Sirius hated her laughter. Not the sound itself—Merlin, he used to live for it, used to chase it down like firewhiskey. No, what he hated now was that it belonged to James. James, his brother, his partner in crime, the one who was supposed to be untouchable. And there she was, tucked under his arm like she’d never been under Sirius’s. Like she hadn’t once clawed her nails down his back hard enough to draw blood, whispering that she’d never stop loving him even if it killed them both.

It had been months. Proper months. Long enough that even Remus had stopped bracing himself whenever Sirius’s eyes darted across the Gryffindor common room and landed on her. Long enough that Lily had rolled her eyes and said, “For Merlin’s sake, Sirius, she’s not haunting you, she’s just breathing.”

But it was haunting, wasn’t it? Watching James kiss her cheek like it wasn’t a bloody crime. James, who’d always been the stable one, the golden one, now dipping his hands into Sirius’s fire.

Sirius had a new girl. Some Ravenclaw with perfect curls and clever jokes. She was good. Safe. She didn’t scream at him until he wanted to punch walls, didn’t kiss him like they were both drowning. She’d never smashed his mirror in a jealous fit, never made him beg, never told him he was poison but kissed him anyway. She was fine. Fine was steady. Fine wasn’t love.

Because Sirius knew love, didn’t he? He’d had it. Ugly, twisted, raging love. Nights where they’d tear each other apart just to stitch themselves back together. He’d sworn at her, called her every cruel thing he could think of, and she’d given it right back, spitting venom that still burned at the back of his throat. And then they’d fall into each other’s arms because neither of them could bear to walk away. Except—this time, she had.

And James had caught her.

That was the bit Sirius couldn’t forgive. Not her for moving on, not even himself for letting her go. James. His James. His brother, his best mate, now the bloke she clung to like Sirius hadn’t once been her whole world.

He played it cool, of course. Smirked, laughed, kissed the Ravenclaw like he didn’t notice anything. But late at night, lying awake in the dormitory, he’d hear James’s soft laugh, her lighter giggle twining with it, and he’d want to tear something out of himself. Because he still loved her, didn’t he? Not the way James did—gentle, easy, golden. No. Sirius loved like a curse.

And curses don’t die just because you tell them to.