#sirius x reader

[mystarstruckself]

would you be open to make a second part to hunger games Sirius?

Yes I so would! For Marauders I like getting specific asks as opposed to coming up with stuff on my own 😭 So if someone had something specific in mind I would probably be open!

[whispersofanomad]

stop posting ai fics

I cringe everytime I’m reading a fic and it’s just straight out of ChatGPT 😔 like guys pls it’s okay if ur writing is bad. Anything’s better than ai

[whispersofanomad]

It’s crazy I’m reading a fanfic written on the same month, year, and a day after I was born

[percaelum]

The Long Game

PART I - DECEPTION (3/3)

first (1/3) - second (2/3) - next

sirius x fem!ravenclaw!loner!reader

summary: There is not a single person who could resist Sirius Orion Black’s charms – that, at least, is the bet that prompts Sirius into a months-long pursuit of eliciting a declaration of love from you. The only thing he did not consider? Falling in love with you himself.

tags: sixth year, comfort/fluff, but also so much angst, misunderstandings, sirius is head over heels, (kind of) it fake dating, depictions / mentions of traumatic injury, reader hangs around ghosts, insecure!reader, slow-burn!, james is a prick in this one (sorry, it’ll get better). tarot symbolism.

word count: 15,9k

a/n: English is not my first language. I tried making reader as inclusive as possible, but please let me know if I can change something! no use of y/n.

I do not support jk rowling nor her abysmal ideologies. Do not copy my work. Do not feed my work to AI.

The school settles down again. Your involvement in stopping Peeves’ madness did not at all go unnoticed, and for the next couple of days you seemingly cannot walk a hundred yards without somebody calling out to you, thanks or relief in their voice. 

It makes you dizzy, all their attention, just as it had done so before: same as with the unicorn thing, or Sirius newfound interest in you, before the sight of the two of you together was becoming a new normal. Sixth year really was different, was it not? Not so unwelcome, this change, you think to yourself, smiling. 

The potions project is going well, too. Or at least, it looks like it does. 

Sirius is currently reading off the next step of instructions from the handbook while you shift through your bag. Books, books, books – a few loose parchment rolls, your quill, oh, for Merlin’s sake-

“You alright, darlin?” 

Sirius fixes you with a part amused and concerned kind of a look. You must look utterly miserable, because he starts laughing good naturedly. 

“Stop it, Sirius”, you whine, “I am suffering here”

“Oh, of course,”, he says but continues anyway, hiding his face behind the handbook, “you poor thing.”

Narrowing your eyes, you throw a thin, wooden bookmark at him, but cannot help your own grin starting to form. Giving up, you blow a wayward strand of hair from your face, watching your friend calm down again. 

He eventually raises one of his perfect brows at you then. “Okay, okay. Out with it, what’s the matter?”

“Can’t find my bloody hair tie” 

Such a small and silly thing, but your hair hanging loose over a blubbering cauldron was nothing you ever like repeating. You shift in your seat. Besides, it’s just in the way, obscuring your vision. 

Sirius shakes his head, amused, before putting down the handbook. He snaps something from his wrist in a quick motion and moves to stand behind you. You follow him with your eyes, neck turning eventually, but he gingerly makes you look forward again by placing his hands at the sides of your head. 

“Stay still for me”

Your breath hitches when you feel his fingers in your hair. Your thoughts come to a sudden and forceful stop.The shiver running down your spine nearly makes you flinch. Instead, you can only stare ahead mutely, feeling Sirius’ fingers carefully but surely combing through your hair, gathering strands. 

The empty classroom the two of you were in spins.

You settle on holding your own hands in your lap, listening to his breathing and trying to match his even rhythm. Sirius’ touch is calming, like lulling you to sleep. The gentle tugging at your hair a feeling so intense in its softness, it makes your eyelids lower. The comfortable tingles all over your scalp come in waves and you hope to drown in them.

He’s braiding my hair, your brain helpfully, slowly supplies you. A good plait too, with how nothing feels loose or strands falling out again. It makes you wish you had longer hair so Sirius would braid for another few seconds.

The sound of an elastic being wrapped around your hair slowly wakes you up again. Hesitantly, you reach one hand up to run over your hair, feeling the shape of the braid. French, you muse to yourself. 

Sirius does not move. You can still hear his breathing, still feel his hands in your hair like a ghostly echo. Slowly, you turn to look at him. 

“Sirius?”, you whisper.

There is an intensity in his gaze that makes you swallow, hard. Silver darts down, as if tracking the movement, before he shakes himself out of the apparent stupor and leaves his place behind you in exchange for his previous one, just as sudden as he got there.

When he looks at you again, his eyes rank over your features, as if truly seeing them for the first time. 

“Suits you”, he ends up saying. He clears his throat. “You should wear it more often like that.”

“Only if you braid it”, you hear yourself say and are surprised at yourself with how bold you are. When the seconds tick by without any reaction from him, you slightly incline your head. You can feel the weight of the plait mirroring the motion, see how Sirius eyes follow it. How his gaze shifts upward, tracing your face.

He folds his arms over his chest before taking up the Potions handbook again, turning the pages almost randomly. 

Maybe it’s the dim light playing tricks on you, but you think his pale complexion reddens considerably.

“Yeah, I think I can do that, darlin.”

When Professor McGonagall had issued you the forty points, it apparently put the head-on-head race with Gryffindor to an end. Now, your house proudly stands on first place. 

“Not for long”, Sirius’ promises, self-assured. But your house was just as certain to prove the opposite: 

Quidditch Season had begun again. And the first match of the new calendar year? Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor. 

The castle brims with excitement and good willed sportsmanship, the possibility of your house winning standing rather good. But never totally in your favour: Gryffindor, under the captainship of James Fleamont Potter, was a formidable enemy. 

“He is a devil, I swear”, Sirius’ complains one evening after quidditch practise. Hair still damp from the post-training shower, he practically collapses onto the bench opposite you in the library. “Thrice a day he mishandles us on that field”

This, too – Sirius’ whining about his mate and the sheer obsession in which he goes on about the sport – has been a new normal for you. Before, you’d liked to think that the raven-haired boy was just as obsessed over Quidditch as Potter, now, you knew that the bespectacled marauder had another thing going for him: undying discipline to pursue something till he had it. Though that wasn’t really new – one would just need to ask Lily Evans, and she would be able to fill a library with Potters stubborn determinism.

Instead, you only copy notes out of a tome, listening to Sirius and how each and every muscle in his body aches. When you turn to a new page, your hand draws an arch; reaching over to your friend to pat him comfortingly on the head, before settling back to the tome, fingers highlighting the next passage for you to copy.

You look up when Sirius remains uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Sirius?”  Nothing. “Did you fall asleep?”

His crossed arms rest on the table, serving as a pillow for his head. But his eyes are open, you see then; their grey-silvery colour like crescent moons under half-lidden eyes.

“You’re coming to the game, won’t you?”, he asks you softly. 

Your gaze travels back to your notes, readjusting the grip on your quill. 

“I don’t think I can come. Sorry, Sirius”

At that, he sits up straight. 

“But why? C’mon, it’s the most interesting match of the year. And it’s our houses, too. Aren’t you feeling a little competitive?”

Naturally, anyone in your position would be. If you were like … like any other person from your house you’d be anxious or giddy or feeling competitive alright, or … 

Neil is probably training day and night. 

The thought is so sudden and intense, you startle yourself. A big splotch of dark ink seeps through the paper. You watch it grow, before cursing quietly and trying to dry the spill before it becomes more disastrous.

Neil. The team. His friends – yours too, or something along those lines. You had spent four years with these people before cutting all contact. Something presses heavily behind your eyes then. Unshed tears, you realise. And with that realisation comes the ignored pain of Neil and your ended friendship. The slow ignoring of the team, letting contact die out – either quietly or by force, but always intentional. 

It makes you feel horrible. 

Worse, even thinking of them makes your stomach turn. Because thinking of Neil meant thinking about the argument. And thinking about the team – 

Steel against bone and muscle, blood in your mouth, fingers losing their grip around wood and grasping the air, body falling from the sky, falling, falling, falling – 

You dig your nails into your palm till skin breaks. 

Everything spins. It wasn’t supposed to, wasn’t allowed to. Not here. Not in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, Sirius, but it’s a ‘no’. I … I just can’t. Sorry.”

Memories flashing by as if you were part of an audience instead of on stage yourself. And then - no images, only sensations, when everything became dark.

Shattering. 

“But you’ll only be a spectator! If you have no one to go with, you can go with my friends – as long as you don’t mind being surrounded by a bunch of Gryffindors. They’re nice, I promise, you’ll have fun.”

“Quidditch is awesome! I promise, you’ll have fun!”

 Sirius sounds an awful lot like Neil back in second year when try-outs came around. It makes your breath uneven, hands sweaty. 

Fun, they say. But what would it bring you, eventually? Reserve for three years till finally being on field for a year - dying, if only for a little. 

“I won’t go!”

Your chest heaves. Your vision blurs. Wrong place, wrong time. Not here. Not in front of him. 

You pack up your things and dart off. 

At night, you toss and turn in your bed. Parts because you cannot stop cringing at how you … fled, leaving your friend without any explanation or goodbye, and parts because your head cannot stop repeating memories from two years ago. 

End of December, last week before Christmas Break. Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. The first match of the season. In the castle: excitement, buzzing over. Outside? Snowstorms, raging on. 

Neil had been elated to finally have you in the team. You, naturally, were as well. Months, years of hard practise would pay off today, of that you had been sure. The whole team was. The odds stood well. 

Two hours into the game, and the bludgers criss-crossed their path on one fix-point: 

You. 

Now, staring at the canopy of your bed, you watch the moonlight shift as the hours tick by. Absentmindedly, your hands find your right temple, and the three lowest rips of your left side. 

How very funny, you whisper quietly to yourself. 

There was no pain anymore. But if you strained yourself to think back on it, you could still remember how it felt like. 

Was it fear now, that made you dart? Fear of what, though? 

With a deep sigh, you close your eyes and drift to an unrestful sleep, dreaming of Sirius, falling from his broom.

You catch him before breakfast in the hallway. 

“Sirius”, you call out. His head whips around, loose hair drawing a semicircle in the air. “Hey darlin. How are you feeling today?” His smile is easy, but he looks concerned despite it. Suddenly you feel very stupid for making him worry like that. 

“I’m good, truly. Sorry for my outburst at the library. Its …”

He interrupts you. “No, no, I mean, it must’ve been something I said. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really!” You wave your hands in front of you avertingly, unsure whether to feel abashed or silly. Perhaps both. It would fit this little back and forth game the two were playing. You clear your throat.

Sirius’ voice is tentative, unsure in a way you’re not really used to coming from him. 

“So, you’re not mad at me?”

“Never was”

He grins at you, relieved, and slings one of his arms around your shoulder, leading you to the great hall for breakfast. And because Potter was nowhere in sight, you lean back into him as well. 

Two weeks later, on the morning of the match, Sirius finds you an hour before the game starts. 

You’re sitting on the stone steps to the great courtyard, book in hand. When Sirius sits down next to you, he already dons his quidditch uniform. Brilliant gold and red. It looks good on him, you confess to yourself. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you”

He looks a little out of breath, cheeks rosy, black locks askew. Before you can stop yourself, you brush a wayward strand of hair out of his face. It’s terribly soft, just like you imagined they were. With your other hand, you close your book shut.

“Well, here I am”

Sirius’ slightly puzzled look shifts into something gentler. 

“I suppose it’s no use in asking you to come to the match again? For moral support?”

You chuckle quietly and shake your head. “Sorry, Sirius. But I’m sure you will be fantastic.”

He winks at you, as if saying, ‘Of course I will be’. Then he stands up again, pulling you along and makes a great deal of sighing dramatically in typical Sirius fashion.

“Do I at least get a good luck charm for the match?”

A good luck charm?

You think, remembering how Harriet Hoffry, your team’s captain, always received a small kiss on the cheek or forehead from her boyfriend before a match. Would that do?

With the two of you now standing, you have to stretch slightly to match Sirius’ height. Holding yourself steady on his arm, you lean forward and press a light kiss on his cheek.

“Good luck, Sirius. You got this”

And Sirius remains frozen in place, stunned, slowly raising a hand to his cheek while he watches you leave the courtyard. 

He releases a shaky breath when your silhouette vanishes from his sight. 

“Oh.”

The news spread like wildfire through the castle. 

Gryffindor won the match. 

But that wasn’t really what people talked about. That wasn’t what made your blood freeze and heart race with the nauseating pain of trying to stand still in a spinning room. No. It was something else; 

That in pursuit of their victory, Gryffindor suffered a freak accident -

Sirius Orion Black was hit with a bludger and fell, his broom shattering.

You fly down the stairs towards the medical wing, nearly crashing into stone face first yourself. When turning in the corner, you have to brace yourself against the walls with your hands, stumbling before regaining momentum.

Your legs burn and you feel incredibly hot and cold simultaneously. Stomach turning, you have to fight against feeling sick and throwing up and continuing to run.

Stone, paintings and windows zoom past you.

Sidestepping and excusing yourself through a small group of brilliant gold and red quidditch uniforms just leaving the hospital wing, you finally, finally arrive at your destination. 

It makes you freeze. Chest heaving and clammy hands. Students, though not as many as you thought there were, and somewhere at the end of the room, Madam Pomfrey’s swishing white robes …

Slow, unsure steps into the hall. Head turning, left and right. And then, finally …

A figure in gold and red lies on a hospital bed, one of their legs propped up by metal wires. His face is turned away from you, but you recognise him by his black locks easily. 

