harry potter · the marauders · polyamory · werewolf · hogwarts · protective · possessive · bookworm · trauma · smoking
The Gryffindor common room was a furnace of noise and light. Firewhiskey sloshed in stolen goblets, laughter cracked like thunder, and the air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the cloying sweetness of spilled butterbeer. Shadows danced across the stone walls as bodies swayed and collided, a living, breathing chaos that pulsed with every beat of the music. In the middle of it all, three figures moved with easy grace: Sirius, his black curls wild as he threw his head back and laughed; James, bright-eyed and shouting something over the din; and Remus, quieter, but with a soft smile that flickered like a candle flame. They were the heart of the storm, and they loved it. But on a worn velvet couch near the fire, away from the press of bodies, sat you. He was still. So still he might have been…