#hogmarch

You huffed under your breath, gripping the heavy crate of practice Bludgers tighter as you trudged toward the equipment shed.

James was beside you, carrying the other half, his usual, infuriating grin still plastered across his face despite having spent the last two hours barking orders at the team.

“Y’know,” he said, effortlessly adjusting his grip like the crate weighed nothing, “if you weren’t so busy glaring at me during practice, maybe you’d actually manage to listen to the strategy I was explaining.”

You shot him a glare that could have set his broom on fire. “Oh, sorry, Captain. Next time I’ll be sure to hang onto every brilliant word that comes out of your mouth.”

James just laughed, completely unaffected, his hazel eyes bright with amusement. “That’s all I ask.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you reached the shed. He had this way of getting under your skin—like an annoying little itch you couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t just the fact that he was a talented player or a natural leader or that he made Quidditch look so damn easy.

No. It was the fact that he knew all of this, and he enjoyed pushing your buttons about it.

The two of you set the crate down inside the shed, the worn wood creaking under the weight. You turned to grab the last few Quaffles, and James, ever the show-off, tossed his into the storage bin without even looking.

“That was luck,” you muttered.

James smirked. “That was skill, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, when—

Click.

The sound was so quiet that it almost didn’t register. It wasn’t until you turned back toward the door, reaching to grab another broom, that you realized it had swung shut behind you.

You frowned.

James frowned too, as if the same realization was dawning on him at the exact same moment.

Slowly, you reached for the handle and twisted it.

It didn’t budge.

You twisted harder.

Still nothing.

There was a beat of silence.

James blinked. “Did you just—?”

“It’s locked,” you said flatly.

James let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s funny.”

You turned to face him, arms crossed. “Yeah. Hilarious.”

Another pause.

Then—like the absolute idiot that he was—James reached for the door handle himself, as if that would make a difference. He twisted. Pushed. Pulled.

Nothing.

He let out a sheepish cough. “Okay. So it’s… properly locked.”

You stared at him, unamused. “Brilliant deduction, Potter.”

“Well, no need to panic. Just grab your wand and—”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

James stopped.

You saw it—the exact second he realized.

“No,” he said, his voice dropping into something close to horror. “No, no, no—tell me you have your wand.”

You didn’t answer.

“Tell me one of us brought their wand.”

Silence.

His face fell.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

You let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We left them in the locker room.”

“Because Quidditch robes don’t have pockets,” he finished, nodding grimly.

More silence.

Then, James turned to you, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I mean… at least we have each other?”

You deadpanned. “I’m going to kill you.”

His grin widened. “That would be counterproductive.”

You groaned, slumping against the wall of the shed. “This is your fault.”

James raised his eyebrows. “My fault?”

“You’re the Captain. That makes everything automatically your fault.”

He scoffed. “That’s not how it works.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, because I’m not Captain.”

James let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you still salty about that?”

You glared at him. “I hope someone finds us in here tomorrow.”

James just laughed.

And, Merlin help you, you hated how much you liked the sound of it.

Because for all your irritation, for all your sharp words and glares and gritted teeth… you didn’t actually hate James Potter. Not even a little.

And that was the real problem.

James stretched his arms behind his head, utterly unconcerned about the fact that you were well and truly stuck. You, on the other hand, were pacing a tight line along the cramped space of the shed, trying to think of a way out.

“Maybe if we both threw our weight against the door at the same time, we could—”

“Shatter the entire thing?” James cut in, amused. “Brilliant idea. McGonagall would love that one.”

You whirled on him, scowling. “You got a better plan, Captain?”

James, to his credit, pretended to think about it. “Not really. But if we are stuck here, we might as well make the most of it.”

You gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”

James smirked, leaning lazily against the wall like this was all just a minor inconvenience, like you weren’t actually trapped inside a tiny wooden shed with only old broomsticks and deflated Quaffles for company. “Well,” he said, voice infuriatingly casual, “we could always sit and have a nice chat.”

You let out an exaggerated groan. “I’d rather take my chances with the door.”

“Come on,” James said, tilting his head at you. “I’m trying to be civil.”

You shot him a glare but begrudgingly slumped against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

“Alright, since you’re so interested in chatting,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm, “why don’t you enlighten me? What is it, exactly, that makes you so insufferable?”

James laughed, bright and easy. “Dunno. It’s a talent, I suppose.”

You rolled your eyes. “You would think that.”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. But then, to your surprise, the amusement in his expression softened just a fraction.

“Alright,” he said, a little more serious now. “Your turn. What is it, exactly, that makes you so mad at me?”

You scoffed. “Oh, where to begin?”

James just raised his eyebrows, waiting.

You hesitated.

Because, really—what was it?

What was it that made your blood boil every time he smirked at you? What was it that made you grind your teeth when he swooped past you on his broom, looking like some Quidditch poster boy? What was it that made you so incredibly bitter about him being Captain, when, deep down, you knew he was actually pretty damn good at it?

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re just… you,” you said finally, though even you knew it was a weak answer.

James hummed. “Right. And that means…?”

“You’re arrogant. You’re annoying. You think you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to Quidditch.”

He grinned. “I am the greatest thing to ever happen to Quidditch.”

