Chapter Text
Dear Reader,
Bend when you can,
Snap when you have to.
Dear Reader,
You don't have to answer,
Just 'cause they asked you.
“Dear Reader”, Taylor Swift
The dreaded message showed up yet again: You have already left kudos here. :) “No shit, Sherlock,” she muttered under her breath, her sleep-deprived brain – it was 2:34 in the morning and she did have to get up in approximately four hours, after all – always causing her to become far more foul-mouthed than she was on a regular day. “If I wanted you to judge me for bestowing an author with the love they deserve, at least do not have the audacity to include the smiley.”
She huffed, rolled over on her other side and then typed a short comment out to let Artemis know that – despite the fact that all the kudos had already been given – she did really appreciate everything they wrote.
She pressed send, quickly checked if she had truly set her alarm and then dropped her phone, snuggling happily into her duvet, letting out a contented sigh as she dreamed of a doe and a stag running around a Forbidden Forest.
“You look like shite,” said Marlene as she greeted her on her way to the bathroom. “Were you up late reading fanfiction about dead. shapeshifting wizards again?” She glowered at her friend, whom started cackling. “Honestly, Lil, way to spend a Thursday night: doing your boring coursework and then reading and rereading the stuff written by this Artemis-person…” She opened the door to the bathroom, Marlene following her inside. “Have you told them you’re in love with them yet?”
“You’re hilarious, Marlene,” she replied, reaching for the toothpaste as well as her toothbrush.
“And you are grumpy,” Marlene smirked as she stood in the opening of the door, leaning against its post. “What? Is the slow burn getting to you? How many times have you reread the gazillion chapters of their masterpiece? Are the characters any closer to shagging it out than they were in Chapter One?”
“I’m not talking to you about this, because you’re only saying all of this to make fun of me –”
“Why is she making fun of you?”
Mary entered the bathroom, already fully dressed, bumping her hip against Lily’s, so she could check herself a final time in the mirror. The girl looked absolutely flawless, well-rested too, Lily only felt slightly resentful looking at her pretty friend.
“Lily was up reading fanfiction all night.”
“What, again?”
She felt a flash of frustration, a flicker of embarrassment too. “I’m going to look for new friends, I’ve decided. Ones that do respect me for who I am, weird obsessions and all –”
Marlene’s laugh was booming, while Mary turned around and wrapped her arms around her from the side, pressing her cheek flush against Lily’s. “Oh, we love you, boo. You know we do!” Lily’s hand came up to rest on her friend’s forearm. “We just question your life choices, that’s all. Just like Marlene questions my TikTok addiction and we question her fitness one.”
“At least mine is healthy and gets me laid.”
“Rude, Marls, rude!”
The thing about reading fanfiction was that it was a hobby that few people understood. Perhaps, it was also more of a lifestyle than a diversion, in all truth, but she had come to find that no one ever truly grasped her need to read about the fantasy world that K.J. Royle had created, as imagined by other fans like her.
“But why not just read the books?” was a frequently asked question that she felt like she had never been able to answer in such a way that people understood why fanfiction – in so many ways – was often just so much better than what one found on the shelves of the bookshop.
“I know what happens in the books,” she’d begin to explain. “I am familiar with these characters in their canon shape, in the storyline that Royle set up. Now, though, I get to read about these same characters in all these different settings. Honestly, there is no limit to the creativity of the fic author – you’ve got Modern AUs or Regency ones, those with or without magic and don’t even get me started on all the tropes!”
The only one who somewhat understood the extent of her passion for the medium was her childhood best friend Severus Snape, whom – like her – read fanfiction in Royle’s world, except for the fact that she read fanfiction about The Marauders and he read stories about The Death Eaters they fought. As a result, he disliked Artemis – the author that she fangirled over on a daily basis (and in doing so she contained herself still, because she could fangirl over them every three seconds) – a great deal and refused to read any of their fics.
“Why would you want to read about The Marauders? Royle explored those characters to death, whereas Lord Voldemort is a commonly misunderstood anti-hero –”
“His plans to rid the world of all those who did not obtain magic through their ancestry are a parallel for genocide! You don’t go around saying that you support mass murder programmes in real life, do you?”
“Voldemort has had a difficult childhood!”
