James Potter X Reader - Tumblr Posts

⋆˚ masterlist ˚｡⋆

୨♡୧ F1

— daniel ricciardo.

— max verstappen.

୨♡୧ 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

— jamie fraser.

୨♡୧ 𝐖𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

— james potter.

hockey player!james potter x reader with enemies to lovers?? i love u rue rue 🤭🙈

I love you too ren ren 😍🤗

I tried my best (im so sorry)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ─ hockey player!James Potter x ice skater!fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ─ 1848

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ─ cursing, references to sexual content, asshole James Potter, rude reader

(𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ─ loosely based on Icebreaker (he's a hockey player + she's a figure skater) + more like rivals to lovers but close enough + ITS SO LATE SORRY + the ending sucks

HERE YA GO BABES <3

James Potter is the worst.

What with his annoying perfect hair and piercing blue eyes...

This is not an opinion, no, it's a proven fact.

How any woman finds him attractive is beyond me. Sure, his face is sort of pleasing to look at if you squint and ignore his awful personality.

I mean come on! The figure skating championship is fast a approaching and here he is hogging the ice rink with his pack of smelly jerkoffs aka hockey players.

A game filled with nothing but brute force, the exact opposite of the graceful skill of figure skating.

The whole team has a combined IQ of 100 -it's only that high because Remus is there- and a complete disrespect it seems for the booking of the rink.

We ran 10 minutes late! 10 minutes and they decide our privileges' get revoked! Who put them -him especially- in charge of how time is spent? It's not like they even need the extra couple of hours practice they seem to have the whole wrestling on ice skates-thing down.

"Oh cheer up y/n! At least we have something fun to look at!" I break my gaze from the sweaty pack of dogs and on to best friend and fellow skater, Alice Fortesque. My eyes are wide in disbelief and betrayal shoots through my body! How dare she say such a thing! About our sworn nemesis' too!

"What- what?! No! That should be us on the ice making them be jealous! We should be the eye candy not these buffoons'! Making a mockery of our beloved sport."

"Oh shut up! What have hockey players ever done to you? Just because you hate one doesn't mean the whole entire group of them are rotten. Frank is a hockey player and you don't hate him!"

"Right, so one of how many isn't a total douche? Wow high standards you have, Alice." I roll my eyes at my friend's unsuccessful attempt on pushing me to the dark side of being a hockey groupie.

"What did hockey ever do to you?"

"Yeah Y/N, What'd hockey ever do to you?" The annoying, stupidly hot voice of James Potter fills my ears. Fuck him and his funny accent and amazing hair and strong, muscular body-

No. Nope. Not going to happen today. None of this 'lustful thoughts' bullshit.

"None of your business, you weasel!"

"You're are the talking about me, love. Sounds like your rather obsessed with me."

"Shut your trap! If anyone is obsessed, its you! What're you doing over here anyway? You stole the rink from us and aren't even using it? Fuck you."

"Woah! Y/N, have some decorum!" His minions skate over when they realize James has stopped skating and is loitering by the wall talking to us.

I groan and throw my head back before I realize the opportunity in front of me.

"Since you're all here, I have something to tell you all."

"Aww we love you too, Y/N!" Sirius butts in with a sarcastic smile, his arms going over his heart as he pretend swoons into Remus' chest next to him.

"No, you dog! Fuck off and get off the ice. We have it booked for the next hour." Voices erupt from the group of hockey players as they look at me in outrage.

"You can't kick us out!"

"She can't kick us out.. right?"

"She totally can, man."

"Who put you in charge?" James pipes up as the voices stop their exclamations.

"Let me reiterate what I just said: We. Have. It. Booked. Maybe learn to read before it's too late and you lose more brain cells. Oh, and check the schedule before you, knuckleheads go out on the rink!"

"Stopping being a bitch, Y/N!"

"The fuck did you just say to me, James?"

"Woah dude-" Frank's voice pipes up from where he is standing next to Alice. He slowly approaches where James and I are glaring at each other, the wall of the rink separating us.

"No someone has to say it! Just because you're some hotshot figure skater doesn't mean you can be an ass to everyone!"

"Oh really? If that's what you think of me I would hate to hear what you think about yourself! You play fucking hockey! Enjoy your missing front tooth."

"I'll have you know all of my teeth are authentic."

I roll my eyes at his stupid retort.

Thank god he has looks or else I'd be worried.

"Whatever get off the ice before I call Coach Hooch."

"You wouldn't-"

"You want to test me?" James gulps before looking over his shoulder at his teammates.

"Okay, fine. We'll leave.."

"Fucking finally."

"If you go on a date with me."

What?

"What?" Alice voices my confusion as I stand frozen for a moment.

What the hell?

Why would he ask that?

If he liked me why didn't he ever act like it?

What if it's a prank? A big joke to string me along and then humiliate me?

The Marauders are known throughout campus for their pranks-

No, that can't be it because Remus, Sirius, and Peter look just as confused as I feel.

Then he must be genuine or splitting from his bff's and going solo on this prank.

Or they are really good actors-

Nope! Fuck! Fuckity-fuck!

"We'll clear out of the rink if you agree to go on a date with me."

"Uh- no? No!" My resolution falls flat as my confusion washes away to anger.

How dare he!

"Ok guess we're going to keep on practicing-"

"Ugh fine! Fine! I'll go on a date with you! Only because I need to practice for regionals, no other reason."

"Of course, love. No other reason." He smirks smugly while looking me straight in the eyes. "I'll pick you up at 8, wear something nice."

God why am I such a sucker for eye contact?

With one final glance James turns around and skates towards the locker rooms, his minions follow after him- minus Frank.

"What the hell just happened Y/N?"

"I- I don't know Alice."

"I can't believe I agreed to this."

"Oh be quiet Y/N! Think of tonight as an opportunity! A free meal, him being less of menace about the rink and maybe even a good orgasm or two."

"The only time those two words go together with James Potter is in his wet dreams."

"You can't lie and say he isn't hot!" I grunt at her words moving my focus to doing my mascara. "What's the worse that can happen? I've heard the rumors and so have you! You know he's good in bed."

"You are making me nauseous, Alice."

"And you're being stubborn."

I roll my eyes at her words as I finish putting the dark serum on my eyelashes. I stand and look down at my outfit.

"I'm not going to fight with my best friend over something as stupid as James Potter."

"Aww 'best friend'? Maybe this whole ordeal has softened me."

"Yeah like 'soft' a rotting banana stuck in someone's freezer just in case they decide to make banana bread but never do."

"Oddly elaborate metaphor Y/N."

"It's been an odd week."

"I'll give you that." Alice reaches over and hands me one of her lipsticks. "Here put this on. You need a pop of color."

The lipstick's creamy formula glides over my lips painting them a striking red.

A nice simple, black dress and a pair of heeled black shiny boots that rise to just below my knee.

Cute and simple, right?

Not too simple though.

Just the right amount -almost mysterious in a way.

Plus the heeled aspect of the shoes classifies it as 'nice' therefore, appealing to James Potter's demands.

The sound of the doorbell ringing knocks me out of my spiral.

"Ok be safe, ok? I'll be with Frank and have my phone with me the entire night. One text and I'll drop everything for you." Alice wraps me in her warm embrace and I sigh.

"I will have my location sharing on Life360 the whole time. My phone is charged and ready for whatever the fuck this is." My black trench coat with a thick faux-fur collar is put on my shoulders as Alice ushers me to the door.

I open our door and am immediately met with a large bouquet of flowers in the hands of one very dashing James Potter.

"Hey."

"Hi."

An awkward pause as his eyes look me up and down, making my skin crawl.

"Um these are for you." He extends his right hand holding the beautiful bouquet of dark red roses and baby's-breath. I quickly move my face to inhale the sweet scent of the flowers.

"Oh wow! Thank you! These are beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you." I can't help but roll my eyes at this though I cannot stop my cheeks from heating up.

"You are so corny."

"Only for you, Y/N."

"I bet you say that to every girl." Alice interrupts James before he can reply and I feel relieved.

We haven't even left the doorway!

We still have a whole fucking date to go!

"Ok. Ok! I'm going to go put these in a vase and you two go have fun! Make sure to use protection, kids!" Alice promptly pushes me into the hallway of our apartment building and slams the door.

"Omg- I'm sorry for her."

"Good advise though."

"You're are delusional if you think I'm going to sleep with you."

"A guy can dream."

"Sounds more like a nightmare to me."

"Ok negative Nancy."

"'Negative Nancy' what are you five?"

"be a bit weird if I was and you were on a date with me."

"I really don't think out of the two of us that I am the weird one."

"I like the use of 'us' in that sentence."

"Please stop talking."

"Only because you said please."

Our witty banter causes a smile to spread on my lips and my body to feel warm despite the cool temperatures outside.

One date turned into two and two turned into a long term relationship.

How it happened is beyond me, I thought I was firm in my dislike of the proud peacock aka James Potter.

Evidently I wasn't.

Alright so, maybe I do know how he became my boyfriend..

It probably had something to do with his dashing goods looks, sense of humor and our variety of shared interests.

Our first date ended with me not only starting to like him but giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before retreating into my apartment.

It was only the beginning of me going back on my oaths against James Potter.

Little did I know that the guy who annoyed the hell out of me was soon going to be the most important person in my life (after Alice of course).

The man that I love forever and always.

Even when he hogs the ice rink when I have it booked.

(We are working on it because it's really fucking annoying)

𝒋𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓.

-ꦼ———▸ 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴

the worst.

HELLOOOO ITS BEA!! 🤗🤗 your new account is so cute and i love your theme 😫 you literally ate with that im not kidding. Anywaysssss lex girl you know how i love the marauders, and i know you do too! Could you write a cute little cuddly fic about one of them? Idc which one, u know what i like LMAOOOOOO

LOVE YOU BAEBAE ☺️

YESSSS BEA I LOVE YOUUUUU AND OFC!!!

ILL GET ON IT BAE

@kquil

Your writing has got me smiling and kicking my feet so bad😭

In love with this writing❤

JAMES POTTER | LIKE LOVERS DO

REQUEST :  hiiiii :) if/when u can, smith like this with james or remus lupin? @bobs-fav-cat

(art is by gyung_studio on instagram)

SUM : you and James Potter are just friends —friends that act like they’re in a loving relationship.  

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; idiots in love ; james loves giving you princess treatment ; and you love returning his affections ; just friends being friends ; hehehe~ ; they’re in denial ; domestic fluff ; selfcare session ; biker james? ; james being a sweetheart ; reader being absolute wifey material! ; james and reader being so in love it’s sickening ; the type of sickening that makes you puke rainbows, glitter and love hearts ; mutual pinning! ; slightly based off a tiktok i saw once ; happy ending where they get together ; so much fluff ; scheming gremlin friends ; lily, dorcas and marlene as cupids for reader ; remus, sirius and peter as cupids for james ; idiots in love

LENGTH : 3.6k

“They should wear a sign,” Peter laughs as he and his close friends eye the pair of oblivious idiots across the room, “one that says ‘we’re actually together no matter how much we deny it’,” 

“You said it,” Sirius raises a hand and the two high-five each other before sniggering between themselves.

Across the hall stood you and James. It was a networking event disguised as a formal company party. And even though you and James weren’t each other’s dates to the event, James wore a matching tie to your chosen dress. The two of you unanimously decided to go with the excuse that you had both gone shopping for an outfit together and unconsciously bought matching things. It was only natural because you two were such good, close friends. 

From a distance, the three watch as you lift your left foot up through the high side-slit of your dress and draw attention to your unbuckled heel with a frown. James’ hazel eyes focuses onto your heel as well and immediately places his flute of champagne on a nearby table to help you, as if it was second nature to him; it is second nature to him— taking care of you. He’s kneeling down and re-buckling your heel for you as your hand tentatively places itself on his broad shoulder for balance. 

Once James is finished, he stands back up with a grin, takes up his flute with one hand and wraps his other around your waist to pull you into his side with a smile. Neither of you flinch at the closeness, in fact, you snuggle further into your best friend’s side and tuck your head under his chin so he can place a kiss onto the crown of your head. 

“Wanna bet on who folds first?” Remus speaks up with a devious smirk, Sirius and Peter eagerly voicing their predictions and placing their bets. 

“Oh Jamie!” you gasp and smile widely as your best friend presents you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, “They’re beautiful,” he helps the floral arrangement into your arms with a satisfied grin, a fondness in his eyes as he watches you savour the scent of the pretty blossoms.

“My pleasure, my dear,” he regales dramatically as you giggle, “I passed by the florist on my way back from lunch at the pub with the boys and thought you’d like them,”

“I do like them,” you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, “you’re so thoughtful, thank you for thinking of me, James,”

His warm smile softens further and he kisses your temple lovingly, “of course,” aside from the lingering scent of your shampoo and conditioner, James picks up on something more appetising, “what’s that delicious smell, angel?”

“Oh!” reminded of your earlier activities, you lead him into your kitchen where you proceed to find a vase for the arrangement in your arms, “I was baking—”

“Treacle tart!” James cheers and does a goofy little dance in the middle of your kitchen, his excitement obvious. 