You gave him a look. “See? That. That right there.”

James laughed, but his hazel eyes stayed fixed on you, sharp and searching, like he was seeing something beyond your words. Like he knew there was more to it.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

James leaned in slightly, his grin never faltering. “You know, I think you secretly like it.”

You snorted. “Like what?”

“The way I get under your skin.” He tilted his head, watching you closely, like he was trying to read you. “The way I push your buttons.”

Your stomach did an annoying little flip. You ignored it. “Oh, please.”

James smirked. “You wouldn’t glare at me so much if you didn’t care.”

A silence stretched between you, not quite tense but not entirely comfortable either. The shed was small—too small—and now that you weren’t moving around, you were painfully aware of how close the two of you were.

James must have noticed it too, because his smirk softened, something flickering in his hazel eyes. “Listen,” he said, a little quieter, “if this is about Quidditch—about me being Captain—I didn’t take it to spite you.”

You frowned. “I never said you did.”

James gave you a knowing look. “You didn’t have to.”

You looked away. Because, maybe he had a point.

Maybe it wasn’t just about the title. Maybe it was the fact that when McGonagall had announced James as Captain, your heart had twisted in a way you hadn’t expected. Because you had worked so hard, and yet—James had gotten it without even breaking a sweat. Like everything else.

And maybe it stung because James—golden, charming, ridiculously talented James—had always been just one step ahead of you.

You exhaled, crossing your arms tightly. “I know you didn’t take it to spite me,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “It’s just… frustrating.”

James watched you, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, after a beat, his mouth curved into a slow, lopsided smile.

“Y’know,” he said, voice teasing but warm, “for what it’s worth? You’d make a bloody brilliant Captain.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it with a scoff. “Yeah, yeah. Flattery’s not gonna get us out of here, Potter.”

James grinned. “No, but it might make you like me a little more.”

You rolled your eyes. But this time, it was harder to fight the smile tugging at your lips.

James must have noticed the way your mouth twitched because his grin widened. “Was that a smile?”

You scowled on instinct. “No.”

His eyes sparkled. “It was.”

“It was not.”

James hummed, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “It’s alright, you know. You can admit it. You like me.”

You scoffed, leaning your head back against the wooden wall with a dramatic sigh. “Being trapped in a storage shed with you has made me delirious, that’s all.”

James chuckled, and for once, it wasn’t the teasing, self-satisfied kind of laugh that usually made you want to throw a Bludger at his head. It was softer. Warmer.

And that was almost worse.

Because James Potter was supposed to be arrogant and annoying and completely, utterly insufferable. He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that—like he actually wanted to understand you. Like he wasn’t just playing a game.

You exhaled, shifting slightly where you sat. “I do take Quidditch seriously, you know.”

James tilted his head. “I know you do.”

“I don’t just get annoyed at you for the sake of it.”

“Well,” James said, smirking, “maybe a little.”

You rolled your eyes. “I just—Quidditch is the one thing I’ve always been really good at. And then you come along, and you’re just… better.” You hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

James blinked. “Wait—do you actually think that?”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “I—shut up.”

James stared at you like you had just told him the sky was green. “You think I’m better than you?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I said anything.”

“Not a chance,” James said, still looking mildly offended. “You’re one of the best players I’ve ever seen. I mean it.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, skeptical. “Even better than you?”

James grinned. “Obviously not.”

You let out a strangled laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Git.”

James just laughed, but then his expression softened. “You know I admire you, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

James shrugged, like he hadn’t just casually thrown that out there. “You work harder than anyone. You make plays even I wouldn’t think of. And you never back down from a challenge. It’s kind of impressive.”

Your throat felt oddly tight. “Oh.”

James smiled. “And a little terrifying.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Good.”

A comfortable silence settled between you. The shed was still small, still cold, still locked. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite as unbearable anymore.

James shifted, bumping his knee against yours. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think McGonagall gave me Captain because I’m better. I think she gave it to me because I’m loud and she wanted me to yell at people so she wouldn’t have to.”

You laughed. “That does sound like her.”

James grinned. “And you would’ve been a nightmare. Can you imagine? You’d have us all doing drills in our sleep.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”

“Fair point.”

Another pause. Then James nudged you again, his voice quieter this time. “Hey.”

You glanced at him.

His hazel eyes were even softer now, searching. “I really don’t want you to hate me.”

You swallowed. “I don’t.”

He held your gaze, like he was waiting for you to take it back. But you didn’t.

And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned your head against his shoulder. Just for a second.

James stilled. You could hear his breath catch, just slightly, before he let it out. Then, slowly—hesitantly—he leaned his head against yours.

You sighed, closing your eyes. “If you tell anyone about this, I will deny it.”

James chuckled, quiet and warm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And for some odd reason, you almost didn’t mind being stuck with him.

Masterlist

Her grip on her wand tightened as her tears ran hot. The taunting laugh of one of her pursuers echoing through the trees as they crashed after her. The darkness spinning endlessly around her. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Gone were the rules they had been taught to play by. Humanity sacrificed for power. Thoughtless with rage, she cast back her wand into the leering shadows. Letting the words fall from her lips before her heart could catch them.

