone by then. At least, that’s how it was supposed to go. You adjusted a goblet, forcing your fingers to stop trembling. You couldn’t afford mistakes. Not when your brother would be here—Alaric, the name alone scraping against your thoughts like glass. You could still hear his voice from that letter, smooth and commanding, the same voice that used to whisper orders when you were children and threats when you were older. If he saw you now—here, dressed as a maid, alive when the world thought you gone—it would all come crashing down. Everything you’d built, every small taste of freedom, gone in an instant. You exhaled, pressing a hand against your apron to still the wild beating in your chest. The prince and his so called knights were supposed to be visiting the market square right now, showing face, charming nobles, doing whatever royal men did to distract the world from the cracks in their thrones. There was no reason for them to come here yet. You were safe. You had time. The last knife clinked softly into place. You straightened, brushed the dust from your skirt, and allowed yourself one small breath of relief— —and then froze. A sound drifted through the vast, quiet hall. Low, careless, unhurried. A hum. A faint whistle threading through the still air, casual in a way that made your blood run cold. No one else should’ve been here. Not this early. Not anyone who would hum. Your hands stilled on the tablecloth as you forced yourself to look up. The reflection in the polished silver caught it first—3 dark silhouette standing behind you, half-lit by the flickering chandelier light.
The voice came next, teasing and familiar in a way that made your heart lurch painfully.
“Didn’t think the Princess of Solis would be setting the table herself.”
.. ▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰
You turned — slowly, terrified to confirm what you already knew. And there he was.
Prince James of Gryffindor.
The golden heir himself stood in the doorway, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, flanked by his knights — Sirius Black, leaning against the marble like the world belonged to him, and Remus Lupin, quiet but sharp-eyed, taking in every inch of the scene.
Your hands trembled before you hid them behind your back. A nervous, unsure chuckle escaped — soft, too small for the grand hall you were standing in. Your head tilted slightly, a futile attempt at composure, the tiniest shake of disbelief slipping through.
“I…” you started, voice catching, “—didn’t realize Gryffindor royalty made a habit of sneaking up on people.”
James’s gaze didn’t waver. “Only when the people shouldn’t be here,” he said lightly, though the edge beneath the words was impossible to miss.
Remus’s voice broke through the tension first, low but sharp. “James.”
But the prince didn’t look away. He stood perfectly still, gaze locked on yours, something unreadable flickering behind the calm. His jaw tightened, ever so slightly, before he spoke again — quieter this time, but the softness in his tone only made the words cut deeper.
“Tell me, princess,” he said, the title barely a whisper, “how long did you plan to keep hiding?”
The world seemed to still around you.
Your breath caught, though you tried to mask it, fingers curling around the edge of the table for balance. The air had gone heavy, like even the walls were waiting for your answer. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears — too loud, too frantic — and you hated that he could probably see the tremor running through your hands.
“I—” You stopped, swallowing hard. The lie was right there, trembling at the back of your throat. All you had to do was say it. One word, one denial, and maybe he’d let it go. Maybe.
But you hesitated.
Just a second too long.
Sirius, who had been lounging lazily against the far wall, straightened. The teasing gleam in his eyes faded, replaced by something almost startled. He took a step closer, his usual grin nowhere to be found. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “It is her.”
Remus went still beside him. His eyes flicked from you to James, searching both faces for confirmation neither of you wanted to give. You could see the calculation in his expression — the quiet understanding of what this revelation could mean if word ever got out.
“I don’t know what you think you’ve found,” you said finally, voice breaking the suffocating silence. You forced yourself to stand straighter, lifting your chin even though your pulse was racing. “But you’re mistaken.”
James’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice was quiet, steady. “You really want me to believe that?”
You tried to look away, but his stare anchored you in place — the kind that saw far too much, the kind that made lying feel impossible.
“I have no reason to trust Gryffindor’s judgment,” you said carefully, a sharp edge bleeding into your tone, hoping it would distract from the faint quiver in your voice. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out — sharper, pettier, far too human.
“Especially when its prince and knights seem to think sneaking around after dark makes them untouchable.”
The silence that followed was brutal.
Sirius froze, his usual grin faltering for the first time. Remus’s brow arched ever so slightly, his mouth twitching like he was half a second away from a sigh. And James — James’s expression didn’t move, but his eyes did. A flicker of something dark passed through them. Recognition. Memory.
“So you do remember that night,” he said quietly.
You felt your stomach drop. You hadn’t meant to confirm anything. The words had just slipped — anger and fear spilling into one dangerous truth.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice back to calm. “I remember seeing three men who clearly thought the rules didn’t apply to them.” You tilted your head slightly, feigning nonchalance, though your pulse betrayed you. “Can’t say it left a great impression.”
Sirius let out a low whistle. “And here I thought we were charming.”
Remus’s tone was drier. “You thought wrong.”
But James didn’t join them. He just kept watching you — silent, calculating, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth as if he’d finally pieced together something he hadn’t realized he was missing.
“I see,” he murmured finally. “You remember us. You saw us. And now you’re pretending to be no one.”
Your chest tightened. “I’m not pretending to be anything, your highness. I’m just trying to work.”
“Right,” he said, but the word carried more meaning than it should have. “Working. Hiding. Same thing, isn’t it?”
You glared at him, but it didn’t stop the small, knowing curve of his lips.
For a long moment, none of you spoke. Just the steady, unbearable tension stretching between the four of you — his knights uneasy, you cornered, and James standing there like he’d just uncovered the edge of a secret he wasn’t supposed to touch.
Then, finally, he stepped back. “We’re done here,” he said to his men, though his gaze didn’t leave yours. “For now.”
You exhaled — shaky, quiet, almost relieved. Almost.
But then he spoke again. “Actually…”
You froze.
Sirius looked at him sharply. “James.” Remus sighed under his breath. “Oh no.”
The prince’s eyes were still on you, unreadable — gold and storm all at once. “There’s a ball tonight,” he said slowly, as if testing the sound of his own words. “You’ve heard, haven’t you?”
You blinked, uncertain. “I— yes, of course, my lord. I’m expected to help—”
“That’s not what I meant.”
The interruption was soft but final. He took a step closer — not threatening, but impossibly sure. The light from the tall windows fell across his face, painting his expression in gold and shadow.
“I meant,” James continued, his voice low and deliberate, “that you’ll be there. With me.”
The words hit you like a physical thing.
Sirius choked on a laugh. “You’re joking.” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘of course he’d do this.’ But James didn’t so much as blink.
You stared at him, stunned. “You— you can’t be serious.”
“Completely,” he replied, that infuriating calm never once slipping. “You carry yourself like someone who belongs in that ballroom more than half the nobles attending. So, why not?”
