#poly!wolfstar angst

Until another full moon comes, or a call from Regulus in fear that things have escalated again. Or your boss has decided you’re too valuable for your job to let you go. Hours rise, missed moments, you stay silent because it’ll pass. Everything’s still fresh, you need to find your footing between them, and you can’t expect them to fully settle into this relationship when life itself won’t let them. It’s fine. You’re patient, you’re learning, and so are they. Because you know they love you, and you love them. So you wait, you stay silent and take what they give you— 

“I don’t know, love,” Lily murmurs, eyebrows twitched together as she listens to you. She sets another folded blanket aside before looking up at you. “Doesn’t sound healthy to me.”

“It’ll get better,” you assure her again, almost distractingly as you trace idle patterns on baby Harry’s head. He’s finally managed to fall asleep, maybe James is right and your touch is godsend. 

When you look up, trying to share a triumphant smile with Lily, she’s got a look that makes it dim. Not that it was very wide, they barely get to your ears lately. Your smiles come and go, but they never stay long enough. 

Of course, you don’t let it linger too much. “Don’t worry about me, Lily,” you whisper, rising to your feet with Harry in your arms. The baby boy doesn’t rouse, nor does he wake as you lower him to his cradle. “I’ll be fine, yeah?”

Lily nods, watching as you kneel low enough to continue tracing figures on Harry’s hand, his little cheeks and forehead. Touch featherlight and lips twitched into a fond little smile, smaller and smaller as time goes on. 

“I know you will,” she says after a long silence. “It’s just, y/n… you seem so sad for a girl so in love.”

You don’t answer, and Lily stands to go and put the blankets away. But her words hang in the air. Heavy in your chest and clinging to you even after you leave. Even when you get home to the lights on, hope flickering inside of you as you unlock the door. Even when you walk into the flat to see Remus and Sirius cuddled up on the sofa after a trying day. Even when you smile and offer each of them a cup of tea. Even when Sirius scoots a little to the side to make space for you. Even when, in his deep slumber, Remus reaches for your hand under the thick blanket. Even when you wake the next morning, and they’re gone. 

The flat is warm, and they’ve left you a freshly made cup of coffee on the kitchen table. Probably Remus. With a note. big day at the ministry, had to rush. see you at dinner? love you. sirius xx. You set it down, next to the fresh bouquet and drink your coffee in silence.  

You go through the motions right after. Put on a relaxing record on Sirius’ turntable, light on a candle and hope the lavender helps Remus’ migraines when he comes home. You tidy a bit between sips and changes of outfits, and pluck a flower from the bouquet to use as a bookmark before leaving the flat to go to your own job. 

It’ll pass, you tell yourself. Maybe being sad is a downside that no one tells you about being in love. A secret code that you must discover yourself. Whatever it is, you won’t let it taunt this, because it is a virtue to not let good love slip away. Because it is, even if it’s unhealthy or sad at times—you know, deep in your bones, that this love is good. So maybe staying silent and enduring a bit of uncertainty is a little frustrating, but is nothing compared to the love you know they feel for you. And you feel for them.

At work, you busy yourself being useful. Even if it’s a bit boring at times. Marlene makes a joke that the girl working at the Level 6 coffee shop has a massive crush on her, you pile on with your coworkers that maybe she’s just nice and has nothing to do with Marlene being a retired Quidditch star. Dorcas comes down to visit at some point and steals her away, and you have a stretch of free time where busying yourself being useful isn’t doing the trick anymore. 

Then, Sirius comes down from his Wizengamot meeting with a tense posture but a smile to ease any stress away. He kisses you and flirts with you before dragging you out for a quick lunch, claiming he’s famished and that maybe you should stop by Level 4 to coax Remus out of his cubicle. You let him, swallowing down questions about his meeting knowing well he’ll say it went well because he doesn’t want to worry you. You share a smoke outside the café after lunch, fussing over Remus and the upcoming full moon and how you shouldn’t worry about it because it’s the least they want for you. He dips you low with a long and sweet kiss before saying goodbye. You don’t ask where he’s going, knowing he’s meeting up with Regulus.

You do walk back inside the café to order a quick lunch for Remus, they wrap it warm and ready for you to drop it off at his cubicle on your way to yours. He looks up from his work, stressed and easily irritable. But never to you. You know it’s the full moon, and his migraines, so you kiss his head and wish him a good day before taking the elevator back to your level. 

Remus goes to find you hours later, looking apologetic and wondering if he can spend his lunch hour with you. You pretend to be casual about it, smiling and preparing two cups of tea for you instead of making it a big deal. To not make it so obvious, how you take whatever they give you. A shared smoke, a shared lunch—small stretches of time of their days before you have to return home. Alone. 

You water the flowers, you change into comfortable clothes and put on a film while you wait for them to return. It’s still early, anyway. The book Remus has been trying to read is on the coffee table, and maybe he won’t mind if you start reading it yourself. He hasn’t touched it in weeks, maybe if he sees you read it he’ll get out of his slump. You don’t get much into the book, but it’s nice. It’s nice to feel connected to him, somehow. 

The night stretches, and you make dinner for three. Leaving their plates on the counter ready to heat up for them to eat, it’s okay. You can sit with them while they debrief about their day, they’ve already told you that it’s okay to eat before them if you’re hungry. You bring dinner to the living room, and a small glass of wine. One you mentioned in passing to love and the same one Sirius stocked you up the next day. The film you choose is barely entertaining, but the thematic cores still make you cry. 

They come home later, together and very tired. Sharing murmurs and whispers, apologies about being away from each other and you for the entire day. Ready to share a small stretch of time before heading to bed. But all they find is a lavender candle on, Sirius’ wine and two glasses at the table, and their plates ready to heat up. It’s nearly midnight, and they know because of your calendar on the fridge that you have an early meeting tomorrow, so they eat in silence knowing you’re sound asleep in the room. Aware that you fell asleep waiting for them. 

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

The next morning, you don’t go to work. There’s no meeting. Or at least that early in the morning. Not like you’ve written down in your calendar. You prepare coffee for three, and water the flowers and write them a little note for them to find when they wake up. big meeting today! wish me luck, can’t wait to tell you all about it later. i love you. yn xx. The flat is silent, but smelling like coffee and lavender when you close the door behind you. 

You head directly to St. Mungo’s, to find a healer that can tell you what’s wrong with you. You’ve searched up symptoms, possible outcomes to your uneasiness and why you keep feeling the way you do. Desperate to fix whatever’s wrong with you and do it quickly, erase it before they can notice it. Before they can realize they’re what’s wrong with you. 

So when the healer says you’re fine, you stay silent. You nod and let her go on about possible reasons, work, maybe hormones, maybe you’re coming down with something. You stay silent and accept her instructions for a few potions that could help, thank her on your way out and head directly to the Ministry. 

When it’s lunchtime, your heart does a somersault when you step out of your cubicle to see them step out of the elevator. Remus holds the flowers when it’s obvious Sirius can’t, carrying various takeout containers from your favourite restaurant near the flat. You try not to be so obvious, how pathetically happy you feel by their presence. You try to push down your need to cling, to cling to them and accept their kisses and the way they listen to your made up stories about the meeting. In return, you try, maybe, with the confidence of this olive branch, to ask them about their endeavors. If Remus needs you to run to the shop for any wolfsbane or other potions he might need. If Sirius maybe wants company the next time he has to talk to Regulus. 

So when they turn it down, brush down your help and claim you shouldn't worry about them, that it’s too much and heavy for you to bear, you stay silent. You smile and continue eating and answering their questions about your day. You nod and laugh at their jokes and try not to cling to hope when they leave with a kiss each and a promise to see you later at James and Lily’s for Harry’s six months celebration. 

When Marlene returns from her own lunch break, you only suppress the weight on your chest. You smile and fill her in on your surprise visit, you ask her questions in return and she answers with a smile that rings the alarms in your head.

“What?”

She hums, turning in her chair. “Nothing, s’just… are you okay?”

You frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just…” she scratches her eyebrow. Her nervous tell. “you just told me your boyfriends surprised you with flowers and a whole banquet for lunch, and yet you sound like someone ripped your heart out.”

You ignore the way her words feel like a crack in your heart, knowing they come out of a place of love and worry. “Have you been talking to Lily lately?”

Marlene sits straight. “Should I?”

“No.” You say immediately, turning to your desk and resume working. “I meant about Harry. Did she say what time we should be there?”

“Uh…” she looks around. “y/n.”

“I think I’ll get there earlier. Harry’s been a tad fussier lately and,” you go on, stream rolling any of her attempts to reroute the conversation to your obvious, apparently to everyone but yourself, sadness. “I’m sure she’ll need help setting everything up.”

Before she can speak, you make up a quick excuse to run to the loo. Marlene watches you go, knowing you’re not going to the loo. Not when you’ve taken your wallet with you. She only returns to her work and covers for you when your boss walks by and notices you’re not at your desk. 

You don’t go to the loo. You slip out of the Ministry and head towards Diagon Alley, desperate enough to bypass any worries that someone might recognize when you step into the apothecary with the healer’s written instructions. You buy your potions and drink them in a rush, hoping they’ll ease whatever’s wrong with you before tonight. When you return to your desk, Marlene asks you about work, and you return to your normal routine before clocking out.

Before heading to the Potter’s, you stop by the flat to change quickly and collect Harry’s gift. You suck in a nervous breath before pushing the door open, knowing it’s useless to hope but doing it anyway when you step inside. It’s exactly how they must’ve left it in the morning. The mugs are cleaned and set up on the cupboard. You put them where they belong, knowing it’s an easy mistake to make. You take the old bouquet and replace it with the new one and walk into your room to change. 

You take time picking your clothes, and pretend it’s not for them. You freshen up and collect Harry’s gift before walking out of the flat, heading towards the Potters with a weight on your chest that dissipates slowly with every step closer to the cottage. Before knocking, you suck in a breath and put on your best smile. Or what you hope is genuine enough. 

It’s okay, though. Because James opens the door with Harry in his arms, and the pain disappears almost magically. James makes small talk, knowing what he’s trying to tiptoe around and not giving him reasons to worry. Work is fine. Remus is doing better, his knee isn’t troubling him that much lately. I think Sirius had a small breakthrough with Regulus, I heard he’s accepted to look for flats. Me? I’m okay. I can’t believe Harry is already six months old. Just the usual. When Lily joins the conversation, sending you a knowing look, you go silent. 

Good thing Harry loves to fill your silences. A quiet and absurdly funny agreement you somehow managed to create with him. He gargles and giggles at you, holding your hand and asking you to walk him around the cottage like a glorified chauffeur. 

When the rest of the guests arrive, one by one, you pretend to be busy helping Lily make sure nothing’s missing when you poke your head out the kitchen every time the door opens. Hoping. Hoping. Hoping. Even if you tell yourself it’s just a matter of practically, checking who’s missing before setting plates out. You’re definitely not waiting for them to cross the threshold. 

Except, when they do, you barely notice. 

Harry has forced you to sequester yourself to his nursery to help him sleep. Candles have been blown, pictures have been taken and gifts opened, the baby is tired and Lily is too happy and cheerful with the festivities to make her leave. So you offer to put him to sleep. You trace idle patterns on his forehead, touch tender and featherlight; your fingertip travels from his eyebrows to his little nose and cheek and up again. He falls asleep not long after and you return to the party feeling a tiny bit lighter. 

“There you are, m’love.” Sirius says as soon as you climb the last step. Your heart picks up rhythm, tugging towards him where he meets you in the middle. When he plants a kiss on the side of your face, you feel stupidly teary. “I thought you went home.”

“I was with Harry,” you explain, savoring the way he hugs you. Selfishly, almost. But quick, too quick. You school your expression before it can give you away as he steps away. “Took a bit, but he’s sound asleep.”

“Thank you!” James calls out from the living room. “It’s almost a miracle how quickly you can put him to sleep.”

“She truly has the magic touch,” Sirius says agreeably, tucking you to his side. “Don’t you, love?”

“I think so,” you shrug, smiling a bit. 

“You do.” Remus says, reaching for you in the same way your heart stutters with hope. With love and affection and everything that has been craving. “Hi, saved you a piece of cake while you were upstairs.”

You blink, dazed and overwhelmed by their presence. “Oh. Thank you,” you accept it, wiggling your fingers before setting a hand out and hiding the way they shake. Remus is too busy kissing your cheek in greeting to notice, and you’re eating the cake before he can start paying attention. “When did you get here?”

“A while ago,” Sirius answers, tugging you with him towards the living room for the empty loveseat they’ve left for you. He smiles as he sits, eyeing you appreciatively. You try to control the way your heart flutters. “You look lovely.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” he pats the empty spot beside him, a funny lilt to his tone. “You always do. Doesn’t she, Moons?”

