AND I AIN'T YOUR GIRLFRIEND۶ৎ
[marauders masterlist]⋆.🐟︎ || part 1
⬩➤ pairing: sirius black x fem!reader
⬩➤ details: sfw, profanity, emotional hurt/comfort, jealousy fallout, groveling, character growth, accountability, mutual emotional unpacking, miscommunication resolution, jealousy to understanding, boundary setting, relationship rebuilding, public confession, “we’re just friends” trope (resolved), mutual pining resolution, emotional vulnerability, healing arc, established relationship (end), domestic softness, soft intimacy, love confession, redemption arc, angst with a hopeful ending
⬩➤ wordcount: 8.2k
⬩➤ note: second part is hereeee, lowk didn't turn out the way I wanted too tho lol, if u havent read part one go read it first!! and if u have, i hope you enjoy reading this<3
⬩➤ synopsis: You were never officially his—until he finally understood what that meant. After years of keeping you half-hidden and half-his, Sirius Black is left with nothing but the aftermath of his own choices when you step back for good. What follows is unraveling, regret, and the slow, painful realization that love does not survive secrecy. But when he comes back changed—quieter, honest, undone by everything he lost—he has to prove that wanting you isn’t the same as being worthy of you.
The days that followed felt like walking through glass—sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
You stuck to your word. Completely.
In Charms, you arrived early and took a seat near the front beside Lily and Marlene. Sirius’s usual spot beside you remained empty. When he walked in late on Wednesday, his eyes immediately found you. You felt the burn of his stare on the side of your face the entire lesson. You never once looked back.
At meals, you sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table with a group of girls from your Arithmancy class. The first time you did it, Sirius froze in the entrance of the Great Hall, plate in hand, staring at the space beside his usual seat like it personally betrayed him. James had to physically tug him toward their normal spot.
He looked like shit.
His hair was more chaotic than usual, dark circles under his eyes. The easy, arrogant smirk he wore like armor had cracked. In its place was a constant scowl, jaw tight, shoulders rigid.
By Thursday, the Marauders had noticed.
You overheard Remus quietly asking him in the corridor, “Padfoot, what the hell is going on with you?” Sirius only snapped, “Nothing. Leave it,” before storming off.
He started getting reckless.
On Friday, he got into a screaming match with a group of Slytherins in the courtyard after Transfiguration. It escalated so fast that James and Remus had to pull him off Mulciber before he did something that would get him suspended. His knuckles were split open, blood dripping onto the stone as he laughed bitterly, eyes wild.
That same afternoon, you were in the library with a few friends when Elias, the Ravenclaw from the party, approached your table. He was polite, funny, and safe. You let yourself smile at him. Let yourself laugh when he made a joke about Flitwick’s singing. You even touched his arm lightly when he offered to help you with a difficult charm.
You felt him before you saw him.
Sirius was standing between two bookshelves across the room, staring. His grey eyes were murderous, locked on Elias’s hand near your arm like he wanted to set the entire library on fire. When your eyes accidentally met his, the raw pain and fury in his expression almost made you falter.
Almost.
You looked away first and kept talking to Elias.
That night, rumors spread that Sirius had blown up an entire shelf of practice dummies in the Room of Requirement. James apparently had to drag him out.
Saturday was worse.
The Great Hall was packed for breakfast. You sat with your back to the Marauders’ usual spot, refusing to give him even a glance. But you could hear everything.
Sirius was loud. Too loud. Laughing at nothing, voice sharp and mean. When a fifth-year Hufflepuff girl tried to flirt with him (the same one from the corridor), he let her sit on the arm of his chair, but his laugh was hollow. Forced. His eyes kept flicking toward your end of the table.
When one of the Beauxbatons exchange students—a tall, confident boy with dark hair and an accent—came over to your group and asked if you wanted to partner with him for the upcoming Potions project, you said yes. You even smiled at him.
The goblet in Sirius’s hand shattered.
Butterbeer and glass sprayed across the table. James cursed. Remus said something low and concerned. Sirius didn’t even clean it up. He just stood up abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and stormed out of the Great Hall without a word.
By Monday, the tension in the castle was unbearable.
You kept your head high. You laughed with your friends. You focused on your studies. You ignored the way your chest felt hollow every night when you lay in bed remembering how his body felt against yours. You were done.
But Sirius was unraveling.
He skipped more classes. Got another detention for hexing a Slytherin who looked at him wrong. During Quidditch practice, he flew like he had a death wish—diving dangerously, taking bludgers head-on. James had to bench him for the last twenty minutes.
The Marauders were openly worried now. You overheard Remus and James talking near the common room fireplace one evening:
“He won’t talk about it,” James said, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s bad, Moony. I’ve never seen him like this.”
Remus sighed. “It’s her. Has to be. They’ve been weird since that party… and now she won’t even look at him.”
You slipped away before they could see you.
On Tuesday evening, almost a full week since the fight, you were walking back from the Owlery when you felt him.
