Pairings: Poly!marauders x Fem!reader (Slytherin!reader)
Summary: The train to Hogwarts is meant to be a simple journey. With the Marauders, itâs never that simple.
Warnings: Sexual tension & teasing, Public setting risk (train compartment), Voyeurism / being watched, Oral sex (m!receiving), Penetrative sex f!receiving), Mild possessiveness, Poly relationship
°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ
Youâve been standing in the middle of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for what feels like an eternity. Or maybe only five minutes. Hard to say â waiting always makes time feel slower, and waiting for them is even worse.
Your trunk sits neatly at your side, your wand tucked in your sleeve, your expression schooled into the same calm, vaguely irritated look youâve worn since you were old enough to hide how you actually feel.
Somewhere above the whistle and clatter of trunks, the shouts of parents, and the high-pitched shrieks of excited first-years, youâre searching for a certain trio. Predictably, they are nowhere in sight.
Of course theyâre late.
Itâs been the story of your summer, youâd been practically glued to them for weeks. Not that you had planned it that way. In fact, youâd been rather determined not to spend your break attached to three chaotic Gryffindors who had made a sport of pulling you out of your carefully constructed solitude. But theyâd managed to wedge themselves into your summer days anyway, finding every excuse to keep you out of your house, away from your fatherâs sharp words and suffocating rules.
Youâd hated it at first. Or at least⊠told yourself you did. But by the third week, youâd caught yourself smiling more than frowning when they showed up at your door. That was irritating in its own way.
Still, youâd never admit it out loud.
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes darting between the bustling crowds. Youâre half-convinced theyâve forgotten you entirely, probably still messing around somewhere.
A pair of hands slides around your waist from behind.
You know exactly whose they are before you even see him. Silver rings, cool against the fabric of your shirt, fingers that never seem to stop moving, always touching, fidgeting, teasing.
You donât need to turn, but you do anyway, pivoting sharply in his arms. His grey eyes are warm in a way they never are with anyone else, and thereâs that smile, the one you still canât quite believe is aimed at you.
âMiss me, princess?â Sirius drawls, leaning in as though heâs about to kiss you right here in the middle of the platform. And he does, a quick peck, surprisingly nothing scandalous.
Before you can answer, two more familiar figures appear over his shoulder. Remus gives you a small, knowing smile. Itâs subtle, but enough to soften the hard line of your mouth. And James is beaming at you like youâre the only person worth looking at in the crowd.
Remus beats James to it, leaning down and brushing his lips against yours in a quick, affectionate kiss. Itâs enough to make you blink in surprise, though you try not to show it. James makes a disgruntled sound, stepping forward and promptly shoving Remus aside so he can capture your mouth in his own kiss â longer, messier, and very James.
You can feel your face heating already. You glance around sharply, scanning for curious eyes. PDA has never been your thing. In Slytherin, itâs practically a cardinal sin to look that publicly soft for someone, especially Gryffindors. But your boyfriends⊠well, they thrive on it. Physical touch is how they speak love into the world. Youâve learned that the only way to keep up is to let them.
You mutter something under your breath that makes Sirius laugh as he finally lets you go, only to snatch up the handle of your trunk before you can.
âCome on, love,â James says brightly, already moving toward the train. âWeâve got to stake our claim on a compartment before the eager first-years hog the best ones.â
You allow yourself to be herded along, Sirius on one side, James on the other, Remus trailing just behind. Their presence is loud and warm and annoyingly comforting all at once.
It takes a few minutes to weave through the crowd, but eventually, you find an empty compartment toward the back of the train. James swings your trunk inside before collapsing onto one bench with Remus.
Sirius, however, doesnât sit across from you.
Before you can process what heâs doing, his hands are back at your waist, pulling you down into his lap with zero regard for your startled yelp.
âSiriusââ you hiss, half-turning to glare at him.
âRelax, princess,â he murmurs into your ear, his voice dropping into that low, coaxing register thatâs ridiculously effective on you. âJust relax.â
The train jolts to life, beginning its slow crawl out of the station. You try to wriggle off him, but he simply loops an arm around your waist and tucks his chin onto your shoulder, keeping you firmly in place.
Across from you, James and Remus are grinning like theyâve been waiting for this exact scene to play out. James leans back, stretching his legs until his knees brush yours.
