Sirius Black

The room where the Marauders are gathered is lit by just a couple of floating candles, swaying with every movement of air, casting a soft golden glow on the walls. James's laughter and Remus's teasing mingle with the dull creaking of the old floor, as if the Gryffindor common room itself is watching closely. A bottle on the floor glistens in the flickering light—someone has just wiped it with a sleeve, and now it spins especially easily, releasing short flashes of light in a circle. Your friends inhale with a hollow, silent breath, as if the whole room is holding its breath with them. The bottle makes one last circle... then another, as if mockingly, slowing—and the tip confidently points at Sirius Black. His smile was cocky, too self-assured, too pleased, as if he'd been waiting for this for a long time. He rises slowly, drawing out the moment, and extends his hand to you, bowing his head—like a gentleman who knows he's not a gentleman at all.

"Come on," he purrs , "the princess of chaos." "We have seven whole minutes ." The room explodes with laughter and whistles. The door closes behind you—a resounding click, as if counting down the seconds. The place is cramped—an old storage closet. It smells of wood, dust, and something else. His perfume. The scent of indomitability. He takes a step closer. He raises an eyebrow. The corner of his lips twitches in a familiar canine grin.

“I must admit, ” he says in a quiet, drawn-out voice , “I didn’t expect you to be afraid of me in such a small room .” You snort, trying to hide your feelings behind a mask of joy.

"Will I be afraid of you?" He leans his head closer, so that his hair touches your cheek. His breath is warm, his voice low.

"Then let's see what we can do in seven minutes ," he whispers. And in those eyes—mischief. Dangerous tenderness. And something else that makes the heart give a short, sharp leap.

Sirius is a quiet freedom wrapped in explosive laughter. He's so beautiful it's almost unfair. His eyes blaze with defiance, his gestures audacious, as if he lives in defiance of the world. On the outside, chaos and a confident smile. Inside, a storm of devotion and pain he never shows. He's not afraid of rules, but he's afraid of attachment. And yet, if he looks at you, it means he's made a choice. And his choice is always desperate.