“Because I’m a servant,” you said, forcing the words out even as your voice wavered.
He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Are you?”
That single question stole the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t taunting — it was quiet, curious, like he was already sure of the answer and just waiting for you to admit it.
Remus stepped forward, voice steady but cautious. “James, this isn’t wise. If anyone sees—”
“They won’t,” James cut in smoothly. “She’ll be masked, like everyone else.”
Sirius gave a disbelieving snort. “Brilliant. Invite the mysterious maid-who’s-definitely-not-a-maid to the most public event of the season. What could go wrong?”
But James only smiled, eyes still locked on you. “Everything,” he said softly. “Which is why I’d very much like to see how she handles it.”
You could feel your pulse hammering in your throat. “Why?” you managed, barely above a whisper. “Why would you do that?”
He didn’t look away. “Because,” he said after a pause, “if you’re truly no one — then there’s nothing to lose.”
Hi!! I’ve been reading your poly!marauders x femreader and was wondering if you could possibly write about the reader having a vision while being with only the marauders, and how they would react and help reader without Barty or Reggie being there to help her? Maybe the vision can be another cute moment with the boys and reader not wanting to tell them what she saw and trying to walk away but they stop her and eventually get it out of her? Also,I love how you write the characters and portray their relationships :) Thank you so much!!!
This ended up a bit angstier than you had requested? But I think our girlie-pop needs to work through some of her shit before we’re really leaning into the cutesy stuff so I hope this works for now! It’s not like I’ve already got the next part planned or anything…….. 👀😅
poly!marauders x seer!reader where they witness her first Sight alone
CW: fem!reader, angst? w/ a happy ending, hurt/comfort, reader still stubborn as all hell, boys still relentless as ever - but we’re getting somewhere folks!!
There was no sense in feeling agitated with the Marauders; you noticed a simmering resentment bubbling up within you whenever your mind began to stray towards them, but it could hardly be considered their fault.
Just one of the many consequences of the ability of Sight; gradual feelings forming over ideas and thoughts and imagines that aren’t real, haven’t happened, and may never happen. There was an undeniable soft appreciation - dammit, maybe even love - for the three boys growing in your heart, but it hurt.
It hurt because it was an outcome of experiences that they haven’t had, that they haven’t shared with you; it was simply feelings for versions of these boys that don’t even exist yet.
But it was becoming difficult to separate your Sights of them from them; it was becoming harder and harder to remind yourself that the love you were feeling wasn’t real, at least not yet.
Yet.
That was the worst part - yet - seeing as none of these supposedly sweet moments taking place between you and the boys have ever really taken place, save that one of your impromptu Hogsmead date.
And whatever agitation you felt only tripled when you heard their voices in the library and your face broke out in an involuntary smile.
Stupid lovesick girl.
“There’s our princess!” Sirius cheered loudly as he spotted you, earning him more than a few severe glares from surrounding tables as he sloppily (and loudly) plopped himself onto the bench at the table across from you.
“Do try not to get us kicked out when we’ve only just found her, yeah?” Remus muttered quietly, though he seemed no less pleased with his boyfriend despite his scolding.
Sirius made a dismissive scoffing sound as Remus took a seat beside him and James across from him (and, decidedly less importantly, beside you). “I’d like to see them try; my family paid for this sodding library.”
“Charming, Black.” You muttered as you kept your face pointed towards the notes in front of you.
From your periphery you could see Sirius flash you a salacious grin; all sharp canines and cocky attitude. “Thanks dolly; I think so too.”
“You’re exhausting.” You let out with a sigh.
“I have been told I’m ex-”
“-Exhilarating, we know.” James finished for Sirius, seemingly already knowing exactly what the boy was going to quip.
“See? Everyone agrees.”
“Feel free to ignore him.” Remus interjected then, looking at you softly.
So softly. In ways you’ve Seen him do many times but have never yet experienced.
It made you ache with want; wanting so badly for it to be real and then hating yourself for wanting it at all.
“You okay, dove?” He asked then; apparently seeing the conflict on your face.
And wasn’t that just the icing on the pastie.
“No, actually, I’m not.” You huffed as you began to pack up your things.
Sirius said your name then; all teasing and flippantness gone from his tone as he sat up straight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“No.” You grumble; standing now but closing your eyes and pointing your face to the ceiling in frustration.
‘It’s not you, it’s me’ sits on the very tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out but you just can’t bring yourself to release the words.
You hate this feeling; the lack of control in the direction that your life was seemingly going, moving through the motions unwillingly as fate pulled on the strings of your soul like some poorly mistreated puppet.
“Don’t go.” James all but whispered then; his hand seemingly aching to reach for yours but clearly resisting the urge.
That only made you feel worse.
You let out a breath and started to lower yourself back to your seat on the bench when you recognized the familiar feeling of your consciousness being pulled elsewhere; the dreaded sensation of being submerged under cold water followed by the neurons firing in your brain as they were gently plucked from their existing pathways and ushered towards a new reality.
No, you begged hopelessly, not here, not now.
Your vision blurred through the tears that threatened to spill from them; placing your elbows on the table in front of you so roughly that it left your fingertips buzzing, you covered your face behind your hands and fought to steady your breathing.
“You’re okay, dove.” Remus whispered from across the table; his leg under the table creeping over to apply pressure to the inside of your calf. You were thankful for the grounding it provided.
“Can you look at me, sweetness?” Sirius asked quietly as James tried pulling gently at your arm.
You shook your head quickly and tried to say no, but all that came out of your mouth was a choked sob.
“Okay, that’s okay.” Sirius relented evenly as James moved his hand from your forearm to rest gently between your shoulder blades where it began making soothing swipes against your jumper. “You’re alright, yeah?”
All he got was another sob in response.
You felt James shift in his seat; legs straddled over the wooden bench so he was now facing you.
“C’mere angel.” He cooed at you, gently yet firmly encouraging you into his chest by a hand on your shoulder.
You melted into him.
“You’re alright; you’re just fine.” He said again.
You flinched slightly when you felt a gentle hand grip your ankle.
“Sorry, dovey.” Remus murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over your Achilles tendon apologetically before pressing it to a soft spot on the outside of your ankle.
“Come back to us, pretty girl.”
Your knees buckled beneath you as you nearly fell into your seat; two strong arms quickly caught you by your elbows before James carefully lowered you to the bench.
“Easy, doll.” Sirius coached calmly albeit worriedly from across the table as you heaved in a much needed breath. “Easy.”
You felt your sinuses swell as you took a few more breaths, realising belatedly that you had three boys that you were rather quite taken with staring at you in one of your most vulnerable states.
They already had so much of you - much more than they may ever know - you didn’t want to give them this, too.
