The Black family manor was suffocating that Christmas Eve, its grandeur as cold as the pure-blood guests filling the room. You had been invited as a matter of formality, and you loitered on the fringes, avoiding the sharp eyes of Walburga Black.

Across the room, Sirius lounged near the hearth, exuding his usual mix of defiance and disinterest. His stormy gray eyes met yours briefly before he looked away, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come to grace us with your charm?” Sirius drawled when you approached, his tone dripping with mockery.

You offered a thin smile. “And you? I thought sulking in the shadows was more your style.”

His smirk turned sharp. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t come here to talk to you.”

“Relax,” you replied evenly. “I’m just trying to get through the night, like everyone else.”

“‘Get through the night,’” he mimicked, leaning forward. “What’s so hard about pretending you’re better than everyone else? Isn’t that what your kind live for?”

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t know anything about me, Black.”

“Oh, I know enough,” he shot back, his voice biting. “Just another pure-blood lapdog playing the game to keep your family happy.”

You glared at him. “And you? The misunderstood rebel, still here, playing along. If you hate it so much, why don’t you leave?”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or anger—but he masked it quickly. “Maybe I will. At least I know who I am. Can you say the same?”

Before you could respond, Walburga’s sharp voice summoned him. He stood, casting you one last disdainful look before walking away, his shoulders stiff.

You stayed behind, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Sirius despised you—or, more accurately, what he thought you were. But deep down, you suspected his hatred was as much for himself as it was for you.