1. Sirius was halfway through enchanting a suit of armor to jump out and terrify the first Slytherin that crossed its path when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, wand still poised, to see Lily Evans standing there with her arms crossed and a knowing expression. “Black, what exactly are you doing?” He gave her a long-suffering sigh, clutching his chest dramatically. “Bloody hell, Evans! Can’t you leave me alone for just one minute?” She arched an eyebrow. “Is one minute without a prank too much to ask?” He huffed but smiled. “The school would be boring without me.” “Somehow, I think we’d survive.” But as she walked away, he watched her, wondering why he couldn’t seem to stay annoyed with her.
2. It was evening, and Sirius was putting on a show at Quidditch practice. After every dive and flip, he checked to see if she’d noticed—an amused Lily Evans who had somehow found her way to the stands. Finally, after a particularly close call, he swooped down to her, grinning. “Didn’t know you cared enough to watch, Evans.” She scoffed. “I came because I figured it’s only a matter of time before you end up in the Hospital Wing.” “Bloody hell, Evans, can’t you leave me alone for one practice?” he teased, laughing. “Someone has to make sure you don’t break every bone in your body,” she shot back, feigning exasperation. As he flew off, he felt oddly lighter, knowing she was there watching out for him.
3. The Christmas party was in full swing when Sirius, lounging on the couch, spotted Lily walking over, looking far too pleased with herself. James was at the center of the room, blushing furiously under a hovering mistletoe that Sirius had enchanted to follow him around all night. “Sirius,” Lily said, arms crossed, “get rid of it. Now.” He shook his head, grinning wider. “Bloody hell, Evans, can’t you leave me alone to spread a little holiday cheer?” She rolled her eyes, pulling her wand out to dispel the mistletoe. “If this is your idea of ‘cheer,’ then no, I really can’t.” He watched her work, still amused. “You’ve made it your mission in life, haven’t you?” “Consider it my gift to Gryffindor,” she said, her voice light, but her smile held something warmer.
4. One late evening in Potions, Sirius was in his element, having slipped a few extra pinches of a combustible ingredient into their cauldron. He was about to toss in another when Lily’s hand shot out, stopping him. “Are you actually trying to make it explode, Black?” “Evans,” he grumbled, pretending to clutch his hand in pain, “bloody hell, can’t you leave me alone for five seconds?” She gave him an unimpressed look. “If I did, you’d have us here all night cleaning up the mess.” He sighed, but his smile betrayed him. “Alright, maybe you’ve saved me this time.” As he glanced back, he muttered under his breath, “Can’t seem to keep you away, can I?”
5. The Gryffindor common room was dark and empty, save for Sirius sitting hunched on the couch by the fire. It was just after the summer holidays, and he’d come back with bruises and a fresh scars on his hand. He hadn’t said much to anyone, brushing off concern with a smirk. But that night, when everyone was asleep, Lily found him by the fire. She sat down beside him without a word, glancing down at his hand resting on his knee. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice rough. “Bloody hell, Evans… can’t you leave me alone?” She didn’t smile or roll her eyes, just took his hand and gently pressed her thumb over the scar. “No,” she said softly. “Not tonight.” For once, he didn’t joke, letting her sit with him until the dawn.
Years later, Sirius sat alone, tracing that same scar, the others had faded over time but still there in the jumble of them all there were two at stood out; in shape of an “L.” He remembered the girl who had never let him feel alone, no matter how much he pretended he wanted her to. “Bloody hell, Evans,” he murmured, voice breaking. “Why couldn’t you leave me alone?” His words caught in his throat, and he took a shaky breath. “Why did you leave me alone?”
From the doorway, Remus watched quietly, understanding without a word the weight of memories and the ache of what was lost.