“That doesn’t excuse anything!”
Their disagreements often got so heated that fandom had become a taboo subject for the both of them and while they studied in the library - taking many of the same classes - she no longer brought up fics that she’d read nor did she recommend any of them. Still, he sometimes caught her as she reread a favourite section in one of Artemis’ works and the way his nostrils flared and the corners of his lips downturned, drove her spare. It was a constant point of contention between them.
At least, she thought, she wouldn’t have to feel his disapproving glances over her shoulder today, seeing as he had class that afternoon. There was always that.
The first thing he did as he woke up was check his inbox for kudos or comments. He knew it was probably a narcissistic trait of his to check if his stories had garnered a response, but he figured any other person would do the same in his position. He had – he supposed – a bit of a praise kink. He loved it when people commented on his work, spelled out that they had touched their hearts or made their souls weep with delight. He wrote mostly for himself, of course, but the fact that other people liked or sometimes even loved what he created, gave him the necessary boost of confidence to keep at it.
“As if your head isn’t big enough as it is,” his brother would tell him as he scrolled through his stories’ comment sections. “So, you can write, but what else have you got to show for yourself? You haven’t had a girl over in how long?”
He didn’t mind that last bit, though. He was currently in his Writer’s Era, as he liked to call it (and he was certain that Taylor Swift - whoms lyrics proved to be quite the inspiration when he got stuck - would approve). He was thoroughly inspired and his mutuals loved it. Why would he risk damaging the fulfilment his fanfiction days gave him by dating someone that would most likely not understand his love for The Marauders in the first place?
Not to mention that he was maybe just a little infatuated with Lilium, his absolute favourite commenter. His smile widened when he noted that she’d left him another comment at 2:36 that morning.
I have, apparently, left all the kudos I could give before. You know I love you, though, don’t you. Artemis? I’d heart this fic a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough.
He read the comment a couple of times over, then dropped his phone, placed one of his arms over his eyes, fingers curled into a fist, pleased smile playing at his lips.
He was seated in the library, his eyes flickering to the gorgeous redhead sitting across from him. The girl was very clearly engrossed in whatever she was reading and his stomach fluttered at the sight. What if she were Lilium?
It was a ridiculous thought, however. The idea that he would ever meet her – if she was a she in the first place – was preposterous. Fandom and real life were two different entities. It was almost as if he had become Artemis when he wrote, as if – when he was in his room, typing out the stories he imagined – he had left James Potter behind. Sure, his family and friends all knew about his obsession – his mother was one of the other faithful commenters on his stories, his dad preferring to send him his praise over WhatsApp, while Sirius pretended not to care while still reading all of his updates, Peter complained about his "novel-length chapters" and Remus made him hot chocolate when he was on a writing spree (“for my favourite author out there”) – but the idea that anyone outside of his direct circle, that anyone at Hogwarts University was one of his readers, was laughable and a thought that would only prove him to be a pompous prat.
No, he thought, gaze once again straying to were the beautiful girl sat, her hands going up to pull her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, exposing the ivory skin of her neck, there was no way. She’s too pretty to be a fandom geek in any case, too clever to devote her time to the fantasy world that K.J. Royle had created. He needed to focus if he wanted to finish his essay on Milton’s Paradise Lost. If he didn’t, he’d lose valuable writing time and disappoint his followers with a delayed updating schedule.
If there was anything that he hated, it was just that.
“Come on, Prongs!” Sirius was facedown on his bed, voice muffled as James – quickly, fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop – finished a bit of dialogue that would form the apotheosis of his new chapter. “I’ve been waiting so long that I might have gotten myself a couple of greys mixed up with the black.”
“Just one more second, I –” he checked if his work was saved and then slammed his laptop shut. “All right,” he straightened himself, pulling his casual shirt over his head in favour of a jumper, “where are we going again?”
“The Three Broomsticks,” his brother had flopped back on his back, spreadeagled as if he were a starfish. “Ros said she’d save us a table, but that she’d give it to other people if we weren’t there by nine.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” James peeked at his reflection in the mirror, his hair looked a gigantic mess, his glasses were a little askew, but other than that he looked fine, he thought. “She fucking loves us.”
