#1 she ignored my letter!

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

#2 she can date whoever she wants to, i don't care.

➥ In which, James and you still aren't on talking terms, he avoids you, never gets too close to you, yet complains to everyone when he sees you get close to your new charms partner.

#3 this is awkward..

➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.

#4 what letter? sirius, what letter?

➥ In which, you never planned on talking to james ever again, not after your last encounter with him. Luckily Sirius saves the day.

Sirius Black is on your left—your boyfriend, your beautiful, reckless mistake of a love—and James Potter is on your right, with those golden brown eyes and that effortless grin that always lingers a moment too long.

They’re dressed for the party, both of them in open-collared dress shirts, ties loosened, cloaks discarded somewhere on a dusty sofa in the abandoned Astronomy classroom Sirius had dragged you into after the Gryffindor common room had become too loud.

You’d barely had time to ask what he was doing before he kissed you, hard and fast, only to pull away and glance behind you.

That’s when you saw James, closing the door with one hand, his mouth parted in disbelief—or maybe awe.

Now, you’re caught between them in the dim candlelight. Sirius’s lips claim yours, hungry and territorial, while James trails soft, burning kisses down your neck, right where your pulse betrays you.

The thudding in your chest is deafening. The cool air of the castle seeps through the cracked window nearby, but your skin is flushed, feverish from the heat of their bodies.

Sirius still wears his signet ring, the same one he twisted nervously the first time he asked you out under the Quidditch stands. His all-black attire makes him look like sin wrapped in velvet, shadows and smirks.

James is the opposite—white button-down, sleeves rolled up, maroon tie hanging like a loose vow around his neck. He smells like firewhisky and something sweet, like the fruit punch he swears he didn’t spike.

You remember the party. You remember laughing with Lily, music pulsing through the common room, someone shouting about a drinking game.

But you don’t remember how you got here—back pressed to cold stone, breath stolen by Sirius’s kiss, hands fisting into James’s shirt as he groans softly against your collarbone.

Are you drunk?

You don’t feel drunk. You feel alive, aching, suspended in something you don’t quite understand. Your body moves like it remembers something your mind hasn’t caught up with yet—how it feels to be desired by both of them at once.

How easy it is to let go of reason when Sirius is biting down on your lip and James is whispering something sinful against your ear.

You’re the center of their attention. Of their hunger. Of their want.

Their beauty is almost unearthly, and some part of you—hazy and overwhelmed—thinks maybe they don’t belong to this world. Maybe they’re not boys at all, but something else entirely. Maybe they fell for you like stars crash through the sky—bright, brief, and destined to burn.

And now… now they’re burning you from the inside out.

Wicked, beautiful, untouchable. Except you’re the one they’re touching now. The one they want. The one Sirius called mine before he looked James in the eye and whispered, only if you’re gentle.

And Merlin help you, James said yes.

“Keep your voice down,” your boyfriend warns in his gentle, seductive husky voice. “You can do that for us, can’t you, love?” His teeth grind against the skin of your neck, tasting the scent of your perfume with his tongue while his best friend goes down to his knees before you.

A pair of warm hazel eyes, flecked with gold and honey, look up at you through a tousled mess of dark curls.

James, cheeks tinged with rose like the first bloom of spring, gazes up at you with a longing so deep it steals the breath from your lungs—years of affection, buried and burning, now surfacing all at once.

His fingertips trace your thigh with a reverence that borders on worship, each touch sparking heat beneath your skin.

“Sweetheart…” he murmurs, voice thick with awe, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh as he wraps one arm around your leg, grounding himself in the moment.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl…”

The words fall from him like prayer—soft, aching, and meant only for you.

You chew on your lip to refrain yourself from making sound, giving your boyfriend two tiny nods to his earlier question. 

Sirius chuckles, his hand sliding down to cup one of your breasts over the fabric. Though your dress spills down to the floor in elegant waves, the high slit running along your thigh offers James easy access to you—something he takes full advantage of.

He kneels before you, eyes gleaming behind his glasses, and presses a trail of feather-light kisses along the length of your exposed leg.

“Merlin,” he breathes against your skin, voice low and reverent, “you’re so soft…”

His hand glides slowly up your thigh, fingers splayed, teasing, as if he's memorizing the feel of you—every inch, every breathless shiver under his touch.

before he settles his head between your thighs. “Your body is a dream. So beautiful…” His breath fans your skin, elevating the tiny hairs on your nape. 

“You’re like an angel.” The pet name and the praises he gives you feel just as foreign as the way he touches you, but James is only eager to make you feel at home.

“An angel?” Sirius snickers, his lips grazing your earlobe, his fingers curling around your throat. “What kind of an angel, are you, Sweetheart? Wanting another man’s face between your legs when you already have your boyfriend satisfying you all night. What, one cock isn’t enough for you, baby? Want my best friend to fuck you too, is that it?”

You can’t answer, your thighs quivering when you feel James kissing you over your underwear.

You’re much more sensitive as you never fantasized to be in such a position with the boy you shared hours of conversations with about your favorite books and he spilled his Quidditch strategies to you. 

James has always been attractive. You noticed that from the start—he was all charm and careless smiles, with eyes that lingered a little too long when he looked at you. It wasn’t exactly a secret, either. 

Everyone knew he had it bad for you, and James was never subtle about it. But you never paid it much attention. Not because you didn’t see it, but because Sirius knew—and didn’t care. If anything, he liked it. 

There was something twistedly satisfying to him about watching his best friend want the one thing only he could have.

You never thought of James that way before. He was always sweet, almost boyish—blushing at the idea of holding your hand. Innocent, in his own eager, golden-hearted way.

And yet now… now he’s on his knees in front of you, hands reverent, eyes dark with want. And there’s nothing innocent about him anymore.

“I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” James says, professing the words like it’s a form of reassurance.

Your high heel slides down the floor when he separates his lips and presses his mouth hotly against the lace of your panties. You would’ve lost your balance if your boyfriend wasn’t there to catch you.

“Sensitive, are we?” Sirius croons, purring delightfully next to your ear as he moves to stand behind you. 

“What is it, honey? Does it feel good?” You weakly nod, biting the corner of your lip to contain your whimper. 

Sirius’s eyes glaze, his voice drops a pitch lower as he takes in your expression, loathing the fact that another man can make your face contort in pleasure. “He hasn’t even started yet.” He holds you close, his face hovering past your shoulder to lock gaze with the shorter male. 

“Isn’t that right, James?”

James, keeping his eyes on you, hugs your legs close and does a little mm-hmm as he mouths against your clothed heat. You softly whine, leaning your weight on your boyfriend’s chest. 

It’s funny how responsive you are right now, acting like this is the first time someone has performed oral sex on you when your boyfriend has done that almost every day since you started dating.

“Sirius…” you moan, your body flinching when you can feel the shape of James’s tongue gliding over the cloth. “What are we—What is happening?”

“We’re making your dreams come true,” he answers, his arm shifting down to grapple your leg. Lifting it high enough for your dress to slide to the side, Sirius exposes your thigh and your center at once.

“Show him, baby,” Sirius tells you. “Show him how fucking wet that pussy is.”

Your heart is hitched in your throat but you follow nonetheless. Reaching down, you push your panties to the side. 

“Good,” your boyfriend says. “Now, spread them apart.” With your cheeks burning brightly, you bring your other hand down, spreading your lower lips apart until James can see your dripping cunt, your entrance twitching in anticipation.

“Take a good look, James,” Sirius utters, his tone conceited and cold. “This is what you want. Been thinking about fucking my girl behind my back for a while, haven’t you, Prongs?”

James has the hardest time tearing his gaze away from you, but he manages. Exchanging stares with your boyfriend, he solemnly utters, “I wouldn’t have done this if you didn’t give me permission to touch her.”

“That’s right,” he smiles pompously, shooting one hand down to join your fingers, putting you on display. 

“This pretty cunt here belongs to me. You don’t get to taste it. You don’t get to fuck it unless I let you to. You’re only here because of me.” He dips his index finger deep inside your hole before he retrieves it and plunges it into your mouth. 

You whimper around his finger, tasting your own slick. “You better take good care of her. Better make her cum and lick her clean. Do that, and maybe I’ll forgive you for this. After all…” Sirius turns his face to the side, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek. 

“I’m just here to please my girl. If she wants to be a fucking slut and have her holes stuffed with our cocks at the same time then I would gladly do it.”

Your boyfriend spreads your legs as wide as possible with one hand circling your waist protectively to keep you standing on your feet. “Go on,” Sirius urges, eyes gleaming dangerously as he peers down at the other man. 

“You want to fuck my girl’s cunt with your tongue, don’t you? Do it before I change my mind.”

James breathes out heavily. His fear, desire, and overwhelming thrill add pretty colors to his pale face. Sirius tells you to keep your hands where they are. 

James tentatively darts out his tongue, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, his nose bumping against your finger. He removes your hand, placing them on his head so you could guide him. 

His moan reverberates to your skin when he feels you tightening your hold around his curly strands, leaving his hair all disheveled. Now that he has more room to reach, James eagerly latches his mouth against your folds, tongue flicking obscenely before his lips close around your clit.

Your body jerks. “Ah—mmph!”

Sirius slaps one hand over your mouth, stopping your voice from thundering down the hallway. “Shhh,” he titters, stuffing two of his fingers inside and pressing them flat against your tongue. 

“You want people to catch us like this? I won’t mind if you ask me. I would love to fuck my girlfriend in front of everyone. Want them to see how good I am at making you cry out my name like a fucking little bitch you are.”

Moments like this make you realize that your boyfriend was never an angel. He’s been the devil, Lucifer himself, from day one. 

James’s little grunts are muffled against your skin, his cerulean eyes turning hazy as he watches your expression twist in pleasure. 

He sneaks one hand behind your leg, palm splayed against your calf before he guides you to rest your thigh on his shoulder. 

You’re now lifted off the ground, trusting your bodyweight entirely on the two males to fight against gravity. “sweetheart…” He bestows a gentle kiss on your clit, pulling away slightly just to replace his mouth with two of his fingers. 

Gliding them down over your folds, there’s a hint of curiosity and nervousness as he speaks his sentence. “Do I make you feel good?”

You’re not sure what to say. No, you’re not sure if you should speak at all as your boyfriend is right behind you. But Sirius removes his fingers from your mouth, your saliva dribbling down your chin as he frames your face and forces you to look down at James. 

“He asked you a question.” Sirius’s voice is just as melodious as it is perilous. You sink your teeth on your bottom lip, too afraid to be honest. “It’s only polite to reply.”

“B-but–”

“Answer him.”

“Yes,” you vocalize in a tattered breath. “Yes, it feels good.”

You expect your boyfriend to be upset, maybe curling his fingers around your throat a little harder to remind you who owns you but Sirius chuckles, saying, “That’s my good girl,” as he grants you a soft kiss on your shoulder. “Now, relax, love. I want you to enjoy everything while it lasts.”

James, encouraged by your answer, dives down to taste you again, this time focusing more on abusing your already swollen clit. Your hand tugs harder against his roots as your hips start to move on your own.

“Aah, look at you,” Sirius says, drawing your earlobe between his teeth. “Riding his face like that… Just how much you’ve been thinking about this, hmm?” His hand slips under the garment of your dress, taking possession of your breast and squeezing it until your whole body jolts. 

“Filthy whore,” he growls, teeth-gritting as he says it.

He’s angry. Even if he pretends he isn’t, there’s no denying it. He’s swallowed by the rage of seeing another man pleasuring his girlfriend right before his eyes but he doesn’t do anything to stop it. 

He keeps holding one of your legs in the air, commanding him, “Fuck her with your tongue. If you can’t make her squirt, I won’t let you fuck her.”

James groans, the dazed look on his face morphs slightly into a glare, vexed by his words. He retracts his fingers, stretching your pussy’s lips as wide apart as possible, tongue darting out to tease your entrance before he plunges it inside your hole. 

Your body lurches forward, eyebrows stitched together in pleasure. You have one hand clawing against your boyfriend’s shirt, your reaction fueling the jealousy raging in his chest but Sirius simply tilts up his chin, an arrogant smile breaking upon his lips.

“That’s the spirit, James,” he says, a moment before he sinks his teeth against the spot that connects your neck to your shoulder, rewarding you with the pain while James tortures you with pleasure. “Keep it up. I want to see her cum all over your face.”

James doesn’t have Sirius’s practiced touch—the kind born of years of experience and confidence—but what he lacks in finesse, he more than makes up for in sheer, devoted eagerness. There’s something dangerous in that kind of want. Desperate to please, desperate to unravel you.

And when he slides two fingers inside you, thrusting with an intensity that betrays how badly he’s imagined this, how long he’s wanted it—it takes no time at all before your body begins to tremble.

“Ah—Sirius…” you gasp, voice catching as your knees buckle beneath the weight of pleasure. Your hand shoots out blindly, grasping at Sirius’s arm like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

“I’m—I’m about to cum—James—“

Sirius grabs your face, smashing your mouths together and kissing you harder than he’s ever been before you can finish pronouncing the word. 

“Don’t say his name,” he growls, squeezing your cheeks together with one hand as the knots inside your belly grow taut. “You either scream my name or nothing at all. Understand?” The sudden drop in his pitch makes your skin crawl in both fear and excitement.

