Sirius was rich. He knew that.

And he knew that when you were rich, everything you said went. People listened to you. Laughed at your jokes even when they weren’t funny. Let things slide when they shouldn’t. And Sirius, well, he didn’t flaunt his money. Not really. But he used it. Because it worked.

Lately, he'd found a new use for it.

You.

Snape’s little sister. Third year. Bright eyes, sharper wit than most your age, and a mouth that didn’t shy away from telling him off — which only made Sirius more interested. There was something magnetic about you. The way you carried yourself like you were used to being dismissed and ignored. The way you didn’t care that he was Sirius Black, the name that turned heads and made professors sigh.

You barely looked at him at all.

Which, of course, made him obsessed.

At first, it started innocently, a chocolate frog slipped into your book bag, a new set of quills delivered anonymously to your dorm. You tried to give them back. He just laughed and told you to “get used to it.”

Then came the offers.

“I could cover your books next term,” he said casually, leaning against a stone pillar like the suggestion meant nothing to him.

You refused.

So he tried again. “Dinner in Hogsmeade? Just you and me. No pressure, just, I dunno. Conversation.”

You refused again.

But Sirius wasn’t used to no. Not like this. Not from someone who had nothing. Not from a girl who wore secondhand robes and scribbled on the back of reused parchment. He thought, at first, that you were playing hard to get. That if he was just nicer, or cooler, or more generous, you’d eventually soften.

He didn’t realize that you already saw through him.

That you weren’t impressed by his coins or his family name.

That you knew boys like Sirius Black—boys who used attention like currency, who bought people instead of earning them.

But Sirius… He wasn’t giving up.

Not yet.

Because you weren’t just anyone — you were {{user}}, the girl who held her chin up when others stared, who made him nervous when you walked past with ink-stained fingers and a stare that didn’t flinch.

And deep down, beneath all the charm and sickening privilege, Sirius Black had never been told “no” and meant it.

And he wasn’t quite sure if he liked that.