“She does,” Remus agrees readily, sitting down on the armrest by your side. His arm comes around your shoulders, without thought. It’s too much. “Is this the new dress you were talking about?”

You clear your throat. “Yeah. Got it the other day on my way from work.”

Remus hums appreciatingly, too. You look down at your cake, knowing how intoxicating their combined appreciation and affection can be. 

“y/n?”

You look away, searching for whoever’s calling for you. “Hm?”

Lily gestures at you from the bannister. “I think Harry woke up, can you… help me?”

“Of course,” you nod, standing up. Sirius wordlessly accepts your half eaten cake, frowning when he feels a light tremor in your fingers when they brush. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing, dovey.” Remus nods, sliding down the armrest to take your vacated seat. Sirius wordlessly makes room for him as the conversation picks up again.

You climb the stairs with a knot in your chest.

When you get to the top, you’re surprised by how silent it is. No wailing Harry, not even fussing with discomfort. Complete silence, and Lily studying you quietly. Almost worryingly.

“What is it?”

“Do you need a couple of minutes?” she asks instead. 

“What?” 

“y/n…”

“I don’t. I’m okay.” You say quickly, feeling indescribably irritated by the interruption. For being dragged away from your boyfriends. “I’m fine.”

“Just—”

“Lily. I know, I know, okay?” you take a step back, down the stairs. “But I’m fine, I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I sort of do, love. You’re… well—”

“I’m fine,” you repeat. With finality. “Thank you, though.”

Before she can speak, you turn around to rejoin the festivities. Remus doesn’t move from the spot, but he does reach for you to sit on his lap. Not quite between them, just there. The conversation goes on smoothly, Lily climbs down a moment later and you feel guilt gnaw at your insides when your gazes meet. She sends you a reassuring smile before sitting down. 

At some point, Remus stands, claiming his knee is troubling him from sitting down all day. He drops a placating kiss to your shoulder before you can ask, or offer to go home. Sirius reaches for your hands when you’re back to his side, threading your fingers together and bringing your joined hands to his lap, then his chest. You feel drunk and happy and overwhelmed all at once. You don’t mind the way Remus shrugs down your help with his knee, not when he doesn’t pull away like other times. Maybe… maybe things are changing. 

As the night stretches and you say goodbye to your friends, the three of you go home with tension lingering between you. It grows and grows the more they touch you, the more they kiss you and the more you wish you could just go home and let them properly love you. And that they do. Careful and slow and steady and gentle and everything you had wanted for months. They kiss you and hold you and caress you until you’re spent and tired. You shower and share kisses and return to bed hours later into the night, even when the sun is beginning to peek between the clouds. You climb between them after returning from the kitchen, setting the mugs and the coffee grounds in hopes of sharing a quick breakfast before heading out for work. Sirius reaches for you in his sleep, and you fall asleep content and more in love than ever. 

When you wake, there’s a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand, and two empty spots by your sides. The note by your alarm clock goes to your purse along with the rest. emergency situation at grimmauld place. will not be back until tomorrow cos of the full moon. we love you, s&r xx. You return to bed and cry yourself to sleep, or at least until your alarm goes off. Then, you’re off to work. 

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

After work, you go to the healer again, and you leave St. Mungo’s with an even heavier weight on your chest and a note with a number for a muggle healer. The mind kind. The kind that, according to her, would be of more help than anyone at that hospital. You shove the number deep inside your purse and go home. 

You go through the motions; tidy a bit, prepare everything for Remus, leave his potions and remedies at hand next to his side of the bed. You change the sheets again and stock up on tea and sweets. You go to a corner shop and look for the specific kind of biscuits Sirius likes, because you know he’ll be exhausted and fragile after handling whatever emergency at Grimmaul Place with Regulus and then the full moon. Then stop for the apothecary again for wolfsbane and more potions your healer instructed you to take whenever you resorted “to feeling wrong” again. You shove the potions deep inside your purse and return to the flat. 

When you get to the floor, you’re surprised to find the door lightly ajar, only one push does it to let you in. You look around, categorizing the little ways you can help. But your boyfriends have made quick work of the things you’ve left out for them. The tea has been prepared, the gauzes used and the jar of wolfsbane has been emptied and left to be on the kitchen sink. You venture deep inside the flat, not even shredding your coat or purse or boots before tiptoeing inside your room.

Sirius looks up from the edge of the bed where he’s setting a damp cloth over Remus’ head. Cold for his migraines. He makes you a silencing gesture before standing up, arm coming around your waist to guide you out the room and closing the door behind him.

You can’t help it, you still ask. “How is he?”

“He’s been better,” he answers. The same as always. Vague enough to not worry you further. “Where were you?”

“Went to… uh,” you blink. Mind going blank. Sirius frowns, bending sideways to search for your gaze when it takes you a bit to answer. You clear your throat. “Sorry, um, I went to get wolfsbane. I didn’t know if we had any left so…”

His shoulders slump. “Oh, my love,” he hugs you. And it’s pathetic how you nearly melt into his arms. “you shouldn’t have. It’s too expensive, you know I always cover that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Still,” he squeezes you tight before letting go. You feel uncomfortably teary when he takes a step back. “You shouldn’t worry about this. I know you, it’ll make you sick with worry.”

You almost laugh. But the sound could wake Remus up, and honestly, you don’t feel like laughing. Not really. So you stay silent, and let Sirius hug you again. 

Once again, you hate yourself for asking. “Is…” you clear your throat. “Is Regulus okay? What happened?”

Like clockwork, Sirius steps back. He cups your face in his hands. “He’s okay,” he answers, but you know it’s mostly a lie. His throat bobbles like he’s pushing down something else. “Just… a bit of a false alarm. But he’s okay. Nothing to worry about.”

You take it for what it is. And you stay silent, nodding and pushing down the lump in your throat when he kisses your forehead. This time, you don’t feel your heart cracking when he steps back, eyes flickering to the room like he wants to check on Remus. You wordlessly take a step aside, letting him know it’s okay before turning to walk out the door. A full moon routine—stock up, come home, do a quick check up and pretend it’s your own decision to go outside to clear your head. Knowing Remus doesn’t want you to see him like this. You leave with a heavy heart and the same question you ask yourself every full moon, why does Sirius get to stay and not you? But now, with an equally heavy purse, you leave with an additional realization that maybe they’re what’s wrong with you.

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

It’s the end of the month, and the Ministry is a mess, everyone’s running around and getting work done, struggling to finish on time and ultimately staying extra hours to get the job done. Which means that they’ve seen less and less of you. Even if, funnily enough, things have gotten better. 

Regulus has successfully moved out of Grimmauld Place, signing a lease for a small home near Diagon Alley and turning his back to the Black Legacy. Remus has been promoted at his cubicle job, less hours and more perks. The past full moon was a cruel one but according to his calculations it won’t come back until a few more years in a strange astronomy breakthrough. Things look up for them now, but now you’re not there to be on the receiving end of said good news. 

They see you in passing between shared lunches and surprise visits, sharing kisses when you run through each other in the hallways and pretend they’re not going home to an empty flat. 

It isn’t until Marlene accidentally walks in on you crying in the Level 10 bathrooms that it’s collectively decided that something needs to be done. In the moment, though, all she manages to come up with is an elaborate excuse to get you out of the Ministry and back home before marching to Level 4 and not being at all surprised when Sirius is already there with Remus. Not even casual, just straight up flirting.

“You heartless little shits,” she gripes. 

Sirius twists, flashing her a grin. “To what do we owe that lovely moniker?”

“Don’t act so charming, Black,” she snaps. There’s genuine anger in her tone to make him falter, even Remus sits straight in his chair. 

“What’s the problem with you?” he frowns, never one to back down from a challenge. “Are you even allowed out of your desk? With all the work you’re supposed to be doing?”

“And how are you supposed to know that?”

Sirius scoffs good naturedly. “Have you forgotten?” he leans back on the edge of the desk, stealing a sip from Remus’ tea. “We’ve got the loveliest insider keeping tabs on you.”

Marlene bristles. Actually bristles. “I just found this ‘lovely insider’ crying at the deepest level of this fucking building.”

Remus stands. “What?”

“When? Now?” Sirius pushes himself to stand.

She scoffs. “Now you want to know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I won’t explain to you what you’ve been too blind to notice,” she snaps, all sharp edges and barely controlled fury. “Go home. Now.”

Remus reaches for his coat, not even stopping to think how this might look to his boss. They’re out of the Ministry in record time, not even taking the walk home and straight up using the Floo Network to get to the flat. Hearts up their throats and a heaviness that, finally, matches the one you’ve been carrying for months. 

Except, when they get home, it’s empty. Exactly how you left it that morning. The brand new flowers at the center of the kitchen remain damp and recently watered, the mugs have been washed and put away in their respective shelves. But you’re nowhere to be seen. You must’ve taken the long way home. 

Sirius exhales deeply, slumping on the couch. He runs a hand through his face, calm at first before it turns cruel and painful. He rubs at his eyes and presses his heels until he sees stars, until Remus crosses the living room to guide them away. They share a silence, acutely aware of how deafening your absence is. 

“She’s been quiet lately.” Remus murmurs, pacing around the coffee table. He takes the book at the center, under the candle and one he recognizes. One he’s been meaning to read for months. “Quieter than usual.”

“I thought it was because of her weird boss but…” Sirius trails off. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Remus drops a kiss to his head, thumbing at his loose hairs before standing straight. “We’ll talk about it, yeah?” he says, soft and gentle despite his own nerves. “Now we wait for her to get home. It won’t be long.”

“I wish she would stop insisting on taking the tube.”

“You know how she is.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs, dropping his face to his palms. “She’s probably having an off week at work.”

“I’ll prepare the bath for her, when she returns,” Remus says, voice echoey as he walks down the hallway and into the room. “Set out her comfies and make sure she feels better when she returns.”

Sirius stands, feeling torn with guilt and hopeful with purpose. He makes himself useful around the living room while Remus prepares the room for you, tidying a bit and setting everything for a quick dinner and a few cups of coffee or tea. He waters the bouquet and makes a mental note to get you a fresh one tomorrow. 

It isn’t until he’s walked a few laps around the flat that he notices Remus has gone awfully quiet in the room. 

He starts towards the hallway. “Hey, Moons. You think I’ve got time to run to—” he halts by the threshold at what he sees. Remus sits by the edge of the bed. Your side, usually. The drawer under the bed is open and he’s hunched over himself, running a hand through his forehead as he reads off various notes and pages. Sirius frowns. “What is it?”

Remus shakes his head once, clearing his throat before turning the crinkled page towards him. “Did you know anything about this?”

“What is it?”

“Healer’s instructions.”

Sirius feels the floor giving out under him. “What? Yours?” he asks, stupid really. He knows Remus would rather suck it up and suffer than go to St. Mungo’s, and, last time he checked, he hasn’t stopped by, either. And the only person they could belong to— “No.” 

“They’re from different dates.” Remus goes through them. Stacked together with a few potions’ instructions and the notes they’ve left for you. The first ones. “For fuck’s sake.”

“What is it?”

Remus doesn’t answer at first, but his posture has tensed up. He reads and reads and reads like the pages would change contents, turning them over and going through each before handing them over to Sirius to read. Trouble sleeping. Loss of appetite. Sleeping too much, or sleeping too little. Shortness of breath. Then, the notes. He runs a hand through his face, hand shaking and heart heavy. saw you in passing on my way out of the ministry, you looked really lovely today. love you. sirius xx. thank you for the chocolates dovey. they really help. love, remus xx. Notes and notes and more notes. It isn’t until he gets to the very last one, that he feels his heart being cracked open, to pieces and completely torn. Treatment options, Janus Thickey Ward or— 

He looks up, frowning at the ripped corner. “Or what?” 

Remus shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“How,” he goes through the notes again. Reading and rereading, trying to understand the words and somehow make them fit into you—surely they would’ve noticed? Right? “How didn’t we notice?”

“I thought…” Remus looks away, hunching over his knees. He runs a cruel hand over his face, elbows digging into his knees as he tries to think. “Fuck.”

Sirius paces around the room and ignores the fact that he’s left the tea to go cold in the kitchen. He sets the notes aside, on the dresser and away from his sight before doing a full turn out the room. Towards the foyer, with a shaking hand, he reaches for his jacket. Steps follow and a scarred hand is holding him back, stopping him from taking another step out the door.

“I’m going to look for her, Remus.”

“And do what?”

“She can’t be alone. It’s late, she—”

“She could be anywhere, how do you plan to find her?”

Sirius steps away. “And what do you suggest we do? Wait?”