You’re breathing hard, fogs clouding your thoughts as James drives you closer to the brink. “I—Sirius—”

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you sob out. “Yes. Only you, Sirius.”

Satisfied, he kisses you again, whispering between the collision of your mouths, “Good. Now, cum, baby. Give him what he wants.”

Not two seconds later, you reach your high, your scream strangled in your throat as you give in to the blind pleasure. Your orgasm hits you so hard that you end up squirting. 

James’s eyes shut close in reflex when your cum stains his face, a little bit of your juice dripping to the floor before he catches the rest of your essence in his mouth, lapping you clean and swallowing everything you give him as promised.

Sirius sneers, the tip of his nose brushes against your ear. “Squirting on another man’s face,” he titters mockingly, “I can’t believe it.”

James returns to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His chin still glistens with your slick, your taste sitting thickly on his tongue. 

He offers you his usual angelic smile, the adoration he holds for you never falter even if you’re his best friend's girl. “Let’s move somewhere else,” he says, his thumb sliding across your lips as he holds back the temptation to kiss you. “The party will be over soon. I don’t want anyone to see us like this.”

Sirius untangles his arm from your leg, letting you stand on your own. Your knees still wobble from the aftershock of your orgasm, leaving you with no choice but to have your body pressed flat against his chest. 

Despite the terms he used to degrade you a moment ago, your boyfriend soothes you down with a little kiss on the side of your temple, his arm holding you still by your waist.

“You okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

Turning bashful, you respond with a timid smile and a weak, “Yeah, umm… I think I just pulled a muscle from the way you were holding me.”

Sirius laughs, landing a playful peck on your cheek. “Not as flexible as you were before, huh, grandma?”

“S-shut up.”

James watches with his jaw clenched, jealousy starting to gnaw at him just as much as the one that was blazing inside Sirius’s chest. “Come,” he says, pivoting on his heels and leading you down the hallway. “I know a place we can use.”

***

You’ve been in this room before.

It’s tucked away in one of Hogwarts’ forgotten towers—a space James had claimed long ago as his own. He called it his sanctuary. With its high, arched windows and shelves crammed with weathered spellbooks and Muggle novels alike, the room feels more like a secret study than a part of the castle. 

The stone walls are softened by old rugs and scattered cushions, a few armchairs charmed to stay warm no matter the season. 

At the center sits a white grand piano, slightly out of place in the magical chaos—its ivory surface gleaming in the candlelight, its lid closed, waiting.

You remember the last time you were here. It was his birthday. He’d snuck you away from the party in the common room, tugging you by the hand through secret passageways only he seemed to know. 

You’d sat beside him on the piano bench, close enough to feel the warmth of him, and listened as his fingers danced across the keys. That was the night James declared his love for you, but you could’nt seem to be able to return it.

Because even then, with all that tenderness spilling from him, you couldn’t give it back. Your heart already belonged to someone else. And he knew it.

But that was then.

Right now, you’re lying down on the same piano, your dress thrown away haphazardly on the floor, your chest exposed and your legs opened wide with no fabric covering your skin. 

It’s been an hour since you started this. You’re in a haze, your body enervated after your boyfriend gave you your second orgasm that day only by using his fingers.

The two handsome men now stand tall before you, their eyes still fixated on the way your bare chest is heaving up and down as you try to catch your breath. 

Sirius had shed his formal robes long ago, trading them for something far more him—a loose black button-down, completely undone and hanging open over his bare chest, the fabric slipping off one shoulder like it had given up trying to contain him. 

His white undershirt is nowhere to be seen, tossed somewhere across the room, and his sleeves are rolled carelessly to his elbows. 

He smirks, eyes dark and wild as ever. “I hope you’re not tired yet, love. We’re just getting started.”

James, dressed in nothing left but a shirt and slacks, unfastens the three top buttons of his shirt with a little tremble in his fingertips. He’s visibly nervous at what your boyfriend has planned for the rest of the evening but he doesn’t file a word of protest. 

The curly-haired boy still feels jittery even after he was holding you close from behind as your boyfriend fingered you until you drenched his fist with your juices. Sirius tells him to take off his robe and he follows, sliding it away from his collar.

“Let’s play a little game,” Sirius announces with mischief in his tone, walking to the other side of the piano where you have your head resting a few inches away from the edge. 

His sensual, devilish smirk is the last thing you see before your boyfriend covers your eyes with his tie. He lifts your head, knotting the tie securely behind your skull.

“Sirius—”

He lowers his head to close the gap and kisses you upside down, silencing you at once. “Relax, love,” he coos, the shape of his smirk pressing against your lips. 

“I’m gonna take care of you real nice, okay?”

Now that you’ve lost your vision, you rely heavily on your ears to figure out what’s going on. You can hear James’s footsteps closing in at the same time you feel Sirius moving away from you. 

“Lift your hands, sweetheart,” his honeyed voice echoes near, a lot gentler than how your boyfriend spoke to you. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

Trying not to tense so much, you raise your hands in the air. James wraps his tie around your wrist, careful not to hurt you, unlike your boyfriend who always loves to tie it hard enough so it will leave angry marks on your skin for him to marvel in the morning. 

Once the fabric wraps around your wrists, binding you gently, James guides your arms down to rest across your stomach. His touch is patient, reverent—like he’s memorizing every inch of you with his hands alone.

He leans forward, fingers tilting your chin toward him, and kisses you upside down—mirroring the way Sirius had kissed you just moments earlier.

But James kisses differently. He kisses like you’re fragile, like pressing too hard might break you. There’s something achingly soft in the way his lips move against yours, careful and searching. You exhale quietly through your nose, letting yourself fall into the simplicity of it—just breath and warmth and the subtle hum of magic in the air.

Then you feel it—his tongue, timid and slow, tracing along the seam of your lips as if asking permission, tasting you like you’re something sacred. Your heart stutters in your chest, racing in time with his, even though the kiss is barely there.

Time feels suspended—like the world has curled in on itself, quiet and dreamlike—until—

“James.”

The boy stiffens, breaking off the kiss at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice rumbling through the air. 

He raises his face, a muscle in his jaw twitches as he sees Sirius’s eyes turn dark and piercing. Both males are jealous of one another. 

James wants you for himself, while Sirius, despite giving him his permission, grows even more resentful in sharing you with another man. The tension between the two is enough to smother you but fortunately, you’re too distraught by your own thoughts to notice.

What are they planning to do to me?

You take a deep breath, trying to unwind your muscles as best as you can as you wait. You can hear footsteps again, Sirius and James circling your body before they stop. 

There’s a silence where you can hear nothing but your thundering heartbeats in your ears. 

There’s a sound of belts being pulled away from their loops, zippers being tugged down. None of the men make a sound. When two pairs of lips begin their journeys from your ankles to your thighs, you realize one thing.

It’s a guessing game.

Sirius doesn’t have to tell you the rules for you to know how to play, or maybe this isn’t a game at all. 

Maybe he just wants to fuck with your mind, injecting more thrill into your veins at the thought of being embraced by two males without knowing who’s doing what to you. But if this is a game, then you know how to win. 

You’ve been dating your boyfriend for years. You know how rough he is–you love how rough he is–how sinful and obscene his touches are, how he clamps his mouth against your own or your clit—you’ve memorized everything. 

Plus, Sirius and James are two different species. While Sirius is the fire that burns you with his passion, James is the salve that soothes you down. The devil and the angel are not the same. It’s easy to differentiate the two, even if you can see or hear a thing.

The two males have their heads settled between your legs, fighting for space and a chance to please you. 

Each man is pinning one of your thighs on the piano, wanting to spread you apart as much as possible so they can taste how sweet you are. 

You can tell almost immediately that it’s your boyfriend who is now latching his mouth on your clit, sucking hard enough until your hips buck forward. 

The other man—James—takes his time kissing the sensitive skin on the inner part of your thigh, his hand stroking and kneading soothingly.

“Ah, Sirius—” You squirm, hands going down to his head, tugging on his bun.

Your boyfriend laughs, his voice dulled by your sensitive parts. “How can you tell it’s me?”

You always do that, doing as you please, overstimulating me. But you don’t voice your thoughts out loud. No, you can’t, as you feel James joining in, their tongues dart out eagerly to lap at your wetness at the same time. 

You’re being pulled to the edge of the piano to make it easier for them to share space. 

“Oh—” Your whole world shakes. The mental image of two pairs of eyes looking up at you with their desire blazing inside, hungry and lustful, occupies every part of your mind. 

It’s too much. The sensation is too much.

“Relax, sweetheart,” James says, circling his tongue around your nub as your boyfriend lowers himself enough to plunge his slick muscle into your hole.

“Please, I’m—” You whine, your nails digging into your palms, “I’m about to cum—“

“Again?” Sirius jeers as his sinful smirk resurfaces. “Well, then, allow me.” Pushing James to the side, he pushes two of his fingers inside his mouth, making them wet before he drives them inside you at the same time. “You know what to do, baby,” he coos.

He wants you to squirt just like before and with the way he works his fingers, thrusting them in and out of you in a come-hither motion, he’s leaving you with no other choice. 

As embarrassing as it is, you find your body doing exactly what he wants, cumming hard with a silent cry until the trickle of your juices drenches his hand all the way to his wrist. 

Sirius retracts his fingers, licking each digit clean while his eyes traverse down your body. “That’s fucking hot,” he says, while James dives down to lick your pussy’s lips clean from every bit of your cum.

“You taste amazing,” James breathes out in bliss, kissing your clit and slowly eating you out to soothe you down from your crashing orgasm.

You’re all spent, eyes turning vacant as they’re transfixed on the ceiling but they don’t stop. One of them walks away to the other side of the piano, stopping once they stand on the other side of your head. 

He hovers above your face, refraining himself from leaning in for another inverted kiss, afraid that the sweet taste of his mouth would reveal his identity too soon. 

Instead, he frames your face, angling your head to the side so he can latch his mouth against the side of your neck. He uses his teeth almost instantly, suckling hard on your skin, marking angry bruises for everyone to see.

“Siri—”

He clasps his palm against your mouth before you can finish pronouncing his name, knowing that the game would be over once you guess it correctly. 

He then slides two of his fingers inside, forcing you to part your lips wide so he can see the shape of your tongue as he presses his digits flat against your slick muscle. 

Sirius thrusts his fingers inside and you know what he wants you to do. You suck on them, in the most obscene way possible as if you were treating them as something else. 

Your boyfriend always loves to do this. Loves enjoying the look on your face when you hollow your cheeks around his fingers, giving him a vivid image of how pretty your lips are going to look when you wrap them around his cock later on.

You flinch when you feel the other man leaning half of his body forward over the piano, peppering soothing kisses on the inner part of your thighs just in the way James did a few moments ago. 

His soft lips, the way he’s still a bit awkward and shy as he tries to please you, send goosebumps breaking all over your skin.

 James can’t seem to get enough of your taste. Knowing that this could be his only chance at having you in such a position, he places his mouth on your center again, kissing you down there so languidly as if he had eternity to please you. 

He hugs you close by your thighs, his nose pressing against your pelvis. You can’t hear his soft groan but you can feel its vibration directly on your clit.

You moan between sharp gasps when the man—Sirius—who’s standing over your head starts to clamp his hot mouth around your breast, rolling your nipple between his teeth before he sucks hard. 

He grabs a hold of your mound, squeezing it hard enough to make you squirm then he flicks his tongue around the bud. The material of his shirt grazes your face when he pulls back, pushing down his pants to break himself free. 

You’re being tugged forward, your head falling over the edge of the piano with the head of his cock pressing against your lips. 

Your boyfriend doesn’t do anything. He wants you to do all the work. With your hands tied, you reach up and circle your fingers around his cock, kissing the head and tasting the salt of his pre-cum. 

He’s hard, throbbing and twitching in your hands at the slightest touch. Exhaling sharply, you take his tip into your mouth, and Sirius, without warning, shoves everything inside at once. 

You choke, groaning around his dick as he lands both palms on the piano to balance himself, trapping your body between them as he rocks his hips forward. 

Your throat constricts around his length and he can see how far he goes from where he is looming tall above you.

James’s patience is starting to run thin as well. He starts using both hands, stuffing three of his fingers inside you while his other one abuses your clit with his thumb. 

He pumps you hard and fast, perfectly imitating the way Sirius did to you a few minutes ago. 

You mewl, moaning around Sirius’s cock, your legs sliding down until they fall onto the keys. 

The sound of broken notes fills the air, startling you enough that you pull your mouth away from his cock, coughing and gasping frantically as you try to refill the air in your lungs.

James suddenly grabs you by the back of your knees, yanking you down until you’re close enough for him to seize you by the waist. 

He hoists you away from the piano, forcing you to return to your feet and turning your body around. Your vision is pitch black, your hands still bound together, reaching out blindly for support until you find yourself balancing your weight on the keys. 

James lowers his trousers to his mid-thighs, his cock springing free out of his briefs. Spitting onto his palm, he lathers himself quickly with his saliva before he nudges his tip against your entrance.

Despite his nervous, awkward demeanor, James is not taking it slow, propelling inside you with one hard thrust until your entire body is pushed forward, a strangled cry stuck in your throat. 

He’s being uncharacteristically aggressive, stretching you out almost in the same way as your boyfriend does. 

He bends himself down, wrapping his hand around the front of your throat and pulling you up until your back is plastered against his chest.

