noble & ancient @padfcctblack - Tumblr Blog

By popular demand, our first ✨ bi-weekly meme ✨

😀 - What is your muse’s favorite emoji? 🏋️ - Does your muse even lift? Do they work out at all? 🤔 - If your muse’s used the internet, what would their Google search history look like? 🐈 - How does your muse hold a cat? Do they hold it like a baby, or as far away from their person as possible? 🐕 - Would your muse try to lift a big dog to make them feel like a small dog? 👨‍🍳 - Would your muse make pudding at 3AM because they’ve lost control of their life? 🦉- How does your muse write? Do they use drawings, leave mistakes in, use shorthand or write everything out perfectly? 💔 - How often does your muse lose their wand? 👶 - Does your muse like babies, or do they have a strong urge yeet/kick/punch one? 🍍 - Does your muse like pineapple on pizza? If not, what’s the weirdest topping they like? 👔 - Does your muse know how to tie a tie? How did they learn? 👊 - Would your muse fight someone in a Denny’s parking lot?

#memes ;

tcnks:

With a sticky slosh of overflow as Kreacher automatically released his iron grip on the firewhiskey bottle, duty-bound as he was, Tonks half-toppled backwards with it in hand, meeting the dagger-filled glare of the Black family house elf with equal measures of disdain. Kreacher figured her for the same abomination as her Great-Aunt did, Tonks had always figured, and it was always apparent in his dear, beady little eyes and the hate-filled twitch of his ancient lips (it was like disappointing a very angry raisin) before he disappeared with a resounding crack from the kitchen. Tonks’s nose wrinkled and they licked away the trails of firewhiskey crawling down the back of their hand before turning to regard their uncle-cousin-person with scratchy red eyes and an abundance of drunken composure.

“You have no fo-od,” she began, in what she’d thought was a perfectly reasonable tone that broke halfway through into another half-wail. They’d thought they’d stopped crying at least an hour ago, in favour of stoking a fiery resentment instead over the days events, but now a new wave of fury-driven tears were beginning to well in their eyes. It was far easier to be angry about things than to be hurt by them and Tonks was still, undeniably smarting from the fresh wound. “Wh—who even buys crunchy peanut butter anyway? Every—everyone knows that smooth is better.”

With an ungainly slither she toppled off the kitchen table to her feet, stumbling a step or two to right herself before standing up with a flourish, as if completing a magic trick. “And — and your elf is mean,” Tonks sniffed, as if this was a grand revelation instead of a well-established fact. Why had they come here, again? Oh — because they couldn’t go home. Not to a dire, largely empty flat devoid of interest because they never spent time there and certainly not to home, full of warmth and food and her parents and their concerns because they could never know about any of this. They could never know she was a failure.

Sirius had come through being the family disappointment rather unscathed, even if his family had been the greater disappointment in the equation. Perhaps some of that might rub off on her.

Perhaps he should’ve done something other than stare at the scene in front of him, Kreacher glaring at Tonks like he’d somehow make them disappear through sheer willpower and Tonks reminding him of a toddler learning to multitask while they licked away the spilled firewhiskey and failed to balance well, but all Sirius felt he could do was watch the scene unfold. The house elf eventually vanished, glare doing nothing for his agenda ( whatever that may be ), and he turned his attention to Tonks completely.

She looked... well, she looked like a wreck. Their eyes were red, clearly from tears, and dried tear tracks on their cheeks were joined by fresh waves as new tears spilled from their eyes. “I’ve got food,” he said slowly, heading to the fridge and opening it up. “Though I do need to restock. You just need to cook said food -- ” He looked back to Tonks. “ -- on second thought, I’ll do the cooking. Leave my peanut butter alone; how’s eggs sound?” Then she went and insulted his choice of peanut butter, and Sirius huffed indignantly. “Okay, first of all, I like the texture. Second of all, you no longer have a choice: you’re getting scrambled.”

He listened as she went on about how mean Kreacher was as he cracked two eggs into a pan, adding a bit of milk and scrambling it quietly. Sirius waited until she seemed to be done speaking, then turned his head to look at Tonks and asked, “So I think I’m at least owed an answer. What happened that’s got you in such a mess? And don’t say nothing -- I see right through that bullshit.”

#tonks 001

ofxdedalus:

.

