Enemy Lover
Sirius spends the rest of the night hurling colourful insults at Alexandra Garnier whilst James attempts to pry his feet from off the floor. It’s a fruitless attempt mind you, everyone knows only the witch in question can remove the spell-a fact that annoys James deeply. He has head boy duties to be attending to right now, Merlin knows his Lilyflower would hate him for missing them. He eyes Sirius wearily before collapsing on the floor next to him.
“I think we’re making progress pads.” He says wiping his hands on his robe. “You’ll be up and walking within the next hour, I reckon.”
Sirius blows a piece of hair out of his face. James is too good for him, honestly. “You can go Prongs, I'll wait for it to wear off.”
Now James, being the most honourable of the dishonourable brotherhood of the marauders, is frankly offended by Padfoots suggestion. Like he would leave his best friend unarmed in enemy territory (honestly!). “I’m not going anywhere, Pads, now shove over and let me lie down.”
Sirius, slightly ruffled by how fast his sacrifice was dismissed, does as he’s told. He leans over to the side and James promptly plops his head in his lap with a muttered,“May as well be my pillow after all this trouble.”
“I told you to go.” Sirius huffs, trying-and failing- to lob Prongs off his knees. Considering the fact his feet are glued to the floor though, the movement does very little other than offer James a bit of turbulence on his flight to dreamland.
“Shut up, Pads,” James retorts, pinching Sirius’ knee to straighten his legs for maximum comfort. “Focus on getting revenge on Garnier for this.”
Sirius sighs, resigning himself to the situation. He does hate her, Alexandra. Since the day he’d laid eyes on her he knew what she was destined for, who she was destined to be. She can parade the corridors arrogantly, she can hurl insults at and hex all of the students she wants to. She can learn every potion and spell in the world for all he cares, he would always see her for what she is.
She’d called him a blood traitor before taking his wand and stalking off into the shadows. It falls off her tongue so easily as though the word means nothing, as though everything that she opposes means nothing. As though he means nothing.
Sirius Black, self proclaimed leader of the marauders (don’t tell James) and number one Slytherin hater vows to remind Alexandra exactly who she is. What she is to him
She’s in for a long year that's for sure.
“Padfoot, I’d rather you stop scheming so menacingly while I’m trying to sleep,” James mumbles, his voice thick with drowsiness. “Your hot breath is going to ruin my hair.”
Sirius snorts at the interruption and elbows James. “Shove off Potter.”
“Goodnight Padfoot.”
—---------------
Alexandra is sitting quietly in charms when Mulciber feels inclined to sit next to her. It’s hardly shocking to the rest of the class considering the boy has an aptitude for behaving however he feels whenever he feels like it. What is shocking however, is when he purposefully moves the fellow Slytherin’s bag out of the chair before settling on it.
You see, Alexandra also has an affinity to hex those who make an effort to invade her personal space, which is why the three Hufflepuffs sitting behind them shift uneasily in their seats—not particularly thrilled at the thought of getting caught in the crossfire of whatever argument might erupt between the two.
Alexandra glowers at him from her seat, he chooses to ignore this, instead opting to casually reach for a quill from her bag.
“What is your problem?” She scowls, snatching her bag from his grip, and Mulciber simply shrugs.
“Must I have a problem every time I wish to speak with you?” He says, eyeing her closely.
Her expression hardens, the familiar icy wall sliding into place. “What is it you want?”
Mulciber smirks as though happy with her response. “My father has written. He believes you have knowledge.”
Her jaw is clenched when she drawls, “I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“But I think you do.” His voice is smooth, with a dangerous edge, and the glint in his eye does nothing to ease her nerves. He leans in slightly, his arm resting on the desk of the Hufflepuff behind her, his knees angled toward her. Though his gaze is elsewhere, Alexandra feels the weight of it, like a predator sizing up its prey. She narrows her eyes, her resolve hardening.
Hell would freeze over before she let Mulciber interrogate her.
She leans towards him. “Listen to me,” she hisses. “I don’t care what your father thinks, nor do I care if you’re curious. I know nothing about the tournament, and if i did i definitely wouldn’t be sharing it with you of all people.”
A half lie, he doesn’t register it.
His expression doesn’t falter, nor does the gleam in his eyes dim, “You’re a terrible liar Garnier. It’d do you good to work on that” He drawls, taking a moment to look at her. “Just in case.”
If a small knot of anxiety does pool in her stomach, she refuses to acknowledge it. She’s a Slytherin, she’s better at this than he is. “Being a good liar will hardly aid you when the time comes Adrian, you and I both know that.” She hums, turning back to her notes. “Now if I don't have any more demands, I'll be doing my work.”