The butterflies inside you flutter their wings, a sob of pleasure threatening to break free. “James—”

“Wrong.”

Your heart plummets to your stomach, the fingers he has around your neck threaten to crush your windpipes. 

“You’re breaking my heart, love,” Sirius chuckles right next to your ear. “How could you forget your boyfriend filling you up like this? I thought I’d fucked you hard enough for you to remember the shape of my cock.”

It’s Sirius? Your heart palpitates fast, panic rising to the surface. The one who was inside my mouth before was James?!

“You seem surprised,” your boyfriend laughs mockingly, ramming his hips against yours over and over again with his nails digging painfully into the flesh of your waist. 

“You thought I was him, didn’t you? I treated you gently and you started thinking about another man. Can’t say I’m not hurt.”

“Ah—Siri—” You’re breathing fast, your cheek pressed against the closed lid as Sirius pinned you down to the piano by your nape. 

Your stomach is bumping against the keys with each thrust, both of you making music of your own, accompanied by the sound of his pelvis slapping against your behind.

James watches you from the other side of the piano with his cock pulsating hard in his hand, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tries not to make noise. 

It feels terrible, humiliating even, to pleasure himself as he watches you being taken hard by your boyfriend but he can’t restrain himself. 

At the sound of your name escaping his lips in a breathy, longing moan, Sirius’s eyes dart to his face, the corner of his mouth twitching into an impish smirk at the sight of another man masturbating to his girlfriend being fucked. “There’s room for one more if you want to join, Potter,” he arrogantly says, “That is if you can’t stop yourself from cumming within seconds.”

The thought of you being watched by your best friend caused warmth to pool in your belly. 

Taking off your blindfold with one hand, Sirius grabs a fistful of your hair, hauling you up until he can hug you close as he stands. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his long fingers framing your face. 

He forces you to look at the man who’s fisting his dick in one hand, while his other one grips tightly against the edge of the piano. 

He’s giving himself a string of pumps that matches the way Sirius is driving himself inside you.

“Y/N…” He sighs in yearning when your eyes meet, absolutely wrecked from how much effect you have on him, turning a shade redder than he already does. “You’re beautiful…”

“Yeah,” Sirius sneers, whispering in your ear, “My beautiful, beautiful slut.”

He penetrates you with aching shallowness between your legs, teasing you, moving with a rhythm like an inevitable sea tide. 

You squeeze around him, keening as your body starts to crave more. “Fuck, taking my fucking dick so good,” your boyfriend hisses, drowning in rapture.

“Sirius, please…” You glue your thighs together, clenching your walls around him.

“What, honey, do you want more?” Sirius questions melodiously, even when he knows you want him to lose control. “Want me to give it to you harder? Or do you want James too? Maybe find out if he can fuck you as good as I can.”

He must have been fucking you so good that your brain turns all mushy because right now, you want to turn his teasing words into reality. 

You’re not sure how you’re able to find the bravery within you to answer but your lips form the words before your mind can finish your thought. “Yes,” you whimper, and James almost moans at the sound. “Yes, please, I want him too—”

Sirius stops. For a moment, the smirk falters from his face, before— “Is that so?”

Siriu’s thrust turns forceful within an instant, pouring all his rage and jealousy in every plunge of his cock inside you. Your jaw turns slack, mouth wide open in a silent scream with your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

He’s fucking you to prove a point, one hand rubbing furiously against your clit, slapping and abusing it until you cry out.

Sirius keeps his gaze on James, his eyes glowing menacingly as he growls out the words, “You think he can fuck you like I do?” He pulls himself out without giving you a chance to answer. 

Before you can groan at the loss of the delicious frictions he gave you, your boyfriend whirls you around until you’re face-to-face.

“He can’t,” Sirius says, squeezing your face with one hand. 

“No one can fuck you like I do. This fucking cunt won’t be satisfied until I fill you up.” He emphasizes by slapping a hand over your heat, making you jump and whine at the pain before your whole body shakes at the way he’s pumping his fingers into you again. “I’m the only one who can please you this way, Y/N. You got that?”

“Yes,” you reply in a faint cry, getting lightheaded as if he’s blocking oxygen to your head.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sirius.”

“Good.” He retracts his fingers, shoving them inside your mouth so you can taste yourself as he nudges his head, telling James to come close. “Let’s move to the couch. I want to fuck her mouth.”

Sirius sweeps off your feet, carrying you in his arms before he forces you to go on all fours on the couch. 

He tells James, whose shirt is sliding off his shoulders and his pants hanging low on his hips, to get into position as your boyfriend moves to stand on his knees before you.

 “Show me how much you love me,” your boyfriend purrs as he unfastens the tie around your wrists.

Obediently, you curl your fingers around his shaft and start your ministrations by giving him lazy strokes. Sirius threads his fingers through your hair, pushing back your hair as he thrusts himself into your mouth. 

“Pretty girl,” he praises, watching you flick your tongue over his tip. “I love you so much. Can’t go on a day without you. Need you so fucking bad.” He hypnotizes you with his words, your insides melting as they resonate through your brain.

James, settling himself on your other end, bends down to spit onto your cunt, spreading his saliva all over your lips with two of his fingers before he does the same to his cock. 

He prods his tip along your folds, breathing hard in anticipation with his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. 

You both groan at the sensation of his head passing your entrances just slightly the second you push your hips back. Fuck me, James can hear the unspoken words and he’s ready to oblige.

“Y/N” He paints soothing kisses along your spine, one hand splayed against your stomach. “I’m putting it in.”

Unlike Sirius, James moves slow, taking his time and waiting for you to adjust until he’s fully sheathed inside. 

Though he’s an inch shorter than Sirius’s, he’s wider in girth, rubbing against your walls and stretching you out in a way that has you whimpering around your boyfriend’s cock.

You can hear James taking a sharp breath, and a low, “Fuck…” It’s the first he ever let expletives depart from his pretty mouth, his silvery voice turning guttural.

“Tight, isn’t she?” Sirius asks him, pride sitting thick on his voice.

“Y-yeah…” James rocks his hips once, feeling your walls tighten even more at the friction. “And so… hot inside too…”

You slide Sirius’s cock out of your mouth, taking a breath and a moment to relish in the sensation of having another man fucking you in front of your boyfriend but Sirius’s not having it. 

He slaps his dick against the side of your face. “Who told you to stop?” He says.

“Pretty little whore wants to be filled in two holes at once, doesn’t she? Come on, baby.” You take him back—no, he shoves himself inside your mouth, making you gag around his length. 

He buries himself to the hilt right at the same time James does the same. Tears start to prickle at the corner of your eyes.

“Ah,” James breathes out as he picks up his pace, giving you shallow, pointed thrusts that hit your spot just right. “Wish I could see your face… Wish I could see how pretty you look as you take me in…” He closes the spaces between his chest and your back, kissing you softly on the nape. “You feel like heaven to me.”

An idea submerges in Sirius’s mind. Telling James to pull out, Sirius flips you over to your back, his cock hovering above your face as you take him in one hand. 

“There you go, Potter,” your boyfriend says.

“Now you can fuck my girl as you watch me fuck her mouth.”

James, now seeing you spread your legs for him, your pussy dripping and waiting for him to fill it up again, is on the verge of turning absolutely feral. 

The juvenile, innocent side of him has disappeared — replaced by a man with his blood boiling with desire. 

He pushes your legs forward, his hands gripping tight at the back of your thighs as he pushes back in — his cock standing hard enough that he can slide in without using his hands. 

He folds your body in half, knocking you forward and robbing a moan from the back of your throat.

 Gasping in surprise, you throw your face to the side, your filthy moans are spoken against the side of Sirius’s cock. You try your best to bring him back into your mouth, not wanting to upset him as you can see his rage flaring in his eyes.

“So good,” James grunts, his hips swaying obscenely. His shirt slides off his shoulders, stopping to pool around his elbows. “You’re perfect, so perfect, I love you—ah—”

At his confession, your walls flutter around him and you release Sirius from your mouth, shifting your gaze down to see James watching you with sentiment in his eyes, your stomach flipping in delight at the sight. 

It’s true that he can’t fuck you as good as your boyfriend can, but at the moment James exudes more feelings, pulling more emotions out of you. It pleases you just the same in such a different way.

Sirius, unsettled by the chemistry between you, clamps one hand around James’s throat and yanks him forward until their lips collide above you. 

Sirius kisses him forcefully, tongue thrusting inside, sloppily moving together inside James’s mouth until he has his drool dripping down his chin. 

James thrusts begin to stutter as Sirius breaks his concentration, mewling helplessly against his mouth. James had never been kissed this hard, never felt like his oxygen was stolen right from his lungs. 

When Sirius breaks away, a string of saliva connecting their lips, he tightens his fingers around James’s throat, making him wince from the pain.

“You get to fuck my girl,” Sirius growls. “But you don’t get to have her heart. It belongs to me. She belongs to me. Know your fucking place, Potter.”

“Sirius—” he chokes, one hand curling around Sirius’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip.

The brunette kisses him again, hard enough to turn James’s lips all swollen before he tells him, “Lie down.”

James, receiving a hard shove on his chest, falls on the couch, his limbs all tangled with yours as he’s pressed flat on his back. 

Sirius lifts your body, grabbing you harshly by your hair as he forces you to lie down on top of James, your face hovering above his. 

James gulps at the sudden proximity between you, shaky eyes peering into yours. 

You look breathtaking with your lips all bruised and your lipstick smeared to your cheeks, your chin wet with saliva, and Sirius’s pre-cum. 

You’re so beautiful and dirty at the same time, reek of purity and sensuality.

“Sit on his cock, baby,” Sirius says, and with wobbly legs, you position yourself on James’s length, sinking agonizingly slowly onto his dick until he’s buried deep, your clit grazing the trimmed hairs on his pelvis.

“Ah—mmm,” James turns into a moaning mess, his cock pulsating hard inside you. Your body is weak but you still find the strength to smile when he gently strokes your face. 

“Feels good?” He questions which you reciprocate with a feeble nod, your eyes shifting to his lips and James gets the message. 

You meet each other halfway, lips molding, slow dancing with one another. For a moment, serenity hugs you both, moaning softly against each other’s mouth with him whispering praises between kisses, “Sweet… You taste so sweet… I can kiss you for eternity and it won’t be enough…”

You’re about to move your hips when Sirius stands on his knees behind you, each hand on your ass cheeks, spreading them apart. 

Your body jolts, almost accidentally biting on James’s tongue when you feel Sirius spitting harshly onto your hole. 

Shock runs like electricity through your veins. “Wait—Sirius—”

“Relax, baby,” he says, closing his eyes as pushes his face forward, his tongue circling the rim of your hole, giving you the sensation you’ve never felt before in your life.

“Oh—God—” You cry out, both thrilled and a bit terrified from how strange it feels.

James, aroused by your expression, slightly bucks his hips upward, thrusting into you. “sweetheart…” he whispers, “Pay attention to me too…”

At the feeling of Sirius’s tongue probing against your hole, James’s hot, throbbing length rubbing against your walls, you can barely think about anything but you try your best to comply. 

You lean down to kiss him again, your eyebrows furrowed as you feel James driving himself a little further inside you. You both muffle each other’s moans, soft lips hugging another pair in a way that can only be described as romantic.

Sirius glides one finger inside you, doing as gently as he can to not hurt you. Your body turns rigid in discomfort and your boyfriend calms you down by placing open-mouthed kisses on the skin that covers your tailbone. 

“Love, relax,” he says, losing the venom that once coated his tongue. “I won’t hurt you. I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

“We’ll make you feel good,” James corrects, casting a smile too innocent to be thrown in this situation as he pushes a lock of your hair behind your ear. “We love you. All we’re trying to do is to please you.”

“That’s right,” Sirius chuckles, dipping his tongue inside your heat this time before he licks a stripe up and returns to your rear. “So be a good girl and relax for me, okay?”

You draw a deep breath. “Okay…”

James props one elbow on the couch, raising his body slightly so he can whisper in your ear, “Just focus on me. Focus on the way I’m sliding inside you. Can you feel it? Can you feel where we’re connected?”

You shakily nod, feeling his smile pressing against the contour of your jawline.

Now that you’re loose enough to take one finger inside, Sirius spits onto his hand again before he brings another one of his digits, scissoring you wide open. Every time you flinch, your boyfriend would reward you with another tender kiss on your skin. “I won’t rush,” Sirius assures you. “I’ll wait as long as you need until you’re ready.”

The sudden change of his attitude works perfectly on calming your nerves, and once your body relaxes, Sirius pushes his third fingers inside. “I think you can take me now, baby,” he says, rising tall on his knees. “I’ll take it slow, okay?”

James holds you close, shrouding you with his arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here.” He kisses your ear, murmuring, “Just focus on me…”

Sirius pushes his length into your rear as slowly as he can, muttering a gravelly, “Fuck, you’re even tighter this way,” under his breath.

“Ah,” you whimper, fingers clenching into fists. “Sirius, I can’t… It’s too much…”

“You can, baby,” Sirius replies in a guttural moan, leaning forward to mouth his words against your nape. “Just a little bit more–ah, Christ–”

“Siri–”

“I know,” he swallows his breath. “I swear I’ll make you feel so good after this, baby.”