“A watch..” Dedalus hummed as he eyed the trinket thoughtfully, attempting to spot any numbers that may have been etched upon the surface. “Possibly, but how could you tell what the time is? Well, I suppose that isn’t so important when it looks like that.” He chuckled. It really was an impressive piece. Perhaps he’d get some solid answer about just what it was by the end of the festival. “Maybe it works like a sundial?” He’d test that theory out later. As much as it was a mystery that he wanted to solve, in that moment he would much rather catch up with his old friend.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really expect to be back here either.” He chuckled, running his free hand through his hair. “But life happens, you know?” His dad needed him and he so he had to return to his childhood home. “Good to hear, good to hear.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Elvendork…. what - who? - is that?” Had he known and just forgotten? It was hard to say after twenty years.

Dedalus shrugged. “Been all over the place, really. You name it, I’ve probably been there. But my recently it’s been Paris. Only really been back to England to see mum and dad at the holidays, you know? Spent quite a bit of time in Eastern Europe… some beautiful places out there. You ever been to Prague? Absolutely stunning place. Would love to go back, really….” He was quiet for several moments. “Your godson… James and Lily’s boy, yeah? Henry, wasn’t it?” Names had never been something that Dedalus had been great at remembering, and he only recalled vague mentions of the baby who’d been born mere hours after poor Neville Longbottom. “Must be in his twenties now, right?”

-

“Well, it could be a gear for a clock too,” he suggested after a moment, tilting his head to the side as if that would help determine what the contraption was better than looking straight on. Work as he did with muggle technology, Sirius still felt he was woefully inadept at determining what was supposed to be what, often making guesses that either turned out beautifully correct or horribly wrong. That was half the fun of his job, though: figuring out how the hell muggle technology worked, and how to integrate it with magic.

Not that that was necessarily part of the metal charmer job description, but he made it work to suit his needs.

Life happens. That phrase rang far too true, and Sirius nodded in agreement before bursting into laughter. “Elvendork -- my bike. It’s a, uh. A joke James and I made back when the muggle police were chasing after us, and the name just stuck.” The mood grew somber for a moment, his mind wandering back to his best friend in St. Mungo’s. Once again, Sirius wanted nothing more than to throttle his cousin where she stood. “It’s gender neutral. A very fashionable name, even.”

He listened contently as Dedalus went on about the places he’d visited, a part of him jealous of how well-traveled the man was. Sirius would never trade raising Harry ( save for an instance where James and Lily were okay ), but he’d never gotten the chance to travel beyond England. Maybe once the tides calm... “Can’t say I’ve been away from home, really, but I’m glad someone got to go abroad. Travel looks like it did you well.” He snorted at the butchered name and shook his head. “Harry, Eddie, but yeah. James and Lily’s son. A grown man now, and doing well to make me feel ancient.”

#dedalus 001

bellalestrvnge:

-

Bellatrix’s fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into her skin to remind her to watch herself. She could hardly start a fight right here in Gilderoy Lockhart’s gardens, with everyone’s eyes upon them. Sirius had a way of crawling right beneath her skin, his words lodging in her brain in the most irritating of ways. The only satisfaction was knowing that she had precisely the same effect on him.

Every meeting seemed to push them closer to the edge, tensions rising sharply. They were like a bomb that was ticking away quietly, but would one day explode and rain devastation on the surrounding areas.

One day soon, he would meet his maker.

In any fight or flight situation, Bellatrix would always choose fight. Sirius was the same, because she had raised him that way. Her influence upon him was still palpable, even after all these years of him trying to shrug her off and cast her out like an old coat. She still had her claws buried deep within his brain. He would never escape her, not as long as she lived.

“Don’t you think the nickname Trixie is getting old now, dear cousin? You’re not ten any more, nicknames are surely beneath you,” Bellatrix hummed, raising her eyebrow at him. “You speak of azkaban as if you know of its horrors, of the never-ending pressure of dementors closing in. You make fun of my mental state, and yet I survived. Not only did I survive, and prove my innocence, but my mind remains wholly in tact. You wouldn’t last five minutes there because you are weak, you have always been weak.”

