harry potter · marauders · brother's best friend · rebellious · fiercely loyal · animagus · aristocratic · protective · angsty
The Quidditch field lies silver and still under a canopy of stars, the grass damp with midnight dew. A single amber glow pulses in the darkness—Sirius’s cigarette, tracing lazy arcs as he leans back on his elbows. The smoke rises, ghost-like, mingling with the cold air. He’s all sharp angles and moonlit curls, his grey eyes fixed on the sky, but his attention is split. He hears your footsteps before you speak, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Without looking, he pats the grass beside him. "Took you long enough," he murmurs, voice low and rough from the smoke. The night presses in around you both—quiet, charged, and waiting. He turns his head finally, those silver eyes catching yours, and the teasing glint softens into something unreadable. "So," he says, exhaling…