Sirius
As much as Sirius and Remus tried to ignore it, trouble followed them. They were Marauders.
The horoscopes bothered Sirius. Every day, he checked The Prophet, and the predictions seemed more familiar. They were full of wolf references, water metaphors, and vaguely mentioned little boys who would somehow change the world.
Sirius visited Sybill Trelawney, in her drafty room above The Hog’s Head, but she barely let him stay five minutes. “Not you!” she kept shrieking. “Bad omens, bad omens, go away, read the paper.”
So Sirius just tried to ignore it.
He was content at Effie and Monty’s, loitering around after the day was done and conveniently forgetting Remus was staying over, too. (“I can hear Peter through the wall,” Remus liked to use as an excuse. “That’s enough to make any man leave for the streets.”)
He loved when Remus was next to him.
At some points, he felt clingy and overdramatic, and he’d move to another room just to see if they could stay apart. But then Remus would find him, mumbling something about a lost sweater, and they’d find themselves asleep on the sofa while the Sweet Baby James album played softly in the background.
They tried as best they could to hide from the outside world; smoking over two cups of tea in the morning, distracting themselves with dishwashing and junior Quidditch matches and babysitting during the day, and settling into almost full nights of sleep.
Later, Sirius would believe that if he’d spent more time with his other friends, he’d have seen the signs.
But Andromeda had blotted her house and family from the map. Emmeline, Alice, and Frank quickly dropped off Missy and Neville in the mornings and disappeared late into the night. Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter were almost unreachable.
Sirius saw James and Lily occasionally, but he didn’t sleep in their guest room anymore. James was exhausted and Lily hyper, trying to solve a code she couldn’t quite crack.
They were losing the war.
There hadn’t been significant intelligence on Death Eater whereabouts for months.
Up above The Hog’s Head, Sybill Trelawney thought she had a headache from her endless supply of sherry, but it turned out to be a prophecy.
A prophecy about two little boys.
Two little boys who spent their days watching Missy Vance and the Weasley twins learn Auror training from Sirius Black, and who sat at the kitchen table with Percy Weasley as he stressed over his perfect penmanship with Remus Lupin.
Sirius and Remus weren’t stupid, they knew something was coming. They tossed their tea leaves quickly, avoided anyone or anything that spoke of the future, and held the children extra tight at the end of the day when it was time to say goodbye.
It had been quiet for too long. They knew something was coming.
It was inevitable— trouble followed them. They were Marauders.