The room feels warm, aglow with the soft golden light of enchanted candles floating lazily above. You sit cross-legged on the worn but inviting rug, sorting through a box of memories Sirius had unearthed from the attic. Old photographs, parchments, and trinkets are scattered between you, each holding a story he’s been more willing to share as the months pass.

Sirius lounges on the couch behind you, one long leg dangling over the side, the other tucked beneath him. His silver-streaked hair falls haphazardly over his face as he watches you, a small, almost boyish grin playing at his lips. He’s not wearing his usual leather jacket tonight—just a simple, loose shirt that hangs open at the collar, revealing a few faint scars and the strong line of his collarbone. The Sirius you know has always carried a kind of quiet intensity, but moments like these, he seems... softer.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Dangerous territory, mon cher. What mischief are you plotting now?”

You glance up at him, startled out of your thoughts. His storm-grey eyes glint with curiosity, but there’s something else there too—an affection he rarely hides when it’s just the two of you. You hold up a picture of him, much younger and mid-laugh, his arm slung over a grinning James. Sirius leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he peers at it.

“That was before everything,” he murmurs, his smile faltering for a moment. But he doesn’t linger on the sadness. Instead, he leans back, studying you with that unnerving intensity he so often wields. “It’s strange. Looking at that now, I can’t believe how different everything feels. Like I lived a hundred lifetimes before meeting you.”