a very sirius talk
The Truth About Sirius Black
The morning after the grand ball, Harry was still replaying everything in his head—the dancing, the ridiculous fight Ron and Percy got into, and, most importantly, the moment Draco kissed his cheek and called him mon amour. His brain still hadn’t fully recovered from that.
Unfortunately, peace never lasted long in his life.
They were sitting at a lavish breakfast table in their Parisian hotel, with Narcissa elegantly sipping tea, Lucius reading a French newspaper, and Snape looking about as cheerful as ever (which was not at all). The group was in high spirits—Ron was happily stuffing his face with croissants, Hermione was absorbed in a magical book about wizarding France, and Draco was smugly smirking at Harry, as if knowing exactly why he was so flustered.
Then Remus Lupin walked in.
"Good morning," he greeted, his voice as calm as ever. His gaze landed on Harry, and for some reason, there was something almost hesitant about it. "Harry, may I have a word?"
Harry blinked, setting down his fork. “Uh, sure?”
He followed Remus to a quieter part of the hotel lounge, where the older man seemed to be gathering his thoughts.
“Harry,” Remus started, his tone careful, “there’s something you need to know before the school year starts. Something about… your parents.”
Harry’s stomach twisted. “…What?”
Remus exhaled softly, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. “Have you ever heard of Sirius Black?”
Harry frowned. “Only from the Daily Prophet. He escaped from Azkaban, right? A mass murderer?”
Remus flinched slightly. “That’s what the papers say, yes.”
Harry’s heart started to pound. “What does this have to do with my parents?”
Remus hesitated, looking pained, before finally saying, “Sirius Black… was James Potter’s best friend. And your godfather.”
Harry felt like the ground had just vanished beneath him.
He stared at Remus, his brain struggling to process the words.
“My godfather?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re telling me—that man—the one who murdered all those people—was my dad’s best friend?”
Remus looked torn. “It’s complicated, Harry.”
Harry laughed—a short, disbelieving sound. “Oh, is it?” His voice rose. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems pretty simple. He betrayed my parents! He—he handed them over to Voldemort!”
Remus’s expression darkened. “That’s what everyone believes.”
Harry’s breath hitched. Believes.
Something about the way Remus said it made a chill run down Harry’s spine.
“…But you don’t,” Harry realized.
Remus didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, very quietly, he said, “No. I don’t.”
Harry swallowed, feeling like he had just stepped into something much bigger than he could understand.
And somehow, he knew—this was just the beginning.
---
The Hogwarts Express was alive with energy, students chattering about their summers, exchanging stories and complaints about homework. But despite the excitement, Harry couldn’t shake the weight in his chest.
Sirius Black. His father’s best friend. His godfather. The man who had supposedly betrayed his parents. But now, after talking to Remus, Harry wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.
“Harry.”
Draco’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. His soulmate was lounging in the seat across from him, twirling his wand between his fingers. His grey eyes—always so expressive when Harry really paid attention—were watching him closely.
“You’re brooding,” Draco accused lightly.
Harry scowled. “I don’t brood.”
Draco smirked. “You do brood. And don’t think I didn’t notice you spacing out.” His expression softened slightly. “What’s wrong?”
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just—there’s a lot going on.”
Draco didn’t push, but he also didn’t look away. And that was the thing about Draco—he didn’t need to push. He was just there, waiting, until Harry was ready.
Before Harry could decide if he was ready, the train lurched. The lights flickered. A coldness seeped into the air.
The temperature plummeted.
Harry felt the breath leave his lungs, like something was pulling at him, draining every ounce of warmth from his body. The compartment door slid open, revealing a figure draped in black, tall and hooded, its skeletal hand reaching forward.
Then came the voice. A scream, distant yet so close. A woman’s voice. “Not Harry! Please—take me instead!”
Harry’s vision swam. His head spun. The world was slipping away—
Then warmth.
Someone was gripping his wrist tightly.
“Harry!”
Draco’s voice. Urgent. Real.