Avada Kedavra

The green light felt as though it tore right through her as it ricocheted from her wand. Scattering through the trees and hitting its mark with a crack. Ripping at her chest with blistering heat, forcing her ribs apart until the spell dissipated. The laughter ceased. That same absence that had followed earlier resting through the trees. She was dragged to a still.

The force of the spell brought her to her knees. Bark breaking the skin of her palms, blood blooming as she fell forward in agony. She felt it being torn from her throat just now; some vital piece of herself. What she had given to cast the curse. The crack rung through her ears. Trailing her even as its ringing grew soft, faded into the background of the forest’s creaks and stutters. She could feel the heaving of her chest, dizzied by the absence that had been dug into her.

Before she could break upon the forest floor completely, the snap of a twig behind her brought reality rearing back. Whipping to face the darkness, she searched the teasing shadows that surrounded her. Nothing answered but the wind. She pushed herself up on bloody palms, staggering towards the nearest tree. Catching the glint of a metal smile hit by moonlight as she turned. But it was too late.

The Death Eater was on her in a second, wand jammed to her throat. One hand wrenching her head back by the hair. A mutilated snarl coming from the unmoving mask.

“Potter.”

She still had Harry’s face.

The figure towered before her, gloved hand pulling harshly at her hair as she strained against their grip. More tears pricking at her eyes as she faced the smooth and indifferent wall between them. Both of them were wearing masks really. But the thought brought little comfort to the nausea biting at her.

She was going to die someone else.

Wand to her throat, she closed her eyes. Preparing for the flurry of hot green light. Perhaps it was what she deserved, it could be a mercy. This way she would never have to truly face what she had done. There was no doubt in her mind that the person before her would finish the job. And yet she waited, but nothing came.

Opening her eyes once again she found him watching her carefully. Blue eyes clouded with something foreign, his silver mask lodged in the dirt at their feet. Looking at her with nothing but quiet restraint. She felt her throat close at the sight of him, all defences leaving her as she stared up at the boy before her.

“I asked something of you, when I saw you last,” Theo spoke lowly, wand still jammed to her throat as though he didn’t fully trust the person he saw before him. “Do you have an answer for me?” His voice fell flat against the forest air, low and heavy as his empty eyes.

His words sent another wave of dizziness crashing through her. The events of the past ten minutes threatening to bring everything up from her stomach. She wanted to fall into his chest and let his robes soak up her tears. To slice her palm clean across his cheek. Fall to the forest floor and not get up. Beg him to finish the job.

But instead, she did as she was told; she stayed quiet. Like the good little soldier they had taught her to be. Counting the freckles and moles that dotted the skin of his cheeks like they were her favourite constellations.

“Answer the question,” Theo snarled again, shoving her back forcefully. Back hitting the jagged edges of bark with an audible crack as a groan left her. Still she didn’t speak, blinking up at him as her head spun from when it had made contact with the tree.

“I’ll do it Potter,” he hissed lowly. His wand cutting further into her throat as she struggled to breathe under its pressure. He barely seemed to notice, staring down at her with empty eyes. “Don’t think I won’t just because you have something I want.”

She only watched him carefully, trying not to let herself give it away as she watched him. Staving off the clouds of memory that threatened to consume her at the sight of him.

“No?” He chimed, a sharp edge to his warm voice, “Very well.”

He drew a breathe, anger taking him in its burning grip. But just as the curse he had planned to cast was forming a whisper of air on his lips; she felt it. The rippling beneath her skin. Pulling and tugging and melting at the fibres of her. She bit her tongue as the pain of it ripped through her. Reforming beneath the skin as everything cracked and popped in and out of place. Until only she remained, swimming in Harry’s ridiculous hoodie.

Theo still had her pressed against the tree, all colour drained from his face as he watched the skin seem to melt and reform on her bones. His hands began to shake. She watched him with distant eyes, trying to hold onto what little restraint remained.

“What’s wrong?” She asked hoarsely, her throat aching from the potion’s due course. Theo’s wand still hesitantly pressed to the delicate skin of her throat. “Can’t do it anymore?”

It happened like the break of a dam. Her name fell from his lips in a rush of credence. Lips falling apart at the sight of her before him, what he’d almost done without realising. His wand dropped in a stagger, as though she had struck him. The darkness of the forest enclosing around them.

“You left me there,” he breathed suddenly, as though it hadn’t meant to come out. She blinked up at him as confusion swept her. But the lost look he carried only washed away as his eyes hardened.

“What?” she breathed.

“You left me there alone,” he spoke again, ignited with a sudden rage. His words were like kindling to her own. Her brow cracking with anger.

“No, Theo,” her voice shook, “you left me.” Theo looked to the ground, shaking his head gently in denial. He took a hesitant step forwards, as though to reach for her. But she stepped back, her spine hitting the tree. “Do you know how much I had to go through alone before I got out of there? Because you were too busy running off with Draco, or-”

He closed the distance between them with a blistering intensity.

“Do you know what it’s been like since? Without you?” It came out in a boiling whisper. “He wants your head almost as much as he wants Potter’s,” Theo’s eyes softened at the words, swept up in whatever memory they procured. “And I just have to sit there and take it, listening to the vile things they plan to do to you. Knowing there’s not a single fucking thing I can do about any of it, except for-”

He didn’t have to say it, the break of his voice said enough. The way his eyes fled from her own. He had meant to kill her.