Sirius shifts slightly beneath you, and you can feel the faint hum of his breathing against your back. Itâs distracting in a way that makes you want to roll your eyes and⊠maybe not move at all.
James launches into an animated discussion about Quidditch, something about Chasers and how the upcoming season is going to be âthe one.â His voice is a constant, pleasant hum, filling the space while you let yourself relax incrementally in Siriusâs hold.
You keep your hands in your lap, spine straight despite the temptation to lean back into him completely.
Itâs not that you donât like it. Merlin help you, you do itâs just⊠letting them see that might make you combust on the spot.
âSee?â Sirius murmurs, just for you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âNot so bad.â
You donât answer. Which, unfortunately, only makes his smirk deepen against your skin.
James catches the exchange instantly. âCareful, Pads, youâre gonna make her blush.â
âSheâs already blushing,â Remus observes mildly, though his amber eyes are watching you far too closely for comfort.
âI am not,â you say sharply.
Which, of course, only makes all three of them laugh.
You settle into the rhythm of it eventually. Siriusâs arms wrapped snugly around you, James talking enough for all four of you, Remus chiming in with wry comments that make Sirius snort softly behind you.
Outside the window, the countryside rolls by in a blur of green and gold. Inside, the compartment is warm and noisy, smelling faintly of leather, chocolate, and that indescribable scent that is simply them.
You tell yourself youâre only sitting here because moving would cause more of a scene.
But when Sirius rests his chin on your shoulder again and squeezes your waist, you donât move away.
The train rocks gently beneath you, the steady rumble of the wheels a background to the low murmur of Jamesâs voice as he continues some elaborate breakdown of Gryffindorâs Chaser rotation. You half-listen, but itâs difficult to focus when Sirius is warm against your back, his fingers idly tracing shapes against your waist through your shirt.
You tell yourself youâre used to it by now. The way they all touch you like itâs second nature, like you belong to them in some undeniable way. But Sirius has never been good at keeping his hands still.
His fingertips wander. First over the curve of your hip, then down to the top of your thigh, the pads of his fingers pressing just enough to remind you heâs there.
Itâs subtle at first. You can pretend itâs innocent. But you know Sirius Black well enough to know that nothing he does is.
You shift slightly, hoping heâll take the hint. He doesnât. Instead, his hand slides lower, his palm settling warm and heavy over your knee.
Across from you, Remusâs eyes flick down for the briefest second before meeting yours again. Thereâs a faint curl to his lips, not quite a smile, more like he knows something you donât want to admit.
James notices too, though in typical James Potter fashion, he makes no attempt at subtlety. He breaks off mid-sentence to grin at you.
âDonât be shy, darling,â he says, his voice thick with amusement. âGo on put on a show for me and Rem.â
Your head snaps toward him so fast you almost knock into Siriusâs chin.
The heat in your face is immediate and impossible to hide. You reach down instinctively, catching Siriusâs wrist before he can move any higher. Your grip is firm, and you tell yourself itâs final.
But Sirius only stills for a moment, his breath warm against the back of your neck. Then he murmurs, âUp to you, princess.â
The train jolts slightly, and in that tiny moment of distraction, you loosen your hold.
Siriusâs ring-clad hand drifts up the inside of your thigh, slow and deliberate, until his knuckles brush the hem of your skirt. You swear you can feel the cool metal of his rings through the fabric.
Your breath catches, and you hear James chuckle low in his chest.
âThatâs it,â Sirius says softly, his lips brushing your ear now, every syllable sending a shiver down your spine. âJust relax.â
The word sounds the same as it did earlier, but now it means something entirely different.
Sirius shifts you slightly in his lap, his hands guiding without force but with such confidence you donât think to stop him until your knees are nudging apart.
âMerlin,â James breathes, leaning forward like he wants a better view.
Remus hasnât moved, but his gaze is fixed on you, heavy enough to make your pulse trip.
You canât look at any of them. Your focus narrows to Siriusâs hands as he bunches your skirt higher, inch by inch, until the air of the compartment is cool against the tops of your thighs.
He rests his palms briefly against your skin, the contrast between the warmth of his touch and the coolness of his rings making you shiver again. Then his fingers trail higher, brushing against the thin fabric of your underwear.
