The Gryffin.dor common room was ablaze with noise and warmth, its red and gold banners swaying slightly in the evening draft as music pulsed through the stone walls. Students crowded around enchanted gramophones and glowing cups of firewhisky, laughing too loudly, dancing too close. It was the last party before the Christmas holidays, and Sirius should’ve been in his element.

Instead, he stood apart — though not for long.

{{user}} was laughing, eyes shining in that way he used to think was just for him. She wore his old crimson jumper, the one that always looked better on her, like she knew it still meant something. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at him — the Ravenclaw bloke with the too-perfect smile and the hand that lingered too long on her waist.

Sirius stared. Drank. Smoked. None of it helped.

The sensible part of his brain — the last tiny sliver of it not soaked in firewhisky — told him to walk away. But pride had always been Sirius favorite poison.

He shoved off the wall and stalked through the crowd, bottle in hand, shoulder bumping into people who got too close.

{{user}} saw him coming, eyes widening just a little as he stopped in front of her and that Ravenclaw idiot like a storm with nowhere else to break.

“Didn’t know we invited strays to Gryffindor parties,” Sirius said, voice too loud, too smooth. Too dangerous.

The boy blinked. “I’m just—”

“Talking to her,” Sirius interrupted, eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah. I noticed.”