“Why don’t you do it then?” She whispered, eyes brimming with more tears. Looking to the boy she had loved since she was too young to understand the word. “It would save me the-”

“Stop it.”

“I deserve it, don’t I? For leaving you. You said so yourself, in your letter. I read it you know.”

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“I know you’ve cast it before-”

“I said stop,” he bellowed, pressing himself against her in a flash of pent up fury. His body flush against hers as his chest heaved with the weight of his rage. “Even if I wanted to,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against her ear, “I can’t.” His hands tightened into fists, “He wants to do it himself.”

He peeled himself away from her, as though every inch of his skin that couldn’t feel hers was the worst form of torture. Drinking in every part of her except for her eyes, which he couldn’t bring himself to meet. She searched his, begging him to pull himself to meet hers.

“Is it that?” She breathed, fearful eyes rounded as she looked up to him. Searching for that thread that had always hung between them. His eyes grew tense as he saw what thoughts lay in hers, “Or is it because-”

“Stop.”

-you love me.

“Don’t,” he snapped, but even the sharp edge of his voice couldn’t distract from the despair swimming in his eyes. “Please,” he breathed, his head dipping towards her neck in defeat, but not daring to brush the skin, “don’t.”

He wanted to hold her, let his fingers trail across her cheeks, brush his thumb over her eyelashes. Just to make sure it was really her. Not some cruel trick made out to test his loyalty. But instead he let his breath fan across the bare skin of her neck. Knowing it was the only way he could allow himself to touch her.

“It was you I asked after,” his confession fell dead against the skin of her neck. He heard the breath she drew as though it was taken from him. Felt himself unravelling being so close to her now, after months of waiting and silence and searching.

Fuck it.

You were beyond frustration, right now there was only despair left. As someone who scored top in almost every single class, a fail for potions was heavy on the heart. There was no denying it, you spent sleepless nights in hopes of improvement. Nothing, all hard work once again for nothing.

The Slytherins always scored top-class. Was it because they were good, or were they just favored? Snape couldn't possibly fail his precious Slytherins, of course not.

It was a rough week, the middle of winter, and now to top it off some more freezing in the cold dungeons for goddamn potions. How you wish you could just speed up time during these moments, to watch the minutes on the clock pass by faster.

You sat bored behind your desk, resting your head on your palm as you listened to the constant rattling of the teacher. Something about a new assignment. Why even try when you knew he'd fail you again like always? "... and it will be performed as pairs. Choose your partner wisely, no switching after today.”

Pairs? At the sound of that, you instantly lifted your head to find the familiar face of none other than Theodore Nott. It seemed as if his friends had already formed pairs and he was left standing, alone. He didn't look all too offended, just waiting for someone to approach him.

This was your chance. Finally, a chance to up your grades. Theodore Nott was the solution to your failing mark.

Without even thinking, you sprang up from your seat and approached him. You gave him a small poke in the side of his arm, his eyes looking up at you. You never noticed how mesmerizing his eyes were until right at this moment, it caught you off guard slightly. "Mind if we work together?"

He slightly frowned at your question, you two never spoke so this was honestly surprising to him. He looked around to see everyone partnered up already "Seems I'm left with no choice but to choose you." His brows were playfully arched as he looked back up at you.

Polyjuice potion. It wasn't an easy assignment, something that'd take weeks to brew. Which also meant weeks of working together. Snape explained that they didn't need to be strong, just for a minute; changing into the other.

"Make polyjuice potion." It was the only instruction that you got. Forced to find the recipe yourself, the ingredients, and a place to brew too. It was far from easy but at least you were smart enough to find a talented partner.

Theo had everything planned out; he made a schedule and found a place to brew. It was his own dorm but it was perfect, it was a large room and surprisingly cozy.

To your surprise, he used a lot of candles in his room. A lot of books lay scattered around too, from all different kinds. You often tried to read the titles, something Italian, while he made fun of your pronunciation. He corrected you, little did he know that was your goal: to hear him speak that lovely Italian language.

It was late at night when both of you decided to go look for some Lacewing flies in the woods. You didn't add enough in the beginning, which could mess up the ultimate potion.

"You know y/n, you aren't that bad after all. I can't deny I dreaded working with you, wondering why the hell you chose me as your partner. But you surprised me, in a good way." He looked down at you while you were next to him, looking around for some flies.

"Well, to be honest, I just wanted a good grade. That's why I chose you. You could say..." You thought for a moment before softly chuckling "…I used you to my advantage?" When you looked back up at him, he didn't seem all surprised.

"Is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"

Huh? What was he even saying? In love? With Theodore Nott? No way.

Looking back on the past few weeks, you looked back on the feeling you got around him. The feeling you're having right now.

Like you can't breathe but feel like you're breathing better than ever before.

Like there's a whole storm going on inside your stomach.

The soft touches he gave you these last few weeks; touching your wrist, the small of your back, patting your head when you were doing something right.

The way your heart made a little jump when he said your name or when he called you princess. The little praises he gave once in a while.

