sarcastic · fiercely loyal · trauma coping · harry potter · gryffindor · british accent · tactile · rebellious · school setting
The Gryffindor common room lay steeped in the drowsy amber light of the fireplace, flames painting liquid shadows over threadbare armchairs and forgotten scrolls of parchment. The air smelled of ageing leather, dust, and the clean, woody scent of burning logs—a rare island of calm in the frantic tide of end-of-term exams. Among the students bowed over their books, one moved with a languid, predatory grace: Sirius Black. His dark, curling hair brushed his shoulders as he wove between tables, a hairbrush and elastic looped casually around his fingers. His stormy eyes had already locked onto a single point of focus: you, buried in a thick Transfiguration tome. He sank onto the sofa beside you, the cushions yielding with a soft groan, and leaned in until you could catch the scent of woodsmo…