Bellatrix reached into her pocket for a cigarette, lighting it with her wand. “If I wanted to see you, dear cousin, I would invite you to dinner at the manor. We’ve redecorated,” she paused, taking a long drag from the cigarette before puffing the smoke in Sirius’ direction. Anything to make him more uncomfortable. “Perhaps I’m just in the mood to reconcile after all these years? Perhaps I shall seek out Ted Tonks and make amends there too, and maybe I shall address my apologies to Mr Potter for my involuntary role in his parents unfortunate circumstances. Or would you rather I visited St Mungos and made my apologies directly to them, hm?”

-

The way her fist curled into itself, like she was restraining herself, would have made Sirius giddy if he wasn’t nearly doing the same thing. He loved getting under his cousin’s skin, making her eye twitch when they were supposed to be showing propriety, but could anyone truly blame him for wanting to break her and fight her where they stood? It was decades in the making, their battle; surely no one cared about Lockhart’s gardens that much that a bit of destruction would ruin the evening.

Well... sort of.

“Mm, but it sounds a lot like tricks, which really suits you doesn’t it?” Not his most lavish comeback, but it was what he had. Sirius listened to her drone about what she suffered in Azkaban with little more than pure disinterest plastered onto his face, staring at her with one eyebrow raised. “Wholly intact? Are we speaking about the same person here? Bellatrix, you are probably the least sane person I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing, and considering some of the people our family was acquainted with, that says something, doesn’t it?” His jaw twitched when she called him weak, but he refused to take her bait. Sirius knew he wasn’t weak -- whatever came out of Bellatrix’s mouth was utter horseshit.

Unfortunately for him, Bellatrix knew how to poke his buttons, and the moment he mentioned the name Potter, he let himself forget propriety. At least a little bit.

He stepped closer into her space, knowing that it would take more than a step in her direction to intimidate her but frankly not giving a damn anyway. “Come near the Potters,” he started, voice low. “and I won’t be responsible for what happens next. Stay the hell away from them all.”

#bellatrix 001 #sirius vc: i will find you and i will kill you

tedtks:

who: @padfcctblack when: 20 march 2003 where: the bar, ostara festival

It was smooth process. Ted knew his role. He stood next to Sirius at the bar, not acknowledging his cousin-in-law and ordered a drink. A part of him wanted to get a scotch, dive into the part he was assigned, but he chose a champagne instead. Fingers tapping against the bar, he checked behind him and then to his side. No Harry. No Dora. Not even a Dromeda somehow. They were safe. Dropping a few sickles on the bar and picking up his flute, Ted reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out what he owed the dark haired man to his left. Or tried to. His elbow bumped against the bar top, spilling some of the champagne on both himself and the package he was so carefully trying to seem inconspicuous about. Not bothering to stifle the laugh that escaped him at his own idiocy. A copy of Witch Weekly, the latest, was dropped onto the bar top as Ted grabbed a napkin to clean up the small spill he had made. “Something about every kid trying to brew Baruffio’s brain elixir in their loos. You think they’re doing that now?”

-

It was a process that, if anyone else were to see them, would have Sirius and Ted being the brunt of many jokes. Sirius could acknowledge that wholly. However, it was one that worked so far, the two of them meeting up when they were able for very important discussions about their children that, for everyone’s sake, simply could not be ignored.

Namely: how the hell to keep up with them as they grew up.

Once upon a time, Sirius prided himself on being on of the coolest people he knew. He wasn’t the coolest -- that honor went and still belonged to James Potter -- but he was up there. Everyone knew who he and his friends were during school; Sirius would’ve had to have been oblivious not to see how people’s eyes trailed after their group, though whether it was in admiration or disdain depended on the person. Now he was forty-two, and while he believed he was still cooler than Ted, he didn’t think he could keep up with Harry and his friends anymore.

That had to be rectified. Thankfully, Ted agreed.

He was already waiting at the bar when Ted came over, mostly-empty glass in hand and eyes on the bartender as they poured Ted’s champagne. His eyes kept on the flute, and when his companion spilled some of his drink, Sirius couldn’t help it; he snorted. He didn’t bother trying to cover it up.

“Spill any more and we won’t get to read the goods,” he joked, finally turning slightly to acknowledge him better while still playing his role. He listened intently to what Ted had to say, barely managing to stop himself from gawking at him. “Really? Next thing we know some second years are gonna brew Polyjuice in the bathroom.” He shook his head, the idea absurd, before he remembered himself; if the kids were doing this, he had to approve of it. “I mean... if they are, I want to check it out. Don’t you, Ted? The loo though -- what’s wrong with cauldrons?”