Reflecting on those weeks, your heart almost dropped. Could it be that you were in love? Was that love? Was he in love with you? Why did he even ask that? He must be in love with you, right? No...?

"Ah, I hit right bullseye. I knew it! You are in love with me, isn't that right?" It startled you when you suddenly hit his hard chest. He must've just spawned in front of you or something. It was when you looked up that you noticed the look in his eyes.

You saw something flicker in his eyes when you didn't respond to that question he asked. Just when you wanted to open your mouth to say something he already covered it with his. A kiss?

A kiss?!

No response from your side, just eyes wide open and stiff like a statue. He tried to get some sort of reaction out of you by cupping your face with both of his hands but nothing at all. No reaction, just a deer in headlights.

"Come on y/n, try that again. I like a bit of enthusiasm." He pouted in a joking manner.

He pulled your face closer, caressing your cheeks with both of his thumbs before moving lower until one of them reached your top lip. He caressed the cupid bow before moving to your lower lip, slowly dragging it downwards. "I want you to kiss me back with those precious lips, princess. Please?"

He moved his lips closer, his breath fanning yours like a soft breeze in summer. "For those good grades, I'll be giving you, mhmm?"

You pulled back and now it was your turn to mess with him. "Well I don't see those good grades yet, do I? Guess I'll have to wait for some proof to kiss you back." You noticed some Lacewing flies a few steps ahead and approached them. "Let's go catch those flies for those good grades, shall we?"

He was dumbfounded. How could you have been so flustered some seconds ago to turn into such a tease now? But he would get you good grades, just for that kiss...

...and for that smile that now covered your face when Professor Snape announced the top grades. "Theodore Nott and y/n y/l/n."

He bumped your shoulder slightly at the announcement and whispered in your ear. "Guess who's getting a kiss tonight? Can't wait to taste those sweet lips of yours, princess. Have been craving them all week.”

And man did you both kiss... Hands in your hair, pushed against the wall of his dorm while working on the buttons of his shirt. He pulled away with a grin on his face. "A little eager now, are we?"

It took you by surprise when your feet left the ground and your back hit the mattress less than a second later. There was no time to respond before he had already crawled on top of you, his tongue devouring your mouth. You didn't even notice him pulling off your shirt and unclipping your bra until you felt his warm lips touching the middle of your chest.

His lips inched lower, leaving a wet trail in the middle of your chest. The warm touch sent shivers down your spine, this was new and you liked it. You liked him.

It felt like heaven. Being touched like this, being worshipped like this, you felt beautiful underneath the touch of his hands. This man knew what he was doing and there was no stopping him... It’s not like you wanted him to stop either, you wanted this to never end.

He looked up through his eyelashes with those piercing eyes, while sucking on your lower belly. "Do I have permission to show you heaven?"

You assume it’s a four person group; you see a drum set, a keyboard, a guitar with a mic stand and a bass guitar. You’re wracking your brain for the name of the band, your friends mentioned it probably a million times in the last hour alone but you’ve been so focused on not a Avada-ing any of the other millions of girls around who seem to want to keep pushing against your back to get closer to whoever this band seems to be.

It’s when the curtain falls that your heart nearly stops. It had to be a coincidence, right? The fact that this band happens to have the same name as the infamous group of pranking boys from your school years. But all your nervous fears are confirmed when they start strolling on to the stage, you recognize the others in an instant, but the one that catches your eye most intensely slings the guitar over his shoulder, a shit eating smirk gracing his lips as his tucks his hair behind his ear.

“Blimey, what a turn out, yeah lads?” The guitarist turns slightly where he stands, glancing at his friends behind him who are all nodding and shouting, pumping their fists in the air with the screams of fans in front of them. The guitarist turns back towards the crowd, eyes scanning over the sea of people until they come to the front and lock with yours. Your friend besides you starts shaking with giddy excitement as he speaks his next words into the mic, her arm hooking with yours. But you can’t tear your eyes away from his piercing gaze, “In case any of you’ve forgotten, we’re The Marauders and-”

Being barricade had its benefits because you heard the drummer shout, “Oi, Pads, get on with it, will ya, let’s give em a show, yeah?” Sirius laughs into the mic and your thrust back to being seventeen and pining after the long haired boy at the back of your advanced potions class. “Alright, Prongs, don’t lose yer head, mate. Who’s ready to fucking rock out?” Sirius strummed his guitar and the crowd erupted in cheers and screams. The entire concert was a bit of a blur. One because you didn’t know any of their songs, but two because it seemed like any time Sirius looked towards the front of the crowd, he looked right at you, and your friends and the girls surrounding you seemed to lose their mind at the concept.

When the concert finally ended you watched your old classmates take in the cheers and praise. James threw both his drumsticks into the crowd, Remus tossed a few picks as well. Reggie stepped from behind the keyboard, taking his setlist with him and passing it to the security guard to give to a random girl. Sirius, however, seemed to have a different plan. The girls around you seemed to be panting with anticipation as Sirius took a marker from a stage hand and laid down on his stomach, pulling the cap from the marker with his teeth before writing on his setlist on the ground. Capping the pen, he pulled the setlist off the ground slowly, folding the tape over the edges before folding the setlist into fours.

