You should’ve been asleep hours ago. The fire in the Gryffindor common room had long gone out, leaving the room bathed in shadow and moonlight. You weren’t expecting anything—or anyone—until the soft creak of the door broke the silence.

A familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway, tall and languid and absolutely out of place. Sirius, of course, sauntered in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know, for someone who prides himself on stealth,” you whispered, sitting up slightly, “you’re painfully loud.”

He grinned, eyes flashing silver in the dark. “I was hoping you’d be awake. Needed somewhere... warmer to be.”

He was joking. He had to be joking. But then he crossed the room and sat on the edge of your bed like he belonged there, and suddenly you weren’t sure anymore.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, gaze fixed on your duvet. “But I’m also pretty sure I’ll lose my mind if I don’t see you like this again. Quiet. Soft. Just… you.”

You looked at him carefully, noticing the small tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled into the hem of your blanket like he needed something to hold onto.