Rebel Rebel

Dungeons,  Hogwarts, February 4, 1978

That day, Sirius sat at the worn wooden desk in the dungeons, arms crossed, eyes fixed stubbornly on the bubbling cauldron in front of him. The rhythmic sound of James muttering about the proper consistency of Wiggenweld Potion barely registered. Sirius wasn’t listening—not really. His mind was miles away, tangled in the mess of his feelings for Remus and the strange distance between him and Marlene.

He had been drunk, stupid, careless, blurting out things that should have stayed locked inside. What had possessed him to do that, in front of everyone? Remus. Of all people. Moony. Sirius groaned inwardly, feeling the heat of embarrassment rush to his face. The silence that had followed… God, it still made him cringe. What had he been hoping for? That Remus, ever the calm and composed one, might suddenly want him ?

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. What a stupid, ridiculous thought. He should’ve kept it to himself. Kept everything buried deep inside. He had no right to make things awkward between them—not after all the years they’d spent as friends. Remus had rejected him, and that should have been the end of it. Remus wasn’t interested, never had been, and that was that.

But still, something lingered—something gnawed at him. The ache wouldn’t go away. 

And then there was Marlene. Avoiding Marlene felt harder than he’d ever imagined. Not because he was still hung up on her—he wasn’t—at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. But there was this gnawing emptiness between them, a distance he couldn’t bridge. She threw him sidelong glances whenever they passed each other, those little looks that stung more than he cared to admit.

He missed her. Her laughter. Her voice. Her jabs. Even the way she would tease him, and how they could debate for hours about everything and anything. And yet, in some twisted way, he found himself wishing that he could talk to her about whatever mess he’d made with Remus. 

“Sirius,” James said beside him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You’re meant to be crushing those dittany leaves, not staring into space.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius muttered, grabbing the leaves and tearing into them with more force than necessary.

Across the room, Remus’ gaze lingered on Sirius. He’d noticed it all—the sullen silence, the avoidance, the way Sirius seemed distant even when surrounded by their usual crowd. 

But before Remus could dwell too long, a voice cut through his reverie.

“Oi, Lupin,” Barty said sharply, nudging him with his elbow. “Are you actually paying attention, or do I need to brew this whole thing myself? Because I am not getting a bad grade because you’re off in dreamland.”

Remus blinked, startled. “I’m following,” he said quickly, though the half-written instructions on his parchment suggested otherwise.

Barty arched a brow, unimpressed, before turning his focus back to their potion. “Good. Then dice those flobberworms properly this time. Last class was a disaster.”

From his seat, Sirius caught the brief interaction out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, their gazes almost met, but Sirius quickly looked away, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever questions Remus had brewing.

As the potion simmered and the dungeon filled with the soft murmurs of students working, Sirius forced his focus back to James and the task at hand. Avoidance was what he was best at, wasn’t it? 

**

Lily stepped through the portrait hole, her robes swishing as she entered the Gryffindor common room, James Potter trailing at her heels. His voice was low, teasing, though his trademark lopsided grin made his words more playful than biting.

“You’re insufferable, Potter,” Lily said, rolling her eyes, though the faint smile tugging at her lips softened the jab.

James smirked. “Ah, Evans, if only I could inspire such affectionate insults in everyone.”

She waved him off with a dismissive hand and headed toward the fire, where Dorcas, Marlene, and Mary were lounging in various states of relaxation. James turned back to join his own group of friends, but not before tossing one last glance over his shoulder, his grin lingering as he watched her retreat.

The moment Lily sank into the armchair by the fire, Dorcas pounced. “‘You’re insufferable, Potter,’” she mimicked, her tone dripping with mockery. “Honestly, Lily, you’re not even trying to hide it.”

“I do not fancy James Potter,” Lily said, leaning back in her chair with an exasperated sigh. “It’s not like that. We’re friends…sort of.”