#ted 001 #are they hip and cool with the kids yet

tcnks:

WHO: @padfcctblack WHERE: 12 Grimmauld Place, London. WHEN: 16 February, 2003.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck fuck. Fuck it.

Fuck it all.

The big old door of the Most Noble and Whatever House of Pissing Black was no match for the decidedly Black mood that Tonks found herself in as she slammed it closed behind her, hobbling on one foot and caught in the manic jaws of fury, panic and the soaring heights of shaking adrenaline. What had she done.

There was something foreboding about the old house that no amount of redecorating or life and laughter and hijinks could ever seem to scrub from its walls. It bled its history, like the floorboards and the ceilings and the creaky old stairs still remembered those who’d lived there before her cousin had gutted the place. She loved Sirius dearly, but Tonks would take a hundred pokey little flats and warm, homely cottages over this old house. A panicked yell of, “SIRIUS,” echoed through the empty house, echoed by the stirring of the heavily-shrouded portrait in the front entranceway, her Great-Aunt stirring from her sleep to take up her customary shrieking of BLOOD TRAITOR and ABOMINATION and FILTH that Tonks usually fancied rather funny but today — today —

“Oh, just shut it, would you?”

Tonks hobbled onwards, through the looming corridor and stumbling down the half-step towards the kitchen with the shrieking of the portrait echoing in her wake, the ominous stormy shade of her hair, curling with the rising emotional-humidity a fair indication that things were turning south as she peered around the empty room and huffed out a tearful, “Piss it.”

It was there, perched on the kitchen table amidst the ruins of the lone pumpkin pastie she’d found in the cupboard, an open jar of peanut butter with a spoon buried in it and a bottle of Firewhiskey she’d liberated from the liquor cupboard that Sirius really needed to work on his anti-detection spells for, that Sirius would find her some two and a half hours later, deeply engaged in a spirited match of tug-of-war with the cranky house-elf who was trying to take the bottle away from her.

Sirius wasn’t expecting any visitors that evening.

It was supposed to be yet another lonely evening once he got home -- something he didn’t do well with. Being in Grimmauld Place was bearable all these years when Harry was there, because rather than letting himself get consumed by his own thoughts, Sirius was distracted from the blasted home by what Harry wanted and needed. He spoiled that boy rotten ( as much as he was able to, at least ), and when he finally left it was like his home became even more oppressive than when he’d lived there as a teen.

So out he went.

He tried to stay out most nights because of this, going to a pub or a shop to waste his time if he couldn’t go over a friend’s house. This night was no different, and he fully expected quiet when he unlocked his front door. Instead, Sirius was greeted to the loud complaints of his mother’s portrait and the clear grumbling of Kreacher from further inside the house. He automatically got his wand out, tugging the curtains of Walburga’s portrait back over her in a vain attempt to shut her the fuck up before moving toward the kitchen.

“Who -- Merlin’s nuts, Tonks?” Well, that explained how someone got past his wards. Tonks was family, through and through; she was one of the few he didn’t mind popping in unannounced. Still... “Kreacher, let go of the bottle. Tonks, mind telling me why you’re drinking me out of my liquor?” He paused, taking in the scene before him more closely. “And eating my peanut butter?”

#tonks 001 #sirius vc: i'm not 100% complaining but wtf tonks

sviiuris:

The Ostara Festival March 20th, 2003

@padfcctblack

On the list of people she had expected to see at Lockhart’s farce of an Ostara Festival, Sirius was definitely near the bottom. In her mind, Sirius had always been far too dedicated to seeming cool to be seen at something like this. But there he was, standing near the food. For a brief moment she considered that maybe Polyjuice was at work, somehow that being a more likely scenario.

It was with a certain amount of hesitancy that she made her way over, almost doubting that it was really him. Perhaps it was another man with long hair and a beard who just happened to look like Sirius. However, as she got closer she became sure it was him and a surprised, slightly worried, expression crossed Narcissa’s face, somehow ending in a smile.

“Sirius,” Narcissa began, almost immediately lost for words. “I didn’t realise you were so interested in plants.” She was still smiling until a horrible thought dawned on her. He had been exposed to Ted just as much as she had, perhaps he had weakened. “You’re not… you’re not here because of Gilderoy Lockhart, are you?”