“Not enough to leave a booked table empty, she doesn’t.” James thought this was fair enough, reaching for his shoes as his brother sat up, looking surprisingly unwrinkled for someone who’d dramatically flung himself on a bed. “By the way, I saw that you and Lilium were at it again. ‘Not as much as I love your comments’ …” Sirius fake-gagged. “Honestly, mate, you’ve got to get yourself a girl. You’re turning into a sap. For all you know she lives in Antarctica –”
“That’s literally impossible without the right resources –”
“– or she ends up being a 56-year-old woman, who is catfishing and stalking you online –”
“She’s not –”
“How would you know?”
He shrugged, let out a sigh. “Just… I’ve spoken to her before, all right and I see what she reblogs on Tumblr. No 56-year-old woman would even know half of the stuff she likes.”
“Okay, so maybe she’s within our age bracket, but what if she’s –” he pulled a face.
“What if she’s what?”
“Not as attractive in real life as she appears to be online.”
He felt the need to defend Lilium, to tell his brother that it wouldn’t matter anyway, that he loved what she showed him through her comments. But wasn’t that naïve?
“You act as if I’ve got any expectations of ever meeting any of the people I speak to online or to run into anyone who comments on my stories. I just –” he shrugged, “– it’s fun to imagine, isn’t it? To think about certain people that like to read what I write as I post my chapters, it creates a bond –”
“I like your stuff,” Sirius spoke, sounding matter-of-fact, “your mum does.”
“Out of obligation and love. Mum framed all the horrendous childhood pictures I drew and put them up on a wall she’s dubbed her ‘Wall of Jame’.”
“Well, whatever,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “even if half of our appreciation springs from the fact that we love you, it doesn’t mean that I can’t recognise that some of the stuff you write… it’s good, mate.” He was chuffed, felt his chest swell with pride. His brother was not one to be overly appreciative of other people's actions and talents. “Anyway,” his brother continued with emphasis, “this doesn’t mean that I don’t think you need to have some fun. Let loose tonight, snog a bird or two, take the one you like best home…!”
Eh, he thought unenthusiastically, but he just smiled as he held out his hand for Sirius to take, pulling him up from where he was still seated on his bed. “I can’t get to it if we stay up in my room, can I?”
“That’s the level of commitment I like to observe!” Sirius put his arm around his neck. “Come on, you nerd, let’s get you laid!”
Marlene had threatened to start leaving embarrassingly incorrect comments on any one of Artemis’ fics in her name if she didn’t join them at The Three Broomsticks that Friday evening. “Those fics will still be there when you get back, Lil,” she’d said as Lily had followed her, still reading the final paragraph of the oneshot he had posted two months ago and she had reread approximately twenty times already. “All the cute guys, however, will have been paired up with the hot girls if we don’t hurry up.”
When they arrived at their favourite and the most popular pub on campus, though, it turned out they were a little too late regardless.
“But that table over there is free!” Marlene pointed out to the woman behind the bar. The woman – early thirties, she reckoned, arms covered in tattoos and absolutely stunning – shook her head with an apologetic look in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, lass. Couple of boys booked it, but you can wait a couple of minutes to see if they show. I promised I’d keep the table open till nine.”
Marlene huffed, eyeing both her and Mary disapprovingly. “Men! They think they fucking rule the world, don't they?”
“I thought the reason you brought us here was for that reason alone: to meet up with those of the opposite sex,” Lily muttered, wishing that she was at home, snuggled up on the sofa with a blanket and a cup of tea, one of Artemis’ fics open. She had to reread the latest chapter of Solemnly Swear before he’d post the next chapter some time tomorrow and doing so would have been a much preferred occupation of her time.
“Yeah, but not posh ones that apparently book tables at a uni pub,” their friend complained. “Anyway, it’s two to nine and they’re not here yet, so –”
It was impressive, Lily would later think, that in the rowdy, loud mess that The Three Broomsticks was already by this time, it was possible for the air to shift as soon as the door opened to reveal two individuals. (Or, in hindsight, maybe this was just her. She definitely was aware of a change of atmosphere.) They talked loudly, laughed boisterously and greeted the woman behind the bar as if she was their best friend. They also made their way to the table that they had just been told could possibly be theirs if the people that had booked it hadn’t arrived by nine.