Mary’s eyes lit with mischief, and she tucked her legs beneath her, leaning forward eagerly. “You can’t fool me, Lily Evans. This is the beginning of a great romance—I can feel it.”

Lily grabbed a cushion and launched it at her, but her pinkening cheeks betrayed her. “You lot are impossible. And for your information, I’m going on a date this weekend—with Merrick.”

That got their attention. Dorcas raised a brow, her expression sharp with curiosity. “Merrick McKinnon?”

Mary did a double take. “Wait, the Merrick McKinnon? Lily, it’s not fair—you can’t keep getting all the hot blokes!”

“Hot?” Marlene scoffed, finally breaking her silence. “Merrick’s my brother, for Merlin’s sake. He’s not hot—he’s a total nerd. He spends more time reading Hieroglyphs than having an actual life. He should have been in Ravenclaw.”

Mary grinned, leaning toward Lily with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “A proper nerd, is he? That does sound exactly like your type, Lily.”

Lily glared at Mary, though the heat rising in her cheeks was unmistakable. “He’s not a nerd. He’s... academic,” she said, though the weak protest only made her friends laugh harder.

“He wrote to me earlier this week,” she added, strengthening her back. “He’s staying at home for a bit and he asked if I’d like to see him. I said yes.” 

Dorcas shot a knowing glance at Marlene, who was clearly trying—and failing—to look uninterested by this new development. “That definitely sounds like a date,” Dorcas said with a sly grin.

“It’s a casual… date,” Lily insisted, though the excitement in her voice was undeniable.

Merrick’s letter had arrived at just the right moment, a welcome distraction as she fought to suppress the dull ache that surfaced whenever she saw James and Marlene laughing together. They were effortless, a natural pair. Marlene, with her razor-sharp humor and boundless love of Quidditch, exuded an easy confidence and bore the right family name. She was James’s childhood friend—someone who understood his world, who knew his family, who could slip seamlessly into the life he lived. James could take Marlene to a debutante ball or a Quidditch match, and she would shine at both—witty, charming, and comfortably familiar. 

Mary snorted. “Oh, you’re excited about it. Just admit it.”

Lily opened her mouth to protest but faltered when her friends dissolved into laughter, their teasing ringing out above the crackle of the fire. Shaking her head, she smiled despite herself. “You’re all completely insufferable.”

“Not as insufferable as Potter,” Dorcas quipped, earning another round of laughter from the group.

Lily joined in the laughter, though her thoughts betrayed her

**

As they stroll through the castle corridors one afternoon, the soft shuffle of their footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls, Mary glances at Sirius. Her expression shifts from focus to something more playful, her lips curving into a teasing smile, and a mischievous glint flickers in her eyes.

“You know,” she says lightly, her voice laced with curiosity, “have you ever thought about growing your hair out? I think it’d really suit you.”

Sirius halts for a moment, caught off guard, his dark eyes locking with hers. For the first time, he notices the sincere tone beneath her teasing, the softness in her gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he rakes a hand through his hair.

“What, and risk losing my rugged charm?” he retorts, raising an eyebrow in playful defiance.

But the words settle into his mind, lingering in a way he hadn’t expected. He runs his fingers through his hair again, this time absentmindedly, the thought taking root far deeper than he'd planned.

Mary’s laugh rings out, warm and genuine, and Sirius can’t help but feel something stir inside him. It’s the kind of sound that puts his restless mind at ease. “Well, if that’s your only concern, you’d just look even more rugged.”

The comment sends a rush of warmth through him. He isn’t sure why, but it feels oddly comforting—maybe it’s the sincerity in her voice or just the way she sees him. Like someone who's good. 

As they near the classroom, a familiar voice cuts through the corridor, sharp and taunting.

“Well, if it isn’t MacDonald,” Avery sneers, leaning lazily against the doorframe. His cold eyes flick to Mary with a smirk. “Still playing the victim, are we? Face it, you’re lucky anyone here still tolerates you after what happened to Mulciber.”