Remus only nods, jaw tight. “Yes,” he says plainly. Eyebrows furrowed and face cracked open with guilt. “We wait for her to get home and try to talk to her.”

So they wait. 

They make themselves useful, tidying the living room and cleaning the cupboards. Sirius starts on the tea again and completely ignores the flower vase, staring back at him like the proof of what they’ve done. Remus only lays down the clothes on the bed, neat and clean. He folds the notes and the pages carefully and puts them back inside your drawer, chest heavy with guilt at his blindness and for finding them in the first place. They wait and wait, they make dinner and pretend it’s normal for you to take this long to get home. They wait and shower and get into their own pajamas to wait for you. 

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

When you return, it’s hours later. Long into the night. You look exhausted and awfully sad. Resigned, almost. It’s too late, and Remus and Sirius have fallen asleep waiting for you. The tea remains untouched, the bath goes cold and you change into your comfies in silence before settling on your side of the bed. You fall asleep crying, knowing you’ll wake up to empty sheets and an even emptier flat. A new note if you’re lucky. 

Except, when you wake. They’re there.  

You don’t open your eyes at first, they feel heavy and you give yourself a couple of minutes to start waking up. It’s still early, your alarm isn’t set to go off until a couple of hours. Maybe they’re having an early morning, a head start on the day before work. You lie on your back, staring at the ceiling and aware that the bed is empty but the flat isn’t. 

Maybe if you go into the living room, you might have a couple of minutes before they’re set to leave. Maybe you can have a quick breakfast, or a small lie in. Maybe Sirius would let you sleep a little on the sofa with him before Remus wakes him up and scolds him for being late again. Maybe you can bring your makeup to the living room and get ready while they drink their coffee?

You glance at the door, seeing their shadows under the sliver of light. Maybe today you’ll let them be. It’s okay, you tell yourself, you’ll talk to them later at dinner. You’ll try to do what the muggle therapist advised you to do and talk to them, maybe you’ll stop by the café on your way out of work for a few pastries—sweeten the conversation and pretend it’s not a coaxing technique to get them home early. Maybe it’s best to let them be, have a day for themselves before you… well, ruin it. 

A lump forms in your throat, and you turn to your side, curling into yourself and pretend it doesn’t hurt. Pretend you didn’t spend the previous day crying and sobbing inside a tiny office and hear a muggle tell you exactly what you feared was wrong with you. 

There’s a rasp on the door, quiet and tentative at first before it opens. Achingly slow before Remus pokes his head in. He’s not wearing his uniform, and his hair is tousled—like he’s just woken up or ran a hand through it over and over again. 

“Oh,” he blinks, surprised to see you awake. “Hi, dovey. Good morning.”

You turn, clearing your throat and pretending this isn’t turning your morning upside down. Your heart, too. “Hi.”

“Uh,” he steps fully inside, looking heartbreakingly lost and confused. It makes your throat constrict, and it’s a conscious effort to not make your eyes flicker down the bed. To your drawer where you’ve shoved the therapist’s notes and written instructions. “Sirius ran to that café you like down the street for breakfast, he should be back soon. Would you like a cup while we wait?”

You push yourself to sit. The question crawls and crawls up your throat, trying to escape. You’re staying? “That’s… okay, yeah,” you turn to the clock. “I’ve still got a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours?”

“It’s Friday,” you explain, despite yourself. Knowing how against this is to your heart’s deepest wishes. They’re here, they’ve got breakfast for you and you’re saying you have to work? “I… well, I still have to go to work. I left early yesterday, I can’t miss it.”

You regret your words immediately after you speak, Remus’ shoulder slump, nodding in understanding and you turn to sit on the edge of the bed so you don’t have to see the heartbreak that comes with his amber eyes. So you don’t have to see him walk out of the room and let you be. 

Except… he doesn’t. You stand, forcing yourself to get started with your day and remind yourself that the heaviness of your chest is just something you’ll have to learn how to handle, how to endure and carry by yourself for a while. Or at least until you muster any ounce of courage to tell them about it. Maybe tomorrow night? Remus is looking at you in a way that makes you consider calling in sick—but what if it’s just for a couple of hours? What if they end up needing to go? They’re important at work now, they might be needed. But so do you. You can’t simply call in sick, even if… well, you do have a note. A reason—No, you can’t. You’ll tell them at dinner.

Right as you’re about to round the bed, start on your day and get changed, Remus stops you before you can get to your dresser. His touch is dizzying and overwhelming at once, thumb sweeping at your elbow as he tries to coax you to look at him. You want to, you so desperately want to let him hold you and look directly into his pretty eyes, but you know better. You know how weak you are, how easily you can give into the high of being on the receiving end of their attention, their affections. You know you will either let them kiss you and drag you back to bed, or end up spilling your heart open before breakfast. You’re at crossroads and Remus is looking at you like he can see it, like he knows. You wish he knew. Maybe everything would be easier… or maybe… just maybe… this wouldn't have happened, if they knew.  

No. You shake your head. Don’t go there. 

“...sweetheart?

You blink, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. “Hm? Yes?”

Remus parts his lips a bit, like he’s actively holding himself back and bracing for whatever he will ask you. You find yourself doing the same. But he shakes his head, too. His hand coasts up from your elbow higher and higher the length of your arm, all the way to your shoulder. It’s a nice touch, you almost shudder like your body is finally catching up and recognizing the feeling of his skin touching yours. You swallow thickly, feeling your weak defenses and self mantras dissolving when he pulls you to him into a hug. 

You suck in a breath, quiet so he doesn’t hear how complete you feel with his arms around you, chests pressed together in a way you know he’d hear your pounding heart if he pressed you closer. His arms tighten in the right places, around your back and shoulders with a hand up the back of your head that makes you think that maybe… things really are changing. Maybe you can call off work and talk things through. Maybe, yes, they’re what’s wrong with you, but there’s still time to make them right. But how can you even open your mouth to speak when the tears have already won you over? So you stay silent instead. Just a couple of minutes like this. You’ll take this, you’ll take the hug and the breakfast and the extra hours of morning light and warm coffee. 

His thumb strokes at the baby hairs of your neck, an absentminded sweep that one would think it’s just muscle memory if you didn’t know better. Remus’ hand splays over your back, pulling you closer like he physically wants—needs to mould you to him. It’s enough to make a sniffle escape you, traitorous and hopeful and pathetic. Naturally, more follow. Then, a sob tears right through your throat and the jumble of feelings you’re desperately trying to push down. And you can’t keep silent this time. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, a warm breath in your ear. His thumb strokes your nape again, again and again. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, finding in yourself the strength to speak. “No. S’fine, I just…” your breath stutters, not quite catching up with the adrenaline of his arms around you. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”

Remus makes a sound, quiet but evident in his pain as he guides you a little away. His hands travel up to your face, eyebrows bunched together when your gazes meet and his eyes flit down to the tears in your cheeks. How many nights you spent the same way, crying, and crying and crying hoping they would come back—hoping they would hear or notice you’re falling apart between them in their sleep.

The front door opens and closes, followed by paper bags crinkling and tentative steps. You silence yourself immediately, knowing that, if he knew, if he heard… any plans to contain this would go down the drain. But Sirius has never been one to ignore the sound of your pain or the tension in the room once he notices it. Papers cling as he sets them down, boots stomping against the wooden floors as he starts towards the room.

Something primal about their worry, their combined panic and pain makes you move. You turn around, brushing your hair away and pretending nothing has happened, that you’re simultaneously choking on your own tears and the tension that has taken over the room. Sirius looks frustrated and sad and you’re desperately reminding yourself that it’s not at you. It can’t be at you. He would never.

“Hey—”

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” you speak over him, sidestepping Remus to get to your dresser. “Sorry.”

Sirius shakes his head. “What are you sorry for?”

You rummage a bit sharper inside your drawers, searching for what? You don’t know, but you have to move. You have to go. Their attention, while intoxicating as it used to be, now it feels like it’s cutting the oxygen of the room. You can’t tell them. You can’t, not when you’ve already ruined a perfectly good morning. Their plans for breakfast. Maybe walking you to work. All gone. Because you gave in, you clung to Remus and his touch and the way he hugged you. You can’t.

“You can’t what, sweetheart? Remus asks.

Your eyes snap up. “Huh?”

Sirius takes a step closer, deeper into the room. “You can’t… what?”

“What?”

They share a look, and alarm bells ring inside your head. You close the drawer, holding your clothes against your chest and trying to walk between them to get to the bathroom. Just a couple of minutes, a couple of steps—

“Wait.” Sirius says. His hand takes your elbow, too. It’s shaking. Or maybe that’s just you. 

“Sirius, I have to get ready,” you point at your clothes.

He bends slightly to the side, searching for your gaze and finding it hard to even look at him. Not when it’s hard to pinpoint what it means. Months ago, you used to know him and his moods, the way he thought and the way he went quiet when he struggled. Now you don’t know if the frown between his eyebrows has anything to do with you. Or stress. Or how he went out early in the morning for breakfast and returned to a flat full of doom and pain. This was a bad idea. You shouldn’t have waited, you should’ve get started on your day as you woke up and head out before it could get to this point. You should’ve stayed silent.

“Can you look at me, my love?”

You don’t at first. Not because you don’t want to, you so desperately want to look at him. But first you must swallow down whatever is obstructing your breath, the weight on your chest and make yourself better until it’s time to go. You want to look at him and smile and let him kiss you and guide you to the kitchen for breakfast. But part of you, the deepest and most selfish parts of you, wants to simply bite the bullet and look up. Let him see how much you’re hurting, even if that’s the least you want. It’s useless—you still don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He exhales deeply, it sounds shaky even to your own ears. But he only takes a step closer, hand lowering until he’s coaxing your arm out of holding onto your clothes to hold it to his chest. “Why don’t you stay home today?” he asks, voice at odds with his face. Soothing himself in real time when your eyes flicker up in surprise. “I know you need to go to work, but I… we can’t let you go like this. Not when there’s still something we’d like to talk to you about.”

Your throat constricts. “Talk?” you ask, eyes flickering from him to Remus. “About what? Can’t it wait?”

He glances up, definitely sending Remus a panicked look that you do catch this time. When you try to take his distraction to step away, to give them a moment, Sirius threads your fingers together. Pressed against his chest. 

“No, actually,” he says, surer this time. “It can’t. I’m sorry, love.”

You nod, swallowing nervously. “Okay. I’ll… um, see if I can call in sick at work.”

Remus clears his throat. “Why don’t you change, clean your face or take a quick shower while we set breakfast, hm?” His hand returns to your nape, grounding and heavy at once. Like the hand tightening around your heart.

A panicked and intrusive thought crashes into your mind out of sudden—what if they’re breaking up with you? What if this is it? What if all this time they were slowly pulling away to make the fall less painful, the news easy to digest? What if—

“It’s okay, dove. Nothing’s wrong,” Remus reassures quickly, like he can feel the panic radiating off you. Or picking up the way your heart pounds. Either way, it doesn’t help to calm you down. He takes a step closer. “We just want to talk, uh… catch up, more like it.”

“Catch up?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius’ thumb brushes the back of your hand, looking more and more like he wants to cry. You nod. You’d accept anything to lessen whatever tension has them looking so devastated, so sad. He mirrors it, looking a tad relieved and kissing your cheek before walking out the room. Remus does the same, giving your nape a loving squeeze before following him out. 

You don’t allow yourself to process it, not yet. You go through the motions first. You make the bed, switch your clothes and tidy the room before going into the bathroom to clean your face and brush your teeth and do your hair. Then, you call Marlene. It’s a conscious effort to keep your voice even when she asks if you’re okay, and you reassure her many times that you are, that you’re only feeling under the weather and that you owe her a favour for covering for you. When she hangs up. You let yourself cry. 

When you step out, a couple of minutes later, you think you’ve successfully rearranged your insides so they don’t come spilling out the moment you open your mouth. It takes a bit, and a hurried and pathetic attempt to remember everything the mind healer told you, the breathing exercises and the quiet mantras to calm yourself. They help, but just a bit. All the work comes undone when you step out the bathroom, finding the empty room and the door ajar. Whispers echo from the living room, quieter and broken despite their desperate attempts to even their tones. 

You muster your courage, your strength and your pain altogether to round the bed; crouching down to open the drawer and collect your notes. A small museum of your relationship, the good and the bad. The notes and the silence, the love and the loneliness. All cramped between your clothes and old books under the bed. You fold them and tuck them in your pocket before walking out of the room. Not yet. 

“It’s okay, love. It’s okay, we’re okay,” Remus whispers, over and over as Sirius holds onto him. “She’s okay. We’ll talk, yeah? We’ll fix it.”