“Fucking hell,” Marlene complained. “It’s just the two of them? That table can house at least six! Let me just –” before either Mary or herself had been able to stop her, their headstrong friend made her way over to their table, hands on her hips as she waited for the two young men – who were still deep in conversation – to notice her.
“Shall we go and suss out the situation before any of us get in trouble?” asked Mary. Lily nodded, following her friend only somewhat reluctantly, inexplicable nerves swirling in her stomach as she willed her eyes not to stare at the boy with the glasses.
It was Library Girl. Fucking Library Girl – whom he had earlier in the day hoped could be Lilium – that had followed her rather bossy friend – Sirius had immediately taken a shine to her – to their table. He had been pretty much unable to keep his eyes off of her and his brother – the absolute shithead – had noticed, waggling his eyebrows as she had slid into the booth beside him, their thighs very nearly pressed together now that Remus and Peter had joined them too.
He was bloody doomed, wasn’t he? She was the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on and he had lost all ability to speak like a normal human being. Remus actually looking at him as if he’d hit his head when he had tried to crack a joke earlier that no one but him had gotten.
“Prongs here actually,” Sirius announced loudly out of absolutely nowhere, hand clapping his shoulder, “is all set to become a writer. Right, Potter?” He felt himself flush, his jaw clenched as he widened his eyes at his brother. “He actually spends a lot of his time writing stories for –”
“No one is interested, Padfoot,” he sent his friend daggers in warning. “I dabble a little, but that’s all –”
“That’s all when we had to drag you away from your laptop to even come out tonight?”
He considered what Library Girl – her name was Lily Evans, apparently, but that didn’t make her any less of an enigma – might think if he were to resort to violence to shut his best friend up. She didn’t seem like the type to condone anything of the sort. There was something nearly ethereal about her, but there was a definite spark in her eyes too that he imagined could be ignited if he said or did the wrong thing.
“Lily here loves to read, actually,” the bossy blonde replied, her grin wide. “Don’t you, Lil? Honestly, it was difficult to even get her to come here. Like Potter there, Lily thinks it’s acceptable to waste away over the weekend –”
“I’m not wasting away.” Yes, she had a bit of a temper, all right. Fuck, did he love it. “I reckon that most people read too little these days. I’m making up for those rapidly dwindling statistics by reading thrice as much as is probably considered healthy in a day.”
Oh God have mercy on me. All this talk of reading did something to him, okay? It was pathetic, probably, but he could feel the blood rush from his brain to roughly halfway down his body.
“You two should definitely talk,” the third girl – her name was Mary, he remembered only vaguely, because he was too busy trying not to get a hard-on just from hearing Library Girl passionately defend one of his favourite pastimes if he wasn’t writing himself – said cheekily. “It sounds like you have an awful lot in common. Or, you know, you could not talk –”
“Mary!” Her cheeks were bright red as she got up, desperate to get away from the table as soon as her feet could carry, it seemed. “I’m going to the loo and when I’m back, you all better have moved on.”
He watched her go, already missing the pressure of her thigh against his. He wondered if he could innocuously follow her. If he were a Marauder and thus one of the characters he wrote about, he could have grabbed the invisibility cloak and followed her. Now, however, any move he’d make would be observed by all those present here. He thought about it for a couple of seconds longer and then moved out of the booth too, his friends – or mostly Sirius and Peter – catcalling as he heard one of hers ask: “Is he following her?!”
He waited just outside the ladies’ room, his heart beating out of his chest as he did. He never did any of this in real life. In his stories, sure, it happened, but he would normally never gather the courage to do any of this himself. He knew where his strengths lay and it was usually not in a first impression. This was especially true where pretty girls were concerned. He was one of those people you needed to warm up to, who aged like a fine wine as his mother liked to say.
The bathroom door opened to reveal the auburn-haired girl he’d sat next to for the past hour, her eyes widening as she clocked him, frozen in the doorway, the loud whirring of the hand blower making it impossible for him to think clearly. Luckily, she broke the silence, having recovered sooner than he could.
“Were you waiting for me or –?”
