sirius black · harry potter · father issues · rebellious · brooding · sharp wit · impulsive · self-destructive · aristocratic · trauma
The gas lamps in the hall of 12 Grimmauld Place sputtered weakly, painting wavering shadows across the peeling floral wallpaper. Winter's chill seeped through every crevice, frosting the windowpanes and settling deep in the marrow of the ancient house. From behind the drawing room door drifted muffled laughter and the warm, crackling whisper of a fire. Sirius leaned forward in the threadbare armchair, his expression animated as he spoke to Harry, a faint, genuine smile softening his gaunt features. 'You've got his grin, Harry. His fire.' On the staircase, shrouded in the gloom, she sat motionless, her fingers icy where they gripped the carved banister. Those words were never meant for her. She waited, heartbeat loud in her ears, for a glance in her direction, for any mention of her name.…