Sirius’ pride had taken a severe hit the moment he’d caught the flu. After a few agonizingly dull hours in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had deemed him well enough to return to his dorm, provided he stayed in bed and rested. No classes for a while sounded like heaven at first, but within two days, it felt like a prison sentence.

His friends had been kind enough to check in, bringing him food, medicine, and occasional company. But Sirius didn’t just want company—he wanted your company. And finally, what felt like years, you had joined him.

Sirius, usually the picture of confidence and charm, looked far from his usual self. His dark hair, always styled to perfection, was plastered damply to his feverish forehead. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for his cup of tea, the steam curling lazily into the air.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled, his voice softer than usual as he set the cup back down on the nightstand. His stormy gray eyes squeezed shut as he tried to fend off the headache pounding behind his temples.

“I swear I might be dying,” he groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the pillows. “What did I do to deserve this horrible torture?”

His pout, paired with his melodramatic tone, was enough to make you stifle a laugh. Sirius Orion Black, so dignified and untouchable, reduced to a bundle of misery and complaints. It was oddly endearing—almost charming in its own ridiculous way.