What really made everyone around you go into a frenzy was Sirius jumping down from the stage and walking straight up to you at barricade and holding the paper towards you with a smile. “Here,” Sirius grabbed your wrist, placing the folded setlist into your hand, “open it when you leave the venue. Was nice seeing you again, love. S’been too long since the last time.” Sirius then turned his attention to the people around you, shaking hands and signing a few autographs but it all sounded muffled to yours ears as it seemed like all the blood was rushing to your head as you were rushing out of the crowd, you friend close behind.

“Uhm, hello? Are you gonna tell me what the fuck that was back there?” You were walking as fast as you could without sprinting, your friend hot on your heels. “Y/n/n!” You turned abruptly to face her, her stopping roughly in her tracks. “What!” You were nearly screaming before taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry, erm, I’m sorry. I just…I haven’t seen those guys in a long time and it was just a little…overwhelming.” Your friend nodded, the grin never leaving her face, “How do you even know them, can we open the letter now, what does it say?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the note from your pocket. Unfolding it you finally answered her questions, “We went to school together, believe it or not they were very popular and I was…well…not. I had a few classes with the others and well Sirius was…friends with some of my friends, let’s say. Honestly I didn’t even expect him to recognize me once I realized they were the band we were seeing and…” your thoughts and words seem to die on your lips as your eyes scanned the setlist in your hands, Sirius’s sloppy scrawl strewn across in black marker. Your friend raised her eyebrows impatiently, turning your hands towards her so she could see what had you at such a loss, a gasp leaving her as she did so. “Is that a fucking address…”

So maybe you did know how you got to this party, your friend begging and pleading until you agreed to go. “It’s only polite, he did invite you after all,” she had said. You knew her agenda was more so to gain an opportunity to see the boys up close, so you didn’t argue when as soon as you entered the private bar she immediately went on the hunt. You, on the other hand, went straight for a drink, or two, or four. You were working on yet another firewhiskey when a rough voice spoke your last name from behind you. Turning around, you attempted to control your blush, “Black. Long time no see.” You did your best to keep your tone casual, like your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest.

Per expected Sirius was nothing but charming and smooth, “I didn’t expect to see a friend in the crowd tonight, you caught me slightly off guard I have to admit.” You clasped onto your drink with both hands, hoping the coolness of the glass would offset the heat that was rapidly spreading through your body, “You consider us friends? I didn’t even think you’d recognize me.” Sirius’s gaze turned what you could only describe as tender, “I would’ve failed Advanced Charms if you hadn’t put up with me for two whole terms. If spending endless weeks in the library didn’t make us friends, what then developed between us, nothing?”

No, just my raging school girl crush on you is all. You shook your head, mouth opening and slightly stammering, no explanation coming to mind. “Pads, you’re not scaring y/n/n away are you? Gonna make us not see her for another three years again?” Sirius huffed a slightly annoyed breath, “Yeah, Moony, the reason we haven’t seen her is strictly my fault, not that our band took off or anything.” Sirius jabs a thumb over his shoulder as he glances back at you as if to say, the nerve of this guy. “She didn’t even think I’d recognize her, or considered us friends! Can you believe that?”

The taller boy greeted you with a warm and familiar smile, the scar stretching over his top lip thinning with the action, “Well I certainly don’t blame her for the latter. But we’re still friends, aren’t we, dove?” Remus took a step forward, wrapping you in a tight and friendly embrace. “Hi, Rem,” you mumbled just loud enough over the bar music. Remus was gruffly pulled away from you to reveal a pouting face with glasses and a mop of curly hair, “Not consider us friends? Did seven agonizing years of potions together mean absolutely nothing to you?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the dramatics, “Hi, Jamie. ‘ve missed you.” You open your arms for a hug and are quickly embraced in a bear-like squeeze, “Missed you too shortcake. Been too long.” A second body joins your hug from behind, “Yeah, it’s been too long.” James pushes him off before letting you go, “Whydya have to do that Reg, you ambushed my hug.” Regulus opens his mouth to argue when a throat clearing catches all of your guys' attention. You turn to see your friend clearly doing her best not to freak out at the scene before her. You turn the the boys, pushing your friend slightly in front of you, “Guys this is my friend Órlaith. She brought me to your show. Big fan, her. Órlaith, this is Reg, Jamie, Rem and Sirius.”

The four boys all flashed award winning smiles while your friend managed a meek ‘hi’ and a slight wave. “So you didn’t just have classes with them, you were friends with the fucking Marauders,” Órlaith wacked your arm, causing James and Regulus to burst out in laughter. Remus leaned in close to your friend, a hand shielding one side of his mouth while pointing a thumb back at James, “Y/n/n, here actually helped make sure this one graduated on time.” James crossed his arms in mock offense, “Is he talking shite love? Moony, don’t fill her head with lies we’ve only just met.”

Sirius slung his arm over her shoulder, whispering in her ear, “Actually, I’d like to catch up with Y/l/n. You mind if I steal her for a moment? Think you can watch these gits, keep them in line for me while I’m away?” She gave a timid nod and Sirius flashed her his knee weakening grin. Remus shot Sirius a knowing look, one you completely missed as you were too busy focusing on Sirius lacing his fingers in yours and dragging you towards a roped off section of the bar. You tried to will your palm to not be clammy as you downed the last of your drink, setting the glass on a passing table. As Sirius led you up the few steps and past the velvet rope he settled you both down at a table in the corner.

