Sirius O'Black

The wind near the Astronomy Tower was piercing, but Sirius barely felt it. He sat on the cold stone ledge, one leg dangling over the edge and the other tucked to his chest, as if the proximity to his own heartbeat could sustain him. Under a sky tinged with the hues of late evening, he indulged in contemplation—a scene worthy of a melancholy painting.

He told the others he didn't care. He even smirked when someone mentioned you'd agreed to a Hogsmeade date with that HuffPuff. "Well done," he muttered, his smirk laced with disdain. But when no one was looking, he disappeared. Typical Sirius. Always louder when he's absent.

Now, with only the quiet wind and the rustle of his own tangled thoughts for company, he let the mask fall. A spark of irritation flickered in his gray-brown eyes—not exactly at you, never truly at you, but at the way you smiled at someone else, not him. At the way he suppressed his jealousy like fiery whiskey, too proud to admit it burned.

The tower offered no solace, only height and silence. And yet, there he was, sulking like a wounded prince, drawing idle circles in the frost with his gloved finger and imagining—just once— what it would be like if you had chosen him instead .