may

welcome to my boarding school universe. a collection of scenes spanning seven years, which follow the marauders (and everyone else in their orbit) growing up, falling in love, and making a few questionable decisions along the way.

these are all set in the same timeline, so they’ll all connect and build on each other. they’re probably more fun in order but you can jump around (i certainly will be while writing them)

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YEAR ONE

YEAR TWO

YEAR THREE

YEAR FOUR

YEAR FIVE

October / or, denial November / or, almost

YEAR SIX

November / or, hubris

YEAR SEVEN

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new scenes added as I write them. enjoy the chaos

so. it’s been a minute.

i could give the whole “life got crazy” speech but honestly it really didn’t. i just needed to stop for a bit. you know how it is. sometimes the words don’t come and you have to go live your life until they decide to come back.

anyway. i’m back. i think. hopefully.

updates on the collection:

year three, september / or, wasps is technically done. and by “technically done” i mean i’ve written it, i’ve read it back, and i’ve decided i hate it. it’s giving first draft energy even though it’s definitely not a first draft anymore. the pacing is weird and there’s a whole section in the middle that feels clunky and i can’t figure out how to fix it. but it exists! that’s something! i’ll probably post it eventually when i stop being a perfectionist about it (so never)

i also started halloween 1975 which was supposed to be a fun little seasonal thing and has instead turned into this massive beast that i don’t know how to finish. it’s long. it’s messy. it’s probably going to live in my google drive forever, haunting me. we love an unfinished project <3

that’s where i’m at. missed tumblr. missed this. glad to be back even if my WIPs are in shambles

Sirius: grinning from ear to ear Remus called me pretty

James: And?

Remus had been staring at the ceiling for forty-five minutes when he heard movement from across the room.

A rustle of sheets, and then Sirius’ whisper. “I can hear you not sleeping from here.”

Remus startled, then rolled over lazily. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re breathing like someone doing maths homework.”

“And how, pray tell, does someone breathe while doing maths homework?”

“Like they’re in pain. Confused pain.”

Despite himself, Remus smiled into the darkness. “Fuck off.”

Another rustle, and then Sirius was sitting up. Remus could just about make out his silhouette.

“Can’t sleep either?” Remus asked.

“Nope.” He paused. “Want to not sleep somewhere more interesting?”

“Depends on your definition of interesting.”

“I’ve got a joint.”

“That’s not interesting, that’s just drugs.”

“Drugs can be very interesting, Lupin. You of all people should appreciate that.”

Remus was already pushing back his covers. “Where?”

“Usual spot.”

“James is going to wake up and think we’ve been kidnapped.”

“James wouldn’t wake up if someone set off a bomb in here.” Sirius was standing, pulling on his jacket. “Peter might notice though. He’s a light sleeper.”

They both glanced at Peter’s bed. He was completely still, blanket pulled up to his chin and dead to the world.

“Never mind,” Sirius whispered. “He’s gone.”

They’d done enough sneaking out over the years that they moved on auto-pilot. Easing the door open slowly, just enough to slip through, moving through the hallway and avoiding all the creaky floorboards.

The building was always different at night. Quieter, obviously, but also bigger somehow. 

“If we get caught–” Remus started as they reached the stairs.

“We won't get caught.”

“But if we do–”

“Then we couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. Natural rhythms and all that.”

The side door near the kitchens was supposed to be locked after eleven, but Sirius had figured out years ago that if you lifted while you turned the handle, the latch didn’t quite catch. He did it now, and they were free.

The cold hit immediately.

“Fucking hell,” Sirius muttered, already heading toward the side of the building where a low wall separated the courtyard from the main grounds.

Remus followed, shoving his hands deeper into his jacket's pockets. November had come in cold and wet, and even though it wasn’t raining now, the air had that damp kind of quality that went straight through your clothes.

Their spot was tucked against the wall where an overhang from the floor above gave them some shelter. Not much, but enough. They settled with their backs against the stone, shoulders almost touching.

