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When James was a child, he knew, he knew that he would meet his soulmate someday. Not everyone had them, he knew that even then, but James had never thought that any reason why he should be one of the unfortunate masses. His parents were soulmates, after all, and unlike most children, James never developed the urge to gag or roll his eyes whenever his parents smiled at each other or cuddled up on a picnic blanket, watching James run and tumble about in the fields around Godric's Hollow. James' parents had made their home a happy one, and James was sure that one day, he would find the person who would make him half of a very happy whole.
There were moments when Fleamont and Euphemia would exchange looks over James' head, the small boy unaware of such gestures while he stacked haphazardly placed wooden blocks or flipped the pages of illustrated tomes. Fleamont and Euphemia had found each other, but not everyone was afford such a fortunate fate: Soulmates were recognised in both Muggle and magical worlds, but those who found their soulmate were still the minority. There were no outward signs of soulmatism, no way of preparing for what might or might not happen and no way of increasing one's odds, much to the displeasure of those who were desperate for a soulmate of their own. On your sixteenth birthday, if you had a soulmate, you would immediately feel it in your heart; and, more to the point, you'd hear them in your head. Not all the time, although some liked it that way, but in that first moment of connection, there was no way to stop your soulmate's voice from coming through. Wherever they were, whatever they were thinking, that's what you would hear, and it would be the same for them. Mind to mind, soul to soul-- It was impossible to doubt that kind of thing.
Now, it wasn't always as romantic and dramatic as the poets would have people believe: When Euphemia, three months Fleamont's junior, had turned sixteen, Fleamont had been in the middle of brewing a hair-growing potion that had gone horribly wrong, so the first thing that Euphemia ever heard of her soulmate was a half-alarmed, half-amused Oh bugger me-- as, on the other side of England, Fleamont's cauldron had exploded and drenched his atelier in overcooked potion. It had taken a moment for Fleamont to realise what, exactly, had distracted him to the point of potion explosion, and in his later years, with James giggling at his father's rueful expression, Fleamont would admit that he wished his first 'meeting' with his future wife had a little more dignity.
"Don't be silly, dear," Euphemia had replied, leaning down to kiss her husband on his bearded cheek as she passed by the kitchen table, deftly closing the oven door on the evening's roast with a flick of her wand. "Too much dignity would have set unreasonable expectations for our life together." Euphemia's words were teasing, but her hazel eyes were bright with laughter and love as she looked at her husband, who still coloured and grinned at her fondly even in the latter-most of their sunset years. James, then five years old, didn't fully understand the rarity of his parents' happiness; he wouldn;t understand how fortunate he was until many years later, growing up with the kind of endearing arrogance innate to those charmed beings who knew neither want nor fear. But at five, James did know that his parents loved each other, that they made each other happier than any other people he'd seen in his short life thus far, and James knew that he wanted that for himself.
One day, he would meet his soulmate, and James vowed that he'd do anything to make his special person happy.
When Remus had been a child, in the vague and ever-receding days before his life had changed forever, his life had been a happy one. Remus had tramped through fields at his father's side, half-lost in weeds and tall grasses that were waist-high on his father, but Remus had never been afraid of getting lost; he'd feared very little, in those early days, as fearless as most children are to start, guided on by his father's hand holding firmly to Remus' own. Years later, Remus would remember that cosy house in Wales and how he would come in from the woods with a pocketful of mossy stones and a basket filled with mushrooms, presenting them both to his mother before climbing onto a chair at the kitchen table and playing gobstones with his father while his mother washed and cleaned the mushrooms and scattered them over the rarebit she was toasting on the stove. Afterwards, when his parents were putting him to bed, Remus would ask to hear about how his parents had met: How his mother had gone on holiday for her sixteenth birthday, only to lose her way in the forest at the hands of mischievous creatures, and how Remus' father had heard her frantic thoughts and heroically saved her from the wicked woods.
Lyall Lupin would always colour a little at that, coughing to clear his throat in a slightly sheepish way, and Hope would laugh and brush back her son's unruly brown hair and kiss his forehead. "Yes, your father was very heroic," Hope would assure Remus, who had no doubt that it was true. "And one day, I'm sure you'll meet your soulmate, too."
That time was golden and happy and all too brief, Remus' simple little life abruptly ruptured by the hulking long-muzzled shadow that forced his bedroom window open with massive clawed forepaws, the searing pain in his arm and the terrible fear that stole his breath, his mother's terrified, too-tight embrace and his father's wand hurling magic at the massive grey-furred wolf before it leapt back out through the window and disappeared into the night. The wound itself healed, though the scars left behind by the werewolf's jaws would never fade, growing as Remus grew and reminding him that his life would never be the same.
