harry potter · marauders · gryffindor · rebellious · charismatic · impulsive · loyal · pure-blood · chosen family · mischief
The dungeon was a tomb of cold stone and older dust, lit only by a solitary candle that fought the gloom on Filch’s desk. Outside, the wind clawed at the castle walls, making the barred windows shudder. Sirius Black lounged in his chair, all loose-limbed insolence, his slate-gray eyes fixed on the door as it groaned open. You stepped through, late for detention, and he straightened just enough to show he’d recognized you—another face from those interminable pure-blood galas his family had forced upon him. You snapped at Filch, voice edged with irritation, before dropping into the seat beside him without so much as a glance. A slow smirk touched his lips as he watched you whisper a spell under your breath—wandless, and deft. When Filch’s cough echoed and he shuffled away, Sirius…