Tell Me About the One Who Loved Him - A Sirius Black Imagine - Part V
I stood in front of him, my hand trembling as I pointed the wand at his chest, doing everything I could not to let the fear in my gut show on my face. The house-elf had known immediately—I was a Black, just like him. A bitter confirmation of what I had feared for years.
I’d suspected the truth for a long time, ever since we moved to England when I was ten. My stepfather had accepted a new position at the Ministry of Magic in London, a move my mother fought bitterly against. I remember the screaming matches, her green eyes blazing with fury, accusing him of putting us all in danger. Eventually, she gave in, claiming it would be fine, that she’d find work in London. But something about it felt wrong, even then.
We arrived in the summer, and soon after, I received my Hogwarts letter. I’d never heard of the school before—it wasn’t something we spoke much about back in Italy. My mother was evasive when I asked her about it. Days before I was due to leave, the news broke. Sirius Black, one of the most dangerous murderers in England, had escaped from Azkaban.
I remember how my mother’s face drained of colour when she heard. She was hysterical, insisting we return to Italy immediately. I didn’t understand why she was so scared. My stepfather, Charlie, assured her that the Ministry would catch Black and that I’d be safe at Hogwarts. But my mother—she couldn’t be calmed. She left the house in tears, leaving Charlie to shrug helplessly at me. "You know how your mother gets," he said, trying to downplay it.
That night, curiosity gnawed at me. I fished the discarded Daily Prophet from the trash and studied the moving picture of Sirius Black, wild-eyed, his face twisted in anger as he gripped his prison number. His hair was long, unkempt, but he didn’t look as old as I expected. I was drawn to that picture. I stared at it for hours, feeling a strange pull, a connection I couldn’t explain.
My first year at Hogwarts was normal enough—friends, lessons, the usual. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Some of the professors seemed to look at me differently, like I was a puzzle they couldn’t quite solve. Professor Lupin always averted his gaze when we passed in the halls. Professor Snape glared at me with a disdain I didn’t understand. And Professor McGonagall, she had this...sadness in her eyes whenever she looked at me, like she knew something I didn’t. Something important.
That summer, I came home with a nagging suspicion. My mother never spoke of my real father. All I had was the vague story that he died in some accident. But she always dodged questions, and I never pushed—until then. I started snooping, going through old things at my grandparents' house when we visited Italy. I found nothing at first. Until, one evening, a little old woman who ran the local bookstore told me my mother had lived in England before I was born. She had returned to Italy, pregnant and alone.
I felt the world tilt around me. My mother had hidden an entire life from me. And England—it all made sense now. Why she was so terrified of going back. Why she had that haunted look every time she saw me.
Then I found it. An old Daily Prophet clipping. Sirius Black’s face, screaming silently in his prison uniform, right there in my grandfather’s desk. It was the only issue he kept. Why? Why had he saved that, and nothing else?
When I went back to Hogwarts for my third year, I told my best friend, Felice. "What if he’s my father? Sirius Black... What if that’s why my mother’s so scared?"
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t call me crazy. She told me that maybe it was time I found out who I really was.
And now, here I was, standing in this dark kitchen, holding a wand I barely knew how to use, facing the man from the photo. Sirius Black, the murderer. My father.
His eyes—silver and cold—locked onto mine, and I saw it. The resemblance. He wasn’t some monster from the papers. He was...me.
“What are you doing in my house?” His voice was harsh, hiding something—panic? Rage? I didn’t answer, too frozen, my mind swirling with everything I’d learned. My heart pounded so loudly; I wondered if he could hear it.
“Kreacher!” he bellowed, and the house-elf appeared instantly, glancing disinterestedly at me. “Did you let someone in?” he demanded.
“No, master,” Kreacher replied with a bow. “Master told Kreacher not to let anyone in.”
“Then why is there a stranger in my kitchen, holding my wand?”
My grip tightened, my hand shaking even more now. I couldn’t speak.
Kreacher turned his large eyes toward me, calm and indifferent. “The House of Black will always open for a member of the family, master. No spell can stop that.”
Sirius’s breath hitched. His eyes scanned me, from my trembling hand to my face, realization dawning slowly.
“Step out,” he ordered, his voice softer now, as though he already knew the answer but needed confirmation.
I stepped forward, out of the shadows, and for the first time, he saw me fully. His mouth fell open slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might faint.
Those were his eyes staring back at him, sharp and piercing. His expression, the slight smirk that tugged at my lips even though I didn’t feel like smiling—it was his.
“Hello, father,” I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue.
The man who had haunted my nightmares, the murderer. My father.
With Felice by my side, we spent every free moment scouring the Hogwarts Library for anything we could find about Sirius Black. At first, it felt like an impossible task—someone had done a remarkable job erasing almost every trace of him. Every record, every mention of his name, wiped clean like he never existed. It was maddening. But there was something stubborn in me, a part of me that couldn’t let go. Maybe I wasn’t ready to accept that he could be my father, but the idea had rooted itself in my mind. It became this absurd, obsessive quest. Felice and I even joked about it when we were exhausted from our studies, like it was some ridiculous game we played in secret.
But it wasn’t a game. It was me desperately trying to fill in the blank spaces of who I was.
We got into trouble often, sneaking into places we didn’t belong, creeping through the restricted sections of the library or archives. Professor McGonagall caught us so many times, dragging us into her office for detention. Her lips always pressed into a thin line of frustration, but it was her eyes that got to me. She wasn’t surprised by our behaviour. She wasn’t even really angry. There was something else—like she knew what I was searching for, and it pained her.
One day, after weeks of dead ends, Felice pulled out an old, dusty Quidditch record from the library archives. We weren’t even hopeful anymore—it was our last effort, scraping the bottom of the barrel. We were flipping through the pages, skimming over the Gryffindor team lists from decades ago, when Felice suddenly stopped.
“Look at this,” she whispered, her finger hovering over a name.
Sirius Black – 5th year. Chaser.
My heart skipped. We exchanged a glance before feverishly turning the pages until we found the section with photographs. And there he was.
The picture showed him, handsome, with black, slightly curly hair, his smile wide and radiant, looking carefree. My heart pounded as I stared at the moving photograph—his hair, the curve of his mouth, the glint in his eye—it was like looking into a mirror.
Felice nudged me. “I know everyone says you look like your mom, but… damn, girl, this... this is eerie. You’re practically the same person.”
I could hardly breathe. My hands shook as I traced the edges of the photo, my mind spinning. Was this it? Was I right all along?
I wasn’t even looking into his eyes anymore—I was looking into my own.
I cried that night. Curled up in my dormitory bed, biting the pillow to muffle the sobs that wracked my body. Everything I had feared was true. My father wasn’t dead. He wasn’t a mystery. He was alive, out there somewhere, running from the Ministry. And worse—he was a murderer.
In the days that followed, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My father was a killer. He had destroyed people’s lives, shattered families, and he had hurt my mother. The woman who never spoke of him, who had fled from England to Italy, to hide from him. She had loved him once—how could that be? How could she have loved someone who turned to the Dark Lord’s side? Or maybe she didn’t know? Maybe he’d deceived her, the same way he deceived everyone else.
The thought tormented me. Had my mother been protecting me all these years, shielding me from the truth of my own bloodline? From the darkness that might be inside me, too? Was that why she had run? To keep me from the shadows lurking in my heritage?
I swore to myself that I wouldn’t let it define me. If the Ministry couldn’t catch him, then I would. I would track him down. I would be the one to end it—to end him. Not for myself, but for her. For all the hurt he had caused her.
He wasn’t my father. He was a monster. A killer. And I was going to stop him.
That determination was what carried me through the next few months. And now, here I was, standing face to face with him, my wand pointed straight at his chest. Sirius Black. He looked ragged and worn, nothing like the man from the Quidditch photo, nothing like the father I had imagined. He was just... a fugitive. A broken man.
But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let him fool me. He was dangerous, and I was ready. My hand shook, but I didn’t lower my wand.
“Do you even know who I am?” I asked, my voice low, barely more than a whisper.
He stared at me, something unreadable passing over his face. His eyes narrowed, and I could see the gears turning in his mind, piecing things together. And then, for the briefest moment, I saw it—a flicker of recognition.
“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I know.”
Something twisted in my chest, a mixture of anger, grief, and confusion. But I couldn’t let myself feel any of it. Not now.
“I’m not your daughter,” I spat, my voice shaking with emotion I couldn’t control. “You’re not my father. You’re nothing but a murderer.”
His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. I didn’t move. My wand stayed trained on him, but I could feel the tremor in my hand growing stronger.
“I don’t know what you’ve been told,” he said softly, his voice almost pleading, “but it’s not true. You don’t know the whole story.”
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “Don’t you dare try to justify it.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But more than anything, I wanted to end it. To end him.
But as I stood there, staring into the face of the man I had spent so long hating, I realized something.
I didn’t know the whole story. But maybe... just maybe, I wanted to.
Tell Me About the One Who Loved Him - A Sirius Black Imagine - Part IV
I was sequestered in my own ancestral home, 12 Grimmauld Place, with no way out.
The house loomed over me like a cold prison, its walls heavy with dark memories. Of all places to be trapped, this was the worst. Sometimes I wondered if Azkaban hadn’t been a mercy compared to this suffocating tomb of Black family history. The stale air inside seemed to cling to my skin, and even as I walked the halls, I felt the weight of it pressing down, reminding me why I had escaped in the first place.
Azkaban was hell—a place where hope couldn’t exist. I shook my head, trying to chase away the thoughts. The Dementors had drained me of everything: twelve long years with nothing but my darkest memories to keep me company. What little I had left—memories of James, of Lily, of Remus, of her – were twisted and faded. I had clung to those fragments of happiness in the beginning, but even they had been erased by those wretched creatures, floating endlessly above the icy, crashing waves that battered the prison.
The sun never shone there.
And yet, somehow, I had escaped. Driven by the need for revenge, for justice—anything that could pull me out of that soul-sucking abyss—I had broken free. But two years after my escape, here I was, imprisoned again. This time, in the very place I’d once sworn I’d never return to.
Grimmauld Place.
