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The door to the Marauders' flat swings open before your knuckles can tap against it a second time. Sirius stands there, his smile broad and welcoming, as though he’s been counting the seconds until your arrival. His hair is pulled back by what you suspect is a ribbon plucked from Lily's collection, lending him an air of playful rebellion. A familiar scent of old parchment, warm butter, and something distinctly Sirius wafts over you as he pulls you in.
"Missed you," he declares without hesitation, all but sweeping you into a bear hug that lifts your feet off the ground momentarily. He rocks you slightly back and forth, and you feel the tension of the day start to unravel in his arms.
"I missed you too," you murmur into his shoulder, your words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. The closeness feels grounding, like tethering yourself back to the safest place you know.
"James is trying to make popcorn explode with his wand in the other room," Sirius says as he sets you down, one arm still loosely slung around your shoulder. He steps aside, hand brushing the small of your back to guide you inside. "Just another typical evening."
You laugh, the sound easing some of the nerves that have been fluttering in your chest all afternoon. This is still new, this strange and wonderful thing between you and the boys. The affection, the shared looks, the late-night whispered conversations—each moment has felt like stepping over a threshold. And now, here you are, crossing a literal one.
The warmth that greets you isn’t just from the temperature—it’s in the way James’s laughter filters in from the kitchen, in the way Remus glances up from his book as though he sensed your arrival before the door even opened. It’s the kind of warmth that only comes from being home. From being with people who love you.
You pause mid-step as something familiar tickles your senses. Your head tilts slightly, your brows knitting in surprise. It’s the smell.
Your snack. Your favorite one.
The one you always bring in your bag just in case—your little ritual of protection against being left out. You hadn't expected them to cater to your celiac needs. Things are still early, still sweet and tentative and unsure. You’d packed your snacks like always, expecting to need them. Just in case.
And yet, here it is.
Safe. Chewy. Cinnamon-flavored. Not at all like cardboard.
"You didn’t," you whisper, barely audible even to yourself.
Remus looks up from the couch, the book resting closed against his chest now, his eyes already on you. "What’s that?" he asks, voice low and even, but there’s a flicker of knowing in his gaze. "Buy your favourite snacks? Label them and hide them in the back cupboard so Sirius doesn’t eat them when he’s drunk and dramatic? Guilty as charged."
James pops his head out from the kitchen, wand in one hand, a bowl of popcorn floating obediently beside him. "We even got the brand that doesn’t taste like cardboard! Remus practically interrogated the shop clerk."
"Only twice," Remus mutters with mock defensiveness, though you see the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
Your heart stutters in your chest, that dangerous flutter that says you’re cared for, you’re wanted, you’re seen. You let out a slow breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and begin to remove your coat, movements small and careful, as though the spell of this moment might break if you're too abrupt.
"You remembered," you say, and the words land with more weight than you'd expected. Your voice cracks just slightly around the edges.
"Of course we did," Sirius replies, his voice quieter now, less performative, more real. He steps forward again, taking your coat and brushing your arm with his fingers. "You’re with us now. You’re ours. You think we’d just let you sit there without anything to eat while we stuff our faces? No way."
James grins wide, those familiar hazel eyes sparkling. "Besides, your face lights up when you eat them. It’s the best part. Worth every Galleon."
The lump in your throat grows and you look down quickly, blinking away tears you hadn’t expected. A single one escapes, slipping silently down your cheek before you can stop it.
And of course, they notice.
Remus is up in an instant, crossing the room in two strides. He wraps an arm gently around your shoulders, careful and steady, like always. "Hey," he murmurs close to your ear, voice low and soothing. "Are you alright?"
You nod, pressing your cheek into the rough wool of his jumper. Your arms wrap around his waist almost reflexively. The tightness in your throat makes it hard to speak, but you manage a quiet whisper. "Yeah. It's just... no one’s ever done something like this for me before."
The silence that follows is thick with emotion, unspoken grief for all the times no one showed up for you before now. Eventually, Remus brushes a lock of hair from your forehead with fingers that are both gentle and sure.
"Well," he says, voice barely above a breath, "they should have. But they didn’t. So we will. We always will."
They don’t make a big deal out of it—not in the loud, theatrical way you might have expected. Instead, they just... make space for you. You end up curled on the couch, cradled between Sirius and James, your knees tucked beneath you, your snack in hand. Remus sits at the other end, book reopened, reading aloud from a novel he insists is much better than it sounds.
Every so often, James passes you a handful of popcorn. Sirius absentmindedly runs his fingers through your hair. Remus’s voice is a steady cadence of calm, and every now and then, you catch him glancing up to make sure you're still comfortable.
And you are.
Because in this flat, surrounded by your boys—the ones who remembered, who made room, who looked after the things that matter to you—everything is better than it sounds. And for the first time in a long while, you believe you might actually stay.