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“Thirty minutes,” the band manager said, removing the unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. “Final touches, boys,” he left the room.

The room was hot, smelling of leather and smoke. It was uncharacteristically quiet, Remus thought, plucking the strings on his bass. He’d never felt so alone yet so accepted in the mysterious, vibrant London music scene. Part of it was that damn boy sitting across from him, a smile on his face as he ran through some of their newer lyrics. James had always possessed the upper hand when it came to songwriting, but Remus knew this was Sirius’ work.

“Lupin,” Sirius said, tilting his head and tucking a dark lock of hair behind his ear. It almost seemed like a challenge. “Have you ever written lyrics before?”

“No.”

“Have you ever tried?” He asked curiously.

“I have, yeah,” Remus answered, distracted as he pressed on the frets of his instrument. He turned a shiny tuning knob. “Haven’t finished any.”

“I’ve written a few for our next project,” Sirius said, his tone matter-of-fact, standing and walking to sit next to him. Remus shook his head, admonishing himself in his mind. He’s the heartbreaker. The shallow flame searching for another hand to hold.

“I like the one with the verse about risk and regret.” It was true. Remus had sat there for a while, poring over the lyrics written in Sirius’ characteristic cursive handwriting.

“Do you know who it’s written for?”

“Probably one of your many girlfriends, I suppose,” Remus said, a corner of his lips quirking up into a smile as he continued pressing on the frets, a rhythmic, calming pattern.

“…No. It’s for—“

Just as Sirius was about to speak, the door burst open.

“Bloody hell, you two, save the fooling around for later,” James said, a grin on his face. His guitar was slung around his chest, his strap patterned with red and gold. Peter loomed behind, twirling the drumsticks he held in his hand.

“Alright, Potter?” Sirius answered, smirking. He crushed his cigarette in a silver ashtray, nodding at Remus. Sirius had a tendency to be nonchalant, detached. Cold. Closed off.

“Let’s get backstage. Put on a show.”

“I always put on a show,” Sirius said supremely as he and Remus stood up, arm’s length from each other. Remus fidgeted, stretching his long, scarred fingers. There was something different in him tonight—a nervous streak that threatened to take over.

As they prepared for their performance, the backstage energy was palpable. James bounced on his heels, wringing his hands. Sirius glanced at the microphone, Peter ogled the drums. Remus inhaled the scent of smoke and new instruments as he wrapped his hand around the familiar neck of his bass.

He caught himself stealing glances at Sirius’ elegant figure. He noticed the subtle tension in his posture. There was an unspoken connection between them, an undercurrent of something unexplored. But Remus was all too aware of the unspoken rule that this was all they could afford.

The lights dimmed, save for the flickering glow of the spotlight. The crowd grew rapturous. Remus could hear their yells from behind the stage.

They finally emerged.

“Hello, London, we are The Marauders!” Sirius said into the microphone to rigorous applause and cheers. As the first chord sounded, Remus was lost in the music.

•••

It was their last song, and Remus’ fingertips felt like they were white-hot. As James plunged into a melodic solo, Sirius turned to face the rest of the band and raised an arm. He brought it down and pointed at Remus, nodding. Mouthing something.

I wrote this for you.

Remus did not miss a beat.

The music faded, replaced by the roars of the crowd.

“Good night, London!”

They bowed in unison before leaving the stage. Remus exhaled with relief, removing his bass as James and Sirius celebrated loudly. It was one of their best performances yet, and James would never let the rest live it down. They were unstoppable.

Even Peter joined in on their group hug, uncomfortably smiling and patting James’ and Sirius’ backs. As soon as James and Peter left the scene to meet with their families, Sirius and Remus were left together. Face to face.

“Every word… every word was for you. Every line for you,” Sirius said quietly, a hand at the back of his neck. “I couldn’t say… in the interviews. I couldn’t tell, Remus, they’d judge you. They’d judge us. We’d never make it.”

Remus didn’t hear the last part. The room seemed to spin as he grappled with the revelation, hoping he wouldn’t just break his heart. In that instant, the castles they’d built for so long crumbled. The boundaries crossed.