Remus used to dream about having a soulmate, someone to love, someone to love him, in the way that his parents loved each other. After he was bitten, after Remus saw the anguish and the guilt in his father's face whenever Lyall looked at his son, and after Remus spent years watching his mother set her shoulders and repack their limited belongings again and again, move after move, because she'd chosen her husband and their son over a settled life and the happiness it might have given her, Remus changed his mind. Look what I've done to Mam and Dad, Remus told himself, peeping around the door frame of their latest rented cottage as his parents fretted, believing him to already be in bed. They're always worried because of me. I only made things harder for them.
Around the age of seven or eight, Remus stopped wishing for a soulmate. He knew, by then, that there was no cure for the lycanthropy that drove his family to wander, and he never wanted to inflict that on anyone else. A soulmate was supposed to know you completely, and Remus couldn't bear to disappoint a soulmate with who and what he was.
When James finally started Hogwarts, he couldn't help but keep his eyes open: Alright, so his parents had always told him that there was no way you could know your soulmate, not before you turned sixteen, but James was sure that he would just know. Life in Godric's Hollow had been pleasant and bucolic, but barring visits to the homes of friends and relations and the occasional shopping trip in London, James had never been around so many of his peers before, and he was sure that his soulmate must be waiting somewhere in the bustling crowds. When he met the boy on the train with the grey eyes and the biting wit, already so tall and self-possessed, who was immediately willing to come to James' defence against the boy who sang the praises of Slytherin, it was only natural that James would think that maybe... maybe it was him. It had taken a matter of minutes for them to recognise each other as kindred spirits, and James thought that it might be fun, being soulmates with Sirius Black. He didn't say as much, of course: By that time, James had learned that most people didn't put the same stock in soulmates as he did, and anyway, it felt like a private sort of thing. He did mention it to Sirius once, in passing, and Sirius didn't immediately say anything, one way or another, but there was a certain gleam in those grey eyes that made James think Sirius wouldn't mind.
Soulmates was the farthest thing from Remus' mind, that first day on the Hogwarts Express: He crammed himself into the farthest corner of his train compartment and was subsequently ignored by the students who took over the rest of the small room, which was exactly what Remus had been hoping for and simultaneously made him feel just a little miserable. His parents had seen him off with tight hugs and well-wishes, their prematurely lined faces betraying their worry, and Remus couldn't help feeling guilty over how excited he was to be attending Hogwarts at all. Soulmates? No, that wasn't anything he had to concern himself with. Remus had to make sure that he was careful, and that he did well in his exams, so he could prove to Headmaster Dumbledore that he hadn't made a mistake when he'd invited a secret werewolf to study at Britain's most storied magical institution.
Remus had expected to spend his years at Hogwarts alone, so when James and Sirius approached him, Remus had only been grateful. James had strode over-- He was shorter than Remus, then, though that would change a few years later-- and stuck out his hand with the fearlessness of someone who has nothing to hide.
"James," he said, shaking Remus' tentatively outstretched hand with a warm, firm grip that seemed too solid for such a spritely little boy. Remus, who couldn't remember the last time he'd interacted with another child his age, was so busy trying to gather his thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that "James" was the other boy's name. "James Potter. And this is Sirius Black." James nodded over his shoulder, where another dark-haired boy looked down on the other two with a slightly imperious air and deigned to give Remus a nod. Remus, not a little intimidated, fought the urge to bow and settled for a nod in return.
"Want to sit with us?" James asked, indicating the arched entrance to the Great Hall behind them, and Remus stared dumbly for a few seconds before James tugged on his hand like the impatient child he was. "Hey?" James prompted, and Remus gave himself a mental shake.
"Er, yes," Remus said, nodding a little too eagerly. He was sure that James didn't notice, but Remus couldn't say the same about Sirius. "Yeah, I'd like to. Sit with you, I mean. Thanks."
James beamed, that bright white grin that would give Remus so many little palpitations over the years, but he would always remember the first smile he received from James. No one had smiled at him like that before, except for his parents, and even their smiles had been tinged with worry and pain since Remus had been turned. James' smile was blithe and warm and filled Remus with warmth in return, especially as James turned and began towing the taller boy along in his wake. "Alright," James was saying, "this way," and Remus, rather helplessly, followed along. It had set a precedent, that first meeting, which Remus would think of many times in the years to come: Every time that James apologized for some mad scheme he and Sirius had concocted, which got them all in trouble, that smile was enough to make Remus forgive them at once. When James came to Remus and told him that they knew his secret, that they wanted to help, it was that smile - softened around the edges - that calmed Remus' hammering heart and prevented him from bolting away.