Harry gasped, snapping back into awareness as a bright silver light exploded in the compartment. A glowing, silvery wolf charged forward, colliding with the Dementor and forcing it back.
Harry sucked in a breath, his whole body shaking. He turned his head.
Professor Lupin.
Remus stood in the doorway, his wand still raised, his Patronus shimmering before fading. His brown eyes flickered with concern.
“Are you alright?” Remus asked gently.
Harry swallowed hard, nodding. Draco’s grip on his wrist hadn’t loosened.
Remus studied him for a moment before sighing. “I’ll get you some chocolate.”
Draco scoffed. “Oh, brilliant. Let’s fight soul-sucking monsters with chocolate.”
“Don’t underestimate the power of chocolate, Mr. Malfoy,” Remus said mildly, handing Harry a piece.
Draco crossed his arms. “I still don’t trust you.”
Harry blinked. “Wait—why?”
Draco glared at Remus. “Because he knows things and refuses to explain them. That’s suspicious.”
Remus smiled, amused. “You’re just like your mother, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco scowled. “Don’t change the subject!”
Before Draco could press further, the compartment door slid open again, and Severus Snape stormed in. His robes billowed behind him, his sharp eyes locking onto Remus immediately.
“I should have known you’d be here, Lupin.”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “Lovely to see you too, Severus.”
Snape scowled, his gaze flicking to Harry, who was still recovering from the Dementor’s attack. His expression darkened further.
“You are unfit to be on this train,” Snape muttered, glaring at Remus. “Already letting Dementors get too close—”
“I handled it,” Remus interrupted, unbothered.
Draco leaned toward Harry and whispered, “Are they flirting?”
Harry, still feeling lightheaded, blinked. “What?”
Draco smirked. “Snape’s being all dramatic and Lupin looks like he wants to tease him to death. If this isn’t flirting, I don’t know what is.”
Harry groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Draco. Please. I just almost passed out.”
Draco smirked. “Just saying, Potter. I know tension when I see it.”
Snape’s glare intensified, and Harry swore he saw the slightest pink tinge on his sallow cheeks.
“We will discuss this later,” Snape snapped at Remus before spinning on his heel and storming away.
Remus sighed dramatically. “Well. That went well.”
Draco snorted. “Oh, definitely flirting.”
Harry groaned again, biting into his chocolate. At least he wasn’t dead.
---
After the Dementor incident, Harry felt like he could finally breathe again. That was, until he, Draco, and the rest of their friends reunited in the Great Hall.
As they walked through the corridors, students whispered around them, most of them talking about Dementors, Sirius Black, or the new DADA professor.
Harry wasn’t paying attention to any of that.
Because, apparently, half the school was blushing at Draco Malfoy.
The first time it happened, Harry barely noticed it. A Ravenclaw girl turned bright red when Draco walked past, her eyes flickering toward him before she quickly looked away.
The second time, a pair of Hufflepuff girls started giggling when Draco smirked in their direction.
By the third time, when even sixth-years were sneaking glances at Draco like he was some kind of celebrity, Harry clenched his jaw.
Draco, for his part, seemed utterly oblivious. Or maybe he wasn’t oblivious and was just choosing to ignore it, which somehow made it worse.
Harry glared at the back of his soulmate’s head, resisting the very strong urge to hex someone.
“Harry,” Hermione called, tugging on his sleeve. “Are you listening?”
“Huh?” Harry snapped his attention back to her, realizing he’d completely zoned out.
She frowned at him before turning back to Draco, who looked mildly amused.
“As I was saying,” Hermione continued, “Professor Babbling mentioned something fascinating about the original interpretations of Elder Futhark. The translation of Ansuz has variations in Norse and Anglo-Saxon scripts.”
Draco’s eyes lit up in that way they did when he got excited about something ridiculously complicated. “Exactly! And that’s why the way Ancient Runes are applied in modern spellcrafting is so limited. If people actually studied how Nordic and Celtic runes interwove, we wouldn’t have half the mistakes we do today.”