Sirius stepped out from behind a pillar, blocking your path. He looked terrible—eyes bloodshot, hair a mess, robes wrinkled like he’d slept in them. The usual effortless charm was gone. All that remained was raw, desperate exhaustion.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, voice hoarse. “Ignoring me. Acting like I don’t exist.”
You stopped a few feet away, arms crossed. Your voice was calm but firm.
“I can. And I will.”
He took a step closer, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but knew better. The fading sunset light poured through the corridor windows, turning his grey eyes into liquid steel.
“I’m losing my fucking mind,” he admitted, the words sounding like they were ripped out of him. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think. Every time I see you laughing with someone else I want to—” He cut himself off, breathing hard.
You held his gaze without flinching.
“Good,” you said quietly. “Now you know how it felt.”
Sirius looked like you’d slapped him. For a moment, the fight drained out of him. He just stood there, broken and beautiful in the golden light, watching the girl he refused to claim walk away from him for the hundredth time.
You stepped around him and kept walking.
Behind you, his voice cracked as he called your name.
But you didn’t stop.
By the end of the week, something in Sirius finally cracked.
He stopped pretending he was fine. The reckless anger, the loud laughter, the fake flirting—all of it disappeared almost overnight. In its place was something quieter. Rawer. Almost… pathetic in how openly desperate he’d become.
It started small.
On Wednesday morning, he showed up to Charms on time for the first time in weeks. No dramatic entrance. No smirking at the girls who usually flocked to him. He sat in the back, alone, actually taking notes. When Professor Flitwick praised his perfect Silencing Charm, Sirius barely reacted. His eyes kept drifting to you at the front of the class.
During lunch, he didn’t sit with the Marauders at their usual spot. Instead, he walked straight to the far end of the Gryffindor table where you were sitting with your friends. He stopped a respectful distance away, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he didn’t trust them.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked quietly. No pet names. No cocky grin. Just raw, tired honesty.
You didn’t even look up from your plate. “No.”
He lingered anyway, shifting his weight. “Please.”
The single word—please—coming from Sirius Black felt foreign. Several heads turned. You stood up, gathered your things, and walked out without another word. You heard him exhale shakily behind you.
But he kept trying.
Thursday after Transfiguration, he waited outside the classroom like a lost dog. When you exited with Lily, he stepped forward, looking painfully out of place without his usual swagger.
“I stopped talking to her,” he said quickly, voice low. “The Hufflepuff girl. I told her nothing’s ever going to happen. I haven’t looked at anyone else since… since you walked away.”
You finally met his eyes. He looked exhausted—heavy bags under his stormy grey eyes, curls unkempt, shoulders slightly hunched like the weight of the last two years was finally crushing him.
“I don’t care who you talk to anymore, Sirius.”
“You do,” he whispered, almost like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “Because I’m losing my mind pretending I can survive without you. And the only thing keeping me going is believing you still do.”
His voice cracked on the last part. He stepped closer but didn’t touch you. For once, he didn’t try to kiss you or pull you into a corner. He just stood there, vulnerable and exposed in the middle of the bustling corridor.
“I’ve been a coward,” he continued, swallowing hard. “I wanted you so badly but I was terrified of what it meant. What loving you would mean. So I kept you close enough to keep you, but far enough that I could lie to myself.”
Your chest tightened painfully, but you kept your face neutral.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words sounding like they burned on the way out. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You walked past him.
By Friday, he was unraveling in the most open way possible.
He sat two rows behind you in Potions, actually paying attention instead of doodling or passing notes with James. During lunch, he left a small note on your seat before you arrived. Just three words in his messy handwriting:
I miss you.
No signature. Just the truth.
That evening in the common room, he didn’t sit with the Marauders by the fire. He sat alone in the corner, watching you quietly from across the room. When a girl tried to approach him, he gently shook his head and looked away. The rejection was so un-Sirius-like that even James looked concerned.
Later, when most people had gone to bed, he found you again.
You were reading by the window, curled up in a large armchair. He approached slowly, stopping a few feet away like he was afraid you’d bolt.
“I know you said you’re done,” he started, voice hoarse. “And I get it. I deserve it. But I’m trying, love— darling.” He corrected himself quickly, wincing. “I’m trying to be better. I stopped all the flirting. I’m going to classes. I even told McGonagall I’d redo my last essay properly.”
He let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh and ran a hand through his hair.
“Look at me. I’m fucking pathetic. Begging in the middle of the common room like a lovesick idiot. But I don’t care anymore.” His voice dropped, cracking with raw vulnerability. “I can’t sleep without you. I can’t breathe properly. Every time I close my eyes I see you walking away from me in that corridor. And it’s killing me.”
He took one careful step closer, eyes glassy in the firelight.
“I was scared,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Scared that if I called you mine, you’d leave like everyone else does. My family… they ruin everything they touch. I thought if I didn’t label it, I couldn’t break it. But I broke it anyway.”
Sirius looked completely shattered—shoulders slumped, eyes desperate, the arrogant prince of Gryffindor reduced to someone quietly begging the only person who ever made him feel safe.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered. “But I want to learn. For you.”
