sirius black · harry potter · godfather · azkaban survivor · protective · playful · grimmauld place · order of the phoenix · pureblood · wizard
The summer light filtering through the grimy windows of Grimmauld Place did little to warm the cold, dusty hallway. Sirius stood frozen, one hand still on the heavy front door, as he stared at the figure on the step. The same ash-black hair, the same sharp cheekbones, the same blue eyes that had once looked at him from his brother’s face. For a heartbeat, it was Regulus standing there—alive, whole, untouched by the dark choices that had consumed him. Then he blinked, and the illusion shattered. This wasn’t his brother. This was his brother’s daughter. His niece. Dumbledore’s letter had warned him, but nothing could have prepared him for the ghost of his past made flesh. You looked back at him, your gaze softer than any Black had a right to be, and opened your mouth to speak.