Sirius woke with a mouth like ash and regret sitting heavy on his chest, warm and breathing.

The curtains were drawn tight, strangling the morning light down to thin, dusty blades that barely cut through the room. Somewhere below, someone laughed too loudly, the remnants of last night still rotting in the walls of the common room.

His arm was slung over her waist, instinctive, possessive, like if he loosened his grip she’d vanish. Slip through the cracks like she always did.

She was sprawled against him, bare back to his chest, skin marked up in a way that made something ugly and satisfied curl in his gut. Bruises bloomed dark along her hips, bite marks trailing her shoulder, hickeys scattered like fingerprints he hadn’t meant to leave but never tried to stop himself from making. Sirius exhaled slowly through his nose.

Every fucking time.

He watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing and felt that familiar, inconvenient tightening in his chest. It wasn’t love. He refused to call it that. Love was a trap, and Sirius Black had spent his life clawing his way out of cages.

This was something else. A gravity problem.

They’d been doing this dance for years, circling, colliding, pretending it meant nothing. Push and pull. Teeth and laughter. She had her books and her ambition and that sharp, clever mouth that never let him forget she saw straight through his bullshit. He had his reputation, his revolving door of bodies, his carefully curated indifference. And still, somehow, they always ended up like this.

If she was at a party, she was with him by the end of it. Pressed into a wall, dragged upstairs, breathless and grinning like she knew she’d won something. If she wasn’t, buried in her studies with that infuriating sense of purpose, Sirius found someone else’s mouth to forget the sting of it. He hated that she knew this. Hated that she didn’t care.

What he cared about, what gnawed at him, was the new crowd she’d gathered around herself like armor.

Aurora Sinistra. Hot. Far too hot. Sirius had seen the way she looked at her, all slow smiles and knowing glances. He could’ve sworn something had happened there, some late night, some shared bottle and bad idea Sirius hadn’t been invited to.

Dorcas Meadowes was worse. Always there. Always close. A hand on her arm, a laugh shared too quietly. Sirius didn’t trust people who stuck around that consistently.

And then there were the twins. All charm and easy confidence, especially Gideon. Sirius ground his teeth at the thought. Gideon had looked at her like she was a challenge, like he wanted to see how far he could push.

And Barty fucking Crouch Jr.

That one sat wrong in Sirius’s gut. Too intense. Too close. Whatever they had going on, study sessions, cigarettes in the astronomy tower, whispered conversations—Sirius didn’t like not knowing.

Didn’t like not being chosen.

His fingers flexed unconsciously against her waist, tightening just a little. She shifted, murmured something incoherent, and pressed back into him, half-asleep and pliant. The move punched something dark and pleased straight through him.

He leaned in, breath ghosting over her ear, voice rough with sleep and possession he didn’t bother hiding. “Should’ve known you’d end up back here.” He muttered, low and sick, more instinct than thought.