“I don’t know.” Sirius whispers back, voice fraught and quiet. Too quiet. You stay silent, watching with a tightness inside your chest. He shakes his head. “I don’t know if this is something we can fix, Remus.”

“But we’ll try, yeah? We will.”

You look away. You stay silent. And you let them be. Not yet.

You walk back to the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to ignore the dark pitch on your stomach, growing and growing. Maybe you were right. Things were changing, but it took you a bit to realize you’re not part of those changes. 

This time, you don’t check the lock before the first sob escapes your lips, embarrassed and frustrated at yourself for all your attempts going in vain. For staying silent in hopes of salvaging this, hoping things would go back to normal, that your patience was a small sacrifice for a greater purpose. That you clung to them, to stop this good love from slipping away. Not noticing it was already far from reach.

You let them be, and stay silent as you cry. You cry and cling to traitorous hope that they’ll notice, or not. Or let you be. You’ve trapped yourself in a dilemma that is ultimately the result of your own actions, wanting to be seen without having to beg. 

No. 

You shake your head, rub your face, then press the heels of your hands into your eyes. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. You can still make it right. It doesn’t have to feel wrong, not always. Every love has its period of uncertainty, of pain and loneliness. This is a good love, you can’t let it slip away. Even good love has to go through changes. Not yet. You will talk to them—and say what? You will try, but not yet—

“y/n?” Sirius asks, tentative at first as he pushes the door open. Slow, a contrast to the way your hands fly to clean your cheeks. He sucks in a breath. 

You stand. “Sorry, I’ll be right there.”

He reaches for you, not even giving you enough time to take a step. His arms tighten around you, nearly collapsing into you with the force of his hug. His desperation. Whatever it is, you’re too raw and confused—it must rub off on you. Because it all goes downhill after that. 

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

The breakfast has turned soggy, you push it around your plate and pretend you’re not eating it because you’re still too raw. Not because you fear this will be the last. 

The notes and pages grow heavy with every passing minute, every hug and every silent look. How funny it all is, that you’ve finally gotten what you wanted, and you can’t bring yourself to enjoy it. Or at least not the way you’d want to. Not when you can’t bring yourself to open your mouth without feeling like you’re running on borrowed time, and silencing yourself immediately. 

You set your fork down, glancing around the flat. The table, same one you’d share early breakfast and late dinners. The first piece of furniture you picked together. Then, the living room, the coffee table, the bookshelves, the turntables and the kitchen and— your hand flies to your face, choking up on realizations and grief. This can’t be. How can it be the end? This is good, you formed a home together. This is a good love, how can it end?

A chair scrapes, and Remus is already crouching by your side, pulling it aside to reach for you. His knees crack but his arms are desperate and steady when they pull you to him. This time, you have no qualms in scolding yourself for melting into his touch, his embrace that feels sacred and devastating at once. Your chest hurts and hiccups as you cry, turning your head and maybe hide away in his arms. 

“I tried,” you whisper. It comes out like a whispered confession, like something that escapes your lips. “I just want you to know that I did try to keep up.”

He pulls away, but it’s Sirius who speaks first. “We know that now,” his voice is quiet, heavy with sorrow. Or grief. Whatever it is, your heart clenches. “We’re the ones who didn’t.”

“No—”

“We didn’t, y/n.”

“You had many things going on. Regulus, and the full moons and the transformations and—”

“And so did you. It seems.”

You suck in a breath, eyes flickering between them. Remus thumbs at your tears, his own eyes glassy and full of despair. “What do you mean?” They share a quick look, and the weight on your chest expands. Heavier and heavier, it cuts your oxygen. “Who told you?”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Remus murmurs, thumb sweeping your cheek when tears won’t stop trailing down your face. “Someone had to point it out for us to notice.”

“Who?” you swallow thickly. “Was it Marlene? Lily?”

Remus closes his eyes, and Sirius only runs a hand over his face. “You see now?” he asks, too full of grief. “All the people who noticed before we did?”

“You had many things on your plate and I couldn’t do that to you, I knew you were struggling and—”

Sirius shakes his head. “You were struggling, too! For months!”

You look away. “I didn’t mean for it to get bad,” you confess. “I tried. I really did, I promise.” you explain. No, you beg. You plead. Because the idea of your silence being the reason they walk away is too terrifying to even entertain. “I just…”

Remus strokes your face. “Please don’t silence yourself,” his arm lowers to your lap, holding your hand in his. His scars glisten with the tears he’s cleaned. Yours, Sirius’, his own. “Don’t slip away.”

Your face twists in pain, because it is a virtue to not let good love slip away—and right now it’s beginning to feel like a flaw. For slipping away from them, for letting it get to this point. For staying silent.

“I just…” you hold onto his hand. “I just missed you, so, so much. And I didn’t know why.” Their faces crack at the way your voice catches, heavy with pain and grief and the months you had to endure their absence. 

“Oh, my love—” Sirius’ voice cracks, chair scraping as he stands. You’re fisting his jumper before he can even fully wrap his arms around you, clinging and clinging, and feeling the way they cling to you in return. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. They repeat, over and over and over, and you stay silent. Because it’s starting to feel like the moment they say goodbye. And you’re clinging to hope that maybe, you can get a couple of extra minutes like this. Clinging to hope. Clinging to them.  

Remus’ arms shake when he tries to fix his hold around you, and his fingers brush the pages peeking from the back pocket of your trousers. He draws back a bit, just enough to pull them out. 

Your breath hitches. Then even more when you look up to realize they’re not surprised at what they find. Remus unfolds them like he had been the one folding them back into your pocket, into your drawer. Sirius steps back, hands at your jaw as he cleans your tears. And the table suddenly feels like there’s something hanging in the air that you’re not privy to. 

“I was going to tell you,” you’re quick to explain, words tripping out of your tongue. Barely taking shape before you’re uttering them, barely making sense to your own ears before they make sense to them. “I just… I didn’t know how and I didn’t know…” you falter.

Remus looks up. “Earlier you said that lately you don’t know what’s wrong with you,” his voice is terrifyingly calm as he thumbs at the pages. He hands them back to you. “Is this… why?”

For some reason, you find yourself nodding. Speaking. Pushing past your dread and let the truth slip out. “Yeah,” you rub your eyes. “Yes. I… well, I thought maybe it was work at first but—turns out I’m fine. The healer said I was fine.”

Sirius dabs at his cheeks. “So you kept going.”

“Yeah. I… it didn’t make sense. What she said and how I felt.”

Remus’ hands travel up, resting on your shoulders before thumbing at your jaw, your neck. Grounding motions that only bring more pain rather than comfort. “And how do you feel?”

Even if you try to look away, his sad eyes are a sight too hard to ignore. You thumb at the pages, the corner you ripped with the mind healer’s number to hide it from them, the little love notes you clung to when uncertainty was too big to ignore. To brush off. 

“I…” your eyebrows twitch together, a fleeting movement that tells them everything. Everything you’re trying and failing to put into words. 

He can’t help it, Sirius shakes his head at your silence. Your struggle to find the words. “I’m sorry.”

“I just…” you run a hand through your chest, trying to suppress the weight inside. Forcing it to either dissipate or to take the shape of something that can be easy to understand. You look away, then. “You know, the first person I tried to talk about this with was Lily. One day I stopped by to visit her. I told her as best as I could, hoping she would help me understand… she listened. And all she said is that I seemed very sad for a girl so in love. And it’s the only thing that has made sense through all of this. I love you so much, and yet I’m sad all the time.”

Remus looks away, eyes slipping shut. You wonder if it’s too much for you to clean his tears, but then remember this might be your last chance, so you do. He leans into your palm, and the knot in your throat tightens. Sirius makes a sound that makes your insides rattle and freeze at the same time.

“No.”

“Sirius—”

“No. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Your eyebrows twitch again. The faintest of movements. “I know.”

His voice cracks. “You were supposed to be happy and… and feel loved not—” his face glistens with tears. “Not sad. Not like this.”

You run a finger through Remus’ face, touch featherlight as you follow after a rogue tear that drags a path down one of his scars. He opens his eyes with realization, taking your hand in his to lower them to his chest. 

“You were sad because we kept asking you to wait, wasn’t it?”

Sirius looks back at you, fear and realization dawning on him when you don’t answer. Remus inhales sharply. 

You stare back at him, focusing on his tears and finding a way to make it easier to say. To make the words and their meaning easier to hear. “I just…” you sniffle. “I knew it was out of protection, that it was for my own good,” you pause, swallowing back a sob even when it begs to escape your lips. “But you never once stopped to ask me if that’s what I wanted.”

The silence that follows is deafening enough that you feel it in your own bones, your heart, freezing with dread and refusing to stutter with hope when the words finally leave your lips. Hope that they’ll understand. Hope that you love them despite it all. And hope that they know you would’ve stayed—

“I would’ve stayed,” you whisper, dragging the back of your hand over your cheeks. “There’s nothing none of you could’ve done or said to scare me off. I just…” you take a sharp inhale, and your hand turns, covering your face as the tears start falling again. “I just wanted to be there. Not just for the good—but… the ugly parts as well. That’s all I wanted.”

Sirius shifts, bending to take your face in his hands. Cleaning your tears when all you want to do is clean his. “You can have them. The good and the ugly parts.”

You shake your head. “You don’t have to say this.”

“I do. I do, y/n. I’m so sorry,” he holds you closer, bending down and down until his forehead is nearly pressed against yours. “You can have them.”

“Just,” Remus’ hold tightens around you. “Just please stop talking like you’re already halfway out the door.”

Traitorous hope flickers on inside your chest, too fast and burning too bright you can’t bring yourself to extinguish it. You swallow thickly, hoping it dies down. You know better than to go down that road again, but your heartstrings keep tugging you that way. Back to them, to their arms, their easy affections and the way they cling to you the longer the silence stretches on between you.  

You shake your head, just to yourself at first. Don’t go there, don’t go there. The more you repeat it to yourself, the higher the flame gets. Burning brighter and brighter.

“You said it, you said this isn’t something that can be fixed,” you explain. Almost pleading, pleading for them to understand you. To know why what they’re saying it’s only feeding the fire of your hope. “And maybe you’re right—”

“No.” Sirius says, with resolve and stuttering breaths as he shakes his head. “No, we’re not. Because that’s not what I meant.”

“What?” 

“I don’t know if the way we’ve hurt you is something that can be fixed that easily,” he says, bending closer until he meets your equally teary gaze. “that’s what I meant.”

“We’d never think of us as something unfixable, dove.” Remus adds, voice fraught. “Never.”

“No?” your voice quietens. Why wouldn’t it? When hope keeps pressing down and down at your chest, trying to find its way back in, it doesn’t care if there isn’t room for something else. “Even after this?”

“Even after this,” he agrees immediately. “There’s nothing worth more time and effort and fixing than this. Nothing.”

“But—”

“Earlier you kept saying you tried. Many times.” Sirius steps in, voice gaining momentum. “And you’re not the only one trying. Not anymore.”

You feel like the flame inside your chest has spread throughout your body. Hope is a dangerous thing. As intoxicating as it is painful. 

“I don’t know if I’d handle it again. I won’t survive it,” you confess, first to yourself before glancing up to meet their teary gazes. “Don’t make me hope.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, you brace. You wait for the moment they draw away from you, realizing the depth of your pain. What they’ll have to work with and decide it’s not worth it in the end. 

Except… they don’t. If anything, they get closer.

Remus brings your hands to his chest again. “Then don’t hope.” 

Your breath hitches. “What?”

“You took the risk before, and see how much it hurt you. It’s okay not to hope, and we won’t expect you to,” he goes on. “Because that’s for us to do… for us to earn.” 

“If you need to doubt, doubt us.” Sirius says, thumb sweeping at your cheeks and silently relieved there are no new tears to clean. “And…” he pauses, wetting his lips. “If you need time. Take it.”

And just like that, the flicker of hope extinguishes. But Remus only holds you closer, feeling the way it dims and the way your eyes gloss over again. 

“Not time away. Just time to earn your trust again, to show you that we’ll work through fixing this. To show you the good and the ugly parts.”

You nod, slowly and just once. “Okay,” you exhale deeply. Maybe the first one that actually leaves all the way in a while. “Okay, yeah.”

Sirius mirrors your nod, holding your gaze as you try to gather your thoughts. Remus brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and pressing them to his chest. In the same stutter of breath, you reach for each other again. And this time, you don’t cling as hard. 

You nudge closer to him, and he turns his head to kiss your temple. So unbearably soft and tender you feel teary once again. Sirius steps back, holding your face in his hands and kissing the tears away while Remus stands. He drops a quick kiss to the crown of your head before reaching for the plates and the rest of the food to take them to the kitchen.