Mary stiffens beside Sirius, but before she can respond, Sirius steps forward, his expression shifting instantly from casual amusement to something razor-sharp.

“Funny, Avery,” Sirius says, his voice dripping with mockery, “I was just thinking about how lucky you are that you’ve still got all your teeth.” His smile is anything but friendly. “I’d be careful, mate. My tolerance for listening to your pathetic drivel is wearing very thin.”

Avery’s smirk falters just slightly, his eyes flicking to Sirius’ wand hand. Sirius doesn’t need to make a show of drawing it—his sheer presence is enough of a warning.

Mary exhales quietly beside him, not looking at Avery but at Sirius, something unspoken passing between them. After a beat, Avery scoffs and pushes off the doorframe, stepping aside with a roll of his eyes, heading to the table where Snivellus is seating.

Sirius gaze darkens as his mind shifts to the Slytherins. For a brief moment, he imagines making the Slytherins regret their cruelty. No, not just regret—he wants them to pay.

Mary notices the shift in his demeanor, the way his usual smirk fades into something darker, his expression hardening. Her brow furrows slightly, concern etching across her face. “Sirius?” she asks gently, her voice pulling him from his thoughts.

He blinks, giving her a half-smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, brushing it off.

She doesn’t push him, though there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. Still, she nods and sits at their usual table, and for a brief moment, the weight of his thoughts lifts.

** 

Merrick sat across from Lily Evans at the Three Broomsticks, the crackling fire casting a warm glow over their table. He hadn’t expected to feel so at ease around her, despite their occasional conversations over the years. She was always effortlessly brilliant—sharp-witted, confident, and, in his opinion, a little out of his league. He had been surprised when she had proposed that they go on date after exchanging a few letters of Christmas but had welcomed the distraction from his studies and apprenciship at McKinnon Publishing 

The pub was lively, filled with the soft hum of conversation, the clinking of mugs, and the faint sound of a jig played by a local band in the corner. The regulars had acknowledged him with nods and knowing glances, some likely assuming this was another of his mother’s matchmaking attempts. Merrick figured that was just the price of being a McKinnon. When your father was a respected member of the Wizengamot, your life was never entirely your own.

But for now, he let himself focus on Lily.

She was animated, eyes alight as she spoke about an ancient magical text she’d come across in the Hogwarts library. “It’s absolutely fascinating,” she gushed, fingers curling around her butterbeer. “There’s this whole section on lost magical civilizations that barely anyone’s studied—like Atlantis, but for wizards.”

Merrick found himself watching her, struck by how effortlessly she spoke. She wasn’t trying to impress him, yet he found her utterly captivating.

“So,” he said, resting his chin on his palm with a teasing smile. “What do you do when you’re not decoding ancient runes and making everyone else feel intellectually inferior?”

Lily smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “Well, Merrick, I do have other interests.” She leaned in slightly, as if about to share some grand secret. “For example, I have a slightly unhealthy obsession with Doctor Who at the moment.”

Merrick blinked, confused. “Doctor… who?”

Lily’s eyes widened in mock horror. “You don’t know Doctor Who?” She let out a dramatic gasp. “It’s a Muggle show. The best Muggle show, actually.”

Merrick chuckled, intrigued by her enthusiasm. “Alright, what’s it about?”

Her face lit up, and he could tell he’d just invited a passionate rant.

“Oh, it’s brilliant,” she said, leaning forward excitedly. “It’s about this alien—The Doctor—who travels through time and space in this ship called the TARDIS—which looks like an old police box, but it’s bigger on the inside.” She gestured animatedly as she spoke. “He regenerates whenever he’s mortally wounded, so he changes appearance but stays the same person. And he’s always got these companions, and they go on the most insane adventures—fighting monsters, saving civilizations… honestly, it’s kind of magical in its own way.”