It was like being back with the Dementors. The house whispered to me of torture and pain. The shadows held memories of my family’s cruelty, and no matter how many times I walked its creaky wooden floors, I couldn’t find a single corner of peace. My mother’s portrait was the worst. She was always there, just outside the kitchen, waiting to scream, to berate me, even from beyond the grave. It was enchanted, of course—she had been gone for years—but it felt as though her very essence had seeped into the fabric of this house.
A sharp breath of cold air hit my face as I opened the back door. I stepped into the small yard, desperate for a moment away from her voice, from the oppressive silence inside. My coat hung loosely on my shoulders, old and worn—a relic from the years before Azkaban. It wasn’t much, but it kept me warm as I slouched against the wall, taking a swig of wine straight from the bottle. My hands shook as I gripped it, not from the cold, but from the weight of everything I tried so hard to push down.
It was nearing Christmas. I should have felt excited, maybe even relieved to be spending it with Harry and his friends for the first time, but all I could think of was what was missing.
Her.
Eliana.
Her name hovered on my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. Even after all these years, I wasn’t strong enough to speak it, to let myself remember the way her dark hair felt tangled between my fingers, how her laughter used to fill the spaces between my heartbeats.
I took another long swig from the bottle.
A few weeks ago, Remus had told Harry that Ellie and I – we had a daughter together. A daughter I’d never met. A daughter who had grown up believing her father was dead. Stella. The name clung to me now, as if it had always been there, stitched into my skin without my knowing. I was certain Ellie had chosen it deliberately—Stella, a star. Just like the rest of the Black family. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I looked up at the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars, but in Central London, the city lights drowned them out. Even now, I could barely remember what they looked like. Azkaban had stripped me of that too. But I imagined them, the stars, burning brightly above, watching over her. My daughter.
The thought of it broke me in ways I hadn’t expected. I wanted to meet her, to see the face that carried the same blood as mine, but I didn’t deserve it. I had missed everything. Fourteen years of her life, stolen from me—and I had been powerless to stop it. Anyway, did Eliana thought me guilty of those crimes? I add so much forgiveness to beg for.
Buckbeak shuffled beside me, his talons scraping the dirt. Poor creature. He was as trapped as I was, confined to this small yard when all he wanted to do was fly. I ran my hand along his beak, offering him what little comfort I could. We were both outcasts now—on the run from a world that wanted to keep us hidden.
I had one hope left. To clear my name. To prove I wasn’t the man they thought I was. If I could do that, if I could make the Ministry see the truth, maybe I could be a father to her, even if it was too late. Maybe I could meet Stella, hold her, tell her everything I hadn’t been able to.
But that hope felt distant, like the stars I couldn’t see.
And the longer I stayed here, the more I feared that I would never be free from this prison, this place that haunted me as much as Azkaban ever did.
I stayed outside with Buckbeak for what felt like an hour before the cold finally pierced through the fog of wine in my system. My fingers were numb, and the biting winter air had started to sting my face, but wine had a funny way of making you forget the cold, lulling you into a false warmth. Too much warmth, perhaps. I’d been drinking more than usual these days, numbing the endless turmoil inside me.
The wine helped, not just with the cold but with everything. It took the edge off the restless energy, the spiralling thoughts, the sleepless nights. And it was particularly satisfying to drain my father’s precious collection, bottle after bottle, with no regard for its value. He would have been livid to know I was wasting it like this—wasting the legacy he’d so carefully preserved, and that alone filled me with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
I gave Buckbeak a tired pat on the back. The beast let out a soft growl, nudging me with his beak, as if pleading for me to stay a little longer.
“You’ve got fur and feathers to protect you from the cold,” I muttered, pulling my coat tighter around me. “I’m freezing out here.”
Buckbeak’s large, expressive eyes fixed on mine, and I flinched under his gaze, almost embarrassed by how much comfort I took from the creature’s presence.
“Alright, alright,” I sighed, finally giving in. “One more hour for you, but I’m heading inside. You can stay out here if you like the cold so much.”
I headed for the kitchen door, glancing back once to make sure Buckbeak was settled under the tree where he was chained. We both knew he couldn’t fly, not here, not now. If he did, the Ministry would be after him in an instant. No one cared enough to hunt a hippogriff, but it was a risk we couldn’t afford.
The kitchen was dimly lit when I stepped inside, the flickering of the old lamps casting long shadows across the walls. I tossed the empty bottle onto the table and wiped my hands on the front of my jeans, which had seen better days. I didn’t care. Not tonight. I would go downstairs to the cellar and grab another bottle. I didn’t care if the room started spinning again—I needed to sleep tonight. Really sleep. Most nights were haunted by nightmares and regrets, and more often than not, I lay awake, too afraid to close my eyes in case those memories came rushing back. But the wine helped, at least enough to knock me out for a few hours.
I reached for the bottle opener, but something made me pause. I looked at the table. My wand. It wasn’t there.
I had placed it right there before I went outside. I was tipsy, sure, but not that far gone. Kreacher knew better than to touch my things, especially my wand.
A sinking feeling settled in my chest. Either I was more drunk than I thought... or someone else was in the house.
A tremor of fear rippled through me. What if they had found me? What if an Auror was waiting in the shadows, ready to drag me back to Azkaban? My mind raced, the all-too-familiar panic creeping in. My friends—Harry, Remus, even Dumbledore—they would fight to free me if that happened. They knew I wasn’t guilty. They knew the truth. But still...
I couldn’t shake the fear.
Slowly, I scanned the room. The corners were dark, shrouded in shadow. And then, there—something moved. A figure, hiding just out of sight, watching me.
My heart pounded in my chest as I took a step forward, trying to control my breathing.
“What are you doing in my house?” I demanded, my voice harsher than I intended, trying to mask the rising panic.
No answer. Just the quiet ticking of the clock in the hallway and the faint, rapid breathing of the intruder.
“Who are you?” I asked again, my grip tightening on the edge of the table.
The silhouette shifted, and I saw it now—a wand, pointed at me. The intruder didn’t make a move. I tried to steady my thoughts. If it were an Auror, they would have made themselves known by now. But this person was hiding. Which meant...
A Death Eater?
“I’m asking you a question,” I growled, my patience slipping.
“You’re Sirius Black,” came a voice—a young, female voice, trembling with fear, but not enough to hide the curiosity behind it.
I frowned, stepping closer to try and make out the face in the shadows. “How did you get in?” I demanded.
It was impossible to enter Grimmauld Place without knowing the Secret. Whoever this was... they couldn’t have gotten past the Fidelius Charm. So why was she here? And why was she hiding?
“KREACHER!” I bellowed, my voice echoing through the house.
The house-elf appeared instantly at my side, his ears drooping as usual. “Yes, Master?”
My eyes never left the corner where the intruder stood. “Did you let someone in?”
“No, Master instructed Kreacher not to let anyone in. Kreacher did as Master told him,” the elf replied with indifference, glancing lazily at the shadow in the corner.
“Then why is there a stranger in my kitchen, holding my wand?” I snapped, frustration and fear bubbling up inside me.
Kreacher blinked, uninterested. “Master knows there are only two ways to enter the Noble House of Black,” he said in his usual grating tone.
“Yes,” I replied, impatient. “How did she get in?”
Kreacher turned to the shadowed figure and took a step closer, but the girl shrank back.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“The Noble House of Black will always open for a member of the family,” Kreacher continued, turning back to me. “No spell can break that.”
My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, the girl stepped out of the shadows, and the dim light of the kitchen revealed her face.
I stared, disbelief crashing over me.
In front of me stood a teenage girl, her long, dark, wavy hair framing a pale face. She pointed my wand at me, but it wasn’t her weapon that caught my attention—it was her eyes. Silver eyes. My eyes. Her features were a haunting reflection of my own.
Those eyes, that smirk—a mocking grin I knew too well.
“Hello, father,” she said, her voice cold, with a cruel edge that sent a chill down my spine.
Following the same story and universe as Tell Me About series! Here I am... 10 years later?
Remus stood before the counter, his hands trembling with a desperation he struggled to suppress. His clothes, worn and faded, hung loosely on his frame. His voice, when it came, was loud yet strained, as if it had been dragged from a place of deep frustration. The clerk in front of him sat behind a towering mahogany desk, her fingers moving in swift, precise gestures, as though casting spells without a wand. Her face was pale and angular, softened only by the shadow of dim candlelight that flickered along the Ministry’s endless corridors. The clerk was dressed in the neat, sober attire of Ministry officials, a crisp grey uniform with silver buttons that reflected the cold, bureaucratic glow of the room. Her brown hair was pinned back tightly, not a strand out of place, except for a thin streak of white that curled at her temple.
“You don’t understand!” he shouted. The words felt twisted, as if they fought to balance on the edge between civility and rage. The witch behind the counter flinched but remained still, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk. She had no more to offer him than the faint apology etched into her expression. “I need to work.”
He needed the money. That need pulsed in the room like a living thing, thickening the air between them. But all she could offer was silence, her eyes downcast, her hands empty. Papers floated softly to her from unseen corners, filing themselves with barely a flick of her wrist. Behind her desk, a charmed quill wrote furiously on a long parchment, recording the day’s tasks with an efficiency that bordered on eerie.
“Like I told you –” she said, “Mr Collins needs help with his books, but I don’t have anything else right now for you.”
Remus shook his head. “Mr Collins won’t work with me. You know it.”
There it was—unspoken but palpable. The reason why each request was met with hesitance, each job prospect slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. He didn’t need to say it aloud anymore; the label had been burned into his very being. Werewolf. In the wizarding world, it was more than a condition—it was a curse. Few wanted to hire a werewolf. The fear lingered in every interaction, no matter how mundane. The Ministry had their own discreet policies on “dangerous creatures”.
“I am sorry, Mr Lupin.” Her voice was smooth and low, tinged with the practiced indifference of someone who had seen many come and go from the Ministry’s endless halls. Her brown eyes showed nothing but disinterest. “Just come back next week.”
“I’m here every week,” he sighed, “asking you for work, and each time it is the same. Why don’t you send me an owl if there’s something in the meantime? It would spare me from having to come here and bother you.”
The witch raised her eyebrows and smiled mockingly. “Oh? And to what address should I send it?”
