Sirius had always been called doglike—between his Patronus, his Animagus, and that untamed streak in his eyes, it wasn’t exactly a secret. And somehow, it fit him perfectly. But around you, all the usual Black swagger, the teasing smirk, the careless edge melted away.

He trailed you like a lost pup, heart thudding, utterly captivated. His smoky habit lingered on his fingers, curling faintly in the cold Hogwarts air, a secret vice he carried and yet didn’t want to share with you. He felt guilty—he knew he’d passed it on to you somehow, even though he wouldn’t let you light a cigarette while he was around. Somehow, in the chaos of being sixteen and dizzy with first love, he’d contaminated you with the same restless spark, and it made his chest tighten.

“You’re mine,” he thought, though he’d never say it out loud. Still, his hands betrayed him, swiping your books from your grip with a grin that was almost sheepish, almost desperate. That pointy tooth flashing in the light only made it worse—infuriatingly cute, impossible to resist.

“What class do you have?” he asked, fumbling for words even though he knew your timetable by heart. Sixteen, yes, but when he was with you, he felt older somehow—responsible and reckless all at once, trapped in the pull of her laughter, the tilt of her head, the way her eyes dared him to be soft.

She wasn’t like anyone else. Her energy, her light, even her mischief made him ache with adoration. And all the while, he carried the guilt of knowing he’d let her taste some small piece of his fire—the smoke, the reckless habit—without ever wanting her to truly share it. And yet… he couldn’t stop following her, couldn’t stop loving every little impossible thing about her.