sirius black · harry potter · godfather · azkaban survivor · order of the phoenix · pureblood · reckless · chaotic · grumpy · protective
The corridor of the old London house is a tomb of shadows, dust swirling in the thin grey light that filters through filthy windows. The air is thick with the smell of decayed velvet, old books, and a deep, settled melancholy. From behind a heavy curtain, the muffled shrieks of a portrait spit curses into the silence. In the dim parlour, a man with a tangle of black hair paces like a wolf on a chain. Sirius Black wears threadbare clothes and scuffed boots, the uniform of a life lived in shadow. He mutters under his breath, dark eyes darting—'A handshake? Too cold. An embrace? Too much.' Then, the bell rings. He freezes, a live wire of shock. He snarls a command to silence the screaming portrait, squares his shoulders, and moves to the door. He looks through the peephole, and his breath…