She knew too well he didn’t have an address. He lived in his damn car – had been living in it for months now. The Ministry’s endless red tape, combined with the stigma of his condition, had shut every door before him. Each job interview, each opportunity, crumbled the moment his lycanthropy was mentioned or even hinted at. It was as if the wizarding world had no place for him outside the fringes of society.
He turned away without bothering to say goodbye. There was nothing for him there.
Finding work in the Muggle world had proven just as impossible. At first, it seemed like an escape—no one in the Muggle realm knew about werewolves, and the Ministry couldn’t interfere as easily. But even there, he couldn’t outrun his condition. Each month, as the full moon approached, he would feel the familiar dread tightening in his chest. He couldn’t just call in sick for three days without raising suspicion, and disappearing every month had quickly made him unreliable. Employers grew wary, questioning the strange absences. He had been let go from more jobs than he cared to remember, dismissed for being "untrustworthy" or "inconsistent."
Remus had been careful with the modest inheritance his parents had left him, stretching every Galleon to make it last. For a time, it allowed him to rent a small flat near Diagon Alley, a place where he could be somewhat connected to the magical world. But even that fragile stability crumbled after two years, when Mrs. Daisy, his elderly neighbour, had complained to the landlord, claiming she didn’t feel safe living next door to a werewolf. No one had said it outright, but the eviction notice came soon after.
Afterward, he managed to find a tiny studio in London, outside the magical community, but the rent required sterling pounds, not Galleons, and even without his affliction, finding work in the Muggle world have proved nearly impossible without the proper credentials. He had no Muggle schooling, no tangible proof of any experience, and no one was willing to take a risk on a man with an incomplete story. For a brief spell, he worked at a small café, washing dishes in the back, but his frequent absences around the full moon quickly made him expendable. “It’s just not working out,” his manager had said, barely meeting his eyes as he handed over the final pay check.
After that, it had been a string of odd jobs—cleaning homes, scrubbing cars, whatever he could find that didn’t require questions or paperwork. But even those jobs dried up after a few months, the repeated absences stacking up like a curse he couldn’t escape. It didn’t matter how hard he worked or how much he tried to hide his condition; sooner or later, the same pattern emerged. He’d disappear for a few days, recover in secret, and by the time he returned, the whispers had already started. They always ended the same way: with him packing his few belongings and moving on to the next temporary refuge, the shadows of his secret following him wherever he went.
But then, happier days came. And he embraced them as much as he could.
Mr. Collins had been one of the rare few to take a chance on Remus, inviting him into his home with little fuss or prying questions. The old wizard had an impressive collection of books and papers in desperate need of organization, and Remus had relished the work. The house itself felt like a sanctuary—a sprawling estate tucked away from the bustling wizarding world, with its heart being the grand library that stretched wall to wall with ancient tomes and fragile manuscripts. For six peaceful months, Remus had lived there, surrounded by books, his evenings filled with the quiet companionship of Mr. Collins. They would often sit by the fire, sipping tea or scotch depending on the mood, talking about the wizard’s past adventures and far-flung travels. Remus had almost allowed himself to believe that he had found a place where his affliction didn’t matter.
Everything changed overnight.
The trouble had started with a routine trip to the Ministry to pick up his Wolfsbane Potion. With the full moon only days away, Remus needed it to maintain control during his transformation. But that day, there had been none. The Ministry’s supplies had run dry, and in a rising panic, Remus went to every apothecary in Diagon Alley, pleading for them to brew it for him. The answer was always the same—there was no Wolfsbane to be had, not until a delayed shipment of rare herbs arrived. Desperation clawed at him as the full moon loomed closer.
When the night finally came, Remus did the only thing he could—he locked himself in the cellar beneath the guest house on Mr. Collins’ estate, far away from the main house and anyone who could be harmed. He chained himself tightly, trying to prepare for the agonizing transformation. But without the Wolfsbane, Remus knew that the wolf was savage, uncontrollable. As the change tore through his body, so too did the creature’s instincts, stronger than any chain he had prepared. The bonds snapped, and the beast roamed the grounds, its hunger and rage unleashed. The wolf howled to the moon, its cries cutting through the still night air as it hunted the estate, searching for prey.
Mr. Collins’ housekeeper had been outside that night, restless and unable to sleep. She had been wandering through the gardens when the wolf appeared, a massive shadow with glowing eyes. In a split second, it lunged. Only the quick intervention of Mr. Collins, who had been awakened by the howling, had saved her. He subdued the wolf before it could do any real damage, but the incident left its mark.
The next morning, Remus awoke in human form, bruised, aching, and filled with dread. He didn’t need to hear Mr. Collins' words to know what was coming. When he entered the kitchen, his pay was already waiting for him on the counter, along with a leather trunk packed with his few belongings. On top of the trunk rested a book from Mr. Collins' private collection—Remus's favourite, one he had admired during his long nights in the library. The wizard had even engraved the trunk with Remus’s initials, a final gesture of parting kindness.
Beside it, a note in Mr. Collins’ elegant script read simply: Thank you for your service.
It was over. Whatever peace he had found there was gone, lost in a single night.
When Remus came back to London, the weight of his situation bore down on him like a suffocating fog. He needed a place to live, but the few Galleons he had saved were barely enough to cover the cost of a small studio, let alone food and the Wolfsbane Potion that he relied on every month. He ran the calculations over and over in his head—if he paid for rent, he’d only have enough to survive for a couple of months before everything dried up.
That was when he met a young wizard at the Leaky Cauldron, selling an old, battered car for next to nothing. The decision had been easy. The car was cheaper than rent, and living in it meant he could stretch his money long enough to eat and scrape by while searching for work. So, Remus took it, and for two months now, the car had become his home—an old, rusting shelter parked in the backstreets of Muggle London. But work never came. Not for someone like him.
Each Friday became a routine of survival. Remus would head to the Leaky Cauldron, where the kindly innkeeper allowed him to sit down with a free bowl of soup and a cup of tea. Sometimes, if the inn wasn’t fully booked, he was even allowed to use one of the rooms to take a hot shower, a luxury he was rarely afforded. Those brief moments of warmth and comfort were fleeting, but he clung to them like a lifeline.
After his shower, he’d walk back to the Ministry, heading straight to the Wizarding Work Bureau, where hope flickered and died week after week. Every Friday, he found himself standing before the same brown-haired clerk. And every Friday, her reply was the same: nothing new, no work available. The expression on her face was always tired, indifferent. Remus couldn’t blame her—his situation was just another file in a growing stack. Another life falling through the cracks.
He’d leave the bureau and step into the great hall of the Ministry, watching witches and wizards bustling about their business, oblivious to the fact that his world was crumbling. He wondered sometimes if he could even blame them. After all, his affliction was real, dangerous, and he understood their fear. But understanding didn’t make it easier to live with. He had grown thinner, his clothes hung loosely on his frame, and his face had become gaunt, his eyes shadowed by dark circles that deepened with each restless night spent in the backseat of his car. At just 28, streaks of grey had already woven through his hair, and he looked older than his years—like the ghost of the man he had once been.
He was about to leave the Ministry, ready to disappear into the crowded streets once more, when something stopped him. A glimpse of black hair. For a moment, he thought he was imagining it—his tired mind playing tricks on him—but then he saw her again.
Eliana.
It all came rushing back to him in an instant, as if the past had never let him go. Eliana had arrived at Hogwarts during their sixth year, transferring from an old, distinguished town in Italy. Her beauty had been striking—impossible to ignore—and it wasn’t long before she caught the attention of everyone. Sirius, however, had despised her from the moment he noticed the colour of her tie. Ellie and her younger sister had been sorted into Slytherin. But Remus had seen the look in his friend's eyes, the disdain that masked something deeper.
It wasn’t just the house she’d been placed in; it was the undeniable pull she had over him. She was one of the most captivating girls Remus had ever laid eyes on, and though Sirius never admitted it, Remus knew he felt the same. They had fought constantly—Sirius and Eliana—bickering in the halls, trading insults in class, to the point where even the professors made a point of keeping them apart.
But everything shifted that summer. Sirius had run away from his family, severing ties with the House of Black once and for all. When they returned to Hogwarts for their final year, something about him had changed. Remus noticed how Sirius’s silver eyes lingered on Ellie now, no longer filled with resentment, but something softer. By Christmas, they were holding hands, sitting together at meals, whispering in quiet corners. They were inseparable, and it wasn’t long before everyone was talking about how perfect they were for each other—two rebels who had found solace in each other’s arms.
Everyone agreed they were made for each other—everyone except Eliana’s family. Her parents couldn’t accept that their eldest daughter, heir to an old and revered lineage, was in love with the disowned son of one of the most infamous wizarding families. The Blacks may have been prestigious, but Sirius’s rebellion had tarnished their name in the eyes of the pure-blood elite. Yet, despite the tension, Eliana stood by him. She had promised that one day, she would confront her family, make them understand. But that day never came.
Everything fell apart. Darkness had crept into Sirius’s world, and when Remus told Eliana what he had done, to Peter and James – and Lily, the crimes he’d committed, she refused to believe it. She couldn’t. They fought—terribly, violently—words flung at each other like curses. A month later, she disappeared. Without a word, she left, and no one knew where she had gone. Remus had tried to reach her, sending letters to her parents, even tracking down her younger sister, begging for answers. But there had been no replies, just silence. A year later, he found out her family had sold their house in London. Ellie had vanished from his life, as though she had never existed at all.
She left the Ministry, and Remus followed, keeping his distance, too afraid to call out, too afraid to shatter the fragile image of her that had lingered in his mind for years. What if she wasn’t the same? What if the Eliana he remembered—the one who had disappeared so suddenly—was gone, replaced by someone colder, more distant? Her hurried steps echoed in the quiet streets until she reached the door of the Leaky Cauldron. Remus watched from the shadows as she slipped inside. He hesitated for a moment, then followed.
She made her way to the bar, her movements quick and deliberate. He stayed back, watching, listening, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard her voice, unmistakable even after all these years.
“Fire whiskey, please.”
That voice—it sent a shiver through him. It was hers, no doubt about it. He could have recognized it anywhere.
He stood at a distance, watching as she downed the glass in one swift gulp, her fingers gripping the empty glass as if trying to hold on to something far more elusive.
“One more,” she said, her voice steady, but there was an edge to it—something raw and unguarded.
The bartender frowned but obliged, pouring another glass. She tossed it back just as quickly.