Merrick watched her, utterly fascinated—not just by the show she was describing, but by her. The way her whole face lit up when she was passionate about something.

“Alright,” he said, smirking. “I’ll admit, that does sound kind of amazing.”

Lily grinned. “I’ll make a Whovian out of you yet, McKinnon.”

The rest of the evening flew by in a blur of easy laughter and lively conversation. They talked about music—Lily teasing him over his lack of Beatles appreciation—about books, about Hogsmeade’s best-kept secrets. Merrick found himself opening up in a way he didn’t usually do on dates.

Maybe it was because Lily wasn’t like the girls his mother paraded in front of him—the polished, well-bred pureblood girls who spoke in carefully measured tones and always knew just what to say. Lily was completely herself, and it made him want to be, too, although he was sure his mother would certainly disapprove. 

By the time they stepped outside, the cold winter air biting at their cheeks, Merrick was feeling something close to hopeful.

They walked back toward Hogwarts, their breaths fogging in the air, the quiet night stretching between them. Merrick could feel the moment approaching that unspoken tension just before a first kiss. He had thought about it all night, about whether she’d let him, about whether it would be everything he’d built it up to be.

Lily turned to him just as they reached the castle, a small smile playing on her lips. “I had a really nice time tonight, Merrick,” she said softly.

“Me too, Lily Evans,” he replied, his heart pounding a little harder.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning in. Their lips met—soft, warm, gentle. 

He pulled back, searching her face, and saw something unreadable flicker across her features. 

“Well, that was…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” Lily murmured. She offered a small, uncertain smile. “It was nice.”

Nice.

She took a step back, waving slightly as she turned toward the castle. “Goodnight, Merrick.”

He watched her go, the cold settling into his bones in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

The night had been perfect. The date had been perfect. She had been perfect.

So why did it feel like something had gone horribly wrong?

**

Sirius caught a glimpse of Regulus down the corridor, his younger brother’s familiar silhouette rigid with the kind of quiet defiance that had become second nature to him. He had been so distant for so long—so untouchable. But maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight, Sirius could say something that mattered.

He inhaled sharply, steeling himself, then strode forward. His boots echoed against the stone floor, the scent of smoke still clinging to his clothes from the cigarette he had stubbed out moments before.

“Reg,” he called, voice steady despite the tightness in his throat.

Regulus didn’t acknowledge him at first. His pace remained unchanged, his posture unreadable, a wall built brick by brick over years of silence. But Sirius was used to breaking rules—breaking barriers. He picked up his stride, falling into step beside his brother.

“We need to talk.” He tried to keep the frustration from his voice, but some part of it bled through.

That was enough to make Regulus glance his way, his expression carved from ice. There was no warmth in his dark eyes, no flicker of the boy Sirius had once protected, teased, fought with, loved. Just cold dismissal.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Regulus said flatly. “You always make things worse.”

The words landed heavier than Sirius expected. He swallowed hard. “Reg—I’m sorry,” he said, quieter now, almost like a confession. “For leaving.”

For a split second, something flickered in Regulus’s expression—something raw, something real. But it vanished as quickly as it came.

“You didn’t just leave,” Regulus said, voice quieter but edged like a knife. “You abandoned me.”

The words hit Sirius like a physical blow.

Regulus must have seen it because, in the next breath, he straightened, his face smoothing into indifference once more. He turned away, retreating behind his mask.

“Just leave me alone, Sirius.”

And with that, he walked away, his figure swallowed by the dim corridor.

Sirius stood there, fists clenched in his pockets, watching his brother disappear. The ache in his chest deepened, a dull, familiar pain he should have been used to by now. But no matter how many times it happened, it never hurt any less.

By the time Sirius made his way into the Great Hall for dinner, his mood had soured into something dark and restless. He barely noticed the warmth of the torches or the chatter of Gryffindors around him. His eyes, however, found Regulus immediately.

Sitting at the Slytherin table.

