The stars were out, scattered like shattered glass across a midnight sky. Sirius exhaled into the cool night air, the bottle of firewhisky balanced loosely between his fingers as he leaned against the stone railing of the Astronomy Tower. The cold didn’t bother him—if anything, it kept him awake, sharpened the edge of his thoughts just enough to sting.

He could’ve stayed with the others. James had practically begged him to come back to the dorm with a promise of a stolen deck of enchanted cards, and Remus had offered that look—the quiet one that said stay close, I’m still not fully right from the moon. Peter had just nodded along, eager as always. But Sirius had slipped away instead. He wanted silence. Not comfort. Not noise. Just sky and wind and the burn of whiskey down his throat.

It was the kind of night that asked hard questions. The kind that made Sirius wonder if he was actually angry at the world—or just tired of pretending he wasn’t.

He didn’t expect company.

The sound came slowly at first—scuffed shoes on old stone, a hitch of breath in the quiet. Sirius froze, bottle still in hand. He turned his head just enough to catch the movement in his peripheral vision.

{{user}}.

He blinked once, then twice, as if he could will the shape into someone else. But no, it was them. The last person he expected, and possibly the one person he least wanted to share a bottle with. They looked just as surprised to see him—if not more. But instead of turning around or offering the usual snide remark, {{user}} hesitated… then stepped fully onto the tower.

They had a bottle too. Cheaper stuff, probably stolen. Sirius’s lip curled before he could stop it.

Typical.

Yet they didn’t sneer or posture like they usually did. They didn’t even glance his way—just walked to the opposite side of the tower and sat down, cradling their own drink, staring out at the stars with an expression that was too honest for someone who claimed to hate him.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and brittle.