“In fact,” Eliana said, placing a piece of gold on the counter, “just give me the whole bottle.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Careful with that,” he warned. “It’s strong.”
She scoffed. “Strong is exactly what I need right now.”
She grabbed the bottle and turned—only to find herself face-to-face with Remus. Their eyes locked. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, suspended in the charged space between them. The bottle slipped from her grasp, but before it could hit the floor, Remus caught it with a quick flick of his hand.
“Careful with that,” he echoed the bartender's words, offering her a small, shy smile as he handed the bottle back to her.
Eliana stood there, stunned, her expression unreadable. She blinked, seemingly unsure of what to say, then turned back to the bar, grabbing an empty glass. After a long pause, she took a deep breath and finally spoke.
“Shall we... sit?” she asked quietly.
Remus frowned, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He hadn’t expected her to rush into his arms, not after everything, but he hadn’t expected her to be so... indifferent. They found a quiet, dimly lit corner, away from the crowd, and sat down. The air between them felt thick, like an unspoken question hanging there, unanswered.
“I didn’t know you were in London,” Remus said, breaking the silence. His voice was softer than he intended, as if he feared that if he didn’t speak, she might vanish again.
“You weren’t supposed to know,” she replied, pouring the fire whiskey into two glasses and sliding one toward him.
He took it, feeling the warmth of the liquid as he sipped, the heat spreading through his chest. “How long have you been here?” he asked.
“I arrived yesterday,” she said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Remus frowned. “Do you come to London often?”
Her eyes stayed fixed on her drink. “First time in five years,” she muttered. “I wasn’t supposed to ever come back.”
That, he had guessed.
“So, why are you here?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the years between them.
She took another sip, her gaze distant. “It’s Clara’s birthday. I came to visit her.”
“Clara’s in London?” Remus was genuinely surprised. Eliana’s younger sister had left the city around the same time she did.
“She’s been here for two years now,” Eliana replied, finally looking up at him. “She studied healing in America, but she got an opportunity to be a resident at St. Mungo’s.”
Remus felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t known. He’d never seen Clara in all this time, never even heard whispers of her name.
“Usually, she comes back to Italy for her birthday, but this year she’s on call, so I thought I’d surprise her,” Eliana continued, her voice quieter now, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on her.
“And you?” Remus asked, his voice low. “You’re in Italy now?”
She nodded, but there was no warmth in the gesture. He had thought she had returned to her family after leaving London, but he didn’t know where nor did he have the means to search for her. Over time, he had accepted that she was gone, that she didn’t want to be found.
“I looked for you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The first year. I wrote to your parents. They sold the house, and I couldn’t find where you had gone. I wanted to write, but—”
Eliana reached out, her hand resting on his. The touch was sudden, unexpected, and he nearly flinched from the warmth of it. He hadn’t felt her touch in years.
She used to be so kind to him. They’d study together when Sirius was too tired to care. They’d spend whole nights in the library, preparing for the next test. Often, they’d compare their answers and have burst of laughs. And when she had guessed his condition, she never pulled back, on the contrary, she used to help him and the boys prepare for the full moon. She took care of him after, bringing him hot chocolate the following mornings after a transformation.
“I left for a reason, Remus,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of something final, something unspoken. “I didn’t want to be found.”
“Why?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly.
She looked away, her fingers slipping from his hand as quickly as they had touched it. Remus could see the hurt in her eyes, the grief she had carried for so long. She had been mourning—Sirius, their future, everything she had lost—but was it enough to leave without a word? Was the pain of losing Sirius worth abandoning everything else?
She didn’t answer the question burning on his lips, but she took his hand, her touch soft, hesitant. “I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered.
He knew she had been angry—angry with him for not believing in Sirius’s innocence, for standing against her when she had tried so hard to defend the man she loved. Their last conversation had been bitter, sharp words exchanged like hexes. She had called him a horrible friend, accused him of betraying Sirius’s memory, of believing that his best friend could be capable of murder and treachery. And he, in his grief, had thrown her words back at her, refusing to believe that she could still defend the man who had killed Peter, who had betrayed James and Lily’s trust. Who had made his own godson an orphan.
Remus shook his head, squeezing her hand gently. “I didn’t mean to either.”
She laughed softly, but it was a sad, hollow sound. She pulled her hand away, running her fingers nervously through her dark hair. “I didn’t plan on seeing you again,” she admitted. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”
“You must have known I wasn’t far...” he replied quietly, studying her face, trying to read the thoughts behind her guarded expression.
She shrugged, her lips curving into a faint, almost wistful smile. “To be honest, Remus, I thought you’d have left London by now. You never liked it here.”
She was right, of course. He had always craved the quiet solitude of the countryside, the peace it offered compared to the chaos of city life. But circumstances had tied him to this place. “I don’t really have a choice at the moment.”
Eliana’s gaze flickered with curiosity, but she didn’t push. She could see the weariness in his face, the gauntness in his frame, and he didn’t want to burden her with the details of his life. Not after all this time.
“So,” he said, changing the subject as he poured them another round of fire whiskey, “what are you doing now, back home?”
She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words. “I’m a barrister,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady.
Of course she was, Remus thought. She had always had a fierce sense of justice, always fighting for the underdog. It seemed fitting. She studied him with a small, knowing smile. “It suits me, don’t you think?”
She had not been able to fight for Sirius.
Remus smiled back, but there was something faint about it, as if he couldn’t quite summon the warmth he used to feel. “And are you happy?” he asked, his eyes falling to her left hand, where he had noticed the glint of a ring earlier.
Eliana glanced down at the ring, as if surprised to see it there herself. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I am.”
“He’s a lucky man,” Remus said, his tone genuine, though there was a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.
Her expression faltered for just a moment, her gaze clouding over with something unreadable.
They talked for what felt like hours, dancing around the past, avoiding the name that hung between them like a shadow. They didn’t dare speak of Sirius, both too afraid that the mention of him would reignite the pain and bitterness that had driven them apart all those years ago. Eliana tried, more than once, to ask about Remus—how he was really doing—but it was clear she already knew. She could see the struggle etched into his skin.
At one point, she offered to order dinner, but Remus refused, his pride too strong to accept her charity, especially from her. He could feel her pity, and he hated it. The night wore on, and eventually, Ellie glanced out the window, watching as the sky darkened and snow began to fall, dusting the streets in a soft, silent white.
“I should go,” she said, standing up reluctantly.
Remus rose with her. “Let me walk you outside,” he offered.
She shook her head. “There’s no need.”
But Remus reached for her hand, and she let him take it. His eyes locked onto hers, his voice low and serious. “If this is the last time I see you, Ellie, at least let me walk with you. I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye last time.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
Outside, the air was crisp, the snowflakes catching the glow of the Christmas lights strung along the street. The festive scene felt oddly out of place, the cheerful lights at odds with the heaviness between them. Eliana walked beside him in silence for a while, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Are you living far from here?” she asked, glancing sideways at him. “I’m just around the corner. Maybe we could walk together?”
“I’m fine,” Remus said, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
She stopped, then, looking up at him with concern. Before he could protest, she stepped into his arms, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. He rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume, a familiar comfort from a time long past.
“I can’t shake the feeling that you’re not,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her green eyes shimmered with tears, and for a moment, Remus felt something in him break.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said lightly, scoffing to cover the ache in his chest. He pointed to the old red car parked just a few feet away. “I’ve got all I need.”
Eliana pulled away from him, frowning as she walked up to the car, her brow furrowed. “Is this... yours?”
“Not bad, eh?” Remus said with a laugh, trying to brush it off.
But it was absurd. She came from a world of wealth and privilege, and here he was, trying to play off the fact that he was living out of a beat-up car.
“Well, it’s got style, I’ll give you that,” she said with a soft smile, but then her expression shifted. She peered through the windows of the car, her face growing serious.
“Remus,” she asked, her voice quiet, “are you... living in your car?”
He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “It’s just temporary,” he said, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.
Eliana stepped closer, her hand finding his once again. Her face was filled with concern, the same look she used to give him at Hogwarts, whenever she worried for his well-being.
All those years, always worrying about him.
And here she was, still doing it.
She wore the same worried look when Sirius would show too much affection towards her in front of him. She always glanced at Remus, a quick look to make sure he was alright. And every time, he ignored it—ignored that pitiful gaze he despised so much.
“Let me show you something,” she said, her voice soft but firm.
She took his hand, and together they walked through the blurry, illuminated streets. The night felt strange, the lights of the city glowing brighter than usual, casting everything in an almost dreamlike haze. They stopped in front of an old Victorian building, its weathered brickwork speaking of better days. Without a word, Eliana opened the front door, and Remus stepped in, his heart heavy but his feet following her without hesitation.
The entrance led through a narrow, dimly lit hallway with a winding staircase, where the sounds of distant conversations echoed faintly from above. Inside, the flat was modest but charming. Tall sash windows framed the streets below, and the living room, with its classic crown mouldings, felt warm despite the unused fireplace. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet.
“Clara’s rented this place when she came back to London,” Eliana said as she flicked on the lights with a casual wave of her hand. “But she moved in with her partner six months ago, so now she just uses it as storage. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s comfortable.”
“It’s nice,” Remus murmured, still standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Ellie frowned and gestured for him to come in properly. “Please, make yourself at home.”
Remus cleared his throat and stepped further inside, still cautious, as if he were afraid he might knock something over or leave a mark where he didn’t belong. Eliana removed her black cloak, revealing an all-black outfit underneath. The simplicity made her seem almost otherworldly in the soft light.
“There’s a small living room here, the kitchen’s just over there,” she said, pointing to a tiny space to her right. “An office through that door, and a decent-sized bedroom next to it. The bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”
As she spoke, Remus couldn’t help but wonder why she was describing all this to him. This was the kind of flat he couldn’t even dream of renting. He wasn’t sure why she had brought him here—until he felt something cold press into his hand. Looking down, he saw a key.
“What—”
“Clara’s moving to France in a couple of months,” Eliana explained, cutting him off before he could protest. “There’s still two years left on the lease, and it’s a nightmare finding someone reliable to sublet. The owner’s a witch who only rents to people like us. It would be a waste to leave it empty when I know you could use it.”