Suddenly you’re by his bedside without knowing you moved. Something trails down your cheek, and there is a horrible buzzing static in your ears. 

A shaky hand reaches out to touch his arm. 

“Sod off Prongs, I said I’m alright”

You make a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob. 

At that, Sirius turns towards you, and his eyes grow large when he sees just who’s beside him. Hastily, he props himself up on his elbows.

With a breath stuck in your chest, you unsteadily scan him for injuries. Some bruises and scratches, his foot, fixated … but otherwise? 

You practically collapse onto him and engulf him in a crushing hug. 

He smells like musk and bergamot. Burying your face against his chest, you feel the knit of his uniform, the steady fall and rise of his thorax, and your racing mind comes slowly, stuttering to a halt. A small sniffle escapes you, but you are too besides yourself to really care. 

Sirius eases himself back into the bed and you feel how his arms wrap around your frame, pulling you down with him.

He props his chin upon the crown of your head, his thumbs drawing small circles on your back. Sirius mumbles something quiet in your ear, not English, but it sounds reassuring, nevertheless.

After what felt like an eternity, you slowly ease your grip around him. He is reluctant to let you go; his fingers trail your arm until they touch the empty space you filled mere seconds ago.

Hovering, reaching- 

falling to his sides.

Sirius sits up and you change your seating from the awkward angle to something more comfortable on the edge of his bed. With a shuddering breath, you wipe over your eyes with the back of your hand, realising that you have been crying.

Oh, how embarrassing.

His hand finds your free one, offering a comforting grip. 

“Are you alright?”                                                                                                                                         “Are you alright?”

 The two of you speak almost at the same time. You breathe out a quiet chuckle before nodding. How silly, he’s the one injured, but here he was, comforting you instead. 

“I was just worried. People said … they said …” You have to look at him again to make sure he is truly well and alive. “Are you okay?”

Molten silver glides over you with the warmth of the rising sun. Sirius’ fingers intertwine with yours.

“Yeah. Had your good luck charm keeping me safe after all.”

You want to laugh, but the honest genuineness in his tone makes you falter. 

“But you had an accident”, you say weakly. Your brows furrow and eyes dart to his bandaged and fixated foot before finding his face again. He was hurt – how exactly was that ‘having kept him safe’?

“Looked more dramatic than it actually was. Had I been just a little slower it would’ve been bad – but, hey – it wasn’t. Bludger only really grazed my ankle. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

The creases between your eyebrows deepen. “They said your broom shattered”

Sirius shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, as if he was not one of the broom-crazed quidditch players you knew. 

“Oh, yeah, but only a bit. James wants to send it back to the shop, he thinks they can repair it again. In the meantime, I’ll just have to make do with one of those ancient school brooms.”

Sirius sounds properly annoyed at that prospect, and at that you truly know he’s okay.

The curtain on the other side of his bed is pulled back with a metallic crrrk. Madam Pompfrey’s face is a mask of disapproval. 

“Oh, you will not be going anywhere near any broom for now, young man. You are lucky the break was clean.” She fills a cup with a steaming, rose-coloured potion before unceremoniously placing it in Sirius’ free hand. “Now drink.”

Then her gaze finds you, and her expression softens. “Hello there”, she greets, using your first name. “So good seeing you. Everything well?”

You desperately hope your eyes aren’t too red and watery anymore. “Yes, thank you Madam. Much work?”

The woman collects the now empty cup from Sirius again, tutting at his disgusted expression and fills the glass on his nightstand with water magically. “Oh, just the usual madness with this quidditch sport. You know, no year passes by where I cannot help but think some new regulations or safety measures wouldn’t be amiss, but I’m just a school nurse, what do I know.” 

Madam Pomfrey’s tone suggests that there was an awful lot she did knew and would like to say. 

“It’s just the usual scratch here and there!”, Sirius pipes up, clearly taking neither the healer nor her concerns seriously. “That’s just how it goes, no need to make a big fuss about it.”

The older woman levels him with an unimpressed look. “Not everyone is always as fortunate as you were today, Mister Black.”

She then rounds around the bed, collecting another empty potion bottle from a small table next to you before placing a hand upon your shoulder. “So wonderful seeing you well, my dear. I’ll be in my office, if you need anything.”

You wave after her, a small smile on your lips.

Rearranging the pillows behind himself so that he can sit more comfortable, Sirius shoots you a puzzled look. His eyes dart between you and Pomfrey back and forth.

“No offence, darling, but why do you get special treatment from Poppy?”

“Special treatment?”, you reiterate. “Or regular kindness? Madam Pomfrey and I get along well, why is that odd?”

Sirius waves a finger in front of you. “Nuh uh. You know exactly what I mean. I’m not saying she isn’t nice, I’m just saying she isn’t normally so … soft around students.”

Your brows and corner of your lips lift at his observation. “Maybe you’re just a troublemaker, Sirius”

He laughs and the sound makes your stomach feel all fluttery. But you couldn’t evade his questions for too long. Sirius Orion Black was incredibly stubborn, after all. And didn’t good friends tell each other everything? Or, at least, such important things? If there’d be anything waying on Sirius’ mind, he could tell you anything. You’d listen. 

You take a shaky breath, fixing your gaze onto your hands. Watching as you clench and unclench them.

“Uhm”, you start. “Madam Pomfrey and I probably get along good because we know each other … longer.”

“What, is she your aunt or something?” Sirius’ chuckle is met with no response.

“I was her patient, for a considerably long time. I guess that lets you get to know another well enough.”

It’s quiet then. 

When you look up again, Sirius’ brows are furrowed and you can see the thoughts flitting behind his eyes. They end up settling on his own bandaged foot, and finally, back to you. 

“Your accident in year five. You said it was a freak accident in quidditch.”

The early springtime sun colours the whole of the hospital wing in warm light and leaves little memory of Decembers’ cold grey. Absentmindedly, your fingers trace your left side, where rips had been shattered and punctured organs. The air tastes clear and slightly herbal, the hall orderly and well kept – nothing like the bloodied chaos from two years ago. Hells, you don’t even remember most of it. 

You finally make an affirming humming sound in your throat. Looking through the window how the Scottish Highlands fall and rise beyond the castle grounds.

“I … I never asked. You …” You can hear Sirius take in a deep breath. His voice is raw. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounds scared. But that’s nonsense. Why would he be? “What happened?”

The highlands have started to bloom again, painting the green with purple and yellow splotches. How easy it was, to drift towards them in thought, leaving everything in this hospital wing behind. 

Sirius’ tentative fingers brush against your hand again. 

“It was my first game. Before, I had only been on reserve.”

He knew that already, you chide yourself. But Sirius doesn’t interrupt. You take a deep breath.

“We had big snowstorms last, no, two years ago. Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. Opening game of the season. It went well for us, I think. Finding the snitch in this horrible weather had proven very difficult, so we were mostly just scoring points and trying to distinguish who was who. It was like flying in a thick, milky soup, you know? Everything was white all around you, and you could only see maybe two yards ahead of you”

Before your eyes, the green, purple and yellow landscape beyond the windows changes. Cold creeps up your spine. 

You were back on that field again. Back on your broom, your fingers frozen, your breath crystallizing in front of you.

“Things happened so fast. I was flying normally, and the next second I wasn’t.”

Cold steel crashing into you with the speed of a bullet-train. One right, one left. 

“The, uhm”, you wet your lips. “The bludgers hit me. One on the side of my head, the other on my ribs. And then I just … fell. Everything turned black. I don’t know, I, I heard people didn’t know what happened at first – can’t fault them, I mean, with the snowstorm and all, you couldn’t see very far.”

You trail off. 

The grass beneath you had been frozen. It had been thawed and stained red by your blood for days afterwards. 

You can feel the tears welling up again, their heavy weight choking you. It made you feel stupid. It was stupid, wasn’t it? You’re alright again, you’re not hurt anymore. Everything had already passed. Why were you still upset by it? Clearing your throat, try yourself at a small laugh – anything to lighten this sudden heaviness. You fail. 

“I’m good – I’m good now. Madam Pomfrey and the healers at Sankt Mungo did a great job. Honestly. So, so when I heard that you had and accident, with bludgers too, and that you fell off your broom …”

Your vision wobbles and blurs. Harshly, you rub your eyes. 

“I was so worried something bad had happened to you. I was so scared.” Your voice breaks. A tear runs down your cheek again, and you open your mouth to apologise for it, annoyed at yourself, but can’t.

Sirius pulls you in a tight embrace, fitting his face between your collar and jaw. 

Your arms wrap around his back. Resting your head against his shoulder, you listen to each other’s breathing. 

How well your forms fitted together, like missing parts of a puzzle. How normal, how right this feels. 

It doesn’t matter what other people say, you decide then, content and with already drying tears. Your lips pull up in a small smile at the realisation. Who cares what nonsense Peeves or Neil spew. Who cares about whispers and sneers. What did they know after all?

You breathe in his scent and bury your face in his hair, and it feels like home. 

This was your friend. Your Sirius. 

Time flies by. You sit at Sirius’ bedside and laugh again, talking, listening. The air feels light and sweet, clear like after a storm passing. Sometimes, he gives you a look so soft and thinks he can hide it well, and if you weren’t busy evading his gaze and trying to cool the heat rising your neck, you’d be teasing him about it. 

Sirius’ gives a humorous reiteration of how Gryffindor successfully managed to catch up on Ravenclaws point difference till seizing the snitch declared Gryffindor the winner (he himself scored the important points just a second before their seeker had to catch the snitch, lest Ravenclaws seeker managed to), when he suddenly pauses. 

“I never asked”, he confesses, surprised at himself. “What position did you play?” – No, actually, don’t answer that. Let me guess.” Sirius puts a pointer finger to his chin, contemplating. 

“Cairney is keeper, I know that all too well by now, and I’m certain he plays that position since years”, he laughs and you think back on how he told you about the iron defence Neil had over the hoops, as well as the aggression with which he blocked Sirius. At the latter, you had pursed your lips, confused. Iron defence, yes, but aggression? That was usually not Neil’s style.

“Hm, I’d say … chaser. I think you played as a chaser. Am I correct? I know I’m correct”

You laugh. When you shake your head, Sirius looks personally offended, and it only makes you laugh more. 

“Actually, I played the position of beater.”

Sirius’ eyes grow as big as saucers. “Shut up, you didn’t”

Grinning, you cross your arms, more than delighted to prove Sirius wrong on something. 

“Why? Is it so surprising I did?” 

The Gryffindor stammers to find a good explanation. “I mean, beaters are – no offence, darlin – beaters are ruthless, strong, aggressive, even. You … you’re a very sweet and calm girl. I just find it hard to believe …” He trails off. 

Your brain plays his words on loop. Very sweet girl, he called you. But pride, or some form of it, wins over. 

“I’m strong enough alright”, you say, offering your arm towards him and flexing muscles. 

Under the dark school uniform you are wearing, he doesn’t see anything, of course. Sirius canines flash when he laughs and you swat at him lightly. “You’re not listening. Here-“, you touch your bicep, “feel here. I might’ve not been training anymore, but Juniper keeps me busy with archery alright.”

When Sirius doesn’t move, you roll your eyes and take his hand, placing it on your arm.

“See?”, you say triumphantly. 

Sirius’ fingers squeeze down but are met with unyielding resistance. He looks genuinely puzzled, as if you’d suddenly told him you played at Nationals or that your uncle was the prime minister.

Seconds tick by, and his grip eases, but remains, only more tender. You have to clear your throat to make him snap back, and he retracts his hand in a sudden motion, the tips of his ears coloured pink.

“Who is Juniper?”, he asks instead and ignores the look you give him skilfully. 

 “Juniper?”, you repeat. Theres a new quality in Sirius’s expression that looks foreign on his pretty features. Was it … no, that couldn’t be. Surely not.

“Juniper is a friend of mine. We sometimes trek through the forest or look at the stars together.”

If before you had wondered about Sirius’s expression, there was now no denying it: 

He looked utterly, and almost bitterly so, jealous.

“Huh. You often do that with friends?” He has an odd intonation on the last word, on which you cannot make heads or tails of. “Spend time the forest, looking at stars?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest. “Sirius?” But he doesn’t look at you. What was wrong with him all of a sudden? He was acting weird, out of character even. Was it truly … jealousy? No, no, maybe it’s the after effect of his accident or something. 

After all, it didn’t really make sense if he were. 

“Uhm, well, if you want to, we could do that too”, you offer. “I just thought you wouldn’t like it, so I never asked” 

That, and the notion of asking a friend to accompany you into the forbidden forest – heavens, to ask Sirius Black, back then, when the two of you weren’t as close? He would’ve probably thought you were weird and trying something fishy.

“Is that so?” He looks unconvinced. 

“Of course! You can meet Juniper too, if he’s in the mood for it.”

Sirius furrows his brows and his silvery-grey eyes meet yours again. “You talk as if he’s living in the forest.” 

Blinking, you stare at him, as if you suddenly had an epiphany. Context, you remind yourself. You break out in a grin. “He does. Live in the forest, I mean. He’s a centaur, after all.”

Sirius’ expression eases. “Of course you’re friends with centaurs”, he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. He shakes his head in small disbelief but smiles anyway. 

“You really are something, aren’t you, darlin.”

“Oh, you’re quite the number yourself, Sirius Black.” 

More quietly, you add: “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Sirius doesn’t reply but squeezes your hand firmly.