Right beside Snape, Avery, Rosier and Nott. 

Sirius’s jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists beneath the Gryffindor table. Regulus leaned in slightly as Snape murmured something to him, and whatever it was made his brother smirk. That same sharp-edged smirk that once meant trouble when they were kids. Now, it felt like another knife between Sirius’s ribs.

He stabbed at his food without much interest, the usual chatter of the Great Hall washing over him like background noise. Across from him, James was in the middle of some ridiculous retelling of a Quidditch maneuver, Remus rolling his eyes while Peter listened with rapt attention. Sirius barely registered any of it—his thoughts were still with Regulus, with the words that had sliced through him like a blade.

Then, a voice cut through the din.

**

A few seats down, Lily’s laughter rang out, light and effortless, as she recounted something to Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary. Sirius wouldn’t have paid it any mind—except James suddenly went quiet. His hazel eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head just enough to catch more of the conversation. The sandwich in his hand remained untouched, forgotten.

“Merrick?” James muttered, his tone low but tinged with irritation he didn’t bother to hide. “What’s he got that I don’t?”

Sirius, ever quick with a quip, smirked and ruffled James’s perpetually messy hair. "Probably a better comb," he teased.

“Shut it,” James snapped, swatting Sirius’s hand away with more force than necessary. The irritation burned hotter now. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it—whether it was jealousy, frustration, or something more complex—but the thought of Merrick taking Lily on a date annoyed him. Merrick was older, polished, and—James grudgingly admitted—handsome. Worse, he had succeeded in doing something James had tried and failed at for years. No matter how many times he’d asked Lily out, her answers had been a firm no. Somewhere along the way, James had forced himself to stop trying.

“Well,” Remus began, always the voice of reason, though there was an unmistakable glint in his eye, “he is rather dashing, charming, and bright. And let’s not forget, humble. Plus, he’s the heir to a prominent fortune. Who wouldn’t have a crush on him?”

Remus was pretty sure most girls - and boys - at Hogwarts had a crush on Merrick Mckinnon when he was around. He was Gryffindor’s golden boy until he graduated. 

“Moony, you’re not helping,” Sirius said, laughing as he leaned back in his chair.

“I’m charming and rich too,” James shot back defensively, his jaw tightening.

“Yes,” Peter piped up, barely able to suppress a grin, “but you’re not exactly humble.”

Sirius barked a laugh, clapping James on the back. “See? Even Wormtail gets it.”

James scowled, slumping into his chair as his friends’ laughter echoed around him. Across the room, Lily’s laughter mingled with her friends’, entirely oblivious to James’s simmering annoyance. 

**

After dinner, Remus resigned himself to the inevitable—if Sirius wouldn’t talk, he’d have to make him. Avoidance was Sirius’s specialty,  

James had left for Quidditch practice, and Peter had turned in early, leaving the two of them in the dwindling glow of the fireplace. Sirius wasn’t avoiding him in any overt way—he still sat next to him in class, still cracked jokes, still launched balled-up parchment at his head when he wasn’t paying attention. But Remus could feel the shift. The distance. The wall Sirius had thrown up between them overnight.

He hesitated, then took a breath and walked over, planting himself in the armchair across from Sirius. “Can we talk?”

Sirius didn’t look up. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?” He turned a page, eyes fixed on the text.

Remus sighed. “You know what I mean.”

For a second, Sirius said nothing. Then, without looking away from the book, he muttered, “Don’t worry about it, Moony. You made yourself clear.”

Remus frowned. “Did I?”

Sirius finally looked up then, something sharp and unreadable in his gaze. “Yeah. You did.”

Remus swallowed. This was harder than he expected. “Sirius… you were drunk.”

Sirius let out a short, humorless laugh. “So you keep saying.”