Remus shook his head, immediately trying to hand the key back to her. “I can’t accept this. It’s a kind offer, but—”
“But what?” she interrupted; her tone sharp but not unkind. “It’s almost winter, Remus. You can’t live in your car. I won’t allow it.”
He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping before he could stop it. “You haven’t cared where I’ve lived for the last five years. Why now?”
The words sounded harsher than he had intended, but he couldn’t take them back.
Eliana didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem angry, just... resigned. “I understand why you’d feel that way,” she said softly. “I know I’ve hurt you, but believe me, Remus, I didn’t want to leave you behind like that. It wasn’t just my choice.”
“Then why did you?” His voice was low, but the question cut through the space between them like a knife.
She sighed, running a hand through her long hair. “I was angry. Angry that you could believe such awful things about him.” She didn’t dare speak his name. “I needed you to fight with me, to at least give him a chance, to hear his side of the story. And when you didn’t... I felt like I was losing everything. You didn’t just turn your back on him—you left me alone too.”
Remus closed his eyes for a moment, trying to stave off the familiar sting of guilt. It was the same argument they’d had all those years ago, and yet here it was again, haunting them both.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the friend you needed. I’m sorry I abandoned you.” He held out the key again, offering it back. “But I can’t accept this, Ellie. I don’t need your pity.”
She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Pity?” she echoed. “Is that really what you think this is?”
What else could it be?
“You’ve always tried to protect me,” Remus said quietly, his voice strained. “Even back at Hogwarts. I know you knew... how I felt.”
He hesitated, but there was no need to finish. She knew. She had always known how he felt—how much he wished she didn’t love Sirius the way she did. And how much he wished Sirius didn’t love her back just as fiercely. They were soulmates, and it had always crushed him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
“This isn’t pity, Remus,” she said, sitting down on the couch, her fingers pressing into her temples as though she could push away the weight of the conversation. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “It’s care. It’s love. I can’t stand the idea of you being homeless, living in your car. I had no idea things were this bad.”
Remus sighed, his exhaustion overwhelming him. He sat down too, sinking into the cushions beside her, his body heavy with the burden of everything left unsaid.
“Has it been this way since I left?” she asked, her gaze fixed on him.
He shook his head, not wanting her to carry the full weight of his struggles. But he didn’t have the strength to lie, either. The truth was somewhere in between, and as they sat in the quiet flat, the years of pain and silence between them felt heavier than ever.
“It was fine for a while,” he began, hesitating. “But being what I am… you know. People fear me. They’re right to.”
Eliana edged closer, her expression softening as she reached for his hand. “No one should fear you.”
Remus gave a hollow laugh. “I’m a monster, Ellie. Quite literally.”
Her hand moved to his chin, gently turning his face toward hers. “Look at me,” she said firmly. “You are not a monster. You’re the kindest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever known.”
“Kindness doesn’t matter much when I turn into a wild animal every full moon,” he muttered, eyes drifting to the window. “Even with wolfsbane, I’m just a shadow of myself, too drained to do anything but exist.”
His gaze traced the night sky, as if searching for answers in the stars. “It’s coming again… two days from now. I’m already worn out. Everything hurts.”
Eliana’s voice broke as she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
“It is what it is,” Remus replied, standing slowly and moving toward the door.
“Stay,” she called after him, her voice trembling.
He paused, eyes closing against the weight of her plea.
“Please, Remus,” she said again, stepping closer. “Let this be your home, just for a while. Let me give you a chance to rest, to not worry about where you’ll sleep tomorrow.”
His heart clenched painfully. He turned to her, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “There’s only one thing I want, Ellie,” he whispered. “Don’t leave. I can’t be alone anymore. I need a friend.”
He broke down, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. Eliana was at his side in an instant, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“I can’t stay, Remus,” she said softly.
He looked down, his heart sinking further. He knew she had a life elsewhere, with someone waiting for her. Someone she loved.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice hollow.
Ellie gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t want to see you again,” she admitted, her gaze locking with his. “I was terrified of this moment…”
“Am I that frightening?” he tried to joke, though his heart wasn’t in it.
She traced the scar on his face with a gentle touch. “Not at all,” she whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re everything but.”
Her hand lingered on his skin, their faces now inches apart. Remus felt the pull, the uncontrollable urge rising within him, the wildness that came with the moon. But he fought it, grounding himself in the moment.
When she kissed his other cheek, the rawness of it nearly undid him. Her breath warmed his neck, and before he could stop himself, he leaned into her, eyes closed against the flood of desire.
“Ellie…” he murmured, his control slipping.
“This is the last time we’ll see each other,” she whispered against his skin. “Don’t ruin it.”
Her hands found his bare skin, fingers tracing the edge of his shirt, moving lower. His mind spun. He felt as though he were betraying the memory of his lost brother, but the weight of her closeness, the tenderness he had craved for so long, was too much to resist. If pity was all she had to offer, then maybe… maybe it was enough.
The memory of one past night haunted him—one of those memories that never faded, no matter how much time passed. It was their last year at Hogwarts. The entire school had descended on Hogsmeade for one last wild celebration, all the houses mingling, no divisions, no rivalries—just freedom and exhilaration. Remus had felt it too, for a while, but exhaustion caught up with him before the night was over. He decided to return to the dorms early, slipping away unnoticed, or so he thought.
He hadn’t realized that Sirius and Ellie weren’t with the rest of the group when he made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower. He had planned to take a long bath and go to bed, hoping to escape the noise and chaos that usually drained him.
But when he opened the dormitory door, something stopped him cold.
There, pinned against the wall, was Eliana. Sirius was with her, moving against her, his breath heavy. Her hands had been tangled in his hair, her back arching into him as if seeking more. Remus had frozen. Sirius’s trousers were bunched around his ankles, his shirt barely covering his body, and Ellie—her clothes had been dishevelled, exposing enough for Remus to know what was happening.
He had been wanting to turn around, to give them their privacy, but something held him in place. Ellie’s eyes met his. For a heartbeat, he was sure she saw him. Her lips parted, and for that brief moment, he swore there was something more than surprise in her gaze. Was it… desire? For him?
No, he had imagined it.
Shaken, he had flown back to the common room, trying to focus on a book, anything to erase the scene from his mind. Half an hour later, Sirius and Ellie had reappeared, laughing as though nothing had happened. Sirius joked about Remus turning in early, while Ellie said nothing, avoiding his gaze completely. He had never brought it up. He convinced himself it was a trick of the light, a figment of his imagination. Surely, she hadn’t seen him at all.
And now, with a broken heart and trembling hands, he gave in.
She was kissing him, and as he pressed his body against hers, he couldn’t help but recall that night—couldn’t help but recreate the image of her against the wall, except this time, it was him pinning her there. His breath came ragged in her ear, and he fought to keep control. He had imagined this for so long—what she might taste like, how her body would feel wrapped around him.
Ellie unbuckled his belt, her hands steady, as his trousers fell to the floor. When she pulled off her shirt, revealing herself to him, he couldn’t breathe. She was perfect. More perfect than he had ever dared to imagine.
For so long, he had envied Sirius, envied him for knowing her in ways Remus never would. But now, with her in front of him, he felt a shame deeper than anything he had known.
But the desire, the wildness in him, wouldn’t be silenced. He bent to kiss her skin—her lips, her neck, her collarbone—his breath hot and uncontrolled. He wasn’t a man anymore. He was something primal, something desperate. Ellie tilted her head back, and he slid his mouth lower, removing the last barrier of clothing between them.
When his lips found the warmth between her legs, her quiet moan broke the silence, sending a shiver down his spine. She grabbed his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue moved between her folds, tasting her. She moaned again, her fingers gripping him tighter, and for a moment, he forgot everything. Forgot who he was, forgot who she was. All that mattered was the taste of her, the feel of her skin under his tongue.
He could stay like this forever, he thought. But the ache between his own legs, the pressure building inside him, refused to be ignored. He stood, lifting her in his arms, carrying her to the couch. Ellie’s legs parted without hesitation, inviting him in. He saw that same look in her eyes—the one he had seen all those years ago. Perhaps, he hadn’t been imagining it after all.
His breath hitched as he nudged at her entrance, and when he pushed into her, they both let out a gasp—surprise and pleasure all at once. He moved slowly at first, trying to remind himself to be gentle, to be soft. But he couldn’t hold back. Not with her. He wanted to feel her completely, to lose himself in her warmth.
Her moans grew louder as he quickened his pace, the sound of his body moving against hers driving him to the edge. She arched beneath him, her breasts rising and falling with each thrust, and he was lost—growling low in his throat, forgetting everything but this moment, this need.
Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her, harder now, his humanity slipping away. And then, he felt her tighten around him, her body trembling with the release he had been chasing.
With her eyes closed, he wondered for a moment if she was thinking of somebody else, of him or the man that awaited her back home.
But Ellie whispered his name in a breathless gasp, and it was all he needed. He followed her over the edge, spilling into her with a moan, his body shaking from the force of it.
For a moment, the world stood still.
As the last waves of pleasure faded, Remus pulled away, his mind reeling. What had he done? His heart pounded in his chest, guilt flooding him as he ran a trembling hand over his face. He wasn’t meant for this—not with her. Not with Ellie. Not with the woman who had once belonged with his best friend.
Eliana leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, her voice soft and broken. “I would have loved you so much, Remus… if I hadn’t loved him.”
“I know,” he whispered, his chest tight.
Her words hit him harder than he expected, words he had longed to hear but never allowed himself to hope for. He had known, from the moment they met, that she would always belong to Sirius and Sirius to her. But to hear her say it—it tore him apart.
“In another life, maybe,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
He let out a bitter chuckle. “Maybe.”
“I wanted this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I hope you did too.”
He looked at her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She was beautiful, even in her sadness. But it wasn’t him she loved. It never would be.
“I wish it had been you,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“But it’s him,” he replied.
“It’s always going to be him,” she whispered with a trembling voice.
He nodded, understanding in the pit of his stomach. “I get it.”
Ellie touched his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You deserve to be loved, Remus, if only you could see yourself the way I see you.”
Remus closed his eyes, fighting back the tears. It was selfish to want more from her, to ask her to stay. He knew that now. He’d never have her fully, but this—this was something. Wasn’t it better than nothing?