“Why don’t we go outside for a walk?” he says, rejoining you a bit later with a little, if fleetingly tentative smile. “The weather’s nice enough, maybe we can clear our heads. What do you think, dovey?”

“Actually,” you sniffle, brushing your hair away and feeling acutely aware of how not okay you might look right now. “I was thinking we could have a lie-in?”

Sirius tucks you to his side. “Of course.”

“But we can take a walk later.”

Remus hums, cupping your cheek. “That’s okay, too. But only if you feel like it,” his thumb strokes the corner of your lips. Feeling the way they twitch, the faintest of movements. “But first… breakfast?”

“Sure,” you nod. 

“Perfect.” Sirius holds you to him a bit tighter before letting go, pushing the sleeves of his jumper up his elbows. “What are you in the mood for? I got you french toast but I reckon we can whip you up something better.”

“French toast’s fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” you stand, suddenly aware that you’re still holding onto your papers. “But, um, I sort of need a big cup of coffee first.”

Sirius points at you. “You’ve got it, my love.”

Remus tucks you to his side, and your arms come around him in muscle memory that pushes past missed times and your own reservations. He guides you back to the room, pausing by the living room to pick up his book on the way. You settle between the covers, not caring if you’ve made the bed not even hours ago. He follows after you, settling by your side and making himself comfortable. 

“What did you think about it?” he asks, turning the book for you to see the cover. 

It takes you a bit to pinpoint the book and its contents. “Oh,” you shift, turning to lie on your side to look at him. “You were right. S’a bit boring.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah?”

“Heavy world building.”

“Hm,” he turns back to the book, contemplatingly. “Suppose I’ll have to sit this one out, then.”

“I mean,” you reach for the covers, fiddling with a loose thread. “I think you’ll like it, but I personally found it very slow at times.”

Remus shuffles closer, arm around you. “Are you calling me slow?” he asks quietly. Both in a shared secret and like he’s trying to coax a smile out of you. 

It almost works. Your lips twitch more obviously this time. You feel his lips curling into a smile when he kisses your temple.   

“Read it to me?” you whisper. “Maybe you’ll get me to like it.”

He pulls you impossibly closer to him, and your arm circles around his torso for steadying. Slow at first, tentative. But Remus shifts until there’s no other choice but to hug him. 

“Of course I’ll read it to you,” he whispers back. “Are you ready?”

“Now?”

“Sure. Unless you had any other plans in mind?”

“No,” you raise a hand, finger tracing idle patterns on his sternum. “Just sleep in I suppose.”

“Then you’ve asked the right person,” Sirius says as he walks in. Somehow managing to carry three steaming cups of coffee without burning himself. He sets them by your nightstand. “But wait for me?”

“Sure,” you reply, sitting straight to take your coffee. You pass Remus his as Sirius walks back out the room to get started on breakfast. “Here.”

“Thanks, dovey,” he takes it. Then winces at the scorching hot temperature of the mug. He still gives it a sip, and your lips curl around the rim of your mug as you drink yours. He sets it on his nightstand, and gestures at you to return to your previous position. 

You do. Readily. Surely. 

Sirius curses under his breath from the kitchen, cupboards opening and closing as he walks around preparing breakfast. You nuzzle closer to Remus, and he holds you to him before pulling the covers higher over you. Together, you wait for breakfast. 

When Sirius comes back, you share bites and sips of coffee between chapters. Pauses to shift and to ask questions about the book, small debates about what should’ve happened instead and what Remus, personally, had done if he was the writer. You finish your coffee and your french toast, leaving the plates together by the nightstand and settling more comfortably between them. Listening as they argue about whether the protagonist is too romantic with her descriptions of everything or that’s just poor writing—things you thought yourself when you first read the book. Sirius asks about your opinion and you pretend you’re falling asleep. He lets you, dropping a kiss to your shoulder and pulling you to him when Remus gets too heated reading and describing an action scene. 

Remus has described the feelings leading up to a full moon to you before. He said it feels like something sizzling under his skin, or crackling. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it gives him more energy than he ever has otherwise. Makes him restless, productive, lively. Eventually, though, that energy builds into something he can barely tolerate—that’s when the migraines usually start. Remus gets irritable, his joints ache, it’s like his body is trying to hold something no human can, waiting for the full moon and the chance for Remus’ not-human body to expel it all. 

When you think about how much energy he’s storing, that electric sizzle under his skin, caffeine hardly seems necessary. Until you take into account that Remus has hardly slept for the past three nights. Then you wonder if perhaps his brain can no longer keep up with the tireless dynamism of the rest of him. 

“Maybe you should rest for a while instead,” you try. 

“I have work to do.” 

“It’ll still be there after a nap.”

“And I suppose I may as well just wait until after the full, then, yeah?” 

“I mean, maybe.” You pick up on Remus’ sarcasm, but you don’t disagree. “You can’t be expected to just power through when you’re having such a hard time.” 

“Really?” There’s bite in your boyfriend’s voice now. Enough that you retract the hand you were about to set on his shoulder. “I can’t be expected to? That’s exactly what’s expected of me. I don’t just get a week off every month.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “I know, and that’s not fair—” 

“None of this is fair.” Remus turns in his seat, glowering with such virulence it shocks you despite the argument you’d thought you were prepared for. “There aren’t allowances made for lycanthropy. If I told my boss that I need a lighter workload and he made the connection, he could report me to the ministry. I can’t afford to complain about how my head hurts or indulge in naps and breaks when everyone else keeps working.” 

His voice rises, and he’s suddenly taller than you, looking down on you. He stood up. Your ears are ringing. 

“If everyone else is able to handle their workload during the full, I have to, too. Do you understand that?” 

You find you can’t speak. There’s a horrible ache sitting in the base of your throat which won’t let anything out. You nod. 

“Do you?” Remus seems exasperated. Baffled by your naïveté. “I don’t want to be told that I shouldn’t be working. I don’t want to be told that I can’t have caffeine to get through it, because I know what I have to do, and that’s not something you can understand. Alright?”

“Alright,” you choke out. 

“Do you get that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Remus,” says another voice. You don’t turn, but you don’t need to; Sirius always follows the sound of shouting. It’s habit for him. “That’s enough, love.” 

“I was done,” Remus snaps. 

Sirius’ hand wraps around your elbow. You jolt slightly before even really registering the touch. His fingers feel cool, or maybe you’re only hot. You feel very, very hot. 

“Hey,” he prompts softly. Now you look at him. Sirius’ expression is all tenderness, and it feels like whiplash. “You okay?” 

You dismiss the question with a shake of your head. Your ears are still ringing. “Yeah.” 

You look back to Remus. You can’t help it. You want to fix, and to leave, and to dissolve. But Remus is the epicenter of everything, and you feel as though taking your eyes off him even temporarily is a danger. 

“Let’s be done squabbling for now,” Sirius says, his voice unnaturally light. “We’ve all said our piece, yeah?” He gives your arm a gentle tug, and you take a step back. You’d been nearly right up against Remus, you realize. Frozen to the spot where you’d gone to rest your hand on his shoulder. Sirius runs his thumb over your skin before asking again, “Are you okay?” 

Tears invade your eyes without warning. Your face burns, and you feel it screw up in an attempt to keep them from falling. “Yeah,” you say unsteadily. “I’m just—so—sorry.” 

Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Sirius crushes you to him. 

Remus exhales. You hear the creak of his chair taking his weight again. “Shit.” 

“Shh, I know,” Sirius murmurs, petting your head while your tears spill over to wet his jumper—Remus’ jumper, which smells like both of them and probably also you. “I know, baby, it’s okay. You’re safe here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. His voice sounds muffled, as though he’s speaking into his hands. 

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” You sniff, trying to wipe under your eyes. Sirius keeps you held to his front. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is my fault.” 

“I believe I said we were done with the squabbling.” Sirius kisses your head firmly. “What do you need, sweetness? Some quiet? Time to breathe?” 

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.” You give Sirius a grateful squeeze before letting him go. He lets you, but watches you concernedly as you swipe a knuckle underneath your eyes. The ringing in your ears has faded to near nothing, aftershocks trembling through your fingers in its wake.  “I’m fine. I just—needed a second. Sorry.” 

Sirius makes a quiet sound. “Stop that. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

Remus nods his agreement. His head is in his hands, you can see now, but he lifts it up to look you in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.” 

You shake your head. “You were right. I was insensitive. And I don’t know why I reacted like that, I’m just being dramatic.” 

“Oi,” Sirius cuts in sternly, though half as stern as he’d usually be even to tease you. “I’m dramatic. Get your own personality.” 

That gets your lips to twitch a little. You watch as Remus sends him one of his fond, exasperated looks. 

“You weren’t being dramatic,” Remus says to you. “I shouted at you. However angry I was, that’s not alright. I’m sorry I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” Your eyes are beginning to burn again. You try to blink through it. “It was just—it was—” 

“I understand,” he says, softly. His expression is still taut with pain, but some of the harsher lines have melted away. “I’m sorry anyway. Do you want to come here?” 

Sirius hums satisfiedly when you go sit across Remus’ lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He draws his hand up and down your back slowly, with enough pressure to ease away any lingering tension coiled around your spine. You breathe out. Sirius doesn’t hold out long before he’s there too, curled around the two of you and squeezing heartily. 

“You two aren’t allowed to fight,” he mutters, kissing your head and Remus’ in turn. “In order for me to be petty and vain, I need you to be the sensible ones, understand? This is a delicate ecosystem.” 

“I don’t know,” you hum. “I think Remus should get breaks some way or another around the full moon. Can’t you take a sensible shift once a month?” 

He squeezed your hand, his thumb tracing soft circles against your knuckles. “We don’t have to stay, you know,” he murmured, voice wrapped in that gentle warmth only he seemed to possess. "I mean it. We could leave right now. Sneak down to the lake, sit under the beech tree where it's quiet. I’ll even let you steal my scarf again."

A flicker of something close to a smile ghosted over your lips, too fragile to hold. His eyes softened, the corners crinkling just a little. "I just... I want you to be alright," he said, softer now, as if the words might shatter if spoken too loud. "You don’t have to pretend with me. Not ever."

The words hung between you, a lifeline stretched thin, and for a moment you almost reached for it. But the noise was still there, pressing in, crushing the breath out of you, and you nodded again instead, staring out over the pitch as if the sight of it would steady the ground beneath your feet.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the team shot out onto the field in a blur of crimson, and the stadium erupted.

Your gaze snapped to Sirius, hair wild and eyes alight with thrill as he circled the pitch, one hand raised to acknowledge the cheers.

He always looked so free up there, like the world couldn’t touch him, like gravity itself bent around his joy.

For a moment, the tension ebbed, your gaze tracking his movements as if they were the only solid thing in the chaos.

He looped through the air, effortless and unbound, and you found yourself breathing a little deeper, drawn into the rhythm of his flight. But it came back sharper, twisting under your ribs, a whisper of unease that wouldn’t shake loose, a tension that coiled tighter the longer you watched.

It happened too fast.

One minute, Sirius was diving for the Quaffle, his laugh audible even from your seat. The next, a Bludger came screaming from his blind side, iron gleaming like a curse cast in motion.

It slammed into his broom with a sickening crack that rippled across the stadium like a shockwave. He spun out of control, spiraling downward in a blur of red and black, limbs flung wide, momentum snatched from him in an instant.

The world went silent. The stadium roared around you, but you couldn’t hear it.

Everything dulled and pulled away, the edges of your vision fraying until all that remained was the distant figure tumbling through the sky. Madam Hooch’s whistle pierced the air, sharp and shrill, but it felt like it came from somewhere else, another reality.

Remus was on his feet before you even realized, his hand slipping from yours, his voice muffled and far away.

Everything slowed, colors bleeding out of the world, replaced with muted shades of grey and the hollow echo of your heartbeat.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All you could do was watch him fall.

“Stay here. I’ll go check on him,” Remus said firmly, squeezing your hand before disappearing down the stairs two at a time.

Stay here. You tried, you really did, but your heartbeat was a drumline in your ears, deafening and unsteady.

People were moving, voices overlapping, and you couldn’t see Sirius anymore. You stood, legs unsteady, forcing your way down the bleachers despite the throngs of students pressing past you.

By the time you reached the edge of the pitch, they were carrying him toward the castle, his arm slung over James’s shoulder, head lolling forward.

He was conscious, you could see his mouth moving, could hear faint protests about “just a scratch,” but you weren’t convinced.

You moved to follow, only to be met with a firm hand against your shoulder. Madam Pomfrey, stern and unyielding. “No visitors until I’ve checked him over.”

“I just need to.”

“No exceptions. He’ll be fine, but I need space to work.” Her voice was gentle but immovable.