“Yeah, I –” he ran his hand awkwardly through his hair, pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. “I just wanted to apologise, some of my friends are actual Neanderthals and they had this idea of getting me laid, so –”
“It’s my friends that are worse,” she replied, a flush creeping up her cheek. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve actually been really polite despite the fact that I’ve practically had to sit on top of you all evening, because I’d otherwise fall off the edge of my seat, so –”
“Oh, that’s –” he swallowed, “– I really didn’t mind that. You’re – you feel nice, so –”
“I feel nice?”
“Yeah, you –” he dropped his eyes, feeling his face heat up. Wasn’t he supposed to be a writer? Didn’t his readers normally praise him for how smooth his characters were? Clearly, he poured so much of that into them that he actually forgot to keep some of it for himself. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I suppose I’ve just been thinking that you’re really pretty all night, so I haven’t exactly been thinking straight.”
He was met with silence and – when it started to get a little uncomfortable – he looked up, all but expecting her to have left or to have gotten up in his face, ready to punch him and break his nose. What he hadn’t expected, is to find her adorably flustered.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.
He thought she sounded nervous, as if she had no idea what she was doing exactly when she asked him, but he could hardly say no, could he? Let's face it, he would have been a fool to and if there's anything he didn't want people to say about him a couple of decades into the future - when they were reading his eulogy - it was that he had been an idiot for turning down Library Girl.
She had no idea what had possessed her, had ignored her and his friends’ loud cheering as they’d seen the two of them leave, his hand in hers guiding her to the exit. His palm was slightly sweaty against her own, but she didn’t mind. She was - after all - more than just a little bit nervous too.
They’d been quiet for most of the walk up to his house. His parents had bought it for them, apparently, making Marlene’s earlier claim over them being posh twats - considering the fact that they had booked a table at a uni pub of all places - ring with truth. The both of them casting furtive glances each other’s way as they got gradually closer to their final destination.
She wondered if this happened to him often, if girls propositioned him frequently. She – based on the way he looked – thought they must. His manners, however, suggested that he – like her – had no idea what he was doing, what would follow next, how they would proceed.
Once having arrived at his house, he gave her a quick tour – “Kitchen, living room, toilet," and then: "that’s the stairs leading up to our bedrooms…” – before she had pulled him up the latter, trying to seem as if she had any idea as to how to seduce someone, as if she had any knowledge of situations like these beyond the fact that she had read many a fic in which a one-night stand featured, in which characters would casually hook up. (She ignored the fact that it never ended up being casual exactly, but that was something entirely fictional, of course. Real life didn't immitate art in all aspects. Even Artemis sometimes wrote scenarios that were not entirely believable.)
They arrived in his bedroom, he furtively picking up a T-shirt that had been littering in the centre of it, but other than that his room was surprisingly neat for a twenty-year-old boy. She eyed his desk, his laptop, the shelves on the left, her eyes getting stuck on well-read copies of her own favourite series.
“You like K.J. Royle’s books?” she asked, walking over and picking up the first book in the series: The Boy Who Lived. His copy had clearly been earmarked over and over and her fingers slid over its worn and weathered spine.
“Uh, yeah,” he spoke, sounding a little embarrassed almost. “I might be a bit obsessed, actually, as the fact that my copies are practically falling apart might show. I've got deluxe editions at home, but I wanted to bring these here. A memento of sorts, I suppose.”
“I love them too,” she told him with a smile, looking up at him. His entire face – so nervous – transformed with the widening of his grin, the dimples that appeared in his cheeks. Her stomach dropped at the sight. He was very, very handsome.
“You do?” He asked. “Wow, that’s – that’s brilliant, actually. Who is your favourite character?”
“All Marauders, really,” she answered easily, putting his copy back on the shelf. She didn’t talk about her love for a young adult fantasy series much now that she attended university and most people thought she was quirky for still feeling this fierce love for books of which the final one was published a decade ago. Even in secondary, her passion for the books had been regarded as odd and out of the ordinary. It’s why she found fandom such a safe place to be. “I can’t possibly be forced to choose between any of my children.”
“Cool,” he nodded, hands buried deep in his pockets now, “I love all Marauders too. So much so that I actually –” She didn’t hear him out, had walked up to him, one of her hands coming up to rest on his chest. He stopped, swallowed.
