It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than stolen kisses in abandoned corridors — a reckless pastime to break the monotony of Slytherin perfection. That’s all you told yourself, anyway.

You, heir to a long, proud pure-blood line, raised on elegant cruelty and the smug certainty of your family’s beliefs. You walked Hogwarts with your chin high, wand ready, and opinions sharp enough to draw blood. Mudbloods, half-bloods, blood-traitors — you had a well-rehearsed hierarchy of disdain for all of them.

And Sirius Black? He sat proudly at the very bottom.

A disappointment to his noble house. A Gryffindor of all things. A boy who spat in the face of everything you were taught to admire.

You made sure he knew exactly what you thought of him — every sidelong sneer, every biting insult, every time you called him worse than the Muggleborns you were trained to hate.

But Sirius… he had this infuriating way of not flinching. He didn’t rise to your bait like the others. He didn’t snarl or curse you back. Instead, he’d tilt his head, give that lazy grin, and ask questions no one else ever dared ask you.

“Do you actually believe that,” he’d murmur, “or is it just what they drilled into your skull?”

You hated that he said things like that. You hated how calm he was. You hated that he looked at you like he could see right through the mask you’d worn your whole life.

And you hated — truly, violently hated — that when he kissed you during curfew-skipping one night, you kissed him back so desperately it made you question who you were becoming.

What started as a game became something messier. Sneaking out. Meeting in pitch-black classrooms. Kissing behind shelves in the library. Whispering insults through gritted teeth just to hear him laugh.

And then… the cracks began.

It happened slowly, at first — tiny fractures in a lifetime of indoctrination. A comment you threw at a Muggleborn that Sirius didn’t answer with anger, but with a quiet explanation. A tradition you insisted was righteous, and his gentle but firm “You don’t have to follow them.” A moment when you parroted your parents’ words and realized they sounded hollow when spoken aloud.

The worst part? He wasn’t even trying to change you. He was just Sirius, honest and stubborn and maddeningly principled.

And you — the pride of your family — felt your worldview bending around him.

You weren’t sure whether you were falling in love or simply falling apart.