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! It’s like how the rune Gebo was once thought to only mean ‘gift,’ but there’s evidence that it could also represent divine balance—”
Harry blinked. “What—what are you even talking about?”
Draco and Hermione both turned to him, and for the first time in his life, Harry understood what it must feel like to be Ron during one of Hermione’s study sessions.
“It’s Ancient Runes, Potter,” Draco drawled, like that explained everything.
Harry scowled. “Yeah, I got that much.”
Draco smirked. “And here I thought you wanted to understand me better, soulmate.”
Harry flushed. “I—” He narrowed his eyes. “Okay, first of all, that’s unfair.”
Draco’s smirk widened. “Is it?”
Harry hated how much he liked that smug expression.
“I still don’t get it,” Ron muttered from beside them. “You two sound like you’re speaking a different language.”
Draco turned to him with a smirk. “That’s because we are, Weasley.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Great. Another thing Malfoy’s annoyingly good at.”
Draco preened. “I do try.”
Harry fought back a smile, feeling a little less annoyed about all the blushing girls from earlier. Because, really, Draco might be infuriating, but he was his infuriating.
---
It happened at breakfast.
Harry was already in a mood—mostly because he kept noticing how way too many people were staring at Draco. He had convinced himself he was imagining things, that the blushing girls were just some strange Hogwarts phenomenon he hadn’t noticed before.
And then she showed up.
A pretty fifth-year Slytherin girl, dark-haired and confident, sauntered right up to their table.
“Draco,” she purred, leaning way too close to him. “You were amazing at the Duelling Club. I had no idea you were so… skilled.”
Harry almost choked on his pumpkin juice.
Across the table, Ron, Blaise, Nico, Pansy, Will, and Hermione all froze—then exchanged glances that said oh, this is going to be fun.
Draco, however, remained entirely unaffected. In fact, he looked bored.
“Obviously,” he said, buttering his toast. “I am a Malfoy.”
The girl giggled, twirling a strand of her hair. “Of course you are. It must be so difficult for you—being so talented, so charming. How do you handle all the attention?”
Harry clenched his fork so tightly that he was about to snap it in half.
Blaise grinned behind his goblet, while Pansy outright smirked.
“Oh, this is good,” Nico muttered under his breath, watching the scene like it was the best entertainment he’d had in weeks.
Will elbowed him, whispering, “Do you think he even gets what’s happening?”
Hermione, struggling to hold in laughter, shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
Meanwhile, Draco just blinked at the girl, completely unfazed. “I don’t handle it,” he said flatly. “I ignore it.”
The girl faltered, but quickly recovered, twirling her hair again. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe some of us appreciate your presence, Draco.” She batted her lashes. “Maybe I appreciate it.”
Harry was going to murder someone.
Draco, still oblivious, finally looked up from his plate and raised an eyebrow. “Are you feeling alright? Your eye keeps twitching.”
Across the table, Ron lost it. He slammed his head onto the table, shaking with silent laughter. Blaise covered his mouth, dying, while Pansy actually had to grip Nico’s shoulder to stay upright.
The girl turned an unnatural shade of red, flustered beyond repair. “I—I—never mind!” she sputtered before storming off.
Draco frowned, watching her leave. Then, he turned to the group. “What’s wrong with her?”
That was it. Pandemonium.
Ron was gasping for breath, Blaise was half-falling out of his seat, and Pansy was wiping away actual tears.
“Oh my gods,” Nico wheezed. “Draco, you idiot, she was flirting with you!”
Draco blinked. “She was?”
Will, still laughing, nodded. “Yes, obviously.”
Draco frowned, looking back at where the girl had disappeared. “Why?”
Hermione buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. “I can’t with you.”
Meanwhile, Harry, who had spent the entire time trying not to explode, finally exhaled.
Draco wasn’t interested. Draco didn’t even realize he was being flirted with.
The relief was immense.
Still, he had to say something.
“You’re impossible, Malfoy.”
Draco smirked, turning back to Harry with that infuriatingly charming expression. “And yet, you love me anyway.”
Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands. He hated how right Draco was.