Sirius pulled out the joint and lit it. For a moment his face was visible in the flare of the lighter–all sharp angles and dark eyes–and then it was gone again.

“You said you were tired earlier,” Remus said.

“I lied,” Sirius took a drag, held it, exhaled slowly. “You know, you always get this strange look when you can’t sleep.”

“What look?”

"Like you’re trying to solve something. Tossing and turning." He passed the joint to Remus.

Remus inhaled, letting the smoke fill his lungs. It was harsh, burned slightly. “Maybe I was sleeping. Just… with my eyes open.”

“That’s disturbing.”

“I’m a disturbing person.”

“You really are.” Sirius was grinning now, just barely visible. “It’s one of your best qualities.”

"What are the others?"

"Your sparkling personality. Your excellent taste in friends." He paused. “How you always let me copy your homework.”

“I don’t let you copy my homework.”

“You don’t stop me. Same thing.” Sirius tilted his head back against the wall. “So what is it tonight then? What’s got you staring at ceilings?”

“Nothing specific. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Stuff.”

“Really painting a picture.”

Remus sighed. “The future. After we leave here.”

“University?”

“University. Jobs. All of it.” Remus passed it back, their fingers brushing for a second. “Two years isn’t very long, is it? Feels like third year was yesterday.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment, smoking. Above them, most of the stars were covered by clouds. “You’ll get in anywhere you want.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually. You’re the smartest person I know.” He held a hand up before Remus could protest. “Don’t argue. It’s factually true.”

“That’s not how facts work.”

“It is now. I’ve decided.”

Remus’s lip twitched. “How very authoritative of you.”

“I contain multitudes.” Sirius took another drag.

They fell quiet. The grounds looked enormous at night. All that space filled with nothing but shadows and the occasional sound of wind through trees. During the day it felt normal and lived-in. At night it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“Your mum send another letter?” Remus asked.

Sirius’s expression shifted. “Three this week.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah.” The word came out flat. “All the same shit. Family expectations, wasted potential, how my brother is doing so much better. You know the drill.”

Remus did know the drill. He’d been hearing about it for years now–the letters from home, the holidays Sirius dreaded, he’d seen the way Sirius’s posture always changed when he saw that familiar handwriting. It had gotten worse lately. More frequent.

“You don’t have to read them,” Remus said.

“I know.”

“Could just bin them.”

“I know.” Sirius smiled, but it was thin and sad. “Can’t help myself though. It’s like a car crash–you know it’ll be awful but you look anyway.” He turned to Remus. “Stupid, right?”

“Not stupid.”

“Feels stupid.”

Remus wanted to say more, wanted to say something that would actually help, but he’d never been good at this. At knowing what words would make a difference. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel about it.”

Sirius studied him for a moment, then smiled properly. A small smile, but genuine. “Thanks. For listening.”

“That’s a low bar.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He passed the joint back. This time, when their fingers touched, Remus was sure it lasted a moment longer than necessary.

“We should go somewhere,” Sirius said, his voice quieter now. “After we finish here. Somewhere completely different.”

“Like where?”

“I don’t know. London, maybe. Edinburgh. Somewhere we choose.” He was still looking at Remus. “Not where we’re supposed to go or where anyone expects. Just somewhere that’s ours. We could get a flat together. You and me and James. Peter too, if he wants. We could all just… fuck off somewhere new. Start fresh.”

Remus’s chest tightened. Get a flat together. Sirius said it so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Which it probably was. They were best friends. People did that.

But something about the way Sirius was looking at him made it feel different.

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Maybe.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m convinced. I just don’t know if I’m the flatshare type.”

“You live in a dorm with three other blokes. You’re literally doing it right now.”

“That’s different. That’s mandatory.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “So you’d only live with me if someone forced you to? Nice, Moony. Really nice.”

His tone was light, teasing, but there was something else underneath it. Something that almost sounded hurt.

“That’s not what I meant,” Remus said. “I just mean you probably wouldn’t want to live with me long-term after school. I’m boring. I go to bed early and I can’t cook and I alphabetize my books.”