The friction burns to the point that you almost feel like giving up but Sirius is trying his best to be gentle. James kisses you to swallow your groan, distracting you from the pain. 

It takes another few seconds before Sirius is fully enveloped by your warmth, just like James is and he chuckles, rewarding you by showering kisses down your back. “You’re doing so well, pretty girl. I’m so proud of you.”

Having two men inside you at the same time is something you wouldn’t even have the bravery to imagine and yet here you are.

“I’ll start to move, okay?” Sirius says after giving you a moment to catch your breath, and you spin your head to the side to slant your lips together with him.

“Okay…” you breathe out. Your boyfriend rewards you with a smile and one last kiss on your bare shoulder before he straightens his back, places his hands on each side of your hips, and begins to move.

“Ah—fuck—” You can feel tears stinging your eyes, from pain or pleasure, you’re not sure, probably both. 

With every drive of Sirius’s hips, you’re sinking lower onto James’s cock, the three of you grinding against one another — it’s awkward for the first few seconds, each of you trying to match your rhythm but once you find it, waves of pleasure start to come crashing in.

“How do you feel?” Sirius asks, uncharacteristically solemn as he’s worried of your well-being. “Does it hurt?”

“N-no.”

“Does it feel good?” James chimes in, peering into your eyes.

“Yes,” you exhale in bliss. “I feel so… full.”

Sirius smiles, exhaling in relief. “Well then, how about we take it up a notch?” He adds more force into his thrust, sending you toppling down with your head landing on James’s chest. 

James can feel it too, the snap of his hips and the way your walls are hugging him tightly. Sirius is in control, leaving both of you under his mercy.

“How is it, baby?” Your boyfriend speaks between his labored breathing. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, clawing against James’s chest as you feel like you’re trapped between heaven and earth. James’s thick hardness opens you up while Sirius’s penetrates deep inside your body.

“Wanna fuck you harder,” your boyfriend says once he feels your muscles unwinding, your tight hole finally adjusting to his size. “Wanna fuck you so hard until I cum, baby, can I?”

“Me too.” James takes one of your breasts in his hand, tongue circling your nipple. “I want it, sweetheart.” He mouths against your skin. “Want to feel you clench harder around me.”

You bite the corner of your lip, nodding your head as your heart rate escalates fast. “Ah—mmm, yeah.”

With your permission, both men hastily pick up the pace, robbing a scream from the back of your throat when James lifts his hips at the same time Sirius pushes forward. 

You feel like floating — it’s insane how your body can still handle this instead of breaking apart. Sirius penetrates deep but James grazes the spot that makes your vision turn white. 

Gasping in surprise, you blurt out his name. “Ah, James—”

Sirius’s hand slithers from behind, clasping firmly against your mouth. “I’ve told you,” he snarls, “You either scream my name or nothing at all. Don’t piss me off.”

Sirius never hurts you, he would rather die than lay a finger on you but at that time, anger radiates off of him in a way that sends fear crawling on your skin. You nod your head, eyes wide open in shock, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Now what do you say?”

“I want you, Sirius.”

“Want me to do what?”

“Want you to fuck–ah–want you to fuck me–”

“Scream for me, baby.” Sirius turns to hard, pitiless thrusts, grabbing one of your hands and pinning it against your back. 

He snaps his hips, once, twice, emphasizing his next words. “Scream. my. fucking. name.”

He’s forcing it out of you, making you cry out his name in such a pathetic way, you turn the other man jealous. 

James, now wanting nothing more but to get your attention and reach his high, starts to abandon his effort in being docile. “I want you to look at me,” he begs, rutting his hips harder against yours. “I want you to look at me as I cum—”

“Cum inside her and I’ll kill you,” Sirius growls, his nails digging painfully into your hips.

“But—ah!” James throws his head back, feeling like he’s already on his limit. “I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

Sirius breaks away, wrapping an arm around your stomach and yanking you close to his chest until James has no choice but to slide out of you. “On your knees,” Sirius orders him. “You can cum in her mouth.”

It wouldn’t feel as delightful nor as satisfying compared to shooting his seeds inside your walls, but James — knowing his position — takes what he can get. 

You return to your hands and knees as James stands before you, the tip of his cock, coated with your slick, hanging a few centimeters away from you.

Sirius pushes himself inside your pussy this time, sending your body forward right at the same time you’re taking James into your mouth. 

He fucks you fast, knowing that he doesn’t have to be gentle this way. James winces at the vibration your mouth gives him, his hips slowly moving on their own. 

He lands one hand on your hair, stroking your strands first and tugging at the roots when you moan harder around him at the feeling of Sirius pulling out only to slide his dick inside your ass. 

“Goddamn, I love this,” Sirius rasps, giving one thrust inside your hole, and another one in your cunt next. “Both your ass and your pussy feel so good. So fucking tight. All for me.”

Your face is burning, your heart soaring high, and you’ve been standing on the edge for so long, your body can’t keep up with this any longer. Stroking James’s cock in one hand, you plead, “Fuck, Sirius, don’t play around—I—I need to cum.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, still constantly changing from one hole to another. “You want it, baby? Tell James who’s making you feel good right now.”

You chew on your lip, your hazy eyes drifting up to meet his azure ones. James’s face is set in resigned sad lines, his heart breaks in his eyes when you say, “Y-you, Sirius!”

Sensing the hesitation in your voice, Sirius fills the dip of your spine with his chest, his hand sneaking to your throat before his fingers frame your jaw, forcing you to whirl your head around to face him as he hovers right above your shoulder. 

“I can’t hear you,” he says, “Who fucks you the best?”

You put more pressure on your words. “You, Sirius.”

Sirius fixates his gaze on James’s face, smirking both contemptuously and arrogantly. “Louder, Sweetheart.”

“You, Sirius!”

Keeping his eyes on the other male’s face, he croons, “Well, I guess I have to live up to my name then.”

Sirius moves back and forth, burying himself so deep in your cunt that you can feel his tip kissing your cervix. 

He’s urging you on to your ecstasy, giving you a glimpse of what heaven feels like, by brushing his fingers over your sensitive clit and then presses, over and over again, teasing and taking as he claims your everything.

James flinches when your grip around him gets a little too tight, your orgasm approaching fast that you forget to pay attention to the man kneeling before you. 

“Fuck my mouth,” you tell him, as you have no strength to spoil him any longer. With your hands balancing yourself on the couch, you relax your jaw and let him push in as much as he wants into your mouth.

A sudden snap of Sirius’s hips makes you moan louder and James gasps, the muscles in his abs tautening as he’s drawing closer to his climax. “Ah, —I’m gonna cum—“

“What about you, love?” Sirius’s breathing turns labored. “Gonna cum too? Gonna cum hard on my cock while he cums in your mouth?” He lands his palm on your head, shoving you harder onto James’s cock. 

“Do it then, you filthy whore.”

James moans loudly, his blush spreading to his ears. “G-God,” he nearly whimpers as he hits the back of your throat. “sweetheart–”

Within seconds, the waves of pleasure inside you crest higher and at last, your orgasm crashes over you, stealing your breath and sending the roar and rush of blood ringing in your ears. 

You have no choice but to pull away from James and thankfully, he lets you even when he was so close to achieving his ecstasy.

“Ah, I can feel it,” Sirius chuckles, his hips moving erratically as he’s nearing his brink. “Squeezing around me like that. Been my girl for so long and you still have the best fucking cunt in the world, baby.” He keeps moving his hips, overstimulating you until you let out a spurt, drenching the leather material of the couch with your juices.

“Wait, Sirius—” You sob out, your thighs trembling. “I’m still—”

“I know, baby, just give me a few seconds more,” Sirius says, panting hard, losing his rhythm. This aural evidence of his impending orgasm triggers another for you—smaller, but no less intense. 

“Gonna fucking cum—I’m gonna—ah, fuck—” You can feel it exactly the moment he hits his orgasm, giving a forceful thrust one last time before he slows down, a drawled-out moan fleeting from his lips. 

He still rocks his hips, fucking his seeds back into your hole, his head thrown back as he relishes in the sensation.

Dazed and wrecked, you watch James going down to his knees before you, one hand stroking his shaft while his other one finds your face, pulling you into a kiss. 

He lays his temple against yours as he closes his eyes, nibbling on his lower lip as he pumps himself faster. 

Seeing how rough Sirius fucked you earlier sends his blood pumping and James needs his release. “Touch me, please…”

Sirius, hearing his words, untangles his fingers from your hair. He pushes you down by the nape until your closed lips are pressed against the head of James’s cock, his pre-cum staining your mouth. 

“Take care of him, baby,” your boyfriend says and in your haze, you separate your mouth, taking him in as much as you can. James groans, your mouth feels scorching hot and wet compared to his cold hands.

“Mmh—” you moan around him, giving James the final touch that he needs to send himself to cloud nine. James ejaculates inside your mouth with his lips —  his hand lands on your shoulder, conflicted between pushing you away so he won’t stain you with his essence more than he already does, or keeping you still so you can swallow everything down your throat. 

None of you are given any chance, however, as your boyfriend says, “Keep it in your mouth.”

Sirius pulls you up, your back flush against his chest as his face hovers above you, staring at you upside down. 

“Open up,” he commands and you do, parting your lips to let him take a glimpse of James’s thick, white semen pooling inside your mouth. 

Sirius smirks. “He came a lot, didn’t he?” Before you’re given a chance to respond, your boyfriend spits into your mouth, his hand pressing against the underside of your jaw. “Now, swallow.”

James watches the scene with his jaw hanging slack, unable to believe that this is the reality he’s seeing. He watches you share another inverted kiss with your boyfriend, with Sirius moaning against your mouth as he tastes the rest of James’s cum on your tongue.

James finally snaps out of the haze—though just barely—after watching you kiss Sirius like your life depends on it. His eyes are still glazed over with lust, lips parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast. He looks like he’s forgotten where he is—forgotten everything except you.

Then Sirius leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is dark silk. “What do you say, baby? To Potter?”

You turn your head slowly, gaze locking onto James’s. There’s no teasing in his expression now—just raw want, wide and open. He’s still watching you like he can’t believe you’re real.

Your voice is soft, shaky. “Thank you, James.”

A slow, crooked smile pulls at his mouth. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Satisfied, Sirius peels himself away from you and strides toward James, the tension between them simmering just beneath the surface. The space narrows until it vanishes altogether—Sirius grabs James by the throat, rough but controlled, and drags him forward.

It’s James who breaks first—slamming his lips into Sirius’s like he’s been waiting years for this. The kiss is wild and urgent, all teeth and tongues and barely restrained need.

You feel the heat rise again in your chest, between your legs, just watching them.

When they finally part, their lips are swollen, breaths ragged. James leans in close, voice low and reverent, and whispers against Sirius’s mouth:

“Thank you for sharing your girl, Black.”

-

-

The halls you’d memorised by second year became half-lit, all curves and corners that felt more familiar than your own dormitory. At night, Hogwarts wasn’t just home - it was yours. Your secret, your sanctuary.

You moved quietly, the balls of your feet brushing over cool stone. Not because you were guilty - you weren’t breaking any rules that mattered (sneaking out doesn't count, you're only guilty if you get caught) - but because there was something sacred about the stillness.

You’d just slipped behind the tapestry shortcut near the Grand Staircase, feet bare for speed and stealth, when you heard them.

Footsteps.

Not the confused shuffle of someone lost. Not the reckless pounding of a student running from a Prefect they saw down the corridor fast approaching. These steps were measured. Purposeful. Two sets, moving together, rhythmically, like they’d done this before.

You froze, every muscle held tight in an instant, and pressed yourself against the wall. Fingers curled into the folds of the tapestry, you leaned slightly forward and peered through the gap in the fabric, breath shallow.

There, illuminated by the soft blue glow of a hovering lantern charm, walked Remus Lupin and Madam Pomfrey.

You blink at the sight - once, then again - trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Because it isn’t strange to see a student with a teacher. But this? This didn’t feel disciplinary. It didn’t feel like a student caught out of bed, dragged back to their dorm with a lecture trailing behind them. It felt. . . familiar. Practiced.

Pomfrey’s hand was firm on Lupin's arm. Not yanking or pulling, but steadying. Guiding. Protective in a way that spoke of history, of routine. She wasn’t scolding him - she was supporting him.

And Lupin -

Lupin looked ill.

You couldn't tell much as they are a good distance away and the castle is much too dark, but even you could tell that much from where you were hiding,

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look up. Just kept walking beside her in silence.

You didn’t follow. Even though your curiosity had woken up with a start, sitting upright and alert in your chest. Even though your mind immediately began stitching theories together like some frenzied seamstress. You weren’t nosey.

And it wasn’t your business.

So you let the moment pass.

Once their footsteps faded and the shadows settled back into stillness, you stepped out. Carefully. One foot, then the other, like the floor might still hold their presence.

You glanced down the corridor, half-expecting to see them again, but it was empty now - only the torches and the faint warmth of their passing remained.

You didn’t think about it again until you were in the kitchens, the portrait swinging closed behind you with a soft huff of displaced air.

The elves greeted you like they always did - not with surprise, but with familiarity. Like you were just another part of their nightly routine. One of them pressed a plate into your hands without asking, another handed you a steaming mug, and a third patted your arm before bustling away to stack dishes.