You make a small sound before you can stop yourself, not quite a gasp, not quite a sigh and Siriusâs answering smile is pressed into your shoulder.
âPretty, so fucking prettyâ he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else, though you hear James hum in agreement.
One of Siriusâs hands moves, his thumb tracing the edge of the fabric before sliding it aside just enough. His other arm wraps around your waist, holding you steady as his fingers find the heat between your thighs.
The first touch is slow, almost lazy, a gentle stroke that makes you grip his forearm without meaning to.
âLook at her,â James says, his voice low now, meant for the four of you alone. âMerlin, Rem, sheâs-â
âQuiet,â Remus interrupts, though thereâs no real reprimand in his tone.
Sirius presses a kiss to the side of your neck as his fingers explore with maddening patience, tracing patterns that make your legs tense against his.
You can feel every shift of his rings against your skin, cool metal contrasting with the heat building in you. When he finally presses one finger inside, itâs slow and goes all the way to the base where the family heirloom rests against you.
Your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale.
âThatâs it,â Sirius whispers again, his voice like smoke curling around your ear. âGood girl.â
Sirius doesnât rush you, he never does when heâs in this mood.
His finger curls just slightly, the movement unhurried but devastating in its precision. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, determined not to make another sound, but the trainâs steady rocking does nothing to help you hold still.
James leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching openly. He doesnât bother hiding the way his eyes track Siriusâs every movement under your skirt. âYouâre holding back, darling,â he says, almost mockingly. âWhy?â
âBecause sheâs shy,â Sirius answers for you, though the smirk in his voice makes it clear he doesnât think thatâs a problem.
Remusâs gaze is the heaviest of all. Heâs sprawled casually in his seat, long legs stretched out, but his eyes are sharp and dark, following every twitch of your expression. âSheâs also stubborn,â he murmurs. âWonât give us the satisfaction unless we work for it.â
The words send a fresh rush of heat through you. You want to tell him heâs wrong, except youâre not sure he is.
Sirius shifts his hand, adding a second finger with the same infuriating slowness. The stretch pulls a startled sound from you, quiet but unmistakable. James grins like heâs just won a bet.
âThatâs better,â Sirius says, his lips ghosting over the side of your neck. His free hand drags up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your shirt. âLet them hear you, princess.â
Your head tips back against his shoulder despite yourself. The silver ring on his middle finger catches the light as he moves inside you, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat gathering low in your stomach.
Jamesâs voice cuts in again, softer now. âYouâve got no idea how good you look right now.â
You do your best not to picture it. Their eyes on you, Siriusâs hand between your thighs, your skirt bunched indecently high. But the image plants itself in your mind anyway, making your pulse race.
The compartment feels warmer, the rhythmic sound of the train and the low, steady tone of Siriusâs voice in your ear blurring everything else.
âCome on, sweetheart,â Sirius urges, curling his fingers again. âLet go for me.â
You manage a shaky, âSiriusââ before James cuts in, amused.
Your face burns hotter than ever. You shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but Siriusâs pace picks up just enough to make your breath hitch.
Remus shifts forward finally, his voice low and calm. âItâs only us here. No oneâs going to see, no oneâs going to judge.â A pause. âExcept maybe James.â
âOi!â James starts, but his protest is drowned out by the sound you make when Sirius presses his thumb against you in perfect counterpoint to his fingers.
Your resolve wavers. Your thighs tense, your nails dig into Siriusâs arm, and youâre seconds away from the edge whenâ
Your body goes tight all at once. Thighs clamping around Siriusâs hand as the train sways beneath you. The pressure thatâs been coiling in your stomach finally snaps, and you tip over into it with a sharp gasp you canât bite back.
Siriusâs arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place as you tremble against him. His lips curve into a slow, satisfied grin against the side of your neck.
When the last shiver runs through you, your head falls back onto his shoulder, the world outside your little compartment feeling hazy and far away.
âYou made a mess on my fingers, princess,â Sirius murmurs, his voice low and teasing, like heâs sharing a private joke.
The words barely have time to register before thereâs a knock at the compartment door. The sound jolts you, your whole body tensing but Sirius doesnât let you move.
Instead, his arm bands tighter around your middle, keeping you flush against his chest. His other hand â the one still between your thighs â slides back into place, two fingers pushing into you with the same unhurried precision as before.