Your vision blurred through the tears that threatened to spill from them; placing your elbows on the table in front of you so roughly that it left your fingertips buzzing, you covered your face behind your hands and fought to steady your breathing.
“You’re okay, dove.” Remus whispered from across from you; his leg under the table creeping over to apply pressure to the inside of your calf. You were thankful for the grounding effect it provided.
“Can you look at me, sweetness?” Sirius asked quietly as James tried pulling gently at your arm.
You shook your head quickly and tried to say no, but all that came out of your mouth was a choked sob.
“Okay, that’s okay.” Sirius relented evenly as James moved his hand from your forearm to rest gently between your shoulder blades where it began making soothing swipes against your jumper. “You’re alright, yeah?”
All he got was another sob in response.
You felt James shift in his seat; legs straddled over the wooden bench so he was now facing you.
“C’mere angel.” He cooed at you, gently yet firmly encouraging you into his chest by a hand on your shoulder.
You melted into him.
“You’re alright; you’re just fine.” He said again.
You flinched slightly when you felt a gentle hand grip your ankle.
“Sorry, dovey.” Remus murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over your Achilles tendon apologetically before pressing it to a soft spot on the outside of your ankle.
“Come back to us, pretty girl.” Sirius whispered.
“I’m sorry.” You admitted; voice pinched emotionally as you continued hiding behind your hands.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, lovely girl.” Remus assured you as James pressed a kiss to your hair. “Nothing at all.”
“I hate-” You paused around a pathetic hiccup as you finally deigned to pull your hands away from your now likely puffy and tear stained face. “I- I just-”
“You don’t have to explain.” Sirius offered at your next hiccup. “Just keep breathing.”
You realised only as Remus resumed moving his thumb back-and-forth against your ankle bone that he had paused to track your pulse much like he’d seen Regulus do that first day in the Great Hall.
A bitter taste filled your mouth when you thought of that Sight too; how much of your supposed ‘relationship’ with these boys would be of you breaking down in front of them?
“I hate seeing things that aren’t real; that haven’t happened, with versions of people who don’t even exist yet.”
James let out a sympathetic breath at your words as Remus’ brows furrowed forlornly.
“Do those versions not exist yet or have you just not given them a chance to?” Sirius asked you slowly.
You made a pained sound as you straightened from resting against James’ chest; you pretended not to notice the look of loss that crossed his face and ignored the same feeling aching within your chest.
“People can surprise you, y’know?” James offered then; hope colouring the vowels of his words as he spoke.
“I’m sure that, whoever they are,” Sirius started pointedly. “Would love the chance to be whoever you needed them to be.”
“That’s the problem.” You groaned, though you were sure they could tell that the fight was quickly oozing from your body with every swipe of Remus’ thumb or stroke of James’ hand against your shoulder blades. “I don’t need you to be anything.”
“So it was about us.” Sirius asserted; all caution vanished from his face and was quickly replaced with mirth.
You snorted incredulously at him and wiped roughly at your eyes as a reluctant smile spread across your face. “You are such a prat.”
“We could be your prats.” He quipped.
“Is that what you need, angel? Do you need some prats? Sirius and I are well versed; might need to coach Rem a bit but he’s a quick learner.”
“For Godric’s sake.” Remus sighed with a tired smile. “We’d been doing so well boys.”
“I hardly see how, seeing as you all made me cry.” You jeered as you pointed your nose in the air, causing all three boys to exclaim various objections.
“We’d only said hello.” James cried as Remus watched you stand and hike your bag over your shoulder thoughtfully.
“What was it that you Saw, then?” He asked; still smiling though his brows dipped challengingly.
You stared down at him for a few moments, though there was no need to search his eyes for clues; you suspected that he knew.
“This.” You admitted quietly.
A smile spread across Remus’ face; it was slow and pointed but you didn’t know quite what it meant. Yet.
“I’m glad I got to see it too.” He murmured with a smirk.
You tried to hide your blush as you left the library, fighting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl the entire way back to your dorm.
MAE!!! i cannot get enough of the prince!james poly!marauders series!!! the part you posted today was crazyyyyyy. you probably have a plan for the next part in your head, but i’d love to see you explore reader’s anger in future parts. she’s clearly VERY humble, considerate, and tolerant which is why everyone adores and her. but i feel like we are starting to see the surface of her realizing how shitty her situation is. of course it’s miles better than being married off to some old man for the sake of her people, but it sucks not being loved and we can see the loss she feels when she sees other people in love. i’d love to see her go through rage as one of her stages of grief. she’s upset about her situation, maybe she’s upset at james for kissing her so hard because now he’s made a mess of things and she has to face the reality that she likes him but can never have him even if he is her husband?? maybe she’s even more mad that now because of they way it played out sirius is upset, and i’m sure remus’s neutral stance is going to throw her over the edge. we know that sirius’s default response when he’s angry is to hash shit out right away, james doesn’t really get mad but i’d imagine he cries, and remus tries to handle things as rationally as he can. i’d love to see how reader reacts when she’s angry, does she give the silent treatment like she did when she first found out about the boys being together? i loooove this character you’ve created and i’d love to see her slip to anger for a bit sort of like how we saw her lose it a little before the first ball when she couldn’t stop crying. i can’t wait for the next part, you’re an incredible writer ❤️❤️
I agree, it's time for her to be on her own side! Thanks for requesting angel <3
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 vile agendas
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 1.5k words
James’ hand tightens in Sirius’ shirt as the sound of footsteps echoes from down the hall. You’re not as sneaky leaving as you were arriving.
Sirius stands perfectly still as James turns, catching the last glimpse of you as you go around the corner. Sirius can hear the breath he takes in.
When James turns back around, he knows.
“Sirius,” he breathes, dismayed. Crestfallen.
And though he thought he knew what he was doing five seconds ago, Sirius’ heart sinks.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. Sirius has had many regrets in his life, actions taken impulsively that have twanged back at him like a rubber band that misfired when he meant to shoot it, but he’s never experienced regret so instant. “I’ll fix it.”
James’ brows bunch. His lips are wet with spit. “Don’t—”
“I’ll fix it,” Sirius promises, hearing the rawness in his own voice. It’s stayed near the surface since the ball, like a wound that won’t scab. He can’t help a reassuring squeeze to James’ nape before he slips away.
You’re quick when you want to be, but you leave a trail. The garden doors have been left open. The day is almost mockingly pleasant. Bright, unfiltered sunlight to warm the cool air. In a few weeks, the garden will color and bloom, marking almost six months since you arrived in Gryffindor.
Sirius follows the path of crushed grass in your wake. You must not have chosen this route with much forethought; he knows you’ve spent plenty of time exploring the gardens, you should be familiar with them, but you’re driving yourself towards a dead end. Sirius finds you just after you reach it.