The world started to tilt, sounds warping and stretching like you were underwater. You took a step back, the castle’s stone walls too close, the voices around you too loud, too many, too much.

You turned on your heel and walked, pushing past students who threw you odd glances.

Your footsteps were unsteady, quickening as the pressure in your chest built and built until you were practically running, feet carrying you somewhere, anywhere.

You found an empty classroom on the third floor, dusty and forgotten, and collapsed against the wall, knees pulled to your chest.

The room was dead silent, but your ears still rang with the crowd’s cheers, with the sound of Sirius’s broom cracking against the Bludger.

You blinked, and the world fractured. Your breathing came in short, uneven bursts, the edges of your vision blurring as if you were watching from somewhere far away.

Your hands shook, fingertips brushing against the cold stone floor, but it didn’t feel real.

The room was still and heavy, dust motes swirling in the thin bands of light that slipped through the cracked shutters. It smelled like old parchment and forgotten memories, thick with the silence of something left behind.

You sank to the floor, your back against the cold stone wall, knees pulled tight to your chest. The stone bit into your skin, rough and unyielding, but you barely felt it.

Your hands were trembling, fingers flexing and curling against your legs as if searching for something to hold onto. But there was nothing.

There was only the emptiness, stretching wide and hollow, echoing with whispers you couldn’t quite hear. You tried to breathe, to count each inhale like you were taught, but the air felt too thin, slipping out of your lungs before you could hold it.

Everything felt too far away. The walls stretched back, the light faded, your heartbeat slowed to a dull, distant thud. You pressed your hands harder against your knees, nails digging into the fabric of your robes, but the pressure felt muted, like you were underwater.

You blinked once, twice, and the edges of your vision wavered. The room seemed to fold in on itself, colors bleeding out until all that was left was gray.

Your hands moved in front of your face, but they didn’t feel like yours. They were pale and shaking, fingers stretching and curling, curling and stretching, and you couldn’t make them stop.

It was like falling. Slow and inevitable, like slipping backward into a place you couldn’t name. The sound of your heartbeat faded, replaced by a low hum, steady and unyielding, vibrating beneath your skin.

It was too loud and too soft all at once, pulsing against your ears until it was the only thing left.

Your name drifted through the haze, muffled and distant. You blinked, but the world remained blurred, edges smudged and colors bleeding together like spilled ink.

You couldn’t move. Or maybe you didn’t want to. Maybe it was easier to stay here, where everything was soft and distant, where nothing could touch you.

Time slipped away. Minutes, maybe hours—you couldn’t tell. There was only the stillness, the heavy weight of nothingness pressing down on you.

Your thoughts drifted, scattered and broken, memories flashing like splinters of glass. Sirius falling from his broom. The crack of wood against Bludger. His head slumped forward, hair tangled and wild. The way his hand dangled, limp and unmoving.

But then there was the flicker of doubt, curling slow and insidious, whispering that maybe it had never happened at all. Maybe you had imagined it.

Maybe you were still in the stands, still watching the game, still breathing. Your fingers dug harder into your knees, searching for sensation, for proof that this was real.

But everything felt distant, blunted, like you were touching the world through layers of fog. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the noise to stop, willing the room to settle back into something solid.

But it didn’t. The memory twisted, faded, came back sharper. Sirius’s body dangling. Or maybe not. Maybe he had only stumbled. Maybe he had gotten back up, dusted himself off, and you had just missed it. You couldn’t know.

The image replayed, fractured and incomplete, and you were caught in its web, straining to hold on to something real. But reality slipped through your fingers like sand, scattering before you could grasp it.

Your breath hitched, and the room rippled, lines blurring and stretching. You closed your eyes, but the image burned there, seared into the darkness. You tried to push it away, but it lingered, the crack of impact echoing in your ears, too loud, too sharp.

Something wet slipped down your cheek, and you flinched, the sensation foreign and strange. Your hand reached up, slow and unsteady, brushing against your cheek. Dampness clung to your fingertips. Tears.

You stared at them, uncomprehending, watching the droplets tremble against your skin.

They didn’t feel real. None of it did.

You blinked again, the room shifting back into focus for a moment before fading away. Your chest ached, hollow and splintered, and you tried to breathe, but it came out shaky, uneven.

The walls stretched back further, distant and unreachable, and the floor felt like it was slipping away beneath you.

You were floating. No ground beneath your feet, no air in your lungs, just empty space stretching out forever.

You wondered if you would stay here, suspended in the quiet, untouched and unseen.

You wondered if it would matter.

Your hands curled into fists, nails biting into your palms, but it was distant, a whisper of sensation that barely registered. The world around you continued to drift, colors fading to gray, shapes blurring and stretching until there was nothing left but shadows.

You tried to remember how to breathe, but the air wouldn’t come.

Reality flickered, blinking in and out like the light of a dying star. You could feel it slipping, cracking at the edges. Your breath came in ragged gasps, shallow and sharp, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Your hands clawed at the floor, fingertips scraping against stone, but it may as well have been air. You were weightless, bodiless, scattered in a thousand pieces. And you didn’t know how to come back.

But then there was something. Gentle and warm, fingertips brushing against your cheeks, pressing against the fog.

A voice, steady and soft, filtering through the haze like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Come back to me, baby. I got you. I've always got you."

You didn’t open your eyes. You couldn’t. But the touch remained, grounding and tender, and you felt yourself leaning into it, the warmth seeping back into your bones.

The sensation shifted, and suddenly you were being moved, lifted with such care it nearly broke something in you. You were settled into someone’s lap, arms strong and familiar wrapping around you.

A kiss brushed against the top of your head, soft and patient. "See? Feel that? I’m right here," Sirius murmured, his voice like a tether in the storm.

He pressed your hand to his chest, the beat of his heart steady and strong beneath your palm. "Feel my heart, darlin'. Feel that? It’s still beating for you."

His heartbeat thrummed against your fingertips, real and alive, and you clung to it like a lifeline..

The air around you was thick with the scent of him — faint smoke and leather, a grounding balm against the fog swirling in your mind.

Somewhere nearby, Remus’s voice was soft but clear, cutting through the haze like a gentle anchor.

“Feel Sirius’s heartbeat,” he said, his words deliberate, patient. “That’s real.”

The thump beneath your palm was slow and steady, a pulse that carried you, tethering you to this moment. You focused on it, letting the rhythm seep into your bones. Your breath was shallow but steadying, the cold distance inside you melting just a fraction.

The world remained blurry, the edges softened like wet charcoal smudged across a page, but beneath it, a flicker of certainty sparked.

Remus’s hands were firm but tender on your face, his thumbs tracing the curve of your cheek. His eyes caught yours just for a second, a silent promise lingering in their depths. 

He knelt before you, close enough that you could see the fine lines around his eyes, the way his breath caught in his throat as he waited for you to return.

“Now, that sound in your head — that’s not real,” Remus whispered, voice low and steady. “That voice telling you you’re alone, broken — that’s not real, my love.”

You blinked, slow and heavy, and the fog wavered at the edges. The echoes of panic began to lose their grip, retreating like waves pulling back from the shore.

The silence wasn’t empty anymore; it held space for something else, something softer, something like hope.

Remus shifted slightly, steadying you as your fingers tightened around Sirius’s wrist. “Look at me,” he said. “I’m here. This is real.”

Your eyelids fluttered, the room tilting slightly but holding fast beneath you. Dust motes drifted lazily in the shafts of fading light. The cold stone floor pressed through your robes, rough but unmistakably solid. 

You could smell the faint musk of earth, the sharp tang of old stone — all small but vivid details painting the world back into focus.

“Your hand on my chest,” Sirius murmured close by. “That feeling — that heartbeat — that’s real.”

You let your hand rest there, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, steady and sure. The familiar thrum beneath your palm was a thread weaving you back together.

Somewhere deep inside, a fragile thread of strength twined through the numbness, pulling you from the edge.

Remus’s voice softened again, calm and unwavering. “Those shadows whispering lies — that’s not real. They can’t hurt you.”

The room shifted subtly, colors inching back — muted golds, soft browns, the worn texture of the stone wall.

Your fingers unclenched slightly, trembling less as your body remembered how to be present. The fear lingered, but it was no longer drowning you.

Sirius’s lips brushed gently against the crown of your head, tender and unhurried. “I’m right here,” he breathed. “No harm came to me, I promise. I’m okay, baby.”

The warmth of his breath, the soft press of his lips, the steady beat beneath your palm — they were anchors in a storm that still raged inside you but no longer threatened to swallow you whole.

Remus’s gaze held yours again, steady and sure. “You’re strong. You’re here. That’s real.”

You blinked slower now, the colors sharpening, the shapes resolving. His face was close, lined with worry and hope. 

The faintest smile touched his lips. “There she is. There’s my strong girl.”

“Strongest I know,” Sirius added, voice rough with emotion.

Your chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, each inhale clearer than the last. The room no longer felt like a void but a space filled with voices, warmth, and presence.

“Your breath,” Remus said softly. “That’s real.”

You felt the air as it caught in your throat and slipped through your lips, rough and uneven but yours. The panic that had clawed inside your chest still fluttered faintly but no longer held sway.

“And those thoughts telling you it’s over, that you’re lost — those aren’t real,” Remus said, gentle but firm. “You’re not gone, love. You're right here, with your boys, yeah?”

The truth of his words sank in slowly, like the first warm light of dawn seeping over a dark horizon. You began to feel the small, grounding realities in a world that had felt so fractured.

Sirius pressed your hand onto Remus' heartbeat. “Feel this, darlin’. That’s real.”

You closed your eyes briefly, focusing on the rise and fall beneath your palm. The steady beat, the heat, the undeniable proof of life and love. It was a fragile thing but enough to hold onto.

Remus brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. “The stone beneath you, the worn fabric of your robes, the sunlight — those are real.”

You felt the rough texture of stone against your back, the scratch of threadbare cloth against your skin. The sharp scent of earth and musk filled your nose.

You weren’t floating anymore. You were here, tethered by small truths.

“And that crushing weight in your chest, that voice of despair — that’s not real,” Remus said. “It’s the echo of fear, nothing more, 'kay?”

The fog began to clear further, colors deepening, shadows retreating. Your hands stopped trembling. You were not lost. Not yet.

“Your heartbeat,” Sirius said softly, “That thumping beneath your skin — that’s real.”

You moved your fingers slightly, feeling the pulse that matched the rhythm in your chest, slow and sure. It was a tether you could hold.

Remus’s eyes searched yours, steady and filled with unspoken promises. “And those lies that tell you you’re weak — those aren’t real. You're the bravest girl ever, my bravest girl.”

You let out a shaky breath, the sound small but certain. The room breathed with you, alive and present.

“Your voice,” Remus said gently, “Even if you can’t speak yet, even if the silence feels endless — that’s real.”

You tried to move your lips, a faint sound rasping out. It was weak but unmistakably yours.

“And the silence that screams in your head — that’s not real,” Remus said. “You’re not alone.”

Sirius pulled you closer, careful and steady. “Hold on to me. As tight as you need, love. I wont break. I'm yours to hold.”

You wondered if you would stay here, suspended in the quiet, untouched and unseen. You wondered if it would matter.

But then you leaned into Remus, slow and unsteady, the space between you folding like something fragile.

His arms came around you, strong and sure, holding you like you might break but wouldn’t. Sirius's hand pressed firm and steady against your back, his lips brushing the top of your head, his heartbeat drumming beneath your palm.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, voice breaking just slightly, like he’d been waiting too long to say it.

Remus’s hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away tears you hadn’t realized you’d shed. “We love you, more than anything in this wide world.” he said, firm and gentle.

“I love you. I love you so much it aches. I'll keep saying it over and over until you feel it, until you're back here with me."

Yet the doubts still lingered in the back of your mind, pushing hard and trying to surface to drown you in everything that wasn’t real.

“Real or not real?” you asked, voice trembling but sure.

Remus smiled, soft and sure. “Real,” he whispered. “Nothing is ever more real than this.”

You felt it then, the weight of their presence, the solidness of their bodies pressed against yours. Real.

Real in a way nothing else was. It anchored you, brought you back from the edges of that empty, floating void.

And maybe that thing you cannot name might find you sometimes, might whisper your fears and doubts into the quiet spaces of your mind. But Sirius and Remus would always be there to name everything that was real and everything that wasn’t, to remind you of what was solid, what was unbreakable.

Sirius pressed another kiss to your temple, his hands firm and steady against you. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured. “Because you’ve got us. No matter what.”

And maybe you would still drift sometimes, maybe the haze would creep back in, but you would always find your way out of it. Because you weren’t alone. Not anymore.

They were currently the only group of Gryffindors still at their table, making a rather loud ruckus as they stood up from the table to leave.

