It started with a laugh. Someone else's laugh. Not Sirius’s deep, teasing rumble or James’s warm, knowing chuckle — no, this one belonged to Thomlin Rowe, a second-year Auror with a dimple and a dangerous habit of complimenting your spellwork a little too genuinely.

You were in the break room, sipping weak tea and actually smiling for once when James walked by. He didn’t say anything — not even a nod. Just glanced over his shoulder with a strange stillness in his jaw.

That was Monday.

By Wednesday, your name was stamped on the Black List — the nickname rookies had for the folder of cases everyone else avoided. Curse residue crime scenes. Midnight exorcism-level break-ins. A hag nest. Three dark artifact cleanups. No backup. All yours.

By Friday, your uniform still stank of troll bile and damp crypt rot, and your hands were starting to shake from spell exhaustion. You were averaging three hours of sleep, none of it good.

And James? Sirius?

They didn’t say a word.

No more training sessions. No more shadow missions. No more shared glances across the war table. Sirius passed you in the corridor like you were a ghost. James only acknowledged you when assigning your next case — always the hardest one, always with that same dry little smirk, like a knife being twisted in slow motion.

You snapped after week two.

“You’ve made your point,” you said, cornering them outside the mission debrief room. “I talked to someone else. I dared to laugh. So what, you’re punishing me like I’m a kid caught with contraband sweets?”

Sirius leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “We’re not punishing you, rookie.”

James’s voice was silk-wrapped steel. “We’re teaching you who you belong to.”

“You don’t get to own me—”

“Oh, but we do,” Sirius murmured, stepping in close, his breath warm and dark against your temple. “You just forgot. So now you get reminders. Every. Day.”

“You wanna smile at Thomlin Rowe?” James added. “Fine. Let him watch while you break under pressure. Let him see how good we had you — before you got stupid.”

Your breath caught.

This wasn’t about the missions.

This was about control.

This was about them marking territory.

This was about you being theirs — and what happens when you try to forget.