You spin as you realize where you’ve landed yourself, eyes widening when you see him. You’re in only a thin top and trousers.
“Aren’t you cold?” Sirius asks.
You cross your arms, as tight as though you wish you could hug yourself out of existence. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
“I need to—” Sirius cuts himself off. He swallows, forcing his lips to form around words that have never come naturally. “I’m really sorry about that.”
You shake your head quickly. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry, I was the one intruding.”
“No, I—I wanted you to see.”
It’s rare to see you without some kind of mask. Sirius has caught glimpses—your laugh when he or James says something ridiculous, the hint of insecurity that day he found you with Lady Cargill, those conspiratorial looks you sometimes trade with Remus—but now, when he says that, every trace of pretense falls away from you. Your expression is pure, bald hurt.
Sirius fights past the stab in his gut to explain. “I didn’t plan it. But I saw you come around the corner, and I wanted—I felt like I had to prove James was still ours. It was stupid.”
It was stupid. Sirius felt his own stupidity hit him like a weight the second it was over. He hasn’t been able to think about anything else but Remus saying that you and James love each other—hasn’t been able to sleep, keeps hearing it like an echo that doesn’t diminish—since the night before. Remus practically included himself in that, too. He said he had feelings for you, and whatever else he said about waiting and seeing, Sirius knows how this is likely to go for him. He’s watching the people he cares most about, his whole world, pull away from him like he’s watching the tide go out. Slow, but unstoppable. Inevitable.
And then you snuck around the corner while he and James were having another quiet, painfully careful conversation, and Sirius had been gripped by a possessiveness so intense he can still feel the ache it left in his chest even now. He needed for you to know James is his, Remus is his, and maybe if you knew that what they felt for you wouldn’t matter so much.
But it was stupid. Sirius of all people knows how it feels to see the person you love kissing someone else. You deserve better.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
You shake your head, your face tight. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I know.”
“You know,” you echo him. “You already know, so why bother?”
Sirius forces himself to hold your stare. “I really am sorry.”
You take a breath, turning around like you mean to walk away. For a moment, Sirius wonders if you’ve forgotten the dead end, but you come right back. “Do you think I wanted this?”
He blinks.
“I’m really asking. Do you think that I wanted to be in this situation? Do you think this is fun for me?”
“No,” he says, because of course not. No one would enjoy this.
“I’ve never doubted that you’re each other’s.” The hurt in your face is melding into something new. It makes Sirius’ heart beat faster. “That has always been clear. I never wanted to get in the middle of anything. I didn’t come here knowing what I was getting into, I didn’t ask to be part of a fake marriage or to get involved in your relationship—why would I choose that?”
Your eyes are shining now with tears that you won’t let fall, but you don’t tear your gaze from Sirius’.
“I’ve tried so hard to keep my feelings to myself. I don’t want to have them, I promise. But do you honestly think it’s easy for me, seeing what you all have and knowing that to help you keep it I’m giving it up for myself? Honestly? I’m trying to be your friend, and…and to ignore everything else, but…”
The fight seems to seep out of you as quickly as it came on. Like it’s exhausted you. You look at Sirius helplessly.
He feels just as useless. He can’t claim he didn’t know how difficult it must be for you. Sirius’ feelings for you have swung like a slow pendulum. First, it was blind animosity, because you were here to marry James and you looked at him like he was your future and though Sirius knew, even at the time, that you didn’t know any better, he was wary of you for it. Then, he got to know you, and then you found out about them, and the pendulum swung the other way. He allowed himself to acknowledge that you were caring, and fun, and surprisingly generous to people you’d only just met. He learned that you had Remus’ intellect and shared in their sense of humor. Then Peleria went to war, and Sirius learned that you were strong, even though you felt very deeply. He learned how to tease you, and he began to feel like your friend, and he even pitied you when you admitted to wanting something Sirius knew would be near impossible for you to have if you married James.
And then James kissed you, and it’s like all of that got wiped away for a night. The pendulum swung back.
“I didn’t realize you had feelings for James until last night,” he says. “I’m sorry I’ve made things worse for you. You didn’t deserve that. You’re doing so much for us, and I…are you okay?”
Your skin has tinged a grayish color, your expression something that resembles neither hurt nor anger.
You blink as though clearing a film. “I’m fine.”
Sirius eyes you. “I really am sorry. I like being your friend. Are you—are you sure you’re okay?”
“Mhm,” you say, swaying on your feet.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine, I’m just…” You blink again, slowly. “...a little nauseous.”
When Sirius steps closer, you don’t stop him. “I’ve been in love with Remus for half my life,” he tells you. “You think I don’t know what it looks like when someone’s masking pain?”
You swallow thickly. Sirius is prepared for you to vomit, so it takes him an extra half second to react when you drop like a stone instead.
He doesn’t catch you so much as crumple with you, managing to get himself between you and the ground. Your head lands in his lap and his heart lands in his stomach.
“Whoa, hey.” Sirius taps your face. “Princess?”
He sticks two fingers under your jaw. Your heart is beating, a bit slow but there.
“Hey, come on,” he tries again, his voice softening as if he can coax you to wakefulness. It doesn’t work. Sirius lifts you, settling your head against his chest and moving quickly towards the castle.
James must have tried to follow you as well, because Sirius finds him pacing near the garden doors. James’ eyes go big.
“What did you do?”
“I don’t know,” Sirius confesses, maneuvering you carefully through the door James holds open. “Is Pomfrey still here for Remus?”
“I—I think so, yeah.”
He starts in that direction. James hurries alongside, talking to you worriedly.
“Hey, lovely, are you with us? Are you okay? Can you open your eyes?”
Like you live to please him, your eyelashes flutter slightly. Sirius waits for the stab of pique, but all he feels is relief. You seem so fragile like this. The same girl he poked and prodded at to correct her swordfighting stance, gone boneless in his arms.
“Keep talking to her,” he tells James.
James looks up at him, his eyes flashing with surprise, but he does.
Our poor sweetheart of a reporter is just being used as Sirius’ punching bag left right and center! If you like this idea I would love to see a continuation of the angst from part 4 of the rockstar series, where reader kinda just accepts that Sirius hates her, and thinks the other boys just see her as a burden they have to deal with cause of the situation. So she just fully detaches, goes completely professional and doesn’t bother with the extra effort to be friends with them cause she’s not about to chase after them like that if they’ve made their feelings clear. I think the boys would realize in the absence that they miss her and maybe James and Remus would knock some sense into Sirius about how he’s been treating her. Also no pressure at all, absolutely love the series!!!