You sat on one of the benches, cross-legged and quiet, the warmth of the tart melting through your fingers, the cocoa steaming in slow curls. The room hummed with gentle magic, old and kind, like a lullaby with no words. You sipped, and chewed, and listened to the stillness.

And even though you weren’t thinking about it - not consciously, not really - a part of you kept replaying the image. The two of them walking together in that dim corridor, her hand on his arm. His silence. His eyes.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That maybe he had the flu. That maybe she was just being kind.

You told yourself not to wonder.

But you did.

The next morning, Remus came to breakfast late.

Not just a few minutes behind everyone else. No - late enough that the owls were already gone, the porridge was cold, and most of the chatter had dwindled to tired murmurs.

He looked worse than he did last night, didn't Madam Pomfrey assist him?

There was a hollowness to his face, like something essential had been scooped out in the night and hadn’t come back yet. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t just shadows - they were bruises, dark and deep, like sleep had tried to find him and failed.

You watched as he reached for the pumpkin juice, his movements slow, careful. He winced when his fingers closed around the pitcher. Both of his hands were wrapped in fresh white bandages - not the kind Madam Pomfrey handed out for blisters or scrapes, but the thick kind, the serious kind. The kind you wore when something had torn open and they didn’t want anyone to see.

His posture was wrong, too. He sat stiffly, spine too straight, like his whole body was a single long ache.

Sirius Black was being loud.

He was telling a story about something ridiculous - Peeves, maybe, or James turning a Slytherin’s robes inside out mid-duel - but he was telling it too fast. Too loud. Like he was trying to fill the space so no one would look too closely.

James, beside him, eagerly clinging to Sirius' words.

And Peter - Peter kept glancing at Remus like he was watching a sandcastle about to collapse. Small, subtle flicks of his eyes, the kind you might miss if you weren’t paying attention.

You watched them from your end of the table, your spoon suspended halfway to your mouth, cereal going soggy while you took them all in.

Weird.

That’s what your brain settled on, in the absence of any better explanation. Just. . .weird.

You decided then, at the age of 13 that boys were weird.

You didn’t ask. Didn’t say anything to anyone. You just swallowed it down, along with your lukewarm breakfast, and filed it away into that mental cabinet you only opened on quiet nights.

And then it happened again.

The next month.

And the next.

And the one after that.

Always the same rhythm. Always on the full moon. Always late to breakfast, with new bandages and new silences and new shadows under his eyes -

Always with Madam Pomfrey.

And the injuries - they never matched the stories.

He’d claim he fell down the stairs, or tripped over a bookcase, or had a nasty encounter with a particularly aggressive Puffapod. But they didn’t match. Not really. The scratches were too deep. The bruises too well-placed. The pain too real for something so mundane.

So you did something instinctive.

You started keeping track of the moon.

Just to see. Just to make sure.

And when the pattern held - when the full moon rolled around again and Remus limped into the Great Hall with a split lip and a bandage on his collarbone - something inside you shifted. Quietly, but permanently. Like a book falling off a shelf and opening to a page you hadn’t meant to read.

You had to know.

You waited for the next full moon like it was a secret coded into the stars. Like the answer to everything was tucked between the spaces of its rising.

Second-year : June 8th, 1973

You snuck out long after curfew, later than even your usual kitchen adventures. The castle was silent in the way that made your ears ring. You moved like a shadow, slipping through corridors with your breath tucked tight in your chest.

You followed them - just far enough behind not to be seen, but close enough to feel the pull of where they were going.

Through hidden doors you hadn’t known about. Behind suits of armor with eyes that flickered in the dark.

They left the castle.

You didn’t follow further - not then. You stood at the edge, just past the last torchlight, and watched them walk into the trees. Madam Pomfrey still had her hand on his arm. Remus still didn’t say a word.

But you remembered the direction.

The next morning, just before the sun crested the hills, you crept out again.

The castle was still sleeping, tucked in its dreams. The grass outside was wet with dew, the sky pale pink and lavender, a canvas not yet painted. The air was thin with morning -

The Shrieking Shack is where you ended up in when you followed their path through the whomping willow. It looked empty, broken, all boarded windows and peeling paint.

You’d grown up with stories about it - how it was cursed, how ghosts screamed through its halls on stormy nights, how even the bravest dared not enter.

You climbed anyway, your breath shallow and your palms sweating. Each step up the hill felt heavier than the last.

The wooden porch creaked beneath your weight. You didn’t go inside fully - didn’t have to. There was a break in the slats, a crack just wide enough to see.

And through it, you saw him.

Remus Lupin.

Lying on the floor, curled in on himself like a question. His body was all angles and shadows, chest rising in small, uneven breaths. Sweat beaded his skin, and there was blood - not dried, not old. Fresh. Soaking through the rips in his shirt, streaking down his back.

The wood beneath him was scarred, clawed deep, as if something monstrous had raged and thrashed and left the wreckage of itself behind.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t run.

You didn’t cry.

You just stood there, hands clenched at your sides, staring through the slats while your heart beat like thunder in your throat.

Not afraid. Not really.

Just. . . changed.

You knew now.

And you wouldn’t tell a soul.

The first time, you left a biscuit.

It was stupid, maybe. Too sentimental - yes.

You left a ginger biscuit on the windowsill of the Shrieking Shack. Wrapped in a napkin. No note.

He never mentioned it. You didn't check.

The second time, it was tea.

Strong, spicy black tea in a little tin you nicked from the kitchens. A scribbled note under the lid: For the mornings after.

You tucked it behind a warped slat in the wooden fence and walked away before sunrise. Your heart thudded the whole time.

After that, it became a pattern.

A chocolate frog.

A worn paperback copy of Magical Creatures That Might Not Kill You, pages annotated in your tiny, looping scrawl.

A knit scarf in Gryffindor red - faded, a little too short, the wool pilled but warm. It smelled like chocolates and apple pie.

A tiny pot of bruise balm, brewed in secret and labeled only with a hand-drawn moon.

You never stayed to watch him find them. Never left a name. But you started sleeping easier on full moons, knowing you havedone something - even if it was just a biscuit or a scarf.

It was a ritual now. A kindness you couldn’t explain. A secret kept not out of fear, but something deeper. Quieter. Something like care.

Remus Lupin was not thinking about breakfast.

He was thinking about how his ribs still ached when he twisted. How his left shoulder clicked when he lifted his fork. How he hadn’t told anyone about the things that kept showing up at the Shack - soft, sweet, thoughtful things that made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t know how to name.

He kept the scarf in his trunk. Wore it when the wind bit too sharp. It still smelled like something warm and alive.

That scent was on his hands now - faint - when he lifted his mug of pumpkin juice.

And then it hit him again. Strong.

Not in memory. Not in theory.

In the air.

He went still.

And then she walked past.

Not toward him. Not looking. Just brushing by the Gryffindor table with her bookbag slung across her chest and her hair still damp from her morning shower.

Her.

That was her scent.

He blinked too slowly, jaw slack, brain fuzzy with the sudden rush of realization.

James nudged him in the ribs. “You planning to breathe again anytime soon, or. . .?”

“What?” Remus mumbled, eyes still half-tracking her down the table.

“Oh my God,” Sirius muttered, leaning across the table with a shit-eating grin. “He’s gawking. Our Remus Lupin has joined the land of the living. Quick, someone write this down.”

“Who is she?” James asked, glancing over.

Peter - helpful, as always - perked up. “That’s ____ ____. Mum knows her family - they’re old Gryffindor and Ravenclaw stock. Her older brother was Head Boy last year. Works at the Ministry now.”

“Seen her in the library with Evans at times,” Sirius said, squinting. “Didn’t she get detention for arguing with Professor Binns about why unicorns aren’t boring?”

“She loves magical creatures,” Peter added. “Like, properly loves them. Obsessed with that Scamander bloke.”

Remus blinked slowly. “Newt Scamander?”

“Yeah, him. Think she’s got, like, a poster in her dorm or something - heard McKinnon tease her about it.”

James whistled low. “Wow. So, Remus - that your type then? Bookish - much like you, and oddly into carnivorous beasts?”

Sirius grinned. “Makes sense. Remmy here is a bit of a carnivorous beast himself.”

Remus flushed scarlet to the tips of his ears - nevermind how Sirius is yet again teasing him about his furry problem, he's been doing it since they found out last week.

He didn’t say a word. Not about the scarf. Not about the tea. Not about the quiet, careful gifts that smelled like her.

But he looked down the table at her one last time - and this time, she looked back.

Just for a second.

And he thought: She knows.

And worse: She’s kind.

And worst of all: He might come back anyway.

Second-year : June 11th, 1973

The lightin the boys’ dormitory had dimmed low, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls and warming the edges of the red and gold tapestries. Outside, the wind howled against the castle, rattling the windowpanes and whispering through the gaps like it wanted in. Inside, the mood was loose-limbed and half-lazy - that specific kind of comfort that came after dinner but before sleep, when everything felt suspended in amber.

Remus was stretched across his bed, back propped against the headboard, legs tangled in the duvet. A book sat forgotten on his lap, pages soft with wear. He hadn’t turned it in twenty minutes.

Sirius lay upside down on James’s bed, his head hanging off the edge, one hand tossing a Snitch into the air and catching it again with practiced ease. He was bored - which was dangerous. Sirius bored meant Sirius thinking, and Sirius thinking meant trouble.

James, ever restless, was perched on the edge of his desk, swinging his legs and poking aimlessly at the seams of a half-peeled Chocolate Frog wrapper. His hair looked like it had just lost a fight with gravity - worse than usual, which was saying something.

Peter was on the floor, cross-legged, unwrapping a packet of Every Flavour Beans like he was defusing a bomb - since when was this boy without treats?

It was peaceful in the way boys’ dorms are when the world feels far away - low laughter, familiar smells, the constant undercurrent of magic humming in the stone.

And then, Sirius opened his mouth.

“Gonna tell your little moonlight admirer how you feel,” he drawled from the foot of James’ bed, “or just keep inhaling her scarf like it’s your lifeline?”

James cackled immediately, delighted. “Bet she knits you socks next. Or a mitten. Should’ve seen the way you practically wagged your tail when she would pass.”

Peter, never one to be left out, piped up with wide eyes and even wider enthusiasm. “She’s got a whole book on werewolf habitats, y’know. I saw her reading it yesterday in the library. Highlighting bits, just wanted to say hi then she started feeding me facts about it. Not exactly my idea for a snack.”

Remus tried to laugh. He really did. His mouth twitched, the sound caught somewhere behind his teeth - but when it finally escaped, it wasn’t laughter. Not really. Too quiet. Too strained. It hit the floor between them like something delicate that had cracked on landing.

He rubbed a hand down his face, slow and bone-tired, then let it fall into his lap. His voice came out quiet, nearly swallowed by the room. “What if I’m just another creature to her?”

The effect was immediate. The teasing halted.

James stopped swinging his legs. Sirius sat up properly. Peter froze, a half-eaten bean forgotten between his fingers - probably for the better, the flavour was cobwebs.

Remus didn’t look up. Couldn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on the blanket, where his fingers twisted the fabric into nervous knots.

“Like. . . like a case study,” he said, the words slow, deliberate. “Another fascinating, tragic monster to write about. One she can observe from a distance and feel good about.”

The silence after that was different - thick and uncomfortable. It wasn’t the usual easy quiet that fell when they all drifted into their own thoughts. This one had edges.

Sirius shifted. The creak of the bed springs echoed louder than it should have in the hush.

“She idolizes Newt Scamander,” Remus continued, voice thin but steady. “Reads about magical creatures like they’re novels. What if I’m just one of those fantastic beasts? A good story for someone like her.”

His voice cracked - not loud, but raw. Frayed at the edges. “I don’t want to be a thing she pities.”

James was the first to speak. But this time, his voice had dropped from its usual larkish rhythm - softer now, almost hesitant. “That’s not exactly bad, is it?”

Remus blinked. Just once. Like the thought had knocked something loose.

“She knew,” James said, gently now. “And she didn’t flinch. Didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t run. She sees you - all of it - and she still brings you tea.”

Sirius, uncharacteristically subdued, let the silence stretch for a second before adding, “If I fancied a creature,” he said, “I’d give it a leash. Not a bloody knitted scarf.”

That earned him a look from James, but the meaning lingered underneath the sarcasm - unpolished but true.

Remus finally looked up, eyes flicking toward Sirius.

Sirius shrugged one shoulder. “That was a gift, mate. Not a 'Care for Magical Creatures' project.”

The words settled in the space between them like warmth. Heavy, but not burdensome.

Remus didn’t say anything. Just nodded once. Slow. Then, like it was second nature, he reached beneath his pillow and pulled out the scarf. His fingers curled around it - not in desperation, but something steadier. Quieter.

He held it close.

Like maybe, just maybe, it could keep the moon away.

Third-year : November 17, 1973

“You’re watching her again,” James whispered one day during Charms, his voice pitched low enough to avoid detection, but not low enough to hide the teasing fondness in it.

Remus didn’t even bother pretending to look away. He was watching you from across the room, where you sat cross-legged in your chair, completely absorbed in whatever you were sketching in the margins of your notes. Your tongue poked out in concentration, a tiny, unconscious thing, and he wondered if you even knew you did that.

“I’m not watching her,” Remus mumbled, even as his eyes remained fixed on you.

Sirius leaned in, smirking. “Mate, if you stared any harder, you’d see through her robe.”