The common room was nearly empty. The fire crackled softly behind him, casting warm flickering light across his pained expression. He looked like he hadn’t slept properly in days.
He didn’t try to touch you. Didn’t try to kiss you.
He just waited.
Hoping.
At first, it was barely anything.
One evening in the common room, you were reaching for a book on a high shelf when Sirius appeared beside you silently. He levitated it down and handed it to you without a word. Your fingers brushed his for a split second. You didn’t thank him. You simply took the book and returned to your seat. But you also didn’t immediately move to another part of the room.
Days later, during a group Herbology project, Professor Sprout paired everyone randomly. Somehow, you ended up working beside him. The silence between you was heavy at first, thick enough to choke on. But when you struggled with a particularly stubborn Venomous Tentacula, Sirius spoke—voice low and careful.
“Here… tilt the shears like this. Otherwise it’ll spray you.”
You let him show you. No sarcastic comment. No lingering touch. Just quiet help. When you muttered a soft “Thanks,” his shoulders visibly relaxed, like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
Another week passed, and the conversations grew slightly longer.
In the corridor after Defense Against the Dark Arts, he fell into step beside you. Not too close. Not touching. Just… there.
“I got full marks on the essay,” he said quietly, almost shy. “The one I rewrote. McGonagall looked shocked.”
You glanced at him sideways. His hands were shoved in his pockets, curls falling into his eyes as he stared at the floor. He looked nervous—actually nervous.
“Good for you,” you replied. Flat, but not cruel.
It was the longest sentence you’d spoken to him in nearly three weeks. Sirius’s head snapped up, a fragile spark of hope flashing across his face before he quickly hid it. He didn’t push. He just nodded and kept walking beside you until your paths split.
The change continued in small, careful pieces.
One rainy afternoon in the library, he sat at the table across from yours. Not beside you — across. Far enough to give you space, close enough that you couldn’t ignore him. When you dropped your quill, he picked it up and slid it back to you without a word. Later, when you were struggling with a complicated Arithmancy problem, he slid a piece of parchment toward you with the correct formula written in his messy handwriting.
You didn’t smile. But you used it.
And when you finished the problem correctly, you looked up and said, “You remembered how much I hate this chapter.”
Sirius’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “I remember everything about you.”
The words hung between you, heavy and honest. You didn’t respond, but you didn’t leave either. You stayed at your table, and he stayed at his. Two people orbiting each other, slowly moving closer.
A few weeks passed, and the conversations grew slightly longer.
You were sitting by the Black Lake after dinner, the water rippling gently under a pale pink and orange sunset. The air was cool, carrying the distant sound of Quidditch practice. You had your knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, when Sirius appeared.
He didn’t sit too close. He left a respectable gap on the grass between you, folding his long legs beneath him. For several minutes, you both just watched the lake.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said finally. His voice was rough, like he’d been rehearsing this. “About how I treated you. How I kept you in this… in-between because I was scared shitless of losing you. It was selfish. Really fucking selfish.”
You stayed quiet, but you didn’t get up and leave.
Sirius continued, picking at the grass beside him. “I know sorry isn’t enough. Not after two years. But I’m here. Every day. Trying. Even if you never forgive me… I’m still going to be better. For me. And for you.”
You turned your head slightly. The sunset painted his face in warm tones, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes and the raw sincerity in the set of his mouth.
“I’m still angry,” you said quietly.
“I know.”
“I’m still hurt.”
“I know that too.” His voice cracked. He looked down at his hands. “I just… I miss hearing your voice. Even if it’s only a few words. Even if they’re angry ones.”
You didn’t respond. But when you eventually stood up to leave, you didn’t walk away immediately. You paused for a second, looking down at him.
“Goodnight, Sirius.”
It was small. Barely anything.
But his head snapped up like you’d handed him the moon. His eyes shone with something painfully hopeful.
“Goodnight,” he whispered back, voice thick.
A few days later, the common room was nearly empty.
Most people had gone to bed. The fire was low, crackling softly and casting dancing shadows across the crimson carpets. You were curled up in your usual armchair by the window when Sirius approached slowly.
He stopped in front of you, hands in his pockets.
“Can I sit?” he asked.
You hesitated… then gave a small nod.
He sat on the chair across from you, not beside you. Close enough to talk. Far enough to not crowd you. The firelight flickered over his face as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I’ve been a mess without you,” he admitted, voice barely above the crackling fire. “Not just because I want you back. But because I hate who I was to you. I hate that I made you feel like you were something I could keep in the dark.”
You studied him carefully. The vulnerability looked strange on him — almost uncomfortable, like ill-fitting clothes. But it was real.
“I’m not saying I forgive you,” you said slowly. “Not yet. Maybe not ever. But… I see you trying.”
Sirius let out a shaky breath, like he’d been holding it for days. His eyes glistened in the firelight.
“That’s more than I deserve,” he whispered. “Thank you. For even… talking to me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. It was still heavy with everything unsaid. But it wasn’t hostile anymore.
