Sirius knows.

He has known for days, perhaps even weeks. The calligraphic curls of your handwriting are too familiar; you are likely accustomed to your scent, but the faint trace of your perfume leaves on the edges of the parchment. It is you. It has always been you.

But you believe it means nothing to him: the most handsome, the wittiest, with that bloody smile revealing his endearingly sharp upper canines. You know—who doesn't?—students from other houses spin legends about him, his name whispered in dormitories with wistful sighs. And you? You are nobody. A face in the crowd, save for the fact you write him poetry.

In this, you are unique. And it is what hooks him.

“Ah, caught you.”

You jump. Sirius is just a few steps away, leaning casually on the wall. His grey eyes remain mischievous, but now they carry an unquestionable curiosity. Unrequited love catches you at the scene of the crime.

“May I see?” Sirius steps closer.

You step back, shaking your head. Not-f'you, your tongue stumbles—words merging, stubbornly refusing to form a coherent sentence.

He smiles with the corner of his lips—not mockingly, but with a touch of slyness that drives half the Academy mad. “Not for me? Hm, then who is it for?”

You attempt to hide the crumpled parchment, but he seems to read your intentions. He gently seizes your wrist, his fingers circling it lightly, and carefully slides the paper from your grasp.

“When stars confide their midnight song, Your glow outshines them all night long. Unbridled, fearless, wild, and free, Like rivers rushing to the sea. Your eyes hold worlds both dark and deep, Your smile wakes suns from gentle sleep. Yet how it burns—to merely be A shadow of your dream to me.”

The teasing expression fades, replaced by a seriousness entirely unsuited for him. Oh no, it is probably no surprise when you let out a small, broken sob, because you are ready to sink through the floor. What surprises you is not his usual sharp wit, but the warmth of his palm resting on your cheek.

“Do not cry, gorgeous.”