The atmosphere in Slughorn’s classroom was so tense, one could’ve cut it with a knife.

Neat rows of steaming cauldrons line the tables, behind which students in either groups of two or three stood anxiously.

Today was examination day. 

And you wanted nothing more than to disappear behind your usual curtain of hair: strands covering your face, blocking out others. But you cannot, as it is nicely held together in a French braid. Instead, you shift closer to Sirius beside you, as if this would make Slughorn oversee you. 

Or your potion, at least. 

Sirius and you had been so sure of yourself. Brewing, although sometimes stressful, had gone well, for the most part. Not only because it made you spend more time together, but the two of you were rather certain that everything went as it should’ve had. 

The reactionary colour-changes, the thickness and thinness of the brew after being exposed to either sun or moon light … 

Now, even Sirius’ usually so unshakeable confidence falters. 

Because every potion in the room looks different.

Some were a dim grey, brownish-green or red, others changed from hot pink to mustard yellow back and forth, another few were entirely colourless and clear, akin to water. 

Looking at the shimmering white contents of your cauldron, you sigh. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad”, Sirius whispers in your ear. Not a second later, a cauldron three benches away goes up in flames. 

“Well,” Professor Slughorn’s voice is dry as he clutches the small vial with a dark potion needed for the final step of the Invisibilis potion, “I’m afraid you had no luck this time. Nil Points, Mister Brown, Mister Patil. Yes, yes, very unfortunate …”

You and Sirius exchange a concerned look.

It feels like hours and mere seconds simultaneously, till Slughorn finally stands in front of you. So far, this half of the class, minus Severus Snape and his potions partner, had not managed to produce an acceptable result. Slughorn eyes the cauldron wearingly, before uncorking the small vial again. 

“Ah, Mister Black, at last.” Slughorn smiles as if he is relieved to see a promising student in front of him. You clear your throat. The old professors’ eyes dart over to you. “And of course, Miss …“ There is a pause, and you know he has forgotten your name. Whatever. It was on his ledger with the group constellations anyway. “Err, yes. Alright. Let’s see what you two have brewed, shall we?”

Sirius readjusts the grip on his crutch.

Slughorn tips the vial slightly, and a small drop falls into the cauldron. Soft ripples draw over the bright liquid, before it stills. A millisecond later, all colour suddenly vanishes and you are left with a substance looking like water.

You close your eyes in defeat. 

“Alright, alright”, the potions professor mutters, carefully lowering a metal stirring spoon into the cauldron. You watch him with bated breath. 

Suddenly Slughorn laughs, delighted, and lifts the spoon again – but only the handle? Heavens, did you and Sirius end up mixing a concoction that melts metal?

The head of house Slytherin gingerly taps where the head of the spoon should be against the rim of your cauldron. A metallic clink answers. Relief and elation flood through you at the sudden realisation: your Invisibilis potion worked.

Slughorn applauds, turning back to the other students to prompt them to do the same.

“Brilliant! Full marks! This is magnificent work, well done you two!”

By the time the lesson draws to a close you cannot stop smiling, high on success. 

The Invisibilis Potion project turned out most difficult for most students, with only a handful of groups succeeding. Slughorn ends up saying something about a potential second exam for those with poor marks, but you don’t pay it any mind, busy packing up and leaving once the lesson officially ends. 

You make Sirius’ bag levitate with a quirk of a wand and wait up on him. When walking out of the classroom, he uses his crutch to hit people out of the way, instead of supporting his bad foot. 

“Knock it off, you moron”, you hiss at him, and quieter, you add: “You gotta hit them at the ankles or under the knee”

The grin Sirius gives you is a mischievous, wolfish one. 

“Oh, I see the beater in you alright”

The two of you sit next to each other at lunch, Sirius having you dragged to the Gryffindor table. Remus Lupin and Lily Evans you recognise and offer them a polite ‘hello’, while scanning the table for Potter. Best mate of Sirius or not, something about him made you uneasy. But he’s a no-show for now. You secretly hope it stays that way.

“So you’re the girl Sirius just can’t get enough of.”

Your head whips to your left. 

Sitting next to Remus is another Gryffindor, her hand propping up her chin and levelling you with a sly grin. But unlike Potters, hers does not have a trace of maliciousness at all. Still, her question makes your mouth feel dry and the wooden table far more intriguing to look at that any of their faces.

“Very charming, Mary”, Sirius shoots back. “Ignore her”, he says directly to you and loads himself another serving of mashed potations onto his plate, before doing the same for you unprompted. 

“Thanks, Sirius” 

Somehow, the girl’s, Mary’s, grin deepens. She looks like a fox having found her prey, her brown eyes sparkling nearly as much as her pearly shimmering eye shadow. Exchanging a look with Lily, she wiggles her brows, like they are on to some kind of inside joke.

Clearing your throat, you introduce yourself, first name and last. 

“Please, there’s no need for that”, Lily Evans smiles at you. “You have somewhat become of a celebrity here, after all”

Furrowing your brows, you automatically look at Sirius, trying to get more information through him. Swallowing a mouthful, he simply raises two fingers, thumb and pointer. 

“You pulled a Newt Scamander with the unicorn last year”, he puts down his thumb and simultaneously, lazily, points at a random ghost floating by. “And you liberated us from that drama with Peeves.”

“Oh”, you say dumbly. You didn’t think it was particularly special, what you did back then. Maybe it was.  

“Yes, speaking of, how did you do that?”

You’re happy when Mary takes the conversation into a different direction, though the mischievous gleam in her dark eyes remains. You force yourself to not look down again- Unable to meet her gaze full one, you instead focus on one of the dark curls tucked behind her ear.

“I … I guess I was just being nice.”

“Nice”, Mary repeats. You shrug your shoulders. The relationship between you and the poltergeist could be described as friendship, if such a thing even exists between poltergeists and witches or wizards.

“Peeves and I get along okay. We had a little chat …” You trail off at the memory. 

Had a falling out?

You sound just like Lupin.

You peer towards Remus, who was multi-tasking: reading The Daily Prophet, emptying plate after plate and somewhat listening to the conversations around him.

Your eyes flit back just as quickly. “We talked about how things were ‘not funny anymore’. That it was way past a good laugh. That he ought to stop.”

Silently, you peer towards Remus for a reaction. Anything that might prove whatever Peeves said that day correct. Another part of you didn’t want to know. Back in the hospital wing you said to yourself you didn’t care. That this was your Sirius, your friend. You choose to hold yourself to that last decision and end up looking away from Remus after all. 

It makes you miss the sudden frown on his face. how he slightly lowers his newspaper and stops chewing.

The girls look at you, impressed, you note with some embarrassment. 

“So, you can just talk with the ghost and be alright, but when I try to convince Peeves to stop putting stink-bombs near the common room, I just get laughed at?” Mary complains. “I’ll come to you next time when that jester gives me trouble.”

Mary was quite a nice girl after all, you conclude. Just bold, like any of these Gryffindors seem to be. Same as it is with Sirius. It makes you very happy that he introduced you to his friends, you realise. You give Mary a small, but genuine smile. 

“Peeves is a poltergeist, not a ghost”, you correct her softly. “That’s why he can also interact with corporealobjects, you know?”

“So, what I’m getting is that we could ask you to get Peeves to help with pranks” 

“Uh, I suppose so?”

Lunch flies by. You have a wonderful time following along a mock argument between Sirius and Mary, telling a few stories yourself and basking in the feeling of how easily you fit into the little group’s dynamic. When Sirius (and you, by extension) leave, it is with a promise to meet again. 

(“Don’t hide your bird from us anymore, Black. And you, love, don’t be a stranger,” Mary said with a wink.)

When your waving hand lowers and your figures vanish from sight, Lily turns to Mary, leaning closer to her over the table. The ginger girl hides her smile behind the tips of her perfectly manicured fingers. 

“Did you see the way he looks at her?”

Mary let’s a low whistle be answer enough. “No wonder he has stopped his usual conquests. He has eyes on a bigger prize now.”

To her left, Remus suddenly puts down the newspaper nosily and rises to his feet in a jerky movement. His face is unreadable, switching between confliction, annoyance and something else too hard to pin down. 

“Remus? Are you alright, love?”

More than once, you have to remind Sirius to keep using his crutch.

Madam Pomfrey did a wonderful job healing his broken ankle, but another week of rest and additional support was necessary. Today was day five, and you were sure to strangulate Sirius the next time he starts swaggering through the halls, his cane slung over his shoulder. 

(“It’s not going to heal proper!” - “I’m alright, I’m telling you!” – the same spiel every day after his release from the medical wing).

Climbing up the sheer endless stairways up to your respective common rooms, the two of you are busy complaining about Binn’s new essay assignment – three-foot parchment about the effects of the first wizarding riot after the Salem witch trials. Your steps slow when the familiar sight of the Gryffindor common room’s entrance come into view. Familiar only because of sight, of course. Just because Sirius introduced you to his friends didn’t mean he’d start inviting you into the common room too. Such things did happen; you knew that. The random odd-coloured tie amongst the sea of blue and bronze in your own common room was nothing new, after all. 

You hope none of your thoughts (or wish, perhaps?) is visible on your face when the two of you come to an eventual halt.

You peer to him behind your eyelashes to study his profile, in all his refined elegance. He catches your gaze and shoots you a wink before clearing his throat.

“Err, I’ve been thinking. We should celebrate our success with the potion project.”

“Yeah, that sounds very nice,”, you say and smile, noticing how Sirius’ eyes dart down for a split second, before fixating on a random painting down the corridor.

“So, … Hogsmeade? The two of us? We could go to that bookshop and antiquaire you told me about? Maybe a have a drink later?”

Silver-grey flies back to you just in time to see your reaction. 

You have to fight the sudden urge to place a hand on his arm. “I’d love that!”, you say instead and watch as Sirius’ posture relaxes. 

Was he worried I wouldn’t want to go?

But Sirius Black looks his usual suave charm again, no trace of nervousness or anything of the like in his face. Instead, he flashes his canines in a boyish grin and grabs his floating bag, slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Done deal, darlin. I’ll pick you up at 10 o’ clock on Sunday in front of your common room.”

Sirius is waiting for you at 10 o’ clock sharp.

Black leather jacket over a white, crisp shirt, dark denims and Docs. 

You somehow feel horribly underdressed in your long, plated skirt and tight and short blouse, pulling the cropped denim jacket your mother passed down to you tighter over your midriff. Mourning the lack of loose hanging hair behind which you could hide yourself – the uncharacteristic updo of your hair preventing all attempts.

But when he turns to you, his eyebrows jut up. You’re close enough to watch – or imagine, anyhow - how his pupils dilate, grey being swallowed up by black. 

“Hey there”, you greet softly. 

Sirius Orion Black does not stutter, because of course he does not, but he does sound a little breathless when he greets you back. 

“Looking dashing, darlin. Shall we?”

You take his extended arm and pray to not trip over your own feet when walking down the steps with him. 

Hogsmeade is as pretty as it always is. But colder than anticipated too – it makes you glad you remembered to bring your new gloves. Sirius gives you a compliment about them just as easily as he hands you another quirky or interesting looking antique. 

The shop the two of you enter first is selling practically anything a witch or wizard might want and doesn’t need, the rooms were filled to the brim accordingly. You and Sirius must stand closely together to fit in the badly signed out walkways. Multiple times does a light hand, or fingertips reach out to gently steer the other back from a precariously close statue or oddly placed shelf.

That you enjoy grazing his arm or back just as much as the careful touch extended towards you is a secret you decide to keep for yourself for now. 

Suddenly, Sirius laughs out loud, and your head turns to the sound like sunflowers to the sun. 

“Darlin, c’mon look at this”

You navigate yourself around an unfavourably placed rose-quartz bathtub filled with chandeliers and shiny coat buttons. 

Sirius holds up a sad looking porcelain figurine of a dog. 

It is the most wretched little thing you had ever seen. 

Chipped at some corners, and paint dull in others, you were not surprised at the thick layer of dust coating the little dog. 

Maybe for Sirius it was already grotesque enough to be funny again, but at the sight of the sad canine, you cannot help but feel a pang in your chest. By now Sirius should’ve known you better to understand how easily you can grow attached to an inanimate object or feel genuinely sorry for it.

Your finger comes up to pet the dog statue on his head. A thick patch of dust sticks to your fingertip, making you shake your hand.

“Mo ghrá”, wails the porcelain dog in Sirius’ hands.

Pausing, you cock your head to the side, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, you snap your fingers. The sound is muffled by the gloves.

“I think it’s part of a wedding gift”

“A wedding gift?”, Sirius asks, looking at the dog figure again. “I’d only gift this depressed spaniel to someone I don’t like. I mean, look at it.”

You shake your head, trying to stifle a smile.

“You know how those dog figurines, what were their names – Staffordshire’s? -  I’m not sure, anyhow, they were a popular wedding gift till a few years ago. They symbolise loyalty and love, and were meant to protect the home”, you start explaining, ignoring Sirius’ unimpressed look. His mimic seems to ask you if you were truly sure about that whole love, loyalty and protection business. You swat at his arm lightly.

“So that means there’s another. Another dog,” – the dog statue makes a pitiful wail at the mention – “somewhere in this store. If it’s not bought already”, you add quieter.

Sirius brings the small statue up to eyelevel. He looks somewhere between unconvinced and puzzled. “So, you’re missing your lover, don’t you?”

“Mo ghrá”, makes the dog again. It somehow sounds more miserable than before.

Sirius furrows his brows. “What does that even mean?”

“My love”, you translate. 