With a wave of his wrist the music and sound of the crowd disappeared. “See? A perfect silencing charm. Wouldn’t have been able to do that without your help in years past, friend,” Sirius emphasized the last word, wiggling his eyebrows. You laughed slightly, eyes rolling, “Yes, I’m very proud of you. However, that hasn’t stopped the gaggle of girls staring at us.” You motioned toward at least four women you could see clearly shooting daggers your way at a private talk with the leading man. Sirius shrugged his shoulders, eyes never leaving your direction, “I don’t care about them, my focus is on you.”

Your face seemed to stay in a permanent state of blush with Sirius’s full attention solely on you. “Now tell me, sweetheart. Did you really not consider us friends all those years? I mean, I thought we were pretty close. If I recall we’ve drunkenly fallen asleep on a few couches and floors together. Who else does that besides very good friends?” You nervously summon a drink before you, taking the glass and trying to hide half your face behind it while you take a long gulp. Your eyes scan over Sirius’s face, taking in the changes, or lack thereof, from the last time you saw him.

He still has that same boyish charm, that grin the tends to sneak onto his face when he knows he’s being charming. His hair is still gorgeous, long and flowing, though maybe slightly greasier than your school years, but you’re sure that’s part of his rockstar aesthetic. His forearms now adorn multiple tattoos and from what you know of Sirius there’s probably more hidden elsewhere. He had a few more piercings now, and his jawline was more refined now that he was no longer a teenager, but what remained exactly the same was always your favorite part of him; his eyes.

Sirius always had the most captivating eyes; a beautiful silvery grey that seemed to change with his mood and whether he was telling the truth or not. Either that or you had just spent so much time staring at him you began to figure out his tells without anyone else realizing. “You’re telling the truth, you really considered us good friends didn’t you?” Sirius laughed lightly, looking down at his lap before meeting your eyes once more, “Yes, I’m telling the truth.” You shook your head, “That wasn’t a question, it was a statement, I can tell when you’re lying. I just can’t believe you’re being serious.”

“Well I’m always Sirius, darling.” You rolled your eyes at his favorite pun, going to bring your drink back to your lips. Sirius, however, had other plans, stealing to glass from your hands and downing the rest himself. You opened your mouth to scold him but he got his words out first, “How can you – blimey, love no mixer really? Merlin’s fucking beard – how can you tell when I’m lying? I like to think I’m quite subtle at hiding the truth.” You sat up a bit straighter, tucking your legs underneath you on the couch. Normally you would never admit anything, especially not to Sirius himself, but your filter seemed to be turned off thanks to the many firewhiskey’s now running through your system.

You leaned your elbow on the back of the couch, facing Sirius now with your head resting against your fist, “Your eyes turn a shade or two darker when you’re lying. Normally they’re just this really lovely deep grey color that looks like the sun is shining directly on them, even when you’re inside and there’s not even a window in sight. But when you’re lying it’s like all the mischief you’ve got cooking in your brain is overheating and it deepens the color.” If you weren’t feeling so tipsy you probably would’ve noticed the deep blush that spread over Sirius’s cheeks. But being himself he couldn’t let you stop there, “What else have you seemed to notice over the years, huh sweet girl?”

Subconsciously you knew you’d regret it in the morning, but your ability to stop your mouth from rambling seemed to be null. “You tend to chew on your top lip when you’re concentrating, not the entire thing, just one of the corners. You did it tonight during your guitar solo, which was actually pretty fantastic. I'm very proud of you, Siri. And I only noticed you do that because it’s different from other people, usually people bite their bottom lip, but you bite your top,” Sirius touched his top lip with his fingertips as you continued, “And I know when you’re laughing just to be polite and when you’re laughing for real because your fake laugh is this polite little chuckle where you nod your head to make the other person think you’re really paying attention, but your real laugh is so much better. You throw your head back, and your hair falls from your face and it’s real hearty and deep and your smile stays bright for moments afterwards.” You let out a long sigh, your eyes keeping this distance look to them like you were recalling an exact moment for each aspect you just described. “Merlin, I was just so in…I just had the biggest crush on you back then.”

Sirius blinked a few times in disbelief, shaking his head and trying to clear his thoughts because there was definitely no way he heard what he just thought he heard, “I’m sorry, love. Are you speaking parseltongue or am I really that drunk?” You scoffed slightly, “Excuse me?” Sirius quickly held his hands up in defense, “No, no! I just meant that – oh for Godric’s sake, I’m gonna muck this up I just know it–” You grabbed his wrists, effectively stopping his spiraling tangent, “Sirius!” He looked up at you, eyes meeting yours and just like you said, they looked like the sun was hitting them directly despite being in the back corner of a dark bar, “I never needed help with charms.”