The overstimulation hits hard enough to make your breath catch.
âSiriââ you whisper, trying to push at his wrist. âI just came.â
âI know,â he says, the words dark with amusement. He doesnât slow, doesnât pull back if anything, he curls his fingers deeper, pressing into the spot that makes you squirm. His other hand comes up, palm covering your mouth before you can protest again.
The knock comes once more, followed by the rattle of the door sliding open just enough to admit a tall, broad frame.
He steps inside smoothly, positioning himself between the narrow opening and the rest of the compartment so no one outside can see in. His expression is infuriatingly neutral as he greets the trolley witch.
âAfternoon. Weâll have⊠letâs see.â He takes his time, eyes flicking over the neatly stacked sweets and pasties. âCouple of Pumpkin Pasties, some Chocolate FrogsâŠâ
Behind him, Siriusâs fingers keep moving, deliberate and relentless. Every motion makes the silver rings scrape faintly against your skin, sending sparks through your already sensitive nerves.
James, sprawled comfortably across from you, doesnât bother hiding his view. He tips his head just enough to meet your eyes, his grin all sharp edges and mischief.
âBetter stay quiet, sweetheart,â he murmurs.
You make a sound into Siriusâs palm half-whimper, half-protest and Jamesâs grin only widens.
Remus is still chatting idly with the trolley witch, asking about cauldron cakes and liquorice wands as though heâs not shielding the sight of Siriusâs hand moving steadily under your skirt.
Sirius bends his head so his lips brush the shell of your ear. âCome on princess, you can do it.â
And with the rocking of the train and the warm press of his chest at your back, you believe him.
His fingers keep that maddening rhythm, the drag of his rings against your skin sending sharp little shocks through every nerve ending. You can feel every motion, every curl, every subtle press into the spot that makes your legs jerk.
Your breath is hot and shallow against the palm he still has over your mouth. Heâs holding you firm against his chest, as if the rocking of the train might send you tumbling if he let go, though you know he wouldnât let that happen.
The sound of Remusâs voice carries over the soft clink of the trolley witchâs jars. ââŠand three Cauldron Cakes,â heâs saying, tone unhurried, polite. His body is still angled to block the doorâs view, casual and protective all at once.
James hasnât looked away from you once. His eyes track the slight rise and fall of your chest, the twitch of your thighs as Sirius works you higher. When your gaze flicks to his, thereâs no mistaking the heat there.
Sirius leans in close enough that his lips brush your ear. âThatâs it, princess. Let me have it again.â
You shake your head once, more reflex than refusal, but itâs already too late. The pressureâs coiling again in your stomach, each drag of his fingers tightening it further. He feels it in the way your body grips him, the way your nails dig into his arm.
âDonât fight it,â he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing. âIâve got you.â
The second wave hits harder than the first. Your back arches against him, a muffled cry breaking into his palm as heat floods through you. Every muscle in your body seems to tighten at once before shuddering loose again, leaving you trembling in his arms.
He slows only when youâve gone soft against him, your head falling back to his shoulder. His fingers slip free, leaving your skin slick and sensitive.
By then, Remus is sliding the door shut behind the departing trolley witch. He deposits the neatly wrapped snacks onto the small side table beside the bench, his movements as unhurried as if nothingâs happened.
Youâre still catching your breath when James speaks again, softer now, but no less intent. âCome here, sweetheart.â
You know what he wants before he even moves. The zipper of his trousers sounds loud in the warm, enclosed compartment, and when you meet his eyes, the fondness there is tangled with something darker.
You push yourself upright, legs shaky beneath you as you slide off Siriusâs lap. His hands linger at your hips for a moment, but he doesnât stop you, just leans back, smirking faintly as if curious to see what youâll do.
The carpeted floor is warm beneath your knees as you settle in front of James. His thighs spread slightly, giving you space. You glance up through your lashes, just long enough to catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes before you lean forward.
Youâre going to make him squirm the way they made you.
James is already leaning back against the seat, one arm braced along the top edge, the other resting casually on his thigh as if heâs not entirely sure whether youâll follow through.
Youâve got no intention of giving him the satisfaction of doubt.
Your fingers curl lightly around the waistband of his trousers, brushing against the open zipper. His breathing hitches, a subtle shift, but you hear it.