-

There was no particular reason that Sirius decided to attend the Ostara Festival. Surely he could have skipped out on it and been none the wiser, carrying on at home like it was a usual day and not one for Gilderoy Lockhart to show off as he always did. He was bored, though, and despite his years of living in Grimmauld Place raising Harry he still hated being in that cursed place by himself.

Well, maybe not by himself, but Kreacher didn’t count, and neither did the portrait of his mother ( may she rot in hell ).

Festival it was, then. It was hardly the worst decision he’d ever made; save for a few people he’d much rather avoid speaking to, it actually wasn’t that bad. He’d even come across Dedalus earlier, to his surprise, and was happily reunited with his old friend. Lockhart didn’t seem to skimp out on the food, either, and Sirius was more than happy to help himself at the other man’s expense. Maybe later he’d seek him out and give a cursory compliment, if he didn’t mind hearing the man ramble about himself for hours.

... on second thought, maybe he wouldn’t seek Lockhart out.

The sound of his name made him look up from the food table, and Sirius’ eyes widened slightly in surprise when he saw Narcissa. It wasn’t that they were on bad terms -- she helped him tremendously over the years after he received her letter. It didn’t stop the shock of being addressed by his family, though. He was certain that they could be ancient and he’d still be shocked every now and again that anyone from his family ( beyond Andromeda and her family ) even approached him civilly.

“Cissa,” he said immediately, placing one more finger food onto his small plate and turning to face her fully. “No, absolutely not. I was bored is all -- why not come for the free food? It’s better than moping at home with Kreacher.” Sirius gave a tight smile, making himself relax a moment later. “I doubt you’re here for Lockhart either. Just making an appearance, then?”

#narcissa 001 #abevent.01

ofxdedalus:

Ostara Festival, Gilderoy Lockhart’s Residence March 20th 2003, Day @padfcctblack

Dedalus poked at a mechanical trinket with a finger, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had never seen anything like it. Little silver discs spun as cogs turned, each carefully decorated with filigree. He was absolutely entranced. The care and skill that had gone into such a contraption… it was simply breathtaking. It was the kind of work he could have only dreamt of if he had stuck with his brief fascination with crafting automatons. But as with many things in life, it had been merely transitory.

“Curious little thing, isn’t it?” He mused as he raised the contraption in his hand. “What do you think it does?” He cast a glance at the person next to him, a slow smile spreading on his face as he realise just who it was who occupied the space beside him. “Well, if it isn’t Sirius Black. Merlin, it’s been years.” The smile bloomed into a grin as he grasped Sirius’ shoulder with his free hand. This was becoming a common occurrence for him now, after having moved back to England the previous September. It had taken time to settle back, and even longer to get used to his new job. Ollivander’s was far more entrenched in bureaucracy than his own shop had been in Paris, but then again he supposed that was because of how long Ollivander’s had been in business.

“How have you been? I can’t remember the last time I saw you.” There were few places as fine to run into old acquaintances as the Ostara Festival, in his opinion, and this year’s was far more decadent than the ones he recalled from his youth.

-

In some ways, Sirius was much like a magpie: attracted to shiny things. In this case, he supposed, he was more attracted to metallic things, or anything both muggle and mechanical, because the moment he caught sight of the little trinket in Dedalus’ hand, Sirius was crossing the room, ready to beg the poor fellow who brought it into view for the chance to poke and prod at it and see how it worked. It had been much the same back when he first caught sight of Elvendork in all of her glory, a broken motorcycle in a junkyard that Sirius had been determined to fix and make work. The feeling of figuring his bike out never went away; it was no surprise that metalcharming called to him, in hindsight. Nor was it a surprise that he... meddled with the profession to suit his own needs.

He barely registered the owner of the contraption speaking, stopping maybe a bit too close to be socially acceptable so he could see the discs and gears go ‘round in the man’s palm. “Some sort of watch, maybe?” he mused, head tilting to the side. “Or a piece of gear for something larger? Hard to say in the middle of a party.” Sirius finally glanced up at the device’s owner, taking a moment to register just who was in front of him before breaking out into a wide grin. “Merlin’s sagging ballsack, Dedalus Diggle. Never thought I’d see your face again!”