"Just wait, Moony," James said, and Remus had wrinkled his nose at the nickname in a way that made James laugh. If it made James laugh like that, Remus thought, he supposed that he'd get used to the nickname... eventually. "We'll figure something out, Sirius and Peter and me." James had reached for Remus' hand, squeezed it once, and in that moment, Remus would have believed anything that James might care to tell him.
Maybe, Remus would reflect, it was because of his werewolf nature that he'd cleaved so closely to the other three: Remus had grown up alone, save for his parents, but now he had friends who would break Ministry laws for his sake, and deep down, every wolf desires a pack. And if they were a pack, Remus thought, then James was their alpha: Remus might have been the actual wolf, Sirius tall and sharp and intimidating without being brutish, but James was their centre, the sun around which his friends fell into orbit. If, at times, Remus wished that he could be as close to James as Sirius was, those inseparable two, Remus also knew that it wasn't his place to hope for such a thing. If ever two people were meant to be soulmates, it had to be Sirius and James. They already thought alike, and acted as a pair, and if they hadn't moved beyond the boundaries of friendship by Fourth Year, it was only because they were waiting-- Waiting to see if Fate would tell them what they already seemed to know.
James, too, had found other things to occupy his thought besides the idea of soulmates: It lingered there at the back of his mind like a childhood dream, but when there were exams to take and Quidditch matches to practice for and Slytherins to clash with, something like 'soulmates' took a backseat. After all, it was an inevitability, so why worry about it when it would happen anyway?
Still, as time passed, James did wonder if Sirius would be his soulmate, after all. Sirius liked the idea, although he wouldn't admit it, not outright; his opinion was couched in phrases like, "It might be alright, if you aren't too unbearable," but it was there in the way that Sirius looked at James sometimes when he thought James wasn't looking. James, for his part, thought the idea of Sirius being his soulmate felt natural, but was that how it was supposed to be?
When Sirius's little joke almost got Snivellus killed, James was almost surprised by the fury that had rushed through him then, by the way he'd rebuked Sirius after the fact. Not because of Snivellus, but because Remus was their friend, and did Sirius have any idea how Remus would feel if Snape had died? What could happen to Remus? James knew that he wasn't a saint, that he and Sirius had a knack for egging each other on and damning the consequences, but he was really, truly hurt at the idea that Sirius could be so careless with someone they loved.
Sirius' eyes had flickered when James had said that, and James had paused. "You do love Moony, don't you?" he'd asked, and it was bizarre that he had to even ask. "He's our friend."
"... Yeah, of course, I do," Sirius had replied, raking a hand through his black-silk hair before glancing back at James. "You do, too?" he asked, and James' brow furrowed in confusion. "Love Moony," Sirius clarified. "As a friend."
"Of course I do!" James replied, indignant. "I didn't go after Snivellus for his sake!"
Sirius had pursed his lips in a gesture that made him look startlingly like his mother, a fact that James had instantly vowed to never say to Sirius' face, and then Sirius had looked away again. "Right," Sirius had muttered, almost under his breath. "Just... making sure."
The incident stuck in James' head, a minor note compared to the larger incident that had even gotten the Headmaster involved, and even after things returned to normalcy, James remembered the shock he'd felt when Sirius had come to him that evening, barely holding back his laughter, proud of what he'd done. The look on Sirius' face at James' reaction had been equally stunned, and although James soon fell back into his usual routine with Sirius, their well-established double act, he was less sure about whether or not Sirius could be his soulmate, at least in that way. It might have been stupid of him to think so, and yet...
As Sirius' sixteenth birthday approached, he'd grown increasingly restless, and that nervous energy had affected the other Marauders. Their birthdays were usually highlights of the year: James loved a party, and he saw no reason that they shouldn't have one for each of them, even if some rules had to be broken along the way. That year, although there was cake and butterbeer from the kitchens and smuggled firewhiskey from Hogsmeade, courtesy of a Sixth Year who spent his pocket money as fast as he could get it, the mood was muted as they sat up in the dorm room, watching the clock count down to midnight. Sirius had an unusual abundance of nervous energy, fingers tapping idly against his thigh, and then--
Midnight.