“One day, you’ll meet someone,” she said softly. “Someone who will love you completely, without fear or hesitation. Please, don’t push them away when you do.”
He let out a hollow laugh, the same words James had told him countless times. It had never felt true, and it didn’t now. No one would accept him, not as he was. But he nodded, if only to make her stop crying.
Ellie kissed him once more, her lips lingering for a moment longer than before. “I don’t think our paths will cross again,” she whispered, tears spilling down her face. “It’s better this way.”
Remus shook his head, his heart aching. His eyes pleaded with her. “This is goodbye, then,” he said, his voice breaking.
She nodded. “This is goodbye.”
Defeated, Remus rested his head against the cushion, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. The weight of exhaustion settled over him like a thick blanket. He felt her arms around him, warm and familiar, offering a fleeting comfort. Ellie’s embrace tightened gently, and she pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.
For a moment, the world seemed to quiet, and he let himself sink into that small, stolen tenderness—something he knew would soon slip away.
“I’m sorry you lost the love of your life,” he said, the words catching in his throat.
Remus quietly surrendered to the sleep that had been tugging at him for too long, its embrace pulling him deeper into a long-overdue rest. As the weight of consciousness slipped away, he felt himself sinking, drifting into the quiet abyss where exhaustion finally gave way to peace.
When Remus woke the next morning, soft sunlight filtered through the window, casting a golden glow across the room. The duvet from the bedroom had been gently draped over him, a small gesture of care left in the silence. The apartment was still, empty.
Ellie was gone.
Rising slowly, he walked to the kitchen, where a folded note lay beside an envelope. His chest tightened as he opened it, reading the words in her familiar handwriting:
“You’re sorry I’ve lost the love of my life, Remus. But I’m sorry you haven’t met yours.”
He hesitated before opening the envelope. Inside, the key to the flat rested, cold and waiting. Etched into its surface was a single word: "Yet."
2. Let me look up real estate listings, so I can plot out subway routes and schedules and see if this walk really is long enough for them to have this conversation.
Soooooo, this is another of my headcanons: I’ve imagined that there was a full moon in the very first week of school of Remus. So he’s just disappeared after the Sorting Ceremony. Once the full Moon passed, he finally was able to attend his classes and this is the first time he met and spoke “ properly” with Sirius!
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- it took me really A LOT to finish it!I’m so overwhelmed with work that I couldn’t work on it constantly! sigh!
Hi! First of all, I really like your writings! Secondly, could I ask for an imagine with Sirius? My idea is this one: Sirius x Reader. They decide to go apart in their relationship during the first Wizarding war. A decision without fight or even verbal violence, more like a mutual decision, but with lots of angst because SB is afraid of losing her and thinks that becoming physically and emotionally distanced will help. You decide whether they get back together or not in the end.
🥺
This is actually a good idea, and I’ve been thinking about it for a while, it just breaks my heart so bad! But yeah, let me work on this 😈! Thank you for the kind words!
Warnings : smut, obviously, unprotected sex, swearing, smoking, alcohol and mild drug use.
Hi love! I did it! Beware, it is quite long, I sort of took the liberty to provide some context, but I hope you'll like it! :)
Masterlist
Sirius is looking back at himself in the mirror, wincing at his reflection. He recognizes his traits sparingly; his dark curls falling to his shoulders, his mocking smirk, his overall nonchalant expression. He knows who he is, but the clothes on his back are completely robbing him of his own identity. He glances bitterly at his beloved leather coat sitting on the back of his desk chair and sighs. The ridiculous black suit he’s wearing barely fits him. He knows it probably used to belong to one of his distant cousins and that it has been quickly and grossly recut to fit him by the house-elf. His parents are downstairs in the drawing room, waiting for him to join them so they can leave for this stupid reception.
He doesn’t even know what it is about, except that he’s going to this apparent important new Ministry guy’s house who threw a sort of lame introduction party, since he just arrived in London with his family. And what he knows is that he’s going to spend the whole night with the type of people he doesn’t want to be assimilated with. From what he heard, the host of the reception just arrived at the Ministry of Magic to help with the passing of some bill for Muggleborn regulations, as awful as it sounds. He’d like to avoid to go, but Walburga has the upper hand on him, and nothing in the world would convince his dear mother to leave her eldest son behind, knowing full well that if she does so, Sirius is going to get the fuck out of there and join these Muggles mingling Potters fools.
‘You look dapper,’ says a soft voice behind him.
Standing in the doorway, Sirius’ youngest brother observes him, grinning.
‘Shut up,’ he replies, annoyed by the stupid smile on Regulus’ face.
His brother crosses his arms and steps into his bedroom. He looks around like he just stepped into some kind of freak show. His gaze rests a little longer on a certain poster. Sirius glances at the Muggle woman dressed in a revealing red swimsuit standing straight in the middle of the picture. He smirks, and caught-red handed, Regulus turns away quickly. She always was his brother's favourite, after all. Whether he wants to admit it or not.
‘Are you going to behave this time?’ he asks, stepping in front of his eldest brother.
Sirius shrugs, trying to adjust the bowtie strangling him. For Merlin’s sake, he thinks, it feels like he’s suffocating already.
‘I always behave, brother dear,’ he replies, trying to undo the knot around his neck. ‘I just don’t behave the way they’d like me to,' referring to their parents.
Regulus shakes his head and starts fiddling with his brother’s bowtie and adjust it perfectly in one fell swoop, as if it were child’s play. Once the knot is properly buckled, he taps Sirius’ chest in an encouraging gesture, and frowns when he feels something hard hidden in the inside pocket of his brother’s vest.
‘Really?’ he asks.
Sirius snorts.
‘Just a bit of courage,’ he admits.
‘And how much courage did you drink already?’
‘Not enough, apparently,’ Sirius replies, thinking about the full flask of warm whiskey tucked inside his suit.
He’d honestly rather be stuck in detention with Snivellus for the rest of his existence then go to this lame-ass party. That alone justifies the whiskey amply.
After a few detours in the city, he finds himself in front of an imposing white manor situated in one of London’s richest Square. Oh, this is going to be a long night, he thinks. Not only it seems like the host is wizard-rich, but he’s also everything rich, period. He rolls his eyes, there’s no issue. Walburga is pressing her long and emaciated fingers into his son’s arm as they step into the great hall of the house. The interior is as posh as the exterior, with its grand marble staircase curving up to the upper floor and its giant diamond-like chandelier hanging over their heads. For God’s sake, is it a live classical assemble he hears playing in the back? As his mother pushes him further inside, the sound of light chatter reaches his ears. He sees his father, dressed in his horrible robes, already on his way to speak with some old acquaintances, quickly followed by Regulus. He scans the principal room for a quiet corner, but it’s filled with this bunch of pricks, and he’s fighting with all his might the panic that is taking over his mind. He finally spots a free corner next to a big window and he walks straight ahead in that direction, hoping no one will recognize him on the way.
‘I heard his son has found some work as a doctor,’ he hears a shrill voice say.
‘A Muggle doctor? How peculiar!’ says another voice.
This is exactly the kind of chatter Sirius doesn’t want to hear. In no way he thinks he’s superior because he was graced with magic powers at birth. It is so suffocating, and he feels so incredibly small and inadequate, drowning in this sea of close-minded guests.
He studies them, recognizes some familiar faces from Hogwarts, but most of them are Slytherins and are not close at all to use them as an escape. A waiter walks in front of him, holding a tray where champagne flutes fill themselves up. He grabs one and drink it in one sip. He’s already quite tipsy, but he doesn’t care. He’d rather be intoxicated right now to bury this hatred deep within. God, he needs air.
He sees Walburga looking for him in the room, and she’s walking next to a tall and handsome man. For Godric’s sake, why is she walking straight in his direction? The man next to her doesn’t look as old as his mother, but the grey strands in his black hair betrays his age. He looks posh, and haughty.
‘This is my eldest son, Sirius,’ says his mother in a toneless voice. ‘Sirius, this his our host, Mr Santorini.’
‘Pleased to meet your, Mr Black,’ says the man while he extends his hand.
Sirius gets up on his feet, subtly struggling to find his balance, under the duo’s concerned stare. He rapidly and weakly shakes the man’s hand and nods. Ashamed, Walburga shoots darts at her son and quickly turns away from him.
‘My youngest, Regulus, is doing quite well at Hogwarts, see, he’s - ...’ her voice fades away.
Sirius closes his eyes; he needs to find some distraction. And what could be better than the little thing he has brought to the party that is currently hidden in his pocket behind the whiskey flask? He needs to feel something else than the dreadful thoughts he has right now. He struts to the giant marble staircase and finds his way on the upper level without attracting attention to him. That is one advantage when no one cares about you; not being seen. The voices downstairs are slowly fading away and he feels already so much better.
He runs a nervous hand in his dark locks, feeling quite hot, with this bowtie strangling him. There must be a door leading outside. He tries to open the first one on his right, but the handle doesn’t bulge; it’s locked. And Walburga has confiscated his wand at the beginning of the summer upon his return from Hogwarts, so there’s no use. He sighs and adventures further away in the hall.
He has more luck with the second door, and finds himself into a deserted bedroom. His eyes make out the giant bed over the central wall of the room, and spots some sealed boxes on the floor. The translucent curtains discreetly veil the large windows in front of him, and he opens one widely and lights himself a cigarette without a care, pacing into the room nervously. He sees some pictures resting on a vintage dresser on the opposite wall. There are rows of books in the built-in bookcases, and even some disperse vinyls taking up some of the space. He’s clearly trespassing someone’s intimacy, but whose? Sirius walks to the dresser and opens up the first drawer. A tickling feeling in his stomach at the sight of the several underwear – even in the darkness – makes him wonder how long has it been since he’s been intimate with someone. The last time was before school ended, with Mallory, and it was just snogging. He never went all the way... He chuckles discreetly at the thought and taps the ashes of his cigarette on the floor. Fuck this house, fuck this bedroom, and fuck this posh Pureblood family.
‘Mm, mm.’
Someone has cleared their throat behind him. He jumps, and tries to hide the cigarette away.
‘Please, don’t stop for me,’ says a girl in the doorway.
He can’t make up her traits in the darkness, but she sounds young. She steps right in front of him.
‘I don’t think you should be up here,’ she says.
