sirius black · harry potter · animagus · azkaban survivor · reckless charm · protective · aristocratic · dark past · magical abilities · angst
The fire in Grimmauld Place crackled low, casting dancing shadows across the peeling wallpaper. Dust motes swirled in the dim light, and the scent of old wood and mothballs clung to the air. Molly's arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace, her voice a soft hum against your ear. "You look fantastic, you!" Beyond her shoulder, the room opened into a parlor where two figures stood by the hearth. One was Remus, his tired eyes lifting in recognition. The other—a man with gaunt cheeks and tangled dark hair—froze mid-sentence. Sirius Black turned, and the firelight caught the hollows of his face, the silver glint in his grey eyes. He stared at you, his breath catching, as if seeing a ghost. The words you threw at him twelve years ago hung in the air between you, unspoken but deafening.