#microfic wolfstar

It started small.

Little things, the kinds of things you could brush off if you tried hard enough. The way Sirius leaned into Remus’s shoulder in the common room, head thrown back in laughter as Remus shook his head with that soft, exasperated smile. The way Remus’s hand always seemed to find Sirius’s wrist, grounding him with a simple touch. The way they fell into banter so easily, like they were two halves of the same rhythm, never missing a beat.

It wasn’t that they ignored you. Merlin, no. Sirius was always pulling you into his orbit, an arm slung lazily around your waist, lips pressing teasing kisses into your hair. Remus read to you in the evenings, his voice steady, warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. You had both of them. You knew you did.

But some nights, when the firelight dimmed and laughter softened, you caught yourself wondering if you were only a guest in something that had been theirs long before you.

Trios don’t last, you thought. Everyone knew that. Someone always ends up the afterthought.

And wasn’t it obvious who that someone was?

The doubt gnawed at you until even their affection began to sting. When Sirius tugged you close, you felt like a substitute for the person he truly wanted. When Remus reached for your hand, you imagined he was only keeping balance, already steady with Sirius at his side.

You hated yourself for it — for thinking that way, for letting the thoughts creep in. But that didn’t stop you from pulling away when Sirius’s lips brushed your cheek one evening in the dormitory.

“Love?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“I’m tired,” you whispered, curling into your blanket before either of them could press.

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt their eyes on you — Sirius’s sharp with confusion, Remus’s heavy with quiet understanding — but neither spoke. And you lay there, heart hammering, wishing the mattress would swallow you whole.

The next morning, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You slipped out before breakfast, climbed the spiraling stairs of the Astronomy Tower, and sat where the cold stone met the sky. The dawn was bleeding in, stars dimming one by one.

Evanesce, you thought bitterly, the word echoing in your head. To slowly disappear. To fade away.

That was what you were doing. Slowly disappearing between them, fading into the background where you didn’t belong.

You didn’t hear thier footsteps until Sirius’s voice cut through the thin morning air.

“Love.”

Your stomach twisted. He sounded different — not the usual playful lilt, but softer, careful. You didn’t turn, afraid your expression would betray you.

“I’ve seen it,” Sirius said after a pause. His boots scraped the stone as he crossed to you. “The way you’ve been pulling back. Like every time I touch you, you flinch. Like you’re… already halfway gone.”

He crouched in front of you, grey eyes catching the pale light, hair tumbling around his face. His voice cracked at the edges, stripped of bravado.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t think you’re… extra. That you don’t think we’d be better off without you.”

Something inside you cracked. You pulled your knees tighter to your chest, unable to stop the words spilling out. “You and Remus—you’re perfect together. You fit. And me? I’m just—Merlin, I’m just a distraction. You’d be fine without me.”

For once, Sirius had no immediate retort. His jaw worked, eyes searching yours, and in that silence your chest ached so badly you thought you might break.

Then you felt it: the weight of a coat settling around your shoulders, warm from the body it had belonged to. Remus. You hadn’t even heard him arrive, but now he was beside you, steady as always, his hand pressing gently against yours.

“You’re wrong,” he murmured, and the certainty in his voice nearly undid you. “You’re not a distraction. You’re not an extra piece. You’re the part that makes us whole.”

Sirius let out a shaky laugh — the kind that cracked at the edges — and sat cross-legged before you. He reached out, reckless as ever, taking your hand from Remus and holding it tight between his. “Moons and stars, love. We’re not complete without you.”

Tears burned your eyes. “But you two—”

“Are a mess without you,” Sirius cut in. His grin was wobbly, but his eyes shone with truth. “I burn too bright. He hides too deep. You’re the one who makes it work.”

Remus squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing slow circles over your skin. “You don’t fade us out,” he said softly. “You make us shine.”

The words lodged in your throat, too big, too heavy. But when Sirius tugged you forward into his lap, when Remus leaned close to press his forehead to yours, you felt the weight shift.

For the first time in days, you let yourself believe them. Believe that this wasn’t a constellation of two with you tacked on. It was three stars bound together, brighter for it.

You weren’t fading away. You weren’t disappearing. You belonged.

Sirius pressed a kiss to your temple, desperate and trembling, before tilting your chin so his lips could find yours — rough but full of need. Remus’s mouth brushed the corner of your jaw a heartbeat later, softer, grounding you as Sirius clung tight.