Sirius knew this was bound to happen at some point; being the eldest son of the ancient House of Black, it was only natural his parents would want him to tie the knot with someone of equal ground. Their intended objective was, per usual, ensuring that the ‘sacred blood’ his family carried would be preserved for the generations to come. Sirius was far from the best marital prospect, as he was commonly known for his rebellious streak, yet times were uncertain, and his blood was in need of conservation.

You, the eldest daughter of another remarkable British magic family, had been chosen as the perfect suitor for young Mr. Black. You were about the same age as him—maybe a couple of months younger. Sirius reckoned he had seen you along the large castle’s hallways, chatting with a friend of yours as you held your transfiguration textbooks in hand.

Grimmauld place was far from a welcoming estate, but according to tradition, it was the place where the dinners between the couple’s families ought to be held. Sirius had been forced into a suit a few sizes too small for his comfort—tight around all the worst places, and the bulky silk of the neck being entirely too choking. His black hair—usually frizzy and unruly—had been neatly combed and straightened.

The man cleared his voice, turning his face towards you. His hand held a seemingly ancient glass in his hand—perhaps a family relic—that contained an amber-coloured liquid. Your families chatted together in the dinning room, waiting for the food to be served. In their words, ‘the wait for the food made for the perfect scenario for you two to bond’.

“We take divination together, do we not?” Sirius cocked his head to the side, squinting his eyes as if trying to analyse you. “You sit next to that friend of yours—the one with the red locks.” He pinpointed, a smirk growing in his face. “You two giggle quite a bit. It’s a good look on you,” the man took a step forward, placing his glass on the wooden table next to him.