For the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel the urge to run the second he appeared.
You were still guarded.
Still hurt.
But bit by bit… the ice was starting to crack.
The Gryffindor common room was nearly empty again, the fire burned down to glowing embers that painted the walls in soft, flickering reds. Most students had retreated to their dorms, weighed down by N.E.W.T. revision and the heavy exhaustion of seventh year. Only the occasional crack of a dying log broke the quiet.
You sat curled in your usual armchair by the window, a forgotten Charms textbook open on your lap. Sirius had asked if he could sit earlier, and you’d nodded. He’d chosen the couch closest to you instead of the one across the room—close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his woody cologne, but far enough that neither of you had to acknowledge the careful distance.
He looked different these days. Still devastatingly handsome, but quieter. The sharp edges of his usual arrogance had been sanded down by weeks of regret. His dark curls were messier than usual, like he’d been running his hands through them too often, and his grey eyes kept flicking toward you with a kind of nervous reverence he’d never shown before.
“You don’t have to stay up just because I am,” you said softly, not quite looking at him.
“I want to,” he answered immediately. His voice was low, rough around the edges. “If you’ll let me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t quite comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile anymore. It felt… fragile. Like something new and uncertain was trying to grow between you, and both of you were terrified of crushing it.
Sirius shifted on the couch, leaning forward slightly with his elbows on his knees. He was watching the fire, but you could feel his attention on you like a physical touch. Old habits. Even now, when he was trying so hard to be better, his body still gravitated toward yours.
“You were right, you know,” he said after a long pause. “About all of it. I kept you like a secret because I was scared. And I convinced myself that was enough for you. That it was enough for me.” He let out a shaky breath. “It wasn’t. I see that now.”
You swallowed, fingers tightening around the edge of your textbook. Hearing him say it so plainly still twisted something deep in your chest. “It hurt, Sirius. Every time you’d touch me like I was yours and then act like I was nothing in front of everyone else.”
He nodded slowly, jaw tight. “I know. I hate myself for it.”
Another stretch of silence. The fire popped softly.
You glanced over at him. He was already looking at you—those stormy grey eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. There was no smirk. No deflection. Just raw, aching honesty.
Without thinking, Sirius reached for you.
His hand moved instinctively across the small space between the couch and your chair, heading straight for your fingers where they rested on the armrest. The movement was so natural, so familiar—like he’d done it a thousand times before. Because he had. In private, his hands had always found yours, your thigh, your waist. Touch had been his language. His safety net.
Halfway there, he froze.
His fingers hovered just inches above yours, trembling slightly. You could see the exact moment realization hit him—this wasn’t automatic anymore. He wasn’t sure he was allowed. The confidence that used to let him pull you into his lap without asking was gone, replaced by something careful and pained.
He didn’t pull back right away. His hand just… stayed there. Suspended. Hesitating.
Your breath caught.
That small hesitation hurt worse than any of the cruel things he’d said in the corridor that day. It was proof. Real, tangible proof that he finally understood what he’d done. The old Sirius would have taken your hand without thinking, used the touch to smooth over any tension. This Sirius was learning how to sit in the discomfort instead. Learning how to want you without assuming he could have you.
His eyes lifted to yours, wide and vulnerable. “I… sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to—just habit. I won’t—”
He started to withdraw his hand.
You didn’t move. You just watched him, heart aching with a messy tangle of tenderness and old pain.
Sirius swallowed hard, curling his fingers into a loose fist before letting his hand drop back to his own knee. The space between you felt heavier now. Charged with everything he wasn’t letting himself take.
“I’m trying,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I don’t want to touch you just because it feels good anymore. I want… I want to earn it. If you ever let me again.”
The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the faint flush on his cheekbones and the way his throat worked as he fought to keep himself still.
You didn’t reach for him. Not yet.
But for the first time in weeks, the idea of it didn’t feel impossible.
The Gryffindor common room was more crowded than usual for a Thursday evening. Groups of students were scattered across the couches and armchairs, some revising, others playing Exploding Snap or simply enjoying the rare lull before exams swallowed them whole. The fire burned steadily, casting a warm, golden glow over everything.
You were sitting near the window again, sharing a low table with Lily and Marlene, half-listening to them debate the best way to brew a Pepperup Potion. Your eyes kept drifting across the room.
Sirius sat on the long couch by the fireplace with James and Remus. He wasn’t sprawled like he used to—legs stretched out, taking up space like the world owed him comfort. Instead, he sat more upright, quieter, one elbow resting on his knee as he stared into the flames. He looked tired but present. The sharp, restless energy that once defined him had dulled into something heavier.
A fifth-year Gryffindor girl—pretty, with curly auburn hair and a confident smile—had been hovering near their group for the last few minutes. She finally gathered her courage and approached, perching on the arm of the couch right beside Sirius.
“Hi, Sirius,” she said brightly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “I was hoping you’d be here. You were brilliant at last Saturday’s practice. The way you dodged that Bludger? Everyone’s still talking about it.”