“It’s almost done so you popped in at just the right time,” you giggle softly whilst transferring the arrangement into your chosen vase. With a pleased hum, James presses up behind you and places his large hands on the curve of your hips, his thumbs tenderly stroking up and down until he eventually pushes the hem of your shirt up, caressing your soft skin beneath. 

“Mmmmm… lucky me,” he whispers happily into your shoulder, where he begins trailing kisses up your neck. His words send a shiver up your spine and you resist the escalating urge to turn in his arms and lead his lips to cover and press against your own. 

You’re just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. 

James can’t get over how cute you are. 

Even when you’re doing the most mundane things, he can’t help but find you adorable. Like right now. Even with a bright green clay mask on your face, you are adorable, perched on his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs as you spread the same treen mask over his skin. 

“Stop moving, Jamie!” you chastise gently whilst stifling a giggle. 

“You stop moving,” he counters playfully and emphasises his words by placing his big hands on your hips and squeezing your curves briefly. Your only response is to laugh and do your best to continue applying an even coat onto his face. 

“….there!” you huff and set aside your tool to close the clay mask tub, “all done, no thanks to you!” He tickles your sides in retaliation as you climb off his lap and reach for your phone in order to set a timer. His antics were a brief distraction as you bless him with your tinkling giggles. 

“For how long do we keep this on?” 

“15 minutes,” 

He pulls a face, one that makes him look like a duck as he ponders over his thoughts. He looks so ridiculous, especially with the green mask on his face — it was only naturally for you to burst out laughing, “what should we do until then?”

“Stop talking,”

“Wha—?!”

“Not like that, Jamie,” you coo as he pouts dramatically, “we have to stop talking soon or else the mask will crack too much as it dries,” he makes a long noise of realisation at your words and nods obediently, zipping his lips before throwing away the imaginary key. 

No matter what he does, he’s always making you laugh. You’re sure that, even if you’re temporarily banning him from speaking, he would still be able to make you laugh and your clay mask will end up looking like a dried up riverbed. 

You have no complaints, though. 

You weren’t expecting it but you still weren’t too surprised when you see James waiting for you outside — just in time to pick you up after a night out with your close girl friends. He was wearing one of your favourite sweaters of all time, it was soft and big (big enough to make him appear deceivingly smaller than you know his figure is) and is the warmest thing you’ve ever worn. 

“James!” you call out, happy to see him. The build up of fatigue from the whole night melts off your aching limbs like powdered snow under golden sunbeams. Running to him, he greets you with his heart-stopping smiles.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers as soon as he has his arms wrapped around you. 

“Stop it,” you sigh into his shoulder, your face buried into the soft fabric of his sweater, “I look a mess after tonight,” 

He pulls away, enough to meet your eyes and examine your face without having to remove his arms from around you, “If this is you looking a ‘mess’, then I wonder what type of beauty you were earlier tonight,”

His comment makes your heart soar but you don’t let it show on your face, even when he wiggles his eyebrows comically to emphasise his flattering remark. Instead, you narrow your eyes at him before slipping out of his arms and biting your lip at the confused, pitiful whine he lets out. You don’t leave him miserable for long, however, as you’re quickly reaching down to lift up his sweater so that you could pull it over your head and burrow yourself inside. Like the living furnace he is, you’re greeted by such a comforting heat, you forget that you’re both still outside in the wet cold of the night. 

Throwing his head back, James laughs and wraps you up in his arms again, laying his cheek against the top of your head through his sweater. The first time you ever did this, he wasn’t shy about saying how much he loved it. And now, you’ve made it a tradition to do this often during the autumn and winter months. Admittedly, you loved cuddling him like this too; it’s more intimate and you love being surrounded by his warmth. It was a bonus that his scent literally has you in a choke hold under there. You’d happily suffocate on the smell of his cologne, laundry detergent and natural smell. But it also feels as though you’re falling into a trance by some alluringly scented spirit.

“As much as I love holding you like this, dear, I’m still on a mission to get you home safe so…” he looks down at you, hazel eyes turning soft at the adorable sight of you cuddled up to him under his sweater, “can my princess please let me help her into my car and drive her back home safely?”

You didn’t respond, only pouted and whined to express your dislike of pulling away from him as well as the warmth of his soft sweater. James knew instantly what to do. You two were best friends after all; it was a requirement for him to know all your needs telepathically. It was an awkward shuffling of limbs but James managed to slip off his sweater without needing to lift it off your figure and hoists you into his arms before you could start grumbling at the loss of his embrace.

“Not long now — my princess will arrive at her carriage soon~” he sings in a whisper beside your ear, smiling fondly at your soft giggles and adoring the way you wrap your arms around his neck to cuddle him close before needing to pull away so he can carefully sit in his car’s passenger seat. 

“Oh, come on!” Marlene gives an exasperated sigh as you examine the array of snacks laid out before you. In your peripheral, you observe how Lily doesn’t make any moves to stop Marlene from pestering you; instead a small smirk tugs at the corners of her lips, secretly enjoying and wanting to take part in Marlene’s badgering. 

“You come on,” you throw back with a light-hearted glare, “I thought we were going to buy snacks for movie night, not grill me on my friendship with James,”

“Friends, huh?” Dorcas arches a brow as Lily stifles a giggle beside her. All three were eyeing you mischievously as a heat flushes across your cheeks. 

“Stop it you guys,”

“We’ll stop as soon as you stop playing the friendship game with James!” Lily bargains, unable to hold herself back anymore, and you try your hardest not to roll your eyes while your cheeks flood with a familiar warmth. 

“We’re just friends,” it was a painful admission but you’d rather have what you have right now with James than ever risk sabotaging it. 

Marlene examines a strand of her golden hair as Lily leans against her side, “James acts more of a boyfriend to you than just a friend,”

Dorcas speaks up with a hint of impishness, “and I can prove it~”

“How?” you challenge, raising your chin ever so slightly in silent provocation. But Dorcas has no reaction, she just continues to smirk at you. 

“I’m gonna need your phone first,” you hesitate from the devilish sparkle in her eyes but eventually relent, cursing the weakness that was a result of your aching heart. Dorcas types away on your phone for a moment as Marlene and Lily peer over her shoulder and snicker at what they read. She doesn’t allow you to read the message she typed out before hitting send and handing your phone back

It takes a moment for you to get over your shock and look through the message she sent. It was sent straight to James, lovingly named as ‘My Idiot ❤️’ in your contacts, and it read: ‘James, this scary looking guy keeps following me around in the shop and it’s creeping me out! I can’t find the girls either 😰 what do I do?’. Your jaw drops and you can’t find any words to voice whatever it is you’re feeling; a mix of anger, upset, shock and creeping curiosity over what they have planned.  

Not a minute goes by and your phone is getting rapid notifications from James messaging you, he even tries to call you but the girls snatch your phone away before you could answer. They shake their heads at you and you huff, crossing your arms. You would have protested more from the rising anxiety you feel over having to lie to James but you were so curious. In the end, you reluctantly accept their plotting and try to prepare yourself for what’s to come.

For a minute, the message notifications stop from your phone and Lily feels her phone buzz from inside her bag. The three giggle as Lily rushes to take out her phone. From the side lines, you continue observing everything with your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. Lily types back a response and all three look up at you in unison, their eyes swimming with mischief.

“I’m setting a stopwatch to see how long just-friend-Potter gets here,” Marlene snickers and you groan, Dorcas and Lily giggling on either side of her. As much as you love them, they’re such a nuisance sometimes…

You could only guess that Lily sent him her location and now all of you were left patiently waiting for James to appear. 

Not even 15 minutes passes before James comes storming into view, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in all black and without his glasses. Even without his glasses on, when James glances over and catches a glimpse of you, recognition crosses his unfriendly features and he storms over. Within seconds, he’s pulling you into a warm embrace. 

“Oh thank god,” he breathes a sigh of relief and presses his face into your hair, “you’re okay… —are you okay?” you look up as he pulls away and searches for your eyes, squinting to be able to do so without the aid of his glasses. 

“Y-yeah, I’m alright. The umm, the creep disappeared a little while ago,” you muster a small smile of reassurance, still uncomfortable with lying to him, before managing to softly ask your burning question, “why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” habitually, you feel about for the breast pocket of the leather jacket he has on and pull out his circular specs. 

As you carefully clean his lenses on your shirt, he goes to explain, “I wanted to look scary so that creep leaves you alone,” you’re quick to realise that without his glasses he would be forced to squint so that it looks like he’s glaring. It also clicks in your head that he wore all black so he could look even more intimidating. It was unusual for him to wear just black, normally that was Sirius’ thing, but you’re not complaining; James looks really attractive dressed in black, his hair tousled around messily and without his glasses on.

“Thank you, Jamie,” he grins boyishly after you put his glasses back on for him, taking a moment to adjust them until they sit aligned and comfortable. By habit, you comb your fingers through his untamed hair and James, in turn, presses a kiss to your temple. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay, princess,” your heart skips a beat at the nickname — he’s called you that so many times but he’s reserved it especially for you and it makes you feel so special, “do you want me to give you a ride home?” he lifts up the motorbike helmet in his hand, which you immediately recognise. Your curious eyes meet his hazel hues and he smiles bashfully, “I borrowed Sirius’ bike to get here quicker…” he shuffles around his feet, nervous under your gaze —he hate lying to you too, “okay okay… I took his bike without asking but I promise to give it back as soon as I get you home safe!” 

You give a small giggle and wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his muscular chest. It’s an embrace that James eagerly returns, petting your hair whilst speaking over your head once he finally spots your three friends. 

“Are you guys okay too?”

“Gee, thanks for the concern, Potter,” Marlene rolls her eyes as Lily and Dorcas crack up, “yeah, we’re good,” 

“Good, good,” James immediately goes back to focus on holding you close and kissing the crown of your head, affectionate and sweet. You could always rely on him to be there for you no matter what and the thought made butterflies explode into a fluttering haze in your stomach. 

Dorcas had proven her point. 

It was clear now that James prioritised you over anyone else. And you didn’t know whether to be flustered and scream for joy or melt into a puddle of goo. 

“She’s not my girlfriend so shut up,” James huffs and groans as he rolls over to lay on his stomach across the length of the sofa whilst Remus, Sirius and Peter sat in a scattered array about the living room. 

“Says the motorbike thief,” Sirius hisses playfully, shooting a superficial glare at his long time best friend/non-blood-related brother. 

“She really does act like your girlfriend more than your friend, Prongs,” Remus chimes up, setting his book aside as Peter offers him several cubes of chocolate. 

“I don’t get why you two don’t just date each other,” it was Peter who speaks up this time and James can’t help but roll his eyes that even Peter was on his ass about this. 

“That’s right! You don’t get it!” they wait for him to continue with a ‘so’ before demanding something but James just presses his burning hot face into a cushion and has a silent tantrum.  

“I’ll prove you wrong!” Sirius claims boldly and when James looks over, his biker friend was rapidly typing away at his phone, “I’ll give it around 20 minutes until she gets here,” 

James raises a brow, “Who?”

“Your not-girlfriend, of course!” 

“What did you say?” Remus asks what they were all wanting the answer to. 

“Oh nothing~ just that Jamesie-kins over here is really upset over something but doesn’t want to tell us why so we don’t know what to do to help him feel better,” Sirius fakes a pout and watery eyes as James gapes at him, horrified. 

“HOW IS THAT GONNA PROVE ANYTHING?!”

“If she gets here in 20 minutes then that means she prioritises your hurt feelings over going to her favourite over-priced restaurant with Pandora,” James’ eyes nearly bulge out. 

“That’s today?!”

Sirius’ devious smirk was answer enough. 

“I say 10 minutes!” Peter bets. 

“15!” Remus adds on.  

Remus wins the bet when you get there 14 minutes after Sirius’ text message was sent. Your arms are piled up high with James’ favorite junk food snacks, ranging from sweet to savoury. Over your shoulders, you wear your fluffiest blanket (James’ favourite) as a cape and rush forward to drape it over him. No time was wasted as you silently move around their shared flat at lightening speed, putting on the TV and switching to his favourite, comfort show, laying out his snacks on the coffee table and putting the kettle on before snuggling down under the blanket with him. It was a tight fit for the two of you on the sofa but neither of you minded; you were both cuddle bugs and enjoyed the closeness. 

“Get out, you three! Leave Jamie and I alone!” you speak for the first time to shoo the three boys away. They happily oblige, Remus smirking as Sirius and Peter cough up their betted amounts and close the living room door behind them. 

For a long moment, you merely stay there, your arms wrapped around James’ shoulders, one hand lovingly petting his hair as your other presses his face into your chest. James wasn’t shy about voicing how this was his most comforting position for cuddles and it made his heart race that you had cancelled your long awaited plans just to console him. 

“What’s wrong Jamie?” you finally ask, voice soft and slow with patience, “Sirius told me you weren’t feeling so well… but you’re not ill? Are you?” he feels you press the back of your hand against his forehead to check his temperature as he finally locks his strong arms around your midsection and pulls you even closer, “No you’re not, thank goodness,” he falls in love with the relief he hears in your voice. He loves falling in love with you over and over again; it’s so easy, “what can I do to help?”