James, Remus and Peter held their breath, and after a long pause, Sirius shook his head. "No one," he said, and even he couldn't hide the relief in his voice. "Must not be sixteen yet," Sirius remarked easily, just a little too casual for it to be normal, and his eyes flicked over to James before Sirius laughed and shrugged. "Well, they'd best not keep me waiting too long!"
The tension broke and the boys laughed, mock-toasting Sirius' status as "an elder," and James, age fifteen, gulped down his spiked butterbeer with a flutter in his stomach that he decided was excitement.
Remus, watching James as he so often did, also took an extra-long drink from his cup, somewhat less spiked than James' and Sirius' glasses were. Maybe, Remus thought, he should have taken a little more of that firewhiskey; he could have used the extra burn.
They had a brief reprieve in the form of Peter's birthday, devoid of any of that strange tension which had hung over Sirius' birthday like an Invisibility Cloak. When midnight came and went, and Peter found himself soulmate-less, he reacted with a shrug.
"I wasn't really expecting it," Peter admitted, unbothered, as he helped himself to a large slice of cake. "My parents aren't soulmates, but they seem to do alright."
"Yeah, well, neither are mine," Sirius muttered into his cup, a rare occurrence of Sirius mentioning his family without direct prompting. "I'd rather have a soulmate, if it's all the same."
March came around, and while it was obvious that they were waiting for James' birthday, Remus' did come first. They had the cake, the drinks, and of course, the tension from Sirius' birthday.
"I hope you find your soulmate, Moons," Sirius said, clapping Remus on the back in a friendly way. Only Remus could tell that Sirius' grip was just a little too hard for a congratulatory back-slap, although Remus didn't let himself flinch: Things had been a little different between Sirius and himself since the incident with Snape, and maybe that was why Remus allowed himself to be critical of Sirius at that time, even if it was just internally.
You don't really care about my soulmate, Remus thought, as Sirius studied him intently. You just want to be sure I'm out of the way.
It was a ridiculous notion, of course; the Marauders never competed with each other, not really, and no-one who'd ever seen James and Sirius together would have considered Remus a threat to their dynamic. And yet there was a look of assurance in Sirius' expression that raised Remus' hackles, and he couldn't be sure if it was himself or the wolf; but either way, Remus swallowed the urge to growl. "Thanks, Pads," was all that Remus said, and they all turned their eyes to the clock again.
When midnight struck, Remus was holding his breath. A part of him, long buried by the practicalities of life at Hogwarts, hoped that he would hear someone else in his thoughts; another part of Remus shied away from the very idea, terrified of someone else knowing him, of someone else seeing him in such a way, especially someone he didn't know. Remus dedicated so much of his time and effort into hiding himself from the world, that he had no idea what he'd do if he couldn't put up fronts and facades and barriers between himself and someone else's soul.
As it turned out, Remus needn't have worried. One minute passed, and then another, and Remus grinned weakly. "Just me in here," he said, lightly tapping the side of his head, and he couldn't help a sigh of mingled disappointment and relief.
James, sitting opposite Remus on the carpet, found himself breathing out a similar sigh, and then he immediately wondered why. It was for Moony's benefit, James decided, sipping at his drink to give himself something to do. Remus hated being exposed, which was completely understandable, given his furry little problem. It had only become more pronounced since... Well. James just... didn't want Remus to be put into that kind of position, that was all. Even if soulmates were supposed to be perfect for you.
That was the first time that James thought that maybe soulmates weren't automatically as wonderful as he'd thought they were; that maybe there was something to be said for knowing someone first, for knowing and loving them before Destiny told you that you had to.
Don't think about it too hard, James told himself, draining his glass. I can't do anything about it, one way or another. I'm up next, so...
For James' birthday, they usually went all-out: The common room had been commandeered on more than one occasion, and the list of rules violations would have given a prefect fits. Not counting Remus, of course, who was a prefect, but who would have sooner cut out his own tongue than ruin James' party, denying James the adoration he loved and denying Remus the chance to watch James in his element, the life of the party, just at home leading a raunchy singalong as he was looping over a Quidditch field. This year, however, despite the many interested inquiries of their housemates, there was no big party, no blow-out bash despite the milestone of turning sixteen. It was just the four of them again, in their dorm room, and even their attempts at their usual banter had begun to die down as midnight approached. Soon they were all watching the clock as if it might burst into flame at any second, and given how intently Sirius had his eyes fixed on it, that might end up being the case. Peter looked incredibly uncomfortable, unaware of the full story behind the thick blanket of tension, and he might have tried to beg off for an early night if they weren't just a few steps away from his bed. As it was, he made the best of it, his hands tightly gripping his cup as the seconds ticked away.