Her voice carried just enough to reach your table. You kept your expression neutral, but your quill paused over your parchment.
Old Sirius would have leaned into it immediately. A lazy smirk, a flirtatious drawl, maybe even tugged her down onto the couch beside him just to see how you’d react. He used to thrive on that kind of attention—using it like armor.
But this Sirius barely moved.
He lifted his head, grey eyes flicking up to her face for a moment. There was no spark. No crooked grin. No effortless charm turned on like a switch.
“Thanks,” he said. His voice was polite, but flat. Almost distant. “Appreciate it.”
The girl leaned in a little closer, clearly expecting more. “A few of us are heading to the Astronomy Tower later if you wanted to come? It’s supposed to be a clear night. Could be fun…”
She let the invitation hang, hopeful.
Sirius shifted slightly on the couch. For a second his eyes instinctively drifted toward you across the room. When they met yours, something raw and uncertain passed through them. Then he looked back at the girl.
“Not interested,” he said quietly. No smirk. No teasing lilt to soften the rejection. Just simple, honest truth. “Sorry.”
The girl blinked, clearly surprised. A flush crept up her cheeks. “Oh… right. Um, no worries.” She gave an awkward little laugh and quickly retreated back toward her friends.
A few heads turned. Whispers rippled through the nearby groups. Sirius Black turning down a girl so directly—and without any flair—was unusual enough to notice.
James raised an eyebrow from beside him, but didn’t say anything yet. Remus just watched quietly, a small, knowing look on his face.
You felt your chest tighten. Not with jealousy this time, but with something more complicated. Tenderness. Pain. Hope. Because that rejection hadn’t been for show. He hadn’t glanced at you first to make sure you were watching. He’d just… done it. Naturally. Like flirting with other girls no longer even crossed his mind as an option.
Sirius’s shoulders were tense. He ran a hand through his curls, exhaling slowly, then leaned back against the couch. His gaze found you again across the room—longer this time. There was no triumph in it. Just quiet vulnerability. Like he was silently asking: Did you see that? Is this enough?
You didn’t smile. But you held his gaze for several heartbeats before looking back down at your notes, your fingers trembling slightly around your quill.
The common room noise continued around them—laughter, flipping pages, and the occasional snap of cards—but the space between Sirius and his friends felt suddenly smaller.
James waited until the fifth-year girl had fully retreated before he scooted closer on the couch. He moved casually, like he was just shifting for comfort, but Remus caught the deliberate shift and subtly turned his attention elsewhere, giving them a sliver of privacy.
James leaned in, voice low enough that only Sirius could hear.
“Alright, mate,” he said quietly, eyes flicking briefly toward you across the room before returning to his best friend. “What the hell is going on with you?”
Sirius didn’t look at him right away. He kept his gaze fixed on the fire, jaw tight. “Nothing.”
“Bollocks.” James’s voice was gentle but firm. He leaned in even closer, elbows on his knees. “You just turned down a girl who was practically throwing herself at you. No smirk. No clever line. You didn’t even look at her properly. That’s not you, Padfoot.”
Sirius let out a slow breath, running a hand through his messy curls. His shoulders were tense, like the weight of the last few weeks was pressing down on him all at once.
James watched him carefully for a long moment. Then, even quieter, almost hesitant, he asked:
“Do you love her?”
The question landed heavily between them.
Sirius froze. For several long seconds, the only sound was the crackling fire and the distant murmur of students. His hands clenched into fists on his knees. The old Sirius would’ve laughed it off. Cracked a joke. Changed the subject with a wink. Anything to avoid saying it out loud.
But he didn’t.
He swallowed hard, throat working visibly. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, low, and stripped of every defense he used to hide behind.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”
James’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting the words breathe.
Sirius kept going, the confession spilling out like it had been trapped inside him for years. “I love her. Been in love with her for a long time. I was just too fucking scared to say it. To make it real.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I thought if I didn’t call it anything, I couldn’t ruin it. But I ruined it anyway.”
He finally turned his head to look at James. There was no smirk. No mask. Just raw, exhausted honesty in those grey eyes.
“I hurt her, Prongs. Badly. For two years I kept her close when it suited me and pushed her away when it got too real. And now…” He glanced across the room toward you again, something tender and aching flickering across his face. “Now I’m trying to fix it. But I don’t even know if she’ll let me. And I deserve that.”
James was quiet for a beat, studying his best friend like he was seeing a new side of him.
“Merlin,” James said softly, almost to himself. “You really mean it.”
Sirius gave a small, broken nod. “Yeah. I do.”
The two of them sat in silence after that. James reached over and clapped a hand on Sirius’s shoulder—brief, grounding, brotherly—before pulling back. No big speeches. No teasing. Just quiet understanding.
Across the room, you couldn’t hear what was said. But you saw the way James leaned in. You saw the tension in Sirius’s shoulders. You saw the way he looked at you afterward—longer, heavier, more vulnerable than ever.
And for the first time, you wondered if maybe… just maybe… he was finally ready to say the things he’d spent years avoiding.