Babe the way I've hoardeddd this request! Thanks for the idea, hope you're okay with it being put to use much later than you originally thought <3
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
part 12 | masterlist
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 1.3k words
You don’t leave your room until after dark, when the bus loads to bring The Marauders crew to their second show of the weekend. There’s no point in it; you won’t have a good opportunity to interview the boys until after the show anyway, and you’re too tired to be around people anytime your tape recorder isn’t running. For the feature that comes out of this to be good requires some intimacy, but you can set the limit.
You do feel like you’ve achieved the exclusivity you were after. You’ve learned a lot. Not just the big stuff—not just Remus’ spells of poor health and James’ encounter with the unofficial queen of music recording—but details fans wouldn’t know just from seeing the band onstage. That Sirius is funnier than he seems. Not just the loud, showy kind, but funny in how he’ll let the others rag on him, how he’ll put on airs and allow himself to appear distinctly uncool to make his friends laugh. That Remus is not only moody and mysterious, but bashful at times. Often, he rolls his eyes to cover his blush. That James is…well, James is exactly as he appears. That’s the surprise of him. He’s really not too good to be true.
These things are already enough. They’ll be of interest to fans, invite them in, make them feel privy to something that lingers beneath the music. You don’t need the other gossip-column stuff. But what you don’t have enough of yet is what you really came along for: quotes about The Marauders’ upcoming album.
You’ve been too pliable. You let yourself get too excited about being behind the curtain. Somehow, while you weren’t looking, the curtain tangled you all up until you nearly forgot which side you were on before. The camaraderie between the boys is so easy, it’ll sweep you up, make you think you’ve known them all along, too. That’s part of the magic of The Marauders, perhaps. It worked like a charm on you.
Not anymore, you tell yourself sternly on your way down to the bus. You’re here to do a job. You’re here for yourself. There’s a wall between you and the band by the very nature of your role here, and your role is to make that wall appear transparent, not evaporate it. You won’t let yourself get so close again.
Closeness has only given you less to write about.
You return Lily’s polite nod as you step onboard the bus. Sirius is giving you some kind of look, but you pretend not to notice it poking at your periphery. You ignore too James’ patting of the extra space on his bench, passing the boys by to sit instead in an empty seat a few rows behind them. Close enough to overhear; not close enough to engage. As you should have been this whole while.
“Have a lie in this morning?” Remus asks you anyway.
“Yeah,” you reply.
James turns fully around to speak to you, folding his arms atop of his seat. “I hope you’ve rested up,” he says. “Tomorrow, we’re going to Cadbury World.”
“Oh.” It takes a second, but you find the right smile. Pleasant and distantly apologetic. “You all have fun, but I think I’m going to stay back. I have to edit this article for Tuesday.”
James looks put out. You pull out your notepad before you can linger on it.
“What’s the article about?” asks Remus. It may only be your own new wariness, but you think you detect a hint of vigilance in his tone.
You glance at Sirius on instinct to see if he’s eyeing you with the same distrust. His dark-rimmed stare is heavy, but it’s not…it’s not what you expect. There’s no accusation there. Sirius seems watchful, but not like he’s anticipating something in particular. Like he’s waiting to see what you do next.
You wonder if he thinks you’re angry with him. You’re not. You don’t blame him for thinking you’d sell James out for a story; Sirius is used to dealing with real journalists. He’s learnt to be calculating, to put himself as a shield between people like you and anything—or anyone—he wants to protect. To anticipate the worst you could do so he knows when to be ready. If you were half the journalist Spellbound thinks you are, you would have done it.
You just aren’t sure if you are that journalist. You aren’t sure if you want to be.
“It’s something I was working on before I got here,” you say to mollify Remus.
“Are you feeling alright?” asks Sirius.
You feel your brows draw in tight, forgetting for a moment to control your expression. “I feel fine, why?”
He shrugs. “You seem rather tired all of a sudden.”
You put your pleasant smile back on. Sirius frowns. “I guess all this staying up from dusk to dawn is finally getting to me.”
“Ah, yeah.” James sets his chin on his forearms, his eyes big with sympathy. “I crashed earlier in the tour, too. I think it’s a sort of hurdle you have to get over. Sorry.”
“We can tuck you in with Remus tonight,” says Sirius lightly. A pink blush blooms over Remus’ cheeks. “He’s got all sorts of methods for getting a good sleep. We’ll have you fully nocturnal in no time, babe.”
You direct your stare toward your notepad, trying to focus enough to make sense of the first sentence of the article you’re meant to be editing. “I’m not sure that will work out very well for when I eventually have to be awake during the day again.”
“Why would you ever do that?” Sirius jokes.
You’re tempted to look up and raise an eyebrow at him; you don’t. “Once I have what I need for the feature, I’m guessing Spellbound will want me working normal business hours.”
There’s a pause.
“Well,” says Sirius, “I don’t know why you’d ever work for them, in that case. They sound unhinged.”
You try not to feel anything about the obviousness of James’ upset when he asks, “Are you nearly done with the feature already?”
It’s almost laughable. As if they’ve given you near enough information to write the feature; you hardly have enough for a few paragraphs. But, it is like James to be optimistic. “Not quite.”
Sirius tsks. “Guess we’re not going to be rid of you very soon, then.”
You keep your expression neutral as you look up at him. “I’ll do my best to work efficiently.”
Dark brows descend over stormcloud eyes. “Sure you’re not feeling ill?”
“I’m fine.”
“You should come to Cadbury World with us,” says James, looking worried now, too. “You seem like you could maybe use a break.”
The useless mush of your heart softens instinctively at the earnestness in his voice. “Thanks,” you say, “but I think I ought to stay on task. We all want me to finish up and get out of your hair, right?”
Remus makes a soft sound. “No one’s said that.”
“Maybe we can do an interview after the show?” you go on. “If you’re ready, I can ask some more questions about the album. I know it’s not completely done yet, but the point of me being here is to get accounts of the process.”
“I thought we agreed you’d be taking us to dinner first,” Sirius hums, in that teasing way of his.
You don’t rise to the bait. “If you’d like to have the interview at a restaurant, that can be arranged.” You have no clue how you’ll finance it, but that can be a problem for later (and possibly for Spellbound).
It’s not just Sirius who frowns at you now; all three of the boys look at you like you’ve boarded the bus with serpents for hair.
“O…kay,” says Sirius. “We’ll see.”
“Sure,” you reply. The familiar, hard edge of determination slots into place in your middle; a welcome feeling. “We can see.”
I saw that you’re taking requests for the boulevard is not that bad, and I thought what if the tables were turned and reader got injured? I wonder how they’d react! Maybe reader gets lost in the crowd and thinks they’re gonna leave her, but they actually notice her disappearance and look for her. They’d get worried when they find her injured and realise they actually care about her.
