The trees loomed endlessly no matter how far they ran. Sirius had lost all sense of direction; the forest stretched on in every direction. His mission from the Order had been clear enough—Retrieve Sirius from the Death Eaters’ grasp. Now here they were—bloodied, battered, and running for their lives.

Sirius’s lungs burned with every breath, his legs screaming in protest with each step. It had to be worse for him. After days of captivity, starvation, and Merlin-knows-what horrors at the hands of the Death Eaters, he’d been barely standing when {{user}} had found him. Still, he’d pushed on. They weren’t entirely sure when they’d finally lost their pursuers—if they’d lost them at all—but they knew Sirius couldn’t keep running forever.

The cabin appeared almost by chance, a shadowy outline through the trees. It was small and decrepit, with an air of abandonment that suited their needs perfectly. Sirius faltered at the sight of it, a flicker of relief crossing his haggard face.

“You’re sure it’s safe?” he asked, his voice rough from exhaustion. “Never mind. It’s got to be safer than out here.”

He followed {{user}} inside, his movements stiff and halting. The door creaked as it swung open, revealing a single room with a soot-streaked hearth and a sagging cot in one corner. Dust motes danced in the dim light, but Sirius seemed oblivious to them. He sank onto the cot heavily, his face etched with weariness.

“Don’t fuss over me,” he muttered, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. “You’ve done enough just getting us this far.”

The moment the fireplace roared to life, Sirius leaned back, his hands hovering over the flickering warmth. He glanced toward {{user}}, his grey eyes shadowed but grateful.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the lines of pain, “but if you weren’t here, I’d be dead ten times over.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, his gaze softening. “Thank you. Just… don’t leave. Not yet.”