“Should we talk about this more some other time?” she wondered out loud, her eyes on his hazel ones. “I have a feeling we might get sidetracked if we don’t.”
“Right,” he replied, eyes dropping to her lips, her stomach fluttering. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea, I'm always down to talk Marauders if you'd like –” She stood on her tiptoes, her mouth pressed against his, her touch a little hesitant still, but then his arm came around her waist, pushed her up closer against him as he started to walk backwards, dragging her with him towards the bed. “Shit,” he said as he sat himself down, she moving to straddle him, her fingers pushing up the material of his jumper, “you’re really good at this –”
“I am?”
“Yeah, you’re –” he paused as she pulled his clothes off of him, fingers deftly catching the glasses that threatened to fall off his face. “I mean… it seems like you know exactly what you’re doing, so –” I don’t, she thought, but decided to keep this titbit of information to herself as her eyes roamed his firm and well-defined chest. For someone who – according to his friends – spent a lot of time indoors writing on his laptop, he sure looked a lot like the gorgeous men she liked to read about in fanfiction: too good to be damn true.
“You’re really handsome,” she told him and he chuckled.
“Yeah?” he seemed to genuinely ask, beaming when she nodded. “Well, I already told you that I think you’re pretty, but that was a lie. I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, really.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Seconds ticked by as they stared at one another, both of them smiling wide, their hearts slamming against the inside of their chests, pulses thrumming, her thighs squeezing his while his arousal grew.
“Can I take off your shirt too?”
She didn’t make him wait long, grabbing the hem of it herself and revelling in the sound that he made as soon as she was exposed to him. Thank whatever deity is up there for making me have the foresight to wear my best bra.
“I’ve seen you in the Hogwarts Library before.”
“You have?”
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. His arm was wrapped around her naked waist, their hearts having just slowed down enough for him to be able to formulate a sentence in the first place.
“Yeah, I – uhm – I saw you today, actually, when I was finishing up an essay. You were sitting across from me, but you looked very busy, so –”
“Oh, yeah, I was –” she had flushed a little. “I should have been doing some coursework, but there’s this writer I’m pretty much obsessed with these days, so I was rereading some of their work –”
“An e-book?”
“Yeah, kind of.” She turned in his arms, the tips of her breasts grazing his bare chest now. His body responded to the touch instantly. “This was really nice, by the way. You’re a very generous lover.” He catalogued this, so he could share the compliment she’d just given him with his friends in the morning. He couldn't wait to see Sirius awkwardly attempt to hide his pride.
“It was my pleasure entirely.” That was damn well smooth, he thought, mentally patting himself on the back for it. “If you’d ever want to – you know – again, you know where to find me.”
She grinned cheekily, the muscles in his lower abdomen tightening at the sight. “In the library?”
He snorted, rolled his eyes. “Yeah, there too.”
He lowered his head then, his lips hovering over hers in a question: do you want to –? She answered by pushing herself up against him and slanting her mouth over his.
It was well past noon on Saturday morning when she made her way back to the flat she shared with the other girls, a spring in her step as she – she had only 3% of her battery left before her phone would die on her – opened up Tumblr, Artemis’ post the first to appear.
This update arrives in your hands later than I’d planned. Some real life stuff got in the way. I hope you enjoy what’s next in Solemnly Swear.
“You and me both, Artemis,” she said to herself in response to his first statement, still feeling as if she floated home rather than walked due to the earth-shattering orgasm James Potter had given her that morning. Not that the other two a couple of hours before that hadn’t been equally memorable. He clearly knew exactly where to put it, how to use it.
Still, she quickened her step, the sooner she’d get back home, the sooner she could cocoon herself into her bed, lights turned off as she read more of the brilliant story her favourite author had come up with. It would be just as good as the sex she’d just had, she reckoned. Especially if some of her own real life luck would translate into fiction just this once. Wouldn't it be marvellous if Jayden - arguably her favourite Marauder - and Louise could finally see the light? That their hands would do more than just touch?
She sighed, the thought alone making her heart beat faster - or was that the memory of the hands that had touched her a matter of hours ago? The fingers that had seemed so swift and practised that she'd never wanted him to stop their moving inside of her?
Regardless of what it was - memory or anticipation - wasn’t she just in for a treat?