Thank you so much! I’m in loveeee with this story🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼
Thank you for reading and requesting gorgeous! I hope you're doing well too
cw: crowd crush, rioting, police
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
part 13 | masterlist
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 2k words
You're not interviewing the boys until after the show, and you reason there's no point in hanging around their dressing room if you're not getting quotes. So, you go to the crowd.
It's a half-baked plan. You can't ask fans to speculate about an album they don't know about yet, so you figure you'll ask some questions about what The Marauders mean to them or how it feels to be here or whatever. It'll come to you. Or it won't, which would also be fine, because you probably won't get anything you can use in the feature anyway. You just need a distraction.
It does feel good to be down in the action, though. You've loved being backstage at so many shows—watching the band prepare, seeing all that goes into it, it hasn't lost its sparkle for you yet—but this is where your heart is.
It's where you started. With your shoes sticking to grimy floor, neck craning to witness the live performance of a song you've heard a thousand times on the record player in your own home. Hearing and seeing the same emotions you've felt intimately grip musicians while they play. Experiencing it, along with everyone else there, all of you losing yourselves to the sort of raw feeling only music has ever given you.
You're back in it now.
The Marauders go on, and you tell yourself you've spent enough time dissecting them. You let go. There are certain things you still can't help but notice—the fondness behind Remus' exasperation when Sirius bumps their hips together playfully, how James grins sheepishly at someone backstage when he's handed yet another drumstick—but for the most part, you just experience the music.
It goes by faster than usual. The songs are mostly the same ones you've heard at every show thus far, though the sparkle of those hasn't worn off for you either. All too soon, the boys are ending on Sweet and Easy, the crowd screaming for more even after they've repeated the riff at the end twice.
You're left buzzing, that raw feeling coursing through you, feeling the best you have in days. You figure you have some time before Lily rounds everyone up to go back to wherever you're staying tonight—you think it's still Birmingham one more day, if James' Cadbury World plans are any indication, but Lily said something about switching hotels—so you go outside to smoke with a gangle of fans.
In addition to a bummed cigarette, you get some half decent material from them. The feature isn't likely to include fan quotes, but if the band flakes on you and you need to fluff it up, these will be useable. You manage to sneak in a few questions about the direction The Marauders might go in without letting anything slip about new music, and the fans don't suspect you of knowing anything worth letting slip anyway. They just want to talk about a band they adore, and you're more than pleased to let them.
Even later, you won't know exactly how it began. The street in front of the venue has been crowded since you stepped outside, but suddenly it's crammed with bodies. You drop your cigarette on instinct when somebody pushes past you. Not two seconds later, someone going the other direction stamps it out. Voices rise, a familiar, foreboding thrum charing the air: anger.
You squash down your panic, looking for an exit route. These things happen. Riots are common at rock concerts. Back when you were going to these gigs in a more regular fashion, you would have remembered to find your way out quickly afterwards, before any could break out. You don't know who's fighting who at this one, or what side you might be presumed to be on. You should go before you find out.
The crowd is near impossible to move through. You find the venue doors locked, and your chest tightens. Any other time you'd just go, but you need to get inside to meet up with Mary, Lily, and the boys. You try to make your way around the building—weathering a few stepped-on toes, a wayward elbow, and a powerful shove.
The last one nearly sends you to the pavement. Another stranger grips you around the elbow to haul you back up, you gasping out a thanks while your ankle twinges and the man who shoved you doesn't so much as look back.
You find the side entrance you'd come in with the band, knocking on the door and trying to muster whatever professionalism you'd lost in the cigarette-smoggy mayhem a few feet behind you.
A security guard pokes his head out.
"Hi," you say. "Are The Marauders still inside?"
He huffs a laugh, already going to close the door again. "Nope."
You shove your foot in the way. Force down a wince—you must have tweaked your ankle when you almost fell. "I'm from Spellbound Magazine." You show him your press pass. "I'm with the band."
The security guard looks right past the piece of plastic, unimpressed. "The band's gone. You can catch them at another show, but not here."
A bolt of panic goes through you. You do your best to smother it. Security does this sort of thing all the time. He thinks you're someone who's not supposed to be here, so he's lying to get you to go away. You just have to prove yourself.
The guard looks down at your shoe, still wedged in the door, then at you, and you know you have a short window.
"If you find Mary—or anyone who works with the band, they'll tell you I'm with them. I came in this door a few hours ago, I just stepped outside."
"You can find see band somewhere else," the security guard says. He gives the toe of your shoe a kick—not even a hard one, but your ankle smarts and it does the trick. "Night."
The metal door shuts with a clang.
Deja-vu.
You don't have much time to think of another plan before commotion from the street catches your attention. The shouts are getting louder and angrier, and you know what that means even before the first shrill whistle pierces the air. The police have arrived.
You step closer to the alley wall, hoping to escape notice and hunker down here until someone you know eventually comes out, but it's not long before people are flooding the alley. There are so many of them you don't think they can all have been at the show. One of the fans you interviewed earlier grabs for you.
"Come on!"
"Oh, no, I—" You mean to let them pass, but the police are advancing behind, arresting those at the back of the crowd. You don't know if the same press pass the venue security disregarded a minute ago is going to make much difference to them. "Shit."
You let yourself be tugged down the alley, then propelled by the general mass of people when the one who tugged you loses their grip. You know for sure you messed up your ankle now. It throbs with every step, and it doesn't help matters that you often don't know where the next step will land, finding yourself moving left or right by the will of the crowd. Every time you try to break away, it seems like the police are right there, and so you keep moving.
Eventually, you aren't being chased anymore. Those around you disperse, going home or to whatever bars are still open. You go in the opposite direction of all of them.
It takes you longer than it should to retrace your steps back to the venue. When you knock on the metal side door, there's no answer. Not that you really thought there would be. There isn't a single light on inside or out.
It occurs to you far too late that you should have just found the bus. If you'd gone there earlier, rather than wasting your time arguing pointlessly with security…it's what a smarter journalist would have done. But the bus will be gone now. The Marauders have long since left you behind.
You're too hopeless to laugh, though you recognize the humor in it. After all your worrying about them sneaking off on you, you'd been the one to disappear. You practically gave them no choice.
You sit down on the foul-smelling concrete and try to steady yourself enough to think of what to do next. You can find them again. You might have some explaining to do, and possibly they'll be upset with you for leaving without saying anything, but if you show up at whatever venue The Marauders are playing tomorrow and catch the attention of someone you know you're sure they'll let you explain yourself. That doesn't give you anywhere to stay tonight, obviously. You'll be okay, though; sitting in this alley until morning doesn't sound particularly enjoyable to you, but you can do it. You're as safe here as anywhere, and it'll only be a few hours until the sun rises. You just have to stay awake.
The echo of a passing voice makes its way down to you, and you burrow closer to the wall to escape its notice.