“She’s just - she’s interesting,” Remus said, voice barely above a whisper. He was trying not to turn red, trying not to feel the way his pulse picked up when you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “She reads Beasts & Beings for fun.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Still funny when she told Kettleburn that his dragon theory was outdated. She quoted Newt Scamander at him. In detail.”

“She did,” Remus admitted before he could stop himself. The corner of his mouth twitched. His eyes softened as he watched you scribble something else on the edge of your parchment.

That night, he found a tiny pouch smuggled into his bookbag - he definitely did not put that there. Inside was a single lemon drop, his favorite. There was no note. Just a ribbon tying the pouch shut. Green, not his House color.

He stared at it for a long moment, heart twisting, then quietly tucked it into the back of his drawer, not intending at all to eat it.

Third-year : January 14, 1974

You and Remus got paired in Potions.

It hadn’t been planned. Slughorn, flustered after Wilkes nearly caused a cauldron explosion, had shuffled everyone around. You’d ended up beside Remus, settling into his table like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” you said, bright and easy. “We make a good team, yeah?”

Remus could only nod mutely, trying to focus on the flobberworms he was supposed to be slicing. His hands weren’t steady. He nearly took off a fingertip.

“You alright?” you asked, leaning in a little closer to check his work.

He could smell your hair. It was warm and comforting, like chocolate and apple pie, like something from a dream he hadn’t let himself have.

“Fine,” he croaked, forcing himself to look at the cutting board instead of you. His ears were burning.

After class, he sat on his bed for half an hour trying to write a thank-you note for the lemon drop - just something simple, something kind. But nothing felt right. Every line sounded stupid or too much or not enough.

In the end, he burned it.

Fourth-year : September 31, 1974

By then, everyone knew you were odd.

Not in a cruel way - at least, not most of the time. You didn’t go on many Hogsmeade trips, claiming you were “busy” with things no one else seemed to understand. You doodled magical creatures in your textbooks, filled the corners of your parchment with sketches of things no one else cared to imagine. Once, someone caught you reading a book about Chimaera taming and called you weird to your face.

You just laughed.

Remus loved that laugh. It was soft and sheepish, like you knew you were strange and had already made peace with it - like you have decided that's who you were and, what's so bad about it?

Sirius came storming back into their dorm one night, arms crossed and indignant.

“Marlene just said she’s lame for skipping Hogsmeade again,” he declared. “Knitting. Can you believe it?”

Remus blinked. “She’s what?”

“Knitting. Like a bloody gramma. Didn’t even say no - just mumbled something about wool gauge and disappeared.”

Remus neglected to comment on it - although he is interested, anything about you was a sure way to get his attention. Just the mention of you makes him perk up.

The next morning, after a particularly rough full moon, Remus found a scarf folded neatly right near the passage in the Shrieking Shack. Green and gold. Loosely stitched with little stars embroidered at the ends. It was soft - softer than anything he owned.

He clutched it to his chest for ten whole minutes, eyes closed, breathing in your scent, before hiding it under his jumper just in time for Madam Pomfrey to pick him up.

Fifth-year : March , 1975

The Animagus transformations worked.

It was an absolutely insane idea - one only the Marauders of all people could think of - and it worked! They ran with him now. Laughed and barked and butted heads beneath the moonlight. It wasn’t just suffering anymore. He wasn’t alone.

But you didn’t know.

You still left things for him - little kindnesses you never claimed. A pair of self-warming socks. A clipping from The Daily Prophet with an article about centaur diplomacy, your notes scribbled in the margins. A new tea after every full moon.

You thought he was still alone every time. Still cold and trembling in the Shrieking Shack.

He couldn't confront you about it and open the exploding can of worms, so he also couldn't let you know that he had friends - brothers - to be with him every full moon.

His very own, mismatched pack -

Fifth-year : February 16, 1976

Sirius dropped onto Remus’s bed one night, his ribs still sore from the transformation -

“Alright,” he said with a sigh, flopping backward. “I get it.”

Remus looked up, eyes tired. “Get what?”

“The scent thing,” Sirius said. “You said she smells good. You’re right. She smells like - something sweet and like, pastries. Like she’d be soft to the touch.”

Something flickered behind Remus’s eyes. Sharp. Territorial.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he said, voice low.

Sirius blinked. “Whoa. Relax -”

“I mean it.”

James poked his head through the curtain, eyebrows raised. Peter followed.

Sirius sat up slowly, then grinned. “Ohhh. We’ve reached the territorial stage.”

Peter snorted. “Our Moony’s in love.”

“Shut up,” Remus muttered, but his face was already turning red.

“You could tell her,” James offered. Not teasing. Just kind.

Remus stared at the scar across his palm. The latest one. Pale and healing.

“I don’t want her to see the monster.”

James sat beside him, patting his knee. “She already has, Mate,” he said softly, “and she still leaves you biscuits.

Sixth-year : December 16, 1976

It’s nearly Christmas break. The snow is falling heavy, blanketing the castle in white. The moon is coming. He can feel it in his bones.

You passed him in the corridor today, cheeks pink with cold, scarf askew.

“Remus!” you called, smiling wide. You held up a parcel wrapped in paper. “I made extra peppermint bark. Want some?”

He nodded, throat too tight to speak. You pressed it into his hand like it was nothing - like you didn’t even realize what it meant to him.

Later, in the quiet of the dorm, he pulls out the scarf - the green and gold one - from under his pillow. It still smells like you - after all this time, he had managed to preserve it - he's always been the best at charms among Marauders. Still feels soft from your hands.

He presses his face into it as snow begins to fall outside, the world hushed and gentle for once, and wonders - not for the first time - if maybe, just maybe, this ache inside him might quiet someday.

Remus gets up abruptly - “I'm off to go patrol.”

You don’t look up from your knitting. The yarn pulls tight between your fingers, snagging slightly as though it’s resisting your movements - like it’s aware your mind isn’t really here, not in this warm, humming common room, but somewhere else entirely. Somewhere a few feet away.

Somewhere just across the rug where a certain someone used to lounge with a book half-hidden behind the arm of a chair, scarf always knotted around his throat no matter if it was snowing or sunlit outside.

“It’s not a crush,” you mutter, voice low and stubborn.

Marlene laughs, not cruelly but with that familiar ease of someone who’s seen all your tells. “It’s a tragedy,” she says, brushing a bit of fluff from her sleeve. “The boy looks at you like he’s starving and won’t let himself eat.”

Your fingers slip - just for a second - but it’s enough to drop a stitch. You suck in a breath through your teeth.

Marlene doesn’t push. Just reaches over and tugs gently at the yarn, not enough to undo anything but enough to make a point. “Come on. Go steal something sweet. Butterbeer tart’s still on the menu if you’re lucky.”

You don’t reply. Don’t even nod. But ten minutes later, your knitting tucked away and scarf bundled into your bag, you’re gone.

The corridors are quiet, hushed in that late-night way where even your footsteps seem cautious, like they’re afraid to be caught out of bed. You’ve walked this route more times than you can count - past the tapestry with the unicorns and the secret shortcut, past the suits of armor that hum little tunes when they think no one’s paying attention.

You’re one portrait away from the kitchens.

But you never make it.

Not this time.

Because the second you turn the corner, just as the warm smell of baked bread begins to tease your senses, a voice cuts through the soft torchlight.

“Caught you.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. Heart stutters, breath catches—and of course it’s him. Of course it’s Remus bloody Lupin, arms crossed in that quietly superior way of his, prefect badge gleaming like some smug little moon pinned to his chest.

You blink at him, trying to figure out just what he meant by those words, then blink again as if you can reset the moment.

“I’m sleepwalking,” you say, trying to summon a convincing tone but failing miserably.

One eyebrow rises, unimpressed.

“This is a dream,” you try again, lifting your chin like that’ll help sell it,“you’re a dream.”

Still no smirk - but now there’s a grin, and it’s worse, somehow. Wide and real and golden with amusement, warm in a way that knocks the breath out of you. “Right. And the hallway is a marshmallow field?”

“No,” you say primly, adjusting your bag. “It’s a treacle tart field. Get your dream logic straight.”

That makes him laugh. Really laugh - not the usual quiet chuckle he gives when he’s grading papers or half-listening to Sirius’ antics, but something bigger. Breathless and surprised. It bubbles out of him and wraps around you like sunlight.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the kitchens. “Let’s go see if the dream pantry’s still stocked.”

Inside, the house-elves beam the moment you enter. They flit around like you’re a favorite relative come home for a visit, pressing warm pastries and mugs of cocoa into your hands, asking after your classes like they haven’t seen you in months.

You accept a tart with a smile you don’t quite realize is on your face, drop into your usual seat near the hearth, and glance up - only to find Remus still watching you. Not in a way that feels heavy or intrusive, but like he’s seeing something he hadn’t noticed before.

“Do you come here often?” he asks, accepting a steaming mug from a house-elf with a polite nod.

You take a sip, let the heat settle in your chest, and shrug. “Only when the moon’s not full.”

His expression shifts, just slightly. His eyes flicker, and for a heartbeat you wonder if you’ve pushed too far, said too much.

But then he smiles again - softer this time. Quieter. A little sad.

“Right.”

And you both leave it at that, he misses his chance and you don't give him another one.

It earns a huff of laughter, soft and full of something you can’t quite name. You don’t say anything else after that - not for a long time. You just pass bites back and forth between you, let the cocoa warm your fingers, and sink into the kind of silence that feels full instead of empty.

He walks you back when the clock nears curfew.

The halls are darker now, hushed with sleep, shadows curled in every corner. Everything feels like it’s been dipped in ink—quiet and secret and slow.

“I should write you up,” he says, casual as anything, hands in his pockets.

“You should try to catch me awake next time,” you toss back, bumping your shoulder lightly into his.

He laughs again - richer this time. Like he’s not pretending to be anything. And it’s the kind of sound that lodges itself in your chest, something you’ll hold onto in the days ahead.

When you reach the portrait hole, you pause. Neither of you says goodnight - not yet.

You just look at him.

And he looks back - like he’s memorizing your face in this exact light, like he’s afraid it might be different tomorrow.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment.

“For what?”

He hesitates, like the answer might tip something between you. Then: “For. . .” he trails off, letting the words simmer in his mouth, for not running, he let it die down. “tonight, it was fun. I'm glad I didn't turn you in - for now.”

Later that night, he doesn’t reach for the scarf.

Doesn’t wrap it around his throat like armor.

Doesn’t need to.

Because your scent clings to the jumper he wore - honeyed and soft, threaded through with cinnamon and something warmer he can’t name. Something alive.

He buries his face in the fabric, lets the night fold around him.

And for the first time in a long while, he sleeps like he wasn't being crushed under the weight of the moon.

Sixth-year : January 6, 1977

You don’t mean to listen in on the Marauders.

You were just on your way back from the kitchens - late again, as always - and your steps slowed outside the hospital wing out of something you didn’t want to name. It’s the morning after a full moon. And even if no one else says it out loud, your body seems to know. The air feels different. Heavier. Like it’s holding its breath.

You hear the tail-end of voices.

Remus, angry. Fraying at the edges in that quiet, splintered way he always tries to hide.

“I told you to leave me.”

James, patient - always the one trying to stitch everything back together. “We just wanted - ”

“You don’t get it,” Remus snaps, bitter like blood in the mouth. “You can’t.”

“We do, mate,” Sirius cuts in, uncharacteristically soft - careful, like he knows the cracks. “That’s why we’re here.”

Remus exhales, and it sounds like it hurts him to do so. “Then stop pretending you can fix it, I almost killed Wormtail last night!”

A pause. The kind that stretches and settles in the hollow of your throat.

Then footsteps.

You start to back away, heart hammering, limbs sluggish with indecision - but James steps into the corridor and spots you before you can vanish, caught like a secret you didn’t mean to keep.

He doesn’t startle. Just stops. Looks at you like he expected this. Like he knew exactly where you’d be.

“He’s not himself right now,” James says, voice even but not unkind. “But you calm him down. More than any of us.”

You blink at him, trying to figure out just what he meant by those words, then blink again - because your hands suddenly feel too empty. Too full. Like they’re holding something invisible and precious and terrifying all at once. You nod.

“Go,” James says, softer now, “he needs you.”

The hospital wing smells like potion fumes and something burnt. Something scorched at the edges, like a fire only just put out.

You step in quietly.

He’s curled on his side, back to you. Bandages at his ribs, neck, arms - he looks like someone who’s lost a war he never volunteered for. Someone still bleeding from it.

You pause at the foot of the bed, uncertain.

“Remus?” you say softly, like saying his name too loud might break something.

No response.

You glance around. Madam Pomfrey’s not here. The salves are still out on the side table, lids half-off, like someone left in a rush. Like they couldn’t stand to stay.

“I can help,” you offer, voice gentle, fingers already reaching. And when he still says nothing - no yes, no go away - you take that as a maybe.

This is it, the silent confirmation that you knew what you knew - not much else to say about it. But this one move was the last hit to break the dam.

You kneel beside the bed, the stone floor cold against your knees. Your fingers find the jar of ointment. Your hands don’t shake - but only because they’ve done this before. Only never like this. Never with so much quiet wrapped around you both.

You dab the salve to the edge of a wound along his ribs. He flinches. A breath hitches.

“Don’t,” he says, voice wrecked and raw around the edges.