“I thought you were just messing around,” Remus admitted. “Taking the piss. Like you always  do…I didn’t think you actually—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

Sirius held his gaze for a moment before scoffing and shaking his head. He shut the book and tossed it onto the table beside him. “It’s fine, Moony. Really. Just forget it.” He got to his feet, stretching like he was already moving on.

Remus swallowed, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. He could feel Sirius slipping away, and he hated it.

“So that’s it, then?” he asked. “We just pretend nothing happened?”

Sirius flashed him a grin, one of those easy, careless ones that meant absolutely nothing. “You said it was a joke, didn’t you?”

Remus felt his stomach drop. There it was—just enough of a crack in the mask to make him doubt everything. Sirius wasn’t saying he meant it, but he wasn’t saying he didn’t either.

And that was the problem.

Before Remus could find the right words, Sirius turned and strode toward the door, leaving him alone with nothing but questions and the gnawing realization that he might have made a mistake.

**

Later that night, Marlene made her way back from Quidditch practice, muscles aching and hair damp with sweat.

The castle halls were quiet, torches flickering against the stone walls. She was too exhausted to deal with anyone, but as she rounded the corner near the entrance hall, she spotted someone loitering against the wall.

Sirius Black.

Brilliant. Exactly what she needed.

She considers turning back, but Sirius clocks her before she can. His mouth tilts into that infuriating, lopsided grin—the one that used to make her stomach flip.  His dark hair, longer than ever and desperately in need of a cut, falls into his eyes as he smirks at her.

“McKinnon,” he drawls, pushing off the wall. “Still throwing yourself headfirst into Quidditch, I see.”

Marlene hoists her broom over her shoulder and doesn’t slow her pace. “Black, still lurking around waiting to ambush unsuspecting girls, I see.”

Sirius chuckles, falling into step beside her. “Hardly lurking. Just happened to be here.”

“Right. And I just happened to be in the mood for mind-numbing chit-chat.”

He smirks. “You wound me.”

She snorts and shakes her head. Same old Sirius. Acting like nothing’s changed, like he didn’t rip the rug out from under her just weeks ago.

“Marlene.” His tone shifts—lighter, but more deliberate. “Come on, talk to me.”

She lets out a dry laugh. “About what, exactly? The weather? The Hogwarts Herald crossword? Or shall we have a good old chinwag about the way you broke things off right before Solstice?”

Sirius sighs. “You know it wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, do I?” She stops walking abruptly, forcing him to halt as well. “Because from where I’m standing, it was exactly like that.”

His grey eyes flicker with something—guilt, maybe, or frustration. He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought we were casual.”

“Well, congratulations, because you did,” she snaps. It was the first time she admitted it outloud. It had happened despite all the rules and boundaries she had tried to erect. She got attached and dared to hope foolishly. “So, what is this, then? Feeling guilty? Thought you’d check in, make sure I wasn’t crying into my pillow every night over you?”

Sirius frowns, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That’s not fair.”

She turns to leave, but his voice stops her.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” He steps closer, quieter now. “You’re pissed off, yeah, but there’s something else bothering you.”

Marlene clenches her jaw. Of course, he notices. Her mother’s warning about a ‘suitable match’ echoed in her mind, just as the distant murmurs of war grew louder with each passing day.

She exhales sharply through her nose. “It’s none of your business.”

His brows knit together. “Marlene—”

“I said drop it.”

The air between them hums with unspoken words. For a moment, neither of them speaks. 

Then, Sirius moves, closing the space between them in two strides. His fingers brush against her wrist—hesitant, as if waiting for her to pull away. When she doesn’t, he wraps his hand around it properly, his grip warm, steady.

She swallows. It would be easier if he were cruel, if he were callous. But no, Sirius Black had to look at her like this—like she was something fragile, something he had no right to hold but couldn’t help reaching for anyway.

“McKinnon…” His voice is softer now, more unsure. And then, just like that, he leans in.

For half a second, she lets him.

Then, reality slams back into place.

She wrenches her hand away and steps back, her heart hammering. “No.”