Unable to find the right words, Remus reached out, and gently touched Sirius' gaunt cheek. An unspoken confession seemed to come between them: that their uncharted territory could be something if they were only brave enough to take the risk.

Take the risk, or lose the chance.

It had been twelve years since that fateful night.

Eleven Christmases without a word from Remus Lupin.

You sat in your lowly, run-down cottage, drinking cold tea from a stained cup that used to be ornate. The sun rose, almost reluctantly behind the gray clouds outside. You didn’t know how many more of these lonely December nights you could bear, when they used to be full of laughter and love.

A tap sounded at your window as your old, graying owl appeared. He held a letter in his beak. You opened it, revealing a familiar, scrawling script that made your heart drop.

“Dear Y/N,

I know you are already aware of who I am. It’s been twelve years since I saw you or even attempted to reach you. We didn’t even get to say goodbye.

I’d like to visit you again, you know, but I don’t know where you live now. If you do want to meet me, find me at Hogsmeade this Saturday at three in the afternoon. But if the chain is on your door, I understand.

Send me an owl back. Yours already knows where I live.

xx Remus”

You realized he wanted to meet you on Christmas eve. You wrote a hurried response, pondering whether to send the letter. This could be a trap, a trick by the newly escaped Sirius. Ultimately, you decide to send it back.

•••

It was Saturday, one in the afternoon. You walked along the snow-covered cobblestone paths of Hogsmeade, the bitter cold biting into your skin even through thick gloves. As you ascended the gentle hill, you stopped in your tracks as you saw the familiar face standing in front of you.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Y/N.” Remus said, his tone unreadable. You walked closer to him, analyzing his face. It had changed. There were a few new gashes, a new lengthy scar. But the hazel eyes remained the same. “Should we get inside? It’s cold.”

You nodded, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck as you enter the Three Broomsticks. The amount of people celebrating Christmas was… a relief, really.

“I… I understand it’s been long. But I wanted to see if you were well,” he said, fidgeting with the buttons on the bottom of his tattered brown coat. “Have you been working?”

“Yes,” you admitted, a slight shame entering your voice. “But I’ve never been able to keep a job. You?”

“I used to work Muggle jobs for a long while but I couldn’t keep them because of… you know. But Dumbledore offered me a teaching position at Hogwarts.”

You felt a pang of happiness for him, but the ache was there as well. Nothing would make up for the time you lost. And he was far away, like always. It would be hard to reach him.

“What job?”

“Defense Against The Dark Arts professor.”

You nodded slowly, understanding. Remus had always been better at that. He’d been better at you than everything, and you were willing to accept that.

“You deserve it, Professor Lupin,” you said, smiling.

A cryptic silence filled the air as you wait for his response. The tranquility broke as soon as he spoke. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ever doubting you.”

“It’s alright. I trusted Sirius… and you didn’t. It was my fault for trusting the wrong person. I’m sorry, too.”

But you didn’t feel like it was over.

“I hope you and I can stay friends,” he said, a slight smile crossing his face. “It’s something that’s weighed on my conscience for a long time.”

“Friends. We’re friends.”

He hesitated before he spoke his next words. “Did I mention I’m teaching James and Lily’s son?”

Your lips parted in shock. You didn’t realize that much time had passed. He was already in his third year, if your memory didn’t fail you. “Harry? How is he?”

“He’s a bright child. Stubborn, but that’s expected from someone that has James Potter’s genes.” You two smiled as you recounted the best memories of your old friend. You missed him dearly.

“Remus, send me owls. Tell me when you’re hurting because someone should at least know.”

“I must admit, I miss having a small horde of unusual animals accompany me through those nights.”

The afternoon dragged on as you made small talk about your lives in the twelve lost years. Nothing could reignite the spark. Nothing he said made your heart skip a beat like it used to. Maybe that was just it. Gone.

As you stepped out of the place, you knew it was goodbye. It was a farewell to your forgotten feelings. You waved at him, forcing a smile.