He doesn’t know why he held back for so long. It was all so clear now. The fact that your eyes sparkled around him the way his did when he looked at you was so unbelieved before, he kinda just voluntarily blinded himself. But now, it was like he was seeing colours for the first time. James just can’t believe it took Sirius, of all people, to make him realise it. What a joke… he almost wants to laugh. But he can’t, not when his heart was ready to beat out of his chest for you. 

“Jamie?”

“…a kiss…” it was a whisper but you heard him so clearly. And he knows because he heard your breath hitch. 

“—what?”

“I want a kiss…to feel better,”

Not wanting to raise your hopes, you press a kiss to his forehead and your heart deafens your ears as it beats loudly against your eardrums. 

“A proper kiss,” he raises his head and pulls up to level his lips with yours, his hazel eyes melting your gaze, “like lovers do,”

You’ve waited so long for this moment that you couldn’t even fathom that it was actually happening and your entire world slowed to a standstill. It wasn’t until James had pressed his full lips against yours that you felt your senses come to life with so much intensity that you felt like you wanted to faint. But you wouldn’t dare miss your first kiss for anything. 

Like lovers do, you kissed. Like lovers do, you embraced. Like lovers do, you whispered sweet words, a life long promise, to one another, “I love you,” 

A/N : this started off as a timestamp that i sneakily wrote this request into (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ i didn’t know how to conclude it at first but i just kept writing and writing and now it’s finished haha! i hope you darlings enjoy the read! and i would also like to humbly tag my beloved moot @diputy for reasons she understands on a deep level (⸝⸝⸝• ω •⸝⸝⸝) ♡

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.” 

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all. 

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips. 

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly. 

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest.  “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting. 

What a bunch of insufferable fools. 

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number. 

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.” 

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.” 

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.” 

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock.  “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life.  “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.” 

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”  

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.” 

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup. 

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.” 

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.” 

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy. 

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.” 

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards. 

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few. 

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.) 

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire. 

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster. 

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.” 

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother. 

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.” 

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?” 

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.” 

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?” 

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.” 

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?” 

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks. 

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.” 

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think. 

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance. 

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends. 

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?” 

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?” 

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.” 

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.” 

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work. 

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf. 

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes. 

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance.  “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.” 

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.) 

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless. 

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand. 

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight. 

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins. 

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position. 

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children. 

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?” 

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls. 

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally. 

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the  emptiness of your unbroken charade. 

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.) 

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots.  The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you. 

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.” 

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?” 

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks. 

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the  hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter. 

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably. 

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.” 

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?” 

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!” 

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?” 

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.” 

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?” 

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it. 

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow. 

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear. 

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.” 

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought. 

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion. 

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately! 

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails. 

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must. 

What’s wrong? 

The question echoes in your head. 

Ha! 

You scream inwardly, if they only knew! 

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor. 

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes. 

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.” 

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!” 

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.” 

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side. 

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second. 

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?” 

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?” 

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.” 

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you. 

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt. 

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.” 

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?” 

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.” 

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders. 

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms. 

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly. 

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.” 

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.” 

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background. 

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!” 

Turns out, you are not fine. 

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen. 

 —

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly. 

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.” 

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly. 

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin. 

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you. 

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.” 

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius. 

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half. 

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.” 

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds. 

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!” 

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights. 

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!” 

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick. 

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.” 

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.” 

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close. 

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair. 

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.  

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.” 

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors. 

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.” 

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.) 

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.” 

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase. 

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.” 

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him. 

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway. 

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling. 

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you. 

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior. 

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?” 

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly. 

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others. 

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern,  as well.” 

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades. 

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.” 

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself. 

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you. 

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?) 

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House. 

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?” 

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.” 

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.” 

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more: 

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!” 

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets. 

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary. 

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?” 

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?” 

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?” 

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.” 

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you. 

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.” 

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.” 

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses. 

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders. 

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes. 

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before? 

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words. 

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them. 

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell? 

When does duty end? And when does life begin? 

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive. 

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.” 

You want to go to sleep already. 

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport. 

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.” 

You miss your cat. 

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.) 

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself. 

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus. 

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument. 

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under. 

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!” 

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms. 

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger. 

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask. 

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters. 

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included. 

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy. 

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva. 

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose. 

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone. 

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.) 

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands  rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena. 

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains. 

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire. 

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!” 

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands. 

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes. 

“Daphne, get away from there!” 

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain. 

But there is nothing. 

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom. 

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes. 

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.” 

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.” 

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat. 

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. 

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.” 

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile. 

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side. 

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you. 

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms. 

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor. 

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever. 

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books. 

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to. 

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic? 

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons. 

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else. 

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!” 

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.” 

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw. 

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated. 

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.” 

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold. 

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time. 

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another. 

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies. 

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you. 

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.” 

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?” 

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare. 

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.” 

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.” 

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye. 

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”  

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones. 

(Hogwarts is the best!) 

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival. 

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy. 

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in. 

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”) 

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane. 

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor. 

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S. 

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?” 

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his. 

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing. 

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl. 

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.” 

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.” 

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie. 

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.) 

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her. 

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?” 

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.” 

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching. 

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.” 

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . .  I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly. 

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground. 

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home. 

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak. 

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.” 

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!” 

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.” 

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room. 

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle. 

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’ 

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents. 

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.) 

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?” 

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.” 

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans. 

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain. 

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you. 

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”) 

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time. 

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely? 

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all. 

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders. 

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to. 

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!” 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.” 

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!” 

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!” 

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!” 

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!” 

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?” 

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.” 

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life. 

You hate her. 

You hate her with all your heart. 

But even monsters need a heart to breathe. 

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor. 

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne. 

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.) 

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks. 

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard. 

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.” 

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death. 

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.” 

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!” 

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation. 

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.” 

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?” 

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word. 

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name. 

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.” 

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills. 

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. 

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.) 

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours. 

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one. 

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed. 

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams. 

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even. 

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm. 

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him. 

Bile rises to your throat. 

Tears fall from your eyes. 

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.) 

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.” 

“I promise. . .  you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.” 

You pass out in her arms. 

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes. 

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream. 

You are tired. 

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give? 

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this? 

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now. 

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you? 

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire. 

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back. 

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit. 

Maybe. . . 

If you move a few inches forward. . . 

If you just fly. 

You’d be free. 

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.” 

I don’t care. 

Go away. 

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone? 

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest. 

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with. 

You let your weight shift over the window. 

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly. 

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh. 

Maybe tomorrow, then. 

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?” 

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.” 

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.” 

You stay silent. 

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice. 

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.” 

You nibble on your bruised lip. 

Could you really? 

Maybe just this once. 

You’re only human, magic as you are. 

You take one step forward. 

Then another. 

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion. 

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days. 

To do what is right. 

To endure. 

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then. 

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve. 

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation. 

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother. 

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands. 

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her. 

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!” 

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands. 

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!” 

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.” 

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.” 

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.” 

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake. 

“Mum, wake up, please!” 

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear. 

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s. 

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!” 

There’s a faint smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor. 

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

🐾 Marauders Masterlist 🐾

Sirius Black

Imagines ↳ Orestes — in which Marlene McKinnon is very very gay ... but her sister isn’t. ↳ Attention to Detail — in which Sirius is desperate to learn to tell when Lola is uncomfortable, especially after he figures it out the hard way. ↳The Linguist — in which rockstar!Sirius goes to visit his old friend—or were they more?—while on tour.      ↳Part 1: The Bouquet      ↳Part 2: The Bookshop      ↳Part 3: The Bistro (coming soon ...) ↳Strings — in which rockstar!Sirius reconnects with the girl of his dreams at the symphony. ↳Part 1      ↳Part 2

Blurbs ↳ The Rebel Black Boy — in which neither Sirius nor Freya want to be here, but at the very least, they can find solace in one dance together. ↳ Screaming Portraits — in which Sirius has been anxiously waiting at Grimmauld Place for ages before his girl comes home. ↳ What Do You Want To Be? — in which Sirius’s panic attack takes a sudden but very sweet turn. ↳ Squint And You'll See It — in which Sirius can't imagine why his potions partner won't wear her glasses.

Definitely Don’t Imagine ... (special series) ↳ ... Sirius Admiring from Afar  ↳ ... Sirius’s First Encounter with an Electric Blanket ↳ ... Sirius Getting You out of Class

Tiktok Trends ↳ Lipstick Stains — in which Y/N and Sirius do the trend in which one partner covers the other’s face in lipstick stains. ↳ Favorite Photo — in which Sirius does the trend where he can’t stop staring at his favorite photo of Y/N and himself

Remus Lupin

Imagines coming soon ... requests always opened!

Blurbs ↳ Smuggle-Born — in which James, Sirius, and Peter get the wrong idea about where Remus is going every couple days.

James Potter

Imagines ↳ September — in which James falls in love far too easily.

Blurbs ↳ Cute Kid — in which James Potter falls in love with one of his first graders' mom. (This is a blurb-headcannon-list-story-series thing? idk but it's cute so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) ↳ Parent-Teacher Conferences ↳ Seeing Each Other Around Town ↳ Career Fair ↳ Liam and James Make You A Birthday Gift ↳ James Takes Liam to School ↳ You Get A Visitor in the ER ↳ Kindergarten Graduation

September

Summary: James falls in love far too easily.

Notes: Harry Potter Universe, 1975-78, James Potter x Remus’s cousin!OC, non-Jily AU, imagine.

It was that time of the month.

Remus Lupin was curled up on the couch in the living room of the Lupin residence. He was wearing a large patched sweater, sweatpants, and thick wool socks despite the warmth of this particular summer morning; the sun was barely up and it was already quite warm outside. 

James Potter and Sirius Black sat on the opposite end of the couch, both with worried looks. They had arrived at the Lupins’ the night before to provide support—both emotional and physical—to their lycanthrope friend, but at this point, they weren’t sure what to do. Remus had a seemingly-unbreakable fever, and Sirius had been attentively dabbing away at his brow for the past three hours as Remus shivered under his layers of clothing.

“What should we do?” said James after a while, and Sirius sighed, furrowing his eyebrows anxiously.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” he said. “He’ll be fine after the transformation tonight, but until then, all we can do is—”

Old wood floors creaked from the hall. James and Sirius looked at each other before their attention turned to the new arrival. 

Shuffling from the narrow hallway came what could only be described as a walking load of laundry. Blanket upon blanket was layered on top of a form—though the only way anyone could tell there was a person under it all was the two feet scuffling about in slippers and the pair of glasses similar to James’s that peered from under a winter hat and two upturned hoods. 

The pile of blankets dragged itself to the kitchen, where a delicate hand ventured out of the cocoon of warmth to fetch a mug, then a carton of milk, and finally a tin of something Sirius and James couldn’t quite catch. 

A solid minute passed in which the laundry pile prepared something in the mug before turning and trudging into the sitting room.

“‘M cold, ‘n m’cr’mps ‘r bad,” a small voice said from the depths of the pile, holding the mug out to Remus’s shivering form, who gladly took it. The blanket monster waved James off of the couch, who stood out of the way very confusedly, before taking his place and reclining over the expanse of empty space. 

Then, very suddenly, it opened its blanket-webbed arms.

Inside the blankets, there lay a girl around James, Remus, and Sirius’s age, who was wrapped in many items of winter clothing, much like Remus. The lanky boy wasted no time in taking a gulp from his mug—James and Sirius now realized that it was hot chocolate—and scrambling into the girl’s warm embrace. 

“Owww,” the girl groaned as Remus situated himself, and he froze, moving more carefully.

“Sorry, Ember,” he muttered, removing his elbow from her gut. The two lay there together, covered in blankets and in quite a bit of pain, leaving Sirius and James to stare at them as if they were completely foreign.

Finally, James was brave enough to break the silence. 

“What the actual fuck?”

~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~

Remus’s fever eased up in the afternoon, and, upon a multitude of questions about the mystery girl he had been cuddling with all day, explained: she was September Jane Howell, Remus’s cousin (on his mother’s side; she was a Muggle, but she did know about Remus’s condition and the wizarding world), though she lived with the Lupins for reasons Remus didn’t let on. James and Sirius still weren’t sure how they had never heard of her before today—they had known Remus for nearly six years now—but they had enough sense not to pry.

James and Sirius stayed at the Lupins’ for a week, and James swore it was the most painful seven days of his life.

Despite their rocky introduction, September was a fantastic person. She was kind and very intelligent—not to mention the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life. Her short hair was occasionally tied up in two little buns, which James tried very hard not to find endearing, and her olive skin was completely covered in freckles that only darkened with the summer sun.