You hesitate, jar in one hand, salve catching the light. “You need it.”

“Don’t feed it,” he whispers, like a prayer, a plea disguised as a warning, “you keep poking the wolf. Without meaning to.”

You go still.

He doesn’t look at you. Just stares at the ceiling like it’s safer than your face.

“Most days I feel more like it than me,” he says. “The wolf wakes up earlier. Stays longer. It’s harder to pull away.”

A pause, jagged.

“And then there’s you.”

You don’t move. You’re afraid if you do, he’ll stop.

“You,” he says again, like it costs him something. “With your scarves. And your tea. And your smile. You keep being kind. And I can’t take kindness. I latch onto it. I have latched onto it.”

Another pause. One that sinks into the space between your ribs.

“Don’t feed it. It’ll come back.”

Like a starving stray that has known kindness for the first time ever.

You set down the jar. Slowly, deliberately.

Then you reach for his hand - the one resting awkwardly near his side, too still to be comfortable. You take it gently, hold it like it’s already breaking.

He stiffens.

You don’t let go. You squeeze. Just enough to be felt.

And then, finally, you force him to meet your eyes. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

And he looks at you like you’ve set something in him on fire - or maybe put it out. You’re not sure which would be worse.

You squeeze his hand again.

“I’m still here.”

He doesn’t say anything.

But when he finally falls asleep, it’s without the scarf.

And your scent lingers. Treacle and something warm. Something alive. Something his wolf doesn’t want to chase away.

Sixth-year : January 10, 1977

The Great Hall is alive with golden light and louder voices, laughter ricocheting off enchanted ceilings and floating candles. Someone at the Hufflepuff table is singing a ridiculous version of the school song - loud, off-key, and entirely too enthusiastic for this early in the morning.

You’re sitting between Marlene and Mary, halfway through your toast and entirely caught in the middle of an argument about Quidditch that’s escalating in volume and absurdity.

“You couldn’t even smack a Bludger if it has been yelling at you to be hit,” Marlene snipes across the table at Sirius, who grins - all teeth and mischief - and leans over to smear jam onto the sleeve of her robe like it’s a personal victory.

“Oh please, I don't even need to look to hit,” Sirius says, smug. “I'd hit that.”

“You smack like a toddler with noodle arms.”

Peter snorts into his pumpkin juice, nearly spilling it. Mary leans into his shoulder, her hand curled around her cup, and whispers something that makes Peter turn a particularly impressive shade of red.

You glance across the table to where Remus is sitting, posture relaxed but eyes too still. He’s reading. Or pretending to read. His eyes flick up the second you laugh - then dart back to the page like he hadn’t been watching you for the past fifteen minutes. Like he didn’t already know the shape of your voice when it’s soft with amusement.

James doesn’t notice a thing. He’s too focused on Lily Evans, who is seated two tables away, expertly ignoring him with the kind of grace that only makes James Potter want her more.

You nudge Marlene’s knee under the table. “Do you think Potter has ever blinked around her?”

“No,” she replies, taking a casual sip of tea. “I think he’s saving them all up for a dramatic flurry when she finally says yes.”

You nearly spit your drink laughing.

Later that week - same messy group, same noisy chaos, but the setting’s shifted. The common room is a sprawl of limbs and parchment and unfinished essays. Firelight flickers gold across tired faces.

James is doodling something on his supposed Transfiguration essay (you assume it’s Lily-related - possibly tragic, definitely dramatic), Sirius is lounging upside-down on the couch and attempting to convince Marlene to let him smack a Bludger to her to test how long a bruise would last. . . for science.

“The people must know, there is a thirst for knowledge” he insists, waving an imaginary wand like it’s a microphone.

“All you have in you is thirst, you wanker,” Marlene says without looking up.

You’re sitting on the floor, legs crossed beside Remus.

He’s reading about werewolf legislation reforms - you recognize the spine immediately. You gave him that book last Christmas, carefully wrapped with no tag, as if anonymity might soften the meaning behind the gift.

You’re flipping through Fantastic Beasts for what has to be the hundredth time, hunting for a creature you haven’t already committed to memory. The pages are worn and curling at the corners. You like it better that way.

“You ever consider writing Scamander a letter?” Remus murmurs, his voice quiet, his eyes still on the page. “I think he’d actually love to hear from someone who’s read his book so many times the corners are falling apart.”

You shrug, but there’s a smile in it. “What if I sound like a fan? Or worse - like I want to marry his Niffler or something?”

Remus glances at you then, mouth twitching. “You’d probably take better care of it than most people.”

And for a second, just a second, there’s something in his eyes. Something soft. Something oddly mournful, like he’s mourning something that never had the chance to begin.

You look away first.

Sixth-year : February 19, 1977

Saturday morning: the boys’ dormitory, loud and warm and cluttered with socks and open books.

You’re not there, of course.

But your name echoes anyway.

“Did you hear?” Marlene’s voice bounces into the boys’ dorm via the open stairwell. “She had been invited to a date at Hogsmeade today!”

Peter blinks, mid-yawn. “Wait. Who said yes to what?”

“____,” Marlene announces, practically beaming. “Said yes to a Hogsmeade date with that cute Puff. You know the one who messed up the Bubble-Head Charm and nearly drowned himself.”

Sirius lets out a low whistle. “Bet Moony is thrilled.”

James nudges Remus with his foot. “You gonna let her slip away like that, mate?”

“She’s not mine to begin with,” Remus says. He doesn’t look up from his book.

But the boys notice. They notice the way his hand tightens on the spine, how his thumb presses hard against the edge. How he hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

Then a second date. Then a third.

Each time, you return laughing. Bright-eyed, breathless, the sleeves of your jumper dusted with cold air and crumbs from Honeydukes. You say he’s funny. You say he always forgets the way to Madam Puddifoot’s and insists on turning right at least three times. You say he tripped on his own shoelaces and tried to pretend it was a dance move.

You never say romantic. Never say interested.

You keep saying friend.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because every time you tell the story, Remus hears it in the space between your words.

He hears it because he’s always listening for you. Even when he wishes he wouldn’t.

The fourth date happens on a crisp Sunday morning in late-April. The kind of morning where the sun pretends it’s warm but the wind says otherwise.

You meet him outside the gates, scarf tucked around your neck, mittens on your hands. You’re unaware that Marlene is watching from the entrance like a hawk.

By dinner, she’s had enough.

“Four dates is basically a proposal,” she declares at the table, voice cutting through conversation like a blade.

Sirius chokes on his pumpkin juice.

The boys freeze.

James lowers his fork slowly. “Is that. . . is that a real rule?”

“It is now,” Marlene says, matter-of-fact.

Peter side-eyes Remus. “Well. Better start planning the wedding.”

Remus says nothing.

Just folds the scarf you gave him - the one he never wears in public, but always carries anyway - and tucks it back into his pocket. The same way he always does when his hands are shaking.

Seventh-year : September 24, 1977

Sixth year ended in a blur of exams and the golden haze of summer seeping into every hallway. Marlene starts a game where she dramatically announces “End of an Era” every time someone does anything - eating a last toastie, turning in their final essay, waving goodbye to a professor.

She nearly burst into tears when you all board the train home. She insists she isn’t crying, just “suffering from seasonal sentimentality,” but even Sirius hugs her twice - some appeasement -

But seventh year comes faster than you expect.

James gets Head Boy. Lily Evans, Head Girl.

And you? You find your name stitched in gold thread into a seventh-year Prefect badge - and beside it, written as if it was always meant to be, is Remus J. Lupin as your male counterpart.

James beams when he sees the list. “Match made in Prefect heaven,” he says, far too pleased with himself.

Remus narrows his eyes. “You did this.”

“Me?” James clutches his chest, mock-offended. “I would never meddle in school administrative affairs. Except when I do.”

Remus sighs, but there's a flush blooming at his collar, subtle but unmistakable.

That Friday, you’re on your first patrol of the year - the corridors are torch-lit and unusually quiet, with that soft, heavy hush that only Hogwarts seems to have at night. Every step echoes like a secret, every laugh feels louder than it should.

You’re making dumb jokes about Peeves trying to charm the Ravenclaw bronze eagle knocker into falling in love with him when Remus suddenly asks it.

“So,” he says, voice casual but noticeably strained, “how’s your boyfriend?”

You blink at him, trying to figure out just what he meant by those words, then blink again, slower this time, processing the implication.

“My what?”

He glances over at you, brows furrowed in confusion. “That boy - the one from last year. Weren’t you seeing him? You went on 4 dates - ”

You laugh, quick and surprised, shaking your head. “You mean Truman from Charms? That wasn’t - oh, no. I didn’t even realize those were dates ‘til Marlene started threatening to sketch out my wedding dress.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. Just keeps walking - like he was starting to rewrite everything in his head.

You glance sideways and grin. “I’m single, Remus. Wildly, tragically single. You could even ask me out, if you wanted.”

Remus nearly trips over his own feet. You were too bold, but then again - you wore red robes.

“What?” he says, voice pitched higher than usual, startled and almost horrified. “You - you’d want - ?”

“Remus,” you say, barely holding back a laugh as you nudge your shoulder into his, “how about it? Next Hogsmead weekend? Or do I need to formally petition the Department of Magical Creatures to approve a date with you?”

He’s still pink in the ears. It spreads slowly, like the blush is rising against his will.

“You’re very high maintenance,” you tease, turning down a corridor as your footsteps fall in sync. “I’ve been flirting for years and you just kept blinking at me like I was a particularly confusing Runes puzzle - you had to make me ask you.”

“I thought you were just. . .kind.”

“I am,” you say, soft but sure. “But not that kind.”

He grins then, wide and stunned, like he’s been holding his breath for a year. “Alright then. It’s a date.”

It appears he's still a Gryffindor after all.

Later that night ; the boys’ dormitory -

Remus walks in dazed, dreamy-eyed, still looking like he hasn’t fully returned to earth.

James glances up from his exploding snap game, eyes narrowing. “You look like you’ve just seen Merlin himself.”

Sirius sniffs the air dramatically. “Do I smell. . .triumph? Or fear?”

Peter leans across his bedpost. “He’s smiling. He never smiles like that unless it's something involving ____.”

Remus blinks once, still dazed. “She asked me out.”

The room erupts.

James throws his deck into the air, cards scattering like confetti. “Finally!”

Sirius howls like an actual wolf. “The wolf has RISEN!”

Peter nearly falls off his bed laughing. “Do you need help picking out an outfit? I can lend you my cologne. It’s French.”

Remus groans, flopping back onto his bed with the dramatic flair of someone halfway between overwhelmed and elated. “I hate all of you.”

Sirius pelts him with a sock. “You love us, you fucking sap.”

You should be glad you didn't get to watch the chaos, or you'll recall your 13 year old self and confirm that yes, boys still are very weird.

Seventh-year : October 15, 1977

You tug your scarf tighter around your neck, the ends whipping in the wind, cheeks already pink from the chill. But the warmth curling in your stomach has nothing to do with the weather. It builds quietly, steadily, like something planted long ago finally beginning to bloom.

Remus is already waiting outside the Three Broomsticks, hair wind-tousled and eyes soft. He’s smiling at you like he still can’t quite believe you’re real, like this moment is something borrowed from a dream he’s too afraid to wake up from -

Perhaps this has played out in his dreams.

“You came,” he says, voice soft with disbelief.

You blink at him, then you snort. “I asked you.”

“I know,” he replies, glancing away like he’s embarrassed by his own hopefulness. “Still feels like a dream.”

Honeydukes -

He offers you his arm like a gentleman out of time, and you loop yours through it without hesitation. It fits - effortlessly, like this has always been waiting in some quiet corner of the universe.

Inside Honeydukes, the air is thick with sugar and nostalgia. You ramble about the magical properties of Fizzing Whizzbees, the way their carbonation interacts with wizarding blood to produce temporary levitation. Then you’re onto exploding bonbons, and how they mimic Puffapod seed reactions when dropped at the right angle.

Remus listens like your words are music. His smile is quiet but wide, the kind that settles deep into the bones. He doesn’t interrupt, just watches you like your joy is something sacred. When you finally pause, mid-sentence and mid-laugh, he holds out your favorite sweet without saying a word.

“For the creature expert,” he says, and it sounds like something more than just a joke.

Through Town -

You walk slowly, deliberately, letting the afternoon stretch itself out. The sky is a soft watercolor of clouds, and your footsteps leave gentle prints in a thin veil of snow.

You pause at the post office and point at the rows of owls. “Great Greys mate for life,” you say, all faux-seriousness and scientific pride.

Remus makes a quiet noise in his throat. “Lofty standards,” he mutters. “Terrible pressure, really.”

You laugh, loud and sudden, and he turns to look at you like he’s trying to memorize the sound - like he could bottle it and keep it in his pocket for later.

Madam Puddifoot’s -

“I swear I didn’t know it would be this. . . pink,” you whisper as you both slide into the lace-covered booth, eyes wide at the heart-shaped sugar bowls and twinkling fairy lights.

“I did,” Remus says, and there’s something suspiciously smug in the way he hides a grin behind his teacup.

You shoot him a betrayed look. “You listened to James bloody Potter?”

“To be fair,” Remus replies, sipping from the floral rim, “he is in a long-term campaign for Evans’ heart. Something must’ve worked.”

