#snufffles

The truth of it was, Marlene hadn’t forgotten. She couldn’t. She knew that Sirius didn’t love her in the same ways she loved him. That when he went off with Remus it broke a little piece of her inside. He’d been nothing but loving and true to himself and for a little while, he was happy. And same as she wanted it twenty years prior, she wanted it now. Though these days, happiness was something not easily acquired after being in Azkaban for over a decade.

It wasn’t for lack of trying to move on. She’d had few fleeting relationships, most of them the rough and tumble type with long hair. Chasing something that never existed. Dinner and some heavy petting and she just couldn’t see it through.

Had she wanted children? Perhaps- once upon a time. He never argued about them being wonderful parents and the child would have been brought up in a more than loving household-- but Marlene couldn’t use him like that. He’d only be doing it to make her happy. Self sacrificing, the Sirius few actually knew. Marlene refused to let him give up and settle for her.

“Ye know why-” she whispered, refusing to face him as she tended to her plants. This greenhouse much smaller than the one her parents had, but it had proven to do the job over the years. She nudged Persephone out of the way with the toe of her shoe, a stubborn toad, just as her mother was. A few more snips and a hardened face later, she turned. Still on the thin side but far better than he’d been when he first arrived. “Why do ye stay?” She countered, knowing if he had to he could have went off and survived on his own. Knowing that when Remus ended up in Nymphadora’s bed that it hurt him; same as Sirius’ relationship had hurt her.

“I told ya one, all I wanted was fer ya ta be happy. That ye meant more ta me than ya’d ever know.”

“I’m not dead,” Sirius mumbled, falling back into the couch of Number 12. Enough dust fell out from under the cushion to repaint the walls, but he had given up being surprised, given up hoping any part of the awful house was anything less than awful. “Just a soulless, empty void.” He hadn’t gotten kissed by the dementor, but after twelve years in that prison, sometimes he wondered if there was any difference. “We got any more firewhiskey? There’s soul enough in that.”

Remus rolled his eyes as he moved to collect the nearly full bottle of Ogden's Old from the dusty liquor cabinet. “Must you be so dramatic, Sirius?” He asked with a raise of his brow while he conjured up a couple of clean glasses with a wordless wave of his wand and they clinked in his hand. He took a moment to pour them both a healthy serving before passing his friend a glass and joining him on the dust-filled couch. 

The potions room was much too quiet for Remus’ liking; it left the lonely Gryffindor to his thoughts, and the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind had a history of being dark these days. If the loneliness wasn’t swallowing the werewolf whole, the deep rooted anger and self destructive tendencies leaked through. It didn’t help that he’d been assigned to work alone after class. It was a prefect’s duty to help the professors when they were in need, and Professor Slughorn was ALWAYS in need. This time he’d sped off to a meeting, only a wave to indicate to Remus what he was supposed to do.

Now he was pushing in desk chairs hurriedly, trying to finish what he could before the next class. Remus might have continued on that way if he hadn’t spotted something that gave him an immediate stomach ache: SB carved crudely into the wood of a certain desk. What had it been? Three months? Three months since he’d spoken a single word to Sirius. Three months since he’d joined them for dinner, for game night, for sneaking around the castle. Three months since he’d had any friends at all. It was funny, before he’d come to Hogwarts, the werewolf had sworn that this was the way it would be; alone. No one was hurt that way.

Now all he did was ACHE for them. For him.

His hand curled into a tight fist, hand shaking with the pressure of it, and slammed into the desk table. 

Punch. Fuck him. Punch. Fuck Sirius Black. Punch. Punch. Punch... 

After a while lost track of how many times his knuckles hit, but when he pulled away, warm crimson rolled down his hand and he collapsed back into a chair, palms pressing his eyes closed.

closed starter for @snufffles !

James has finally fallen asleep, even though dawn looms on the horizon. Everything is that eerie colorless gray, like the whole world is stuck in between night and day. She knows she won’t sleep, can’t sleep, as long as her baby lays there across from her, her baby boy, grown now. Scarred. 

They’re in guest accommodations at Hogwarts for now, all piled up together in blankets and sleeping bags in the common room, unwilling to leave each other’s sight even for a moment, lest this all be some terribly cruel dream. They’re staying here until they determine what to do, how to reintroduce James and her, if that’s even what they want to do, now that You-Know-Who is back, and Lily wants to sob, because he hadn’t even been gone when she— what, died? 

She remembers dying, come to think of it, remembers how she begged, and pleaded, and heard James hit the floor. She remembers how Harry was so quiet, watching Voldemort with his wide green eyes, his mother’s eyes, and how they were the last thing she saw, green, bright green, and then—

Fog, and haze, and an achingly bittersweet echo of pride and love, so much love. 

And then Harry was dueling with Voldemort, in a graveyard, and participating in the Triwizard Tournament, of all things? And they stayed up, for hours, just talking, but not about anything like that. James told Harry all about the Marauders, and the mischief he and those dolts got up to in school, and she told him about growing up with Petunia and Severus—’You grew up with who??’— and what it was like being his parent when he was a baby. He used to love sweet potatoes, did he know that? He would fall asleep riding his broom and she had to put a sticking charm on his bottom to make sure he didn’t tumble off before they could corral him. 

ill always love you

  The door to number 12 Grimmauld Place shut with a gentle click as if its manipulator did not wish for his entrance to be detected. He cast a quick, wary glance up at the shrouded portrait, waiting until he was certain the coast was clear and its occupant was not about to stir before he made his way down the hall toward the kitchens. 

  Worn leather shoes carried him down the steps, hefting the heavy paper bag a bit higher on his hip. Judging by the warm glow he saw emanating from the room below he thought it likely that he would find Sirius at the very least seated at the table, awaiting his return.

  Sure enough that dark unruly mop of waves announced itself upon descending the final step, and Remus gave his companion a wan sort of smile that spoke of long days and long lines. 

  “You and your particular tastes, Padfoot, honestly,” he chided, reaching into the bag and pulling out a parcel, tossing it in his direction. “I’ve been to near every corner of London trying to find this for you, so never let it be said I don’t pull my weight around here,” he teased lowly; such a thing would never be said, he knew quite well. With Sirius on what equated to house arrest Remus had tasked himself with the procurement of their daily needs — it was the least he could do, truly, considering his companion’s charitable offer of lodging.