But James knew better than to fall for September. He was already in love with Lily Evans, and he’d be damned if he didn’t marry the red-headed beauty. 

~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~

It was a year before James saw September again.

He, Sirius, and Peter were all staying at the Lupins’ once again to help Remus (and just to hang about) and, of course, that meant that September would be there. James knew—or he thought he knew, at least—that he had overcome his childish infatuation with Remus’s cousin.

But when James entered Remus’s house only to see September with her head thrown back, laughing at something Sirius had said— 

He nearly passed out on the spot. 

~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~

Yet another year passed before James gathered the courage to do something about his interest in September. Lily had rejected him for what felt like the millionth time just before the winter holiday, revealing that she would never date him, ever—

—even if she were interested in men.

Although he was a bit embarrassed—he had been pining for a girl who physically couldn’t be interested in him for the past six years—James was barely sad. He had felt his crush on her dwindling for a while, at that point, and he honestly wasn’t even sure why he kept up the charade. 

Remus had decided to host a small New Year’s Eve party for his friends (plus September, of course), and all of the Marauders were invited, along with Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Alice, and Frank. Remus was usually very reserved, never one for attention, but with a lot of persuasion, Sirius got him to invite more people than just the Marauders. 

Everyone had arrived by half past nine with the exception of Marlene, Dorcas, and James. September was on Sober Friend duty with Remus since neither really fancied the idea of going without their wits for the night, and she was in the kitchen when James arrived.

She heard him before she saw him, though. James shouted a boisterous greeting to Remus, Sirius, and Peter, hugging each in turn, before saying hello to everyone else. (He strategically avoided Lily, still mildly embarrassed with the whole thing.) Almost immediately, Sirius dragged his best mate to the counter in the kitchen that was designated as the bar, and there she was. 

Time slowed in James’s mind as September turned, her hair falling perfectly over one shoulder. She smiled and walked to him, her hips swaying in an effortlessly sultry fashion under the skin-tight pine dress she wore. Before he knew it, she was hugging him, saying hello and offering him a red solo cup full of what smelled like fruit punch spiked with Firewhisky. 

Sirius hastily dragged James out of the kitchen and away from September, knowing immediately that James was in for it now. 

“James!” Sirius snapped in front of James’s face, trying to retrieve him from his dazed state, and, much to his relief, James blinked rapidly. 

“What?!” he shouted, slightly too loud, earning strange looks from a handful of people. “What?” he whispered harshly to Sirius.

“Mate, are you alright?” asked Sirius. “You saw Ember and just … blanked.”

As if he had forgotten, James remembered his recent encounter with Remus’s cousin. The way her lips curved into a smile … her shining eyes … her chest pressed against his ….

“James!” Sirius snapped in James’s face again. “Mate, stop that!”

“Shit.” James cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

Sirius chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve got it bad, Prongs.”

Ok I'm sorta back into writing? Idk it's slow going but we're going at least right?

So I saw this thing like a couple months ago about preschool teacher!james potter and I literally havne't been able to get it out of my head since I read it and I just LOVE the idea

so I'm gonna write a little au about it I think :):) I'm kinda super excited and I have a couple ideas already, but if you have any requests (or if you think this is a terrible idea lmao), feel free to let me know and I'll do my best to make those happen for you! <3<3

[1] Parent-Teacher Conferences

Summary: James meets his favorite student's mother for the first time.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam), inspired by this post by @ravishinglavishingluvr

Next Part: Seeing Each Other Around Town Series Masterlist here

teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james te—

specifically james as a kindergarten teacher

(see inspiration post)

(just kindergarten instead of preschool)

(yaknow, for the plot)

Okok lets get started :D:D:D

You’ve got a sweet baby boy of a son (I’m sorry if you don’t!! I also don’t but idk my stepmom is pregnant with a boy and I’m super excited and this mess is what came out so here you go)

And he’s five and in James’ kindergarten class

Baby boy is just the sweetest little thing

James loves him to death

He’s smart and nice and helpful and just an absolute gem

Like seriously tho James goes to the library during his lunch break to hang out with school librarian!Remus and school secretary!Sirius and just can’t shut up about how much he loves your son like James just talks about him the whole lunch period

And Remus and Sirius are like

“That’s great, James 😐"

But James doesn’t care he’s just too excited to have such a bright young boy in his class

And also (because James is nosy af) he’s super curious to see what kind of parents this kid has

So parent-teacher conferences roll around and he’s like “What kind of geniuses are raising this kid?? Let’s see em????”

And then nurse!reader rolls up to the 7:30 PM meeting, still in her hospital scrubs and profusely apologizing for being like three minutes late

And James is like

What.

Not at ALLLLLL what he was expecting

(not that he’s complaining, you’re fucking adorable and a great break from all the stuffy parents he’s had to deal with all day)

So you and him sit down and talk about your son’s work at school

And James just gushes about him to you practically the whole time

Like legit James fell for him before he even met you

Meanwhile you’re like

1) damn i didn’t know my kid’s teacher was so pretty

(Not like that’s important ofc because you have priorities and your son always comes first.)

And 2) but like can my son read?? Can he do math?? Are you teaching him science sir????

And James is like “yeah but he’s NICE and KIND and EMPATHETIC

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GET FIVE YEAR OLDS TO SAY THEY’RE SORRY

“AND HE JUST DOES IT”

And you’re like

“……yeah…… bc that’s an important part of learning to be a good person … ofc I showed him how to be kind?? Like what????”

And James

(poor baby’s bar is on the floor from all the Karens who’s kids he teaches)

He’s just so enamored about how you’re just like naturally kind and caring??

And you imparted that onto your kid????

Your conference time is the last one on James’ schedule, and he absolutely irritates the fuck out of Remus and Sirius as he drives them back to their flat

Like he can’t shut up about you

And your kid

Like he just loves your son

And has a little puppy-love crush on you

Remus pretends to be annoyed and Sirius teases him

But when James drops them off they’re already planning your wedding

(Remus: “You know, we haven’t actually even met her …” Sirius: “So? Have you ever seen James this smitten??? It’ll happen, love. Trust the process.”

Next Part: Seeing Each Other Around Town

📚 Cute Kid Masterlist 📚 [Completed]

Aaaaalrighty folks I'm starting a series that I actually intend to finish (mark it on the calendar). It's more of a series of blurbs than anything, and maybe eventually I'll convert it into an actual series, but we'll see. I'm trying to keep it as easy for me as possible because I've found it really difficult to write consistently lately, so I super appreciate your patience <3<3<3 Anyway, I hope you like it!!

Summary: Your son is the light of your life. It's always been you and him, and you've never felt the need for anything else in your life. But maybe—just this once—you could indulge in something you want instead. Though, it might be a little tricky, seeing as he's Liam's kindergarten teacher. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam), inspired by @ravishinglavishingluvr's post here <3

↳ Parent-Teacher Conferences — in which James meets his favorite student's mom for the first time.

↳ Seeing Each Other Around Town — in which James discovers his favorite student and his mom are his across-the-street neighbors and now he can't stop seeing her everywhere.

↳ Career Fair — James holds a parents' career fair, to which Liam's mom is invited.

↳ Liam and James Make You A Birthday Gift — in which, inspired by his birthday party at school, Liam goes to James for help with your birthday present.

↳ James Takes Liam to School — in which, having grown closer with James over the month after your birthday, he offers to help lighten the load of a stressful morning.

↳ You Get A Visitor in the ER — in which you're working overtime when you get a visit from an unexpected someone who makes your shift just a bit less excruciating.

↳ Kindergarten Graduation — in which Liam graduates from kindergarten and another thing changes in your life.

[2] Seeing Each Other Around Town

Summary: James discovers his favorite student and his mom are his across-the-street neighbors and now he can't stop seeing her everywhere.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam), inspired by this post by @ravishinglavishingluvr. Tiny little bit of angst in this one but it's negligible. Y'all this is gonna be a slow burn but we'll get there. Also I'm updating sorta regularly now yay!!!

A/N (23/5/24): FINALLY edited this. I'm out of school, so hopefully I'll have time to continue this series <3

Previous Part: Parent-Teacher Conferences Next Part: Career Fair Series Masterlist here

Poor James is completely infatuated with you after parent-teacher conferences

He just can’t get you out of his head

And Sirius and Remus are usually the ones who suffer the consequences

Their apartment is on the way to school from James’ house, so they almost always carpool

And lately, the entire car ride, James Cant. Shut. Up. about you

(“Boys, you should’ve seen her—she’s so sweet—of course she’s Liam’s mom—Pads, you don’t understand—they’re so similar—Remus, she’s gorgeous—did you see her????”)

By the end of the week, Sirius and Remus are very amused with James’ adoration for you

But it also gets kinda irritating after a while, so they’re pretty thankful when the weekend rolls around and they (hopefully) get a small break from his incessant enamored babbling

Saturday rolls around, and James is up at six thirty (hard to break out of the habit when school starts at eight) and shuffling out to the lobby of his apartment building in his pajamas, robe, and slippers to get the mail and the newspaper

But just because James’ body wakes up early doesn’t mean James’ brain wakes up at the same time so he’s out by his mailbox looking confusedly at the newspaper and wondering why he suddenly can’t read

And after like a solid thirty seconds of him just squinting really hard he finally realizes it’s because he left his glasses inside

He’s doing his best guys, he’s doing his best

So James is about to turn around and go back to his own flat to get his glasses (and probably a cup of coffee) when he hears his own name— —just … well, kinda

“Mr. Potter?”

James just about jumps out of his skin because what teacher expects to see one of their students outside of school???? Like no thank you

Don’t get me wrong, James loves his kids to death and he’d die for them any day

But it’s the weekend

So no thanks

But then James realizes it’s Liam and he’s lowkey relieved because like

If he has to see a student outside of school, he’d rather it be this one

And then it occurs to James that if Liam is in his apartment building at six thirty in the morning, then he probably lives here

And if Liam lives here, then …

“Liam?”

Poor James can’t help the full-body flush that rushes through him at your voice

Boy looks like someone dunked him in tomato juice

His head snaps from Liam (or at least the blurry shape that has Liam’s voice) to where your voice is coming from, and it hits him that you’re whispering (very tiredly and cutely, if you asked James) from the floor below his own, leaning over the railing to watch as your son presumably gets the mail

How the hell didn’t he notice you lived in his apartment building????????

Not that he’s complaining ofc :):):):):):)

James realizes after a minute that Liam asked if he’s alright, and he’s just like “Yeah!!” and utterly beaming

(Unbeknownst to James, you realize who exactly Liam is talking to and blush just as terribly as James does when you realize you’re still in pajamas and aren’t at all presentable)

You say good morning to him as well (from the balcony) and James is pretty sure he’s about to melt

(You call him Mr. Potter tho and it lowkey makes him cringe and remember that Liam is like RIGHT next to him)

So you and him exchange pleasantries like Romeo and Juliet with the balcony :) you get it?? :):):) while Liam gets the mail from your own mailbox and walks it up the stairs back to you

(he says “here you go, mama” in his sweet little voice as he hands the small stack to you and you say the gentlest “thank you, baby” back and James’ heart feels like goop in his chest)

James barely makes it back into is own apartment before he’s squealing and doing a goofy little dance out of overflowing joy

And the best part?

That's not the last time he sees you. Not even close.

Over the next several weeks, James begins to notice you everywhere around town

He sees you and Liam at the grocery store (you’re there with Liam and give him the choice between dino nuggets and spring rolls; he decisively choses the latter)

And on his way to work (on one of the few days where Remus and Sirius aren’t carpooling with him, as Remus was sick and Sirius stayed home to care for him), James sees you in your own car on your way to work

And when you and Liam go on walks on the weekends (James had taken to mowing Remus' mother's lawn, which was on your walking path, shirtless every Saturday morning—for entirely unrelated reasons, of course, and he will take no questions on the matter …)

James still isn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed you before because how could he have missed you?? You’re gorgeous????

(Of course, poor Remus and Sirius get to hear about his fawning even more now)

(They both find it cute though and they like to give him advice, so it’s fine)

So eventually one Friday night, James can’t sleep and is done with his lesson plans

And he’s just bored, so what does he do?

Go to the grocery store, of course

So James ventures out, once again in his pajamas, to the grocery store to get some treats to eat while he watches Antiques Roadshow until he falls asleep

And of course—he should’ve known at this point honestly—there you are

(Also in your pajamas)

And James says hi before he can really stop himself, and you look a little spooked for a second (because who tf would be talking to you in the grocery store at ten at night?) but then you realize it’s him and you say hi back with a sweet little smile that turns James' insides to warm fudge

Apparently, Liam is at Draco's birthday sleepover (Draco's a little shit, and James never understood how Liam could stand the kid) and you don’t have a shift at the hospital tonight, so you decided to indulge in some celebratory ice cream

James ends up helping you choose which ice cream you want (chocolate chip cookie dough—a classic) and as thanks, you go with him to the candy aisle to help him pick out treats

James ends up getting a container of pretty much every candy, cookie, and chip that grocery store because he didn’t want to leave yet lmao

And when you’re in line to check out, James mentions that there’s a career fair at school in a month and he’s wondering if you’d maybe want to come and talk about being a nurse????