"Hey? Hey!"
Your track record for successfully melting into the shadows of this alley is not a stellar one.
"Y/n!"
You look up in surprise. In the mouth of the alley, a familiar shape is jogging toward you, followed by others.
"Have you been here this whole time?" James sounds more out of breath than a short jog would do. "Where were you hiding?"
You stare up at him, sure you've fallen asleep and are dreaming. "I…"
James drops to a crouch beside you, concern written all over him even in the dark. Sirius and Mary are behind him a moment later, then Lily and Remus. They surround you, seeming perplexed when you don't stand.
"Are you alright?" asks Remus.
You burst into tears.
It's terribly embarassing, and very unprofessional, but you find that once you start crying you can't stop. You don't mean to shock them. James gets past his alarm the fastest, putting an arm around you, and Lily murmurs something that sounds like a placation.
"I'm sorry," you blubber. "I was—I tried to come back, but they wouldn't let me in, and then the cops were here—"
"We heard," says Sirius, his voice nearly as gentle as you've ever heard it. It reminds you of how he spoke to Remus after Remus got shocked by the mic stand, "about the riot. Figured you might've gotten caught up in it. Are you hurt?"
You manage to tell them about your ankle. Remus prods at it a minute—apparently, he's had enough minor injuries to be a de facto expert—and determines it likely sprained. Mary runs to get you a jacket from the bus, apparently still parked nearby after they stayed to look for you. Lily promises to make sure you always have the relevant addresses in case you get separated again, or maybe Mary can get you a press pass that looks more official somehow—but, she says, it'd probably be best if you stay nearby when you can help it in the future.
Through all of this, you're crying. You're waved off each time you try to apologize for the dramatics. James has resigned himself to sitting on the foul-smelling cement beside you so he can rub your shoulder, and Remus keeps a hand clasped loosely around your ankle while Sirius watches you with dark, serious eyes.
"You got it?" he asks when Mary comes back with your coat and you stand wobbily.
"Yeah." Your voice is a wreck. You put your coat on, and James lifts your arm, encouraging you to put it around his shoulders and let him take some weight off your ankle. You wipe your face. "Sorry for—"
"That's enough," says Remus, managing to sound more kind than stern.
You murmur anyway, "Thanks for waiting for me."
James scoffs. "You think we'd go on to the hotel without our own live-in paparazzi?" He plants a kiss on your head as you start toward the bus. "No way."
Ok I know we’re in a very angsty sad time of princess au (and this can be angsty sad time too) but I think it’d be really cute for princess reader to have some traditions from home. Like James of course knows of some niche thing they do but he does it a little off and she’s shy but eventually corrects it and it’s cute and sappy or maybe sad bc like traditions but she can’t go home. That vibe if you get it! Not a super request but just like an idea for the au!!
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
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 2k words
Bright light filters through your lashes. They’re heavy, the thick blanket of sleep not relinquishing you just yet. It’s not usual for you to sleep in late enough that the sun gets so high. Worry creeps in at the edges of your consciousness.
“There she is.” A hand pets your hair, and the worry dispels without a fuss. You know you’re safe. “Madam Pomphrey? She’s waking up.”
“How can you tell?” another voice asks.
“Her eyes are twitching.”
“Is that good? What if she’s dream—oh.” You finally manage to lift your heavy lids, your bleary vision focussing on Sirius. He drops to a crouch by your bed as his voice drops to a murmur. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you say back to him. Or try to say. Your voice comes out hoarse, barely there.
The hand on your head strokes your hair consolingly. You trace it back to Remus, who tells you, “Your throat might hurt. It’s normal, don’t worry.”
You try to clear your throat. It feels ravaged, torn and raw. “What happened?”
“Madam Pomfrey can tell you more about it,” he assures you.
“Who?”
Remus points behind you with his chin. You turn to find a plump older woman approaching your bedside. She’s wearing scrubs and has a pleasant, sympathetic face.
“Hello, Your Highness,” she says, sitting down beside you on the bed. “I’m sorry we’ve had to meet under these circumstances. Though, in my line of work, I hardly ever meet people another way.”
She flashes a kind smile. You return it on instinct. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say.
The woman—Madam Pomfrey—pats your hand. “Your throat is sore because we had to put a long tube with a camera down your throat, to see what was causing your stomach pain. Are you in pain now?”
You hesitate. “Not really.”
“Not as much as earlier?”
“No.”
“It would have been nice to know you were in any pain, earlier,” Sirius pipes up.
You glance at him, expecting an unimpressed glare, maybe one of his signature arched brows, but Sirius only looks concerned. Remus sends him a scolding look.
“You fainted,” Madam Pomfrey tells you gently, “and Sirius brought you to me. Do you remember waking up?”
You blink at her. “No…”
“That’s alright,” she assures you. “We had to sedate you to look in your stomach, which can sometimes cause short term memory loss. It’s perfectly normal not to remember.”
“Okay.” Your voice smalls. You repress the urge to draw your legs in on yourself like a child. How could so much happen while you were unaware? How could you wake up, and not know it?
“It really wasn’t as invasive as it sounds,” Remus promises, his tone soothing. “It’s just a small tube. You were only sedated so that you would be comfortable.”
You nod, still wary. Sirius is watching you closely, with a troubled expression. “What?” you ask him.
He hesitates. “You really don’t remember being awake?”
You shake your head. “What did I do?” God, if after everything you’ve done to keep your feelings to yourself, you told Sirius something mortifying you can’t even remember…
He must sense the direction of your thoughts. Sirius’ gaze softens. “Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing awful, you just…you were sick, and it was scary. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”
Sirius being so gentle with you alarms you more than anything so far. You stare at him, wide-eyed, and he only presses his lips into a sorry smile. You’re at a loss.
“I was sick?”
“After stomach pain, vomiting can be another indicator of stomach ulcers,” Madam Pomfrey hurries to tell you. “It looks frightening, but it’s nothing that isn’t fixable. And you shouldn’t need to worry about that happening again.”
“Ulcers?” you echo her.
Madam Pomfrey smiles compassionately. “Let me start from the beginning. You’ve been under a fair bit of stress lately, haven’t you?”
Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You look at Remus, then Sirius. “I…”
Sirius gives a quiet, forced laugh. “I’d think twice before trying to say you’re fine again,” he advises. “We’re not likely to believe you.”
Embarrassment pricks at your skin as you force your gaze back to Madam Pomfrey. “I suppose so. A little.”
The older woman nods. “Sometimes, severe psychological stress can have adverse effects on the body. In your case, an increase in stomach acid contributed to the development of a stress ulcer, which is what’s been making your stomach hurt and what made you faint.” Madam Pomfrey’s eyes flicker to Sirius, something you can’t read passing between them. “You’re lucky that you were with someone when that happened. It could have been dangerous if the ulcer continued to progress without treatment.”