Mulciber doesn’t bother replying for a while.
When he realises Alexandra made good on her word, and that she truly did have nothing left to say to him he leans back with a chuckle.
“Very well,” he says standing up slowly, “It’d do you well to remember I'm not the only one watching. You might want to keep that in mind.”
With that, he strolls back to his seat beside Rosier, who spares a glance in her direction. She’s suddenly aware of who else is watching, suddenly aware that she can’t hope to blend in anymore.
The games have put a target on her back and they haven’t even started.
Merlin! It’s as though everyone seems to have lost their minds. The cup hasn’t yet been brought in, nor has professor Dumbledore made any further announcements or left any other hints. She hasn’t received any more letters and now that she truly thinks about it, she thinks it’d be less and less likely that she would be chosen as champion anyhow.
It’s more of a Gryffindor thing she’d say.
Her housemates have been more dodgy of late also. She notes Lucius’ absence at breakfast and Regulus’ late arrival, sweaty and stiff as though injured. Rosier has been skipping every lesson according to Allegra, though he’s been present in all those he’s had with her. Slytherin house has never been for unity and brotherhood, but now it seems they’re even more splintered than usual.
Her father had told her this would happen, she didn’t believe him. She chooses not to believe him even now. This is how they’ve always been, self serving and ambitious. It wouldn’t be the games that revealed that it would be growing up in itself.
Her housemates have always been inherently mature, in that they didn’t bother lowering themselves to the stupidity of their agemates. They’ve always been that way, too prim to be silly, too old to be young. Alexandra doesn’t think of herself often in terms of age, but when she notices the first years running around in robes much too large for them, she finds it hard to picture a time when she was ever that young. Not that she doesn’t remember first year, of course she does. It was when she decided that the only friend she had was herself, and that Gryffindor and Sirius Black were the bane of her existence.
She notes the peace she feels walking down this corridor on her way to the dungeons and notes that for the first time in a while, she is completely alone, without any idiots interrupting her piece of min-
She slams into something—or rather, someone—with enough force to send her stumbling backward. Alexandra hits the cold stone floor hard, the impact jolting through her bones. Her bag spills open, quills, parchment and his wand scattering across the ground. She scrambles for it when someone else gets there first.
“Watch where you’re going.” Black snaps and he has a look of disgust on his face.
Her head moves to watch him, and her heart sinks a little when she sees him reunited with his wand.
It was fun seeing him vulnerable.
He stands over her tall and imposing, he’s visibly grown into his features over the summer, his shoulders broader and an extra layer of muscle over his once lean frame. She supposes he must have grown an inch or two also, but that may just be the angle at which he’s scowling at her from.
He’s aware the summer has been kind to him also, and now it only adds to his infuriating arrogance.
Alexandra glares back at him, refusing to feel embarrassed. “Maybe if you paid more attention to where you’re walking, Black, this wouldn’t have happened.”
He scoffs, and it's the most disrespectful noise Alexandra has ever been on the receiving end of. “Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own self-importance, you’d notice when you’re about to run into someone,” he retorts, and she visibly bristles.
She’d assume he was this angry only because of the situation she had left him in the other night, she’s not stupid though. She knows this is the result of a deep festering hatred.
She moves to reply and remind him of his place, but he’s already gone without so much as a second glance by the time she gets back on her feet. She frowns, how dare he behave as though she was beneath his notice when he’s the one that knocked her over.
Alexandra grits her teeth and gathers her things, watching his retreating form with annoyance. She’d get him back for this.
—------
When she is finally gathered and certain that he’s not lingering in the doorway to trip her, she walks into the classroom.
The potions room is dimly lit with the flickering light from the torches casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. The air is thick with varying scents and she finds herself relaxing into it a bit, at least this is familiar.
Only to an extent though, because when she reaches into her bag to find the list of ingredients she needs to collect, someone is already crashing into the seat beside her, a collection of vials in his arms.
She mentally prays that her eyes are deceiving her, and that Sirius Black is not now unpacking his books at her desk.
“What do you think you’re doing, Black.” She demands her voice low.
He doesn’t even spare her a glance, lazily spreading on the stool. “Sitting obviously.” he replies
Alexandra narrows her eyes, “Sit somewhere else.”
“And why would I do that? It's not like anyone else wants to sit here.” He smirks, busying himself with arranging the ingredients.
Her patience is at a breaking point. She raises her hand and waits to get Slughorn's attention. “Professor, why is Black sitting here?” she asks, her voice strained with barely contained anger.
