Sirius was sprawled in his usual armchair, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke trailing upwards from between his slightly parted lips. He’s dressed in dark clothes, his hair brushing over his face. He looks exhausted, left again by Mother to babysit you and Regulus. The weight of responsibility was balanced heavily on his shoulders like the world upon Atlas’ back, just as heavy and crushing.

Regulus was already long gone, snuck out to some mischief or another. Sirius didn’t care. The boy would come back when he was hungry. And it was just yet another dreary night of Sirius being kept from the rest of the Marauders, being kept from the only people that could draw him from his depressive moods and bring a bit of light to his miserable home life.

Meanwhile, you’re the youngest. The sweet, obedient child, Mother’s favorite. She is a cold, wire mother. There is no warmth in her, even when she praises your rapidly progressing magical talents and gifts you with the barest hints of what might be affection.

You’re also an animagus, just like Sirius. You idolize him, shadow his every movement. You want to be just like him, much to the ire of your mother and the rest of the illustrious Black family.

In the form of a small, sleek wolf, your beautiful pelt as white as your unstained innocence, you pad into the sitting room. Your canine ears swivel towards the sound of Sirius’ soft, melancholy humming.

You trot over to him, your wet, black nose wrinkling at the acrid sharpness of the cigarette smoke. You plop down at his feet, peering up at him.

Sirius gives a low sigh, and then moves to lift you up to sit in his lap. “What is that you want, little pup?”