hii luv, idk if you write for poly but if so, could you do poly!marauders or just one of them comforting reader when they're worried about being like their parents?
The firelight danced across the walls of the Gryffindor common room, painting everything in warm gold and deep shadows. It was late—the kind of late where the castle settled into silence, where whispers felt sacred, where truths came easier in the dark.
You were curled into the corner of the sofa, legs tucked beneath you, watching as James animatedly described his vision of the future—a cozy cottage, Quidditch matches in the backyard, a whole brood of kids with your eyes and his ridiculous hair. His hands moved wildly as he spoke, knocking over Remus’ abandoned teacup for the third time.
“—and we’ll teach them all the best pranks, obviously,” James declared, grinning. “Can’t let the next generation of Marauders grow up unprepared.”
Sirius snorted from where he was sprawled across the rug, head pillowed on your discarded jumper. “Please. By the time we’re done, they’ll make us look like amateurs.”
The words should have warmed you. They should have made you laugh. Instead, something cold and heavy settled in your chest.
You’d thought about it—more than you’d ever admit. Tiny hands clutching your fingers. Soft laughter echoing through hallways that actually felt like home. A little face looking up at you with trust, with love—
And then the fear came, sharp as a knife.
Your mother’s voice slithered through your mind, her words from years ago still fresh: “You’ll never be fit to care for anything. You’ll ruin them, just like you ruin everything else.”
Remus noticed first. He always did. The book in his hands lowered slowly, his amber eyes searching your face. “Hey,” he murmured, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Sirius sat up abruptly, his grey eyes narrowing. “Bullshit.”
James’ grin faded. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Talk to us,” he said softly.
The concern in their faces undid you.
“I—” Your voice broke. You tried again. “What if I’m like her?”
Then, quieter: “What if I have a child, and I—I turn into my mother?”
The admission hung in the air, raw and trembling.
To your surprise, Sirius let out a harsh laugh. “Merlin, I think about that all the time.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his usual smirk gone, replaced by something vulnerable. “I look in the mirror sometimes and see him. And I think—what if that’s in my blood? What if I’m just… destined to become another Black family horror story?”
James’ grip on your hand tightened. “Pads—”
“No, it’s true,” Sirius continued, quieter now. “But then I remember—I chose this family. I chose you. And that’s got to count for something, right?”
Remus exhaled slowly. “I understand,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Every full moon, I wonder—if I ever had a child, would they be cursed with this too? Would I pass on the pain?” He looked down at his scarred hands. “But then I remember that lycanthropy isn’t what makes a parent. Love is.”
James was uncharacteristically quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick. “My dad—he’s the best man I know. But sometimes I worry I won’t live up to that. That I’ll mess it all up.” He swallowed hard. “But I think… maybe being afraid of failing means you already care enough to try.”
You looked at them—really looked at them. Sirius, with his sharp edges and shattered past. Remus, with his quiet strength and hidden scars. James, with his boundless heart and endless hope.
They were just as scared as you were.
Sirius reached for you, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You could never be like her,” he said fiercely. “Because you worry about it. She never did.”
Remus nodded, his knee pressing against yours. “You’re not your blood. You’re your choices. And every day, you choose kindness.”
James leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “And you won’t be alone,” he whispered. “We’ll figure it out together. Every tantrum, every nightmare, every bloody nappy change, every moment.”
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