Slughorn, the oblivious old chap he is, doesn’t seem to notice her tone of voice and instead greets her with a big smile. “Ah yes Ms Garnier, I was waiting for you to ask!” He says clapping his hands together, “You see Mr Black here is in need of a good influence, and what better candidate than you.”
Mr Black in question snorts out loud and Alexandra has to restrain herself from hexing the potions master. “Surely, there’s better choices prof-”
“No Ms Garnier i doubt there are, that is my final decision.”
She clenches her teeth knowing better than to argue with the professor, and resigns herself to scooting as far away from Black as possible.
He looks at her amused, before turning to potter who’s sat behind him. “I think i’ll kill myself if here for any longer.” He says, sighing dramatically.
Potter pets his shoulder soothingly, “Don’t worry Pads, I'm here for you.”
Alexandra scoffs, as she scribbles down the notes Slughorn’s urging them to take down. Sirius isn’t very pleased by her reaction though.
“You know Garnier.” He begins, his tone irritatingly light. “It’s really no wonder you’re all alone. Who would want to spend time with someone as frigid as you.”
She rolls her eyes at his immaturity but she has to admit the laughter he's getting in response is angering her. She frankly doesn’t understand who he thinks he is if she’s honest- she’s not him though, she won’t lose her cool over a petty comment.
“You’re failing potions for a reason Black, I suggest you shut up and pay attention.” She says.
A mistake, she should’ve just ignored him. Because now Black has an incentive to continue his onslaught of insults. He looks at her laughingly before saying, “Bit pitiful isn’t it, if i were you i wouldn’t even try with school, knowing the only thing you have to look forward to is some marriage contract to a death eater.”
Bile rises in her throat and she contemplates slapping him across the face, the class is listening now, everyone always is when Sirius opens his mouth.
“At least I won’t die alone, Black,” she retorts, her voice icy. “No decent witch would ever want to spend her life with a blood traitor like you.”
The insult pulls the same reaction it always does, anger. His facade of lazy nonchalance vanishes and his expression hardens, his eyes a stormy sea of grey.
“And no sane wizard would go near you with a ten-foot pole,” he snaps back, leaning in so close she can feel the heat of his breath on her skin. “Face it, Garnier. The only man who’ll ever touch you is one who’s forced to do it. And even then, he’ll hate every minute of it.”
She straightens her back, lifting her chin defiantly as she meets his gaze with a glare that could freeze over hell itself. “I’d rather that than be a worthless blood traitor, hated by my own family and used by every girl desperate for a fling,” she hisses back. “At least I have the pride of knowing where I stand.”
If his words did hurt her she’d never show it.
Remus from beside James taps Sirius’ shoulder. “Let it go.” He mutters, but his words fall on deaf ears.
“And what about you, Garnier? Is joining Voldemort the only way you’ll ever be noticed? Or are you just trying to fill the void left by your father while he’s off murdering Muggles?”
A gasp in the back of the classroom. Her expression falters and Black looks like murder. Her father?
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Is all she says and she fingers the edge of her wand. “Shut your mouth.”
“Or what? You’ll hex me? You’re just as rotten as the rest of your family, pretending you’re better than everyone else while you’re knee-deep in blood and dark magic.”” He continues.
James, Remus and Peter watch on as Sirius and Alexandra go at it. Someone ought to step in, they think, none of them move to do so.
Alexandra isn’t even sitting anymore, she’s standing and there’s anger washing off her in a wave “You think you’re any better?” she shoots back, her voice rising. “You’re just a reckless fool with a death wish, turning your back on your own family because you’re too weak to stand up to them.”
Remus flinches at the comment and James reaches over to Sirius only to find him also reaching for his wand. He’s not quite sure about what to do.
Thankfully someone else does.
“That is quite enough.” says professor Slughorn sternly, he’s only just reentered the classroom to find his prized student with her wand at the neck of the boy he had seated next to her because of his bad behaviour. “I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour in my classroom. Both of you—settle down, or there will be consequences.”
Reluctantly, Alexandra lowers her wand, but not before casting one last glare in Sirius’ direction. He returns it with equal venom. And a hefty silence befalls the too.
Her stool is as far from him as she can push it without hitting the table leg. And yet the distance isn’t enough, the silence is suffocating and his gaze is an unrelenting noose around her neck. He doesn’t let up, nor does he make any attempt at making space between them, Alexandra is half tempted to ask him what his problem is when she catches the eye of Rosier from across the room.
He doesn’t do much but stare and then cock an eyebrow, as though asking whether she really wants to go through with that. She shivers a bit, sometimes Evan could pass as a legilimens and she doesn’t like it.
