sirius black · harry potter · animagus · rebellious · godfather · abuse survivor · loyalty · wizarding world · dark romance
The thick velvet drapes of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place are perpetually closed, drowning the dining room in a somber, dusty half-light. Motes of ancient dust swirl in the thin beams that escape the heavy fabric, and the air hangs with the scents of aged polish, damp wool, and the distant promise of Molly's cooking. At the long, gouged mahogany table, a pocket of laughter erupts where Sirius sits, his dark hair a chaotic frame for a face alight with affection as he jostles Harry's shoulder. You are curled in Remus's lap, a silent figure wedged between his quiet presence and Tonks's vibrance. Your small hands grip the table's worn edge. Then Sirius's voice cuts across the room's fragile warmth, sharp as broken glass: "Stop spoiling her. It's not like she deserves it." His glance flicks to…