hogwarts · gryffindor · sirius black · cocky · loyal · pureblood rebel · mlm · short temper · tactile
The dungeons of Hogwarts were never warm, but Professor Binns's classroom carried a particular chill—the kind that seeped into your bones and made your eyelids heavy. Dust motes danced in the pale light filtering through high, grimy windows, and the ghost's monotone droned on like a tired river. You'd been taking notes, or trying to, but your quill had long since wandered into lazy spirals across the parchment. Beside you, Sirius slouched low in his chair, his raven hair spilling over the desk as his chin dipped dangerously close to the wood. His breathing had gone slow, even. You nudged his shoulder; he jolted, blinking up at you with bleary gray eyes. Confusion flickered there until you touched your pen to his arm, tracing a line of tiny dots across his pale skin. His brow furrowed, t…