He feels like a child, caught red-handed. He feels suddenly very trapped.
‘I heard the owner of this house is quite severe,’ she adds, taking the cigarette away from him, inhaling the smoke into her lungs, and exhaling. ‘If he found us in his daughter’s room, I think he’d torture us without any remorse.’
‘His daughter’s room?’ he replies nervously.
She nods, giving him back his cigarette.
‘A real pest.’
There is an awkward silence.
‘What were you doing here?’ she adds.
‘Looking for a way out,’ he replies in all honesty. ‘What about you?’
‘Just about the same.’ She glances at the cigarette. ‘You might want to put it out now.’
‘I really don’t,’ he replies, taking one last whiff, ‘but when do I get what I want anyway?’
He throws it on the hard-wood floor indifferently and follows the stranger in the hallway. She turns around to take a good look at him.
‘I’m Y/N, by the way – ‘
He feels like his legs are going to flinch. He doesn’t know if it’s the sudden nicotine rush, or the champagne mixed with the whiskey, or the lights in the hallway shinning over Y/N’s green doe eyes staring at him, or her long black hair waving on her back, or her delicious pink lips, or the gentle freckles on her nose, but he’s suddenly feeling quite light-headed.
‘You okay there?’ she laughs. ‘What’s your name?’
He shakes his head, trying to regain his thoughts.
‘I’m, er. I’m Si – ‘should he really tell her his real name? ‘I’m Sid.’
‘Sid,’ she repeats. ‘Well, Sid, you don’t look too good.’
‘I don’t feel too good,’ he admits.
Her expression changes. She’s not amused anymore. She’s pitying him.
‘Follow me,’ she says, grabbing his hand like she has known him forever, dragging him to the end of the wall where they cross a door and end up on a small balcony overlooking the deserted garden.
‘How to you know this place?’ he asks, resting his arms on the guardrail, humming the fresh crisp air.
‘Hung out with the pest earlier,’ she replies.
‘Not anymore?’
‘Told you, she’s a pest. I can’t leave, though. I’m sort of stuck here.’
‘So am I.’
She laughs lightly. The moonlight shines on her beautiful face, and her traits are so soft, and if he was much more like himself, he’d try to charm her the way he knows how.
‘So, Sid. What are we avoiding?’ she asks away.
‘My parents, I guess,’ he replies, taking out the flask of whiskey of his pocket.
He takes a big sip and hands it to her. She considers it for a moment and grabs it. The wind flies through her hair, and her perfume reaches his nostrils, a perfectly well-balanced mix of vanilla and gentle notes of citrus. The fragrance shoots up his nose and wafts around his brain. Fuck, she’s so beautiful.
‘What about them?’ she asks away, wincing when she swallows the liquor.
He snorts. He doesn’t want to talk about his parents right now. Not when the prettiest girl he’s ever seen is standing right in front of him. He has something else on his mind now.
‘Your accent,’ he says, switching subjects. ‘It’s not from here.’
Y/N nods.
‘I grew up all over the place, but mostly America.’
‘You don’t sound American.’
She smiles, revealing a straight row of perfectly pearly white teeth.
‘My family, we’re from Sicily.’
He nods.
‘It’s in Italy – ‘
‘I know where Sicily is, I’m not stupid,’ he replies harshly, a bit offended.
But Y/N chuckles lightly, and her soft laugh brings his attitude down. He can’t help but stare at her. She’s a bit overdressed to his taste, but hey, so is he. He wonders what is hiding underneath that navy dress of hers, and if her skin is as soft as he imagines it is. He needs to calm down.
‘First time in London, then?’
She nods.
‘What do you think?’ he asks, locking eyes with her.
She licks her lower lip without realizing it.
‘Well, I don’t hate the accent,’ she teases.
Praised be Godric.
‘Tell me, Sid, you seem to be about my age, yet you’re drunk like an old man with a drinking problem, and you probably smoke like a city boy. I keep wondering if I really should be alone with you right now.’
‘Are you afraid?’ he asks.
She shakes her head.
‘Rarely.’
‘To be honest, Y/N,’ he says, pronouncing every syllable of her name like he could actually taste it, ‘I was alone up there to find a quiet spot for this.’
He shows up the joint between his fingers. She squints for a short moment and smiles.
‘I see.’
Y/N’s eyes bored into him. He wonders if he has crossed a line. He barely knows her, after all.
‘Let’s go somewhere more private, then,’ she suggests, grabbing his hand. He doesn’t even have the time to appreciate the softness of her skin when he feels himself disapparating, his body swirling in every direction, and a sudden urge of panic takes hold off him. When he reapparates in a loud pop, he shouts:
‘What the hell are you doing? Are you bloody insane?’
‘What, did you never apparate before?’
‘Yes, I did but -,’ he is freaking out, Walburga must think he’s left and is probably fulminating. ‘My mother, she’s going to hex me! Bring us back!’
‘Why?’ Eliana asks, intrigued. ‘How would she know?’
Sirius shakes his head nervously.
‘She placed some sort of charm on me, I’m not allowed to leave her sight. If she knows I left the premises, she’ll find me and – ‘
He stops himself from saying too much. Perhaps it would be a bit intense to share with the girl what would Walburga do to him. At least, he wouldn’t have to explain the healing bruises on his ribcage.
‘Relax, Sid. We’re still on the premises.’
He looks around and spots the house in the distance through a small window. Are they in some sort of guest house? A garden shed? There is nothing around him, he’s just standing on a mat. Relieved, he sits down, running a hand in his hair. Y/N joins him and creates a small fire by flicking her wand, enough to dimly light the room they are in.
‘You’re actually scared of your parents. Why?’
Sirius chuckles. He’s not scared, he’s terrified of them. She points out the little stick he forgot he was holding between his fingers.
‘Shall we?’ she suggests.
‘Who says I want to share?’
She pouts adorably. He lights it up and he takes a good breath of the substance and exhales slowly, indulging the heavy smoke, his lungs burning, and a light sensation rushes to his head. Them Muggles can also do magic, he thinks to himself. Under her curious eyes, he passes the stick in her delicate hands, and observes her. Her delicious lips reach it, and she slowly breathes it in. She starts coughing, tears running to her eyes.
‘Wait,’ he laughs, ‘is this your first time?’
She presses her hand to her rounded chest, laughing uncontrollably. Sirius shakes his head, following her laugh, and explains to her how to actually get the smoke to her lungs.
‘There, yes – keep it still a second, let it -, yes, good,’ it’s like teaching children how to mount a broom, ‘and exhale. Brilliant.’
He waits a second before taking another whiff. Y/N’s mouth curves into a smile and she closes her eyes slowly.
‘Oh,’ she exhales, ‘this is – ‘
‘I know,’ replies Sirius, smiling. ‘I know.’
‘Oh,’ she repeats.
He stares at her, admiring her delicate features. Her eyes are still closed and he sees her falling on her back, completely relaxed. If his mother saw him right now, smoking pot with a random girl he met at this rich guy’s party, she’d have a good reason to use the Cruciatus curse on him for once. Or she’d cut his head before he could say he’s sorry. He decides to join Y/N and rests his back on the floor. He lays his head just beside hers and fixes the ceiling. He feels better now, and it’s not just the drugs.
‘I feel so heavy,’ she says, sliding her hands on her naked arms.
She turns her head and looks at him.
‘Do you feel heavy?’
‘Kind of,’ he laughs.
He doesn’t particularly feel heavy. In fact, he feels relieved, and mostly, he feels horny. Good god.
‘What is there to do in London at night?’ she asks.
‘Mm,’ he hesitates. ‘Pubs, clubs, walking around Southbank, I guess.’
‘Never went to a pub,’ she admits.
He wants to run his finger on her cheek. He wants to grab her face and press his lips on hers.
‘You’re kidding,’ he replies, still fixing that beautiful mouth of hers.
She shakes her head lightly, and a stroke of her long hair falls in her eyes. Her little red stained eyes. He smiles at the view, and slowly leans closer, replacing the stroke of black hair behind her ear.
‘I’ll bring you to a pub, one day,’ he mutters, daydreaming out loud.
‘Wouldn’t you mother kill you if you did?’ she jokes.
‘She would. It would be worth the risk, though.’
She turns on her stomach and rests her head on her hands. He keeps staring at her, detailing everything.
‘What are you looking at?’ she chuckles.
‘Just admiring the view,’ he replies frankly.
She would blush if she wasn’t all flustered already. There’s an odd adrenaline spluttering inside of him as he feels her close, and his pulse quickens and he’s feeling so hot right now, he’s melting into the rug. There’s a comfortable silence between them, and they both enjoy it for a couple of minutes. There is something about this girl, this nonchalant attitude, and her mesmerizing eyes, and her accent, and the way her body moves when she finally sits down again, pulling her dress over her thighs to sit comfortably, making him lose his fucking mind. If he weren’t so distracted by her presence, he’d be sweet talking to her, like he’s so used to do with other girls. But he’s simply incapable of doing so, like she’s robbed him of his means.
‘We should go back, they’re going to be looking for us,’ she whispers, showing him her hand to help him sit back.
But he doesn’t want to go back and mingle with the people he hates. He wants to be alone with her, if it is just to stay motionless on this rug in her company. He takes her hand and sits back up, and their eyes lock again, and they stare at each other, and he’s wondering if he’s hallucinating someone so perfect to help him cope with this emptiness he feels all the time. She absentmindedly licks her lips, taunting him, and he has to remind himself how to breathe, as his lips quirk hesitantly, sighing out loud to stop himself from pining her underneath him.
‘Yeah,’ he stutters, like a fucking coward, and then he clears his throat and steadies his pulse and sternly instructs himself to get it together, dude. James would be laughing at him if he saw him right now.
But they both stay there, motionless. He can feel the drugs running away from his bloodstream, he’s on another high now, another rush, and it has nothing to do with it. He can’t stop staring at her lips. Her expression washes over him in waves, and he pins a hesitant smile on his face, hoping it will distract her from the bulge growing down there.
‘Or we could just, you know, stay here for a while,’ she suggests.
For fuck’s sake.
He’s only able to gulp and nod, his cock painfully growing thick through the fabric. He tries to hide the bump by placing his arm over his legs, but instead it catches her attention down there, and her eyes quickly spots it, but she innocently acts like she’s unaware of the effect she has on him. If he could only smack his lips on hers.