“You’re not boring.”

“I’m extremely boring.”

“You’re not.” Sirius shifted, turning toward him, and suddenly they were close enough that Remus could see the details of his face in the darkness–the line of his jaw, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way he was looking at Remus like he was trying to work something out. “You’re clever. And you’re funny when you want to be. And you actually listen when people talk, which is rarer than you’d think.”

“High praise.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re Sirius.”

For a second Sirius just stared at him. Then he shoved Remus’s shoulder. “I despise you.”

“You just said I was clever and funny.”

“I take it back. You’re the worst person I know.”

“And yet you want to live with me.”

The smile faded from Sirius’s face. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

They weren’t laughing anymore. They were just looking at each other, too close, and Remus was suddenly very aware of his own breathing. Of the way Sirius’s eyes had dropped from his, lingering somewhere slightly lower instead.

The moment stretched out and Remus thought he should say something. Should make a joke, break the tension, step back from whatever edge it was they were standing on.

But he didn’t move.

Sirius’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. Had they gone dry? He leaned in slightly–barely, just an inch–and opened his mouth like he was about to say something. 

Then he stopped. Blinked. Pulled back.

“We should head in,” Sirius's voice felt too loud. “Before we freeze to death out here.”

“Right. Yeah.” Remus cleared his throat, looking away. “Probably.”

The cold seemed worse now, or maybe he was just noticing it more. He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Sirius toward the door.

“I mean it though,” Sirius started, not looking back at Remus. “About the flat. I think it’d be good. All of us together somewhere new.”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Sounds good.”

Sirius turned back to glance at him then, something uncertain and almost vulnerable in his face. And then it was gone, replaced by his usual grin. “Come on then, before we actually do turn into ice.”

They slipped back inside, their shoes squeaking slightly on the floor, and made their way upstairs without talking. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it wasn’t quite comfortable either. Something had shifted between them out there. Or almost shifted. Or maybe something had been shifting for a long time and Remus was just now starting to notice it.

At the door to their room, Sirius stopped. “You alright?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” He was studying Remus’s face carefully. “Sure?”

“I’m sure. Just tired.”

“Right.” Sirius turned the handle carefully and pushed the door open, slow enough that it didn’t creak. 

James and Peter were both still asleep. Sirius caught Remus’s eye from across the room, gave him a small nod, then climbed into bed.

Remus did the same, pulling the covers up and staring at the ceiling again. He could hear Sirius shifting on the other side of the room, settling in.

He tried not to think about how their fingers had touched when passing the joint. About the look in Sirius’s eyes the moment before he’d pulled away. About the way his voice had sounded when he’d said yeah, I do.

Remus: flashback to him suggesting they steal a boat at 3am

for context: i write completely out of order. and i’ve written a lot of scenes at this point (though admittedly most of them are sitting in my google drive) but i’ve been saving wolfstar. waiting until i felt ready to do them justice.

jily is my favourite ship. i love the arc of it and the earned intimacy and the way they sharpen each other into better versions of themselves, but wolfstar works on an entirely different (and beautiful) frequency. there’s something inevitable about them, in the way that, say, a greek tragedy’s ending is inevitable. it’s that sense of ‘oh, it’s you. of course it’s you,’

it’s the same kind of quality that makes achilles and patroclus endure. the kind of love that exists in the spaces between words.

i love getting to write this. i love that we all get to take these characters and find new ways to break our own hearts with them. what a beautiful thing it is to be part of.

if you’re working on any marauders era stuff and want someone to read a scene or talk about characterization with, my asks are always open! i’d genuinely love to hear what you’re working on 💛🫶

Sirius is wearing it.

“That’s mine,” Remus says.

“Is it?” Sirius doesn’t look up from his essay. The sleeves are too long on him, pooling slightly around his wrists.

“You know it is.”

“Doesn’t have your name on it.”

Remus stares at him. Sirius stares back.

“You’ve been stealing my clothes for two weeks.”

