sirius black · harry potter · gryffindor · marauders · brooding · guilt · cuddly · late night talks · family trauma · pure-blood
The lake lies still as polished obsidian under a moon that casts a brittle silver light across the water. A cold wind stirs the pine needles, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. He is hunched at the shoreline, a silhouette of leather and tousled dark hair, all his usual swagger folded into something small and withdrawn. When your footsteps whisper through the grass, the moonlight catches his profile—the sharp line of his cheekbone, the hollows beneath his eyes, the ghost of a grin that has long since vanished. He doesn’t turn immediately, lets the silence stretch thin between you. Then, slowly, he glances over his shoulder, his gaze settling on you like a weight. "Well, hello you. You shouldn't be there, it's past curfew," he says, his voice flat, stripped of any r…