James was teasing Lily about something and Sirius and Remus couldn’t stop laughing over it. Lily pretended to be offended and fake punched Sirius for laughing at her, only to have Remus lean down only slightly and kiss Sirius’ clothed arm all better.

It didn’t help that the two boys you would of course have a heavy crush on would already be in a well established relationship.

I mean, they were the prettiest boys in the school and they were opposites to each other so their relationship made perfect sense.

You just wished you had gotten there with one of them first. But who? You admired them both the same.

Both of them had—

“Oi, Y/N!” A Ravenclaw in your year, named Philip, shouted from down the table, making your porridge slide off your spoon and splat against the table.

You looked towards where Philip and his band of quite mean friends sat.

“Daydreaming about boys you could never get, again?!” Philip laughed, causing others around him to as well.

You didn’t reply. You knew better than to reply. Just keep your head down and trouble should go away.

Your eyes drifted from Philip over to where the Gryffindors had nearly exited the Hall, only Sirius and Remus had stopped just shy of leaving.

They were stood talking to each other.

“Who is it this time Y/N? Hm?” Darcy, one of Philip’s friends teased.

“Remember when Y/N tried to date Isaac? As if she could ever date him.” Someone else joked.

You looked back down at your porridge, still listening to them but trying your best to block them out.

Looking at your breakfast made you think about Isaac. He was just as bland and boring. Until he wanted to have sex with you and you really didn’t want that, well then he became an absolute prick. Started spreading horrible rumours about you, showing his true colours.

Isaac started spreading stories about how you tried to come onto him, only to deny him. How you had been weird and crazy the entire night, when in fact it was the opposite.

Now everyone thinks you’re weird, a prude and a bitch.

One of the reasons you have no friends.

Isaac had managed to isolate you and Philip and his cronies had taken advantage of that.

“Think she was looking at Remus and Sirius.” Someone snickered, making you love uncomfortably.

“No way! Y/N has hots for the dogs,” They thought they were funny, “Is that true, Y/N? You want Remus and Sirius to be your little boyfriends?”

They all laughed, until they went silent.

“You alright, Phil? Can I call you Phil?”

Your head shot up to see Sirius leaning down over the bench next to Philip, resting his palms on the table and glaring him down. Remus stood right behind him.

Your heart rate increased at the sight of them magically appearing.

Did they hear? Did they know? Were they in on the sad and pathetic joke?

“It’s just Philip.” Philip gulped.

“Great, Phil.” Sirius smiled, but it definitely wasn’t genuine. “We heard your filthy mouth speak our names and, well, I for one don’t like pricks speaking about me or my boyfriend behind me back. So keep your goddamn mouth shut or I’ll hex you back to Year 1. Okay?”

“Uhhh…”

“I said, okay?” Sirius asked again.

“Yes, yes!” Philip stuttered.

“Good.” Sirius moved back to stand up.

It was lovely that Sirius had come over here to defend his boyfriend like that. You craved someone having the kindness, and definitely the courage, to stand up for you like that.

You watched as Sirius took Remus’ hand and you wondered what that felt like.

You could imagine Sirius’ hands being quite rough and Remus’ hands being calloused, but both still having a sense of softness to them. They’d both be very grounding and warm to hold on to.

Then they both walked your way.

You quickly started to eat your porridge again, keeping your head down. You don’t think either of them would make a scene with you, but maybe they’d caught on to your gazes and blushing and they’d had enough.

You thought you were subtle but maybe you’d been far more obvious than you intended. You cursed yourself, but only knew it was a matter of time before you made a fool of yourself.

Maybe they weren’t even walking towards you. Why would they? They didn’t know you, except for your name maybe.

But then you saw them stop in front of the bench on the other side of you.

You looked up to find them both smiling warmly down at you. You gulped, thinking the worst.

“You have potions next right, Y/N?” Remus asked kindly.

He did know your name…

And he knew your timetable…

“Yes?” You asked, cautiously.

“You want to walk over with us? We’re heading there now.” Remus asked.

You were a little gobsmacked that they were asking you to do something with them.

No one has asked you to do anything in a very long time, even something as simple as being asked to walk to class with them. So this was a huge deal to you.

“Really? I mean, sorry, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Intrude?” Sirius laughed, “Never. C’mon.” He kindly smiled and you nervously got up from the table.

You picked up your robe and wand.

“Are you sure?” You asked to make sure a second time.

“Y/N, if you don’t hurry up then Sirius is probably going to pick you up and carry you there himself and then I’m going to have to deal with him moaning about crippling back ache later on… Oh my God… That want be implying anything about your weight… Um… Should I just stop?” Remus rambled and looked to Sirius for help.

“You really should.”

And you smiled.

Genuinely smiled, for what felt like the first time in a long time.

•-•-•-•-•-•

The hallways were starting to become busy.

People moving from morning time to lesson time, especially the first years with their overpacked bags and reckless running through the corridors to get to their lessons on time.

One darted past you, causing you to wobble. Luckily Remus was behind you and he put his hand on the lower part of your back to balance you carefully.

“Thank you.” You said, whilst trying really hard not to blush.

You failed to notice Remus blushing too as you turned back around. You definitely didn’t fail to notice the way Remus kept his hand on your lower back, helping you weave through the halls.

With two of the most popular guys in school, you didn’t realise how easy it was to actually manoeuvre through the corridors.

You’d spent too much time being infatuated with the time that Remus and Sirius were giving you, though, that you’d forgotten your potions book.

You stopped short, feeling the boys bump into the back of you abruptly.

“Bloody… Are you alright Y/N?” Sirius asked.

“I’ve forgotten my potions book. I’ll catch up with you, I just need to run to get it.” You turned to say to them, feeling slightly small underneath both their pretty eyes looking at you.

“Here, just take mine.” Sirius offered.

“No.” Remus swatted his hands, “Another “forgotten” book and you are going to get detention.”

“Oh screw that.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Y/N, take mine instead.” Remus insisted.

“What?” This time Sirius hit Remus’ hands away, “And mess with your perfect record? I don’t think so. Y/N…”

“Hey, listen.” You chuckled at the sight of them arguing… over you. It felt like the most surreal situation. “I’m just going to get my book, okay? Then none of us will be in trouble. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

You smiled at them in thanks, before darting around and away from them.

After you’r turned the corner, Remus hit Sirius over the head with his textbook.

“Ow! What the…” Sirius rubbed the back of his head.

“Really? You were about to give yourself a detention?” Remus chuckled, knowing exactly that was what Sirius was about to do and why.

“For Y/N? Absolutely.” Sirius smirked.

Remus shook his head and kissed Sirius’ cheek in admiration, before taking his hand and leading him off to potions.

•-•-•-•-•-•

As you rooted through your belongings in your dorm, you hummed to yourself with content.

You felt ten times lighter than you ever had felt before and all because the two pretty boys you’ve been admiring for so long had looked right back at you. They’d even gone as far as walk with you to potions.

Sirius was willing to get a detention for you and Remus was willing to break his golden reputation. That was flattery of their highest form.

You finally found your book, before pivoting to leave your dorm.

Only to find Darcy standing there with a cat in her arms, looking malicious as ever.

“O-oh Darcy. Hello.” You said, losing your hum and your smile with one look at her.

“Cut the pleasantries. You made us look like fools at breakfast in front of Sirius and Remus, you foul witch.” Darcy spat at you.

“I’m sorry, I never meant for that to happen.”

You felt yourself caving in on yourself, becoming that shelter of a shy person that these horrible people made you.

“And you think an apology will make it all better?”

“I don’t know.” You lowered your head.

“Well it doesn’t.” She moved towards you and you gulped in fear of her. She’d pulled at your hair and enchanted curses on you before, so you were terrified of what she might do now. Especially when it was just you two here.

“I’m sorry.” You looked up at her, hating that she could probably see the fear in your eyes.

“Show us up like that again and you’ll leave with more than just a scratch.”

“A scratch?” You asked, but maybe you shouldn’t have.

Before you knew what was happening Darcy’s cat attacked your face, clawing at your cheek with one powerful hit. The cat screamed what sounded like a war cry and you screamed in pain.

Your head turned to the side, leaving the cat’s claws to drag slightly down your cheek before letting go. You didn’t reveal your face again until you heard the door slam shut.

It only took a minute for you to delicately touch your cheek and see the blood for the pain to come flying in. You cried as you sat on your bed, cupping your cheek from dripping blood everywhere with one hand and the other hand resting on your forehead as you came to terms with what just happened.

You’d just been attacked for trying to apologise for something you hadn’t been in control of.

Your tears ran down your cheek and stung as they ran into the cuts on your cheek.

Walking to the little mirror hanging up on the wall, you looked in to see yourself. There were three lines scraped down your once bare cheek, running from just under your eye to resting on your jawline.

You cried some more, completely getting lost in the self loathing, before rushing around the dorm to find some healing lotion and tissues.

It took you ten minutes to clean up the mess on your face, and another five for the bleeding to calm down. It was an angry red mess, but you had to get to potions before the class ended.

You breathed out through your mouth a shaky breath, dabbing under your eyes with the sleeve of your jumper to wipe away the tears.

“You’re okay.” You said to yourself in the mirror. “You’re okay.”

You found that talking moved the cuts on your face and they stung even worse. So no talking it was. Brilliant.

“You’re okay.” You reminded yourself one last time.

But your words felt far from convincing.

“Remus gave you these.” He pointed, sorting through them all with the heaviness in his chest getting impossibly unbearable. “Why are you–”

“Why do you think, James?” 

“Surely there’s a better way to go on about this.” The boy frowned and you scoffed, trying to show off disinterest, but he knew better. He knew that slight purse to your lips. “Angel, you love these. What’s next? Your guitar? Half your closet?”

You seemed to swallow your anger as you walked away from the window, “And what am I supposed to do with them?” He immediately noticed the glossiness in your eyes. 

He supposed this was a long time coming. The day you and Remus broke up, you had been unusually calm, an exact opposite to his own unusual dramatic reaction. Since then, you had kept to yourself, a ghost haunting the walls of Gryffindor Tower and now your own home, refusing to coexist in the same room as Remus and Sirius. And well, James can’t really blame you. 

“I… I know it was the right thing to do, I just didn’t think it would hurt like this,” You began, biting your trembling lip. “But, I suppose it hurt him even more to continue, well, staying with me.” You shrugged, walking towards your turntable, fingers itching to change the record. 

James handed you the one in his hands, you eyed it quickly, a glint of melancholy in your eyes as you scanned the sleeve. He watched you switch the record and put the other one in the pile he knew to be the ones you were planning to get rid of. 

Well, I’ll be damned. Here comes your ghost again, but that’s not unusual… it’s just that the moon is full and you happened to call…

“Fuck, that’s depressing.” James muttered and your mood had lifted enough to chuckle at his comment. “You willingly listen to this?”

“As opposed to what? ABBA?”

“Don’t you dare say anything bad about them!” James dramatically pointed at you and your smile widened, never willing to miss the chance to rile him up. “I’ll have you know—”

“Pestering your sister again, James?” Asked Lily, who had been walking past your room when she heard your animated voices. 

When she heard your quiet chuckles, she wondered if you miraculously managed to fix things with Remus and Sirius, only to find James pathetically helping you feel better. Had it not been by her intervention, she was sure it would’ve probably ended up with you in tears and a very distressed James holding back his own, always weak to seeing his sister cry. And well, the not picking sides rule be damned, Lily was not going to sit back and watch you shut everyone out, especially over a foolish misunderstanding. If Remus and Sirius were willing to back each other up instead of clearing things with you, Lily was going to back you up and make sure you wouldn’t resort back to your old habits of solitude. 

“It’s his default Jamie scheme, I believe.” You answered instead of him, busying yourself packing the records inside your trunk. James sent Lily an imploring look. “Morning, Lils.”

“Morning, honey. What’re those for?”

“Swap meet.” You commented, your eyes quickly looking up to meet her gaze only to immediately return to your task. 

James cleared his throat then mouthed something very, very dramatically that Lily didn’t understand.

“What?” She mouthed back, her eyes quickly snapped to your form, thankful that you were too inside your head to notice them. “What?”

“Go with her.” He whispered very lowly, the redhead rolled her eyes. “Lils, please.”

“James, I don’t– What would I even do?” 

“Just talk to her.”

“Merlin, you both are worse than mum and dad.” You muttered, turning to them with crossed arms. “It’s okay, really. It’ll be really quick, just dropping them off and picking some new ones if they strike my fancy. Not even gonna roam around.”

“But–”

“James. It’s alright, really. I don’t need to be coddled, I promise I’ll be fine.” You sent him a tight-lipped smile that made James wince visibly. You turned to Lily. “But, we can listen to the new ones after I return, if you want.” 