“Yes, darlin?”

Sirius doesn’t even blink. You choke on your own spit, looking anywhere but that handsome face of his. 

“I mean, that’s the translation”, you manage to say quietly, still looking at his boots. There is a soft chuckle, and you know he has that smile on his face again. The smile that keeps you up at night, wondering if this is truly how friends look at each other. (The one that makes you hope it isn’t).

“So, what should we do now?”

Sirius and you spend another hour searching the antique shop for the other dog figurine.

You end up finding it behind a slowly self-spinning globe. 

If the shop keeper did hear your delighted cry, you feel a bit sorry – it probably sounded like a potential expensive business deal to him. But when you reach Sirius, another Staffordshire dog in your arms and smiling like you won the lottery, you might truly have. 

Extending the similarly chipped and dusty figurine to Sirius’s, you watch in delight how the dogs start to bark and wag their porcelain tails excitedly. 

Their depressed frowns melt away. 

“Mo ghrá” and “Mo Mhuirnin” echoes through the cramped room, but this time it sounds happier. The longer you watch, the bigger your smile grows. 

Suddenly the dog in your palm jumps over to land in Sirius’ outstretched hands, snuggling closer to the other. 

“Wait”, you laugh, “let me take a picture of this!”

You rummage in your leather satchel bag for your camera and applaud yourself for bringing it with you. 

“Smile!” And with a characteristically click the photo is taken: Sirius, grinning, while holding up the Staffordshire dogs like they’re trophies. The blank polaroid is spit out by your camera and you put it in your copy for safekeeping and till it is developed fully. 

“Wicked, I didn’t know you had a camera!”

You give him a smile. “Got it for Christmas”

Sirius sets down the dogs on a nearby shelf, where they happily take a seat next to each other. “You will let me try my hand at it too, won’t you?” 

I’d give you pretty much anything if you asked for it.

The thought makes you blink. Lest it looks like you disagree, you hurry to add a “If you’re careful, sure!”, at which he shoots you another wink. Your fingers overlap when you hand him the apparatus. It’s too long to be accidental, and you do not mean it to be. 

Gingerly, you show him how to operate it, leaning back onto your heels again. Sirius lifts the camera up to his eyes, posing. 

“Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, a picture for the daily prophet?”, he jokes in a mock-serious and slightly desperate voice of a professional photographer. He sounds a little bit French too, thought you don’t know why. 

Laughing at his theatrics you try to match it, making a small spin and giving him an over the shoulder smile. 

The camera light flashes. 

“C'est parfait, thank you!”

Sirius takes the slowly emerging polaroid with two fingers, holding it up. In the same breath he hands you the camera. You stow it safely in your bag again, but when you move closer to catch a glimpse of the photo, he quickly pockets it. 

He shoots you a wink. “I’ll be safekeeping this one for now”

Then he pauses, his eyes landing on the Staffordshire dogs again.

“By the way, you don’t happen to have a pen and piece of parchment in that bag of yours by any chance?”

When you end up leaving the shop – with nothing bought, but feeling delighted nevertheless – you walk with a pep in your step.

The two dog statues sit now on a piece of paper. ‘Only sold as a set’ does it read in Sirius’ beautiful penmanship.

The air outside is crisp and refreshing, and you drink it in eagerly after the stuffy air inside the shop. 

“We can always go back and go get it for someone’s wedding one day”, did he easily promise. The notion of sending a joint gift (a little ‘from – to’ note with your name next to his attached), in a fashion usually couples or families do, makes you feel brave. 

You take his hand in yours.  

Sirius reciprocates in an astoundingly fast manner.

You turn your head slightly, so he doesn’t see the smile forming on your face.

The two of you stroll around the little village and end up going into Zonko’s (where Sirius took great delight in showing you all sorts of magical prank items) and Griffiths’ – the local book shop in Hogsmeade. 

Somehow you manage to pull out the same book – just different editions – out of a shelf thrice. Its title was something bland, but what struck you as odd was that the design cover, through different in style, always bore the same image: a moon and two upside-down chalices.

Sirius seems to find great pleasure in finding books that might interest you, handing you tome after tome. When you try to do the same, instead of interest you are met with familiarity, him saying something along the lines of ‘Yes, I’ve read this one, pretty decent’ or ‘Abhorrent author – did you knew he plagiarised all his work?’.

It somehow became a little game, finding something that might interest him but was not already read. With the next classic you hand him and Sirius prompt and self-assured summary of its contents rattled off for you like a news broadcaster, you mentally cross all popular and old classics off an imaginary list. Maybe you should try the sport section next. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never thought you’d be the type to read as a hobby,” you say to him while shelfing Of Goblins in Sheffield back. Sirius laughs a little but is silent soon after.

When he does not speak, you turn back to him. 

He looks oddly serious. Conflicted perhaps, if the twitching of his brows was anything to go by. 

“My mother would implore me and Regulus to read. She’d quiz us on it. Said it was only necessary for the education of a respectable wizard”

The way Sirius talks makes you think he uses euphemisms. 

You have to think of Regulus Arcturus Black and his ever-stoic face, too serious for a boy his age. How he carries himself with the cold poise and charm that could only come from being raised in a pureblood family as old as the Black’s. Secretly, you always thought he looked sad. But what did you know but a few stolen glances and the whispers of ghosts? You think of your dorm mate – Pandora Rosier – a friend of Regulus, and although all the years of acquaintanceship, she and you not friends enough for you to ask questions about the younger Black brother. 

When last winter break rolled around, Sirius had told you that he would spend the holidays at Potter’s – and the immeasurable relief that had brought you was still familiar to you. 

The whispers and stories of ghosts of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black were many things, but not kind. What you had seen yourself – red eyes, quivering hands opening letters in small alcoves, flashes of pale scars when the hem of an arm or pant sleeve had ridden up too much. 

Even now, you do not know what comfort you could offer Sirius. 

“I don’t like your parents”, you end up saying. At its core, it was the fundamental truth.

Sirius snorts. He pats your shoulder in an affirming manner, hesitating as if wanting to add something, but doesn’t. And that is the end of this topic. 

When the Three Broomsticks etch into view, you’re already salivating at the thought of late lunch. You hadn’t truly managed to eat much for breakfast – nervousness, maybe. Though for what you were unsure. Sirius made you feel as welcome and comfortable as always. 

You take a small booth table, food and drink arriving soon after. It was as busy as it gets on a Sunday afternoon, and you sometimes have to lean over the table to hear Sirius speak and vice versa. Maybe it was the second butter beer that made you bold: touching Sirius by the shoulder to pull him more in your direction, your lips hovering over his ear when speaking. 

Suffice to say, lunch went well. 

When the plates and glasses were empty, Sirius excuses himself to go to the toilet and you are left alone at the table. 

Sipping at the remnants of your butterbeer, you hum, content. This was truly the best day since long. 

“Do you see the girl he’s with?”

Truly, it was still loud in the pub, but not loud enough to not hear the neighbouring table. You bite the inside of your cheeks, trying to ignore the comment. Maybe it wasn’t even directed at you. It probably wasn’t.

“Gosh, I had a matron who wore the same skirt when I was young. Brave, to wear that in public.”

“Yeah, in such company too. If I were out with the Sirius Black, I’d at least try looking presentable”

A collective giggle. 

Okay, they were definitely talking about you. 

Your hands dart up to pull a few strands of your hair out of your updo, pulling them in front of your face. You want to hide and disappear behind them again, blocking the comments out. 

“Well, not much to make presentable, is there?”

All the warmth and fun you had this day threatens to diffuse into thin smoke. Suddenly you find yourself thinking back onto every small detail, every expression Sirius made that might have shown anything but content and analysing everything you’d said. 

Worry makes your stomach curl and ache. 

You think you’d want to hurl its contents up again. 

“You alright there, darlin?”

Sirius warm voice is lilt in good fun. You stand up, throwing your jacket on and nodding your head. Then you’re mute, keenly aware of the whispers behind your back. You pick at the fabric of your skirt. 

He places an arm around your shoulder. A gesture he has done so many times it was light and natural – but now you only stiffen. You felt brave and confident mere minutes ago, but now … 

You hate that it affects you that much. 

There is confusion in his voice when he asks you if somethings wrong – don’t see it in his expression, you don’t dare to look up – but fall into his step and mumble a soft ‘No’ anyway.

Only when the fresh cold air hits your face again, the pub behind you, do you slowly come back to your senses. A horrible realisation slides down your back, and you push your heels into the cobblestone.

“Sirius. We have to go back I didn’t pay-“

“Already done, darlin. Don’t worry about that”

At that, you finally look up again. Sirius face is relaxed as ever, if not by the quirk of a brow. He looks as if he’s conflicted, or maybe uncertain about something. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t … well, you look a bit sick all of a sudden.”

You continue to simply stare at him, looking at the face that was as kind as ever. Picking you up in front of your dorm, walking together, the antique store, Zonko’s, Griffith’s, lunch … it all had been great fun, hadn’t it? Why would someone pretend so intensively if they didn’t like another’s company? It couldn’t be, and Sirius Orion Black out of all people surely didn’t have the patience for such games. Your shoulders ease, but you still stand, rooted in place. All the love in the world from a friend could still not ease year-long insecurities. 

“Do I look weird?”

Sirius blinks. “What?”

You swallow hard but manage to keep eye contact. “My outfit. Me. Do I look weird?”

He looks at you as if you hit your head. His other arm, the one not wrapped around your shoulders, comes up and his fingers gingerly tuck the few loose strands of hair covering your face behind your ears. 

He’s so gentle it makes you weak in the knees. 

“I probably should have been more direct with that”, he mumbles, and the grey of his eye’s softens. “But you’re a real stunner, darling. Makes it hard for me to keep my eyes off you.”

You suddenly feel very warm for cold spring. Relaxing into his half-embrace, your shoulders sag, jaw unclenching. How silly, you think, neck burning in bashfulness. How words can so easily sway you in both directions.

Because you have no idea what else to say in response, you settle on a ‘Thank you’. 

Sirius hand on your shoulder gives you a light squeeze, before it suddenly freezes. He turns fully to you, his arms at his sides and a look in his eyes that is unreadable. 

“Did somebody say something to you?”

Your eyes widen. Of course he would pick up on that. Internally you cringe. Merlin, you were making such a big scene - 

A pair of black eyebrows raise and Sirus’ canines flash in a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. He sounds amused, like a dog being given the go to maul a home invader. 

 “Oh, did they now?” His smile drops. “Who.”

You shake your head slowly, eyes darting down the street in the sudden need to grab him and hurry far away from here. 

Sirius mistakes your uncomfortableness for fear. 

His hands gently – gently, and the sensation is so contrasting to his politely announced rage it makes you wince – rest on the sides of your arms. “Hey hey hey, you did nothing wrong, darling, okay? I just want to have a small chat with someone.”

“There is no need, truly – it was nothing –“

You have to put all your weight into dragging Sirius away from the direction of The Three Broomsticks. 

But it’s like trying to stop an unstoppable force. Heavens, you could already see the drama ensuing if Sirius would go back inside. 

“Please, Sirius.”

“I’ll be civilised, no need to panic- “

Between the two of you, Sirius apparently had more strength. You put up a good fight but slide behind him like a puppy being dragged on a leash eventually.

“Sirius Orion Black, if you do not stop right now I - I …” Your mind races and - with a finality in your tone that makes you proud- you let go of him and cross your arms: 

“I’ll never talk to you again.”

Sirius stops so hard in his tracks he nearly falls.

His head whips back to you in an undignified manner. Eyes wide and mouth half opened as if he wants to disagree, but quite literally cannot. 

You try your very hardest to keep your expression stoic. 

“I’ll be going now”, you announce, and hope the small quiver in your voice isn’t noticeable. Turning on your heel, you walk and desperately hope you didn’t make a wrong decision. Honestly, would that even work? Didn’t you two look incredibly comical, too?

All tension leaves your body when you hear Sirius’ hurrying to fall back into step with you. 

He catches up quickly and leans forward to try and read your face. You clear your throat in an attempt to wipe a forming smile off your face, surprised your threat actually worked.

You offer an outstretched hand to him, calm reassurance washing you when he eagerly accepts, intertwining your fingers.

“What did they say?”, he tries again, but softer this time. He doesn’t look at you, but straight ahead. You reprimand him with an equally soft call of his name. 

“Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Don’t be silly now.”

You can hear the grin in his voice without looking. “I’m not silly, I’m Sirus.”

Despite the joke probably being as old as his namesake, you giggle. 

“Seriously though - no pun intended – what for?”

You tuck an out of place strand of hair behind your ear - a notion almost foreign to you, as the girl who used to hide behind it like it was a shield. 

“For paying.”, you start, the notion still making you feel fluttery, simply because of its implications. You had gone out with a friend, and friends before, and they never payed for you, and never in the gallant way Sirius did. Gentlemanly. 

“For helping me find the other porcelain dog. For the time in the shops, for lunch. I really had fun today.”

The cobble stones wind into a twirling street, the castle looming in the distance. Soft green hills fall and rise, and you watch as a flock of birds fly over your head. Spring, the time of new beginnings. 

“Was a pretty good celebration”, Sirius agrees and for a brief moment you fear it was just that. He opens his mouth again as if to add something, but you beat him to it.

Take heart. 

“Do you think we could do it again sometime?”

His lips close again, and there is this soft smile again. Sirius was looking at you, and you, for the first time, perhaps, understand.

“I’d love to, darling.”

Sirius Black feels like God himself when he climbs through the portrait hole. 

