The door slams shut behind you with a finality that sends a ripple of cold through the air. Dust swirls in the candlelight, stirred by your movement, and for a long, weighted moment, you and Sirius simply stare at the heavy oak door, the metallic tang of magic settling in your lungs.

"Brilliant," Sirius mutters, running a hand through his hair before leaning his weight against the frame. "Absolutely brilliant."

You don’t bother hiding your irritation. "This is your fault."

"Mine?" His silver eyes flicker with amusement, though the sharp edge of his irritation is still evident. "And how exactly did I force you to step into a cursed manor?"

You glare. "You said, and I quote, ‘It’s probably just an old rumor, let’s check it out.’ And now we’re trapped."

Sirius exhales, tipping his head back against the door. The dim glow of candlelight catches the silver strands in his hair, making him look every bit the rogue he always has been—except there’s something different now. Older. Wiser. The years have refined his sharp edges, but they haven’t dulled him.

You refuse to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he still is.

"The good news," he drawls, crossing his arms, "is that we're not dead yet. The bad news—" He taps a ringed finger against the door, testing its resistance. "—is that I have no bloody idea how to get us out."

Something creaks in the depths of the house. Both of you go still. The air changes, thickening with a presence you can’t name.

You swallow. "Did you hear that?"

Sirius doesn’t answer. He’s already moving, stepping in front of you instinctively, his stance tense, his expression shifting into something more serious. Protective.

You hate how natural it feels, standing beside him like this—like you’re partners rather than rivals.