The rain was relentless that Friday night, drumming hard against the tower windows and turning the world outside into a blur of grey and silver. Most students had already disappeared into their dorms, but you and Sirius had ended up in the small alcove off the boys’ staircase—a tucked-away window seat hidden behind a heavy tapestry that smelled of dust and old magic. It had become one of the few places where the careful distance between you sometimes felt a little smaller.
You sat with your back against the stone wall, legs stretched across the cushioned bench. Sirius sat opposite you, one knee drawn up, his long fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric between you. The storm outside made the space feel smaller. Intimate. Dangerous.
You’d been talking for nearly an hour—real talking. Not the shallow, safe conversations you’d been having for the past few weeks. He’d asked about your Arithmancy exam. You’d asked him why he’d started skipping Quidditch practice. Slowly, carefully, the words had deepened.
“I keep thinking about that day in the corridor,” you admitted quietly, eyes on the rain-streaked window. “When I walked away. Part of me still expects you to disappear again the second things get real.”
Sirius was quiet for a long moment. The firelight from a nearby wall sconce flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the shadows under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping much.
“I deserve that fear,” he said eventually. His voice was low, rough. “I earned it.”
You glanced at him. He was watching you with that new, unguarded intensity—the one that still made your stomach flutter even after everything. His hand had inched closer across the cushion, not quite touching yours, but close enough that you could feel the warmth.
The silence stretched. Vulnerable. Heavy.
Then Sirius shifted. You saw the exact moment the old instinct kicked in—the panic behind his eyes, the need to lighten the weight before it crushed him.
He let out a short, forced chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. “Merlin, listen to us. We sound like we’re in some tragic romance novel. Next thing you know I’ll be writing you bad poetry and reciting it dramatically in the Great Hall.”
It was a stupid joke. Classic Sirius deflection. Light. Easy. Safe.
Your stomach dropped.
Here we go again.
The familiar chill settled in your chest. You pulled your legs back slightly, creating more space between you without meaning to. Your expression shuttered. You’d heard jokes like that for two years—right before he’d kiss you senseless and then tell James you were “just mates” the next morning.
You looked away toward the rain. “Yeah,” you said, voice quieter. “Hilarious.”
Sirius froze.
The silence that followed was brutal. He could see it on your face—the way you’d braced yourself, the way your shoulders had tensed like you were preparing for him to run.
His hand, which had been hovering near yours, curled into a fist on the cushion.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
You didn’t look at him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to—”
“No.” The word came out sharp. He caught himself immediately, softening his tone. “No, it’s not fine.”
He shifted closer, but still didn’t touch you. His knee brushed the side of your leg, but he kept his hands to himself. You could see the battle happening behind his eyes—the old Sirius screaming to make a joke, change the subject, pull you into a kiss so he wouldn’t have to feel this exposed. The fear was there, raw and obvious.
But he didn’t run.
Instead, he swallowed hard and forced himself to stay right there. His voice came out strained, like every word hurt.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was… that was me being scared. Again.” He let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his curls, gripping them for a second like it grounded him. “I felt it getting heavy and I tried to dodge it. Old habit. Two years of training myself to run the second things felt real.”
He looked at you then—really looked. Grey eyes stormy with fear and determination.
“I don’t want to do that anymore,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to make you wait for me to be brave. So I’m staying. Even if I feel like I’m going to throw up from how terrifying this is.”
The honesty hit you hard. You searched his face, waiting for the smirk, the retreat, the mask.
It didn’t come.
Sirius stayed exactly where he was. Shoulders tense, hands clenched like he was physically holding himself in place, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t joke again. He just sat in the discomfort with you.
“I’m still shit at this,” he admitted after a long pause, voice barely above the sound of the rain. “I’m going to mess up again. Probably soon. But I’m trying to catch it now instead of letting it win.” His eyes softened, almost pleading. “Tell me when I do it. Please. Don’t just… shut down and walk away like I deserve. Yell at me if you have to. Just don’t let me get away with it anymore.”
Your throat felt tight. The relapse had been small—just a stupid joke—but it had triggered every insecurity you still carried. Yet watching him fight against two years of instinct, watching him choose to stay… it cracked something in you.
You didn’t reach for his hand.
But you also didn’t move away.
“I hate how easy it still is for you to do that,” you whispered.
“I know,” he said immediately. No defense. No excuse. Just quiet acceptance. “Me too.”
The rain continued to pour outside. Inside the little alcove, the air felt thick with everything still broken between you—and everything that might, someday, be repaired.
Sirius didn’t try to touch you. He didn’t try to kiss the moment better.
He simply stayed.
And for the two of you, that was everything.
The Great Hall was loud with the usual morning chaos. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, showing a bright, cloudless sky. Owl post fluttered down between tables, students laughed and argued over plates piled high with toast, eggs, bacon, and steaming porridge. It felt almost normal.
Except nothing between you and Sirius had felt normal in a long time.