Gryffindors red and gold mirror the utter warmth he feels, like a lighthouse full of jittering joy he carries with him. You – you. Where does he start and stop to replay this day in his head? He is drunk on the memory of your smile, weak at the ghostly pressure of where your hand intertwined with his. 

This, this, this – this was worth more than all the gold in his family’s vault. 

This was pure and soft and his; the shadow of your company enough to make him immortal. 

It was as if everything makes sense then; figures falling into place. Like flying over the Scottish Highlands, wind in his hair, victorious yells echoing farer than he can see. 

“How’s the bet, Padfoot?”

He is like a stone falling into bog water then.

Sirius halts, a slow and steady feeling of suffocation embracing him. Pulling him from the air, down, down toward another unkinder end than simply crashing and breaking his spine on solid ground. Still, a drowning man would instinctively gasp for air where there was none.

His voice is thin. “What bet?”

But James only smiles. There was a time where Sirius chased that smile with an understanding that this boy was and is the key to family, in a manner the House of Black could never give him. 

Was this why he agreed to this? No, no it was not, does his conscience tell him. This is your doing alone. 

“No need to be humble, mate. Wormtail said he saw you and the lunatic walking arm in arm. I’m sure there will be even more rapport too. Hogsmeade, yeah? Tell me about it”

Sirius can only stare, rooted into place. 

The high of being near you fades completely. 

All that he is left with is the feeling of sinking in unmoving waters. Was this what he planned for you, all those months ago, sitting next to his friends in the train compartment? If the room wasn’t spinning as much as it was, he would have understood that back then, he never thought so far. 

James still looks at him, anticipating. The cheer, the success, the conformation: That Sirius Orion Black could get anyone he wants. That he had the patience to play the long game, that there was none who could resist his charms.

Wasn’t this what he wanted? Wasn’t this – this – victory, the way it’s meant to be? Sirius Black, rich in his pursuits and attention received. He, who never had to ask for something, lest it already be his; nothing name, family, centuries worth of gold couldn’t buy. Even when most of this ceased to be his; and in a way, it still remained.

He, who could beg for the things that truly mattered and never receive them. 

So, yes, Padfoot, how was the bet?

Sirius flees the scene, hasting up the stairs to his dorm in an unstable manner. Strides to his bed, pulls the curtains shut has the mind to put a muffling spell on it.

He doesn’t think of you, then. 

Not of how your eyes light up and lips curl into a smile, not of how you could talk endlessly about all sorts of matters concerning ghosts, how your hair looks so lovely held together in a plait. The feeling of you beneath his hands and the thoughts you so easily share with him; both of which he, in turn, collects greedily like a starving man. 

No. Even in a moment of utter, wretched misery, he could not hinder to think of himself instead. 

Of how dearly he needed not to lose you. To keep you in a space close to him.

Was it the birth of a new sun, when you held his hand? Fingers intertwining with his, no thought had entered his brain then; reduced to a much more primal, animalistic feeling of belonging: this was nature, this is how it was meant to be. This was right, and his lawful place right beside you. How could it not, when every part of you matched his like an puzzle piece fitting together? 

The calm serenity you so easily pull around him, the settling of nerves, stilling of a shaking leg, unrest buried. The patience, the looking out for him. Was it not a declaration of immense love, to love itself, in such an unconditional form as you hold dear? 

For five years he had been blind. Uncaring, passing you without thought or glance – eyes seeing and yet not seeing in a way that mattered. Now he could barely cross a ten-step without thinking of anything else. 

Truly, if you could love the creatures of magical and non-magical nature, from bugs to unicorns; if you could make the ghosts feel alive with your compassion –

Was it so unnatural to believe you could love him too? 

When did he start praying for it? He, who never had to ask, and when denied, left the bidding with a grace that levelled apathy. If not this, then another will do. 

But there was no other like you. 

Heaven, there was no other like you. 

Sirius suddenly realised just how easily he could break and shatter this new world of his. Was he already losing, holding remnants while waiting to listen to the mourning bells? In all your love – a love he groomed like a perverse executioner – was there space for forgiveness? For understanding? 

Madness was an over looming curse of House Black, and right now, he feels like having been sentenced to it. 

Fingers dig into skin, pale flesh dipping under the pressure needed to break a grown man’s neck. Sirius watches how purple and blue spots appear on his arms. If anything, it feels barely enough. 

How to right wrongs? How to right this wrong? You, darling love, his light of eyes and innocent lamb, how can he save you from himself? 

No one had ever spoken his name with such tender care. And he? He chose the banquet cutlery with which to eat your heart months ago. 

A tear rolls down his cheek.

This misery was man-made. And heavens, was it bitter. 

The air is heavy and salty of tears shed, when his shaking breathing is forced into something more structured. The temptation to suffocate in the fabric of his pillow was astonishingly big. Reluctantly, he turns to lay on his back eventually. Watching, blinking the small dark dots in his vision away. Was this body even his anymore, he wondered. Or was it the madness taking over, leaving him with this ravaging ache between his ribs and gaps in his memory. 

A small, fearful part of him was too anxious to think about such an implication. 

Another came to three altogether different realisations. 

Firstly, he had to tell you the truth – he had to set this right. 

Secondly, and most importantly: he had to keep you next to him despite it. Because if he did not … his chest cramps up at the thought.

And lastly, he understands now with a finality that made him sick, the simple and irrefutable fact that he was deeply, and ardently, in love with you.

Sirius was being weird.

Maybe he was getting ill, you wonder during lunch. Having your last class for the day cancelled due to your professor being hospitalised (again), you end up with much more time for sitting in the Great Hall and letting your thoughts wander.

He had been jumpy as of late. Still in an elegant sort of way all Blacks somehow managed, and badly displayed disinterest or denial easy shields for him to wield – but still, jumpy. Sirius was stiff, tension radiating off him in waves these days. When you took your place next to him in class, his shoulders squared, eyes never meeting yours for too long. When your hands brushed – brushed, because when you took it on Monday, he had been stiff like a board – he sucks his breath in sharply. 

You dare not ask him to braid your hair again in fear of making him faint. 

And still, despite it all, Sirius keeps the old habits of being close to you. Just that these days, you were the one who did all the talking. 

He had to be ill. That was the only solution that made sense. 

You push your fork across the plate, moving vegetables like toy soldiers from point A to B. 

Letting your eyes wander, you settle on the Gryffindor table. Busy as ever, it was an easy feat to spot Potter with his wild hair and loud laugh, talking animatedly to the people around him. You see Lily and Mary, both of which you began to encounter more in day-to-day life in the castle; exchanging words and smiles in what you hoped would be friendship soon. There are a few others from the same year. 

But no Sirius.

Having reached no definitive conclusion, you stand and leave. Careful to avoid too much attention of your own and the red and golden house, you navigate through the long rows filled with students. When someone stands up along your way, you freeze. Nothing happens, of course – you don’t even know the girl in question – and you curse under your breath. Sirius’ sudden, long-lasting anxiousness threatens to take hold of you too. 

And so, you take the familiar path from castle to forest; even when today Care for Magical Beats didn’t take place. Besides, your destination was another than the area reserved for teaching anyway. 

Maybe Juniper could read you your stars and tell you that you’re simply stuck in a long, and very odd dream. Smooth stone becomes cobble under your feet, then dirt roads, grass and finally foliage. The weather is mild and slowly becoming warmer, making you enticed to think of summer. 

But when you long pass under the treeline, dipping into their shadows like water, it was not the centaur you meet first. 

Standing like a lost wood spirit, curls messy and gaze somewhere far away, is Sirius. 

You freeze where you stand. 

Subconsciously holding your breath, unsure whether to call out or maybe leave him be – after all, people usually go into the forest to find truly undisturbed quiet. Maybe he needed some time to himself.

But then he turns to you and the look in his eyes makes you cross the distance without hesitation. 

He’s quiet, his fingers tentatively reaching for yours. You grasp his hand in a strong grip as if afraid, he’d run. “Walk with me?”, you offer quietly and pull him with you. 

Sirius follows you like a child led by a fey.

Eventually you come to halt in a clearing. The grass and moss are so soft underneath your feet, you feel like you’re sinking into it. Sirius still stares straight ahead.

“I need to tell you something”

He speaks suddenly then. With a speed that makes you gawk, he turns and grips your hands tightly. For the first time for today, no, for the whole week since last Sunday when you two had been at Hogsmeade, he looks at you. 

Truly, properly looks at you. 

I need to tell you something.

It sounds like a confession.

Your breath becomes shallow, every muscle clenching in uncomfortable and anticipating horror. Something in the way he said it makes the arms on the back of your neck rise.

“Tell me”, you prompt him, because you cannot stand the pause. 

But Sirius falters. 

You try gentle persuasion. Pleading, if your voice betrays you. It does. “I’m your friend, Sirius. You can tell me anything”

He mumbles it so quietly you do not hear it. His eyelids lower.

If he hadn’t such a strong grip on your hands, you’d bury your face in them. Instead, you tug, forcing Sirius to snap out of whatever thought is torturing him. 

“Sirius. Sirius, you’re freaking me out”

It’s more audible this time. But it’s certainly not the same. “Sorry”, he says. 

“I need you to promise me that you’ll listen to me.”

“Of course, I will.” 

“No, I mean not to run away. I need you to listen to everything I say.”

You feel the anxious dread rising like bile. He was talking too gravely, too serious for this to end well.

It’s not that you notice it, but Sirius catches sight of your watery eyes and pained expression and promptly realises that he cannot do this.

He cannot tell you of the bet. So, he does what he can apparently do so easily: 

Lie. 

Sirius takes a deep breath and eases the grip on your hands. “It’s stupid, darlin. Really stupid. Nothing worth all this fuss”, it almost scaring how easily the words pass over his lips, still shaking enough to sound real, but strong enough to carry on. 

You look at him earnestly despite of it, no: because of it. 

“I … “ – think of something! – “I had this horrible dream” 

Years of lying into Walpurga Black’s face made hiding his own cringing now possible. 

“I had this dream – and it was so real – that something happened to you. Something bad”

For all his lies, Sirius Black failed the strength to look at you then. 

“I won’t say what it was. It … but it haunts me, do you understand?”

And bless you, you tried. 

The pressure behind your eyes has disappeared, breath evening out. There was still tension, of course there was, this was not something to just brush off and move on. 

But Merlin did it lift a weight from your shoulders to know it was just a nightmare.

Sirius apparently had found his wit to speak again, and you dare not interrupt him with questions. His fingers trace lines over your hands, almost absentmindedly.

“It made me realise something”, he eventually continues.

You speak softly enough to not break this fragile atmosphere. “And what’s that?”

Sirius voice is not fragile at all then. The conviction behind it makes you blink.

“That I couldn’t bear losing you. I can’t, do you understand?”

“I understand-“

“No, you do not. Darlin, darling look at me.”

He lets go of you, only to cup your face in his hands. 

Sirius looks at you like it was both the first and last time. The cold silver-grey of his eyes warms at the sight in front of him. He allows himself a soft sigh, thumbs caressing your skin. This part, at least, is real, he thinks. It gives him courage to continue speaking.

“There is no one like you. For me, I don’t think there will ever be. It’s you, do you understand?” 

It feels unreal. Your fingers hold onto his wrists, both stability and plea for him to stay. Something in your chest leaps when the words begin to make sense to you.

“I have never felt so … alive but when I’m with you. I have never felt so brave. Standing beside you … it’s intoxicating.

“You … if I am a star, then you are the whole sky”, Sirius explains. “Without you I’d be falling. Without you, I have no place to be. I am so afraid of losing you, because I felt what it would be like. And I do not know what I should do with myself if I ever did.”

Oh. 

Oh.

The air smells like bergamot. One of Sirius’ hands glides up further, tangling in your open hair, holding the back of your head reverently.

“My darling. My sky. Mon ciel.”

His whispers brush your face softly. Dark eyelashes flutter under lowering eyelids, the grey of his eyes still trained on you, as if he could not bear to lose you from his vision. His own locks framing the side of your face. This close you can see a faint mole near his mouth, feel the softness of his skin as your noses brush.

“May I?”, he whispers, pleads, “Please tell me I may”

You feel dizzy. “You may”

And then his lips are on yours.

They’re soft, and warm and almost shy – so very unlike Sirius –  but then you sigh, content, and the sound is enough to send him into some kind of frenzy. The hand not cradling your head grabs your waist, possessive and firm, pulling you closer till your bodies are pressed so close together you could feel his heartbeat through your own chest. There is little hesitation in how he devours you – like he is a starving man having finally been served his meal. 

You don’t know what you’re doing (or if you are doing it well), but chase after him all the same. Holding onto him, melting into the kiss. Breaking apart only a little to breathe but never more than a few millimetres from Sirius’ mouth while simultaneously leaning back just a little as he chases after you. Maybe it’s the lack of air, but you feel intoxicated; positively blissed out, trying to follow Sirius’ lead. You feel his hands roaming over your back, the muscles under his shirt as you support yourself on his arms. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

When Sirius reluctantly parts from you, the two of you are breathless. His pupils swallow up grey greedily, till only a thin ring remained.

His voice is breathy, like he’d just run from the castle to here. “Do you understand me now?” His hand caresses the side of your face, and you lean against it for stability. You nod, shakily as speaking was nothing you had strength or capacity to do now. Your heart races.

But even with your opening and closing mouth, and too many seconds passing till you found your voice again, Sirius does not rush you. 

“Since when?”, you finally manage to breathe out.

