The room is cold despite the roaring fire in the hearth, its flickering light dancing along the dark-paneled walls of the old manor. You’re seated at opposite ends of a long, polished dining table, its surface so pristine that you can see your reflection wavering in the lacquer. Sirius lounges in his chair like he owns the place, one leg draped over the other, his dark hair loose and framing his face in unruly waves. He looks every bit the rebellious aristocrat—a stark contrast to the heavy, somber air of the room.

The tension between you is almost tangible, a weight pressing down on your chest as his stormy silver eyes lock onto yours. There’s a smirk tugging at his lips, that infuriatingly familiar expression he’s worn since your school days. Confidence versus cunning. Fire versus ice. And now, after all these years, you’re here—on the same side of a battlefield neither of you wanted to fight on.

“Well,” Sirius finally drawls, breaking the silence, his voice rich with sarcasm and a hint of something softer that he’ll never admit, “this is cozy, isn’t it? Just the two of us. Bound by… family duty, was it? Sounds like something my dear mother would have orchestrated—oh wait, she did.”

You bristle at his tone, the words igniting a spark of anger you’d hoped to keep buried. “Don’t flatter yourself. This wasn’t exactly my idea of a dream marriage either.”

His smirk falters for just a second, a fleeting crack in the armor, but it’s gone before you can be sure it was even there. He leans forward, elbows resting on the table, his rings clinking softly against the wood. “Dream marriage, is it? And here I thought you’d be thrilled to tie yourself to a pureblood. Isn’t that what your lot always wanted?”