Remus was... Remus was prepared. Whether James had a soulmate or didn't have a soulmate, Remus was going to congratulate or console him, as necessary, and was currently, desperately suppressing the sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with that night's dinner. His birthday had reminded him of how much he'd wanted a soulmate as a child, and of why he'd stopped; it was too cruel, that he'd been forced to remember that old wish just in time to watch it come to an end. You didn't get to choose, but if he could have done so, Remus would have chosen James, just as James had walked up to him outside the Great Hall, back when they were First Years, and erased the solitary school life he'd expected to live.
He was lucky, Remus reminded himself. Lucky that he had such wonderful friends. Lucky that he'd had this time with James. If he'd only recently realized what he'd been feeling for years, well, wasn't that just Remus' luck? He watched James watching the clock, the other boy's expression oddly pensive: Remus wasn't used to seeing that look in those hazel eyes, the uncertainty. James Potter was never anything but dauntless, for better or for worse, but Remus supposed that a potential lifelong soul bond might be enough to change that.
Five, four, three, two...
Please be someone kind, Remus thought, and then he realized with a shock that though he agreed with the sentiment, would never want anything for James besides kindness and care and love, those words did not belong to Remus. His eyes find James' within the next heartbeat, looking up to find James' gaze already waiting for him, wide-eyed and wonder-struck through his glasses.
Every childhood dream, every story told at bedtime, every wish on a star even when he'd been wracked with pain and losing hope for anything more than life as a monster, all of it came rushing back as James' mind clicked into place alongside Remus', and it felt like emerging from the darkness into the golden Summer.
It'sMoony?It'sMoony!Moonyits'meit'smeyoucanhearme?Right? MerlinI'msohappyIwasscareditwouldbeastrangerI'msogladRemusIdon'twantyoutobelonelyorwithastranger I'lltakecareofyouIpromiseForeverYouwantmeright?Youdon'tnotwantme?
And all Remus can think, all James can feel is YESYESYESYESYESJAMESALWAYSWANTYOUALWAYALWAYS--
Peter's eyes dart from James to Remus, and then back to James, unsure if he should be congratulating them or not, instinctively shrinking back at the look on Sirius' face. It's not anger, nor fury or rage: If Remus looked like someone whose dream had just come true, Sirius looked like someone who was watching his dream die.
"... James?" James tore his gaze away from Remus, with great effort, and even in the breathless excitement of finding his soulmate, of feeling Remus' happiness glowing within him, James saw Sirius' shattered expression and felt it echoed within him, so strongly that Remus felt a ghost of that sensation through their newly forged bond.
"Sirius..." James started, then stopped, stumbling over his words. What could he say? James hadn't made the choice, but he knew that a part of Sirius would always wonder if James had. "Padfoot, I'm sorry--"
Sirius doesn't hang about to hear the rest, standing abruptly and leaving the room in such a rush that he almost bowled Peter over to get to the door. James tried to call Sirius back, but all they heard was his footsteps heading down the stairs; from the sound of it, Sirius was taking two at a time, and then he was gone. Peter, alarmed, mumbled something about making sure Sirius didn't do anything crazy and scurried out the door, leaving James looking almost desolate. He hadn't been sure if he'd wanted Sirius as his soulmate, not like that, but James had never wanted to cause Sirius this kind of pain. They were best mates, after all, soulmates, even... Just not in the way that Sirius had hoped.
Remus stood and took a few steps towards James, sitting down next to him and putting an arm around James' waist. James had always been physically affectionate, but Remus had always been too self-conscious to initiate: In that moment, it felt wholly natural, and James leaned into Remus' side, his hazel eyes sad.
"Moony?" James said at last.
"Hm?" Remus made a sound of response, leaning against James' shoulder.
"Am I a... a horrible person?" James asked. "For being so happy to have you, even though Sirius..."
"You're not a horrible person," Remus said firmly; he'd always found it easier to be strong for others than for himself. "You and he are best mates, and this isn't going to change things." It would, Remus knew, but in that moment, he wanted James to hear whatever he had to hear. "You just have to give him some time. And until then..." Remus flushed a little, even as he finished, "Until then, I'm here."
Despite everything, despite his fears of a rift between himself and his best friend, James felt Remus' reassuring presence in mind, as surely as he felt Remus' arm around his waist, and nodded. "Yeah," James said, letting Remus' presence soothe him, drawing him away from his guilt and into the already familiar sensation of their souls glowing in tandem. "We're here."