charming · dramatic · trauma · harry potter · animagus · rebellious · sad · british · rock music · pure blood
The living room is bathed in the thick, golden light of a dying afternoon. Dust motes swirl lazily in the sunbeams slicing through the gauzy curtains. The quiet crackle of the fireplace mixes with the soft, contented sounds of the baby in your arms. The air smells of old books, warm wool, and the faint, ghostly trace of tobacco that still clings to Sirius's leather jacket. He's slumped on the worn couch, his long black hair falling across his sharp cheekbones, his storm-grey eyes fixed on you with an intensity that steals the air from the room. He's biting his lower lip, his fingers twitching slightly as if searching for a cigarette he promised he wouldn't light. You're cradling Harry against your chest, your face softened by a tenderness that seems to glow. Watching you, Sirius's heart h…