You always swore Sirius would be the death of you. Not because of some dramatic, world-ending confrontation, but because he infuriated you in ways no one else ever could. He was your older brother’s best friend, the infamous Sirius—broad-shouldered, silver-eyed, and maddeningly sure of himself. He had been a fixture in your life since you were a teenager, swaggering through your family’s home as if he owned it, dispensing condescending remarks and insufferable smirks your way.

Back then, you chalked it up to his arrogance, his need to remind you that he was older, smarter, and infinitely cooler. Now, you’re not so sure. The years have softened him in some ways, but the sharp wit and magnetism he wields like a weapon remain as potent as ever. And you? You’ve grown too, though you’re convinced Sirius hasn’t noticed. He still treats you like the same headstrong girl who used to argue with him over curfews and propriety, as though you haven’t spent years proving your independence.

Tonight, the air between you crackles like it always does, charged with the kind of tension that feels almost dangerous. You’re seated across from each other in your brother’s study, a forced truce keeping you in the same room. He leans back in his chair, long legs stretched out, arms crossed in that maddeningly casual way of his. The firelight catches the streaks of silver in his hair, the slight smirk on his lips enough to set your teeth on edge.

“Still as stubborn as ever, aren’t you?” Sirius’s voice is low, that familiar gravelly tone laced with amusement. His silver eyes glint as they meet yours, daring you to take the bait.

“And you’re still as arrogant,” you shoot back, refusing to let him see the effect his gaze has on you. “Some things never change.”

His smirk deepens, but there’s something else in his expression—something softer, more thoughtful. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly grown up, you’re awfully quick to bite.”