“Have I?” Sirius is twirling his hair innocently. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“Right.”

“I’ll give it back,” Sirius says, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “When you ask nicely.”

Remus doesn’t ask.

“Hold still,” Mary said, eyeliner pencil hovering an inch from Lily’s face.

“I am still.”

“You’re breathing like a dragon. Stop it.”

“Should I just die then? Would that help?”

“Immensely.” Mary grabbed Lily’s chin. “Seriously though, if I fuck this up you’re going to look like you got punched.”

They were crammed into their shared bathroom, Lily sitting on the edge of the sink in her witch costume while Mary stood between her knees, eyeliner held like a weapon.

A crash came from the dorm room, where Marlene and Dorcas were currently yelling.

Mary shook her head, not even glancing towards the door. “Look up.”

Lily looked up, trying to focus on the ceiling light rather than Mary’s face so close. The light had a crack in it. She’d never noticed that before.

Mary drew along her lower lash line, tongue sticking out in concentration. “So,” she began, voice overly-casual. “You talked to Potter yet?”

Lily’s eyes flickered down automatically. Mary made a small noise of protest.

“About what?” Lily said, looking back up.

“About what he said in the library on Thursday.”

“You mean when he called me a swot and asked if I’d like to remove the stick from my arse?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Why would I talk to him about that?”

“Because he’s been doing it more. The whole annoying you thing.” Mary tilted her head, clicking her tongue. She picked up a brush, dabbing it in dark eyeshadow. “It’s gotten worse, hasn’t it? Like he’s actively seeking you out just to be a prick.”

She wasn’t wrong. Potter had been insufferable lately–showing up wherever Lily was, trying to get a rise out of her. A few weeks ago it had been occasional, now it was constant.

“He’s always been a prick.”

“Yeah but now he’s a prick with a mission,” Mary started blending shadow across Lily’s eyelid, the brush tickling slightly. “I’m just saying, you could tell him to fuck off. Properly. Instead of doing that thing where you go all stiff and prefect-y.”

“I don’t go stiff and prefect-y.”

“You absolutely do. You get this voice.” Mary put on a posh accent. “Detention, Potter. Do control yourself.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“You really do.” Mary leaned back, inspecting her work, then moved to the other eye. “Although I guess it’s better than last year when you just used to go red and storm off.”

“I did not–”

“You literally turned into a tomato every time he spoke to you. It was impressive, actually. I didn’t know a person could go that red.”

Lily felt her face heating up now, as if to prove Mary’s point. “That was because he was infuriating, not because–”

“I know, I know. Because he’s an arrogant tosser who thinks he’s God’s gift.” Mary grinned. “You’ve mentioned it. Several times. At great length.”

“Well, he is.”

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing. I’m just saying you seem to have a lot of feelings about it.” Mary met her eyes. “Strong feelings. Very passionate feelings about how you definitely don’t care what James Potter thinks or does.”

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Nope.” Mary’s grin widened. “Just making conversation. Close your eyes.”

Lily closed them. 

“Right then,” Mary said brightly after a moment. “Halloween party logistics. Who’s going to be there that we need to avoid?” “Mulciber,” Lily said immediately.

“Obviously. Avery?”

“Probably.”

“And…” Mary trailed off.

And there it was. The thing she’d been trying not to think about all day.

Lily’s stomach dropped. “Probably,” she said quietly.

“Okay, open.” Mary waited for Lily to open her eyes, then picked up the eyeliner again. “You gonna do the thing where you pretend you don't see him and then spend the whole night obsessing over whether he saw you pretending not to see him?”

“Why would I–”

“Because that’s what you do. You did it last weekend in town. And that time in the entrance hall when you hid behind that display case.” “I had to tie my shoe.”

“You were wearing slip-ons.” Mary started drawing the wing. “I just don’t understand why you still care. He’s a prick. You’re better off.”

Lily’s fingers twisted in the fabric of her costume.

“He wasn’t always a prick.”

Mary’s hand stilled for a second, then she kept going, voice gentler. “I know.”

