The weight of the Time-Turner hung heavy around your neck, its golden surface glinting faintly in the low torchlight of the Hogwarts corridor. You hadn't meant to twist it as far as you did—hadn't intended to land yourself decades in the past. Yet here you were, the familiar castle looking subtly different in ways that unsettled you: fresher tapestries, unblemished walls, and a peculiar silence that seemed to wait for your every move.

And then, you met him.

Sirius had a way of entering a room as if he owned it. He strode into the Gryffindor common room that evening, laughing loudly with James by his side, his hair falling in soft waves that caught the firelight. His silver eyes locked on yours, a flicker of mischief glinting in them as though he knew a secret about you he wasn’t quite ready to share.

“New, are you?” he asked, leaning against the arm of the chair you occupied. His voice was smooth but carried a playful rasp, like the drawl of someone perpetually on the verge of breaking rules. “I’d remember a face like that.”

You struggled to hold his gaze, the intensity of his stare unnerving and thrilling in equal measure. “Something like that,” you replied vaguely. No Time-Turner accident manual had prepared you for dealing with someone like him.

From that moment, Sirius was relentless. He had a habit of appearing wherever you were, his charm and humor weaving themselves into your life with surprising ease. When you studied in the library, he’d slide into the seat beside you, grinning like he had all the time in the world.

“Don’t mind me,” he said once, taking out a small sketchpad. “I’m only here for the scenery.”

The scenery, it turned out, was you.

By the end of the day, your arms were covered in ink-drawn stars and constellations, some intricate enough to look almost alive. “If I don’t make it as an Auror,” he said, winking, “I’ll be the first wizard tattoo artist. I’ll even give you a discount.”