There were many people Sirius wasn’t sure he’d see again, quite frankly -- his cousin unfortunately coming to mind -- but running into Dedalus again was a happy surprise. “I’ve been alright! Other than my godson denting up poor Elvendork before I could get here, life’s been... yeah. Not bad.” His mind momentarily drifted to how it could be better: James and Lily being sane, Remus not getting the Kiss, Peter being alive... No, he wouldn’t focus on that right now. “Where have you been? Taking off like that -- didn’t want me to visit, did you?”

#dedalus 001 #abevent.01

aaronsminyard

character posters + doodles: sirius black

‘whats life without a little risk?’

#about ;#q

obiliviate

ya lit meme: four deaths (2/4) sirius black, aged 36, born: november 1959; died: 18 june, 1996 Death Chamber, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, England, Great Britain.

Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second… But Sirius did not reappear.

‘SIRIUS!’ Harry yelled. ‘SIRIUS!”

‘He can’t come back, Harry,’ said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. ‘He can’t come back, because he’s d––

’‘HE – IS – NOT – DEAD!’ roared Harry. ‘SIRIUS!’

#about ;#q

bellalestrvnge:

Who: Bellatrix & @padfcctblack Where: Ostara Festival, drinks table

Fifty-one years Bellatrix had lived on this Earth.

Half a century of bullshit societal events such as these, where purebloods put on a brave face and pretended that everything wasn’t going to shit in front of the mudbloods, and the mudbloods swanned around as if they were perfectly entitled to their place. She’d hated these events at twenty, and now at fifty she found them just as distasteful. Still, there was an image that she had to maintain especially now. Druella’s lessons still rang in her mind even all these years later, her mother’s shrill voice that it was expected of her to not only attend but to behave.

If Druella could see them now, she’d surely have a heart attack at the state of her family.

Bella had already polished off two glasses of wine and was halfway through her third as she set eyes on her dear cousin. She’d suspected that her dearly departed family members would be here - in fact, public events were usually the only place they had the gall to try and talk to her. It was almost cowardly really, hiding behind the general public for safety.

Draining her glass, Bellatrix set the empty glass on the table before approaching Sirius. “Black…crawled out of your cave, have you?” Bellatrix drawled, raising her eyebrows. “You rather look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. I’m surprised that godson of yours still leaves the house with you, Merlin knows I wouldn’t want to be associated with you in public.”

-

Sirius wasn’t sure why he attended these functions anymore.

It wasn’t like he ever behaved himself at them -- he could still hear his mother’s voice scolding him to represent the House of Black like he should, rather than slouching against the wall or dumping something disgusting into the punch. Nothing appealed to him less than attending a party full of snobs who acted like they owned the world, but a party hosted by Gilderoy Lockhart? Well, he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

The last person he expected to see at one of these events ( willingly, at least ) was Bellatrix, but honestly running into her was just his luck. Once upon a time, Sirius would’ve followed her around like a lost puppy, doing her bidding like she held all the answers and he just needed to copy her. Now the very sight of her triggered his fight instinct, and she knew it. He knew she knew it, yet Bellatrix would always remain Bellatrix and she walked up to him anyway.

Sirius really didn’t intend on ruining Lockhart’s home this evening, but one wrong word and... well. He couldn’t promise anything.

“Trixie,” he said right back, grip tightening on his glass and a fake smile plastering itself to his face. “Azkaban did wonders on you, dear cousin. I think it made the insanity look like it actually came from somewhere other than the pit where your soul should be.” His smile tightened when she mentioned Harry, and he took a hearty gulp from his glass to give himself something to do.

Deep breaths. Don’t break the damn place.

“You don’t want to be associated with me in public, and yet you sought me out anyway,” Sirius commented, fake smile gone as he focused back on Bellatrix. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted to see me.”

#bellatrix 001 #abevent.01

about: sirius orion black

Character name: Sirius Orion Black

Faceclaim: Michiel Huisman

Age / Birthday: november 3, 1960 -- 42 years old

Gender: genderqueer

Pronouns: he / they

Sexuality: bisexual

Occupation: Metal Charmer… sort of. Sirius has been fascinated with Muggle objects ever since he was a teenager, as proven by him building a motorcycle that could fly with ease after years of hard work and research. He’ll never make the likes of Elvendork again, let alone for the mass public, but that hasn’t stopped him from finding different ways to make Muggle electronics and technology work with magic. When he’s not messing with electronics, he’ll do regular metal charming work as well, such as making golden snitches.

Affiliation: Light