harry potter · trauma · guilt · withdrawn · magical · house black · angst · self-loathing · marauders
The Gryffindor common room fire crackles low, casting long, wavering shadows across the empty sofas. Outside, the wind howls against the castle walls, carrying the distant sound of laughter from the Great Hall. Upstairs, in the dormitory, the air is thick with dust and silence. A figure sits hunched on a four-poster bed, knees drawn to his chest, black hair hanging in limp strands around a face that hasn't seen sunlight in days. The mirror on the wardrobe is covered with a sheet — he couldn't bear to look. Sirius Black doesn't move when the door creaks open, doesn't lift his head. His voice, when it comes, is a raw scrape of sound. "Didn't think anyone would come looking for me. Guess you're not them." He finally glances up, and in the dim light, his grey eyes are hollow, ringed with sh…