He gives you a soft smile. The same as back then. The smile that had made you wonder if this is how friends look at each other. He speaks quietly too, as if scared you’d vanish underneath his hands if he didn’t.

“Do you remember pre-Christmas break?”

“Yeah?”

Oh, you realise, and it’s apparently visible enough on your face for Sirius to nod at in confirmation.

“And do you? Do you ...?” He is almost shy when he asks. 

The smile that spills over your lips rivals the brightness of the sun. 

“I love you, Sirius Black.”

How liberating to say it out loud. The sheer happiness it brings you makes you bold.

“Now kiss me again.”

He leans forward again and your smiles melt against each other, like the brightest star revelling in his rightful place in the sky.

When you wake up the next morning, it almost feels like you were dreaming.

But then you see Sirius waiting in front of your common room and the smile he gives you is so tender, it makes your heart ache. 

“Good morning, mon ciel.”

He smells like bergamot and summer when you reach up to clasp your hands onto the back of his neck, guiding him into a short kiss. 

Sirius follows, easily and eagerly, his hand finding the small of your back. Even when you part again he does not move it, instead offering a constant touch guiding you down the stairs.  

You feel like walking on clouds.

The day passes and never have you ever enjoyed sharing almost every class with Sirius more. The two of you are practically glued to each other, from breakfast to class to lunch and back to class again. 

If others notice, you could not tell – weren’t focused on in anyhow. You’ve read about young first love, seen how your classmates got all radiant and giggly when their person of affection was around, thought to yourself back then how silly they looked. Now you probably look the same but couldn’t care less. Instead, you feel very, very brave, like it was your God-given right to stand next to Sirius; not as friends, but as something more.

Time flows by like honey, the constant, steady presence of Sirius besides you like ambrosia. A glance towards him only to find out he was already staring at you, a hand on your waist, an arm slung over your shoulder. Your routine of classes and studying in the library was the same as usual, but then again, was totally new. 

It was silly, how distracted you were. Your thoughts circling back to yesterday’s confession and the dizzying realisation that this was only the beginning. If any legilimens were to be around you, all they would hear were the words Sirius repeated a dozen times in the forest: 

I love, I love, I love you.

A week passes in a flash, and it could not have been lovelier. More than once you catch yourself spacing out at the realisation that this was real. It makes you feel warm inside.

It’s why you can hardly fault Sirius for not being as organised as usual either. Absent minded, one could even say. It’s when the two of you walk back from your mandated study session in the library one day that he suddenly stops in his tracks, slapping a hand onto his forehead.

You blink at the gesture. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot my bloody textbook”, he groans. “The one we need for the essay.” 

“Okay then, let’s go back and get it-“

“No, no, I’ll go myself. I’ll be quick, promise. Just stay here.” He places a hand to his chest and gives you three small pecks on the cheek, as if this was some sort of formal affair. You laugh, taking his bag from him and usher him off. Your smile only grows bigger when Sirius, running, turns his head at least twice to look back to you. 

Watching as he vanished behind a corner, you amble to the large window near you, carefully placing both your bags on the ground before taking a seat on the broad windowsill. 

Only a few students pass by you. No wonder, it was late afternoon and all classes were over. Dinner was to be held in an hour or so and the weather was nice – you watch through painted glass how big groups of students trail along the courtyard and out to the hills to bask in sunlight.

There is another set of footsteps approaching, but you do not turn your head. They’re not Sirius’, after all. And you would have happily continued to mind your own business and look out onto the courtyard, if the person wouldn’t have said something. 

Something odd.

“Looks like he finally did it, huh?”

You turn your head around and recognise the boy standing in front of you as Peter Pettigrew. Sirius’ friend. He lets out a snort, and it makes you furrow your brows. Looks like he finally did what? Something in the way Peter said it was off. Something you couldn’t quite place your finger on; puzzled by the look on his face and the flat expression in his eyes.

It makes you square your shoulders and cross your arms.

“What are you talking about?”

“What? You don’t know?” The sneer on Peter Pettigrew’s face is lacking any depth but still manages to border on maliciousness. Deviant, in a prickly way; the way a shallow cut turns into blood poisoning. Then into sepsis, and finally, death. 

 It makes your stomach turn. You lean back, etching closer towards the glass. 

“I mean, of course he’d win it. He is Sirius Black, after all.”

There are trepidation and slight annoyance building up in your chest now. You hope your hard tone would be enough to scare him off. “What the hell are you talking about, Pettigrew?” 

In the distance, you can hear footsteps approaching. And although the sound should comfort you, the wide corridor starts to feel suffocating with Peter looking at you like that. You force air into your lungs in an effort to remain alert, upright, in a position to defend yourself.

Annoyance, it turns out, is not enough. Not in the face of this.

“The bet, duh. Seriously, are you still in denial? Sirius would never just go out with someone like you. Guess you’re still hung up about that. Sad.”

You can finally place the look onto the boy’s face. Amusement. Amusement in the face of a cruelty not extended towards him. 

His words trickle through you like water through sand. No way. That couldn’t be. What was he even talking about?

The footsteps grow closer, slowing. Even through the buzzing in your ears do you recognise them. But you are hesitant to turn your face, still held captive by those watery, shallow blues with not a kind thought behind them. Held captive like a prisoner on death row. 

Then he finally calls out to you, and you cannot remain frozen any longer. 

“Mon ciel!”

You turn to Sirius, your face an open wound of disbelieving and praying to be wrong. 

His smile dims when you do not respond, do not reciprocate, only stare.  

You stare through uneven vision, searching for a sign, for a confirmation of his friends’ words. Oh, how hard it is to search for such malice in someone you came to love. How horrible to even try.

How easy it was to deny all claims made, because this was not him – not your Sirius, not your star, not your lover. Who so tenderly held your face when he kissed you, who loved you so easily like breathing.

You dare not speak. 

But your eyes dart from Sirius to Peter, and then back to Sirius again. 

Sirius’ expression falls. He swallows, hard. Terror slides over his form, and you know then the truth for what it is. 

And Sirius know that you know, too. 

For the first few seconds there is … nothing. 

A tear sliding down your cheek. A second, a third. You move off the windowsill and take a step back, numb. The words that ruined it all still hanging heavily in the thick air. Something weak tears from your throat and makes it difficult to breathe. 

This couldn’t be real. 

It simply couldn’t. 

But then Sirius moves, and you see how his gaze hardens to something animalistic as he towers over Peter Pettigrew. The buzzing in your ears is too loud, your mind too disorganised to listen what they say. You blink and Pettigrew is running down the hall.

In front of your inner eye, the months you’ve spent with Sirius fly past. 

Replaying and searching for a clue that this had always been just that to him. And wasn’t it so easy to find, right from the start? The sudden interest, the time so purposefully spend together? 

A bet. 

The word makes you sob.

Suddenly Sirius in in front of you – a gap in your distracted attention? – and touches the side of your arm. You flinch back into life. 

“Please, you have to listen to me”, there is desperation in Sirius’ voice, and it takes you a good long while to register what he is saying. “Whatever he told you, it’s – it’s not like that – this is a misunderstanding-“

God, you wanted to believe him so bad. But his reaction, his tone, is telling enough. Pettigrew spoke the truth. And your heart breaks. 

All vain hope dies. Infront of you stands not your friend, but a person you do not recognise, scrambling for excuses. 

What happened to him? 

Your Sirius, that is. You mourn that boy as much as you find yourself helpless in this misery. 

Sirius shakily moves a hand up near your face to wipe a tear away. You would not offer him this victory. Pain twists into a myriad spiral of anger and hurt. 

Anger wins. You step away from him before he could touch you.

“You had a bet going on. If you could … what? Get me to fall in love with you?” 

Sirius fumbles to answer. “Yes, but it’s not – darling, please believe me, I do love you, back then-“

Ripping yourself away from his touch, you turn and sprint down the corridor. Yes, it echoes in your head – yes yes yes. It was just a bet.

Sirius darts right after you. He calls out to you, your name, in all its variations; nicknames that echo like foul mockery in your ears.

He catches up to you, grabbing your wrist. 

You whip back and Sirius flinches at the hurt in your eyes. 

“A BET?”, you yell, voice breaking under the strain. 

Sirius is silent. 

The betrayal makes you dizzy in its cruelty. Sirius. Sirius – hadn’t you told him you loved him and kissed him just a few hours ago? 

No, you realise finally. This was not Sirius. This was a maunderer. A friend of James Potter, the former heir to the House Black. This was a prankster and infamous Casanova of Hogwarts.

Other than angry, you suddenly feel very, very stupid.

You cut him off when he finally does find his voice. “How much?” The harshness and sudden apathy in your tone startles even you.

Sirus looks as if you have used the Cruciatus curse on him. He bows slightly to match your eye level; hands raised like bartering with someone at the risk of suicide. “No, no, mon ciel, let me explain-“

“How. Much.”

He sobs. Not looking at you, he mumbles something you cannot hear.

“Say that again?”

“Five galleons”, he finally confesses. 

You don’t know whether to cry or to laugh. Must repeat his words to understand them. Your voice wavers in disbelief.

“Five fecking galleons?! Five? …”

You couldn’t even buy a wand with that, your brain helpfully supplies. Five galleons were nothing. There had been quidditch bets on matches in Hogwarts which were higher. You begin to laugh. 

The tears do not stop. 

“Mon ciel, please listen to me-”, tries Sirius again and the sweet nickname makes you nauseous. Why did he still pretend? Why did he continue to hurt you so?

You pull out your wand and make him fly back from you in a sudden jerk.

Then you curse him again, this time without magic. Harshly attempting to wipe your tears away, you turn and run far, far away from him.

 You run like you could escape this suffering.

“Fuck off, Black! Rot! Rot like the scum you are!”

thats it for part 1! hope you enjoyed reading!! :D

[masivechaos]

back to you!

── ☆ sirius black x fem! reader

Request: yes / no

Synopsis: after Sirius escaped from azkaban, you thought everything will be like before but you have a hard time letting him in again

Warning/content: r and sirius used to be married, mention of the war, grief, sex. angst, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n or physical description

a.n.: 4.4k words - my poor sirius went trough so much aaah

masterlist/ marauders masterlist / navigation / taglist

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──

You thought knowing the truth was going to fix everything. You thought it would be like before everything happened. If only it were this easy. You tried your best to change your mind about him, you wanted to see him as the boy you knew.

But your mind decided otherwise and it was hard to accept the truth. It had taken so much time to come to terms with what he did to James and Lily, only for you to now grief everything that happened for a second time, to go through the same pain again.

You agreed to stay at Grimmauld's place but slept in Regulus’ old room. It was too soon to share a bed with Sirius again. Sat on the living room’s old sofa, you stayed silent, thoughts rushing in your mind. Sirius is innocent, Peter is alive and a traitor. Sirius is innocent, Peter is alive and a traitor, Sirius is- 

“Princess?”

That voice and nickname- It all brought you back to the first time he used it for you.

// 

 1973 - third year.

You squealed when you noticed the spider on your desk, right on top of your book. You couldn’t do it. Your fear for spiders was horrible, you couldn’t even explain it. You tugged on Sirius’ sleeve, as he was sitting next to you during Transfiguration. 

“Can you kill it?” you whispered, trying to discreetly scout your chair away from that vile creature. 

Sirius laughed, “What, you can’t do it?”

He was already so teasing with you. Cheeky. You shook your head and mumbled “Please”

He laughed harder and you widened your eyes to make him shut up, McGonagall was going to remove points to Gryffindor if it kept going. And the house didn’t need this after the Marauders’ last prank. 

“Fine,” he said quieter, letting out one last chuckle. He grabbed the spider and put it down on the ground “I’m not killing it. But there you go… princess”

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks. It was the first time Sirius ever made you flustered. But definitely not the last.

//

You shook your head to shake off your thoughts and finally looked up “Sirius,” you acknowledged.

Sirius sat by your side “You don’t look so fine” he smiled softly, not knowing how to assess the issue.

You tried to ignore the sweat on the palms of your hands and the urge to fidget with your fingers. “I’m fine,” you lied “I’m… tired?” You heard Sirius sighed. But how could you explain that you saw him so differently, how could you say that you had doubted him for years without the guilt gnawing at you?

“There’s more to it,” he said, patient with you “Please, princess. Tell me”

The begging in his voice, the longing for an answer. The yearning to know you again. It almost made you break. You shamefully looked down at your lap. He had tried to have this conversation with you like four times already but you had never found the words and you both would stop talking and accept the silence. Maybe today you’ll be ready to open up. “I… I don’t know if can do this Sirius”

Sirius frowned and you saw the crease between his eyebrows deepen. The last time you saw him, the wrinkles only appeared when he was mad or focused, now the lines lingered even as his face softened. “Do what?” he asked.

You didn’t know how to look at him “Act like before,” you muttered “So many things changed and I don’t know how to be around you” You heard your heart beat so loud. Or maybe was it his?