Sirius looks taken aback. “What?”

“I’m not doing this,” she says firmly. “I’m not letting you pick me up and put me down whenever you bloody feel like it.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not what this is.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t it? You don’t get to kiss me just because it’s convenient, Sirius. You broke things off, remember?”

He stares at her, mouth slightly open like he wants to argue, but she doesn’t give him the chance.

Hoisting her broom over her shoulder, she turns on her heel and strides away, leaving him standing there in the cold.

She won’t look back.

**

That night, Sirius tosses and turns, sleep refusing to come. His mind replays the day’s events in an endless loop—his tense run-in with Regulus, Remus’ attempt to talk to him, Marlene rejecting him and the worst of all was that the Slytherins still snicker behind Mary’s back every time she walked through the corridors.

They act like nothing happened. Like it was a joke.

The more he thinks about it, the more his anger builds, rising like a tide until it drowns out reason. His breath comes short. His hands clench into fists.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s out of bed, grabbing the Invisibility Cloak.

He’s barely rummaged through James’ trunk when a groggy voice stops him.

“What are you doing?”

Sirius whirls around. Peter is sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes.

For half a second, Sirius freezes. Then he schools his expression into something unreadable. “Go back to sleep, Wormtail.” His voice is low, casual—but there’s an unmistakable edge to it, sharp and restless.

Peter frowns, blinking. “Are you—”

“I said go back to sleep.”

Something in Sirius’ tone makes Peter hesitate, but he doesn’t push. He watches, uneasy, as Sirius pulls the Cloak over himself and vanishes into the shadows.

He moves like a shadow beneath the Invisibility Cloak, his heart pounding in his ears. The dungeons were cold and silent, the air damp, laced with the scent of stone and lake water. Only the occasional flickering torch lit his path, casting long, twisting shadows on the walls.

He knew exactly where he was going. He had made sure to learn the entrance to the Slytherin common room years ago—just in case.

From a distance, he watched as Snivellus and Emma Vanity, the slytherin head girl, approach, the blank stretch of dungeon wall. Snivellus mutters the password, voice low, and the stone door rumbled open. Sirius listened intently, catching just enough of the words to commit them to memory before the students disappeared inside.

The door sealed shut behind them, leaving the corridor empty.

Now or never.

Sirius stepped forward, whispered the password, and the stone groaned as it slid open. Holding his breath, he slipped inside.

The room was exactly as he’d imagined—dark, cold, and heavy with the weight of green and silver. The massive fireplace cast eerie shadows along the damp stone walls, and low-hanging chandeliers flickered with sickly greenish light. The Black Lake loomed above through the enchanted windows, its dark waters shifting ominously.

Sirius sneered.

They think they’re so superior, hiding away in their little snake pit.

Not tonight.

With a sharp flick, he muttered the incantation.

Water exploded from the tip of his wand like a tidal wave, crashing across the stone floor. It surged outward in an unstoppable torrent, swallowing everything in its path. Chairs tipped over, bookshelves groaned under the force of the water, their contents spilling and floating aimlessly. The fireplace hissed violently as the flood reached it, steam curling into the air.

Then, the first screams rang out.

Slytherins bolted upright, slipping as they tried to scramble to safety. The water rose quickly—ankles, knees, waists. Some waded through it, others clawed their way onto tables and couches, their faces twisted in shock and fear.

The enchanted windows warped and distorted, the lake outside pressing hungrily against the glass as if responding to the magic.

Panic spread like wildfire.

A few older Slytherins yanked out their wands, trying to counter the spell, but Sirius had made sure to overcharge it. The water kept coming. Faster. Stronger.

Then, the heavy door burst open.

“SIRIUS!”

James’ voice sliced through the chaos.

Sirius turned just as his best friend shoved past a group of drenched, panicked students. James’ expression was furious, his wand already raised.

Sirius’ heart was still racing, but for the first time, doubt crept in.