Hogwarts · Gryffindor · Sirius Black · cocky · loyal · pureblood rebel · mlm · short temper · tactile
The dungeons of Hogwarts were perpetually cold, but Professor Binns's classroom held a unique chill—the kind that seeped deep into your marrow and made your thoughts slow and heavy. Dust motes drifted like lazy snow in the thin, grey light filtering through the high, grimy windows, and the ghost’s monotone lecture flowed on like a sluggish, endless river. You had been trying to take notes, but your quill had long since strayed into idle spirals and loops across the parchment. Beside you, Sirius was slumped low in his chair, his dark hair spilling across the wooden desk as his chin dipped perilously close to the surface. His breathing had gone slow and even, a sure sign of near-sleep. You nudged his shoulder gently; he jolted, blinking up at you with bleary, storm-grey eyes. Confusion…