You look at Sirius. “Thanks,” you say, sheepish.
He laughs again, a real one. “Yeah, babe, anytime.”
“Well, hopefully there isn’t another occurrence,” Remus chimes in, his hand coming back to your head fretfully.
“No,” Madam Pomfrey agrees. “I’m leaving you with some medicine. Take it every day before breakfast until it runs out, and you should be good as new.”
“Thank you,” you tell her sincerely, relieved you don’t have to do anything more serious.
“Oh, hey!” Another voice comes from the doorway, and you look over to see James bringing in a tray. “You’re awake!” He quickens his pace, causing Remus to tsk when he nearly spills whatever he’s carrying. “Why didn’t anyone come and get me?”
“She’s only just woken up,” says Remus.
“Angel, I feel so bad that—” James seems to realize he’s spilling, and he hisses through his teeth, rebalancing the tray. “—we’ve stressed you out so badly your organs shut down—”
“Not what happened,” Remus cuts in.
“Please don’t be sorry,” you tell him. “It hasn’t been that bad, I just—”
“I think I’ll leave you all to talk.” Madam Pomfrey stands. She reaches across you, pinching Remus’ cheek, and you watch in joyous astonishment as he flushes and smiles bashfully. “Look after each other. And you,” she says to you, “your medicine is on the nightstand, and stay away from acids for the time being.”
“Yes ma’am.” James salutes her. “After this last meal, of course.”
Madam Pomfrey huffs a laugh and goes. Sirius elbows James in the side. “You’re a disgrace.”
“Don’t make me spill,” James complains.
“You’ve already done a fair bit of that.” Remus’ chiding isn’t as effective when his cheeks are still tinged pink. The fondness curling up the edges of his tone doesn’t help either. “Why don’t you give it to her before you slosh the whole thing into her lap?”
James makes an indignant sound, but he’s very, very careful as he sets the tray down in front of you. “Right,” he says, “well. You don’t have to eat anything if you’re not hungry, but Poppy—er, Madam Pomphrey—said that maybe this one time acid was okay, so…”
You look down at the meal in front of you. A fair amount of it has sloshed over the sides of the bowl, it’s true, but you’re surprised you didn’t recognize it instantly by smell. It’s a traditional Pelerian soup, tomato-enriched broth with garlic and herbs, complete with tiny stelline pasta stars. You look up at James.
“Where did you learn about this?”
“I had it, once,” he says, “when we were visiting Peleria. I asked Marlene if she thought she could recreate it.”
Your eyes smart. “Thank you,” you whisper.
“Hey,” Sirius chides, still so very gentle with you. You bow your head so they can’t see your chin and its humiliating wobble.
“Oh, lovely.” James sits across from you on your bed, his hand finding one of your ankles through the covers. He rubs it bracingly. “Don’t cry. I wouldn’t have brought it if I thought you’d cry.”
You shake your head and breathe until you’re sure your voice will hold together. “No, it’s nice. I love it.”
“Do you grow basil in Peleria?” Remus wonders, eyeing the basil garnishing your soup.
You laugh weakly. It helps, bolstering you enough to pick up your head and wipe your face. “No. But it’s a nice touch,” you add for James.
He frowns. “I knew something was off. That was all Marlene, so you know.”
You laugh again, and a long-held tightness in your chest rattles looser. You’d almost begun to forget it was there. You pick up the spoon, taking a bite.
“It’s really good,” you tell James sincerely. “You all should have some.”
“No, it’s for you,” James insists.
“I can’t just eat in front of you.”
“Marlene made plenty. We’ll have some later, and if it makes you feel better, we can eat it in front of you then to make it even.”
You smile between bites. “That would help.”
“I really am sorry,” says Sirius. His gray eyes gone solemn. “I know I’ve said it already, but I want you to understand how much I mean it.”
There’s a sentiment you can relate to. “It’s okay,” you tell him.
Sirius shakes his head, growing frustrated. For the first time, you wonder if it’s not directed at you. “It’s not. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but it’s—that’s just it. I wasn’t thinking about whether I did hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
“I think we’ve all had some role in that,” Remus murmurs.
A violent desperation to fix rises up in you. “That’s not true. You’ve all been really nice to me, and I’ve only made things confusing for you.”
James’ smile is heartbreakingly hollow. “I think things were always going to be confusing, lovely. That’s not your fault.”
“It’s not your fault, either.”
“Things haven’t been easy for you here,” says Remus, patient and even. Reasonable. “You’ve been so stressed that your body took it out on you in a drastic way, and whatever you might say to make us feel better” —He gives you a knowing look when you open your mouth to protest— “we certainly didn’t help.”
You rub your lips together, unable to deny it. After a moment, you look up at Sirius.
“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” you say.
His lips quirk. “You call that shouting?”
You give him your best attempt at an apologetic smile. It must be a fair enough attempt, because Sirius reaches onto the bed for your hand. He squeezes your fingers, his look tender.
“I earned it,” he tells you.
“And I’m sorry I kissed you,” you say to James.
His eyebrows fly up. “Kissed me? I kissed you.”
“Right, but I kissed you…worse.”
James laughs, the sound tinged with bemusement. “I’m sorry?”
You shrink in on yourself a bit. James leans forward as if to counter it.
“Lovely, honestly,” he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The kiss…I mean, you kissed me back, I thought, but everything else was me.”
Your eyes dart to Remus. You feel like it might be a bad idea to talk about this in front of James’ partners, but it has to be said. “I didn’t think so.”
“Does it matter?” Sirius asks.
Your head snaps to him. So do James’ and Remus’. You think that of all the things he could have said, that was the least expected.
Sirius is frowning, but not at you. Once again, he looks like his upset is directed inward. “Whoever kissed who, you both obviously meant it. We all have some unresolved shit to figure out.”
Remus hums. “Whoever kissed whom.”
“Right, whom.” Sirius’ eyes roll. “You’re a twat.”
Remus’ lips curve, but he doesn’t defend himself against the elbow Sirius sticks in his side. His harmless jab has loosened the other boy up the way he meant for it to. “We all do?” he asks, softly.
“Maybe.”
James’ face lights up. “You mean it?”
“You really need triple confirmation? I said I’m still figuring it out, James.”
“Um, sorry,” you say, hesitant to break into what appears to be a special moment between the three boys, “what are we figuring out?”
James’ eyes are practically sparkling behind his glasses. “Right, after the kiss, we were all talking, and—oh.” His smile drops abruptly.
Sirius frowns. “What now?”
“No, it’s just—I’m worried about your ulcer,” James confesses to you. “Things are about to get even more confusing.”
