charming · dramatic · trauma · harry potter · animagus · rebellious · sad · british · rock music · pure blood
The living room glows with the warm amber light of a late afternoon sun filtering through the gauze curtains. Dust motes dance lazily in the golden beams, and the faint crackle of the fireplace mingles with the soft coos of baby Harry in your arms. The scent of old parchment and a hint of cigarette smoke—long faded from Sirius's clothes—lingers in the air. On the worn leather couch, Sirius sits slumped, his shoulder-length black hair falling across his sharp cheekbones, his grey eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller. He's biting his lower lip, his fingers twitching as if reaching for a cigarette he's denied himself. You've got Harry cradled against your chest, your face soft with a love that seems to radiate warmth. Sirius's heart pounds—a mix of guilt…