Your face contorted in confusion, “Sorry, erm, what?” Sirius closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes once more, making sure you were looking back at him so you would see he was telling the truth, “I never needed help with charms, I would fuck up spells on purpose because I wanted to spend more time with you.” You shook your head, “But Remus said…”

“I lied to Moony,” Sirius cut you off, “Well, I tried to lie to him at first. I told him I was failing and I asked him to ask you to be my tutor but the bloody git knows everything, saying shit like ‘I know you’re at the top of our class Sirius meh meh meh’, so I asked him to lie for me.” You shook your head, “Why would you do that?” Sirius placed his hands on either side of your face, your hands still holding his wrists, “Because I had an insanely huge crush on you that I kept trying to deny and Moony could see it a mile away. I’m surprised you missed it with everything else you seemed to notice.” You smiled at him, a real genuine relaxed smile, then he spoke again, “Past tense probably isn’t the right usage. After seeing you tonight, I can humbly admit that all those feelings are very much still here. You believe me, don’t you?”

He touches constantly — not out of obligation, but because he doesn't see a reason not to. He’ll pull you onto his lap even when there’s room on the bench, press a kiss to your hair mid-sentence, link pinkies when you walk side by side. Physical affection is a default with James — unless you push him away, he’ll always pull you closer.

How he receives love: Quality Time

James wants you to be in it with him. In the stands at Quidditch, in the joke, in the trouble. He feels closest to you when you’re part of his whirlwind — when he says “come on!” and you do. Sit beside him while he’s working on a prank, walk with him to class even when it’s not your way. He’ll grin like he’s won something. It’s not about doing anything special — it’s about choosing to be where he is. That’s what makes him feel loved.

Remus

How he gives love: Acts of Service, Quality Time

Remus doesn’t love loudly. He’s the kind of person who fixes your scarf while you talk, refills your tea without being asked, and quietly leaves a bar of chocolate on your desk when he knows you’ve had a hard day. He won’t say much about it. He might not say anything at all. But the scarf stays in place, the tea is warm, and the chocolate has your favorite kind of filling. That’s Remus. He pays attention, quietly and thoroughly. If he notices you’re cold, you’ll find an extra jumper in your drawer. If you mention offhand that your quill’s been leaking, he’ll swap it out before the next class. He doesn’t make a show of it, doesn’t want thanks — the helping is the affection.

He prefers quiet proximity to deep conversation. He’d rather be sitting beside you, both reading different books, than spilling emotions out across a table. His “I love you” sounds like, You should go to bed, I’ll finish this for you. Like, You can have the last biscuit. Like, I’m here, if you want me — but never, you have to.

How he receives love: Words of Affirmation (but subtle)

Remus doesn’t know what to do when you look him in the eye and tell him he’s wonderful. He’ll smile tight and change the subject. But if you mutter it, distracted — “You’re so good to me,” while wrapping a blanket around your shoulders — he’ll go very still. He won’t answer. He might pretend he didn’t hear. But he did. That quiet praise? It matters more than you know. Call him “steady” or “clever” in passing, and he’ll hold onto it for weeks. You may forget you ever said it — he won’t.

Sirius

How he gives love: Gift Giving, Physical Touch

Sirius’s gifts don’t always make sense — a leather bracelet with a skull on it, a mug that says Bite Me, a quill he swears belonged to a dark wizard. But they’re all from him, chosen because they reminded him of you. He wraps them in old newspaper and tosses them at you like it’s no big deal. If you like it, he shrugs and goes pink. If you don’t, he shrugs harder and pretends he doesn’t care. But he does. He really, really does.

He’s all over you in public — throws himself dramatically across your lap, head on your stomach, legs over your knees. He’ll braid your hair when he’s bored and lean his full weight against you in the hallway. But when you initiate it — lace your fingers with his, brush his cheek — he freezes. Like he wasn’t expecting it. Like part of him still doesn’t think he’s supposed to be loved back.

How he receives love: Physical Touch (but gently), Words of Affirmation (sincerely)

Sirius wants to be touched, but he doesn’t always know how to ask. Touch him first — gently. Brush his hair behind his ear when he’s reading, wrap an arm around his waist when he’s ranting. He’ll blink, maybe go quiet, but he won’t pull away. He’s listening. He’s taking notes. Tell him he did something right, that he matters — and do it like you mean it. No sarcasm, no jokes. Just: I’m glad you’re here. He won’t believe you right away. Say it again anyway.

Peter

How he gives love: Acts of Service, Gift Giving

Peter is the friend who notices. The one who brings you your favorite snack without asking, who saves you a seat without being told, who stays up late fixing something broken even though he’s not very good at it. His love is practical, understated, deeply felt. He doesn’t grandstand — he supports. He fixes things. He remembers. He watches how you take your tea and starts making it before you even sit down.

He gives gifts that you didn’t even know you needed — a new quill because yours is fraying, a pair of socks because your feet are always cold. He doesn’t make a big deal of it. He just hands it over, a little shy, like he hopes it’s good enough.

How he receives love: Quality Time, Gentle Touch

Peter glows when you ask him to join something — when you say I want you there and mean it. He doesn’t need to be the center of attention. He just wants to be chosen. Sit beside him at lunch. Invite him on your errands. Let him tag along. He’ll smile so wide it hurts. And if you ever initiate touch — lean your head on his shoulder, link arms — he’ll blush and try to act casual. He won’t pull away. He might even lean back. He doesn’t always say thank you with words. But you’ll see it in how he looks at you, like you made his whole day just by noticing him.