He’d found you outside the portrait hole that morning. No grand gesture. Just a quiet “Can I walk with you?” and a careful half-step of distance as you made your way down. Now, as you entered the hall together, he didn’t head toward his usual spot with the Marauders. Instead, he followed you to the far end of the Gryffindor table where you’d been sitting with your friends for weeks.
When you slid onto the bench, Sirius sat down right beside you. Close. No space left for interpretation. His thigh pressed warmly against yours, and this time he didn’t hide it under the table.
You tensed for half a second—old instinct—but he didn’t pull away. His hand came to rest lightly on the bench between you, his pinky finger brushing against the side of your hand. Open. Visible. Deliberate.
James, Remus, and Peter were already seated a little further down. James did a double-take when he saw where Sirius had chosen to sit, but he quickly hid his surprise behind a grin and a mouthful of toast.
You reached for some scrambled eggs, hyper-aware of every point of contact. Sirius’s shoulder brushed yours as he leaned forward to grab the pumpkin juice. He poured some into your goblet first without asking, then his own. Small things. But they felt enormous in the bright morning light of the Great Hall.
A few seats away, Marlene raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Dorcas just smirked into her tea.
The minutes passed in a strange, humming tension. Sirius didn’t try to fill the silence with jokes or flirtatious comments. He simply existed beside you—solid, quiet, and openly there.
Then it happened.
One of the sixth-year girls who used to flirt with him—the same one from weeks ago—walked past the table with a group of friends. She slowed when she saw the two of you sitting so closely. Her eyes flicked down to where Sirius’s hand now rested near yours in plain view.
She let out a surprised little laugh. “Wait… you two together now, then?”
The question landed casually, like it was nothing. But the entire section of the table seemed to pause. James stopped chewing. Remus looked up from his book. Even Peter’s fork hovered mid-air.
Everyone knew the script. They’d heard Sirius say “We’re just mates” a hundred times. They expected the deflection. The easy smirk. The casual denial.
Sirius went still.
For a moment, you felt that familiar twist in your stomach—the fear that the old pattern would win again. That he’d crack a joke, pull his hand away, protect himself like he always had.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he turned his head and looked at you first.
Really looked. His stormy grey eyes were soft and uncertain, but steady. The noise of the Great Hall seemed to fade as he searched your face, giving you the chance to stop him if you wanted. His pinky finger curled gently around yours on the bench—the smallest, bravest touch.
Then he turned back to the girl and answered, voice calm and clear:
“Yeah.”
The single word dropped like a stone into still water.
He didn’t stop there.
“If she’ll still have me,” he added quietly, the vulnerability in his voice unmistakable. No smirk. No charm. Just raw honesty in front of half the Gryffindor table.
The girl blinked, caught off guard. A few whispers rippled down the table. James broke into a wide, proud grin. Remus gave a small, approving nod.
You felt your heart stutter.
Sirius’s hand shifted. He slowly slid his fingers over yours properly this time—no hiding, no secrecy. His grip was warm and a little unsteady, like he was still terrified you might pull away.
He didn’t look at anyone else. Just you.
“I’m done pretending,” he said, low enough that only you could hear, though the whole table was watching. “I should’ve said this a long time ago.”
Your throat tightened. The old wound—the one that had bled for nearly two years every time he called you “just mates”—ached sharply… and then began to ease.
You didn’t answer with words. Not yet.
But you turned your hand over and laced your fingers through his. Right there on the Gryffindor table in the middle of breakfast. Open. Honest. Claimed.
Sirius let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally relaxing as he squeezed your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him.
For the first time, the entire Great Hall saw what had always been true.
You weren’t just mates.
You never had been.
Later that evening, the Gryffindor common room had emptied out again. Only the low crackle of the dying fire remained, casting long, gentle shadows across the crimson carpets. You and Sirius had claimed the same window seat alcove where the relapse had happened days ago. This time, the space between you felt smaller. Safer. But still fragile.
Sirius sat with his back against the stone wall, one leg stretched out along the bench. You were curled up beside him, your shoulder brushing his arm. His hand rested openly on your knee—no hesitation, no hiding. He’d been like this since breakfast: quietly attentive, like he was afraid the moment might slip away if he wasn’t careful.
The silence had stretched for several minutes, comfortable but heavy with everything still unsaid.
You stared at the rain-streaked window, watching droplets race each other down the glass. Your throat felt tight. The public claim earlier had cracked something open inside you, and now it was all spilling out whether you wanted it to or not.
“I need to say something,” you whispered.
Sirius turned his head toward you immediately. “I’m listening.”
You took a shaky breath. Your fingers traced the seam of your skirt, avoiding his eyes.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us. Not just what you did… but what I did too.” Your voice wavered. “I enabled it, Sirius. For two years, I let you keep me in the dark. I accepted every crumb you gave me—the secret touches, the late-night whispers, the way you’d fuck me like I was everything and then call me ‘just mates’ the next morning. And I stayed. Even when it was killing me.”
Sirius’s hand tightened slightly on your knee, but he stayed quiet. Letting you speak.
