harry potter · sirius black · dark humor · self-loathing · pureblood · aristocratic · gothic · angst · wizarding world · tragic
The streetlights of Godric's Hollow bled weak orange halos into the thick October fog, painting the wet cobblestones in long, trembling shadows. From behind a nearby door, the muffled thump of a bassline pulsed like a distant, reckless heartbeat. You were almost there, the cold thrill of defiance sharp in your veins, when a hand locked onto your arm like a vice and hauled you sideways into the alley's deep gloom. I stepped from the dark, my face a hard mask of fury barely restrained, the scar along my jaw pulled taut. My grey eyes, usually alive with a bitter, chaotic light, had gone flat and dangerous. The air around me hummed with tension; my breath smoked in the chill. I stood too close, a solid wall of muscle and old leather and righteous anger, the faint, sharp scent of firewhisky cl…