You both giggle, quietly conspiratorial. The table feels impossibly small, the air around you steeped in rose-scented steam and unspoken things. He reaches for the sugar at the same time you do, and your fingers brush.

Neither of you move for a second too long.

Shrieking Shack Hill -

As the sun begins to dip below the trees, the two of you find yourselves at the top of the hill, under the old tree that’s watched over this strange little shack for decades.

“I used to think that place was haunted,” you murmur, voice quiet with memory.

Remus hums beside you, low and thoughtful. “It is.”

You glance at him, surprised by the certainty in his tone. But he’s watching the horizon, face unreadable, wind threading through his hair.

Then he turns. His eyes meet yours, and they soften, all the armour gone.

“Thank you,” he says, the words carrying more weight than you expect. “For all the scarves. And the tea. And the creature facts. And. . .for not running.”

Your heart stutters. You blink, then breathe in slowly, steadying yourself against the gravity of the moment. “I wasn’t planning to. Not then. Not now.” Not ever.

Silence settles over you both, thick with promise. Not awkward - just full. Like the world is holding its breath.

Then you smile. “Did you know bowtruckles won’t let anyone near their trees unless they like them?”

Remus chuckles, warm and real. “Are you comparing yourself to a bowtruckle?”

You shake your head, nudging his shoulder with yours. “No, I’m comparing you to one. Grumpy. Guarded. Weirdly charming - green and cute.”

He throws his head back and laughs, loud and unguarded. For a moment, you think you’ve never seen him look quite so alive.

Seventh-year : October 15, 1977 - in the evening

The Gryffindor common room was golden with firelight, every velvet surface draped with seventh-years in varying states of homework neglect. Someone had spelled the windows open just enough to let in the crisp night air, and it smelled like leaves, candle smoke, and the faintest hint of caramel. The kind of night that made even essays about goblin rebellions feel a little romantic.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, knees pulled up as Remus sat beside you, quiet and warm, his fingers occasionally brushing yours on the cushion between you. You weren’t holding hands, not exactly -

“Alright, someone spill it,” Marlene declared, sitting on the armrest of the sofa with her legs dangling over the side, Mary sat properly on it next to her. “Potter has been suspiciously quiet for the past two hours and Evans is pink in the cheeks.”

Lily groaned. “Oh, Merlin’s sake - ”

“She said yes!” James blurted before she could protest. He was practically vibrating where he sat, one leg over the other armrest of his chair, looking like someone had hit him with a cheering charm. “We’re going to the next Hogsmeade weekend. Together. As a couple - I'll propose then.”

The room exploded. Sirius let out a fake sob and clutched his chest. Peter whooped. Mary clapped like it was the Quidditch Cup final.

You could only stifle your laughter behind your hand.

“About bloody time,” you muttered, nudging Remus with your elbow. He smirked.

Lily rolled her eyes but didn’t stop smiling. “Propose on the second date and we are breaking up before a monthsarry.”

“Third date then,” James said, positively beaming.

Mary twirled a strand of Lily’s hair around her finger lazily. “Love is in the air,” she declared. “Must be something in the tap water this year.”

Peter looked up from where he was cross-legged on the rug. “Or the food. Might be time to test the pumpkin juice.”

“Please do,” said Marlene. “Because if I had to watch another moment of unspoken yearning between you idiots, I was going to take matters into my own hands.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I had the love potions ready,” she deadpanned. “Evans and Potter over there, obvious as sin. And you two - ” she pointed between you and Remus, “were worse.”

Your cheeks flushed. Remus let out a soft laugh, dropping his head to you, face hidden into your hair - you blush harder.

“Unlike bloody Evans who was stubborn as fuck,” said Mary. “You two were just bloody idiots plain and simple.”

“Harsh,” Peter quipped, half-heartedly.

“Oh shut up,” Remus mumbled, but there was no real bite in it. His hand brushed yours again, firmer this time. You let it happen.

Then, because Peter had never known when to stop: “So Marlene, you and Sirius have been getting close, huh? All that Quidditch banter. . . odds on a third Gryffindor couple forming?”

There was a beat. Everyone turned.

Marlene blinked once. “Peter, I’m gay.”

Sirius made an offended sound - obviously holding back his laughter while a glint is seen in his eyes - like he always knew. “What? And here I thought we had something special!”

“You have brain damage,” she replied cheerfully, folding her arm to rest it on Mary's head.

The room dissolved into laughter again. Even Lily cracked a grin as she leaned into James. Mary chatises Marlene for messing with her hair.

And amidst the chaos - the comfort of old jokes, the glow of firelight, the echo of seven years of shared history - Remus leaned just slightly into you. His hand found yours, finally, properly this time. No accidental brushes. No scarf between you.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

The common room hummed with joy, and for once, no one was pretending not to notice.

His lycanthropy made him feel dangerous, insecure, and completely undeserved of anything beautiful: kindness, friendship, or any kind of love.

Before starting Hogwarts, he promised himself he could survive whole seven years without friends. He couldn’t let his guard down.

But the promise was quickly broken as soon as James Potter strolled into his compartment.

And then Sirius Black.

And then Peter Pettigrew.

Remus was reserved at first. Responding with short answers, keeping his voice and head as low as possible.

But the other three boys, especially James and Sirius were persistent. They included Remus in everything, even when he didn’t ask for it.

And one day, just a few months into their first year, Remus’s friends found out what happened to him every full moon.

And to Remus’s surprise, they took it well. They were almost too enthusiastic about it.

Before he knew it, Sirius, James, and Peter all became animagi so they could spend the transformations with him. He called them mad, ridiculous, told them that they didn’t know what he was capable of. But they were unshakeable.

Remus thought it was a bad thing for months.

Until, he eventually came around.

And one night, in his second year, as he was falling asleep, he swore straight to Merlin himself.

He already broke the promise of never having any friends.

But he could certainly never ever, under any circumstances, fall in love.

Remus didn’t know how it happened.

It was in your fourth year that he met you through Lily, who was your partner for the History of Magic assignment.

You and the ginger girl became friends after finding out you get along well during long evenings spent in the Library.

And when Remus first shook his hands with yours, his thought was how really bloody pretty you are.

Which was, in his mind, a very unacceptable thought.

Remus prayed that he wouldn’t be seeing you around too much. That maybe you and Lily didn’t get along that well to spend your free time with her.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

You and Lily became inseparable.

You began eating at the Gryffindor table instead of your own house’s one, he began seeing you in the Common Room even though it was against the rules.

And because him and Lily were in the same friend group, he was seeing you everywhere he went.

And so the only solution to this, non-existent, problem was to avoid you as much as possible.

He’d talk to Lily without sparing you anything more than a glance, and whenever you happened to talk to him, his body signals were clear.

He did not want to talk to you.

You caught on to his behaviour quickly as you went back to every interaction you had with him, trying to understand what had you done wrong. And when you couldn’t remember anything, you simply assumed he didn’t think you were nice, or you were too loud or annoying, or he was just too used to his tightly knit friend group and thought you were a growing hole, interrupting somehow.

You did feel bad, to say at least.

“I don’t think Remus likes me very much,” you told Lily one day in the Library.

You saw your best friend’s quill falter over the parchment, then she slowly looked up.

“That’s not true….” she shook her head but her tone of voice told you she wasn’t sure of that herself.

You gave her a look, silently begging her to spare you lies just to not hurt your feelings. You weren’t stupid.

“He barely looks at me when I hang out with you lot, let alone talks to me. I even forgot what his voice sounds like!”

Lily sighed. “Remus is just introverted and shy. You have to give him time–“

“I’ve been friends with you for half a year now,” you cut in. “I think he’s had enough time to get used to me. Admit it, Lils, he doesn’t like me.”

The ginger didn’t say anything. She was stubborn enough to not want to admit to herself that her two closest friends didn’t get along. She couldn’t have that.

And she had to do something about it.

Lily cornered Remus one day in the Common Room after hanging out with you.

The boy was reading a book on the sofa, too lost in the story to notice her coming to stand in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest, looking down at him with a scolding look that had even Remus feeling nervous.

He glanced up at her with a raised eyebrow, wondering what he had done that had Lily looking at him like that.

“Why don’t you like Y/N?” She finally asked.

James, Sirius, and Peter watched the situation with great curiosity. Even they recently talked about the same matter.

Remus blinked once. Then twice. His mouth opening to say the first excuse that came to his mind. But it was like his brain was cut short and he was left staring at Lily as if she just found Atlantis.

“Well?” The ginger impatiently asked.

Remus didn’t expect to be confronted about this and he had no idea what to say.

“I don’t don’t like Y/N.”

Great save, Remus, he thought bitterly.

Lily’s look grew more stern and he knew he was caught lying. His nose didn’t have to grow for it to be so goddamn obvious.

“Oh, really?” She tutted, eyes narrowing. “Because she thinks you don’t like her and she’s feeling really bad about it. So, stop being a coward and tell me.”

Even James and Sirius became uncharacteristically quiet. Remus looked at them for help, but it was no use.

“I really don’t dislike her,” he attempted to ameliorate.

Lily’s eyes softened and Remus found himself be relieved. Her arms fell at her sides.

“Then what is it?” she asked.

His mind raced, trying to find a good excuse to prevaricate about his true feelings for you.

But then, Peter brought him back to reality.

“Moony,” he spoke, voice hesitant. He looked around at his friends, suddenly feeling shy at the received attention. But he said it anyway. “Do you fancy her?”

James and Sirius turned to face him with mouths wide open.

Lily’s eyebrows shot up higher the longer she thought about it.

“Well, well, well,” she said as the realization hit her.

Oh, he was absolutely fucked.

He really wanted to deny it, to tell all of them otherwise, but he decided it felt sort of nice having his friends finally knowing the truth.

However, you could never know.

“You should tell her, Moons,” James said enthusiastically. “Me, Evans, and you two could go on a double date when she finally says yes to me.”

Remus slowly nodded, as if he really considered telling you.

But he never would.

Never.

By the time fifth year rolled around, Remus’s behaviour towards you was completely changed.

Now, he greeted you, looked at you when you were talking, helped you when you were academically struggling and even asked about the books you were reading.

You found yourself stunned every time something like this happened. You were so used to him barely acknowledging you that the first time it happened, you dropped your spoon on the ground. He only smiled and bent down under the table to pick it up for you.

Your eyes were so wide you thought they might fall out of your head.

You thanked him, stuttering, before returning to your porridge, wondering if Remus had hit his head or this was just your dream you hoped to never wake up from.

But his niceness to you continued.

And you really fucking liked it.

Maybe more than you should’ve.

And before you knew it, you started noticing how beautiful Remus was.

How his brown eyes turned honey in the sunlight, how his freckles popped out during summer, how he bit the inside of his cheek when he was concentrating and you couldn’t help but to think he looked adorable.

And then one day, he laughed at something you said.

Usually, when he thought something was funny, he’d only crack a smile and roll his eyes.

But this… this made you feel like seeing the eighth world wonder.

Because it was.

And his laugh remained indelible to your mind and you found yourself replaying it at the most random times of the day.

And then one day, it hit you.

When you thought about him because it helped you to fall asleep. You realized, that your feelings for him were far more intense than you initially thought.

For Remus, it took a bit more time to realize he was utterly head over heels for you.

Or, more denying, to be exact.

It was bad enough that he had a crush on you, so he couldn’t let it get any more serious.

He ignored the way his eyes immediately searched for you everywhere he went, or the way he found himself trying to memorize your face or your touch, or when he buried his nose in his jumper after hanging out with you, breathing in your scent.

Your mere presence became overwhelming for his overall being, his heart beating too fast and his ears bright red.

It all became too much and the more he tried not to think about you, the more he did.

You began showing up in his dreams in ways that left Remus feeling incredibly guilty and unable to look you in the eye the next day.

And that didn’t go past his friends.

He very quickly became the victim of James, Sirius, and Peter’s relentless teasing about his undeniable crush on you.

He tried to remain equanimous around you. But slowly, his facade began slipping away, and he was left bare like a tree in winter.

And you were smart enough to know what his flustered expression meant, but still uncertainty lingered.

Until one day in October in your sixth year.

You had just found out about Remus’s furry little problem after months of suspicions.

Your hand hovered over the Hospital Wing’s wooden door. You knocked, three times exactly.

Not waiting for any response, you walked in, your eyes landing on Remus in one of the beds. His head lifted, thinking it’s just one of the Marauders. At the sight of you, shock overtook his features.

He knew you knew.

You sat down on the chair next to his bed, letting your eyes wander over his new wounds.

“You okay?” You quietly asked, your calmness too abstruse for him.

Remus nodded, still struck.

“Yeah,” he croaked out.

You reached into the pocket of your robes and pulled out a chocolate bar. Remus recognized it to be his favourite one from Honeydukes.

You carefully tore the wrapping and broke off one row before handing it to Remus.

“Eat,” you encouraged. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Remus hesitated for a moment, looking almost worried even though he had no reason to be. He took the chocolate from you and took a bite, the taste melting deliciously on his tongue.

From the corner of your eye, he noticed you watching him and slowly, he met your gaze.

“What?” He managed to ask, his voice shaky.

You shrugged, smile creeping onto your face as you tilted your head.

“Nothing,” you replied casually. “I just still think you look pretty.”

And Remus… he almost choked on his own saliva.

In that moment, he knew.

Oh, I’m falling in love.