“I told myself it was enough,” you continued, the words burning on the way out. “That having you in private was better than not having you at all. I got so used to being loved privately that I stopped believing I deserved to be loved properly.”
Your voice cracked on the last word. You finally looked at him, eyes glassy.
“I was scared too. Scared that if I pushed you, you’d leave. So I stayed silent. I played the game with you. I used jealousy as a weapon—flirting with Elias, letting those boys dance with me at the party—because it was the only way I knew how to hurt you back. I let the cycle keep going because admitting I deserved more felt more terrifying than staying in the pain I knew.”
A tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it away angrily.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For letting you treat me like a secret. For treating myself like one too.”
Sirius was quiet for a long moment. His grey eyes were wide and raw, glistening in the firelight. You could see how deeply your words hit him—not with defensiveness, but with understanding.
He slowly lifted his hand from your knee and gently cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing away another tear. His touch was tender. Careful. Like he was handling something precious he’d almost broken beyond repair.
“Merlin,” he breathed, voice rough. “I never wanted you to feel like that. But I know I made you feel it.” He swallowed hard. “Thank you for saying it. For being brave enough to admit your part when I’ve been owning mine.”
He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
“We both fucked this up,” he murmured. “I ran from loving you out loud. You stayed when it hurt because you thought it was all you’d get. But you deserve everything, darling. Not crumbs. Not secrets. Not late-night versions of me. You deserve the version of me that sits next to you in the Great Hall and tells the whole bloody world you’re mine.”
You let out a watery laugh, your hands coming up to clutch his shirt.
“I’m still scared,” you admitted softly.
“I know. Me too.” He pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “But I’m not going anywhere. And I’m never hiding you again. We do this properly this time. Messy. Slow. Honest. Even when it’s terrifying.”
The fire popped softly behind you. Outside, the rain continued falling, but inside the alcove it felt like the first real breath either of you had taken in years.
Sirius pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then lingered against your cheek—not demanding, not possessive. Just… there.
“I love you,” he whispered against your skin. The words came easier now. “Out loud. In public. Wherever you’ll let me say it.”
You closed your eyes, letting the truth of it settle deep in your chest.
“I love you too,” you whispered back.
For the first time, it didn’t feel like settling.
It felt like beginning.
A month had passed.
The Gryffindor common room was quiet again, wrapped in the soft hush of late night. Most students had long since gone to bed. Only the low, steady crackle of the fire remained, casting a warm amber glow across the crimson furniture and worn rugs. Outside the tall windows, snow fell gently, blanketing the grounds in silence.
You sat curled in the corner of the large couch, legs stretched along the cushions. Sirius lay with his head in your lap, eyes closed, his dark curls spilling over your thighs like ink. One of his arms was draped loosely across your legs, fingers resting lightly against your knee. There was no tension in his body tonight. No guarded edges. Just the steady rise and fall of his breathing and the quiet contentment of someone who had finally stopped running.
Your fingers moved slowly through his hair, untangling the knots with the same gentle rhythm you used months ago, but everything felt different now. Softer. Safer.
Sirius hummed lowly, a sound of pure contentment, and turned his face slightly toward your stomach. His nose brushed against the fabric of your sweater as he nuzzled closer.
“Keep doing that and I might fall asleep right here,” he murmured, voice rough with tiredness and warmth. The same words he’d said once before, but this time there was no fear beneath them.
You smiled, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
He cracked one eye open, grey eyes soft in the firelight as he looked up at you. No mask. No deflection. Just open, steady affection.
The portrait hole swung open with a quiet creak. Marlene and Dorcas stumbled in, cheeks flushed from a late-night walk around the castle. They paused when they saw the two of you, Marlene’s mouth curving into a familiar teasing grin.
“Oi, lovebirds,” she called softly, not wanting to wake anyone. “Get a room, yeah?”
Sirius didn’t tense. He didn’t pull away or make a sarcastic remark to downplay it. Instead, a small, lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he nestled deeper into your lap.
“Already have one,” he replied, voice low and easy. His hand slid a little higher on your thigh, not possessive, just affectionate. “Right here.”
Marlene laughed quietly, rolling her eyes as she and Dorcas headed toward the girls’ staircase. “Disgusting. I’m happy for you two, though.”
The portrait hole clicked shut behind them, leaving the common room in peaceful quiet once more.
Sirius shifted slightly, turning so he could look up at you properly. For a long moment, he just studied your face, his expression tender and unguarded. Then he reached up, fingers gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I love you,” he whispered. Simple. Honest. No performance.
You leaned down and kissed him softly. No heat. No desperation. Just a slow, gentle press of lips that tasted like peace and belonging. When you pulled back, he smiled against your mouth.
This time, you didn’t feel hidden.
You didn’t wonder what tomorrow would bring or whether he’d pretend again in the morning. There was only the warmth of his head in your lap, the steady weight of his arm across your legs, and the quiet certainty that he was yours — openly, completely, gently.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, fingers resuming their slow path through his hair.
Sirius let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes again, trusting you completely in the firelight.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Inside, everything finally felt like home.
read part 1 here!