Pretty please??????

James doesn’t notice how your face falls ever so slightly. You kind of forgot for a second that he’s your son’s teacher and not just some pretty guy that you’ve sorta had a crush on for the past couple weeks. Nothing could happen between the two of you—not if it meant messing with or—god forbid—hurting Liam’s education. But it’s okay. You’ll just suck it up and stick to your job and your son. It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re agreeing in an instant, and James promises to email you the details so you can plan around it

James leaves the grocery store with like ten pounds worth of treats feeling full to the bursting with warmth and his eyes are glowing the rest of the night

He sees this really pretty pearl and gold necklace on Antiques Roadshow and catches himself thinking about how pretty it would look on you, but he doesn’t bother trying to stop himself at this point

It wouldn’t be any help anyway

Next Part: Career Fair

[3] Career Fair

Summary: James holds a parents' career fair, to which Liam's mom is invited.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam), inspired by this post by @ravishinglavishingluvr. Hah, remember last time where I said I was updating semi-regularly? Ok well I actually mean it now, I promise lmao. Not edited but I'll do that tomorrow. Also kinda short, sorry

A/N (1/8/2024): okok I came back here to change the names of some kids bc I forgot that this is a marauders au so I can use the names of like real kids from harry potter smhhhhh please don't get mad at me this is my first time writing an au

Previous Part: Seeing Each Other Around Town Next Part: Liam and James Make You A Birthday Gift Series Masterlist here

James ended up pushing the career fair back a couple weeks because there was a conflict in the schedule

(not because you emailed him back saying you wouldn’t be able to come the day he had originally planned it)

(and definitely not because he asked you to send him your shift schedule so he could make sure you could come, and you were working overtime for two weeks straight)

(James was pretty sure your work schedule violated some labor laws or something, but he was in no place to question you)

Liam is soooo excited for the couple days leading up to the career fair

Because his mom is cool af and he can’t wait to show everybody just how badass you are

(You had Liam pretty young, so you’re totally the parent who all the kids think is the coolest person alive and who all the kids’ older siblings have crushes on and who all the kids’ parents judge because of your age and assume you’re irresponsible, but we don’t have to talk about that)

James is also excited because he hasn’t had a real conversation with you in a couple weeks and he really just wants to talk to you

Poor Sirius and Remus have had to deal with him swooning and fawning and over you and also helping him frantically prepare for this career fair because “guys it HAS to be perfect”

But at long last, the day finally arrives

James scheduled the career fair in the afternoon so he could threaten children with canceling the event if they misbehave, so both he and his kids are bouncing off the walls in excitement all morning

He eats lunch in the library with Remus and Sirius, and they both spend the entire time hyping him up

(It’s mostly Sirius tho)

“You’ve got this, Prongs—be smooth—be nice—you’re a nice bloke, that’s not gonna be a problem for you—”

And eventually, it’s time

The parents that are participating in the fair arrive ten minutes before James has to get the kids from the cafeteria so he can explain to them what’s going to happen (because god knows the majority didn’t read the goddamn email he sent)

You’re a little late (profusely apologizing again, and it reminds James of the first time you met back at parent-teacher conferences) but you read the email the night before (and take another piece of James’ heart hostage while you’re at it) so it’s no worries

James’ summary instructions take a shorter amount of time than expected, so the ten or so parents all get to talking

And ofc James takes this opportunity to talk to you

You’d emailed back and forth about the fair but you hadn’t really talked in person since that night in the grocery store, and James was starting to feel like he’d die if he went another day without talking to you

So he’s plotting his route to you across the classroom when he notices you’ve secluded yourself a few steps away from the majority of the parents’ conversation

James is also horrified to discover you look slightly uncomfortable

Like you’re somewhere you don’t belong

And of course James can’t have that

So he sidles up next to you and asks how your day is going, if your boss gave you a hard time getting off work early, how the chocolate chip cookie dough from a month and a half ago was—anything he can think of, really

By the time James has to go get the kids from the cafeteria, you’re smiling and laughing, and James desperately wants to keep you like that all the time

He shakes himself out of his daydreamy state on the way to the cafeteria because this is your JOB, James, you can’t be distracted by your favorite student’s mom. His sweet, kind, whip-smart, dazzling … mom …

(In the back of his mind, James knows he’s screwed, he just has no idea what to do about it)

(CERTAINLY not act on it, because that would be a complete conflict of interest and totally unprofessional of him)

(But it’s just a crush)

(It’s fine)

(Right?)

ANYWAY

Liam’s on the lookout for you as soon as he steps through the door, and he beams the sweetest little chubby-cheeked smile when he finds you and points you out to his friends

You wink playfully at him, and he and his friends giggle excitedly as they sit in their seats

If James is being completely honest with himself, the career fair was a little disappointing

The majority of the parents’ presentations were kinda lame

And they didn’t make their jobs understandable or appealing for the kids

Dean's mom (she’s regional manager of a popular grocery store chain) complained to the class about her boss pretty much the whole time

Luna’s father, a rather eccentric professor at the local university, just spewed a bunch of nonsense technical jargon about the soul or the meaning of life or something that not even the adults in the room could understand

And Draco's dad (he owns the local insurance company and is just obscenely wealthy, which explains quite a bit of his son's attitude) straight up said he hated his job, so there’s that

But then there was your presentation

James is sure he’s in love by now because you made being a nurse sound so amazing

You talked about how you’re in charge of taking care of people when they’re sick or hurt, how it’s nice to be able to help people, how even when your job gets hard, you feel like you’ve made a positive impact at the end of the day

Once the parents left, James asked the kids who’s presentation they liked the most

And ofc every kid in that room agreed that yours was the best

And a solid 75% said they wanted to be a nurse lmao and he was just so proud

Proud of his kids and also you because your presentation was just so fucking good

As James is taking the kids out to the buses, Liam thanks him for inviting you to the career fair

Ofc James says it was no problem and that you’re really cool, so it was a pleasure to have you there

And Liam kinda gives James this … look … and is like “… yeah, my mom is cool …”

And James gets this horrible feeling that Liam somehow knows

Knows he’s completely smitten for Liam’s mom

Fallen head over heels

Practically in love at this point (though James has a nasty habit of throwing that word around willy-nilly)

(Liam kinda freaks James out a bit sometimes lmao)

Next Part: Liam and James Make You A Birthday Gift

[4] Liam and James Make You A Birthday Gift

Summary: Inspired by his birthday party at school, Liam goes to James for help with your birthday present.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam). Sorta weirdly angsty? Idk how that happened. Vague mention of parental death, grieving.

A/N (27/6/24): Guys just don't believe me when I say I'll update regularly lmao it's never gonna happen. Tried to upload this last night but I literally fell asleep lmao so this is semi edited

Previous Part: Career Fair Next Part: James Takes Liam to School Series Masterlist here

Look.

We all know that James is the best kindergarten teacher at his school.

His students’ test scores always improve through the year

Their standardized test results are exactly where they should be for the grade level, if not higher

And the kids themselves love him

But in order to keep his kids happy and engaged and eager to learn, he sometimes has to … shall we say bend the rules …

Just a teensy weensy bit

A little bit

A tiiiiiiny bit

At the beginning of the year, James told the class that if they were well-behaved by the time that each of their birthdays came around, he would throw a small birthday party for each of them

And let me tell you

The kids were thrilled

James quickly set a few ground rules for the kids (because the admin at his school is stupid and ScHOoL pArTiEs cAnT bE hELd wiThOUt adMiNiStrATivE pErMiSSiOn so he had to be kinda careful)

NUMBER ONE (more for him than them)

James checked each of his students’ allergy records in the school database to figure out what treats he could bring to school 

You know, without sending anyone into anaphylactic shock and probably getting sued in the process

and NUMBER TWO

Everyone must thank Mr. Black at the front desk on the day of each party

(Sirius would help James smuggle treats into his room for these parties, so James figured it’d be nice to have them say thank you)

Honestly, James enjoyed these parties just as much as the kids

Even the planning part was fun for him

About a week before a kid’s birthday, he’d ask them what treat they wanted for their party

Some kids *cough* draco *cough* want a bunch of super-sugary Halloween-type candy

(James gets them reduced sugar and sugar-free knock-off brands for Draco's birthday because he doesn’t think he can handle nineteen sugar-high kids all at once)

Others want to have a pizza party or order from a nearby restaurant

Sweet little Dean just wanted Fig Newtons lmaooo

(James bought an extra pack for her to take home)

But each and every time, no matter what they want, James makes it happen

Liam’s birthday is on January 2nd, which is over winter break

Which is a shame because James was really excited to celebrate it on the day of

Usually with kids who have birthdays in the summer, he celebrates their half-birthday

But that won’t work for Liam obviously bc his half-birthday is in the summer

So James just decides to celebrate Liam’s birthday when they get back from winter break

Before winter break, however, James asks Liam what treat he wants for his party

And Liam

Sweet summer child

Liam says he’d really like some home-made oatmeal raisin cookies

Like

What.

What the fuck kind of answer is that??

For a sIX YEAR OLD

WHAT.

This fucking child is somehow like ninety years old and six at the same fucking time

James’ utter bafflement must have been visible on his face because Liam explains himself pretty quick

And James’ heart breaks when Liam tells him that his grandma died when he was really young but his mom tells him all the time that her mom’s oatmeal raisin cookies were the best thing ever

Apparently every time you try to recreate them for Liam, some disaster happens and you’re unable to finish 

(i.e. you’re called into work and have to take the cookies out of the oven half-baked so the house doesn’t burn down, you and Liam take a nap while the cookies are baking and almost actually burn the house down, Liam accidentally gave you the salt rather than the sugar, etc.)

And Liam just really wants to try good oatmeal raisin cookies

He’s had them from a box from the grocery store before, and they’re not bad (it kinda surprises James that he liked them at all, but then he remembers who exactly he’s talking to lol), but Liam wants to try some good home-made oatmeal raisin cookies

And maybe bring one home for his mom

And FURTHERMORE, Liam is plenty aware that no child in a million years besides him actually enjoys oatmeal raisin cookies

So he asks for chocolate chip for the rest of the class so they get something they’ll actually enjoy

James is just kinda speechless at first

Like you can hear him just blinking down at this sweet, kind, selfless little six-year-old

And slowly he nods, and the bell rings to signify the end of the day (and semester since it’s the last day of school before winter break)

Poor James is practically catatonic as he gets his kids on their busses and in cars home, then packs his own things and finally makes his way to the library to get Remus and Sirius

And they both know something’s up immediately

After some gentle prodding (and Sirius outright refusing to leave the school library until James tells them what was wrong), James tells them what happened

(Remus and Sirius aren’t quite sure what the big deal is until James explains further)

James’ parents died during his second year at university, and he was horribly torn up about it for years after

Still is, sometimes

He was always terribly close with his parents, and they would always do anything—anything—for their James

(Including practically adopt Sirius during high school)

And now, thinking about Liam’s grandmother dying when he was young, all James could think about was you

James couldn’t imagine you’re any older than him, and he’s twenty-four, which means you had Liam young

And if Liam’s grandmother—your mother—had died when Liam was young, that meant you were left to take care of a baby all on your own at—what, twenty years old? Nineteen? All while going to university to become a nurse, and then actually becoming a nurse after that, long shifts and heavy workloads and all

The thought made James’ heart ache terribly in his chest

That night, James spends nearly two hours searching for different oatmeal raisin cookie recipes

He plans to do trials 

A competition of sorts with Sirius and Remus serving as judges

Because James is DETERMINED to bake the best homemade oatmeal raisin cookie Liam will ever have

(He’s sort of nervous for you to eat one, but he figures even if it isn’t as good as your mother’s, it hopefully won’t be awful)

James, Sirius, and Remus’ holiday celebrations only really extend to sleeping over on Christmas Eve at Remus’ mother’s house, which is only a couple blocks away

So James spends every day of winter break baking a new cookie recipe and shoving cookies down Remus’ and Sirius’ throats

But by the beginning of second semester, James has crafted the perfect oatmeal raisin cookie recipe

(It was rather simple, actually, and the “secret ingredient” was more of a secret process than anything; James used only brown sugar rather than a mix of brown and granulated, added some cinnamon, and put the balls of dough in the freezer for twenty minutes before baking so they would be nice and chewy)

James decides to hold Liam’s party at the end of the first week back at school

(Just to make sure the kids know they’ve got to go back to learning)

And Liam’s party goes swimmingly!! (ofc)

James brought chocolate chips, as promised

But he was terribly proud of his oatmeal raisin cookies, so he brought enough for the whole class as well

And holy shit

James never thought it could be done

But EVERY SINGLE KID in that classroom was eating oatmeal raisin cookies like there was no tomorrow

Like

James tried to make sure there was a cookie left at the end for Liam to take home to you

But he couldn’t keep them out of these kids’ grubby little paws and they ended up eating them all :(((((((((

James is really sad when he notices

He hadn’t quite realized just how much he wanted you to try his cookies but now he’s really disappointed

And poor Liam :((((((

Poor baby Liam is also pretty put out by it, James can tell

James apologizes to Liam about it

Liam says it’s fine, but James sees right through it

He gives Liam a big hug at the end of the day as well as another apology

(And a lollipop, but secretly so the other kids don’t ask for one too)

A month passes, and everything’s pretty normal

Until one weekend in early February, James hears knocking on his apartment door

He’d been grading, and Remus and Sirius were over to hang about and chat

James wasn’t expecting anyone else to arrive so he’s pretty confused

But he answers anyway

(Let's be honest here people, James would be the first to be killed in a horror movie)

Thankfully Jason doesn’t murder James on his doorstep

Instead (and very surprisingly) it’s Liam who’s standing anxiously at James’ front door

Immediately, James thinks the worst

Did something happen to Liam? Are you home? Did something happen to you?

James is immediately crouched in front of Liam, eye level, asking him what he needs

And Liam anxiously stutters out that he needs help

With what? you may ask

Well, my dear reader

Liam needs help making homemade oatmeal raisin cookies

For his mom

For her birthday

LIAM ISTG—ASDKFJHLWN

YOUR SON IS SUCH A SWEETHEART

AND JAMES CANNOT GET OVER IT

(He’s also super relieved bc he was real scared for a second that something terrible had happened)

So Liam and James and Remus and Sirius (who Liam knows as Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black from school) all get to work making homemade oatmeal raisin cookies for you for your birthday

Liam explains that you’re working a twelve-hour shift and a couple hours of overtime on top of that, so you set him up with Ms. Hope (Remus’ mom, who watches him often)

Apparently Liam asked her if he could go to James’ apartment to ask if he could bake oatmeal raisin cookies for his mom, and Ms. Hope said yes

(Remus quickly calls his mother to reassure her that Liam arrived safe and sound and is currently baking with them, just so she doesn’t worry herself)

Liam also informs James, Remus, and Sirius that he’s supposed to be staying at Ms. Hope’s house until tomorrow morning, when you’ll pick him up

Ms. Hope insisted that you leave Liam with her and not worry about him, if just for the night

The four boys have a blast for the next three hours or so, baking far too many batches of cookies and then finding a nice gift bag to put them in

James also gets some stray craft supplies (he keeps it around in case he runs out at school) and everyone makes their own birthday cards for you

Harry goes back to Ms. Hope’s just in time for dinner, which James, Sirius, and Remus join them for, much to Ms. Hope’s excitement

The evening is just terribly fun for all of them

Fast forward to the next day and you’re rushing to look semi-presentable to go get Liam from Ms. Hope’s house

The doorbell rings, and you’re cursing internally because you’re already fifteen minutes late

You got home so late at night that it was actually early in the morning, and you’d overslept

And now there’s another thing to deal with at the door

James’ eyebrows raise slightly at the force with which you wrench open the door, and he’s a little concerned that you’ll be displeased at what he’s done

But you realize who it is (Liam) and who he’s with (James) and all the tension in your shoulders melts back

Liam is immediately all over you, wishing you a happy birthday with a big hug and a wet kiss to your cheek and resting his head on your shoulder when you pick him up

You’re completely thrilled to see him

(If immensely confused about why your son's teacher is also on your doorstep with a rather large gift bag)

James smiles sheepishly, but he’s reassured by your smile as you say good morning

So he explains the whoooooole story with you pitching in here and there

Until finally he gets to the fact that he and Liam (and Remus and Sirius ofc) have made you oatmeal raisin cookies

At this point, James is pretty certain that you can’t do much to endear him further to you

But you’ve got the most lovely way of proving him wrong when he begins to think like that because the way your eyes light up at the mention of oatmeal raisin cookies makes James want to keep repeating the words over and over so the look never fades from your face

He hands over the gift bag (with another small explanation about the two extra cards and who exactly Sirius and Remus are), wishes you a happy birthday, and politely excuses himself

As much as James loves to be around you and Liam, he knows his place

At the end of the day, he’s still Liam’s kindergarten teacher, and Liam is still your son

So he leaves you and Liam to celebrate your birthday between the two of you

When he gets back to his flat and locks the door behind him, James feels a strange sort of ache settle over his shoulders and seep deep into the cavity of his chest. He swallows around the strange feeling in his throat and takes a deep breath. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. 

Next Part: James Takes Liam to School

[5] James Takes Liam to School

Summary: The month following your birthday sees you and Liam growing closer with James outside of school, and when you're stressed and in a rush, James offers to help.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam). Last one was really long and this one is kinda just regular length, sorry :/

A/N (26/7/2024): ok I made a small change since I first posted this ... just figured a little Tonks cameo would be fun lol so now Tonks watches Liam before school :)

Previous Part: Liam and James Make You A Birthday Gift Next Part: You Get A Visitor in the ER Series Masterlist here

Okok first lemme explain something really quick

Your apartment building has a lobby sort of thing on the first floor right as you walk in

And this lobby doesn’t really have a ceiling if you know what I mean? Like the building is hollow above the lobby area, and there are like balcony/hallway things inside the building for each floor where you can enter the apartments

(idk if that makes sense but please just bear with me on this one pls)

So you and Liam’s apartment is on the second floor of the building, right above the post boxes for the building

And you, Liam, and James have figured out that James’ apartment is the one right above yours

You’re not 100% sure how you feel about this yet … but so far it’s only brought good things (read: cookies for your birthday and seeing James get his mail every day while you’re on your way out the door for work)

James, on the other hand, is lowkey super thrilled

Bc he loves (LOVES) to see you in your scrubs early every morning

The two of you have made a habit of making light conversation for a couple minutes in the morning

(Or sometimes James just waves at you with the sweetest, prettiest, kindest smile if you’re in a rush)

It’s the highlight of James’ day tbh

Maybe tied with seeing Liam at school

You and James have actually become pretty good friends through these small interactions

Over the month or so since your birthday, James has learned, little by little, what constitutes a regular day in you and Liam’s household

Mornings are rather chaotic since you usually work 12-hour shifts from 7 to 7, so you pay one of the high school girls that lives in the building to watch Liam for an hour and drive him to school

You leave at 6:30-ish, which is right around the time James gets his mail (fucking morning person)

(He's started putting an alarm on his phone for 6:20 to remember to see you get the mail every morning)

Tonks is the girl who watches Liam in the morning (she insists you call her that and who are you to say no), and she also picks him up from school on Tuesdays and Thursdays and drops him off at Ms. Hope’s house across the street for a few hours before you can pick him up from there and take him home (Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Ms. Hope can pick Liam up herself)

It’s a couple evenings a week that James crosses paths with you and Liam as you’re walking across the street back from Ms. Hope’s house

He always takes fifteen minutes or so (as long as you and Liam have the time) to talk with Liam about his day, what he enjoyed at school, if he had trouble on any homework (which is rare), and what he and Ms. Hope got up to after school

(Secretly, James hopes you’ll be impressed with how good he is with kids even though it’s literally his job lmao he knows it’s backwards thinking but he’s just so smitten)

But James knows better than to ask the same boring “what are you doing today” during your daily morning chats

Every morning, he asks you a random question about yourself

The second morning you and James talked (he hadn’t thought to ask you much more than “what are you doing up so early” the first time around), he’d asked about your favorite color

Then it was whether you prefer cats or dogs

James knows a bunch of random trivia about you now, like your favorite food and how you hate working in the med-surg unit and the name of your favorite stuffed animal from your childhood

And every morning, James tells you his own answer to the question of the day

His favorite color is red (which you think fits him, but he specified that he likes a dark wine color or a maraschino cherry best), he likes cats but prefers dogs (he laughed to himself when he told you like he was making an inside joke, but you didn’t ask questions), his favorite food is his mom’s recipe for biryani (you noted that he used the past tense when speaking of her), he loves bringing his kids to the library because one of his best friends is the librarian (James mentioned Remus, and you nodded because he’s Ms. Hope’s son), and his favorite stuffed animal is a plush rabbit named Miss Beatrice, who he still has in his apartment (you bullied him into admitting that he still sleeps with her on occasion, but it's so sweet you can't really laugh)

It’s become almost a sort of game, and you’ve come to know each other quite a bit more in these little five- or ten-minute interactions

It’s fun :)

And it’s normal and regular and consistent, and you and James like it that way

So James is rather alarmed when you come rushing down the stairs and into the lobby at 6:40 one morning, Liam running along with you with his school bag, trying to keep pace

You heave a sigh as you come to stand James’ side, checking your own mailbox (which you usually don’t do in the morning, and it makes James all the more concerned)

James can tell you’re trying not to brush him off but it’s obvious you’re in a rush

You’re halfway through explaining to him that Tonks came down with bronchitis and can’t watch Liam, and on top of that, your alarm didn’t go off this morning because you’d turned it off yesterday for your day off and forgot to turn it back on so you’re already running late, and you hate asking Ms. Hope to watch Liam at the asscrack of dawn—

James doesn’t really think about the words he says before they’re coming out of his mouth

He just offers to take Liam to school

It’s not like he’d be going out of the way for it anyway, I mean he and Liam are going to the exact same place and Liam has already been in James’ apartment before and knows it relatively well, so what’s the harm?

And you kinda … freeze … for a second

And at this point, James knows you pretty well, you know?

He knows you’re gonna refuse, say you can’t ask that of him, so he reassures you that it won’t be a problem at all and says he and Liam will have fun and get to school on time and everything

Just for added effect, he winks at Liam, who giggles and tugs on the sleeve of the shirt under your scrubs and asks with the sweetest, widest eyes if he can stay with Mr. Potter for the morning

And ever the thoughtful little boy, Liam reasons that then you won’t have to be stressed about bothering Ms. Hope or about where Liam might be for an hour in the morning

You’re considering the options, looking between James’ and Liam’s wide, excited eyes, until you finally sigh quietly

Just to be sure, you ask James if he’s sure he doesn’t mind

And of course, James doesn’t

(It took a while for James to convince you to stop calling him Mr. Potter and he’s always seen how you hesitate for a moment before calling him James, but he surprises himself with just how hot he feels under the collar when you don’t hesitate to call him by his first name this time)

You look down at Liam again and nod lightly, and your son is just all smiles and buzzing with excitement immediately

He gives you a hug around one of your legs, which you reciprocate as best as you can, and you exchange ‘I love you’s before you’re thanking James profusely on your way out the door

James watches you get in your car and drive away through the glass front doors of the building

And he must have an awfully fond look on his face

Because Liam just looks up at him with the cutest scrutinizing eyes you’ll ever see and asks “Do you like-like my mom?”

James just about chokes on his spit lmaooo

But Liam isn’t letting James off the hook without an answer, so James tries to be as tactful (and evasive) as he can be and says

“Your mom is very sweet, Liam. I can see where you get it from.”

Your chaotic morning was truly a warning for the rest of the day, because work really sucked

And by the end of your shift, you realize you didn’t tell James where Liam should go after school due to the unforeseen circumstances of the morning, so you’re hoping you won’t find your son sitting on the welcome mat outside of your apartment

But you figure you’ll go to Ms. Hope’s in case James kept to the usual schedule

But when you arrive, Ms. Hope says that James had actually called and told her he’d be taking Liam to his apartment and to tell you that’s where your son would be when you got home

So ofc that’s where you go next

You sort of hesitate to knock on the door at first, just because you’ve never been in or even around James’ apartment and it makes you strangely nervous

(Which is weird because you assisted with surgery on a man who’d been in a motorcycle accident earlier that day, and you’d come out on the other side of that alive and mostly mentally intact)

But your fist kinda just acts for you and knocks on James’ front door

There’s silence, then a high-pitched giggle (Liam) and a sweet chuckle (presumably James) before the door is yanked open and your son is flying into your arms

Well, more like into your legs bc he’s six and short lmao

But you pick him up and rest him on your hip like he’s a lot lighter than he is

And he’s immediately babbling away at you about all the fun things they did at school and how he wants to hang out with Mr. Potter every morning and afternoon and he missed you and look what he made for you during art class today!

You’re already feeling better from your shit day at work, and when you finally get the chance to look towards the doorway again, James is there with the softest, most … ugh he's just the sweetest

Because he looks so in love

And you sort of hate that you can see it in the way he looks at you and Liam

James is truly the kindest, most compassionate man you’ve ever met, and you know that at the end of the day, even when he looks at you and your son like that, you’re already counting the obstacles in your head

Because first and foremost, you’re a mother, always, and your son will always come first no matter what

And James is literally Liam’s kindergarten teacher, and there’s no way you’d even entertain the idea of putting your child’s education anywhere near your own entanglements

And even if that wasn’t a problem, and as much as James makes lovie eyes at you, you haven’t dated since Liam’s father

It would be an enormous change, both for you and Liam

And again, you don’t want your son to get hurt

You hope you’re not as transparent as you feel and that your thoughts aren’t being projected onto your forehead, but the way James reacts to you looking at him makes you think that maybe they were

But … maybe not, because you give him a tight-lipped, sort-of-melancholy smile, and all James does is smile back, and there’s a sort of understanding that passes between you as your son babbles in your arms about his class’ dioramas of the jurassic period

Not now, but … Maybe.

Next Part: You Get A Visitor in the ER

[6] You Get A Visitor in the ER

Summary: You're working overtime when you get a visit from an unexpected someone who makes your shift just a bit less excruciating.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!single mom!reader.

A/N (26/7/2024): this is edited but still kinda short so I may come back to it at some point and add some things ... second to last chapter yay!

Previous Part: James Takes Liam to School Next Part: Kindergarten Graduation Series Masterlist here

About two weeks ago, you woke up in the middle of the night to a hard thump from Liam’s room

You were in his doorway in a flash, of course, because what if he’s dying

And tbh you were kinda close

Turns out he fell out of his bed and the lower right side of his abdomen was hurting really bad

You figured out pretty quick that he probably had appendicitis, which is definitely not ideal

So one rather tense ambulance ride and night in the ER and OR later, you wheeled Liam out of the hospital in a wheelchair so he wouldn't mess up his stitches too much after literally getting an organ removed

You texted James to let him know what happened and that Liam would be staying hope from school for a week to recover

(James had managed to give you his number under the guise of offering to drive Liam to and from school in the future and although you haven't had to ask or even use his number at all, he still has you as one of his pinned contacts)

(Sirius and Remus make fun of him for it)

(Your contact photo is actually a photo of Liam where he's smiling really big while mixing cookie dough for your birthday, which was about three months ago)

As always, James was totally sympathetic and understanding and even dropped by your apartment after school with work for Laim so he wouldn't fall too far behind

You took the week off from work to watch Liam, of course

But you're paying for it now bc your CNO super sucks and isn't understanding at all when it comes to your kid

So now he has you working a fucking double to make up for your missed days

Two 12-hour shifts in a row, 6AM to 6AM

Not fucking fun, dude

(Your CNO is the absolute worst—this is the one that James is pretty sure violates labor laws pretty consistently)

He actually wanted you to do three doubles over the next two weeks but Poppy (not the CNO, but she’s been a nurse at this hospital for time immemorial) told him off, so you only have to do the one today

And at the very least, it’s in the ER

Which isn’t terrible

Definitely not as bad as med-surg

I mean yeah, it can be stressful but it’s nowhere near as bad as medical dramas make it out to be, and it’s pretty rewarding most of the time

It’s a Friday, so Tonks watched Liam in the morning and took him to school, where Ms. Hope picked him up and held onto him for a couple hours until it was time for Ron's sleepover, which she then dropped him off at

So he’s safe and taken care of

And it’s been a pretty quiet night tbh

There was a big car crash during rush hour in the morning but beyond that, nothing super crazy or out of the ordinary

So now you’re on triage duty with Poppy (which just means you and her are hanging out and talking while waiting for something—anything—to happen)

Lily, one of the administrative aides that checks people into the ER, finally pokes her head into the ER at half past ten at night, and it’s rather urgent

Apparently someone’s cut their had pretty badly

You lose a rapid-fire game of rock paper scissors against Poppy, so it’s you that goes to evaluate the patient

But when you enter the ER fast track, you’re really quite surprised

"James?"

To be fair, James is also quite surprised to see you, it's just that he's more smiley and pleased than distressed

He’s hovering near one of the beds and has what seems to be a kitchen towel wrapped around his palm, which you now see has been bleeding quite profusely

You’re at his side embarrassingly quickly and asking him standard questions as he stares at you with a rather glassy look on his face

What happened? Cut my hand while cooking. Can you feel your hand? Um, yeah, it … it hurts pretty bad. Can you tell if it’s still bleeding? I can’t really, no. Do you feel lightheaded at all? Mm, yeah, just … just a bit. Did someone drive you here? Yeah, um, Sirius did … they told him to wait in the lobby.

James is in shock, that much is clear

You ease him to take a seat on the bed and quickly grab a couple forms, which you fill out as you continue asking him questions

Poor boy gets really concerned when you make for the door to the ER proper but ofc you reassure him you’ll be back in a second

You ask Poppy to get Dr. Longbottom before quickly returning to James

And James—Sweet Summer Child James—he's just asking you what you’re doing here so late, if Liam is at Ms. Hope’s, just random questions that aren’t super related to one another

He’s super out of it but you entertain his thoughts and answer whatever questions come to his mind as you ensure that his kitchen towel is applying a decent enough amount of pressure

Alice shows up pretty quickly with a suture tray and asks you to clean James’ cut as she gets ready, which you readily do

You also let her know that James isn’t exactly all there, to which she smiles amusedly and says she can see that lmao

James is kinda confused at first when Alice tries to take away the towel around his hand, but you gently explain what's happening and he understands pretty quick

He looks down at his hand when you finally uncover the cut (it’s long but clean—easy to stitch right up) and poor boy gets a little too light headed at the sight of all the blood that’s covering his hands and the kitchen towel and your latex-gloved hands

James just about falls over onto your shoulder lmaooooo

He doesn’t quite pass out, just like a severe wave of lightheadedness

You quickly encourage him off of your shoulder and you and Alice manage to lay him down on the hospital bed just so he won’t fall off of it and hurt himself if he does decide to pass out

The cut is easy to clean despite how bloody it is, and you round the bed to James’ opposite side as Alice prepares to administer the anesthetic and sew James’ hand up

This entire time, James has just been following your around with his eyes

He’s never gotten to see you work before and it’s really quite interesting to him

And he loves that you’re taking care of him (Such Gentle! Yay!)

Alice asks you to keep James talking and distracted while she sews him up and you happily obliged

It’s kinda hard to keep James talking though because he just keeps asking you questions

By the time Alice is finished with James’ hand, you’ve told him about Liam’s recovery, your shift so far, and how shitty your CNO is for making you work a double

James is much more lucid by the time his stitches are finished which is great because he was sort of starting to worry you

But he’s pretty much all there now :)

He’s also disclosed to you that he cut his hand while trying to take the pit out of an avocado, which you find absolutely hilarious even though you couldn’t really laugh at your own patient

Alice leaves you to wrap James’ hand in protective gauze and give him post-op care instructions

And James is honestly thrilled that your shift has been a quiet one

Because he’s sure that if anyone beyond you two were in the fast track, they would have seen clear as day how he looked at you while you wrapped some soft gauze firmly around his palm

He’s lucky though because you’re tired after working for about sixteen hours with eight still to go, so you don’t really notice the look in his eyes

You give him the normal spiel—wash around the area of the stitches with soap and water not hydrogen peroxide, put vaseline over it, wrap in a non-stick bandage, the works

By the time you’re done, James is just kinda staring at you

You tack on at the end that he can always text you or drop by your apartment to make sure he’s taking care of them correctly

Sirius leaps up from his chair in the lobby when he sees James finally come out of the ER

He was lowkey super worried bc he knows James is the slightest bit squeamish around blood

But now he’s also like super confused bc James is looking at his newly bandaged hand like it had the best compliment ever written on the palm

It’s only on the car ride home that Sirius finally weasels it out of James

Apparently Liam’s mom was working in the ER and she was the one who bandaged up his hand for him after he got stitched up

And apparently, when James was complaining lightly that his palm still hurt right as he was about to leave, she brushed a light kiss against his palm and whispered something to him about how kisses make everything better

Sirius practically has to pick his jaw up off the floor as he and James walked into the latter’s apartment, where Remus had apparently finished their rather bloody attempt at guacamole

And then of course he made James explain what happened to Remus, who just laughs and shakes his head

James’ only regret is that he was too stunned to do anything except wave goodbye as you left

Next Part: Kindergarten Graduation

[7] Kindergarten Graduation

Summary: Liam graduates from kindergarten, and another thing changes in your life.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!single mom!reader.

A/N(18/8/2024): GUYS I FINALLY FINISHED IT!!!!! ok maybe not really finished, I think I may continue to add to this au as I think of ideas and please please please send me ideas/requests if you have any and I'll do my best to write them :) thank you all so much for reading my silly little story, I really appreciate all the love and support you've given me, even when I take months and months to update (sorry) all my love to each and every one of you <3<3<3<3

Previous Part: You Get A Visitor in the ER This is the last one as of right now! Click here for the series masterlist

Alright it’s taken a hot second

But we’re here guys

The end of the year!! *jazz hands*

The school year, that is

Liam has been getting more and more excited for summer break as the weeks pass by

You promised him that you’d visit your dad, whom Liam hasn’t seen since he was two because he lives so far away

You and your dad aren’t exactly the closest but you get along well and your son thinks grandpa’s the funniest thing since sliced bread

And it’s about time that you visit him anyway

But first, Liam needs to get to the end of the school year

And he has! Yay!

The administration at Liam’s school likes to put on a little graduation ceremony for the kindergarteners and the departing fifth graders, and that ceremony happens to be today

And it’s as if your car knows that you have something important to do today

Because she’s just refusing to start up

The engine makes a horrid whining-grinding sound when you turn the key in the ignition, and it makes you a little nervous that the whole thing is gonna blow

So you’ve resigned yourself to finding a different way to get to Liam’s school

Side note: you have the misfortune of being very anxious to get to events quite early in an effort to make sure you aren’t late, and you’ve definitely imparted that worry onto your son

Which means you have a nervous six-year-old switching between pacing back and forth beside your useless car and wrapping his arms around your thigh in an anxious iron grip

At least you’d left your apartment early, so there’s still some time to figure out a solution

You run through the list in your head: the school is close enough to walk to but it would take too much time, Tonks and her parents are at her own high school graduation so that’s obviously not an option, Poppy is working today so she can’t pick you up, and you absolutely refuse to ask anything more of Ms. Hope since she already does so much for you with Liam

The idea dawns on you to take an Uber just as the front door to your apartment building opens

And of course, a solution on legs walks into the parking lot

(Even if you don’t like burdening him by asking for his help)

James smiles as soon as he sees you and Liam

Liam’s face also lights up like a Christmas tree as he waves enthusiastically from his spot attached to your leg

You shouldn’t be surprised when James saunters over to you both to say good morning

And you especially shouldn’t be surprised when he offers help with your car troubles

(You were terrified slightly worried when James had left the ER that you’d crossed a line when you kissed his bandaged palm, and maybe you did, but James didn’t let it change your dynamic—if anything, he was just more and more happy-looking to see you every morning, and it was hard not to let his happiness spread to you too)

You refuse James’ help at first under the guise that his hand was still healing from that cut, but he just laughed and reminded you that he’d cut himself a month ago and his hand is perfectly fine

Which is how you’ve ended up here

The hood of your car propped up, Liam peering eagerly at the engine, James in a very nice-fitting crewneck t-shirt and formal slacks poking around inside the car, and you holding the suit jacket he’s planning on wearing to shake his kids’ hands as they walk across the gymnasium floor and blushing furiously as you try not to stare at the way the short sleeves of James’ shirt fit so nicely around his biceps

You’re plenty familiar with human anatomy, being a nurse and all, but jesus christ—

After a minute or two, James hums in understanding and Liam replicates the sound, trying to look where James is looking

You do your best to school your face, and you succeed for the most part even if you can’t really get rid of your blush

James explains to you and Liam that the bearings in your alternator have broken down and you sigh deeply

He says he’d offer to fix it but—he laughs a little sheepishly—he’s not the best with cars

Still, his friend Sirius, an administrative aide at Liam’s school, is pretty good at car mechanic stuff and James could probably ask him to do it

You aren’t super keen on agreeing (again with the asking for help thing) but either way, getting your alternator fixed right now isn’t a possibility because all three of us have a kindergarten graduation to get to, Mr. Potter

James’ eyes go wiiiiide lmao but you reassure him that you have enough time to get to the school just in time if you leave now

And of course he offers to drive you both there

You accept (not like you have much of a choice) and quickly find yourself on the way to Liam’s school with Liam in the back, sitting in James’ “emergency car seat”

(He explains that he keeps a kids’ car seat in his trunk in case he ever needs to drive a kid anywhere and that this is the car seat he used to drive Liam to and from school that one time)

(You feel alarmed and then thankful and then terribly guilty when you realize you’d never even thought about if Liam was sitting in a car seat that day)

After all that hassle, you, James, and Liam finally arrive at the school building and hurry to the gym, where the ceremony will be taking place

You send Liam down the hall with James with a kiss on the forehead (James thinks about asking for a kiss himself but thinks better of it) before going to sit in the rows of folding chairs set out for parents and family members

You sit with Molly and Arthur, the parents of Liam’s good friend Ron

Arthur is very jolly and cheery at all times and Molly, while occasionally judgemental, is usually quite kind

This graduation ceremony is very abbreviated just because six-year-olds can’t sit still for four hours like they would have to if this was a real graduation

The event starts with a few quick words from Principal McGonagall about how hard the kids have worked this year and how they deserve to enjoy their time off from school

Then it’s time for the kids to walk across the “stage”, which is really just a mobile raised platform

The principal calls a name, hands the child their very own kindergarten diploma, and sends them to have their photo taken with their respective teacher

James (now with his suit jacket back on) has a wide smile on his face as he stands with the other three kindergarten teachers

You cheer for Ron with Molly and Arthur as he walks across the stage to take a photo with his teacher, and when it’s Liam’s turn, Molly and Arthur (and Ron from the side of the stage) cheer with you

When the ceremony is over, Ron and Liam come running to you, Molly, and Arthur asking if they can go to the playground across the street to play for a while

Molly and Arthur agree to take Liam and Ron while you go let James know where you’re going and that you and Liam can walk home if he has somewhere he needs to be

It’s pretty clear from the look on James’ face that he thinks that even just the idea of leaving you and Liam without a ride is atrocious lmao

He just shakes his head like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard and promises to meet you at the playground once he’s done dealing with Draco’s overbearing parents

You laugh and nod in agreement

The playground across from Liam’s school is really fancy

The city built it pretty recently, so it’s tall with a merry-go-round and a tire-swing and metal slides that you’re sure sear children’s skin off on hot days

Liam and Ron are having the time of their lives already, and you sit with Molly and Arthur on a nearby bench under a tree

It’s easy to talk with them because they ask the same questions whenever you talk

How are you? Oh I’m good. How’s Liam doing? He’s good too. Everything good at the hospital? As good as it can be, yeah.

They’re easy to talk to but it’s difficult to relate to them sometimes

Molly and Arthur are so old they could be your parents, and they have seven kids, the oldest of which is only a couple years younger than you

But at the same time, they’re really rather cute

They’ve been married for who knows how long and they’re still so in love (even when Molly threatens to decapitate her husband)

It’s sort of inspirational in a way

Liam and Ron call over to the three of you saying they’ve found a frog under one of the slides

You sigh and get up, knowing Molly doesn’t want to see any sort of amphibian and Arthur has some back problems so he probably couldn’t bend down to see the frog anyway

By the time you reach Ron and Liam, Ron’s got the poor frog cupped in his hands, and you tell him he may want to put it down since it’s scared

Ron understands and finds a puddle to release the frog into

Molly, Arthur, and Ron end up having to leave pretty quickly

Their oldest is graduating today too and they need to make it to his ceremony, so you and Liam bid them farewell and promise to make plans to hang out over the summer sometime

James sees you being dragged by Liam towards the swings as he crosses the street towards the park

Neither you nor Liam realizes he’s there until he sits in the swing next to you

But Liam’s flying into James’ gut with the tightest hug ever as soon as he sees him

You laugh and James hugs Liam back and thinks to himself that this is just the best thing ever

He couldn’t be happier in any other place with any other people

Liam tells James about the frog and that somehow evolves into thanking him for being "the best teacher ever, not the bestest because of grammar"

(James thanks Liam for being such a good student, and Liam has the biggest smile after that)

Watching Liam talk to James makes a warm fuzz rise up in your chest

They’re just so sweet with each other :(

James is so attentive with Liam and Liam talks to James like they’re both adults and it’s just the cutest sweetest nicest thing ever

Liam decides to go searching for more frogs in the wooded park near the playground, and you and James are left watching him from the swings

It’s quiet for a little while between you and James, and James suddenly becomes starkly aware that this is the first time you’ve been alone together in the month since his ER visit

Usually you have Liam or maybe Remus, Sirius, or Ms. Hope as a buffer, but now?

Now it’s just him and you

But if there’s one thing James is good at, it’s making people feel comfortable in sorta uncomfortable situations

So he makes some cheesy joke about you being the parent of a kindergarten graduate, and you laugh along and say you couldn’t be more proud of your little boy

And just like that you two are talking like best friends again

You thank him for the kind note he wrote about Liam’s performance in school that he included in the report card from the most recent parent-teacher conference

He recommends a new kind of breakfast cereal you’d seen him buy at the grocery store a couple weeks ago

You update him on the gossip and drama between Poppy and your CNO at work

He thanks you for the black-and-white cookies you made for him as a thank-you for the oatmeal raisin cookies several months ago

You tell him about a large black dog you’d seen waltzing about in Ms. Hope’s front yard once

He asks you to check on the very-much healed scar on his palm (just to be 100% sure it’s not infected, you know?)

You laugh at his jokes and he smiles at your laugh, and eventually, you fall into a silence more comfortable than the last

Eventually, James speaks up

“Hey, um …” He sighs, unsure of how he wants to go about this. I mean, it’s fine now, isn’t it? He’s no longer Liam’s teacher; you’re no longer his student’s mom because Liam isn’t his student anymore. So it’s fine. Right?

“You alright?” you ask, brows pulled just slightly together in concern. James takes a long look into your eyes before turning and setting his gaze on Liam. Your son is crouched under a wide tree, eyes trained on the dirt and mud underneath in search of frogs.

“I … yeah, I’m alright,” James says. “I, uh … I … god, this is so much more difficult than I thought it would be.” He laughs quietly at himself in a way that’s a little too self-deprecating for you to approve of, but he starts talking again before you can comment.

“Okay.” James is firm in his resolve, but he refuses to meet your eyes as he speaks. “I—I’m gonna say something, and I’m not one hundred percent sure how you’ll react, so if I say something wrong or make you uncomfortable in any way, please—please—just tell me and I’ll never bring it up again, but I wanted to tell you how—how I’ve been feeling these past couple months and I hope you feel the same way—I think you do, but maybe I’m just reading into things—but I just wanted to say that, you know, I started to think of you as my friend when we started talking in the mornings, but as soon as I saw you at parent-teacher conferences I knew you were just the kindest, most hard-working, most beautiful person I’d ever had the honor of meeting and—and over the past year, I’ve begun to have these feelings that—but it’s been so hard because I would never ever voice them while Liam is in my class because that would be terribly unprofessional and completely unfair to you, and I just—” James heaves a breath, suddenly sharply aware of the fact that he hadn’t been breathing enough, and gasped for several deep breaths.

He looked into his lap with a self-pitying laugh. “I … sorry, I’m rambling.”

James dug the toe of his shoe into the wood chips, pushing his swing lightly. Why had he done this again? Liam was barely out of his class and he was already hounding after you. God, how desperate and creepy was that? He hadn’t even truly confessed and he was sure he’d already ruined every chance of you even talking to him again, let alone—

The crunch of wood chips made James wince. He closed his eyes, certain you would simply leave him on the swings without so much as a goodbye, until he heard your steps stop abruptly somewhere in front of him. Carefully, one eye peeked open, and he saw your ballet flats standing directly in front of his seat on the swings, facing him. He looked up.

James felt like he knew you pretty well at this point, but the face you were making was one he wasn’t familiar with at all. One moment he thought it was hope, but it would switch and look like fear next, then reluctance, then … was that excitement? Happiness? Eventually, you took a deep breath, shoulders squared and ready to speak.

“Do you like coffee?”

There was a moment of silence before James very eloquently responded, “What?”

You smiled—genuine this time, if awkward.

“I mean, if you don’t, that’s totally fine, I just … figured we could go somewhere to get coffee or—or tea, or a muffin or something before I go to work rather than just, you know, talking by the mailboxes.” You let out a meek laugh, and James feels his shoulders melt away from his ears.

“Do you like coffee?” he asks back.

“I’m a nurse—coffee is the only thing keeping me from falling apart at the seams,” you quip. James outright laughs, which makes you smile, which makes him smile.

“We can go for coffee,” he agrees. “I know a café that has muffins and stuff that’s pretty close to the hospital if you’d like to go there. The Leaky Cauldron. Have you been?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say with a nod of recognition. “Me and Poppy went there for lunch once. They have a rather nice quiche.”

“Alright, it’s a date—”

James’ eyes widen as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and he looks at you like he’s in trouble. The same look of reluctance and a drop of fear clouds your eyes once more, and James finds he loathes it. He prepares himself for the worst.

“I want to say, before we … before we move forward, there are some ground rules.”

James nods quickly, eyes wide as he peered up at you. “Anything.”

You try to strangle the blush that creeps up your neck at that.

“Well, really only one ground rule,” you amend. “No matter what, I’m Liam’s mother first. Always. He already likes you, which is part of the reason I offered to get coffee—I would never go out with someone he didn’t approve of—but when it comes down to it, he’s always going to be my top priority. No matter what.”

James’ eyes soften, and he nods, reassured.

“That was one of the first things I liked about you,” he admits. “Liam is your son—your world—and I completely understand that. I would never ask you to change that, or to think of me before him. Never in a million years.”

James watches your shoulders relax, and you take a small, relieved breath before nodding.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. James just smiles up at you, eyes adoring. You finally allow your own gaze to roam freely over his features, to take in his nose, his eyes, his lips.

You take a step closer, knees brushing lightly against James’ where he sits. Ever so gently, you reach a hand out of your pocket to brush a stray curl behind James’ ear, and your hand lingers there, fingertips brushing against his jaw. James is about even with your sternum, and he can’t help but love with all his heart how pretty you look from this angle.

Slowly, leaving plenty of time for him to pull back, you bend at the waist towards him. You don’t stop until his lips are on yours in a small, tentative kiss. It's gentle and the two of you scarcely move. Just a simple press lasting a handful of seconds before you pull back just enough to look into James’ eyes.

It takes a second for him to come back down to Earth, but you can see the moment when he realizes what just happened because his eyes seem to glow with a radiant sort of joy that has you wanting to kiss him again just so that look never goes away. He smiles broadly, and it must be contagious because you end up smiling slightly too as you slide your palm against his cheek and he reaches a hand up to cup the back of your neck. He simply holds you there for a moment before laughing disbelievingly and bringing your lips to his again.

This is the last one as of right now! Click here for the series masterlist

1k cafe event ୧

other events - birthday event, navigation . masterlist .

I can't believe we've brewed up this little corner of the internet together—1,000 strong! Whether you've been here since the first cup or just popped in for a sip, I'm beyond grateful for every like, reblog, and laugh we've shared. To celebrate, I’m officially starting the 1k cafe event where you can order up anything you’d like. So, grab your favorite mug and get comfy.

pick a fandom and character from my list above

pick an item of the menu

don't forget the format, event-item-fandom+character

🫓 - Macaron (I'll make dating headcannons for the character)

🍰 - Mille-Feuille (a song inspired writing for your character)

🍮 - Crème Brûlée (a multi-part fic based on any prompt,idea, etc.)

🍹 - Mojito ( a fic based on a prompt, mine or yours)

🧋 - Bubble Tea (i'll ship you with a character)

🍦 - Gelato (a fic inspired by a trope)

🍵 - Matcha Soufflé (a fic inspired by a gif or image)

🥧 - Lemon Meringue Pie (a fic inspired by a book or movie scene)

1k birthday event ୧

It’s My Birthday Month! and I’m throwing a birthday event to celebrate!

other events - cafe event, navigation . masterlist .

Pick a Prompt: Choose a prompt from the following (i found this on pinterest [ by JJ :) ] so if it does belong to someone, please let me know)

Choose a Character: Pick any character from the fandoms I write for

Send Me Your Request: Drop your chosen prompt and character in my inbox <3

Prompts -

Masterlist!! (Mobile friendly)

These are in a timeline! I heavily recommend reading them in order. From The Hobbit to LOTR (Harry Potter stuff is probs going to be below my Tolkien stuff!

The Hobbit

Imagine Y/N being there when Thorin cuts off Azog’s hand in battle.

Incorrect quotes #3

Imagine Y/N being sent from the dungeons with Thorin to talk to Thranduil

Imagine Bard showing Y/N the black arrow.

Imagine hiding in the throne room when Legolas and Thranduil interrogate the orc.

Imagine breaking the dwarves out of the dungeons of the woodland realm.

Imagine Y/N being there when Tauriel saves Kili. (Not cannon to the Pethryn au)

LOTR

Imagine the reactions of the fellowship when Y/N took the blade for Frodo on Weathertop (Amon Sûl)

Imagine arriving in Rivendell with the fellowship.

Imagine Y/N sitting at the council of Rivendell with Legolas.

Imagine Y/N sassing Boromir at the council of Rivendell (Incorrect quotes #1

Imagine Legolas and Aragorn teasing you at the council of Rivendell (Incorrect quotes #2)

Imagine Y/N sitting at the council of Rivendell while everyone is arguing.

Imagine leaving Rivendell with the Company of the ring

Imagine Y/N giving the answer to the riddle at the doors of Moria.

Imagine Y/N being there when Gandalf gets captured by the Balrog in the mines of Moria

Imagine entering the woods of Lothlórien with the Company of the Ring.

Harry Potter (Golden Era)

Draco

Imagine Showing up in Third year of the Golden Trio Era (set up for later imagines)

Imagine showing up at the Dursley's house to pick up Harry(Pethryn au)

Imagine Being on the train with the golden trio and Remus Lupin. (Pethryn au)

Imagine Draco secretly wanting Y/N

Marauder Era

Sirius

Imagine comforting Sirius (X reader drabble)

James

Real or not real? (series James Potter X reader)

F1

Max Verstappen

I'm always funny, you're just not smart enough to keep up. (teaser)

Task Force 141

Ghost, Johnny and Kyle

Just a little turned around