“I’m not asking you to act like before, princess”

You looked up “But…”

Sirius smiled. That smile hadn’t changed in 12 years. “I’m not asking you to act like before. I want you to give us a second chance. I… I mean I get it if you don’t want us to date again but… even as friends. I missed you, princess”

His grey eyes bore into yours. You didn’t know how to answer. How much you wanted to be friends again. Maybe more. But it was so hard to just start again. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Sirius. I just don’t know how”

“Why?” he asked “I feel so guilty, Sirius. I doubted you. All this time I was mad at you while you were in jail for a crime you hadn’t done-” your throat tightened “I can’t look at you without the guilt creeping onto me. When I learned what you had ‘done’, I couldn’t believe it. It took me years to accept it. Years. And… And it’s been like three years since I’ve accepted that you’re the one who caused Lily and James’ deaths. And now I have to unlearn it all, to accept that I was wrong, that I’ve been grieving the wrong person for 12 years. It’s hard Sirius. And it’s so unfair. If it’s hard for one person it’s you. Each night I go to sleep and remind myself that you've spent 12 years alone, locked up. And- and maybe if I hadn’t thought you could do this I could have proved the world you were innocent and you wouldn’t have had to go-”

Sirius cut you off “Woah woah, princess. Breathe, relax,” he said as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist “Stop blaming yourself. Wormtail is the traitor. It’s only his fault if I've had this life. Not yours.”

You looked at him, biting the inside of your cheek “You’re telling me you weren’t even once mad that Remus and I doubted you?”

Sirius took a deep breath “No, I was mad sometimes. But it’s not like I can blame you. I was in Azkaban before one of you even learned what happened. You couldn’t reach out to me. I was mad at the situation. But not at you. Never at you, princess”

“Sirius…” you felt the tears rise to your eyes

He tightened his grip on you “You have nothing to feel guilty about. I understand why you feel that way but please don’t…”

A tear fell down your cheek and you quickly wiped it.

Sirius spoke again “I need you, princess. You want to make it up to me?” you nodded “Please speak to me, spend time with me, look me in the eyes. I need you around.”

“But I’ve hurt you-”

“I don’t care about that, princess. I want you to be around, I want you not to feel guilty, I don’t want the pity in your eyes. I want you”

You were fully crying now, all the guilt and grief finally pouring out. Sirius wrapped his arms around your shoulders and whispered small reassurances in your ear. You closed your eyes and took it in. You needed that. How much you had missed him. Missed his arms around you, his breath against your skin, the whisper against your ear.

When you had calmed down, he pulled away but his hand lingered on your shoulder “Better?” he asked and you nodded.

You both stayed in silence for a little while. “Sirius?” you whispered, voice still a bit strained by the tears. Sirius looked down at you, waiting for you to speak. “I just…You know how I told you it took me years to accept what you did- well what I thought you did? I had to force myself to be convinced. And so now it’s hard for me to reconvince myself. I know it’s selfish but a part of me wants you to be guilty so I don’t have to do the work a second time. I know it’s wrong and cowardly of me. So even though I know you’re not guilty and you didn’t do it, the feeling still lingers because it’s sort of a comfort for me and that is why I feel so guilty. But I promise I’ll work on unlearning all of this.” 

Sirius looked at you in silence, not knowing how to swallow this. It was the first time you had managed to be this honest. You knew it hurt, both him and yourself. But you owed him the truth. He took a deep breath, his shoulders lifting. You could see how tense he was “I’ll give you the time you need” he said “I waited 12 years, I can wait more”

You wiped your nose “You’re way too nice”

Sirius’ lips twitched into a small smile “Maybe. But I just need you, princess. I need you. You could have spent those 12 years hating me. I couldn't hate you. You’re what kept me going. My only bright thought in the pit of despair that was my cell. ‘If I get out, if I survive, I’ll see her again’. And I’m seeing you here, right now, you’re around. If it takes you weeks or months or even years to fully be comfortable with me around, I'll let you. I can’t afford to ask you anything” His hands cupped your cheeks, checking if you were okay with it before getting closer “I love you, princess. All I need is a promise that you’ll try”

“I promise” you whispered, another wave of emotion crashing onto you. You buried your face into his neck, tears wetting the collar of his shirt “You’re the purest soul I’ve ever met, you know that?”

//

1981

You paced in your living room. Sirius was supposed to be back already and the worry was gnawing at you. Finally a knock on your door. You rushed to the entrance, you opened it and expected to see Sirius but instead… Remus was there… tears on the brim of his eyes.

“I… what’s happened, Remus?” you asked as you pulled him inside the apartment you were sharing with your husband. “Is Sirius alright?”

You had already lost Marlene, and Dorcas, and Alice and Frank, and-

“It’s over,” Remus said in a small voice that broke into a sob. He sat on your sofa “It’s over. James and Lily-”

You froze. James. Lily. No, no, no, this couldn’t be true. It couldn’t- they had planned everything to be safe… they-

“He told him,” Remus spoke again. You had never seen him this broken before.

Who was ‘he’, did he mean…? No.

Your throat tightened “What do you mean, Remus?” He didn’t answer you, he just stayed there, staring at the ground “Remus tell me! How are James and Lily? How is Sirius?” you raised your voice without meaning to, tears falling down your face.

“They’re gone,” he finally said as he looked back at you, his eyes were bloodshot. “Lily and James. And… it’s- it’s Sirius who…”

You collapsed. Literally. You fell to the ground, knees hitting the floor. Remus’ voice felt so distant, your ears ringing. What were you hearing… Lily and James were dead. Sirius, your dear lovely Sirius, was the secret keeper… And he sold them. He gave the information to the Dark Lord and… and he killed Peter… 

“No,” you whispered “No, no, no!” 

You felt Remus’ arms around you, grounding you into the present time. Your hands dug into his back as you weeped in his neck. You had lost everything. Your friends, your best friend Lily, your husband… your whole life. 

Sometimes, you wished Sirius was dead. Grieving your old Sirius would have been easier than accepting he was a monster. 

You broke in Remus’ arms that night. Ever since then, the two of you were the only remaining pieces of the order, with only each other to cling onto. 

//

You woke up with a loud gasp. The sheets were wet with sweat. The same nightmare again. That night haunted you… Learning the truth– well no, the ‘truth’ about Sirius… All that pain and heartbreak… for nothing.

You felt nauseous. You felt so exhausted, like you hadn’t had a proper night of sleep in years. Which was probably true, the bad dreams plagued you ever since that day in 1981. You needed to breathe. It was still the middle of the night but you got out of bed. You wrapped a cardigan around yourself as the chilly air brushed your skin.

Regulus’ old room was gloomy and didn’t help you lighten your mood. You felt like you were suffocating. Your feet somehow led you to Sirius’ room. You didn’t move for a bit, was it a good idea to step in?

Would he want you around? Of course he would. But would you be able to handle it? To see the look on his face when he’ll see you in this state?

With a deep breath, you opened the door silently. Sirius was there, laying in his bed. His body was curled up, a sight that surprised you. He used to be sprawled out to an excess… but maybe that carefree habit had died in his cell.

You couldn’t help yourself, you sat, the mattress shifting under you. Your finger traced his cheek, it was easier to be around him when his eyes weren’t on you, when his gaze didn’t remind you how much he loved you whilst you had been too busy resenting him.

But then, Sirius opened his eyes, squinting them to try and see through the dark. “What are you doing here?” he whispered, sitting up.

You bit your lower lip, apologetic “I couldn’t sleep” Your hand was still on his face, palm flat against his cheek. You had to admit, you liked the new look of him with a beard now. 

“Do you…” he started, not knowing if it was crossing a boundary “Do you want to stay?”

You nodded and Sirius scouted over. He left enough distance for you not to sleep close to him. It hurt. To know how hard he was trying. Sirius had been the one wrongly locked up for 12 years and yet you were the one asking him time. You knew how unfair it was, and it created an endless loop. You felt guilty for not being around, and that guilt made it impossible to look him in the eyes.

You laid down, facing him. You hadn’t shared a bed with him in years. With anyone actually. Longing for him grew in your chest. Oh how much you missed him. You were done being so distant. Sirius was centimeters away and yet so far. You moved closer to him and saw his eyes widen a bit.

“I still mean what I said earlier,” he said “Take all the time you need”

But you kept going, until you were close enough to touch him. Your hands cradled his face, you hadn’t taken the time to look at him. You had glanced, you had peeked, but you hadn’t truly looked. You hadn’t taken the time to notice everything that had changed. The creased next to his eyes, his cheekbones being sharper than before. His eyes. Grey and deep. One of the first things you had noticed about him. They used to shine, even when he escaped his family and knocked at your window, there was a little spark left. You struggled to see it now.

Hesitantly, Sirius placed his hands on your hips. You let him. 

“I miss you, Sirius” you whispered.

“I’m here”

“Sometimes… sometimes I think I’ll never forgive myself for letting you down”

Sirius let out a small sigh. The same conversation over and over again. And you were avoiding his eyes again. He called out your name, making you look up. His gaze was harder than before.

“All I ask of you, is to be around. Don’t flee me. Please”

“You shouldn’t be the one begging. You went through so much and I’m making it worse” And that’s why you had to stop this. Stop fleeing him. Yes it hurt to look at him, but it hurt more to know you were hurting him. Of course he wouldn’t tell you, but you knew, you could feel his yearning from miles away. “But I’m going to try harder, Sirius. I’ll stop mourning my actions over and over again, I already did that for months and it didn’t help. I… I want to love you again”

That was poorly worded. Of course you still loved him, but you wanted to close the gaps that distanced you from him, gaps that he had filled on his side and that you kept digging on yours. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and for the first time since he got back, you didn’t pull away a minute later. You stayed there the whole night, head buried in his neck, his body relaxed against yours, arms tight around your middle, legs tangled. 

//

1977 - seventh year

Sirius let out a low breath as he dropped his head against your neck.

You laid there, in his bed, still getting used to the new feeling of the after-high. Your cheeks were hot, and you were slowly taking in what had just happened. 

Sirius felt you tense a bit and he looked up at you. He saw the look on your face and smiled gently “Don’t get shy on me now, you have no reason to” 

“Being naked seems good enough to me,” you mumbled.

Sirius let out a chuckle, attached his lips to your temple. He pulled the covers over the both of you “There. Nothing to worry about”

You couldn’t stop your smile. The way Sirius always knew what to do to make you feel better was unmatched. “Thank you,” you whispered, tucking your head under his chin. 

Sirius held you tighter. He stayed silent for a little while. He had slept with girls before, obviously, but this was different. It was serious with you, he had taken his time. A first date, a first kiss and then a first time together. It would be lying to say he wasn’t overthinking this a bit, he had been slower and gentler than usual but still… he hoped it had been good enough for you. Because it meant something and he’d be damned if he messed it up.

“You’re okay?” he simply asked. But you knew what it meant.

‘Tell me I didn’t mess up the one thing I ever wanted’

You smiled against his neck “More than okay,” you answered before adding cheekily “I do understand why you’re so popular”

Sirius laughed out loud “It doesn’t matter though, it’s only you now”

For the first time, Sirius found himself enjoying the afterwards more than the sex itself. Holding you all night, hearing your heartbeat and your slow breathing. Waking up next to you and admiring your face while you were still asleep… That’s what he wanted for the rest of his life.

//

Sirius looked up from his plate when he saw you. He raised an eyebrow, not unpleased, when you sat in the seat across from his. These last few months, you hadn’t eaten a real meal together, and the rare times you did, you’d sit farther away to avoid having to talk. You were on edge every time you’d share dinner together.

But you had meant what you had said last night. You were going to try harder. You offered Sirius a smile “I uhm… I thought it could be nice for once.”

Sirius’ lips tugged up “It is nice, yeah”

You were trying to find a way to initiate the conversation. The both of you hadn’t had a carefree talk in such a long time.

“So uhm…” Sirius started, a teasing smile on his face that reminded you of old times “Why are you doing this? Are you trying to woo me, woman?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing “What if I am?”

“Then you wouldn’t need to. I’m already wooed”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, you had missed that feeling, flirting carelessly. “Oh… and by who?”

Sirius took a deep breath and spoke in a solemn tone “Oh a very dear woman to me. She… she came back to me after I’ve been gone for years. I keep trying to win her over again”

You tried to hide your smile “You don’t need to win me– I mean her over. I think it’s already done”

He raised an eyebrow amused “You think?”

A nod. “Yeah. She told me you never truly lost her so there’s nothing to win again. She’s just trying her best to make you feel loved”

“Tell her she succeeded last night”

Your eyes softened “I will. I was worried,” you said, dropping the third person act, “I thought that I’d lose you a second time just because I’m not being brave enough about this”

“Lose me?” Sirius asked. “You couldn’t do that even if you tried. I’ll always go back to you, princess”

//

1983

‘I’ll always go back to you, princess’. You scoffed as you remembered that sentence. That’s what he had said two years ago. Before leaving, before selling Lily and James’ life to the Dark Lord. He had fooled you, made you think he’d come back like always. But now he was locked for life.

Normally, you’d think it’s the good thing to do lock up a murderer. That’s what he deserved. But for some reason, you didn’t want him locked up. You wanted him next to you, just like before. You wanted Lily and James. You wanted to teach Harry how to fly. You wanted Peter’s warm meals again. You wanted Marlene and Dorcas’ endless teasing. 

You still couldn’t believe it. Sirius had been so excited to be Harry’s godfather, he had told you all the things he’d want to do with him. And it warmed your heart, ‘maybe this will show him he can be a good father’ you had thought. 

The subject of having a kid together had come up obviously. Especially after Lily and James’ announcement. You had agreed you’d wait and see how it went with Harry before trying; the both of you had hope you’ll make it work.

That hope was gone, crushed under Sirius’ foot. 

If it wasn’t for your work, you’d stay in bed all the time. You didn’t know how to deal with it. It had been two years and you still couldn’t accept it. The Sirius you knew wouldn’t do that, the Sirius you knew would die for his friends, for his godson. And yet…

The confusion had clouded your grief. You would look at the date and be surprised at how much time had passed. It felt like yesterday you and Sirius would fall asleep to try and forget about the war.