“No I mean–” Lily stopped. How could she explain it? That Severus had been her first friend. That he’d made her feel less alone when she was eleven years old and terrified of starting boarding school. That he’d taught her the names of plants and laughed at her jokes and–

And then he’d called her that word in front of half the school.

“He called you–” 

“I know what he called me.” The words came out harsher than Lily intended. “Sorry.”

Mary lowered the eyeliner, stepping back to look at Lily properly. “I know,” she said again quietly. She gave Lily’s shoulder a squeeze. “It’s alright, Lils.”

Another loud thump came from the other room, it sounded suspiciously like someone had thrown a shoe.

Mary picked up a deep burgundy lipstick. “Did you finish Slughorn’s essay?”

Lily latched onto the subject change gratefully. “Not yet. You?”

“Does it look like I finished Slughorn’s essay?”

“Fair point.”

“I’ll copy yours when you finish.” Mary uncapped the lipstick. “Pout for me.”

Lily pouted, Mary applied the lipstick carefully.

“You always copy mine,” Lily said when Mary pulled back.

“You love it.” Mary capped the lipstick, then stood back with her hands on her hips. “Right. You look properly witchy now. Very dramatic. Very ‘I could curse you if I wanted to.’”

She was right. Lily did love it. She loved this– Mary’s brutal honesty and Marlene and Dorcas destroying each other's belongings in the next room. She loved having this. Having them.

After everything.

After losing–

No. She wasn’t going to think about that. Not tonight.

Mary turned to the mirror, adjusting the devil horns perched on her head. Her costume was simple–red dress, horns, tail. She started touching up her own makeup.

“You look fit, by the way.” Mary’s eyes flicked towards Lily in the mirror. 

Lily exhaled through her nose. “Thanks, Mary.”

“I’m a miracle worker.” Mary finished her makeup and turned around. “Right, if he even looks at you tonight–”

“I can handle Severus.”

“Can you?”

Could she?

Lily looked at herself in the mirror. The makeup did look good. She looked older. Different. Like someone who had moved on. Like someone who didn’t still dream about a boy with black hair teaching her about constellations when she was ten years old. 

She didn’t feel like someone who had moved on. 

The door suddenly slammed open. 

Marlene stood there in her witch costume–almost identical to Lily’s, actually–holding what looked like a broken plastic wand in one hand.

“She,” Marlene announced, voice shaking with indignation, “broke my wand.”

“It was an accident!” Dorcas shouted from inside the dorm.

“An accident!” Marlene turned her head back into the dorm. “You sat on it!”

“I didn’t see it!”

“It was on the bed!”

“Your bed is covered in shit! How was I supposed to–”

Marlene turned back around, pointing the broken wand at them. “You’re both terrible friends, you know that? Sitting here while my costume is being destroyed. I’m going to the party alone. I hope you’re happy.”

Marlene stormed back into the dorm, and then there was the sound of another crash.

Mary looked at Lily. Lily looked at Mary.

“Should we–”

“Absolutely not.” Mary said. “I want to see how this ends.”

“It’s going to end with someone in the hospital wing.” 

Mary huffed, standing up and adjusting her devil horns one more time. “Alright, we probably should–”

But Lily wasn’t listening anymore. All Lily could think was: what if he’s there. What if he tries to talk to her again. What if he looks at her with those same apologetic eyes, like if he explains it just one more time she’ll understand, she’ll forgive him, and they can go back to how things were. 

What if part of her wants to listen. 

“Lils?” Mary was watching her. “You alright?”

No. Maybe. She didn’t know.

Lily slid off the sink, smoothing down her costume dress. She picked up the pointy hat on the side and set it on her head. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s just go.”

Mary didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. 

Lily took a deep breath, and headed into the dorm. She tried not to think about the voice that still tried to catch her in the corridors, still tried to explain, still didn’t understand that sorry wasn’t enough. That some things you couldn’t take back. 

She’d deal with it when she got there.

Or she wouldn’t. 

Either way, she had to go.

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