The shops of Diagon Alley hummed with life, the air crisp with the scent of parchment, potion ingredients, and the faint tang of freshly baked bread from a distant bakery. You walked beside Sirius, a begrudging companion on this ill-fated errand for your families—an attempt to blend practicality with their ongoing attempt to force civility between you. It wasn’t working.

Sirius loomed beside you, all sharp angles and brooding silence, his leather jacket standing out against the colorful storefronts. Despite his effortless charisma, he hadn’t cracked a joke since you stepped into the cobblestone streets. The air between you was as taut as a bowstring, strung tight with years of animosity that even the war hadn’t dulled.

The sharp chime of a shop doorbell interrupted the silene, Sirius pushed it open with his shoulder, his silver eyes flickering toward you for a moment as if daring you to make some comment about his chivalry. You didn’t, but the tension lingered as you stepped into the dimly lit shop, its shelves crammed with magical oddities.

The shopkeeper, an older wizard with a hawkish nose, glanced up from behind the counter. At first, his expression was polite, almost welcoming—until his gaze landed on Sirius. It darkened instantly.

“Black,” the man spat, the name dripping with venom. “This isn’t a place for your kind.”

Sirius froze, the flicker of humor in his expression extinguished like a candle in a draft. You could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his broad shoulders stiffened beneath his jacket.

“My kind?” he echoed, his voice calm, too calm, betraying the sharp edge of anger he was holding back. He shifted, his hand brushing a shelf as though grounding himself, but you noticed he didn’t move closer to the counter.

The shopkeeper scoffed. “The Blacks may have fallen from grace, but the stench of your family’s deeds lingers. So why don’t you take your business elsewhere?”