âLook at you,â James murmurs, voice low enough that it blends with the rhythmic clatter of the train over the tracks. âAll pretty on your knees.â
Behind you, Sirius makes a quiet, approving sound, one hand resting on the back of your head for the briefest moment before falling away, letting you move how you want.
Remus, watches without comment, though his amber eyes are locked on you with a heat that makes your pulse skip.
You take your time. Your fingers brush deliberately over Jamesâs stomach as you free him from the confines of his trousers, drawing out the motion until his jaw tightens.
âMerlin,â he mutters under his breath when you wrap your hand around him.
The train rocks slightly, and you steady yourself with your free hand on his thigh. You let your gaze meet his deliberately now, letting him see the curve of your mouth as you lean in.
Jamesâs fingers twitch where theyâre resting on the bench beside him, but he doesnât grab at you. Heâs waiting, though you can tell itâs costing him.
You start slow, the same way Sirius had started with you, your tongue tracing along the underside before you take him into your mouth. His breath leaves him in a quiet rush, his head tipping back against the seat.
Sirius chuckles low behind you, clearly enjoying the reversal of roles. âAnd to think she used to suck at this, at the start of the summer. Told you she learns quick.â
You donât break your rhythm, though the smugness in Siriusâs voice makes you want to roll your eyes. Jamesâs hand finally finds the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair, not pushing, just holding.
Remus chuckles, his voice calm but edged with something else. âI think sheâs out for pay back, James.â
âNot complaining,â James manages, though his voice is already rougher than before.
You hollow your cheeks, increasing the pace just enough to make his thigh tense under your hand. His breathing quickens, and the steady clatter of the train seems louder in the background, matching the rhythm youâve set.
When you glance up again, James is looking down at you with that same fondness from before, only now threaded with raw want.
Jamesâs thighs tense beneath your hands, every muscle straining as you keep your rhythm. Heâs breathing harder now, the warmth of his voice curling down toward you in ragged praise.
âSweetheart⊠Merlin, youâreââ He cuts himself off with a groan, his head tipping back against the seat.
Youâre focused on him, on the way his jaw tightens, the flicker of his lashes. So focused, you almost donât notice the shift behind you.
Remus moves like he always does: quietly, with intent. The faint sound of his footsteps on the carpet draws closer, and then his hand is on the small of your back. His touch is firm but not rushed, guiding you subtly until your knees spread just a fraction wider on the floor.
Itâs not until his other hand brushes your hip that you glance back, but by then heâs already coaxing you into position, helping you balance on all fours while youâre still angled toward James.
The shift makes Jamesâs gaze darken. His hand lingers in your hair, not pulling, just holding you there, watching as Remus settles in behind you.
Thereâs the low, deliberate sound of a zipper â and you feel the warmth of Remusâs presence crowding close. Heâs slow about it, unhurried as he frees himself, his hands steady as they curve over your hips. Hand shoving your skirt further up your body, until youâre completely on display for him. Using that same hand he tugs your underwear down.
âKeep going,â Remus says, his voice deep but quiet enough to feel like itâs meant for you alone.
You do. Though your breathing falters as the blunt heat of him presses between your thighs. The first push forward is smooth, deliberate, stealing what air you had left.
Jamesâs fingers flex in your hair, his other hand curling lightly under your chin so youâre forced to look up at him. His gaze flicks briefly over your shoulder to Remus before returning to your face.
âGood girl,â James murmurs, his voice almost gentle now despite the heat in his eyes.
From somewhere off to the side, thereâs the sound of another zipper and a familiar low chuckle. Sirius has leaned back against the opposite bench, one leg stretched out, his gaze locked entirely on you. His hand moves leisurely over himself, no shame in the way he watches.
The compartment sways with the trainâs motion, the three of them close enough to make the space feel smaller, hotter, every sense tangled between them.
Remusâs pace is steady at first, his hands anchoring you. James strokes his thumb over your lower lip, watching your mouth as you try to hold your rhythm on him even as Remus works deeper behind you.
Sirius tilts his head, eyes glinting. âMerlin, this is perfect,â he says, his voice rough with pleasure.
Jamesâs grip in your hair tightens just enough to hold you steady as you work over him. His breathing is ragged now, each exhale catching slightly as your tongue traces along him in rhythm with Remusâs steady thrusts behind you.