People had cried Lily and James’ death. Sure. But they had also shed tears of joy because of the Dark Lord’s ‘death’. Not once had you thought about it. Maybe he was dead. But so were your friends. So were Lily and James and Peter and Marlene and the Prewetts and the Bones and the whole order was gone. And Alice and Frank had gone mad. And you hadn’t had news of Mary in years. And you couldn’t talk to Remus without reminding yourself of what you had lost. And your husband was in jail for being responsible for all of this.

Denial might be the first stage of grief but you had been stuck in it for two years. 

You just wanted Sirius back. But would that ever be possible…?

//

You had spent the last few nights in Sirius’ bed, the both of you trying to fall back into a routine. You could sleep better in his arms, the nightmares were still there but not as frequent, and if you had one, you’d feel Sirius tighten his hold in your sleep.

That night, a sound of cries woke you up. Sirius seemed to be the one having a bad dream tonight. Eyebrows frowned, small whispers leaving his mouth, chest raising and falling quickly, heavily “Hey,” you whispered, your hands coming up to his cheeks, trying to wake him up gently. “Sirius,” you tried again, “Sirius, wake up, everything’s alright”

He woke up, gasping. You watched him, concerned. “Sorry,” he whispered but as much as he tried, he couldn’t hold his tears.

“Don’t ever apologize,” you said as you pulled him closer. Sirius pressed his face against your chest, trying to slow down his breathing “Don’t hold back, Sirius. Let it out”

So he did, letting go for the first time in years. He didn’t allow himself to break in Azkaban, wanting to keep his mind focused on his revenge. And here, he didn’t want to show you how much those years broke him, didn’t want you to know he wasn’t the same man as before. 

But tonight, he finally did. He allowed you to see him vulnerable, more than ever. . 

“I wouldn’t have done it without you, you know that?” Sirius said, voice strained by the tears “Sometimes I was so close to giving up, to let Peter win… but then I’d think of you, of being able to see you again, to hold you. I just hoped you wouldn’t hate me”

“I never did, Sirius,” you whispered, just as emotional. “It took me 9 years to accept the idea that you could have been the culprit because of how much this isn’t you.”

Sirius lifted his head to look you in the eyes. “Really?”

You nodded “Every time I’d try to convince myself of what happened, it felt like a lie. And it ripped my heart to even think you could do that.”

His face was so close to yours, his breath on your lips. And it didn’t make you flee, it made you want to get even closer. Maybe things were going to be alright. 

“Princess, I…” he started.

But you shook your head with a small smile “You don’t need to say it,” you muttered before finally pressing your lips to his. Sirius froze for a second, not believing what had just happened. 

Sirius let out a sigh against your mouth and his hand cupped your cheek. The kiss was slow, romantic and careful, as if it was the first time he ever had his lips on yours. You didn’t need to rush things, you had all the time in the world now, a whole lifetime to catch up for the past few years… 

You felt the spark in your heart ignite, a sensation you had been chasing after ever since he was back. If you closed your eyes, you could think you were back in your shitty small apartment in 1981 with your love shielding you from the war. 

And maybe you were there again. Maybe now, in 1993, you could love him enough to make him forget he was on the run, and maybe he could love you enough to make you forget you had lost him for 12 years. 

[slushy-writes-slushy-recovers]

"Guide Me" - Sirius Black x Reader

General updates: It’s been a bit and honestly, I’ve been reading more fanfic than writing, but I’ve had a few ideas. Long story short, I let life get in the way for a bit (and have been trying to avoid cai temptation again). I’ve also been getting into fandoms I haven’t written for before, like Hannibal (2013) and BBC Sherlock...I might let those stew a bit before I consider dipping my toes in. The idea for this came from a 90s romance novel of all places. “Everything and the Moon” (1997) by Julia Quinn (author of Bridgerton), if you’re interested. Just keep in mind...it was very forward thinking...for the nineties. I recommend looking up trigger warnings beforehand. 🐺 - 🐀 - 🌟 - 🦌

Warnings: none? Fluff, established mutual pining, reader is technically taking a bath (but Sirius doesn’t see anything).

Recommended, but not required (as always, I provide context. Pick it up wherever):

Series: Marriage ~  Our Son is the Key 

Sirius One-Shots: Sit here ~ Ambrose ~ A ring for Thee and one for Me

🐺 - 🐀 - 🌟 - 🦌

You just wanted a hot bath. Granted, you should have known better than to expect an uninterrupted one, considering you were in the Gryffindor boys dorms and more specifically the bathroom of the most chaotic group in that particular category, or better yet the entire school. Still. You had got caught in the downpour this evening and Sirius, the epitome of chivalry (of a very when convenient to him kind) had set out to see that his partner was cared for. Not that you two were officially partners, of course. But rather, a joke started in your second year had snowballed into you, for all intents and purposes, being referred to and thought of (jokingly, sure) as the “married” partner of Sirius Black. You endeavored to correct him, at least at first, but either time passed and wore you down, or, perhaps, if you were entirely honest, you liked it. 

Sirius had taken full advantage of the opportunity you had presented by crossing paths with him positively soaked through. He had seen to it personally that you were escorted all the way to the bathroom, that your usual products were provided, all of it. Except, he overlooked one teensy tiny detail. Your clothes. The warmth of the bath ensured that anything and everything except for the comfort of the moment was completely forgotten. It was not until you had another knock on the door (closed of course) that you realized. “Need something, being of tantamount importance?” Sirius’ voice rang. Ah, so he had got his hand on a thesaurus again. You looked up, considered. You almost thought of something ridiculous to say, until you looked up and realized your wet clothes were still there. Which served as a reminder that you needed dry clothes to change into. “Darling?” Sirius continued, and knocked again. “Want me to take care of your wet clothes?” Well. It was a generous offer. Oh, but then he’d see- “I’ll close my eyes and you’ll direct me.” You blinked in confusion, and then surprise. “What?” “I’ll close my eyes, come in, and you can guide me,” he explained, voice still muffled through the oak door. You considered your options for a moment. If he dried the clothes (magic, right? Although you couldn’t think of the right charm just yet) then you could just change into them after and be on your merry way. Maybe he’d use his own charms and convince you to spend the night, but by then you would be refreshed and comfortable and not particularly care about that detail. “Alright.” The door opened. Sirius stepped in, back to you, and with his hands out. “Alright, my darling partner,” he said, and, perhaps to prove some point, he covered his closed eyes with his hands. “Where to?” “One step back.” You said, hesitantly, and Sirius shuffled. “Okay...now another...right. The clothes will be at...three o’clock..” “Where’s that?” Sirius, still covering his eyes, comically tilted his face towards you anyway. “You don’t know-?” you stopped. Of course not. Okay, let’s try that again. “On your right, in the sink.” He finally moved and, after some closed eyed shuffling, found the clothes. He even let you direct him out of the room, even if it was hardly necessary. You thought that would be the end of that, but then he knocked again after a few moments. “And here are your clothes, dearest one.” “Come on in, lovely,” you said, the endearment he loved most of all slipping (aside from when you (very rarely) called him ‘husband’ or ‘partner’ of course). He again let you direct him, but you noticed something about the clothes. Bright red and gold, definitely not anything of yours, but very familiar. “Sirius...” “Need something?” He set the clothes down. “What are those?” “Clothes? You wear them, darling. Unless you would prefer not to.” Here you splashed him, feeling a bit indignant, and his initial surprise turned into mischief. “Oh, you cheeky-can I open my eyes then?” “No.” You said and he quickly covered his eyes with his hands, even if they were still firmly closed. “Alright, alright,” he shrugged. “They are clothes for you to change into, so we can share our bed, yeah?” Our. You used to bristle at the way he referred to his dorm bed, but now? Now you didn’t think about it once, much less twice. When the shift had occurred, you were uncertain, but right now cuddling sounded wonderful, and you knew you were going to be spending the night (as if that were ever a question). 

“They’re your clothes.” You pointed out. “You thought I was going to hand over someone else’s, darling? You wound me.” A long sigh, from you, and a smirk from him. “Get out, I’ll be out soon.” His smirk widened, and he exited, without further instruction. 🐺 - 🐀 - 🌟 - 🦌 Oh yes, he had definitely planned this. When you emerged, wearing his clothes, he was sprawled out on your his bed, hair down, his trademark smirk... “Help me with something, would you, lovie?” He sat up and held it out, a comb. At some point into your marriage friendship with Sirius he had started growing his hair out and you, supportive and loving partner, had helped him care for it. His favorite was when you would comb his hair out and braid it, as he was not so subtly asking you now. Not one to deny him, you settled into bed and let him cuddle you as you worked. 

By the time you were done all thoughts of leaving for the night were gone, and you two had settled under the covers long before his friends came back to the dorms.

[gaugegaea]

direct.

pairing: poly! marauders x reader. heavily sirius centric.

dni: terfs

content: not really angst and not really comfort. somewhere inbetween that feels kind of shitty

notes: was this relatable?

Sirius wants attention. Like, now. He knows it’s impatient, he knows it’s unreasonable, he knows his several wonderful lovers are busy or just doing their own things right now.

And…yet.

Envy subsumes him as he flops down from his upright position of the flat sofa, groaning and splaying himself on seat cushions. He want to be talked to, to be looked at, preened over.

He wants Remus to come back from his favorite book bar early and tipsily cwtch him. He wants James to jog in and kiss his forehead, sweaty and hot (in both ways) from his evening run. He wants you to come back from dinner with Frank and Lily and gossip with him about how it went.

The common room feels too empty and too quiet. On very few nights is he the one with nothing going on. There is nothing to do that he feels like getting done.

Dishes are in the sink, and his dirty laundry is on the floor from where he stripped his outside clothes after getting off work earlier. His motorbike is due for some maintenance. He feels sticky, the day’s ick clinging to his skin and making the couch’s seat cushions tack onto his back uncomfortably. They pull him back when he shuffles around, clinging. Encouraging him to stay, do nothing, lie down.

The slow edge of dysfunction creeps into his chest.

…

The front door clicks open.

“Hi, honey!”

You’re standing in the doorway, sounding emphatic and looking tired. Good food and good friendship satiated you, fulfilled you, but being social for so long left you exhausted.

Your hand pushes against the door frame as you lean down to shuck off you boots, placing them on the shoe rack to the left of the flat’s entrance.

Sirius sits up to greet you, glad to see you but dreading being percieved.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You shut the door behind you slightly haphazardly. You stare at him— approach to stand in front of him and ruffle his hair.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks up at you with a not-quite-wry smile. His first inclination is to say something slightly deflective and cheesy, like “Nothing, now that you’re here.”

For some reason, he chooses to be direct:

“Just feeling kind of dysfunctional today.”

[wwhiteferrett]

Hi!!! I saw a post about matchups and by golly was I EXCITED!!!

OK OK HERE WE GO:

tell me about yourself - music taste, favorite animal, bookworm, etc...be detailed!

(if it so pleases the court/j, may I possible ask it be marauders? If not that's totally ok I entirely get it!!!)So, hum. About me. I am gender non conforming. Uh, I'm technically a Ravenclaw but I've taken the test a couple times and tied with Slytherin a lot so take that as you will. and my patronus was some sort of snake I think? I dunno, it was docile but venomous, I forgot the name. My mbti is INTJ-T, and my enneagram is type 8 (though I don't know much about enneagrams)

Personality wise I love learning and adventuring and wandering around, uh, I also really love to help people (even when I shouldn't) and always go for the bit/joke. I really enjoy messing around and joking and generally having fun, and tend to have a go with the flow sort of vibe, though I can be serious. I can be a bit stubborn and headstrong, and maybe to ambitious in my endeavors as I get a idea and won't let it go until it's proven fruitless and then try and push it some more. My friends often call me Wikipedia as a joke as well because I know random shit from my 2am doom learning cycles. I always am reading something, or doing something creative like any medium of art or writing myself. I love collecting things and decorating and organizing, and I really love finding the joy in little things, and the humor in situations where it might be hard to. I love to swim and rot in my hammock. (Seriously, I spend more time in my hammock than I do doing anything else, it's almost a problem). I can be very out of pocket and have trouble keeping a train of thought, and I loose things often. Also, my room is chaos but it's organized chaos. Like, it looks clean but then you look at my piles and they seem insane but I always know where things are.

I'm nawtttt sure if this is enough, but I hope it is!!

Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day/night, and make sure to take care of yourself!!!! Drink some water, get some sun and eat some food!!! You rock!!

YOUR MATCH IS...

SIRIUS BLACK

Your sense of humor would match Sirius' perfectly - making out-of-pocket, witty comments or using jokes as a coping mechanism. You both would be entertained by each other - going on adventures, learning new things, and simply understanding one another in a way no one else would. Speaking of adventures, wandering in the halls of the castle at 3 AM would definitely be something you and he would do. Both of you would DEFINITELY say to each other, "If you do it, I will too." You wouldn't be intimidated by Sirius. Your confidence balances with his and Sirius prefers challenges when it's necessary. Sirius is stubborn, and as you've described yourself, you are too. Arguments and complications would be a headache, but on the bright side, you and he would be committed and loyal to each other. You said you enjoy the little things in life - reading, collecting trinkets, and relaxing on your hammock are small things that show appreciation to life's simple pleasures. Sirius, having grown up with an unhappy childhood, would find peace within your routine/hobbies. You two would fit for a platonic or a romantic relationship! + I think Sirius would be messy as well, so he wouldn't judge you. You two could be clutterbugs together!

click HERE for the oneshot!