She seemed taken by surprise at your offer, “Oh– Yes, of course.” You smiled at her, this time with a  sincerity that she appreciated. 

A silence followed, and you, seemingly done trying to be coerced into talking about your situation, continued finishing packing your trunk. James and Lily shared a concerned look, but didn’t try to pry again, they’ve learned long enough to know you would come around sooner or later, and by the looks of it, you were inclined in putting off that conversation for as long as possible. 

When Mrs. Potter came to shepherd everyone down for breakfast, no one missed the way you visibly tensed at the prospect of sharing another uncomfortable moment with Remus and Sirius. It did not come as a surprise when you made an excuse to get off breakfast, and after your mother worriedly packed you a light meal for the bus ride, you walked out the door with your trunk full of vinyls, and if they dared to look more inside of it, they would find your feelings also buried deep in between your favorite records. 

“Hello,” Said Sirius as he walked towards his seat, Remus close behind. James had to bite his tongue to not give them a piece of his mind right then and there. “Oh, everything smells absolutely exquisite, mum.”

Euphemia smiled, “Why, thank you, my dear. I’m glad some of my children still think family breakfast is a pleasing activity.” At this, she gave James a very pointed look. 

“Oi, why are you looking at me?”

“Well, I have to look at someone since your sister just completely disregarded us.” 

At this, both Sirius and Remus looked up from their plates, “Where’s dov– y/n?” He asked, eyebrows pinched confusedly. 

“Wouldn’t you plonkers want to know?”

“She left a little while ago for a swap meet, something about looking for new records?” Lily explained, then nudged her boyfriend with a frown. “Behave.” She whispered.

“New records?” Echoed Monty as he occupied his own seat, having walked in time to hear the conversation. “She’s got her room filled to the ceiling with only Merlin knows how many of those things and went on to seek for more, a greedy one, your sister.” 

“Well,” James began and Lily sent him a wide-eyed look as she gripped his hand hard under the table, a warning that almost worked. “I wouldn’t say new records, she’s more like giving some away to make room for the new ones.” He gave Remus a very pointed look, and Lily groaned. 

“What?” Remus asked, the frown in his eyebrows deepened as he shared a look with Sirius. 

“Which records is she giving away, exactly?” Asked Sirius then, a slight edge to his voice. 

“You can take a guess.” 

“Oh, God.” Mumbled Lily into her hands. “James if you’re going to throw your sister under the bus the least you can do is be direct about it.”

“I’m quite finished, actually.” James smiled, then placed a quick kiss over Lily’s furrowed eyebrows. “Pass me the bread, lovie?” 

No one missed the way both Remus and Sirius stayed silent the entirety of breakfast. 

—

“You must be joking, this is a Patti Smith original in perfect conditions.” 

“It’s signed by some Remus bloke, that don’t look like perfect conditions to me.”

You scoffed. “Aren’t heartfelt dedications worth anything these days?”

The guy began to roll his eyes, but they landed on the little basket at your feet. “Maybe try with the Joan Baez and it’s yours.”

“What?” You followed his gaze, “That one is non negotiable.”

“No deal then.” He tsked, and you scoffed once again with a roll of your eyes. “Alright, if you’re not going to take anything, please make room for the rest.” 

You gasped in offense but still picked your basket and walked away with decisive strides. Your eyes examined the rest of the stands for something to catch your eye, then you studied the ones left in your little collection. Most of them weren’t worth much, based on what the snobby git told you, the dedications in them made them almost impossible to be traded. Suddenly you felt even angrier at Remus and his loving, gentle ways. 

“Prick.”

“I’m inclined to agree, love, that Patti Smith is worth more than that ratty Ram and Love In a Mist.”

“Fuck,” You jumped, but Sirius only smiled at you, corners of his lips turned up in a bemused smirk. When your heart returned to its normal rhythm, you frowned at him. “What the fuck, Sirius?”

“I mean, Paul is not even the superior Beatle, not sure how much that bloke thinks that record is worth, honestly he missed a great deal.”

“He said the– I’m not having this conversation again, Sirius. Paul is most definitely the superior Beatle.” 

Sirius raised his hands in surrender, “I’m just making you a case, I think you should go back and reopen the negotiations.” His grey eyes scanned you cautiously, when they landed on your basket something glum took over his face. “Or maybe it’s a sign to stop with this little crusade. Do you really want to get rid of these?” 

“Why are you here, Sirius?”

“James said you’d be here, and I’ve been meaning to grow my own collection, so…”

Your eyes quickly traveled over his empty hands, then irked an eyebrow at him, “Right… and where are the records you’re swapping?”

“I… I wanted to talk to you.” He finally said, suddenly not brave enough to meet your eyes. You felt your ribcage recoiling with dread, but you allowed yourself to feel a bit hopeful as you scanned his nervous stance. “I don’t know what was said between you and Remus but I can’t stand you shutting us out–”

“It’s not like I’m enjoying it either, Sirius.” You rolled your eyes, then turned to him with such harshness that you almost hit his chest with the basket in your arms. An apology almost slipped past your lips at the sad upturn of his lips, but you recovered quickly. “I will get over it, it’s just…”

When your voice unexpectedly wavered, something inside Sirius’ heart crumbled, “Oh, love… That’s the thing, there’s nothing for you to get over from,” He was quick to thumb a rogue tear that cascaded down your cheek. 

“What?” You whispered, voice impossibly small and eyes fighting to not shed more tears. 

Sirius frowned, and took a minute to look into your eyes, his own a very sad shade of grey. Your hold on the basket loosened, hanging limply between you as he reached to gently cradle your face in his hands. By the anxious way you chewed on your lower lip, you seemed as scared as Sirius felt, his hands shook slightly when he placed a soft, quick kiss on the corner of your lips. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could reach and full-on kiss his lips, the previous dreadful feeling in your chest morphed into anger as you stepped back from his hold.   

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You spat roughly, not allowing him to walk closer as he looked at you with evident despair in his eyes. “I’m not going to be a silly pawn in your and Remus’ game, Sirius. I’m not.”

“You’re not, sweetheart. I– Okay, maybe this is not the way to go and I’m sorry, but I’ve had enough, alright? You… You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met, you almost rival James in that aspect, always putting everyone’s feelings and needs before yours, but breaking up with your boyfriend so he can be with someone else? Who the fuck does that?”

You chuckled dryly. “So that’s what this is about? You’re having a moral crisis, Sirius?” His lips parted in surprise at the edge of your voice, but he knew better to interrupt the verbal onslaught you seemingly had been holding back for weeks. “Shall I put your mind at ease, then? I did not break up with Remus so he can have free rein to run to you, I did it because it hurt me too much to be with him knowing I wanted to be with you too and viceversa, and I was not going to make my life a living hell with doubts and uncertainty, maintaining a lie that not only I fabricated but one he did as well, which is why I decided to step back, alright? So no, I’m not selfless just very, very confused. Now, if you could just leave me alone, both of you, I’d greatly appreciate it.” 

Sirius let out a sharp exhale, his eyes studying your angry movements as you shoved the basket into his arms and walked away without waiting for him to speak. He supposed that was a long time coming, but the ache that came with your words was something he was not prepared for. 

—

You had no qualms in full-on sobbing onto your knees, chest shredding to pieces with every ragged exhale. The late, chilly afternoon in your mother’s garden presented you with the opportunity of privacy as you finally allowed your confused feelings to come to the surface, the images of Remus’ teary cheeks when you broke up with him, and Sirius’ dejected frown from that afternoon were burnt deep in your mind whenever you closed your eyes. 

“Oh, dovey.”

You felt your heart abruptly skipping a beat when you looked up and met Remus’ sad amber eyes, Sirius already making a move to sit next to you at the feet of the tree you used to hide away from spying eyes. A hand came to your view as he gently thumbed your tears away, and you mustered all your strength to move your face away from his loving ministrations, you knew another act of love from either of them would surely make you cry harder. A sad, throaty sound came from Sirius’ lips when you rejected his intentions, and Remus seemed to snap into action. 

“What–” You began, your voice hoarse and eyes widened as you watched him kneel in front of you. “What are you doing?”

“Sirius told me what you said at the swap meet.” 

You sent him an accusatory glare, but Remus reached and held your face in his scarred hands, a gesture so deep rooted in both of you from your year long relationship that made your mind go blank at the familiarity of his touch. Remus, for his part, seemed relieved that you hadn’t pushed him away yet. 

“I don’t care, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He whispered, making a point of searching for your eyes when you looked down. “I just wish you hadn’t kept that part out when you talked to me.” 

“And what was I supposed to say? That whenever I saw you two interact I was burning with jealousy because I wanted either of you to look at me that way?” You spat, but sighed dejectedly at the frowns in their faces. “I… I will get over it, alright? Just give me a couple of months–”

“Get over what, exactly, lovely?”

Something inside of you seemed to snap at the gentleness in his tone, paired with Sirius’ tender hold around your body, it was too much. You swallowed your incoming sob, and looked down at your calloused fingers.

“At the idea of… of us, I guess. Of a possible future with either of you, I… I rather see you two together and happy, than being an imposition.” You mumbled, very determined to not look into their eyes, you supposed your heart had taken too many blows as of lately to add another to the tally. “I was usually so good at keeping it together, hidden away and secure to not let anyone know. But lately… lately it has gotten so hard, and none of you seemed to make a move either, so I did what needed to be done.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, dove. I– Alright, it’s time for you to hear us out, okay?”

You nodded mutely, eyes in a daze as Remus refused to let go of your face, his palms now slightly damp from your cascading tears. 

“There’s not a single possibility of a happy relationship between me and Moony if you’re not part of it.” Began Sirius, and your lips parted in surprise when you met his own teary gaze. “I am so stupidly in love with both of you that it physically hurt me, and I get how that could’ve confused some people, but it was never a matter of jealousy, alright? We all just wanted each other so desperately we completely mucked it all up.”

“And,” Remus continued, a tiny, shy smile now in his face as he lovingly watched you and Sirius’ intertwined hands. “We can’t possibly hold against you the way it all went down, sweet girl, if anything, we are so deeply sorry for the way we let it all get so tangled up and not immediately try to clear up our feelings. You didn’t do anything wrong for having feelings for both of us, and your confusion is very understandable, I hope you can forgive me for not fighting harder to make you understand.” 

“What? No, I–” Your free hand reached for his own cheek, your movements earnest as you searched for his amber eyes. “I’m sorry for getting so ahead of myself, I should’ve said something, I… I’m the one that messed it all up, jumping to conclusions that could have easily been cleared up, but… I guess it’s not too late?” 

Sirius’ forefinger paused his tracing of ghost figures on the inside of your wrist, he brought it to his lips and kissed it softly before speaking, “We’re the ones that should be asking you that, sweetheart.” 

You smiled shyly before shaking your head. A breathy chuckle left Remus’ lips, his smile was the last thing you saw before he kissed your lips firmly, then proceeded to place several little ones all over your face, your shared giggles music to Sirius’ ears as he watched you both. When you broke apart, you wasted no time in lovingly nosing Sirius’ cheek, his arm around you tightened as he brought you impossibly closer and finally kissed your lips like he had wanted to do since that time you stayed with him all night at the Potters’ living room the night he ran away from home. His heart burst to the seams when he broke away, and you seemed to completely give up on trying to hold back your happy giggles. When Remus kissed his lips at the same time you kissed his cheek, Sirius was glad he was sitting down because he probably would’ve passed out right then and there, there was only so much his heart could take in one day. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He said breathlessly, reaching behind Remus for the basket you had given him. A blush seemed to take over most of his face as he placed it between you three. “Love, you can’t go around leaving these anywhere, this collection is too important for it to land on the wrong hands. Imagine if the snobby arsehole had gotten a hold of it?” 

You laughed, immediately reaching inside to scan your records in case any of them were missing. “‘M sorry, that was rather dramatic of me.” 

“No need to be sorry, dove.” Said Remus breezily, his own eyes scanning each sleeve you took out. “It gave Sirius time to do some scouring of his own, didn’t you, love?” 

At this, Sirius seemed to flush harder. “Yes, I… I managed to make a great deal with that bloke and,” He reached inside the basket and singled one out, you gasped as he handed it to you. “You seemed very excited for this one, so…”

Both Sirius and Remus’ insides turned soft and mushy at the sight of your widened eyes and even bigger smile. The record in your hands had become one almost impossible pursuit of yours for years, after having heard your endless complaints on how desperately you wished to own it ever since they met you. Your smile was blinding as you scanned Marianne Faithful’s Love in a Mist album and traced a delicate finger over the title of the front sleeve. What made you gasp again though, was the delicate, heartfelt dedication in the corner of the sleeve.