The motion from both ends forces a helpless little sound from your throat, and Jamesâs jaw flexes like heâs holding something back. His other hand cradles your chin, thumb brushing your lower lip each time you pull back just far enough to breathe.
âMerlin, sweetheart,â he rasps, his voice a low growl. âGonna-â
He doesnât get to finish the warning. His hips tense, and with a soft, broken groan, he spills hot and heavy down your throat. You take it without breaking eye contact, swallowing around him until his grip loosens and his head tips back against the seat.
Behind you, Remusâs hands tighten on your hips. Heâs been keeping the same deliberate pace, but Jamesâs release seems to push him closer. Each slow drive into you is deeper now, the sound of him meeting you growing wetter, rougher.
Siriusâs breathing has quickened too, his hand working faster over himself as he watches you between Jamesâs sated sprawl and the steady roll of Remusâs hips. His gaze is hungry, tracking every movement, every shift of your body.
Remus leans forward slightly, his chest brushing your back, his mouth close to your ear. âYou feel incredible,â he murmurs, his voice low enough to make you shiver.
The rhythm behind you stutters, once, twice before he buries himself deep and stills, groaning low into your shoulder as release floods through him.
The sound seems to push Sirius over the edge as well. His breath hitches sharply, and you catch the faint, slick sound of his hand working faster before he spills into his palm, his head tipping back with a satisfied curse.
For a moment, the compartment is nothing but the steady clatter of the train and the mingled sounds of all four of you catching your breath.
The air in the compartment is warm and heavy, the scent of sweat and something unmistakably intimate lingering between the four of you. Outside, the countryside blurs past in shades of gold and green, the trainâs steady rumble almost soothing now that the frantic pace has ebbed.
Youâre still catching your breath when Remus eases back, careful hands on your hips as he slips free. The loss makes you shiver, your body still sensitive from everything, but the gentle way his thumbs rub along your sides grounds you instantly.
Sirius is already reaching for his wand, flicking it lazily to vanish the mess from his hand and the front of his trousers. Heâs still grinning, but itâs softer now, more private.
âCome here, princess,â he murmurs, patting the space on his lap.
Your legs are shaky as you straighten up, but Siriusâs arms are ready for you the second you settle over him, pulling you in close. One hand slides into your hair, the other resting low on your back, holding you snug against his chest.
James, still sprawled against the bench opposite, tucks himself away and uses the hem of his shirt to wipe the faint sheen from his skin before reaching for one of the Pumpkin Pasties Remus bought. He takes a bite, chewing lazily as his eyes find you again.
âYou alright, sweetheart?â he asks, his voice softer now, stripped of its earlier teasing.
You nod, though youâre not entirely sure the heat in your cheeks is gone. âFine.â
âFine,â Sirius repeats under his breath, amused. His thumb strokes along your spine, and when you shift to glance up at him, thereâs that warm, unguarded look youâre still not used to.
Remus opens a bottle of pumpkin juice and sliding it toward you. âDrink,â he says simply.
You take it, the cool sweetness cutting through the dryness in your mouth. Sirius holds you steady as you sip, his fingers drawing idle patterns into your back like he canât bear not to touch you.
âSee?â he says softly, brushing his fingers over your hair. âI told you the train ride wouldnât be boring.â
James laughs. âPretty sure thatâs the understatement of the year.â
Outside, the countryside has shifted from endless green to the rocky, winding tracks leading toward Hogsmeade Station. The light is a little dimmer now, the late afternoon sun casting everything in warm gold.
âTen minutes,â James says after glancing out the window. âBetter get ourselves looking respectable, or McGonagallâll give us that look.â
Sirius smirks, but he does reach for his shirt to straighten the collar. He even takes a moment to smooth down the hem of your skirt, his fingers brushing lightly over your knee as if to say mine.
By the time the train begins to slow, the heat in the compartment has faded to something more comfortable, replaced by the faint anticipation of arrival.
Sirius presses one last kiss into your hair before setting you back on your feet. James stretches, rolling his shoulders as he grabs his bag, and Remus gives you a small, unreadable smile as he slides the door open.
Hogsmeade Station comes into view in a rush of cool air and steam. The platform is crowded with voices and movement, but you hardly notice â Siriusâs hand finds yours, James falls into step on your other side, and Remus trails close behind.
°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ
