mybutcheredtongue

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (see full series list here)

1993

The walls of the Hall have all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables have vanished; instead, there are about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people. Enchanted snowflakes fall gently through the air, melting before they hit the ground.

The champions enter the room, lead by Minerva, with their partners, and your eyes immediately fall on Harry, who looks like he's very focused on not tripping over his own feet. On his arm, is his fellow Gryffindor, Parvati Patil. She seems to be in her element, beaming out at everyone as they make their way up the Hall towards the top table where the judges are seated.

Cedric Diggory walks with Cho Chang, Fleur Delacour with Roger Davies, and to your shock, Viktor Krum with Hermione. She's wearing a beautiful, flowy, periwinkle blue dress and she's slicked her hair back into an elegant bun at the back of her head. She smiles nervously at you and you even notice that something's different about her smile — her front teeth are far smaller than before.

They reach the top table and you spy Percy Weasley sitting in the fifth chair at the table, looking very well-to-do as Harry takes a seat beside him.

"Why is Percy Weasley here?" You say to Minerva as she sits down beside you at your less important staff table. You wish you were up at that top table and could get a few digs in at Karkaroff, keep an eye on him, but you're stuck here instead with the rest of the teachers. "And where's Crouch?"

"He's ill, apparently," she replies, glancing up at the table. "Weasley has come as his representative."

"I can't say I'm unhappy that he's absent," you say quietly, as you pluck your menu from the table and give it a once-over. "He'd put a damper on the mood."

Minerva nods. "He is quite sour, isn't he?"

You're not quite sure what to do with your menu — there's no waiters and the plates are empty. Then, to your rescue, Dumbledore looks pointedly at his plate and says very loud and clear, "Pork chops!"

And pork chops appear. Getting the idea, everyone else starts placing their orders with their plates and food appears.

Hagrid sits beside you, gazing up at the top table before giving a small wave. Following his eye line, you see Madame Maxime return it and you can't help but smile at the exchange. How cute.

When everyone has finished eating, Dumbledore stands up and motions for everyone to do the same. With a wave of his hand, all the tables are pushed up against the walls, then he conjures up a stage along the right wall, various instruments set on it.

The Weird Sisters troop onto stage, dressed in black robes that are artfully ripped and tattered and torn, and pick up their instruments. The champions and their partners stand up, and you catch Harry tripping over his dress robes as he stands up, before walking out onto the floor with Parvati.

The champions dance for about half a minute before Dumbledore steps out onto the floor, taking Madame Maxime with him. He's so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointy hat is just barely brushing the tip of her chin.

You extend your hand out to Minerva, bowing lowly with the other behind your back. "Care for a dance?"

She places he hand on yours, smiling, leading you gracefully out onto the floor. By now, nearly everyone has joined in and is dancing together on the floor. Even Moody is doing an extremely clumsy two-step with Professor Vector, who is nervously avoiding his wooden leg. You raise your eyebrows at her as you pass and she gives a look that suggests she'd rather jump off the Astronomy Tower than continue dancing with Moody.

You have quite an enjoyable night, swapping partners every dance and dancing with nearly every teacher in the school, except for Snape, Moody, and Karkaroff, who you warily avoid like the plague — but who also seem to be avoiding the dance floor entirely.

Out of breath, you make your way outside for some fresh air, loitering beside the freshly trimmed rose bushes that are glittering with fairy lights. You bend down slightly and bring one rose to your nose, inhaling its sweet flowery scent, when you hear a voice that positively grates your ears.

"...don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor."

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" Comes Karkaroff's anxious and hushed voice. "It's been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it — "

"Then flee," Snape says curtly. "Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."

Snape and Karkaroff come around the corner, Snape blasting rose bushes apart with his wand. He blasts the one next to you, and two students sprint away from out behind it.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!" He snarls as the girl runs past him. "And ten from Hufflepuff, too, Stebbins!" His eyes land on you and he fails to hide his grimace. "And what are you doing out here?"

"Getting some fresh air," you respond simply, crossing your arms. "And what are you doing out here, Severus?"

"Ah, well, excuse me," Karkaroff says nervously, brushing past you with a polite smile. "I should get back to the party..."

You raise your eyebrows, turning back to Snape's scowling face expectantly.

"I am doing my job," he says snippily. "Perhaps you ought to do the same and watch the students inside, rather than coming outside for a little personal excursion."

"Is your head on a little excursion up your own — "

Madame Maxime suddenly rushes past you, eyes on the ground and looking very put-out. She passes you and disappears into the Entrance Hall.

" — arse?"

Snape's nostrils flare and for a second he looks like he's about to jinx you, but instead he just bristles past you, purposefully knocking your shoulder as he passes.

Later, when the Weird Sisters play their final song at midnight, several students make their way out of the Great Hall and you too follow in their footsteps out into the Entrance Hall. However, just as you've left the Great Hall, you spot Karkaroff skulking up the stairs, glancing around him furtively like he's got something to hide.

Intrigued, you follow him up the stairs, keeping a small gap between the two of you and looking away when he glances back at you. Then he veers off to the left into another corridor, walking fast, and just as you're about to follow him you hear muffled crying coming from the next flight of stairs.

You look up and there, sitting on one of the steps with her head in her knees, is Hermione, her body shaking with sobs. You should go make sure she's alright.

But this might be your chance to see what Karkaroff's up to! You look down the corridor at Karkaroff, your opportunity to keep up with him quickly slipping the more time you dwell on your decision.

You look back at Hermione, and her sobs take over your judgement and you hurry up the stairs towards her. You sit down on the step beside her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione?"

She lifts her head, eyes widening madly when she sees you. "P-professor!"

"Relax, Hermione," you say gently. "What happened?"

She bites her lip and looks away from you, drawing in a shaky breath and shaking her head. "N-nothing, nothing at all. It's s-silly, really."

You rub your hand along her arm soothingly. "Was it a boy?"

Her eyebrows raise slightly. "I told you it was silly."

You give her a sympathetic smile. "Been there. Teenage boys are stupid, Hermione. They were stupid when I was young and they're stupid now."

She sighs. "Do they ever stop being stupid?"

You give a light chuckle. "Eventually. Eventually they grow up and mature and start to actually use their heads."

You sigh, pulling her closer to you so she can rest her head on your shoulder as you continue to rub her arm soothingly. "You look beautiful tonight, Hermione. I can't believe how grown up you look."

"It's tiring," she says softly. "My hair took so long to do and it didn't even last the night." She gestures to her hair, which has become more dishevelled than it was at the start of the night, wisps of hair slipping out of the elegant knot and brushing her shoulders.

"I know. I have a million pins in mine and I haven't even got a date tonight!"

Hermione chuckles and you sigh, shaking your head. She yawns loudly, her eyelids drooping sleepily.

You pat her shoulder. "Alright, off to bed with you. I'm surprised you haven't collapsed yet with the amount of times I seen you out on the dance floor."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

A few days before the first day of term after Christmas, you sit at the staff table during breakfast, watching patiently as the post arrives. A barn owl swoops through the air towards you, dropping a copy of The Daily Prophet on the table in front of you. You grab it, pulling the twine off of it and unfolding it to read the front page.

DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody’s well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."

"I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we’re just too scared to say anything."

Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts," highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions. "I was just having some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject.

As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not — as he has always pretended — a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.

Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror.

While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa’s son appears to have inherited her brutal nature.

In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who’s fall from power — thereby driving Hagrid’s own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who’s supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend — but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.

You mouth drops open and you hurriedly nudge Minerva beside you, shoving the paper in her face. You watch as her eyes travel down the page and her frown deepens as she reads on.

"What a horrid woman," she spits, folding the paper disapprovingly and handing it back to you. "That explains why Hagrid isn't at breakfast this morning."

You glance down the table, noticing the clear absence of the large man.

"How dare she?" you snap, feeling your anger flare. "Come into this school just to spread such a thing...why, the next time I see her — "

"You'll hold your tongue," Minerva cuts across warningly, giving you a wary look. "You'll hold your tongue and you won't get involved."

"Why shouldn't I? Someone needs to put her in her place and — "

"You know why." She glances down the table, sighing. "If you get on that woman's bad side, she will pull up everything she can on you. Absolutely everything. You know well you will not survive that."

You bite your lip, sighing dejectedly. "You're right...I just — she deserves to be humbled."

Minerva hums in agreement. "I know, I know."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

hello loves!!! I'm so so sorry that this chapter took forever to upload, and it's not even very long!! 😔 Just hit a bit of a slump and wasn't feeling it. Anyways, should be a bit more consistent from now on! I love you all so much and thank you for being so patient 🫶🫶

a big thank you to all my taglist loves:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe000diem @jennifer0305 @idkman5335

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY (see full series list here)

1993

On the 22nd of November you sit on the floor of your office late at night, watching the flames of your fireplace crackle and pop. Beside you, sits Harry, eyes focused on the fire as well. Sirius had asked him to wait in front of the fire in your office at one o'clock and for you to be there too. You can't say your heart isn't beating faster than the steady tick of the clock on the wall, worried and giddy at the same time.

"I'm sorry about this whole situation, Harry," you say with a sigh, reaching out to stroke Dubh's fur idly as she clambers into your lap. "I know this isn't what you want. I tried everything to get them to change the rules but nothing worked."

"Thanks," he says blankly, like he's used to being disappointed.

"And that article in the paper — "

"I didn't say anything of that. It's a lie," Harry responds quickly.

You nod. "I'm well aware. Rita Skeeter is...difficult." As soon as the words have left your mouth, you grimace, shaking your head. "Actually, she doesn't deserve that nicety. She's a bitch, Harry. A nasty old hag that has nothing better to do with her life than spread rumours and sensationalise everything in sight."

Harry seems slightly taken aback by your words but nods in fierce agreement nonetheless.

"My best advice to you, Harry, is to run for the hills every time you see her — or just wave me over if I'm near. I am well accustomed to small talk with people like her — the trick is to just get them talking about themselves."

He nods. "I don't plan on going anywhere near her ever again."

"Smart decision," you say, sighing. "And look — I know I'm not supposed to get involved but if you need any help whatsoever, just ask. There's plenty of useful spells I can teach you and tips I can give — anything at all."

Just then, the flames move in a peculiar fashion and Sirius' head appears in the fire. Both you and Harry let out a small gasp, and when you look at Harry, his face has broken into the biggest smile you've seen him wear in weeks.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaims immediately.

He looks different from the last time you seen him. His face had looked gaunt and sunken, but now he looks far healthier and his hair, which was long, matted and greasy, is now clean and neat. You're glad to see that though he's trimmed it a tad, he's kept the beard. He looks younger.

"Hello, Harry," he says, before he turns to you, smiling, "and hello to you too, love."

You bring your hand up and give him a tiny little wave, unable to stop the giddy smile taking over your face at the sight of him.

"How're you doing?" Harry asks.

"Never mind me, how are you?" Sirius asks firmly, returning his attention to his godson.

"I'm — " Harry stops himself suddenly, holding himself back. Just when you're about to check if he's alright, he spills. He tells the two of you everything: about how no one believes that he hasn't entered himself into the tournament, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he can't walk down a corridor without getting sneered at, and about the toll it's all taken on his friendship with Ron.

You feel your heart ache for him. He deserves absolutely none of this and you wish you could do more to help.

"Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons — I'm a goner," he finishes desperately.

Sirius is looking at Harry with deep concern as he says, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute — I haven't got long here...I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"Just break into Moony's house next time," you say simply, shrugging. "Sounds much easier to me."

Sirius gives you a look that suggests he already thought of that, but obviously decided not to as he was already coming north to see you two. You smile cheekily at him and he shakes his head, refocusing his attention on Harry.

"What do you need to warn me about?" Harry asks.

"Karkaroff," Sirius says. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"He's a Death Eater?" You're shocked. Just this morning you picked his fork off the ground for him at breakfast!

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year — to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

There already is an Auror at Hogwarts, you think. Or did Dumbly-dorr just forget about me?

"Karkaroff got released?" Harry says slowly. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius replies bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then named names...he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place...he's not very popular there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

How do you not remember any of this? Surely you'd have seen this all mentioned in the papers around that time?

"Okay..." Harry says. "But...are you saying that Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."

"We know he's a good actor," says Sirius, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry — "

"You and the rest of the world," he says bitterly.

"— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius says hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but I don't think so somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he still can't spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So...what are you saying? Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But — why?"

Sirius hesitates.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he says apprehensively. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone cast the Dark Mark...and then — did you hear about that Ministry witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" You say. You recall reading that article about her disappearance not too long ago.

"Exactly...she disappeared to Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but...it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?" says Harry.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Sirius says grimly, glancing at you. "Do you remember her at school?"

You nod your head. "She was at Hogwarts when we were, a few years above us," you explain to Harry. "As thick as a board, she was. Very nosey, too. Awful combination."

"Makes her easy to lure into a trap," Sirius finishes.

"So...so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" says Harry. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don’t know," Sirius says with a shake of his head, "I just don’t know...Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing." Harry grins bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"You'll be fine," you reassure firmly, though you're not sure if it's for Harry's sake or your own. "I'll be there, all the rest of the teachers will be there, and there'll be that group of dragon keepers there too."

"Look, about these dragons," Sirius says, speaking quickly now, glancing around him furtively, "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try and simple Stunning Spell — dragons are too strong and powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon — "

"Yeah, I know, I just saw," Harry says.

"But you can do it alone," Sirius tells him, looking him straight in the eye. "There is a way, a simple spell's all you need — "

Knock-knock.

At once, all three of you go dead silent and whip your heads to the closed door.

"Go, Sirius, quickly!" You hiss at him urgently.

You scramble to your feet, grabbing Harry's invisibilty cloak off the desk and launching it at him.

"Quick!"

Harry frantically pulls the cloak over his head and ducks behind your desk as you make you way over to the door, glancing back at the fireplace to see that Sirius' head has disappeared and the flames have returned to normal. You feel a small pang in your heart.

Who could possibly be knocking at your door at one o'clock in the morning? Surely everyone is asleep by now?

You pull the door open and are met with nothing but the quiet, dark corridor.

"Must've been Peeves," you mutter angrily, moving to close the door. Of course that poltergeist would find a way to cut your time with Sirius short.

"Oh, no, mistress, it is Bitsy!"

You look down in search of the voice and sure enough, at the foot of your door, is Bitsy, grinning up widely at you with her ginormous eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candles on the wall. You notice that she's holding a tray of scones in her tiny hands.

"Bitsy?" You say in shock and confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"Bitsy was cleaning this corridor, mistress, and heard talking coming from mistress's office! And Bitsy thinks 'why is mistress up so late talking?' Perhaps she has a guest and is very hungry! Mistress was not at breakfast this morning, and I isn't seeing mistress in the kitchens either!"

While part of you feels angry and cheated that she's just interrupted your seldom chance to talk to your husband, you can't be mad at Bitsy and her big kind heart.

You chuckle softly. "Oh, Bitsy. You are far too kind to me. You're right, I didn't attend breakfast this morning nor did I go to the kitchens in the afternoon — I had breakfast with a friend of mine in Hogsmeade today. I should have told you."

Bitsy beams at you and holds the tray out for you to take. "Bitsy is glad to know you did not go hungry this morning. For you, mistress!"

You accept the tray with a smile. "Thank you, Bitsy. You are very kind — let me go fetch something to give you as a thank you."

"Oh, no, mistress! I cannot accept anything from you, I is just doing my duty!"

You leave her momentarily, placing the tray of scones down, grabbing a box off your desk and returning to hand it to her. "Film, for your camera, Bitsy. So you can take more pictures. "

You don't miss the gleeful smile that spreads over Bitsy's face as she looks at the box in wonder. "Mistress, I must not — "

"I insist, Bitsy. Actually — I order you to accept the film. I know how much you love your camera," you tell her, pushing it into her hands.

"Thank you, mistress," she says gratefully, bowing to you. "I must return to my work now, unless mistress requires Bitsy for anything?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, but thank you, Bitsy. I think it's time for mistress to get some rest."

Bitsy leaves, clutching the film tightly in her hands and bowing out of your view before Disapparating. You close the door behind you, letting out a sigh as Harry stands up slowly, pulling the cloak off.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry," you say. "I really wish we could have more time with Sirius."

"Yeah, me too. Was that a house elf?"

You nod, chuckling. "Sure was. That's Bitsy. You see, I stay up much later than everyone else — I'm usually up in the tower because of course, the best time to view the stars is at night, so I sleep in the next day and miss breakfast a lot of the time. And when I do, I can go down to the kitchens and Bitsy and all the other house elves will give me something to eat — have done since I was in school myself when I did the exact same thing. Bitsy is my saviour, honestly. She's an absolute gem."

"You're able to get into the Hogwarts kitchens?" Harry says curiously.

"Yep. There's a painting of a bowl of fruit down by the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room — just tickle the pear and the door'll open right up for you."

You know that as a teacher you probably shouldn't be telling him this, but you don't really care. You went there countless times as a student so why shouldn't he?

Harry nods thoughtfully before asking, "That spell Sirius mentioned, that could defeat a dragon...have you any idea what it is?"

You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against your hip as you search your brain for anything like that. "I don't, Harry, I'm sorry. Perhaps you could try confundus, and confuse it? I can't say I'm too familiar with dragons...now, you should go to bed, Harry. A good night's sleep for the next few days is what you need before the first task. And in the meantime, I'll have a look and see if I can figure something out for you."

"Thanks, but I doubt I'll find it easy to sleep," Harry remarks, throwing the cloak back over his head.

"Well, if you do find that you can't sleep, come up the Tower," you tell him with a smile, pulling the door open for his invisible figure. "I find stargazing is the best way to relieve stress and solve problems."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You feel like you're about to get sick. You stare at the Hungarian Horntail, huge and terrifying as she crouches protectively over her eggs, huffing great hot breaths out of her large nostrils. And there, standing across from this fearsome beast as though rooted to the spot, is Harry. The crowd roars around you but you can barely hear them as your stomach knots and twists and flips with sickening worry.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yells, raising his wand.

You wait. The crowd waits. Harry waits.

And then you see it. Harry's broomstick, his Firebolt, hurtles towards him and stops in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount it. You vaguely register Ludo Bagman roaring something over the crowd in response to this, but you're too focused on praying to whatever great deities you can to protect your godson. You're just so relieved that he managed to figure something out — and something so clever, too! Why hadn't you thought of a Summoning Spell? It's so simple. Sirius will be so proud of Harry when he finds out.

Harry rises into the air, the wind rushing through his hair, surveying the dragon not far below him. A sort of resolve seems to come over him and then he dives, forcing you to bring your hands up to cover your eyes in fear.

"Oh, I can't watch," you breathe. Beside you, Minerva gives you an understanding look as she watches on. You hear the rush of fire, the crowd cheering and screaming, and then —

"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman roars. "Are you watching this, Mr Krum?"

You open your eyes just in time to see Harry plummet to the ground once more, just missing the burst of flames that flies from the Horntail's open maw — but not quick enough to completely avoid the whip of her tail and to your horror, one of the long spikes grazes Harry's shoulder, ripping his robes.

"Harry!" You shriek, practically about to chew your finger off with the alarming rate you're biting the tips of your nails as you reluctantly watch on, wishing for it to be over.

He begins to fly this way, then that, not near enough to make the dragon breathe fire at him to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient enough threat to make her keep her eyes focused on him, tracking his every move.

The dragon's head sways with his movements, her eyes unwavering as she followed him, gruesome fangs bared. You can feel your heart palpitating in your chest. Harry rises even higher, the Horntail's head rising with him, her neck now stretched out to its fullest extent.

You jump as the Horntail lets out a deafening roar, her tail thrashing threateningly as she blows another burst of fire at him, which he thankfully dodges.

She opens her mouth and then she finally rears, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last and Harry seizes the opportunity to dive at an incredible speed. You can barely keep your eyes on him with the rate he's whistling through the air, hurtling towards the nest of eggs.

"Come on, come on, come on..." you chant, hands tapping frantically at the tops of your thighs as you sit on the edge of your seat, watching impatiently.

Harry takes his hands off his broom, seizes the golden egg, and with another huge burst of speed, he's off and soaring out over the stands. He tucks the egg safely under his uninjured arm, and looks out over the stands.

You can't help but jump out your seat, cheering yourself hoarse as you voice your praise and feel relief wash over your body like a tsunami. The noise around you is monumental, drumming in your ears like a jackhammer.

"Look at that!" Bagman yells. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!"

The dragon keepers rush forward to subdue the Horntail and you hurry out of your seat, practically sprinting to the entrance of the enclosure. Minerva is hot on your heels and Moody and Hagrid have already beaten you, waiting with wide smiles for Harry to land.

"That was excellent, Potter!" Minerva cries as the boy hops off his broomstick. She points a shaky hand to his shoulder. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score...Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already..."

"Harry, you were brilliant!" You exclaim excitedly, eagerly pulling him in for a hug and beaming at him. Normally, you'd worry about other students thinking you have a favourite — which you do, of course you do — but today you couldn't care less, you're so overwhelmed with relief and swelling with pride for your godson. "Absolutely brilliant, Harry! Just — fantastic, honestly, I can't believe it, I was so worried — I'm so proud — "

"Thanks," Harry says, unable to keep the large smile on his face down, his face red.

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry says loudly, so that Hagrid doesn't blather on about how he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. You give a light chuckle.

"Yeh' did it, Harry!" says Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors' — "

Even Moody looks very pleased, the slightest of smiles tugging at his cracked lips. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter."

"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please..." Minerva says, gesturing to the tent with her hand.

He leaves, giving you all a grin before heading into the tent and you just smile proudly after him, rolling on the balls of your feet.

"Oh, he was just excellent, wasn't he?" Minerva says to you, smiling. "The best out of the all the champions, by far!"

You nod enthusiastically. "Easily! Oh, Merlin, I am just so glad he came out alright, I thought I was going to chew my own hand off with worry..."

"He was migh'y," Hagrid says loudly, a sob racking his body as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a large handkerchief, bigger than your face, and blows into it. "Jus' migh'y."

"Oh, Hagrid," you say softly, reaching up to place a comforting hand on his back, smiling sympathetically.

Across the enclosure, the five judges are sitting at the end in raised seats draped in gold. The first judge, Madame Maxime, raises her wand in the air and what looks like a long silver ribbon shoots out of the end of it — forming the shape of a large figure eight.

"Not bad," you remark, clapping along with the crowd. "Must've been the injury that lost him marks..."

Crouch comes next, shooting a number nine into the air.

"Excellent!" Minerva exclaims.

Next, Dumbledore puts up a nine and the crowd yells louder than ever.

Ludo Bagman — ten.

You turn to Minerva in disbelief, matching looks of shock with each other before you eagerly applaud.

Now, Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, and then a number shoots out of his wand — four.

"What?"You yell indignantly, blinking several times to make sure your eyes aren't tricking you. "A four?"

"How shameful, he gave his own student a ten!" Minerva remarks angrily.

Several members of the crowd seem to agree with you, bellowing angrily and booing at Karkaroff's biased marking.

Suddenly, Sirius' words ring in your head.

He's a Death Eater.

You feel your spine chill as you look across the enclosure at Karkaroff's steely expression, steadfast in his decision to reward Harry four marks.

Scumbag.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"A toast!" Dumbledore announces, raising his glass. "To the completion of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

You grin, raising your glass in tandem. "Cheers!" You clink it against Minerva's, then with Professor Sprout's on your other side.

All the staff have gathered in that small room right of the Great Hall for a little staff-only party, the fire blazing in its place and radiating a pleasant warmth around the room. The house elves have prepared a small spread of finger foods for the lot of you — and you've gone straight for the cupcakes, decorated humorously with little edible dragons. They're delicious — you make a mental note to voice your thanks to Bitsy the next time you see her.

Despite the happiness that's settled in you since Harry's successful task, when your eyes land on Karkaroff, sitting on the opposite side of the room to you, talking with Snape, unease gnaws at your gut.

You're sitting in a room with a Death Eater.

You've been in this situation countless times, of course, back when you were an Auror. But then, you knew what was going on. You knew what you were in for. Here, you don't. At parent-teacher meetings, you don't doubt you've been in the company of some Death Eaters, or former Death Eaters, rather. Some of your Slytherins' parents certainly seem to have a fondness for opaque, long-sleeved shirts...

You can't help but remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup, and your brain starts to picture one of those cruel Death Eaters pulling off his mask and revealing Karkaroff's sharp face.

You grip your champagne glass tightly, downing the contents and taking a deep breath. You should go mingle, the time for investigating Karkaroff can come tomorrow.

It's this little staff party that you finally get acquainted with Madame Maxime properly, trying your hand at your conversational-level French. She seems very impressed at this, delighted that you know at least a little bit of her own language — she says something about the 'arrogance of native English speakers', which you don't disagree with.

"Oh, and look at zis pretty diamond on your finger!" Madame Maxime exclaims suddenly, catching sight of your engagement ring, sitting pretty above your wedding band on your left ring finger. She takes your hand in her much larger one so she can inspect it closer. "You are married?"

You look at the sparkling ring, glinting in the candlelight, smiling softly. "Yes, I am."

"'Ow sweet," she remarks, dropping your hand gently. "I was married once."

You raise your eyebrows imploringly and she leans closer, waving her large hand theatrically as she says, "But 'e was a bastard."

She laughs fiendishly, and you just sort of watch, unsure whether you should laugh or not.

"You can laugh!" she assures when she sees your unsure expression. "Good riddance, is what I say. 'E thought 'e could keep ze company of some girl while I was at working at Beauxbatons — so I said to 'im, 'fuck you and ze 'ore you rode in on!'"

You nearly choke on your champagne, shocked at what you've heard come out of Madame Maxime's mouth. She grins proudly, showing rows of pearly white teeth. She seems to be finding your shock very amusing as she laughs again.

"His loss," you tell her, chuckling.

"Absolument." She shrugs nonchalantly, as though it was nothing to her but a stone in the bottom of her shoe. "Et toi? 'Ere is your 'usband?"

You don't answer her for a moment, sucking on your teeth. "Well, I don't know, actually."

"'Ow do you not know?"

"Because he's just escaped from prison," you answer simply. You don't know what makes you tell her that. It would have been so easy to lie, but you don't. Perhaps it's the two too many glasses of champagne you've had, or perhaps it's the way Madame Maxime doesn't seem to care about anything, really, other than Fleur Delacour and the tournament.

Her mouth drops for a second, before she laughs. "Ah, well, c'est la vie. Marriage is never easy."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. It feels weirdly relieving to you that she couldn't care less about your personal life. You find a new respect for the woman in front of you. "Certainly not."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

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[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER NINETEEN (see full series list here)

1993

Every head in the Hall turns to Harry, whose shocked and confused expression is matching your own. Your jaw has dropped to the floor.

Nobody claps, nobody cheers like they did for the other champions. Everyone just stares at Harry, who sits frozen and unmoving.

Beside you, Minerva gets to her feet and sweeps forward to whisper urgently to Dumbledore, who bends his ear towards her, frowning slightly.

You watch as Dumbledore straightens up. "Harry Potter! Harry! Up here, if you please."

Harry gets to his feet unsteadily, treading on the hem of his robes and stumbling. There's no sound but for the boy's nervous footsteps. His eyes are glued to the ground as he reaches Dumbledore.

"Well...through that door, Harry," says Dumbledore, gesturing with his hand to the door.

As if in a dream, Harry makes his way past your table. He looks at you when he passes and you do your best to give him the least pained smile you can muster. He enters the room and disappears from sight. At once, Ludo Bagman jumps to his feet, a joyous expression on his face, and hurries into the room after Harry. You glance around at the other teachers, exchanging a worried look with Minerva, before standing and walking into the room as well, with Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Minerva and Snape.

The room is lined with portraits of witches and wizards. A grand fire is roaring in the corner, the three first champions standing around it.

"Madame Maxime!" Fleur says at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

You don't miss the way Harry bristles slightly at that.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-Dorr?" she says imperiously, the top of her head brushing the bottom of the chandelier.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," agrees Karkaroff, whose blue eyes are like shards of ice. "Two Hogwarts Champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

He laughs nastily and you feel your gut twist.

"C'est impossible!" Madame Maxime exclaims, her left hand resting on Fleur's shoulder. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants," Karkaroff snips, a steely smile on his face. Another smile that doesn't reach his eyes whatsoever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," Snape says softly, dark eyes filled with malice and distaste as he looks at Harry. You can feel your blood start to boil. That's your godson right there! "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break school rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here — "

"Thank you, Severus," says Dumbledore firmly, and Snape goes blissfully quiet, though he continues to give Harry dirty looks.

Dumbledore looks at Harry from behind his half-moon spectacles with an indiscernible expression on his face.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" he asks calmly.

"No." Harry's eyes flit around him nervously. Snape makes an impatient noise of disbelief.

"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?" says Dumbledore, ignoring Snape.

"No," Harry answers vehemently.

Behind Dumbledore's back, Snape's eyes move to you and he points a long finger at you accusingly. You shake your head viciously. He raises his eyebrows in disbelief. You roll your eyes and give him the middle finger.

"Ah, but of course 'e is lying!" cries Madame Maxime. Snape nods enthusiastically.

"He could not have crossed the Age Line," says Minerva sharply. "I am sure we can all agree on that — "

"Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line," says Madame Maxime simply, shrugging.

"Professor Dumbledore didn't make a mistake," you chime in snippily.

"It is possible, of course," Dumbledore says politely.

"Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!" says Minerva angrily. "Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I'm sure that should be good enough for everyone else!"

She shoots a very angry look at Snape.

"Mr Crouch...Mr Bagman," says Karkaroff, "you are our — er — objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"

Bagman wipes his round, boyish face with a handkerchief and looks at Crouch, who is standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half-hidden in shadow.

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

"He can't compete," you say. "He's fourteen!"

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," Karkaroff says angrily, ignoring you, a very ugly look on his face. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It is only fair, Dumbledore."

"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," says Ludo Bagman. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out — it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament — "

"In which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" barks Karkaroff. "After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growls a voice from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now, he's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"

Moody's just entered the room, limping towards your group, clunking his way through. You stiffen slightly at the sight of him, feeling yourself involuntarily straightening your posture.

"Convenient?" Says Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

"Don't you?" Moody says quietly, glass eye swivelling in its socket. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing he'd have to compete if it came out."

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" Madame Maxime exclaims.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," Karkaroff concurs. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards — "

"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter," Moody growls, fixing his gaze on Harry, "but...funny thing...I don't hear him saying a word..."

"Why should 'e complain?" Fleur Delacour bursts out. "'E 'as the chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze 'onour for our schools!" A thousand Galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it," Moody says gravelly.

An extremely tense silence follows his words and you just stare at him in disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" You say slowly.

"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," Karkaroff says loudly, shrugging his shoulders. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

"Imagining things, am I?" Moody snarls. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy's name in that goblet..."

"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" Madame Maxime says incredulously.

"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" says Moody, tapping his staff on the stone flags. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament...I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category..."

"How this situation arose, we do not know," Dumbledore says finally. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the tournament. This, therefore, they will do..."

"I'm sorry, but have you all gone mad?" You interrupt, feeling everyone's eyes turn to you. Maybe you shouldn't have come out that strong, but hey, too late to back out now! "Harry is fourteen. He's not of age yet, and he's certainly not old enough for this tournament. This, as we all know, extremely dangerous tournament! He doesn't know half the spells a seventh-year would know, it's madness to let him go ahead — "

"If you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it," Dumbledore says, politely adding your name at the end.

"Hm, well, how about we just...don't let him compete, maybe? Bit of a crazy idea to you lot, I'm sure — "

"Legally binding magical contract, professor!" Ludo Bagman cuts in, beaming excitedly at you, wagging his finger. "Give the lad a chance! Let's crack on now, I think we've had enough squawking for one night!"

He turns to the rest of the group, effectively cutting you off from them. They've got to be mad. Absolutely mad. He's far too young for this. It's against the rules! And who decided to make this magically binding in the first place? What kind of fool makes a tournament that involves teenage students magically binding? You ball your hands into fists. Would you lose your job if you punched Bagman in that snotty, overly-cheerful face of his?

Yeah, probably.

Well, okay. You definitely would lose your job. You've just lost a little bit of respect for Dumbledore. He's not even trying to give Harry an out! Not even trying to fix this situation.

Men.

You glance over at your godson. He hasn't stopped fiddling with the hem of his robes since his name was called out and you feel awful. You can tell just by looking at him that he's as surprised and confused as you are, that he had no idea his name was going to come out of that goblet. There has to be a way out of this. You won't have him put in danger like that.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," comes Crouch's low voice, pulling you from your thoughts, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. It will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

Out of the corner of your eye you see Cedric subtly pump his fist at his side in quiet celebration.

Crouch turns to look at Dumbledore. "I think that's all, right, Albus?"

"I think so," says Dumbledore. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay the night at Hogwarts, Barty?"

Oh please no.

"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," Crouch answers and you breath a very quiet sigh of relief. "It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment...I've left young Weatherby in charge...very enthusiastic...a little over-enthusiastic, truth be told..."

"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?"

"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" exclaims Bagman brightly, clapping Crouch on the shoulder — which causes Crouch to jump slightly and grimace. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"

"I think not, Ludo," Crouch says, a touch of impatience in his voice.

You won't be missed!

"Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime — a nightcap?" Dumbledore asks, but Madame Maxime has already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and is leading her out of the room, the two of them conversing in very rapid French — you focus on trying to catch what they're saying, but you barely catch any of it, other than a very put-out mention of a petit garçon, meaning little boy. It's obvious they're not too happy about this arrangement at all.

Karkaroff beckons Viktor and they too exit the room, though in silence.

"Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," Dumbledore says kindly, smiling at the two boys. "I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."

Harry and Cedric glance at each other, nodding, before leaving the room together. As he passes, you give Harry a small nod and walk forward towards Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, I'd like a quick word, if you please."

"Certainly," Dumbledore says, and you lead him just outside the room, closing the door behind you so you're out of earshot. Harry and Cedric are still walking down the Hall and they both glance back at the two of you. You give them both a little wave, which is returned.

"Sir," you start quietly, wondering how to go about this as calmly as possible, "you're hardly being serious about this, right? Harry can't compete in this, he's far too young."

"I am afraid there is nothing I can do about it," Dumbledore replies simply. "His name came out of the Goblet and as per the rules he must compete."

"But you can't let him compete!" you hiss. "I don't care about the rules — you have to fix this! You're Headmaster, you just can't let him go ahead with this — "

Dumbledore says your name strongly. "I know you're concerned for Harry, I understand that. But there really is nothing I can do. In hindsight, a magically binding contract was not the most clever decision..."

You sigh, biting your lip. "What if Professor Moody is right? And someone really did do that to put Harry in danger? I can't just stand by and let that happen."

"There is a possibility, of course," Dumbledore says slowly, "but we will always be there, at every task, and if such danger arises we will handle it. I promise you that."

"Okay..." you say semi-certainly, nodding your head. "Okay, okay. You're right. You're right."

"Would you like to join us for a nightcap, perhaps?" He asks you, brightening.

"No, no, I ought to get to bed..." you say dismissively, glancing down at your watch. The thought of spending more time in there with Moody's brooding presence and Ludo Bagman's suffocating energy is rather unpleasant to you now.

"Have a good night, professor."

You smile at him and he nods as you leave and he enters the room once again.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

Before you know it, October turns to November and the 3rd sneaks up on you, whacking you in the face with cruel realisation when you see its date circled several times in red ink on your calendar and dotted with little hearts.

Sirius' birthday.

It always feels weird. Like your wedding anniversary, like your own birthday. It's weird to not have him here with you to celebrate. It's hard to remember birthdays that you weren't together for.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

November, 1976

"Happy birthday!" You quickly reach up and wrap your arms around Sirius, giving him a short hug that part of you wishes was longer. It's hard to bite down the urge to just grab and kiss his beautiful lips without a care in the world.

"Thank you, dearest," Sirius says, bowing dramatically to you. James comes bounding down the dormitory stairs after him and forcefully stretches a party hat string over Sirius' head to match his own, muttering a complaint about his mop of dark hair getting in the way.

"I said it first!" James says to you competitively, wagging his finger. "As soon as he woke up, in fact! I was the first to wish him a happy sixteenth!"

Sirius raises his eyebrows. "As soon as you woke me up. Poor me, torn from my blissful sleep by an errant goblin!"

James gives Sirius a shove, who just laughs. He's got such a lovely laugh, you can't help but smile at him. He looks good this morning. He's pulled his long hair back into a half-up, half-down style, and two silver studs adorn his earlobes. You can see one of his tattoos peaking out from under the top of his unbuttoned shirt. You've never seen all of his tattoos, but from what you've been told there are many, and they're everywhere. You really want to see them all — and getting to see the rest of his body would just be an added bonus.

"Ugh, if you're really going to ogle him that much, just ask him out," comes Alice's hiss in your ear, as she and Lily come down the stairs.

You swat her hand away. "Gross."

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed, as she jabs her fingers into your sides and you jump, letting out an involuntary yelp.

"Alice, you bitch — "

"Lily!"

James has just caught sight of Lily and the pupils of his eyes dilate so much that you're expecting them to pop out of his head. Lily groans when she sees him, increasing her pace and grabbing Alice's arm, pulling her through the common room, saying something about getting breakfast. Alice shrugs her shoulders at you as she's tugged out of the portrait hole.

"Wait, Lily, wait!" James calls desperately, hurrying to catch up to his beloved Evans.

You exchange a glance with Sirius now that the two of you have been left alone, laughing at James' antics.

"Do you think she's even close to saying yes?"

"Not a chance," you respond simply, chuckling. "She hates him more than anything in the world, apparently."

"Fair. I do too," Sirius agrees and you giggle.

"Oh, I got you a present, by the way!" You remember, pulling the clasp off your bag and reaching inside to grab a hold of a small box wrapped neatly in red and gold paper.

Sirius' eyes widen. He hadn't expected you to get him a present. "You didn't have to get me anything — "

"Nonsense! We're friends, aren't we? And friends get each other presents on their birthdays," you say with a smile, handing him the box.

He raises his eyebrows, tapping the item with one of his long, dainty fingers, one adorned with two silver rings. "How do I know you're not only doing this so I have to get you a present on your next birthday?"

You grin mischievously, winking at him. "I never reveal my secrets. Now go on, open it!"

Sirius begins to tear away at the paper, revealing a brand-new red and gold scarf — Gryffindor colours. He pulls it out and holds it up, inspecting it.

"I noticed your current one has gotten a bit shoddy-looking, so..." you chuckle sheepishly.

Sirius smiles genuinely at you. "Thank you, really. I love it."

He throws it around his neck and pumps his chest out exaggeratedly, smirking expectantly at you. "Well? How do I look?"

"Fabulous, Sirius. Absolutely fabulous," you deadpan.

He grins. "I knew it. I'm gorgeous."

You roll your eyes, placing your hands on his shoulders and steering him through the common room. "So modest. Come on, I'm starved, let's get breakfast."

"Not without us, I hope," Remus says as he appears behind you, Peter in tow.

"Morning, you two," you greet with a smile.

"Mornin'," Peter replies, smiling at you before he returns to rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

You chuckle at Remus and Peter, both wearing party hats that match Sirius'. You point up at them. "Do I get one?"

"You can have mine," Remus says quickly, reaching up to pull his off. "Please."

You wave your hands. "Oh, no. You're rocking that hat, Moony. I can't take that away from you."

His shoulders slump in disappointment as you stop him from pulling the hat off, laughing.

He looks at Peter, who just shrugs defeatedly. "James will only force it back onto you if you take it off."

"He'd probably put a permanent sticking charm on it," Sirius says as your group clambers out of the portrait hole. "Then you'd never get it off."

The four of you make your way down the corridor, travelling down the spiral staircase you all know so well. You wave at a few portraits on the wall as you pass, receiving a few smiles and greetings in return.

"Oh, Peter, I finished that book you gave me," you tell him. "Saltwater Sentiments?"

"What did you think of it?"

"I loved it! Godric, I actually couldn't put it down," you say excitedly. "Like, I was brushing my teeth last night with my toothbrush in one hand and the book in the other."

"Me too! I read it in like a day," Peter responds, matching your enthusiasm.

"Oh, oh, and you know that part where Lyra has to kill Evascus? I sobbed," you say dramatically. "I was genuinely getting emotional over it and I remember audibly saying 'what the fuck' to that part."

"You're so right — "

"Oh, yeah, I read that too," Sirius chimes in suddenly, looking expectantly at the two of you.

Peter and you stop talking, turning to the birthday boy himself in slight confusion.

"Really?" you say, surprised. "You read it?"

"Yeah," he says simply. "Why do you find that so surprising?"

You shrug. "Just...doesn't really seem your type of book, if I'm honest. Didn't have you pegged as the emotional romance type."

"You never mentioned reading it before," Peter starts, confused. "I offered it to you ages ago but you said — "

"That I'd already read it!" Sirius cuts across quickly, smiling weirdly and chuckling. "You, my dear friend, have a terrible memory, haha!"

Peter just stares back at him, eyes squinted and mouth agape in confusion. Remus sighs, shaking his head as you enter the Great Hall.

You grab hold of Sirius' arm and reach up to whisper in his ear. "Nice try."

Sirius ignores the tingle that shoots down his spine at your soft voice in his ear.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, feigning oblivion and hurrying up to the table so he can sit himself down beside James, who is still trying to talk to Lily.

You slot yourself in beside Lily, starting to pile breakfast items onto your plate.

"Sorry that we left you back there," Lily says to you. "There was an irritating pest trying to cling to me. Seriously, we've moved places on this table about five times already and he follows us every single time."

You snort, giving Lily an unsurprised look. "Can't say I'm shocked."

"Ugh, I wish he'd just leave me alone already," she says quietly, giving him a distasteful look across the table.

"Hey, James," you say, taking a sip from your orange juice.

"Yeah?"

"Lily wants you to fuck off."

Alice chokes on her water, sending her into a violent coughing fit and Sirius puts an arm around James defensively.

"Don't say that!" he says in mock seriousness. "You know he's very sensitive."

"Hey!" James exclaims, giving Sirius a highly affronted look.

"Being sensitive isn't a bad thing, James," Alice says. "Lots of girls like guys who are sensitive."

"Any girl that'd like him would have to be mad," Lily mutters disdainfully.

James sighs, nodding his head at Lily, smiling confidently at her. "You'll fall in love with me yet, Lilyflower. Just you wait."

You gag in true disgust. "Please don't ever say that again. I think I'll actually be sick."

"Same," Lily groans. James opens his mouth to say more, but doesn't get the chance to when two pretty Hufflepuff girls approach your table.

"Happy birthday, Sirius," one of them purrs, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously at him. Something twists your gut and you watch the scene before you unfold, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying something nasty. The same girl pulls a piece of parchment out of her pocket, and bends over to slip it into his hand, her hand lingering on his for far longer than you'd like. She very clearly has her shirt unbuttoned more than usual, giving everyone at the table a clear view of her cleavage, especially Sirius. "A little present for you, yeah?"

You look at Alice, raising your eyebrows. The girl straightens back up, smiling suggestively at Sirius, before turning with her friend and giggling their way back to the Hufflepuff table.

Sirius unfolds the parchment and you watch as his eyes skim the paper, grimacing at one point.

"What's it say?" James asks curiously, craning his neck to try and read it.

Sirius pushes him away, eyes still fixed on the note. He glances up at you at one point, expression unreadable.

"Meet me in the sixth floor corridor tonight at 7 if you want a real present," he reads aloud and you fail to hide your wince. "I can show you some of my special magic."

Your group takes in a collective, entirely grossed-out gasp.

You push your breakfast plate away from you. "Well, that just made me lose my appetite."

"I regret asking," James says, a disgusted look on his face. "I don't know what I was expecting, but a sex-capade invitation was not it."

"James!" you and Remus groan in unison.

"Who the fuck says sex-capade? Just disgusting, James. Get a grip."

"What? That's what it is!" James replies defensively. "Or are you gonna pretend that she just wants to show Sirius a bit of wingardium leviosa?"

You snort, bursting into laughter and banging your hand on the table.

"Well, I guess we all know now not to bother looking for Sirius this evening," Remus remarks, sipping from his goblet and raising his eyebrows at Sirius over the rim.

"Ha-ha. You're all very funny," Sirius says blankly, folding his arms at the lot of you. "But I won't be going."

Your eyes widen, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really? Sirius Black is passing up on the opportunity to spend the evening with a pretty girl? Who are you?"

"I'm already spending this evening with a pretty girl," he replies immediately. "One far prettier than her, I'll have you know."

Sirius Black, of course. Every time you expect him to have matured a little, to realise that perhaps running around after every girl in the school will get him nowhere and will only get him in about half the school's bad books, he goes right back to his player ways.

You like to think you take offense to his behaviour because of your strong moral code, because you can't stand for the way he jumps from person to person, forgetting that each of them have feelings and emotions he ought to care about. But, to say a truth you pretend isn't true and you don't like to admit, you just wish he'd take more interest in you instead.

"Ah, good for you," you say, a tinge of agitated displeasure sneaking into your voice. "And who might that be?"

"Well, you are going to spend time with me on my birthday, right?"

Your mouth drops open stupidly and you try to find words somewhere in your blanking brain, the opportune time for a quick rebuttal swiftly passing you by.

Alice 'oohs' loudly, giggling, and you sit straighter, attempting to appear confident and unfazed by his flirts. "Yeah, well, I'm afraid it'll take far more than saying I'm pretty to get me in your corner, Black. You've got to try a bit harder than that."

You're lying through your teeth, of course. You've been in his corner for so long now, you're not even sure it's a corner anymore. You're in his circle, his triangle, his fucking graduated cylinder for all you care. He has you hooked around his little finger and you don't think he even realises it.

From across the table, Sirius just winks at you. A silent confirmation that he's up for that challenge.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

♡ hugs and kisses to my taglist loves:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe000diem @jennifer0305 @idkman5335

#sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter #the marauders #angst #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #hp #fanfic #marauders #ff #wizarding world #sirius orion black

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius x fem!reader

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

"Alright, guys, have a good evening," you say to your fourth-years as they pick up their bags and start to head for the exit. You've just started to pack up your own things and head down to your room when there's a voice behind you.

"Uh, Professor?"

You turn, finding Harry standing there. You smile and nod at him and he pulls a scrap of parchment out of his pocket, holding it out to you.

He glances at his classmates leaving, some of which look back at him curiously. "One of the other teachers told me to give this to you."

That's odd. Usually the teachers would just send it themselves.

You take it anyway. "Thanks, Harry. Have a good night."

He leaves, catching up Ron and Hermione who had been waiting for him, and you lean back against your desk, unfolding the parchment.

Your heart leaps when you recognise the messy, sprawled handwriting.

My love,

I'm flying north immediately. Harry told me about his scar, I presume he told you too, and I have heard far too many strange rumours to ignore it. I need to talk to you and Harry.

I miss you so much it hurts. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of you. Please stay safe and I'll be in touch soon. Remember how much I love you.

Yours,

Sirius

What about Harry's scar? He didn't tell you anything. So much for your whole getting-your godson-to-trust-and-confide-in-you plan.

You can practically hear Sirius' voice dripping from the page. The letter is short and looks rushed, he must've been in quite a hurry. Your stomach constricts with worry — he's completely putting himself in danger by coming here.

Whatever Harry told him, it clearly worried Sirius. Worried him enough to risk his safety to come north just to speak to Harry. And to you, too.

You ought to ask Harry what this is all about.

You read over the letter a few more times, a smile on your face, before you tidy up and start down the stairs, heading for bed.

The next morning, you wake bright and early, hoping to catch Harry at morning breakfast. To your luck, you do. He's sitting at the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione. As you approach, you notice him having heated words with Hermione, but they suddenly stop when they see you.

"Morning," you greet. "Harry, can I speak to you when you're finished? If you have time before your first class, of course."

He nods, immediately standing up, exchanging wary glances with his friends.

"You're not in trouble, Harry. You look like you're expecting me to expel you or something," you reassure with a chuckle and he loosens up slightly, following you out of the Hall. You lead him down the corridor until you find one that's empty and where you won't be heard.

Involuntarily, your eyes flick up to Harry's scar, and he notices, pulling his hair down to cover it up.

You sigh, lowering your voice. "Harry, that letter you gave me last night...Sirius said he's coming north because of something to do with your scar. What happened?"

Harry glances away from you, shrugging, before putting on an awkward smile. "Oh, it was nothing, really. I just, er, imagined it was hurting...bit stupid now, to be honest."

Your eyes widen. "Your scar was hurting?"

"Like I said, I imagined it — "

"An unlikely thing to imagine, Harry," you tut, unimpressed. You think for a moment, racking your brains as to what could have possibly caused a scar to be painful. "And it was just out of the blue? There was nothing that could have caused it?"

Harry blinks at you.

"Yup, very random."

He's lying. It's as plain to you as the nose on his face. "I'm not that thick, Harry, I can tell you're lying."

His eyes widen, like he didn't expect you to call him out on his lie and he raises his hands yo in defense. "Honestly, you don't have to worry about me. And Sirius doesn't have to either, it's nothing really. Honest."

You just sigh, shaking your head and shrugging. "I'll worry about you regardless, Harry, for as long as you have to go to Professor Snape's classes. And, y'know, 'cause it's my job. Sirius and I will always worry about you." You shuffle on your feet, thinking of what you should do. "But...if you're really that unwilling to tell me, I'll let you off. Just — just tell me everything you hear from him, won't you? Who knows what that fool will do next..."

Harry chuckles, nodding.

"Alright, off you go. Time for class," you say, glancing down at your watch. You pat his shoulder and he hurries off back to the Hall to find Ron and Hermione.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You find yourself standing outside the castle, watching as students file down into the courtyard in single-file lines. Minerva leads her Gryffindors, throwing orders out left, right and centre.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," she barks at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Parvati Patil scowls and removes a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait. Aw. You thought it was pretty.

All the students are shivering, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation as they await the arrival of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Minerva makes her way over to you, still casting a watchful eye over her house.

"I wish they would hurry up," she says quietly to you. "I fear Colin Creevey will not be able to stay still for too much longer."

You glance past her at Colin, who is practically shaking with excitement. He keeps glancing back at Harry behind him, grinning widely. Colin is quite a sweet lad, actually. He's very keen to learn and you like that about him. He's very enthusiastic in your class, even if he does have trouble discerning between Astronomy and Astrology.

"I share his excitement, honestly," you reply. "Who knows what we're in for?"

Down the line, Dumbledore speaks up. “Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

Many students ask 'Where?', eagerly scouring the area for any sign of the French school's arrival.

"There!"

Something large hurtles through the dark sky towards the castle, growing bigger as it gets closer.

"It's a dragon!" One first-year student, Melanie Mills, yells. She looks to have completely lost it.

"Don't be stupid...it's a flying house!" Dennis Creevey cries.

You share a look with Minerva, returning your gaze to the approaching shape. To your surprise, Dennis isn't actually that far off. You see a giant, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring towards you. It's pulled by a dozen majestic, winged horses, beating their wings as they glide through the air.

The enormous horses skid to a stop right in front of the first-years, who all rear back skittishly. The door to the grand carriage opens and a boy in pale blue robes jumps down from the carriage, bends forward and fumbles with something for a moment on the carriage floor before unfolding a set of gold steps.

You watch in shock as the largest woman you've ever seen steps out of the carriage. She's so tall all thoughts in your head genuinely just melt into pure shock. Bloody hell, she looks bigger than Hagrid. She's dressed from head to toe in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleam at her throat and on her large fingers. She's quite beautiful, but you just can't get over the sheer fact that she's about three times your height.

Dumbledore starts to clap loudly, and the students follow his lead. You clap, open-mouthed as you continue to stare at this incredible woman. Minerva elbows you and jolts you out of your stupor.

A graceful smile settles on the woman's face as she walks forward towards Dumbledore, extending a bejewelled hand out to him. Dumbledore barely has to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he says. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," Madame Maxime says. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," he replies.

“My pupils,” says Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

You now notice about a dozen boys and girls, all looking to be in their late teens, emerging from the carriage and moving to stand behind Madame Maxime. They're shivering, dressed only in their fine silk robes and without any cloaks. They stare up at Hogwarts with apprehensive expressions, glancing around at the students curiously.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asks.

"He should be here any moment," says Dumbledore. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," says Madame Maxime. "But ze 'orses — "

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," says Dumbledore, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other — er — charges."

You're sure that means Hagrid's current muse: blast-ended skrewts. Nasty buggers, they are. You're glad you're not a student taking that class.

"My steeds require — er — forceful 'andling," Madame Maxime tells him, looking as though she doubts whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong..."

"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," says Dumbledore, smiling.

"Very well. "Madame Maxime bows slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"It will be attended to," assures Dumbledore, also bowing.

"Come," Madame Maxime says imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parts to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

The students continue to stand in waiting, their teeth chattering with the cold. Quiet murmurs sweep through the group and Madame Maxime's horses snort and stamp at the ground.

"How long are we gonna have to wait?" Sprout says from your left. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

"Don't say that to Madame Maxime," you mutter quietly and Sprout chuckles.

Then, you hear a distant rumbling and rippling of water.

"The lake!" Lee Jordan yells. "Look at it!"

The Black Lake, usually calm and serene, seems far from it at this moment in time. Some disturbance is taking place deep inside. Bubbles form at the surface, waves crash onto the muddy banks, and you squint as a small whirlpool begins to form in its centre...

Slowly, magnificently, a ship rises out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. You're impressed at the sheer size of the ship, which has an interesting...skeletal look about it. It's misty and dim, looking like it was just plucked from a silent crypt.

The ship nears the bank, and with a great thud a plank is thrown down onto the ground. People start disembarking, and you notice that as they get closer and closer, they appear to be wearing heavy coats of some kind of matted fur. The man who leads them is wearing a different fur cloak to the rest, this one is far more sleek and silver, like his hair.

"Dumbledore!" he calls heartily as he walks up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replies.

Karkaroff is quite a tall and thin man, not unlike Dumbledore, with short white hair and a goatee that ends in a twisted curl. When he reaches Dumbledore, he reaches out and shakes his hand with both of his own.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he says, looking up at the castle and smiling. It's not a true smile, you notice, it doesn't reach his eyes. It's dishonest. "How good it is to be here, how good...Viktor, come along, into the warmth...you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold."

A young man steps forward towards Karkaroff, and when the light from the castle windows hit him you realise that it's none other than Viktor Krum, the Quidditch player. Several of the students let out gasps as the sight of him. Ron looks like he's about to faint.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

Time passes and the Goblet of Fire has been left in the Great Hall, where occasionally, someone puts their name forward for the Triwizard Tournament — among them Fred and George Weasley, of course, who decided to employ a cheap Ageing Potion to swindle the Age Line. It did not work out as they planned. They ended up in the hospital wing with two long, silvery beards sprouting from their chins.

Sirius would have loved this. All the excitement and bravado of the Tournament, everything about it. You can picture himself and James putting their names into the goblet, walking away with smug smirks.

You miss him. You miss him so much. Every day you worry about him, hoping that he hasn't gotten himself killed since you last heard from him. It's tough.

One night you can't sleep, mind rampant with thoughts of Sirius, so you go up the Tower to sit and watch the stars like you usually do. To your disappointment, it's too cloudy of a night for you to see much and you decide to just go for a walk around the castle instead. Dubh joins you, jumping into your arms and clinging to your shirt, purring contentedly.

It's perfectly quiet in the empty corridors, silent but for the soft echo of your slippers sliding over the stone. The paintings are all still and sleeping. Some of them are snoring. You know this castle like the back of your hand. At this point, you probably know it better than your own home. You've spent so many days here, countless times have you passed through these same hallways, at all times of the day.

You stroke Dubh's head lovingly, gently scratching behind her ears. You'd be lost without her, really. She's the best company you could ask for.

You near the Great Hall and that's when you hear a muffled bang. You stop walking immediately, furrowing your brows and trying to listen for more. Perhaps it was just your imagination.

Bang!

No, you definitely heard it that time. It's quiet, but not quiet enough, and it's coming from the Hall. Your heart starts to beat a little faster, and you pull your wand from your pocket, edging closer to the double doors of the Great Hall. You slowly, apprehensively pull one open just a crack, and slip into the Hall.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Moody is approaching your end of the Hall, and when he looks up and sees you he stops dead in his tracks, good eye wide.

"Sir?" You say in confusion.

He doesn't respond.

"Is, uh, is everything alright? I heard noises..."

He grinds his teeth. "No, no. It's fine. What are you doing down here?"

You shrug. "I couldn't sleep, wanted to go for a walk. Why are you down here?"

"None of your business, girl," he snaps quickly, barely letting you finish your sentence before he's jumped in.

You swallow, glancing away from him, petting Dubh anxiously. "Right, yeah, okay."

He clunks his way over to you, and you brace yourself as he passes, glass eye fixed on you. Dubh hisses at him and you just worry that'll anger him even more.

It's not long before he's left the Hall and you're still standing there, confused.

What the hell is going on?

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You sit, once again, in the Great Hall. It's Halloween, so pumpkins and enchanted bats bob high in the room. Every student is watching the goblet closely, hoping it'll do something soon.

You glance down the staff table. You see Snape, who gives you a dirty look when he catches you and you scoff; Hagrid, who is eagerly chatting with Madame Maxime; Ludo Bagman, who is currently caught up in conversation with Minerva beside you; and Crouch, who could not look more uninterested and bored. What a lovely chap.

"Well, the goblet is ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announces, and several students look to each other excitedly. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicates the door behind your table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He takes out his wand, quenching every candle in the room but for the ones in the pumpkins, plunging the Hall into semi-darkness. The mesmerising blue flame of the Goblet of Fire danced and captured everyone's attention, waiting with bated breath for its decision.

Any second now, you think.

You spotted Angelina Johnson putting her name in not too long ago, you hope it's her. Such a lovely girl. You'd heard too that Cedric Diggory also put his name in, and while you think he's also a great fit for Hogwarts champion, you'd like to see a woman lift that cup this year. A Gryffindor, too, that'd be nice.

Suddenly, the flame turns red and sparks begin to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shoots into the air and a piece of parchment flutters out of it. Everyone gasps.

Dumbledore deftly catches the piece of parchment. "The champion for Durmstrang..." he booms slowly, "will be Viktor Krum."

Loud cheering and applause sweeps through the Hall as Viktor Krum stands from the Slytherin table and approaches the staff table, passing down it.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff booms loudly, clapping heartily and grinning at his student. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and cheering dies down again and you return your focus to the goblet, its flames glowing red once more. Before you can even register it, a second piece of parchment fires into the air, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons..." Dumbledore reads, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Fleur Delacour's face is bright and full of smiles as she excitedly heads up past your table to the raucous applause from the room, before she too disappears into the side chamber with Viktor Krum.

Silence falls and you can feel the added tension of this one: Hogwarts next. You don't even notice the way you lean further into the table, tapping your foot in anticipation as the Goblet of Fire finally turns red again, spitting out the last scrap of parchment into Dumbledore's waiting hands.

"The Hogwarts champion...is Cedric Diggory!"

This time, the applause is by far the loudest. Each and every Hufflepuff gets to their feet, clapping and cheering loudly as Cedric Diggory makes his way past them, grinning broadly. You clap enthusiastically and smile encouragingly at him as he passes you, following the other two champions into the chamber.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore calls happily as at last the celebration dies down. "Well, now we have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real — "

Dumbledore suddenly stops speaking, and you crane your neck to look and see what's stopped him.

The fire in the Goblet has turned red again. Sparks are flying out of it. A long flame suddenly shoots into the air, spitting out yet another piece of parchment.

As if automatically, Dumbledore reached out his hand to seize the parchment. He holds it out and stares at it, his expression unreadable. You stare at Dumbledore, wondering what's going on, but his face reveals absolutely nothing as he continues to study the parchment like there's some sort of unbreakable code written upon it.

He clears his throat.

"Harry Potter."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

hello lovelies! I am so so sorry that this chapter took so long to get out, I actually changed it several times 😭 sometimes I forget that this IS a Sirius fic, and that everyone reading this has most likely seen the movies/read the books before and I don't need to write every scene straight from the book that doesn't directly affect the reader! anyways. sorry for my little rant, I love you all so much and thank you for your patience 🫶🫶

hugs and kisses for my amazing taglist loves: @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe00diem @jennifer0305 @idkman5335

#sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter #the marauders #angst with a happy ending #angst #fanfiction #fanfic #hp #marauders era #marauders #sirius orion black

[mybutcheredtongue]

happy Paddy's Day to all girls and boys in green 🇮🇪💚

#ireland #irish #paddys day #st patricks day

[mybutcheredtongue]

I just found this series and I’m so happy to have found it!! So excited for future chapters!❤️

aw thank you my love! Your support means the world to me 🫶💌

#the marauders #sirius black #hp #fanfiction #harry potter #angst #angst with a happy ending #fanfic #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #marauders era

[mybutcheredtongue]

loving the series and i cant wait for sirius and her to reunite frfr 😔😔😭

so happy you like it and me too!! I'm so excited to write it <3

#harry potter #the marauders #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #hp #sirius black #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #fanfic #angst

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

A man stands in the doorway, leaning on a long staff, hidden away behind the shadow of a black travelling coat. Every head in the Hall turns to him, a great crackle of lightning forking across the enchanted ceiling. The man lowers his hood and shakes out a man of long, grizzled, dark grey hair and makes his way up to your table.

The loud, dull clunk of a wooden leg echoes throughout the silent Hall with every step he takes, and your ears prick with the recognition of that clunk — you've heard that clunk before...many times before.

He makes it to your table, lightning flashing and illuminating the man's face. The skin of his face is scarred and looks rough to the touch. There's a large chunk of his nose missing, his mouth is thin and his lips are cracked. But nothing compares to his eyes — the most unsettling part about him.

One is small, dark, and beady. Dark like the depths of the Black Lake. The other is quite the opposite — as large as a coin, the iris a startling, vivid blue. It's encased within an eye patch, held on by straps of leather. The blue eyes moves without reason, spinning and twirling in its socket without blinking. And though the glass eye makes most look away from squeamishness, you give a little smile. You're well used to that eye by now, that skin, that clunk, that man.

It's the face of your old mentor, Alastor Moody.

Or, as he's more widely known...

Mad-Eye Moody.

Moody sits down at the table, shaking his man of grizzly hair. He pulls a small knife out his pocket, pulls a plate of sausages towards him, and spears one on the end of the knife before eating it.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore says brightly into the stunned silence. "Professor Moody."

Usually, the Hall erupts into applause from both the staff and teachers. However, tonight, it's only you, Dumbledore, and Hagrid that clap. Mad-Eye's not that bad, really, you just have to get used to him. He's a sweetheart!

Okay, that's a total lie.

But you do really just have to get used to his... peculiarities. Everyone'll be well adjusted to him by the end of the year, you're sure.

Moody doesn't seem to care about his unwelcome welcome, instead pulling a flask out of his pocket and taking a swig from it. Well, that's something he's always done — carry his own personal flask to drink out of.

"Constant vigilance!" He'd told you. "You'll never know if what's in front of you has been poisoned or not!"

Dumbledore clears his throat. "As I was saying," he says, smiling out at the crowd of gaping students, "we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that hasn't been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" Fred Weasley exclaims loudly.

The tension that had been thickening ever since Moody's arrival breaks as nearly everyone bursts into laughter at Fred.

Dumbledore chuckles appreciatively. "I am not joking, Mr Weasley...though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar..."

Minerva clears her throat loudly from beside you.

"Er — but maybe this is not the time...no..." says Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament...well, some of you will not know what the tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

Of course, as a member of staff, you've already been well briefed on the tournament and what's involved. You've heard it all before, and as per his instruction, you allow your attention to wander.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You trek down the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, clutching a letter addressed to Remus in your hand. You dread having to walk back up all those stairs for your last class of the day in an hour. A few students are milling about the corridors, a few chatting amicably while others complain about the homework they've already gotten on the first day back.

You round a corner, glancing at the oil paintings on the wall next to you. Then, you start to hear the sound of a dull clunk echoing down the hallway, and Moody appears, hobbling towards you. His glass eye is swivelling erratically in its socket, but his good eye isn't looking at you.

"Oh, sir!"

When you were training to be an Auror — which you never got to finish — you always addressed Moody as sir. Never Mad-Eye, never Alastor. And when you were talking about him with somebody else, you always said Moody. His character demands respect and you don't hesitate to give it.

But this is different. Now, you're proper colleagues. It's a bit strange, like adjusting to working alongside Minerva when you first started here. Hopefully you'll adjust to his presence just as easily as Minerva's.

Moody flinches when he hears you call out, head snapping to you, regular eye fixating on you.

You give him a hesitant smile, nodding at him. "It's — uh — it's been a while, sir. It's good to see you again."

Something flashes in his good eye — recognition. His glass eye spins and looks at you, scrutinizing you silently. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up under that interrogating eye.

It's a while before he answers.

"Yes."

"I know this probably isn't the field you expected me to go into — but you know, after everything..." You chuckle awkwardly, shrugging. You immediately curse yourself for that — that chuckle would have instantly gotten you reprimanded during your training.

"It's unconfident!" he'd said. "You're letting your guard down, appearing vulnerable. Do you want your enemies to think you're an easy target?"

But now, Moody doesn't comment on it. He barely even seems to register it.

"Right," he says curtly, before continuing on his way, hobbling down the corridor. You turn and stare after him, mouth agape at his coldness. You thought you had bonded during your time together, that he thought of you as a good student. And you really looked up to him too, you still do. But he disregarded you like it was nothing...like he forgot who you were.

As you stare after him, he pulls his flask out of his pocket and takes a swig from it, grimacing. He glances back over his shoulder and catches you staring. You quickly turn around and continue towards the owlery, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

Reuniting with your old mentor? Check!

Did it go well? Nope!

How embarrassing.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

It's Thursday evening, and you sit in your office, reading Astronomy's Articles. The fireplace crackles in the corner, radiating warmth throughout the room. There's quite an interesting piece here on how old astronomical teachings influenced pop culture, and you're nearly finished it when there's a weak knock at the door. At first you think you might've imagined it, but the knock comes again, slightly louder this time.

You go over to open it, revealing Neville Longbottom, who is currently staring down at his shoes. In his hands, you spot a heavy book. He's shaking.

"Neville, dear, what's wrong?" You ask gently, concern obvious in your voice.

"C — can I please come in?" The poor boy's voice is no louder than a whisper. You nod wordlessly, opening the door further for him to come in and then closing it softly behind him.

"Sit down there, Neville, and a take a deep breath," you say kindly. You grab a jug and fill it with water, placing it on your desk with a glass for him. You pull all your papers out of the way and he sits down.

You sit down at your chair, looking across at him encouragingly. You don't say anything, just wait for him to start himself. While he's quiet, you take a look at the book in his hands, titled: Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties.

"I — I don't want to bother you, Professor."

You shake your head. "Neville, you could never bother me. Please, tell me. What happened?"

He doesn't meet your eyes, hands fiddling with the book.

"I just...Professor, when my parents...when they...did they really go through all that p-pain?" he asks shakily.

You're highly taken aback by this. What is he doing asking something like that? The answer will only hurt him further.

"Oh, Neville, what brings this on?"

He doesn't answer you for a moment, looking down at the cover of his book.

"Professor Moody...he — he showed it to me," he responds quietly, like he's telling a big secret.

"Showed what to you?" You're almost reluctant to hear the answer. Something heavy settles in your stomach sickeningly.

The office is silent as Neville breathes heavily. He fiddles with the book again, bounces his leg. It's like you can hear every blink of his eyes, every individual lash brushing against his under-eye. What would Alice say if she seen him like this? She'd be devastated, no doubt. You're here to look after him. Harry and Neville. Both lost their parents, parents who were your best friends. You could never sit by and watch as their sons sit in turmoil, battling something extremely difficult.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Neville breathes.

You blink in confusion. "I'm sorry, what do you mean he showed you the Cruciatus Curse?"

"O-on a spider," he says quietly. "He-he pointed his wand at it and said — "

"Crucio," you whisper, horrified. "Why would he do that?"

You're confused and shocked and horrified. Moody really did that? In front of the students? In front of Neville? He knows exactly who Neville is, he knows exactly who his parents were and what happened to them.

"He — he said we needed to know. That we n-needed to see it to know how to defend it."

You bring your hands up to your face. You've seen the curse performed before, when you were helping Moody track down a dark wizard who'd taken a Muggle hostage, and nothing about it is pretty. It's scarring — it's the kind of thing that lodges itself in your mind, and the image never weakens. The sounds never fade.

Neville hasn't stopped trembling since he walked in here.

"Neville..." you bite your lip, unsure what to say, so you do the only thing you think you can: you stand up from your chair, and hug him. You pull the frail boy into your arms, gently stroking his hair soothingly. You're conscious of the fact that really, Neville's only maternal figure in his life has been his grandmother who — while being a formidable, strong woman — can't hold a candle to the warmth that Alice had. The heart of gold and love that she had — that she still has, somewhere — for her son. He needs you to provide that warmth and support now.

He pulls away to talk again. "My parents...do you think they suffered...? "

"They did, Neville," you say, pulling away but leaving your hands on his shoulders. "They suffered. I'm afraid I can't tell you any different."

Neville's eyes begin to water and he doesn't meet your eyes.

"But," you continue softly, "they were brave, Neville. They were so brave and strong and stood their ground. Anyone else would have ran, fled with their tails between their legs, but not your parents, Neville. And — the people who hurt your parents? They're all in jail. Rotting away in Azkaban, which is an awful fate. Perfectly deserved for the horrible scum that did that to Alice and Frank."

Neville nods slowly, taking a shaky breath. He sits for a few moments, quiet, as he thinks over what you said. Eventually, you feel confident that he looks a bit less shaken, colour returning to his face. He stands up and you give him a sympathetic smile.

"Would you like to stay here for a little longer?" you ask softly, and he shakes his head.

"No, it's okay...I'll get going now."

You nod, patting his shoulder and moving to open the door for him. "Alright." He exits and you follow, locking the door behind you. When he looks back at you in slight confusion, you say, "I'd like to go have a word with Professor Moody."

Moody's office isn't too far from yours. Neville departs off towards the Gryffindor Tower, the time nearing curfew. You knock on the door, waiting impatiently for the door to open. Eventually, you hear hobbling behind the door and it opens a crack.

"Sir!"

You can only see the blue eye, spinning rapidly in its socket. He looks you up and down, scrutinising you.

"What?"

"Look, I just talked to one of your fourth-year students. Is it true you showed them the Cruciatus Curse? That you performed it on a spider?"

Part of you is scared. This is you, standing up to the best, strongest Auror you've ever met. Your mentor. But at the same time you're filled with anger. How could he do that? How could he put that on Neville, and all those other students who had to bear witness to that torture?

Moody doesn't answer. His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips for just a second, before receding back. That's something you don't think you've seen Moody do before. No, you've definitely not seen him do that.

But you recognise it. You definitely remember being grossed out before by that exact move. He must've just caught it from someone else, after all, they do call him Mad-Eye. He has been known to be somewhat far-gone.

"I'll admit it was an unorthodox way of teaching, but they needed to see it," he answers curtly. "They need to see in order to know how to defend it and resist!"

You shake your head furiously. "There are other ways to show them how to defend themselves! You can't do that. They're children, sir. They shouldn't be coming out of class half traumatised!"

He pulls the door open more, revealing his cracked face. His good eye stares daggers at you and he moves forward, forcing you to take a step back. He leers over you threateningly.

"Don't question me, girl."

You stare back at him, searching his face for any sliver of a joke, but are met with the hard, steel expression of a man who is certainly not joking. The Moody you know would never say that to you. He would never use that threatening tone with you, no matter what you did. Constructive criticism, yeah, a bit of frustration, yeah, but not this. You've never had to feel scared in his presence.

But you do now.

You're suddenly aware of the fact that this is a strong, strong man in front of you. You would never be able to fight him off. Your lip trembles, and embarrassingly, you feel your eyes start to water.

This was your mentor. This was someone who you looked up to so much, and now he's looking at you like some scummy substance he found on the bottom of his boot. You feel hurt. You feel so badly hurt and embarrassed and scared.

Moody continues to stare you down, before grunting and doing that janky tongue movement and slamming his door shut in your face. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and stare at the closed door in front of you.

What do you do? Should you tell someone? None of the other teachers know about that class, otherwise something would have been said. Minerva would already have been banging on your door to talk about it.

Is it worth your while even reporting it? You doubt anyone would care. It's Alastor Moody, famed Auror. Who would they really rather support: you or him? You don't stand a chance against him.

You return to your office that night feeling sick to your stomach. Worries churn your stomach sickeningly and quiet tears drip down your cheeks. You're just so confused. Why would Moody do that to you? He never expressed any dislike for you before, but there it was obvious. You feel so foolish for allowing yourself to think the Mad-Eye Moody cared about you at all.

You feel lonely. You start to just want Sirius here, next to you, so you can talk to him. He always knows what to do. He always knows what to say. You want him to be here and to take you in his arms, stroke your hair soothingly, reassure you.

You just want him here.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

Spring, 1980

Bright, cheerful chatter fills the area, guests milling about and laughter bubbling up out their throats. Beside you, Sirius has his hand on your knee, circling it idly with his thumb as he chats to James beside him. James tells a joke and Sirius lets out a hearty laugh. You watch his face light up in joy, a beautiful smile spreading over his face.

He's so handsome.

His long locks just tickling his neck, the shirt of his suit unbuttoned to show the skin of his chest, his jacket shrugged off and thrown on the back of the chair. The sunlight catches his long lashes, the outline of his face, making him look like something out of a dream.

You glance around at the guests, thinking about what to do next. You take a quick sip from your wine and lean over to Sirius.

"I'm going to go mingle," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He stops talking, turning to you with a loving expression.

"Don't be too long," he says. "I want my wife back as soon as possible."

He kisses your lips softly, smiling, and you pull away to go mingle.

You make a beeline for Alice and Lily immediately, who are chatting animatedly with Remus and Peter.

"Hello, hello!" You greet with a grin and they all smile.

"Well, if it isn't the beautiful bride!" Alice exclaims with a laugh.

Everyone looks absolutely perfect. Alice and Lily in their pretty bridesmaid dresses, Remus and Peter in their groomsmen suits. It's a small enough reception, you could never invite too many with the way things are right now. There are a few Aurors and Order of the Phoenix members dotted around, some looking about the place like they're expecting an attack.

"Where's Frank gone?" You ask Alice. It's rare to see Alice without her dear husband, her husband of two months now. Even now, you can see the way her face lights up at the mention of him.

"Oh, he's just gone to get us some drinks," she says with a smile, looking past you to see a man standing at the drinks table, plucking two glasses out of the lineup and turning around to come towards you.

You throw him a small wave, and he nods back because his hands are full. Beyond him, you catch sight of a man you didn't actually expect to see tonight: Alastor Moody. He's standing beneath a large tree, shaded from the sun by its foliage. He's looking around him suspiciously, like he's afraid someone's going to spot him.

You place a hand on Alice's back, patting it as you say, "I've just spotted someone. If I don't see you leading a conga line when I get back I'll be livid."

She giggles, saluting you jokingly. "Yes, ma'am."

You smile at the group, taking your leave and heading for Moody. He looks up when you approach, his good eye settling on you while the other dances in its socket.

"Sir, you came," you say with a smile. You really are shocked that he actually showed up. You gave him his invitation ages ago, and hadn't mentioned it since. He said nothing of any intentions to come to the wedding.

He nods, glancing around himself furtively like he doesn't want anyone to catch him here. "Yes, well...I'm here just in case something happens of course... in case you have a few unwelcome guests."

"What, like you?" You joke, and you can see how he tries to hide his chuckle, shaking his head gruffly.

"Dark wizards, more like."

He doesn't seem entirely certain of that, however. You can tell that he's not just here for that, but you don't say anything. You're just happy he's here. Nobody would attack your wedding. Maybe because there's Order members here, but something tells you that won't happen. You have such a happy gut feeling, you feel like you're on air today. Nothing could ruin it.

"Well, thank you for coming," you say genuinely. "I really appreciate it."

He glances away from you, seemingly fixating on something in the distance. "I can't have you getting attacked on your wedding day. It would make for a pretty shitty story."

You smile. "Thanks."

You stand together in silence. You glance out at the rest of the party: Alice is, as you instructed, leading a long conga line on the makeshift dance floor, now bathed in evening sunlight. You spot Sirius right behind her, enthusiastically throwing out his leg in time with Alice. You chuckle appreciatively at them.

"You know," Moody starts, and you turn back to him, "when they told me I'd have to take on a student, I thought they'd be a nuisance, getting in the way of my work. But you, I am...I'm glad it was you, and not some clueless thing who doesn't know their left from their right. You're good at this, and you'll be even better when you're finished with me."

Your mouth opens dumbly and you just stare back at him in surprise, before a great big smile spreads over your face. You don't want to say anything to embarrass yourself, so you just smile at him and he looks away, clearing his throat.

"Once you stop giving me cheek, that is," he adds.

You can't help but laugh, before he fixes you with a look and you straighten up again, pursing your lips, holding back any comments.

"Now, it's time you stop bothering me and go back off to the lovesick lad you've left behind," he says, nodding his head in Sirius' direction, who has detached himself from the conga line to beckon you over with a longing gaze. You smile back at him and don't hesitate to hurry towards the fun.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

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[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius x fem!reader

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

Giving an elf clothes is basically the same as throwing them off a cliff. Life-ruining. You think about this as you leave Winky sobbing at Crouch's feet, turning to return to your tent. Poor Winky. First she had to deal with that awful man as a master, and now she's being set free by said man. It's a tough life for house elves, you'll give them that. This all just reminds you of Bitsy — you'll have to go visit her first thing when school starts.

You glance to your left, spotting Mr Weasley escorting the kids back to their tent, and feel guilt gnawing at your gut.

"Give me a sec, will you?" you say to Minerva, jogging over to their group. "Mr Weasley?"

He looks up, raising his eyebrows when he sees you.

"I'm sorry for all that...I'm sure it was a shock to the system..." you say warily. "But please, don't think of me any differently. My — my past has no effect whatsoever on my work, and I can assure you that I will always do what is best for my students and — "

Mr Weasley brings up a hand, waving you down with a shake of his head. "Don't worry, professor. The boys — they speak very well of you. And Ginny too — I'm not worried."

You're surprised at that. You half expected him to look at you in disgust and steer his children away from you. It warms your heart to know he doesn't think you're bad.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," you say genuinely. He gives you a small smile. "And I'd really appreciate it if maybe you...kept this to yourself? It's just — my job is everything to me, and if others found out..."

He nods understandingly. "You have my word."

You smile at him, nodding nervously. You glance at the three kids behind him, hoping your concern for them is communicated well enough. You head for Mr Diggory, giving him the same story, and he just nods like he wants to get as far from you as possible. That hurts, but you'll take what you can get. You scamper back to Minerva, and the two of you head back to your tent.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

The rest of your summer break is...boring. Believe it or not, it can get very lonely in your house with just Dubh as company. You consider going to visit your parents again, but part of you feels guilty when you think about leaving. What if Sirius tries to contact you but can't reach you at your parents'? It's too much of a risk.

You and Remus spend your time together, like you've always done, but it's still not the same. It's not like you spend every waking moment together — and you miss him when he's not there. You miss the company of your best friend. The silence of your little home is deafening when you wake to do the exact same things you did the day before.

One evening, your mind wanders to Harry. You wonder how he's getting on. You hope he's safe and not still shaken after the events of the Quidditch World Cup — that night definitely set you on edge and worried for your godson. Perhaps it's time you should actually make an effort to contact him — now that he knows well who you are, he doesn't deserve to just have that be it. Right now, your relationship is still very professor-studenty...and you don't want that. You're his godmother and you want him to see you exactly as that — someone he can trust, someone he can confide in and talk to without worrying about school or work.

So, with all this in mind, you grab a quill and some ink, fishing out a piece of parchment and setting it all down on the table.

Dear Harry,

Too formal, you think. You scratch it out messily, starting again.

Dearest Harry,

No, that's not right. You scratch that out.

Hey, Harry!

What are you so excited about? This is just setting him up for something interesting, and you really have nothing interesting to tell. Scratch that.

What's up, Hazza?

Scratch.

My beloved godson,

Scratch scratch.

To: Harry

Scratch scratch scratch.

You look down at the parchment, realising you've just about scratched out the top half of the parchment. Nice one. You crumple it up, throwing it towards the rubbish bin in the corner of the room and missing it by half a mile. You groan, getting up and begrudgingly tossing it in the bin properly and getting another piece of parchment. You take a deep breath before starting this one.

Harry,

I hope you're well, and that you're enjoying your stay with the Weasleys'. Do tell Ron and Hermione I said hello and I'm really looking forward to seeing you all in September! Hopefully there's a year ahead where the three of you aren't getting up to too much mischief...though perhaps that's an impossible thing to ask for.

I hope you're doing okay after the World Cup. I won't mollycoddle you and say you have nothing to worry about because you're old enough to know better, but you can always talk to me, Harry. I mean it. I'm your godmother and it's high time I start acting like it.

I'm afraid I don't really have anything interesting to share. The summer can be quite boring for me — it's just myself and Dubh. Remus comes 'round a lot, but I think that's because he gets a free meal out of it.

There's a room here for you, y'know. When we were made godparents, Sirius demanded that you have your own room here because it was a 'necessity'. Personally I think it was just so he could get the chance to put the idea in your head that tying your dad's shoelaces together would be a good thing. It's lucky one-year-old Harry had little-to-no dexterity.

Write back soon with all the news! I could do with a little excitement.

All my love and best wishes,

You sign your name, tapping your quill against your chin thoughtfully as you read back over the letter.

P.S. If you hear anything from that daft dog will you please let me know? I've gotten no word and can't help but worry. Enjoy the photo!

You spend five minutes rummaging around for a photo, eventually landing on one of a young Lily smiling sheepishly, her cheeks rosy, clutching a copy of her potions textbook in her arms.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

Children run and crowd the platform at King's Cross, hugging parents and grimacing as their mothers press sloppy kisses to their cheeks. You push your own trunk and Dubh's crate through the crowd, finally managing to get onto the train and into your usual compartment in the Prefects' carriage.

You sit down with a sigh, taking out your books and doing what you usually do: touch up lesson plans. Then you pull out a fictional book, written in French, hoping to brush up on your skills in the language before the arrival of the Beauxbatons students.

This year, something big is happening at Hogwarts: the Triwizard Tournament. One of-age student from Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons is selected and the three participants compete in three tasks to win a grand prize of a thousand galleons. You're quite excited for it — especially to meet the new teachers from the other schools. It's something to look forward to!

After a while, you decide to get up and stretch your legs. You'll go for a walk down the train, maybe have a quick word with your seventh years and see how they're doing. Off you go, and luckily you do spot a gaggle of your seventh years in a compartment with the door open. Inside, you find Cedric Diggory, Molly Milvy, Elisa Catchweld and James Smith. All Hufflepuffs. They tell you about their summers, the holidays they went on, their hopes for this coming year, their worries about exams. Molly Milvy seems especially worried about her Astronomy exam, pulling out a thick textbook from her bag and flipping it open.

"I've just — Professor, how in Merlin's name do you analyse spectra? I just — I cannot wrap my head around it — "

You chuckle light-heartedly. "Oh, Ms Milvy, we'll cover it, don't you worry. I'll explain it all when we come to it."

"When will we come to it? I'm seriously just beginning to worry — "

You gently take the book from the blonde girl, closing it shut. "I'll make a note to get an early start on spectra with your class this year, and I'm happy to spend time going over it outside of class with you if needs be."

She smiles, some of the stress leaving her face. "Okay, okay. Thank you, Professor."

You glance at Cedric Diggory. Did his father tell him about you? If he did, he's not showing it. He's looking as friendly as he's always been. You nod and smile at the students, bidding them goodbye before continuing on your way down the train. You pass students, giving them all greeting smiles, before eventually you near a compartment, peering in the window and spotting Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting inside, chatting away amicably. You knock on the door, smiling when Hermione stands to open it.

"Professor!" She immediately starts to smooth her hair down in an effort to look more presentable and you chuckle at her antics.

"I hope you don't mind my interrupting," you say, and they all shake their heads. You slide the door closed behind you, wondering if you should sit down or not. No, maybe not. Surely they don't want their professor butting in like this. "Anyways, I'm just popping in to say hello...Harry, did you get my letter?"

Harry nods. "Oh, yeah, I did, thanks. I meant to send one back but it only arrived a few days ago, thought it best to just leave it 'til now..."

"Oh, that's fine. Nothing to worry about," you reply with a smile.

"Professor, I wanted to ask you something," Harry questions and you nod. "At the Cup, when the Dark Mark was conjured...do you think that means Voldemort is back?"

You bite your lip, shrugging. "Honestly? I don't know, Harry. But I do know that with Wormtail free to do whatever the hell he wants, it's best to keep your wits about you."

"Do you know who conjured it?"

You scoff. "Sure if I knew, don't you think I'd have said something that night? I haven't got a clue, I'm afraid."

There's a brief silence, and you nearly consider leaving them because you think you're boring them, but Ron asks you a question.

"How come you're not an animagus?"

You blink in surprise at him.

"Y'know, 'cause all the rest of them were."

Your legs are tired from standing and you decide to forego all previous worries and just sit yourself down next to your godson, smiling across at Ron.

"Oh, Ron, you think the boys would have let a girl in on their little tricks?" You chuckle. "They had their own little club of...animals, and none of the rest of us were supposed to know. Though I will say that they did choose a terrible spot to perform their little ritual."

"Ritual?" Harry asks curiously. You can spot the glow in his eyes at the prospect of hearing about his parents and godfather and it warms your heart to see.

"The animagus one," you answer. You look over at Hermione. "Hermione, I'm sure you know of this already — " the girl swells with pride, " — but the spell for becoming an animagus is incredibly complicated. First, you have to keep a mandrake leaf under your tongue for an entire month — Sirius found that one especially difficult — "

"Why?"

You laugh. "Well, one, because it's awful to eat and drink with that in...and two, because Sirius had a fondness for snogging every girl in the castle."

Hermione's eyes widen and her face flushes. Ron and Harry share a look as both jaws drop.

"What?"

You grin at their shocked faces. "Yes, Sirius was quite the ladies man back in his day. Couldn't keep him away from a pretty girl! Anyway, then the boys had to say this chant every day...oh, what was it? I can't remember — "

"Amato, animo, animato, animagus," Hermione says and you nod.

"Yes, that was it. Every sunrise and sundown, those boys were chanting that incantation. They had to make up this potion and drink it during a lightning storm. Which, took quite a while...but the night there finally was one, they went up to the Astronomy Tower, for ease of access or something, I guess. And well, I spent practically every night up there in the Tower and may have walked in during their transformation."

"Really?" Hermione says, engrossed in your story.

"Oh, yes. It was weird, honestly, going up there and seeing Remus standing around these three familiar-looking animals..." you smile, remembering the memory. "But that's it, really. I mean, I already knew Remus was a werewolf before that, and now I knew the rest of 'em were transforming into animals whenever they pleased! But to answer your question, Ron, I had missed the chance to become one, and I wasn't as committed as they were. Though I would love to see what animal I'd be...James used to joke that I'd be a sea urchin, but I reckon I'd be something cooler like...like, I don't know, a dragon."

The three laugh and you smile.

"So, Harry, have you heard anything from Sirius?" you say, worry knotting your gut.

Harry nods and you feel a wave of relief washing over you. "Yeah, I have. He sent me one a while ago, kind of at the beginning of summer? He — uh — he said he's fine. And well, I sent him one a few weeks ago, before the Cup — but I haven't gotten a reply yet."

You nod thoughtfully. "Alright, thank goodness. He — he can't send me letters, you see. The Ministry are monitoring our house."

"Wait, really?" Hermione says in surprise. "That's awful."

You shrug. "It's nothing I haven't had to deal with before. They just — they're desperate. Desperate to get something on me."

"But you've been proven innocent!" Hermione exclaims. "And Dumbledore trusts you. Surely that's enough for them?"

You shake your head grimly. "I'm afraid not. The public hates that Sirius managed to escape, and the Ministry are just hoping they'll catch me out on something and make everyone think they've done something worthwhile. It'd also be a good jab at Dumbledore because he trusts me — Fudge worries he wants to become the Minister of Magic. Not that I think Dumbledore has even the tiniest shred of interest in that position anyway."

"Why wouldn't he want to be the Minister of Magic?" Ron asks incredulously, scoffing.

"He says it's because he has everything here, at Hogwarts," you say with a shrug, before adding with a small smile, "but if you ask me, I think it's because when you have control over everything like that, you don't have to fight for anything. Dumbledore likes that fight."

You roll your jumper's sleeves up, sighing. You should probably get going. Someone might accuse you of favouritism, sitting here with these three. Which...wouldn't be wrong, of course, but still not a great look for you. Hermione lets out a small gasp, looking at your forearm. You follow her gaze, landing on a tattoo.

"What's that for, Professor?" She asks curiously. Ron and Harry both lean forward to get a better look. It's that same painting of the pottery that Remus did for you, now permanently etched onto your skin. It's a jug, a plate and two cups. Upon the jug, is a pair of antlers, and on the plate, a lily flower.

You smile fondly, brushing over the art with your fingers. "It's pottery. Y'know, for the Potters..." you smile over at Harry. "There's Lily and there's James." You point to their symbols respectively. "S'pose I'll have to get another for you, eh, Harry? Wonder what it'd be."

He beams back at you, like it's the greatest honour in the world. The corners of his eyes crease behind his glasses.

You stand with a sigh, brushing over your jumper and pulling the sleeves back down over your tattoo. Not your only tattoo, by the way. There's another much bigger one on your back, but that's a story for another day.

"Well, I best be off," you say. "I'll see you all at dinner."

With that, you leave the compartment, slipping down the corridor again. You glance over your shoulders to see Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle standing at their compartment doorway, a jeering sneer on Draco's face.

Ah, teenage drama. Happens to us all.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

The Great Hall is alive with great chatter and excitement. Inside, students buzz with anticipation, yapping away to each other as they reunite. You sit yourself down at the staff table, greeting everyone after the holidays. There's an empty seat beside you, Minerva's usual spot. On your left, sits the tiny Professor Flitwick, who greets you cheerfully.

"Hello!"

"Hello, Filius!" you chirp back, smiling at him.

Hagrid is of course, busy with the first years, battling their way across the Black Lake. Minerva, you saw, is busy supervising the drying of the Entrance Hall floor — which had previously been assaulted by Peeves' water balloons.

You glance down the table, wondering who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is. You scan and scan for a new face, but are stuck with Severus Snape's ugly scowl as your eyes meet. You wave condescendingly at him, bending your fingers like you're waving goodbye to a little toddler. His nostrils flare and he looks away from you. Poor baby. Holding onto that grudge against Sirius all these years, he must have an awful dull life.

Professor Dumbledore sits in the middle, smiling contentedly out at the students as you all wait for the first-years to arrive. Professor Sprout sits on the other side of Flitwick. You like Pomona Sprout — she's that kind of funny and friendly woman who won't take any bullshit. It's great.

"Pomona, long time no see!" You say, leaning to talk to her while Flitwick charms his spectacles to dance on the table for his enjoyment. He claps his hands excitedly, ignoring the two of you.

"Aye, that'd be right!" She exclaims heartily. "By Godric, you wouldn't see such rain if you prayed for it! I was absolutely drowneded outside!"

You chuckle, choosing not to correct her use of 'drowneded'. "Honestly! I had to use about three drying spells before coming in here. Madness."

No sooner have the words left your mouth than the doors of the Great Hall swing open and Minerva strides through, leading a trail of young first-years behind her. They're positively drenched, shivering from head to toe with the cold. There must have been no time to dry them off, you suppose. One young lad is covered in a large mass of fabric, one you recognise as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. He's practically swimming in the massive piece of clothing, his head just barely poking out from the top of it.

The first-years look around in wonderment, gazing up at the sky, looking nervously out at all the older students, looking back at the teachers. You smile and wave at the ones who look at you, hoping to ease their nerves a little bit.

Minerva places the Sorting Hat on a three legged stool before the first-years and you suppress a groan.

A thousand years or more ago,

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four wizards of renown,

Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen,

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,

They hatched a daring plan

To educate young sorcerers

Thus Hogwarts school began.

Now each of these four founders

Formed their own house, for each

Did value different virtues

In the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were

Prized far beyond the rest;

For Ravenclaw the cleverest

Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were

Most worthy of admission;

And power-hungry Slytherin

Loved those of great ambition.

While still they did divide

Their favourites from the throng,

Yet how to pick the worthy ones

When they were dead and gone?

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,

He whipped me off his head

The founders put some brains in me

So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears,

I've never yet been wrong,

I'll have a look inside your mind

And tell where you belong!

The Great Hall erupts into applause and you applaud too, thankful that it's over. Truth be told, you think the sorting is a whole load of hogwash. No one person is just cunning, no one person is just intelligent...it makes no sense. You like to think that though you were placed in Gryffindor, you were a sort of Jack-of-all-trades. Kind, clever, cunning and brave. Of course, you know that perhaps you're setting yourself too high...but who doesn't have a fantasy?

The Sorting begins, and you drum your fingers on the table in front of you. Thirty-three years old and you feel just as impatient as the other students do, desperately hoping for Minerva to hurry it up a little. You can feel your stomach gargling loudly, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. Sprout did, and she's nodding bleakly at you as though she feels your pain.

This is the one thing you don't like about the feast — the lack of one while you wait for the Sorting to finish. Sometimes, you try and use your intuition to guess what house they're going to get. A young girl hops up onto the stool, and Minerva places the hat on her head.

Ravenclaw, for sure.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Yeah, well, I was going to say that.

Time drags on and on, and you're seriously starting to consider taking a chomp out of the wooden table in front of you. If you squint just right...it looks like a bar of Honeyduke's chocolate.

But thankfully, it seems you won't have to go that far, because Minerva finally plucks the hat from the stool once the last student has been sorted and carries both the stool and the hat out.

Dumbledore stands, arms opened wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you," he tells you, his deep voice booming around the hall, "Tuck in."

And tuck in you do. You eat to your heart's content, glad to finally be rid of the rumbling in your tummy. You clink your goblets against Sprout and Flitwick's cheerfully, beaming when Minerva finally joins you at the table, huffing something about Peeves and his antics.

Finally, when the last of the desserts have been cleared and plates have been licked clean, Dumbledore gets to his feet again. Wondrously, the buzz of chatter ceased almost at once, everyone turning to listen to what he's going to say. You wish you had that kind of power over a room.

"So!" he says, smiling around at everyone. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention while I give out a few notices."

"Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden in the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four-hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anyone would like to check it."

Filch is standing down the bottom of the hall, eyes flitting about the hall suspiciously. He lands on the Weasley twins and gives them a dark look — you expect he hopes to really catch them out this year. Not a chance.

"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is strictly out-of-bounds to all students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all those below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

Now this sets the students off. There is loud whispering and muttering, a few outbursts of 'What?'

"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts — "

At that moment, there's a deafening roll of thunder and the doors to the Great Hall bang open.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

a massive thank you to all my taglist loves for all their kindness and support:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe000diem @jennifer0305

#sirius black x you #harry potter #the marauders #angst with a happy ending #angst #fanfiction #sirius black #hp #sirius black x reader #fanfic #marauders

[mybutcheredtongue]

ily!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻 the series is amazing

aww ily more 💗💗 thank u so much for your support!! 💌

#ask #harry potter #the marauders #angst #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #sirius black #hp #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #fanfic #marauders

[mybutcheredtongue]

fic recs; my absolute favorite works

hi there, i decided to put together a list of my absolute favorite fanfics, please check out the writers and their other works! & the list is in no order of liking

to the writers: thank you so much for writing these, i enjoyed each and every one of your fanfics, pls write more, love michelle &lt;3

navigation

angelic by @xreaderbooks (pls, my heart <3)

everything black by @firsttimewriter92 (came back to this one at least twice, girl- so good!!)

i see you by @hermioneshandbag (girl, girl- this was so good)

teaching a moderately old dog new tricks by @spxllcxstxr (got me blushing <3)

cherry bomb by @evanpeterswhoresblog ( chefs kiss, love love loved it <3)

dream guy by @themissingweasley26 (cute, loved it <3)

marrón by @amortentiainmyfirewhiskey (got me feeling like the baddest bitch)

i am half-agony, half hope...i have loved none but you by @sunnami (GIRL girl girl- this- i swear to god, it has me in a chokehold. your brilliant mind <3)

poly!marauders x reader - drunk james & reader by @moonstruckme (there's no title but, this was so cute)

i'll love you 'til the grass around my gravestone is deceased by @mybutcheredtongue (so cute, i love post azkaban sirius, your brilliant mind, god i love this!)

identation in the shape of you by @whorediaries-09 (i love post azkaban sirius & this comforted me so so much, i loved it <3)

i can't lose when i'm with you by @neytirisheaven (so good, i came back several times for this, loved it sooo much <3)

coward by @luv4freddie (girl- so good, i love love loved it <3)

foreign fancy by @princessconsuela120 (got me kicking my feet and smiling, girl-<3)

the american by @justagirlwholikesadam (i love this different take, so good that i came back to it several times, i loooved it <3)

pretty boy by @cloudybarnes (harry fics have a special place in my heart & i looooved this one <3)

revenge is a dish best served cold by @wonderlandwalker (so good, had me on my toes, i looooved it <3)

forget me, not by @folklvrsworld (girl- if u want a good cryin' sesh, read it, it was soo gooood, girl-<3)

come back, be here by @ellecdc (girl, girl, stop what u're doin' & read this, i loved every single word <3)

i am yours by @annabelinlove (i love poly!marauders fics & this one is a pretty good one, read it. now! loved it <3)

sad beginnings by @finelinevogue (wolfstar fics got me feeling some type of way, this is sooo goood <3)

just ours by @0x81 (wolfstar, what else should i say, read it, like yesterday, got me blushing and shit-)

the stash by @thebestofoneshots (if someone knows how to write smut than it's this writer, like how do u write like this- i'm speechless, flabbergasted <3)

divorcing orion black by @kquil (i've never quite read something like this, it's so so so good. pls more<3)

azkaban prison by @justsomerandomfanfic (i'd die for sirius black & this one in particular, more more more pls <3)

heroes in tattoos by @kquil (i'd die to read this for the first time again, like-I'm coming back to this whenever i have a rough day and i love it still, so goood <3)

new romantics by @pretty-little-mind33 (i love me a good james potter fic & this one has my feet kickin' & smilin' like an idiot <3)

injured (hip) by @hollowdeath (i love enimies to lovers & harry so- pls read it, it's great <3)

the one with the blouse by @super-clearlysaltybouquet (oh, how i love angst. i love love love angsty shit & this one was pure gold <3)

love potion and unspoken desires by @cyripticchronicler (amortentia stories are one of my favorites, this was absolutely great, read. it. now!)

#harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #hp #harry potter #hp fanfic #harrypotter #the marauders

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

You wake with a start later that night. Something feels off. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up and your heart is beating fast, though you don't know why. You get out of bed, making for the tent exit. Minerva is still sleeping soundly in her bed, as quiet as a mouse. You pull back the tent flap and pop your head out, immediately met with a panicked sight. People are running and people are screaming.

You feel panic setting into your body, but allow yourself a deep breath to keep yourself steady before hurrying back into the tent to wake Minerva. She's already stirring, looking around for the source of the screams. You quickly gather up your things, throwing your bag onto your back and thrusting your wand into your pocket. You quickly pull on your shoes, lacing them up as quickly as possible.

Minerva does the same and the two of you leave your tent, glancing around as you exit. Your eyes have always been good in the dark, and you're just able to make out the shapes of people running into the woods, fleeing something chasing them. You can hear loud jeering and cruel laughter, bright bolts of light darting from wands of the pursuers. Then, there's a strong burst of green light that illuminates the scene.

A crowd of tightly packed wizards, moving close together with hooded faces, are marching slowly across the field. They have their wands pointed high in the air, and above them were four human figures being twisted and contorted into impossible shapes. Tents crumple, and a few even set fire as they're pushed over.

You watch on in horror as, lit by blazing tents, one wizard turns the female figure ahead of him upside down, forcing her nightdress to fall and reveal things that shouldn't have been revealed.

"That poor woman..." you mutter in utter horror. "That is absolutely sick."

Another wizard spins what looks to be a young child at an incredible rate high above the ground, the child's head hanging limply at his side.

Minerva gasps beside you.

"We have to do something," you say. "I can't watch."

You pull your wand out of your pocket, holding it at the ready. You cast your mind back to your time as an auror; before James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was captured. This was definitely a group of sick people, but you've dealt with sick people before.

Constant vigilance.

You try to ignore the horrible pit of dread sickening your stomach. Where's Harry? Is he alright?

You and Minerva run towards the dark wizards, along with plenty of Ministry wizards attempting to stop them as well.

"Don't let those Muggles fall!" one commands as he throws a spell at the hooded figure.

They're picking on Muggles? What Muggles?

As you get closer, you realise that the masks the wizards are wearing are awfully familiar. It seems to be made of metal with unsettling swirly indentations etched into it. The mouth looks like its been stitched over with thin strips of metal. The eye-holes are dark and foreboding and you feel anxiety churning in the pit of your stomach.

Death Eaters.

You point your wand at the nearest one, exclaiming, "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

"Immobolus!"

The wizard straightens before toppling to the ground, immobilised. Beside you, one Ministry wizard is knocked off his feet and you run to his aid. His arm has been cut, a long line down the centre of his forearm. You pull him to his feet, saying a quick, "Ferula" and tapping his wound with your wand. Bandages wrap magically around his arm.

"Incendio!" a Death Eater yells, casting the grass in front of you on fire.

"BOMBARDO!"

A tent behind you explodes wildly and without thinking you launch yourself out of the way, landing painfully, but unharmed, on the grass nearby. You quickly get to your feet, just in time to see Mr Weasley deflecting a curse from the Death Eaters.

While he's busy with one, another fires a deadly spell at him and just in time, you yell, "PROTEGO!".

The spell bounces off harmlessly and Mr Weasley glances back at you for a split-second, a grateful expression on his face.

Then, something streaks into the sky over the woods. You watch as it takes on the shape of a smoky green skull, a serpent slithering out of its mouth. Multiple witches and wizards around you gasp, horrified.

The Dark Mark.

At that, the Death Eaters turn and see it too...and they all Disapparate. Even though you're distanced from the woods, you hear several shrill, panicked screams come from it. You know that the Mark has caused it.

The Muggles come tumbling to the ground and someone manages to cast, "Aresto Momentum!" and the victims' fall slows, landing gently on the soft grass.

"It came from the woods!"

At that, everyone bar the few that stay behind to tend to the Muggles, Disapparate and land in the woods, in a large circle. There's three people in front of you and you barely register what's happening when there's a chorus of "STUPEFY!" and the three duck low to the ground. The spells cross over their ducked heads, bouncing off trees and bounding into the woods, and you realise with a start that you recognise those three ducked heads of ginger, brunette and jet-black —

"Stop!" yells Mr Weasley. "STOP! That's my son!"

Quickly, you hurry towards the students, following Mr Weasley close behind.

"Harry — " you breathe, relieved to see your godson safe and sound. Well, thoroughly startled, but otherwise unharmed. You reach your arms out to hug him, before remembering the people around you and awkwardly pat his arm, doing the same to the others so it doesn't look like you're giving him special treatment.

"Ron — Harry — " Mr Weasley says shakily, "Hermione — are you alright?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," Barty Crouch says curtly. You know Barty Crouch S.R. well — he's the one who put Sirius in Azkaban without a trial. You feel your blood start to boil at the very sight of him.

Crouch's face is taut with rage as Ron, Harry, and Hermione stand to face him. Harry glances at you nervously.

"Which of you did it?" Crouch snaps. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

He's hardly being serious, is he? He doesn't actually think kids conjured that up?

"We didn't do that!" says Harry, gesturing up at the Dark Mark.

"We didn't do anything!" exclaims Ron, who is rubbing his elbow and looking up at his father indignantly. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouts Crouch, his wand pointing directly at Ron, looking like he's about to pop a vein. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Come off it, Crouch," you say. "They're kids, they'd never have been able to — "

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" Mr Weasley asks quickly.

"Over there," Hermione says nervously, pointing into the dark, thick trees. "There was someone behind the trees...they shouted words — an incantation — "

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Crouch says, turning his bulging, beady little eyes on Hermione, disbelief written on his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy — "

But you've stopped listening, instead looking warily out into the dark woods, wand raised.

"We're too late," says a witch behind you. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," says a man with a scruffy beard, one you recognise as Amos Diggory, Cedric Diggory's father. You've met him several times at parent-teacher meetings at Hogwarts. Nice man, very proud of his son. "Our Stunners went right through those trees...there's a good chance we go them..."

"Amos, be careful!" a few say warningly as Mr Diggory squares his shoulders and walks forward into the darkness. You watch anxiously, waiting for his reappearance.

Luckily, in the next few seconds, you hear him shout, "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's — but — blimey..."

"You've got someone?" shouts Crouch. "Who? Who is it?"

With the snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves and crunching footsteps, Mr Diggory reemerges, holding a tiny, limp figure in his hands. Mr Diggory deposits it in front of Crouch, and with a start you realise it's a house elf.

You stare at Crouch, watching as his jaw flexes erratically.

"This — cannot — be — " he says jerkily, wide eyes staring down at the elf. "No — "

He moves quickly around Mr Diggory and strides over to where the elf was found.

"No point, Mr Crouch," Mr Diggory calls after him. "There's no one else there."

Crouch is having none of it, however, and you can hear he's busy rustling around, pushing bushes aside.

"But embarrassing," Mr Diggory says grimly, looking down at the unconscious house elf. "Barty Crouch's house elf...I mean to say..."

"Come off it, Amos," Mr Weasley says quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark is a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," replies Mr Diggory. "She had a wand."

"What?" says Mr Weasley.

"Here, look." Mr Diggory holds up a wand, showing it to Mr Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

There's a sudden pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparates right next to you. He looks breathless and disoriented, slightly dazed, as he spins on the spot, gawking up at the Mark.

"The Dark Mark!" he pants, almost trampling the poor elf as he turns to your group. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

Crouch has returned empty-handed. His face is ghostly white, a vein popping in his neck as both his hand and his moustache twitch.

"Where have you been, Barty?" says Bagman. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too — gulping gargoyles!" Bagman spots the elf beneath him. "What happened to her?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," says Crouch, talking away in his typical jerky fashion. "And my elf has been stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why — "

Realisation seems to dawn on Bagman as he looks up to the smoky green skull in the sky, down to the elf, and then to Crouch.

"No!" he says. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," says Mr Diggory. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's alright with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself."

Crouch says nothing, and Mr Diggory seems to take this as approval. He raises his wand, points it at Winky and says, "Rennervate!"

Winky stirs weakly. Her big brown eyes open and she blinks several times. She raises herself into a sitting position.

She looks slowly, as everyone is silent, up to the Mark, and she gives a gasp, quickly followed by terrified sobs.

"Elf!" says Mr Diggory sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky begins to rock backward and forward, her body racked with shakes and sobs.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," says Mr Diggory. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I — I — I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasps desperately. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" Mr Diggory barks, whipping out the wand and brandishing it in front of her. Harry's eyes light up.

"Hey — that's mine!"

Everyone turns to look at Harry, you doing the same. You give him your subtlest eyebrow raise.

"Excuse me?" Mr Diggory says incredulously.

"That's my wand!" he says. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" repeats Mr Diggory in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" says Mr Weasley angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er — of course not," Mr Diggory mumbles abashedly. "Sorry...got carried away..."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," says Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," says Mr Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turns to look at Winky once again. You feel bad for the poor creature. It's obvious to you that she didn't summon the Dark Mark — why would she? She's a house elf! She wouldn't even know the incantation for it. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" squeals Winky, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I is...I is...I is not doing magic with it, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" says Hermione, looking nervous to be speaking in front of all the Ministry officials and both you and Minerva, but still determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looks to Harry and Ron for support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," says Harry, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," Ron agrees.

"Well, we'll soon see," growls Mr Diggory, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand has performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembles and shakes her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr Diggory raises his wand and places it tip to tip with Harry's.

"Prior Incantato!" says Mr Diggory.

You watch with bated breath as before your eyes, a much wispier version of the skull in the sky forms in the air between the two wands.

"Deletrius!" he shouts, and the skull disappears. "So..." he looks at Winky with a sort of savage triumph, revelling in his rightness.

"I is not doing it!" she squeals in pure terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands — I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr Diggory roars. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos," says Mr Weasley loudly, "think about it...precious few wizards know how to do that spell...where would she have learnt it?"

"Perhaps Mr Diggory is suggesting," Crouch cuts in, cold anger evident with every spit of letters, "that I routinely teach my servants how to conjure the Dark Mark?"

The air stills and you feel the unpleasantness biting into you, making you want to Disapparate on the spot.

Mr Diggory looks terrified. "I — Mr Crouch...not...not at all..."

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" barks Crouch. "Harry Potter — and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

Two least likely people? I mean, Harry, of course...but Barty Crouch? Bit of a stretch, he's the exact same as any one of you here — except he has a rather precarious case of his head being shoved so far up his own —

"Of course, everyone knows..." Mr Diggory mutters, looking like he wants the ground to swallow him up.

"And I myself, who have proclaimed profusely how I despise and detest the Dark Arts with all of my being?" Crouch continues, glaring at the red-faced Mr Diggory. "I don't understand how you could be placing so much suspicion on me, when the wife of a notorious Death Eater stands among us!"

Crouch's cold, beady eyes settle on you, causing heads to turn in your direction. Before, people hadn't really taken much notice of you, everyone was too busy with Winky and the Mark. A woman gasps as she recognises you, taking a fearful step back. You glance around at the faces. You're used to this — these expressions followed you everywhere you went that first year after Sirius was captured. Everyone knew your face from the papers, and they didn't like to see it.

Mr Weasley and Mr Diggory are both taken aback. They clearly forgot your face. It hurts you to see the worried, almost scared looks on their faces. These are the parents of your students, two people you respect, and they're looking at you like you just stabbed someone.

Harry is looking between you and Crouch, anger on his face when he looks at Crouch. He knows Sirius is innocent, and Crouch just insulted his godfather. Hey, and his godmother too! Harry can feel anger bubbling up in his veins, wanting to jump up and defend the both of you, but he's forced to sit and watch as the wizards and witches around you stare, their faces a mixture of different emotions — and none of them good.

"I am not a Death Eater, never have been, never will be," you reply steadily, not breaking your eye contact with Crouch.

"Oh? Yet you married one?"

You grit your teeth, trying your best not to punch Crouch. Will you ever hear the end of this?

"I am more than just my marriage, Crouch!" you snap. Stupid, stupid man. "When will you understand that I am a real human being with my own thoughts, feelings, motivations — and that I'm not a decoration only fit to blindly follow what my husband does!"

You're so sick and tired of being accused of something you would never do, something you would never be apart of — all because these prats put Sirius away without using their pea-sized brains, and were somehow outsmarted by a fucking rat.

How stupid do they have to be? You are not Sirius. Just by marrying him that means you must be guilty by proxy? What a senseless notion.

Harry wants to help you, he really, truly does. He wants to tell them all that Sirius is innocent, and so are you, but knows he can't. He feels bad. He feels like he's doing nothing, watching as you glare at Crouch, who just glares right back.

Crouch's nostrils flare and he opens his mouth to say something further but you couldn't care less, cutting across him quickly.

"Look, it wasn't me. First of all, I'd have no reason to because I am not a Death Eater — and secondly, I've been with Professor McGonagall the entire night. If I had conjured it, she would have seen."

Minerva nods beside you. "She was by my side the entire time, and I can assure you — she is no Death Eater."

You can see that Crouch is reluctant to argue with Minerva. She's a very well-respected figure amongst...well, everywhere. She's practically taught every witch and wizard in England.

"She — she was with us too," Mr Weasley says, giving you an almost imperceptible nod. He seems more relaxed now after Minerva has defended you. "Helping us against that group of Death Eaters."

You look to Crouch expectantly, arms folded. "Are you done? Can we get back to finding out who actually did this, considering we have the wand in question?"

Crouch is still fuming. "I — "

"I agree," Mr Weasley says. He turns to Winky, a kind expression on his face. Winky stills shrinks and flinches like she's expecting another shout. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

"I — I is finding it...finding it there, sir..." she whispers, "there...in the trees, sir..."

"You see, Amos?" says Mr Weasley. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have only been a few feet away from the real culprit!" says Mr Diggory impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Winky trembles violently, her big brown eyes looking feverishly from Diggory, to Bagman, to Crouch. Then she gulps and says, "I is seeing no one, sir...no one..."

"Amos," Crouch says curtly. "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Mr Diggory's brow bends just the slightest, betraying his apprehension of this idea. Despite this, he says nothing.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Crouch adds coldly.

"M-m-master..." Winky chokes, her eyes spilling with tears as she hobbles over to Crouch, clasping her tiny hands together in a begging manner. "M-master, p-please..."

Crouch just stares back, so coldly that you swear you feel your body temperature drop.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he says slowly, eyes fixed on the sobbing elf below him. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

sad to say I spent most of this chapter copying from the book 😔 would be better if crouch didn't talk so much 🙏

→ a massive thank you to all my taglist loves for all their kindness and support:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe000diem @jennifer0305

#sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #harry potter #the marauders #hp #fanfic #wizarding world #hp fanfiction #marauders

[mybutcheredtongue]

2 chapters in a day?? you’re spoiling us 🥺

hehe <3 honestly it was because ch. 13 was so short and I didn't want to just leave you all with that :))

#ask

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

"Excuse me — sorry — just coming through..." you squeeze past the throes of people, trying to make your way to your seats with McGonagall. "Bloody hell."

You're starting to get quite agitated, though you're still brimming with excitement at the match ahead. McGonagall mutters something under her breath, gesturing subtly to your left. You follow her hand and groan.

There's Cornelius Fudge, and he's just after catching sight of the pair of you.

"Professors!"

Beside him, is a wizard you don't recognise, Mr Weasley, Ron, Harry, and Hermione. You smile widely at them, trying your best to ignore the fool beside them.

"Hello!" you say cheerfully, as yourself and McGonagall make your way over.

"Wonderful to see you as always, Minerva!" Fudge booms happily. He then gives you a weak, forced smile, and says, "And...you, too, of course."

"The pleasure's all mine, Minister," you say blankly.

He begins to chatter away with McGonagall and you can't help but notice the subtle annoyance in her expression. You turn to the kids and Mr Weasley, holding out your hand.

"Mr Weasley, right? It's wonderful to meet you — I teach your children Astronomy at Hogwarts."

Mr Weasley, a red-headed man just like the rest of his family, beams at you, excitedly shaking your hand.

"Ah, yes — I have heard plenty about you! You are here for the match as well?"

You grin. "Of course! Fingers crossed for an Ireland win!"

"Have you ever been to a World Cup, Professor?" Hermione asks you.

You nod. "Oh, yes. Quite a few, actually! Sirius used to — "

You pause.

"Seriously used to love it."

You exchange a glance with Harry, who gives you a small smile, and you return it.

"...ah, and here's Lucius now!" You catch the ends of Fudge's words and fail to hide your grimace.

Edging along the seats is a sour-looking man with disgustingly bleached hair, followed by his equally sour-looking son and his wife.

Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa, who's technically your...cousin-in-law?

"Ah, Fudge," says Lucius, holding out his hand for him to shake. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do? How do you?" says Fudge, smiling and bowing to Narcissa. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblonsk — Mr Obalonsk — Mr — well, he's Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. Let's see, who else — well, the professors teach your son, I'm sure — I daresay you know Arthur Weasley?"

Mr Weasley and Lucius look at each other, tension in the air. Lucius' nostrils flare as he looks Mr Weasley up and down derisively.

"Good Lord, Arthur," he says softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

You bristle, but Fudge, who conveniently wasn't listening, says, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"Trying to save a spot for when you go barmy, are you, Lucius?" you say with a sweet smile. "Or...has that process already started?"

His sour face turns to you, looking down his nose at you. "I would watch my tongue if I were you. I'm sure there's no lack of teachers for Hogwarts."

Ah, Lucius Malfoy. Always threatening my job, the sweetheart.

"Now, now, there's no need for heated words..." Fudge intervenes and you throw on a bright, charming smile.

"Not to worry, Minister! Why, myself and Lucius are old chums from school, aren't we? We're only bantering."

Lucius fails to hide his disgust. "Yes, old...chums."

"Well, isn't that just wonderful? And I'm sure you're close considering your...marital ties!" Fudge says awkwardly, eyeing you warily.

You sigh. "What an astute observation, Cornelius."

"We better get to our seats," Lucius sneers, and Narcissa and Draco follow behind them. Narcissa gives you and almost imperceptible nod and you glance at McGonagall from the corner of your eye.

She pulls out your tickets, glancing down at the seat numbers again.

"Looks like we've still got a ways to go," she says and you nod, smiling at your students and Mr Weasley.

"Alright, enjoy yourselves!" You say cheerfully.

They all say their goodbyes and the two of you set off again, finally reaching your seats among the crowd.

It's a good thing you found it too, because as soon as you sit into your seats, Ludo Bagman's voice suddenly booms over the excited chatter. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...WELCOME TO THE FINAL OF THE FOUR-HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!"

Everyone screams and claps and you share an excited grin with McGonagall. The scoreboard lights up to show: IRELAND: 0, BULGARIA: 0.

"AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE...THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL TEAM MASCOTS!"

"I've read about these," McGonagall says beside you, flicking open her programme. You glance over at it, before returning your eyes to the pitch.

A stream of beautiful women emerge, dancing elegantly around the pitch. You watch as they dance and twirl and spin, all to the delight of the crowd, particularly the men. They're practically drooling.

Beside you, a woman is angrily tapping her heel while her husband ogles the dancing Veela, entranced.

The Veela dance faster and faster, spinning and twirling, their hair flowing in the air behind them. Another man not far from you looks like he's about to jump into the stadium from his high seat.

Then they stop.

Everyone around you seems to be rather dazed and confused. Angry yells and shouts rise from the stadium. The crowd didn't want the Veela to go.

You begin to wonder whether the Veela is really ethical, considering the amount of men you can see taking off their shamrock hats and Irish flags. You pull the flag tighter around your body, like a blanket.

"AND NOW," Ludo Bagman roars, "KINDLY PUT YOUR WANDS IN THE AIR...FOR THE IRISH NATIONAL TEAM MASCOTS!"

You grin excitedly, clapping furiously as a steady beat starts from a group of men holding bodhráns at the Irish corner of the pitch. Two large spheres of light appear in the air, gleaming and shining. They spin rapidly towards opposite goalposts, before a rainbow appears and moves in an arc to connect the two dots of light. They rise to form a large, glittering green shamrock, and the crowd begins to cry out in delight as what looks like gold coins begins to rain down from it.

You cry out when a few coins painfully hit against your head, colliding with the soft skin. You rub the sore areas, scowling. You glance at McGonagall, checking if she's had the same problem, to find she has conjured up an umbrella for herself and is holding it above her head, deflecting the lethal coins. She looks very unimpressed.

Everyone around you is in bits, gleefully gathering up the shiny gold objects. One woman in front of you is stretching her shirt and making it into some sort of makeshift basket, collecting the coins there. A few fall into your lap and you pick one up, bringing it closer to your eye to inspect it. It's clearly fake — it doesn't have the same indentations as a regular galleon. There are going to be some very disappointed spectators here later.

Then, to your delight, a line of Irish dancers spill onto the pitch, their feet a flurry of movement beneath them, all in perfect sync. They dance and spin and twirl and kick high, spinning around the field before settling finally as the bodhráns stop and they return to the side of the field, sitting to watch the match.

"AND NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, KINDLY WELCOME THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM! I GIVE YOU — DIMITROV!"

A scarlet figure on a broomstick darts out onto the field at an incredible speed, to the raucous applause of the Bulgarian supporters.

"IVANOVA! ZOGRAF! LEVSKI! VULCHANOV! Volkov! AAAAAAND — KRUM!"

The scarlet players zip around the field, raising their arms triumphantly to the crowd of white, green and red Bulgarian flags.

"AND NOW, PLEASE GREET THE IRISH NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM!" yells Bagman. "PRESENTING...CONNOLLY! RYAN! TROY! MULLET! MORAN! QUIGLEY! AAAAAAND — LYNCH!"

Seven green blurs zip out onto the field and you cheer as loud as you can, waving your flag in the air. Excitement has properly settled over you now at the prospect of the good Quidditch game ahead.

"AND HERE, ALL THE WAY FROM EGYPT, OUR REFEREE, ACCLAIMED CHAIRWIZARD OF THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF QUIDDITCH, HASSAN MOSTAFA!"

A small, skinny wizard, completely bald with a moustache, wearing robes of gold strides out onto the pitch. He's carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, and his broomstick under the other. He mounts his broomstick and kicks the crate open — four balls burst into the air; the Quaffle, the two dark Bludgers and the miniscule, winged Golden Snitch. He lets out a sharp blast from his whistle, and fires into the air after the balls.

"THEY'RE OFF!" screams Bagman. "AND IT'S MULLET! TROY! MORAN! DIMITROV! BACK TO MULLET! TROY! LEVSKI! MORAN!"

The speed of the players is unbelievable — they zip around the field, throwing the Quaffle with such speed you'd think they were playing hot potato. Actually, that reminds you of a time when the lads decided to play a game of hot potato — with an actual hot potato. James had launched it at Sirius' face and you had spent the evening running his cheek under cold water, which resulted in a very put-out wet dog.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

1976

"Love, I'm sure we've been here long enough — "

"Fifteen minutes, Sirius! Fifteen. You should count yourself lucky I'm even doing this considering how stupid you have to be to even play that in the first place — "

"Come on, it was just a bit of fun — "

You point the tap at his mouth for a second and he blubbers dramatically.

"Not so fun now, huh?"

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

1993

"TROY SCORES!" roars Bagman, and you're plucked out of your memory to let out a loud cheer in delight. McGonagall jumps in her seat, just as happy, clapping her hands rapidly. "TEN-ZERO TO IRELAND!"

Troy does a lap of honour around the field and you gleefully hoist your flag in the air, waving it enthusiastically. Across the field, the Irish dancers cast glittering green shamrocks above each of their heads with their wands.

Within ten minutes, the Irish team have scored twice more. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, are whacking the Bludgers as hard as possible at the Irish Chasers, forcing them to abandon some of their best moves and formations. Ivanova manages to break through Ireland's ranks and score Bulgaria's first goal.

The Veela start to dance again as a celebration, and you wait impatiently for them to stop their enchantment and for the game to resume.

"DIMITROV! LEVSKI! DIMITROV! IVANOVA — OH, I SAY!" roars Bagman.

The crowd lets out a collective gasp as both Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummet through the centre of the Chasers, splitting them. They're neck and neck, speeding faster and faster towards the ground —

At the last second, Krum pulls up sharply and spirals off. Lynch, however, hits the ground with a dull thud that can be heard throughout the stadium. A groan is heard from the Irish supporters.

"What an excellent feint!" McGonagall comments, in awe. "Pity Lynch didn't realise."

You hum in agreement. "One of the oldest tricks in the book!"

"IT'S TIME-OUT!" yells Bagman. "AS TRAINED MEDIWIZARDS HURRY ONTO THE FIELD TO EXAMINE AIDAN LYNCH!"

The wizards hurry out onto the field, carrying medical bags with them. They sit Lynch up, giving him cups of potion to revive him. He finally gets up, much to the delight of the Irish supporters, and returns to the air on his broomstick.

Fifteen minutes of rapid playing, Ireland pulls ahead by ten more goals. You blink, missing an altercation between the two teams, causing Mostafa to give a sharp, shrill blow of his whistle.

"AND MOSTAFA TAKES THE BULGARIAN KEEPER TO TASK FOR COBBING — EXCESSIVE USE OF ELBOWS!" Bagman informs. "AND — YES, IT'S A PENALTY TO IRELAND!"

The Veela leap to their feet, tossing their hair angrily, and start to dance again. You watch as Mostafa has landed right in front of the dancing women, and is acting very odd. He's flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

You can't help but laugh, watching as he winks at the Veela, though he's unable to wink with one eye so he just...blinks at them.

"NOW, WE CAN'T HAVE THAT!" says Bagman, though he sounds very amused. "SOMEBODY SLAP THE REFEREE!"

A mediwizard streaks across the field, his fingers in his ears, and delivers a harsh kick to Mostafa's shins. He seems to snap out of his daze and starts to yell furiously at the Veela.

"AND UNLESS I'M MUCH MISTAKEN, MOSTAFA IS ACTUALLY ATTEMPTING TO SEND OF THE BULGARIAN MASCOTS!" Bagman cries. "NOW, THERE'S SOMETHING WE HAVEN'T SEEN BEFORE...THIS COULD TURN NASTY..."

It does: members of the Bulgarian team land beside Mostafa, furiously arguing with the referee. You see them point accusingly at the Irish side, whose bodhrán-wielding musicians have enchanted the covers to spell out "HA HA HA". Mostafa doesn't appear impressed, however, and is jabbing his finger in the air frantically, as if to tell the players to get back in the air.

"TWO PENALTIES FOR IRELAND!" yells Bagman and the Bulgarian crowd yells in anger. "AND VOLKOV AND VULCHANOV HAD BETTER GET BACK ON THOSE BROOMS, YES...THERE THEY GO...AND TROY TAKES THE QUAFFLE..."

The play just gets more and more ferocious.

"FOUL!"

"FOUL!"

You watch as, enraged, the Veela burst from their position and appear to be throwing handfuls of fire at the Irish mascots. Their faces are elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads and long, scaly wings are bursting forth from their shoulders.

"Oh, Merlin!" McGonagall exclaims.

Ministry wizards flood onto the field to separate the fighting Veela and the Irish mascots but with little success.

"LEVSKI — DIMITROV — MORAN — TROY — MULLET — IVANOVA — MORAN AGAIN — MORAN SCORES!"

The Irish cheers are barely heard over the chaos below, blasts are now coming from both the Veela and the Ministry wizards. Quigley launches a Bludger hard at Viktor Krum's face, seeming to break his nose. Blood gushes from his nose but Mostafa barely notices, too occupied with the furious Veela and the end of his broomstick which has now caught alight from one of their fireballs.

Then, you spot Lynch zipping through the air, seemingly in pursuit of something — the Snitch! But it's not long before Krum notices and takes after him at such a tremendous speed you can barely keep up. They hurtle towards the ground once more and you hope and pray that this isn't another feint from Krum and that Lynch'll pull up in time...but your prayers go unanswered and Lynch barrels into ground once more. You groan, watching as Krum lifts up, simultaneously raising his right hand, which was bunched tightly around the Golden Snitch.

The scoreboard flashes brightly, showing: IRELAND: 170, BULGARIA: 160.

The crowd erupts into incredible cheers and screams and you grin, raising your arms high in triumph.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouts. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good Godric, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

The Irish teams lands and dance gleefully around their mascots, as their dancers spin and twirl, throwing green and gold confetti around them. Flags are waved all around the stadium, the Irish national anthem blaring from all sides.

"AND, AS THE IRISH TEAM PERFORMS A LAP OF HONOUR, THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP ITSELF IS BROUGHT INTO THE TOP BOX!" Bagman roars.

You turn to the scoreboard, which has now taken on the form of the top box to allow everyone to see inside. The large, gleaming, gold cup is handed to Cornelius Fudge.

"LET'S HAVE A REALLY LOUD HAND FOR THE GALLANT LOSERS — BULGARIA!" Bagman bellows.

You clap your hands, joining the crowd in polite applause, as a very dejected Bulgarian team files into the box. Bagman calls out each of their names and they all shake hands with their own minister and then Fudge. Krum is nursing two black eyes on his bloody face, lumbering towards the two ministers. The crowd erupts into an ear-splitting roar when his name is called out.

Then comes the Irish team: Lynch is being held up by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seems to have rendered him much more dazed and confused. He grins happily as Troy and Quigley raise the Cup into the air and the crowd thunders its approval.

The team leaves the box, doing a victory lap around the stadium, and you gather up your things and stand.

"What a great match!" McGonagall exclaims. "Well worth the trip!"

You grin in agreement, and the two of you leave the stadium along with the crowd. High-spirited singing carries through the air, the Irish supporters rife with merriment and celebration as the two of your return to your campsite. A campsite next to yours has lit their fire again, and someone has produced a fiddle while the rest dance jovially. You grin, grabbing McGonagall's hand and pulling her towards the festivities. She seems reluctant, giving you a bit of a surprised expression, before she joins you in dancing around the fire mirthfully. You swap partners with another man and she fails to conceal her laughter as he twirls her around gleefully.

You find yourself with a woman, a long braid falling from her head to her ankles, who leads you in a jig around the fire. Finally, when yourself and McGonagall have tuckered out, you bid your goodbyes to the lively strangers and return to your tent.

McGonagall sits down at the little table, sighing contentedly.

"Tea, Minnie?" you ask, setting the teapot down on the table and grabbing your cup, pausing to ask her the question. You're a bit wary of calling her that, but your mood is so light that you find yourself not worrying about it.

"Please," she replies. She lets out a small, surprised chuckle and says, "Minnie."

"Has no one ever called you that?" You place a cup in front of her and sit down, opening the latch on the pot and prodding the teabags with a spoon.

"Only my husband, and my mother," she answers. "It has been quite a while since I've heard it."

"I'm sorry if I overstepped," you say sheepishly. "I won't call you that."

She doesn't answer you, eyes focused on the flame of the candle between you. Then she meets your eyes, a small smile playing on her lips, "No, do. We're friends, aren't we?"

You positively beam at her, honoured at the privilege she's just given you. You don't say anything in response, for fear of getting that privileged revoked.

After a while, you pour the tea out from the pot, grabbing milk from the tent's fridge and placing it on the table as well.

"Thank you for bringing me along, by the way," you say.

She smiles, waving you off. "Thank you for coming. I would have been very bored without you. And — though Bagman is a fine commentator, I think you would have been the better choice."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "I'm honoured you think that but...probably not."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"What, commentating? Yeah, I guess. It was pretty fun — "

"School. Do you miss it?"

You shrug. "I go back every year."

She sighs, giving you a knowing look. "Do you miss the time when you attended school?"

Miss it? Of course you miss it. That's like asking a prisoner 'do you miss the time before your imprisonment?'

"All the time," you reply softly. "It was the best time of my life."

There's a brief silence, before Minnie says, "I never thought you were mad, by the way. I know many make you out to be, but I've never thought it. When I look at you, I see an incredibly strong woman — perhaps a bit stubborn — but nonetheless an extremely intelligent woman, a woman well-worth listening to — and I fear you haven't been listened to enough in your life."

You don't even know what to say, you were not expecting that. You can't find the words at all, so you just look dumbly back at her and open and close your mouth repeatedly.

"I...I don't know what to say. You're amazing."

She chuckles, seemingly taken-aback, and just smiles again before setting down her empty cup and standing.

"Time for bed, I think. Goodnight."

You smile, sipping the last of your tea. "Goodnight, Minnie."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

*bodhrán: a drum used in Irish music

also, I changed the Irish mascots to be dancers instead of leprechauns, just because personally I find leprechauns to be a poor representation of Irish culture and never liked it in the books/movies!!

a big big thank you to my taglist loved for all their constant kindness and support:

@izuoyarmin @carpe00diem @wholelottalove05 @hyperspeedo

→ please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black #angst #angst with a happy ending #harry potter #the marauders #hp #fanfic #fanfiction #marauders

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (see full series here)

1993

The school year draws to a close, with the school still chattering away about Sirius. You spend it relatively simply, teaching the last of your classes and then finally handing out end-of-year exam results. You're glad to see Hermione gets an almost perfect score — and Ron and Harry do...well, they do okay. You make a mental note to start buckling down on their incessant chatting during class.

You also spend it full of worries. Your every waking moment seems to be consumed with thoughts about Sirius. He's out there, all alone, on the run — you can't imagine how he's feeling right now. It ties knots in your stomach. You just want to grab and hold him, caress his soft, smooth skin, run your hands through his silky curls —

You miss him.

You sit in your compartment on the Hogwarts Express, flicking through the latest edition of The Quibbler. It's quite a unique little publication, very quirky. Luna Lovegood, one of your second years — her dad is the editor, so you decided to pick up the magazine after she recommended it to you once.

You're currently skim-reading a very in-depth article about some sort of creature called an 'epippinpor', when the door to your compartment slides open and Harry pokes his head inside.

"Harry!" you greet. "Need something?"

He holds out a folded piece of parchment, smiling. "Padfoot."

You take the parchment from him as he leaves, closing the door again. You beam excitedly, throwing down The Quibbler and pulling the parchment into your lap. Dubh gets up and starts to sniff the parchment curiously and you giggle, full of giddiness like you're a young teenager again.

My darling love,

I hope you get this before you've left Hogwarts, otherwise it may be quite some time before this letter reaches you. I decided to put your letter in with Harry's, because I'm sure your post is being monitored.

Buckbeak and I are in hiding, so you don't need to worry. I have so many questions to ask you, so many things to tell...I guess they'll just have to wait. I miss you, my love, just like you miss the stars during the daytime.

I hope I haven't lost my romantic flair.

Also, you're a professor now? Very professional, Professor Black. I suppose it does have a pretty sweet ring to it. And Astronomy, too? I'm still your favourite star, right?

You snort, rolling your eyes. Typical. You can just imagine his face when he wrote that: signature smirk, maybe a wink.

Can I get a kiss for that when we reunite again?

Typical!

I wish I could be with you this summer. At our home. Also...do you have a cat? I thought I saw you with a cat. Come on, love, we are obviously a dog home!

I miss you so much. I miss your voice, your warmth, your beautiful face, your kisses. Especially the last one. It's not easy to go twelve years without a single kiss...even if the Dementors offered me several. I love you with all of my heart. If you need me for anything, Harry's owl will find me. All my love, Sirius. P.S. I love you. I can't wait to see you again.

You smile at the letter, eyes tracing the edges of his scratchy handwriting. Your stomach is full of fluttering butterflies and it really does feel like you're a schoolgirl again. You re-read the letter several times, smiling especially wide when he says he loves you or compliments you.

No, Sirius. You didn't lose your romantic flair. Not one bit.

You reach out to pet Dubh, still holding the letter in your hand.

Maybe next year will be a little different.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"Here you go," you say, handing Remus his cup of tea. He accepts it, careful not to spill a drop, and gives you a grateful smile.

"Thanks."

"So, any news?" You ask, pulling your legs up onto the couch and folding them in beside you as you look at the man in front of you. You're sitting in your living room, a wonderfully cosy little room, warmed by soft rays of August sunshine. There's green plants dotted around, and the walls have photos and beautiful paintings decorating it. There's even a few of Remus' original paintings up there!

One big hobby of Remus' is painting, though he is very secretive about it. He paints beautiful landscapes and still-lifes...it calms him.

One particular painting catches your eye. You had once asked him to paint you a nice, simple picture of pottery. A jug, a bowl, a plate...just general pottery works. It's quite nice.

Remus shrugs. "Nothing really since last we spoke. How are your parents?"

You stayed with your parents last week. Dubh had been put into Remus' care, as she always is, and she always comes back a little fatter than before because Remus is a big softie.

"They're grand, yeah," you reply with a shrug. "I told them everything that happened and honestly they were pretty nonchalant about it all, you know how they are...Mam thought I was very stressed and made me one of her special herbal teas and honestly, it was amazing. Felt young again."

"You are young," Remus says with a sigh.

"Sure don't feel it," you say bitterly. "Could do with a dose of that special tea every morning."

"So this tea isn't special?" Remus asks, gesturing to the cup in his hand.

"Not at all," you reply with a short chuckle. "I asked her what she puts in it, and she said it was an 'age-old secret only passed down when the last generation has ceased and the next lives on'. She's lying, of course, she's only saying that to be mysterious. I'm beginning to think that it's just the placebo effect."

Remus nods thoughtfully. "I think I'm going to trust your mother's words and say it is an age-old secret."

"Suck up."

He raises his mug and gives you a mocking smile. You sigh.

"And," you continue, "Dad took me to the muggle cinema, and we seen this film called 'Mrs Doubtfire'. Moony, when I tell you I sobbed — Merlin, muggles sure know how to make an emotional impact. I'm beginning to think that truly, wizards aren't better than muggles because they get to have cool films and we don't. It's unfair, really, if you think about it."

"'Mrs Doubtfire'? What was it about?" Remus asks.

"A woman called Mrs Doubtfire, obviously," you say and he rolls his eyes. "But turns out it's not actually a woman, it's this guy whose wife divorced him and can barely see his kids, so he pretends to be their babysitter and puts on a wig and a mask and fake tits and everything — "

"And that made you cry?"

"It was emotional! Then he gets caught and can only see the kids with someone supervising the visits! Isn't that sad, Moony? It's much sadder in the movie."

He raises his eyebrows, humming in weak agreement. "Right."

You scoff, sighing. "Anyway...Quidditch World Cup is coming up! And guess who's going?"

"You? No way, how did you get tickets?" Remus asks in shock.

You grin. "Minerva McGonagall, the gem that she is! Sent me a letter yesterday morning. Said she happened upon two tickets and asked me to go with her."

"I didn't know the two of you were such good friends."

You shrug. "Sometimes it can be a bit odd because she used to be my teacher, y'know — but she's such fun to be around. I mean, I've told you before that we have tea together sometimes."

He nods thoughtfully. "Mhm, yes, I remember."

"Anyway, I'm really looking forward to it! I wish I could bring you with me," you say with a small apologetic smile.

Remus waves you off. "It's a full moon. I daresay I might steal the spotlight off the teams if I attend."

You laugh. "That may be so."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

sorry for the extra-short chapter...just wanted to draw this year to a close. Goblet of fire next!!!

as always, a big thank you to my taglist loves for all their amazing kindness and support:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe000diem

#sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #harry potter #fanfiction #fanfic #the marauders #hp #marauders

[mybutcheredtongue]

Keep up the great work, love. You are truly doing a deity's work. I'm really loving the series so far! Post!Azkaban Sirius is my favorite Sirius and it's actually appalling why fics of him are so far and in-between

(I mean, there's so much *angst* in there for everybody! the waiting, the longing, the YEARNING, the could have, the should have and the would have been's! Poetic justice becoming your just prose! It'll be absolutely fantastic; I'd go crazy too.)

Or maybe I'm just not looking hard enough, who knows.

I hope you're doing well <3 !

AWW oh my god this is like the sweetest thing ever!! Thank you so so much for the support you're so kind <3 i am so so happy you like it!!

and I'm doing so well, thank you for asking! I hope you're doing well too <3 all my love!!

#ask

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWELVE (see full series list here)

1993

"Oh, look, I see Harry coming this way," you say, pointing to the pair of footsteps with the label 'Harry Potter' moving in the direction of Remus' office.

Remus looks over from where he was fiddling with his suitcase.

Sure enough, Harry then knocks on Remus' open office door and you wave at him from your seat on his desk.

"Saw you coming, Harry," you say with a smile, pointing at the map.

"I just saw Hagrid," Harry says, looking at Remus. "And he said you'd resigned. It's not true, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is," Remus replies. He starts opening his desk drawers and taking out the contents. You pick up some of the papers, tapping them against the table to align them up, before handing them to Remus.

"Why?" says Harry. "The Ministry of Magic don't think you were helping Sirius, do they?"

Remus swiftly crosses the room and closes the door behind Harry.

"No, Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives." He sighs. "That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he — er — accidentally let it slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast."

You cough loudly, poorly concealing a muttered "Prick".

"You're not leaving just because of that!" Harry exclaims.

Remus shares a glance with you, smiling wryly.

"This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents — they will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you...that must never happen again."

"You're the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had!" says Harry. "Don't go!"

Remus shakes his head and doesn't speak, continuing to empty his drawers.

"Believe me, Harry, I've already tried," you say with a sigh. "Can't change his mind."

Remus gives you a look, before returning to Harry. "From what the Headmaster told me this morning, you saved a lot of lives last night, Harry. If I'm proud of anything, it's how much you've learned. Tell me about your Patronus."

"How d'you know about that?" Harry says, distracted.

"What else could have driven the Dementors back?"

Harry relays his tale of the Dementors and how he cast his Patronus to save himself and Sirius, and you beam proudly at him.

"Wicked."

"Yes, your father was always a stag when he transformed," Remus says to Harry with a smile. "You guessed right...that's why we called him Prongs."

Remus throws his last few books into his case, closes the desk drawers and turns to look at Harry.

"Here — I brought this from the Shrieking Shack last night," he says, handing Harry his Invisibility Cloak. "And..." he hesitates, then shoves the Marauder's Map into your hands. "I'm not your teacher anymore, Harry, so I'll leave the map in better hands."

You glance down at it, scoffing, before handing it out to Harry. "I couldn't care less what you do with it, Harry. I've no use for it, anyway. I doubt I'll be doing half as much sneaking around as yourself, Ron, and Hermione."

Harry takes the map and grins.

"You told me Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would've wanted to put me in danger."

"Danger is a strong word," you say with a slight chuckle. "Perhaps get you into trouble is a better way to say it. I'm sure James would've been highly disappointed if his son never got up to a few rule-breaking antics."

"Seconded," Remus agrees.

There's a knock at the door, and you see Harry hastily stuff the map and the cloak into his pocket. It's Dumbledore. He doesn't seem surprised to see you nor Harry there.

"Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," he says.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

Remus picks up his old suitcase and empty Grindylow tank. You hop off the desk, dusting off your trousers with the palm of your hands.

"Well, goodbye, Harry," Remus says, smiling. "It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I feel sure we'll meet again some time. Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage..."

He glances back at you, as if to say the same thing, and you immediately roll your eyes. "Can't shake me that easily, Moony."

He sighs knowingly.

"Goodbye then, Remus," Dumbledore says soberly. Remus shifts the Grindylow tank slightly so that he and Dumbledore can shake hands. Then, with a final nod to Harry, he leaves the office and you grin, heading out after him. You turn quickly, placing a hand on the edge of the doorframe and peek your head in through the door.

"Harry, would you come to my office later? I'd like to talk to you about a few things."

He nods, and you grin, turning back to catch up with Remus.

"Oh, Moony, give me that," you scold, grabbing the Grindylow tank and shifting it up to be able to carry it comfortably. "Why have four hands if two aren't being used?"

He chuckles, your footsteps clicking in sync against the stone floor.

"Merlin, school'll be so boring without you," you groan. "I'll miss you."

He gives you a small smile. "I'll miss you too. I'll miss Hogwarts — I really did quite like teaching here."

"It is nice, isn't it?" You agree. "It's nice to have a routine every day."

He hums in agreement.

"I wonder who'll replace you next year," you say thoughtfully. "Hopefully someone who can hold a conversation. I'm getting sick of getting caught in a chat with Professor Binns. It is actual torture — I mean, how can you be a ghost and still be boring?"

Remus chuckles. "You're acting as if you don't remember his classes when we were kids."

You groan. "Don't remind me! Merlin, if I had to go through another one of those I think I'd actually jump off the Astronomy Tower..."

A few students give a parting wave to Remus and he smiles sadly back at them. You finally arrive outside at his carriage, and he turns to you.

"Goodbye," he says, smiling forlornly. "I truly think this past year has been one of the best in a long time. It was nice to spend my evenings with a good friend."

You grin at him, placing the Grindylow tank on the ground and throwing your arms around him. He has to drop his suitcase to be able to return the hug.

"For me, too," you say. "I'm so thankful that you're in my life, Remus."

"And I am thankful you're in mine."

You pat his shoulder, smiling. "I love you, Moony. Safe home — and make sure you write to me in the next few days, yeah?"

He smiles. "Of course. I love you too. And before you say it — I'll find him. Shouldn't be too hard."

"You're an absolute gem, Moony," you say genuinely. "Now, get going!"

He chuckles, picking up the suitcase and putting it onto the back of the carriage. You hoist the tank up and place it beside it, patting the top.

"Bye!"

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"Come in, come in..." you say with a smile as Harry enters your office, taking a seat in the chair in front of you. You sit down behind the desk, removing Dubh from her sleeping spot on your chair, who lets out an agitated meow. She quickly settles on your lap instead, curling up again. She really does nothing but sleep.

"Well, Harry. Remus told me everything up until he transformed, so you don't have to worry about telling that tale to me again. I'm sure you're tired of telling it."

You were livid when you found out about Peter. That slimy, disgusting, selfish little traitor. He was your friend! To think you let him into your home, to think you ever had faith in him!

Truth is, you always just thought he was a little...socially inept. He was never very good at talking to girls, and perhaps that was for the best. Bit of an odd bloke. But he was Sirius' good friend, so you had faith in his character.

What a fucking waste.

That pathetic man threw away everything for himself.

He ruined James' and Lily's lives.

He ruined Harry's life.

Sirius.

Remus.

Your life.

You could've had a happy life with your husband and your best friends if he hasn't spoiled it all.

You were so angry. It took quite some time for Remus to calm you down.

He nods. "Professor...if you knew Sirius was innocent this whole time, why didn't you tell anyone?"

You give a bitter chuckle. "I did, Harry. Of course I did. But what proof had I? I wasn't there. All I had was a strong belief in my husband. That counts for nothing in the judicial system. I mean — everyone believed he was guilty. Half of 'em thought I was just as mad as him."

"Sirius asked me how you were," Harry says thoughtfully. You furrow your eyebrows and he continues, "He thought I would have been living with you, not with the Dursleys...'cause you're my godmother. So why didn't you raise me instead?"

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. "I...couldn't, Harry. Well — not at the beginning anyway, I was a right mess then — but also because I wasn't allowed. The Ministry reckoned I'd try and kill you — which is like, I know my cooking's not great but it's not lethal — "

Harry snorts and you smile.

I just made my godson laugh!

"Not to mention Petunia totally hates me," you add. "With a passion. Couldn't visit, 'cause she'd have an absolute conniption if I stepped foot in her lovely, pristine home. Didn't write, either. Thought it'd be weird if you only got letters and never actually met me..."

Harry nods, though he's clearly not entirely satisfied yet. "Why didn't you tell me once I started school?"

"Wasn't allowed to do that either," you sigh. "You were already adjusting to so many new things...Dumbledore told me to wait. So I did, I waited a whole year, and then last year he again told me you weren't old enough yet. I was a bit angry at that, honestly...I'd already had to deal with eleven years of no contact with my own godson...but Dumbledore is much wiser than I, and I trust his judgement. And well, this year —of course — would have been a bad time to reveal I married Sirius..."

Harry doesn't say anything and you sigh. "Harry, dear, I really am quite sorry. I wish I could've properly watched you grow up."

Harry just shrugs awkwardly, looking away from you. "What...what were my parents like?"

You smile reminiscently. "Oh, Harry, just the best. Like the best people you'd ever meet — and I know they'd be so proud of you. They'd be so proud of you, Harry, so proud. And I'm very proud of you too."

Harry struggles to contain the smile stretching his lips.

"Lily was my best friend growing up. She was practically my sister. You wouldn't meet a kinder person, and she was also hilarious. I can't count the amount of times I genuinely thought my chest was going to explode from laughter with her," you tell him with a big grin. "And — and James, Merlin, now we used to fight like siblings. I remember one time, he decided to give himself frosted tips without telling anyone, and they were horrendous. Like, actually atrocious and he was so adamant that they were cool and they weren't. I honestly think I passed out from laughing. Oh, wait, hold on — I have a photo here somewhere — "

You pull out the key from your pocket, unlocking the bottom drawer of your desk and pulling it open. You grab a small stack of photos from inside and start to shuffle through them.

"Aha!" You exclaim, pulling a particular one out and grinning at it. There in the photo, is James Potter, his hair tousled and with the most horrendous frosted tips you've ever seen. He's grinning proudly though, and in the corner you can see a red-faced Sirius, doubled over in laughter.

You hold it out to Harry, and he takes it very gently, as thought it's more delicate and precious than glass. He beams at the photo, grinning just like his dad.

"Ah, Harry, you are the image of your father," you say happily. "Would not recommend frosted tips for you."

Harry chuckles, still looking at the photo happily. He gazes at it for a bit longer, before reluctantly handing it back towards you and you quickly shake your head.

"Keep it, keep it! I probably have a copy at home somewhere," you tell him, pushing back the photo. You lean down again and pick up the rest of the photos, handing them all to Harry. "Keep them all. I have loads more at home, I should bring the rest of them in to you."

The look on Harry's face warms your heart. He looks so happy, excitedly taking the photos and rifling through them. You crane your neck to see which ones he's looking at and begin to explain each one.

"Remus and Lily with their Prefects' badges...if you look close, you can actually see James ogling Lily in the background."

"Prank gone wrong..."

"Ooh, prank gone right!"

"My sixteenth birthday, that is. There's everyone...including my then-boyfriend, Alan. You don't have to squint to see the scowl on Sirius' face."

"Everyone spent a week at James's over the summer..."

"Oh, yeah, there's your godfather."

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asks.

You snort, looking back at the photo of Sirius stumbling around and pretending to use his wand as a microphone. "Drank too much firewhiskey. Don't even think about copying anything he does, by the way! Sirius is an idiot."

"I...wasn't planning on it," Harry says sheepishly. He flips the next photo, revealing a happy Sirius kissing a woman wearing a wedding dress —

"Oh, I'll take that one!" You say quickly, grabbing it and laying it face down on the desk.

Harry's cheeks redden slightly and he lands on the final photo. Your graduation photo.

You don't say anything for a second, gazing at it fondly. "Our graduation," you say softly.

Harry looks at it curiously, eyes wandering over the faces in the photo. He points at Alice, asking, "Who's she?"

You smile. "Alice Longbottom. Neville's mother."

Harry raises his eyebrows, looking back at you in surprise. "You knew her?"

You glance down at your watch, sighing. "You better get going if you want dinner. Come chat to me anytime, alright, Harry? I'd love the company."

"Very well," you say. "Alice, Lily, and I were the greatest friends. And Frank, Neville's dad, too...we were all like a little family." You point to Frank with your pinky finger.

Harry's eyes then focus on Wormtail, and you can see his jaw visibly clench. "Is that..."

"Yep. Wormtail."

He looks like he's nearly about to rip the photograph, so you gently take it from him, picking up a quill off your desk and dipping it in your ink well. You scribble out his face. Some small part of you knows you shouldn't do that. That this is someone who was once your friend. Someone you trusted. Someone Sirius trusted.

But you do it anyway, and hand it back to him.

"There...no reminders now," you say softly. He nods, taking the photo again and giving you a small smile.

He smiles, standing up from his chair.

"And take all those photos! I'm sure Ron and Hermione would like to see them too."

"Thank you, Professor," he says gratefully, carefully gathering up the photographs and leaving the room.

You flip over the photo once he leaves, gazing over the wedding photo again. You smile wistfully.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

hello lovelies! sorry that it's been so long since the last upload — the past week or two has been like a bit hectic haha. I really hope you like this chapter, and thank you all so much for the overwhelming support I've been getting recently. I love you all!! 💌

as always, a big thank you to my taglist loves for all their kindness and support:

@carpe000diem @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo

#sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #angst #angst with a happy ending #the marauders #fanfiction #hp #fanfic #marauders