Her emerald eyes are wide open, she leans in and presses her soft lips on his, and he’s never felt so relieved in his entire life, her mouth is warm and soft, and he can actually run his hands in her soft hair, and he can hear his heart hammering in his ears, and she actually lets out a discreet moan in his mouth, and fuck, there he is, gone, he knows there is no way back from there.
He feels her hands slowly unbuckling his belt and removing those atrocious trousers, and he follows through, pulling up her dress to reveal her skin. He removes his shirt, he has dreamt all night to rip it off his body from the second he put it on, and now she’s pushing him on his back on the hard rug and places kisses in the crook of his neck, sliding her tongue all the way down, and he knows where she’s heading, but he can’t let her do that, or he’s going to cum already. He grabs her head softly, and while he’s busy sticking his tongue into her mouth, he’s unclasps her top, tosses it on the floor, and starts licking her round breasts, circling her hard nipples with his tongue. He realizes it is actually the first time he’s allowed to touch naked breasts, and Merlin, this is so much better when there’s no fabric covering them.
He pins her small body under him, and he slowly moves down on her. He admires her ribcage moving up and down, and he can hears her heavy breathing, and he feels like he can’t hold it anymore. He runs his lips on her skin, down her stomach, to the birth of her underwear, pulling them down very gently. Sirius can’t believe he just met her a couple of hours ago; he feels like he has been desiring her for an eternity. There was a before her, and there’s now – and all the shit he’s been dealing with since school ended is now tucked away in the back of his mind. He caresses with his lips the soft bump between her legs, indulging the new sensation, and then just takes a mouthful of her sex. Her breathing stops, her ribcage is suspended for a second, and then she breathes out and grabs the back of his head while he tastes her. It’s sweet, and warm, and wet, and salty at the same time, and it’s so fucking good.
She’s squirming and writhing beneath him, her subtle moans amplifying. The gasps she makes sends sparks of unbearable pleasure through him, and he feels dizzy, like his heart is about to explode, ready to jump out of his chest at any moment. He slides one finger into her, and then another, and she spams around his fingers. He observes her perfect body tensing at his touch, cupping one breast with one hand while she orgasms into his mouth, her fluids mixing with his saliva. Her face is flushed and her pupils are dilated, and he could very well be on this high for the rest of his existence. But she places kisses on his lips, tasting herself on him, and his cock is so hard, he can’t help but groan when he feels her hand grabs his sex through the fabric of his underwear, slowly stroking him. It is pure torture.
He feels the small piece of clothing covering him sliding down his legs, and he kicks it on the floor. She stares at him in the eyes and licks her fingers, then moves her hand down there again, gently applying pressure on his hard-on. Sirius’ head tilt to the back, blood rushes through him. That is a different story when it’s someone’s else hand, isn’t?
She lays down in front of him, and he follows her as she guides is cock at the entrance of her sex, and it’s so wet, how is he going to pull through? He’s shaking with apprehension but pure pleasure. She suddenly frowns.
‘Wait,’ she hesitates, ‘is this your first time?’
He nods. There’s so point in lying.
‘Do you want to stop?’
Of course, he doesn’t want to stop. He shakes his head, and her face lits up.
They kiss and he presses the tip of his cock into her, slowly, to get every sensation right, and he closes his eyes and, oh this feels so fucking good, and he can’t help but exhales of relief when he feels the warmth, and he hears her gasping underneath him. He’s sinking into her, and she pushes his length even farther by raising her hips. Why does it feel so good? He starts to pace inside her, like he has known what to do forever, increasing the tempo, and she moans under him. He moves swiftly now, trying with all his might to not just release himself off the pressure. She throws her head back into the rug, he feels sweat pearling at the birth of his forehead, his locks fall into his eyes, and he accelerates his pace and presses her legs on her stomach, and oh my god, this is even better.
She presses her right hand on his chest, running her fingers over his hard stomach, avoiding the bruises, detailing each parcel of his body. She looks back up and pushes her lips on his, and their tongues meet, and he’s completely melting into her. She finally bucks her hips tightly and Sirius hisses, he can’t hold up anymore. Oh, he wants to hear her say his name – if only he had given his real one – but she lets a loud ‘fuck’ escape her mouth, and she’s damp with sweat, and he never seen something so beautiful, he slams into her harder and faster, he groans while his grip tightens around her delicate waist. He feels almost he’s in pain and something stronger than life itself is burning him; yes, he’s burning up down there, he can’t hold it anymore, his whole body is on fire, he glances at her one last time, and he lets out a guttural growl, while feeling his insides pushing his soul out, and for a short moment, he thinks he’s dying, spilling his warm seed into her, filling her up while’s he petrified, hanging between dream and reality, thinking his heart stopped beating.
It is only half an hour later that he comes back to the manor, flustered and feeling out of his body, followed by Y/N. She’s even prettier under the warm lights, blushed cheeks, and he relives in his mind what just happened over and over again. That wasn’t bad for a first time, he thinks.
‘Y/N! Papà has been looking for you forever, where were you?’, a young girl is staring at her.
She shares similar traits with Y/N, but she looks younger, about Regulus’ age. Her arms are crossed, and she observes Sirius oddly, in a manner that makes him believe she can easily guess what Y/N was doing all the time they’ve been away.
‘Where is he?’ asks Y/N.
The young girl points at the host, the man he shook hands with earlier, speaking with Sirius’ father and a couple of older men in the corner of the room.
‘Clara,’ mumbles Y/N with a threatening expression. ‘non dire niente a Papà.’
The young girl rolls her eyes and leaves them. Sirius frowns. Wait a minute, is this girl...
‘Didn’t you tell me the host’s daughter was -’ he mumbles, feeling his hands becoming moist.
Hi! :) There you go! I am sorry about the end, I really couldn't help it, I hope you'll forgive me!
For any pending requests, I am very sorry about the delay. As it turns out, my job is taking a lot of my time. When I started this blog, I was still a Uni student, avoiding her studies and essays by writing her fantasy world - but now you know... Adult life is in the way. But I still do want to write and always will be. Just a little less often...
Masterlist
'Stella!' you mumble under your breath.
You know very well that begging the child to stop running around is futile, but you can't help but scold her. She is no longer a fragile little being that you were once afraid to break with your simple touch. Now this same little person babbles, knows how to walk, and takes great pleasure in knocking all the objects that are in her path, as if every time she'd expect something else than those objects falling to the ground in a disturbing crash. You close the book you are trying to study and take a good look at her. It takes your breath away every time. The little dark curls around her head and her piercing grey eyes, the smirk on her face when she's goofing around. Her warm laugh... It takes all the negative away.
But your tone was too harsh when you said her name out loud and now the child's lips are starting to quiver. You shake your head, preparing to face the tears as as the shrill cry of your daughter leaves its way to your ears. You feel like you're about to cry as well when the front door of your little flat opens. Through the doorway you see Sirius, putting his helmet on the floor, and an innocent smile spreads across his lips. He whispers something, but you can't hear him through the incessant crying of Stella. He tiptoes to you both and takes the child away from you. Taken aback, her crying suddenly stops and a big smile takes shape on her little red face.
'What happened there, bunny?' he asks with a soft voice as he wipes the tears away from her delicate face.
You shrug and sigh.
'I wouldn't let her play with the fish food.'
Sirius snorts.
'Oh,' he laughs while looking at his daughter. 'I didn't know Stella was a fish, are you a fishy, Stella?' He starts to tickle her. 'Are you a fish?'
The child laughs warmly. He scoops over and presses his lips on yours. You feel relieved. You don't even have to ask him; he's already putting the child in her high chair while he goes in the kitchen to prepare her tea.
'What's on the menu, bunny?' he shouts while he rumbles in the little fridge. 'Carrots?' He shakes his head. 'Nah.'
Stella looks at him, completely fascinated.
'Oh! Chicken and peas!' he exclaims, holding a little pot of a questionable colour. He stares at the pot for a coupe of seconds.
'Definitely not,' he says.
'No,' you repeat, laughing.
'HA!' Sirius shows another little pot in his hand. 'I feel like it is a sweet potato kind of night, wouldn't you say bunny?' He flicks his wand and the little pot flies to Stella while a floating spoon flies from the jar quietly towards the child.
'How was your day?' he asks as he walks to her.
'I never thought that studying to be a healer would be easy,' you reply, looking at the many books resting on the side table, 'but with this little monster, it's impossible to retain any information.'
Sirius replaces a strand of your hair behind your ear.
'I know, love. I'm sorry it has to be like that.'
You lean your head on his chest as he plays in your hair a little bit.
'Is it good, my love?' he asks Stella as she's having a fight with the floating spoon. She looks at you both and smiles proudly. Sirius snorts.
'Even with puree all over her face she's the cutest.'
'Isn't she?' you reply. 'That's what makes it hard. I can't be angry at her for too long.'
'I'm probably biased,' he says, 'but I really do think she's the prettiest baby in the whole world.'
'Totally not biased,' you reply, closing your eyes.
You feel yourself drifting from reality. You're so tired you could just sleep there and forget about the whole world. Sirius' presence is enough to reassure you that everything is going to be okay. Your eyelids are heavy now.
'Mama,' says a voice afar.
But you're too tired to get up. Sirius is going to take care of her, that was the deal. He said that you would have your nights to recharge a little bit. But he doesn't get up.
'Mama!'
Now the child is crying again. You feel gradually woken up from your sleep, reality is slowly catching up with you. Something tells you you don't want to wake up, you want to stay like this forever, in Sirius' embrace. Stella is screaming at the top of her lungs and you wake up suddenly.
'Sirius, why are you not -' you stop mid-sentence.
You're alone with Stella. For a moment, you're looking for him, where has he gone? But it slowly comes back to you. Every time you wake up, you have to cope again.
Sirius isn't here. He doesn't know he has a daughter.
Hey if requests are open, could I request a Sirius Black x Reader where she takes his virginity (she's not a virgin) and its all smut and fluff? thanks :)
Hi! I’m so sorry about the delay, it is difficult to keep up these days. I promised someone else a Christmas one and completely forgot about that one 😓. But will do with pleasure! ❤️