She shrugs in response and tears her gaze back to her potion, the hot steam comes off it doing well to hide the deep flush of embarrassment underneath her skin.
She’d let him win. Again.
He’d gotten a reaction out of her. Again.
She’s not sure what it is in their genetic makeup that makes them such sworn enemies, she isn’t sure this hatred sparks from any action or wrongdoing over any span of time. No. Sirius Black gets under her skin in a way that only her natural enemy would. As though in their design, opposing qualities were thrown together in a pile of spite and resentment and then halved to form the two of them.
Where Sirius Black is a storm of rage that overwhelms her with his anger, she is an earthquake that simmers before causing irreversible damage.
She’s not sure what she would’ve done should Slughorn not have interfered, probably hexed him. But him-she doesn’t want to know what he’d have done.
Sometimes when Alexandra hears Regulus or Narcissa speak of the disowned Black, they emphasise the idea of rebellion, how the only reason he isn’t sat enjoying his meals with them at the Slytherin table is because he chose against it.
She’s never agreed with this; and she most certainly doesn’t agree now. Some days she sees him and all she can see is red and gold. Perhaps he’s got the pride of a Slytherin, in that he believes himself superior to all-but she attributes that more to his Black heritage. As much as he may choose to run from it, he is still the pureblooded heir of one of the most aristocratic houses in the world. No, she’d say his nature as a Gryffindor jumps out the most on days such as this- when he embeds his lion claws in her throat and attempts to tear at her jugular.
The hat had scarcely touched her head when it had deemed her Slytherin, much like the way it had called Black all kinds of brave before sentencing him to Gryffindor. They’re connected somehow. Destined to hate the other for as long as the strength to hate exists within their bones and when it fades the cycle will rebegin, and the embers of resentment and spite they are bound by will reconnect and split when the time comes for newer, fresher, younger blood.
It’s a tale written in the stars.
—-----------------------------
Sirius has had a number of foul moods in his lifetime-one cannot help it when born into the great and ancient house of Black, it's a buy nothing get it regardless kind of deal. Anyway, his foul moods often range from shallow anger at a smaller nuisance, for example Snivellus Snape, to rather large ones, often triggered by either a letter from home (he hasn’t received one in years) or an interaction with his sworn nemesis.
Today it is the latter.
He stalks through the castle, his irritation still simmering just beneath the surface, a tension in his muscles that threatens to explode at the slightest provocation. His boots hit the cold stone floor with a bit more force than necessary, echoing through the corridors like a war drum, a physical manifestation of the battle raging in his mind.
His thoughts dance around a single person, a name that seems to have taken up permanent residence in the darker corners of his mind: Alexandra. It’s infuriating, the way she manages to worm her way into his thoughts, despite every effort he makes to push her out. Every encounter with her leaves him seething, his temper frayed and his patience worn thin.
“Can you believe her?” Sirius snaps, kicking a loose stone down the corridor. The stone clatters against the wall with a satisfying crack,“Honestly, why does she even bother showing up if all she’s going to do is try to make my life miserable?”
There’s a familiar edge to his voice, an edge that cuts through the usual banter he shares with his friends.
James shares a look with Remus and the dishonourable brothers prepare themselves for the usual Alexandra Garnier rant that Sirius provides once a fortnight. Normally, James finds it rather amusing, something to look forward to in the same way one might anticipate a particularly spicy Quidditch match. That is, when it’s only once a fortnight. Two doses of Alexandra hate within 24 hours can’t be too healthy for him, the same way he might avoid becoming an alcoholic.
Despite this,James, ever the loyal friend, nods in agreement. “You’re right, mate. She’s got it out for you. It’s like she’s just waiting for you to slip up”
He’s not quite sure that he believes what he’s saying.
Remus visibly doesn’t either. James shrugs innocently at the withering look he receives from the boy.
don’t encourage him Prongs.
Apparently too tired to receive his fortnightly dose, (which James finds a bit unfair, considering he’s already had to sit through two and isn’t the least bit annoyed), Remus, walking a few steps behind, sighs—a sound that’s heavy with exasperation and something that might be pity. “Or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe she doesn’t have it out for you, Padfoot.”
Sirius, somehow oblivious to the non verbal conversation shared before him, looks up at Remus with fresh indignation as though never having heard the combination of words before. Which is ridiculous, really, because Remus brings this up every time. . “What are you on about Moony?”
Moony doesn’t appreciate the challenge in his voice, nor the topic of conversation very much.“There’s only one reason you get so worked up around her, and it’s not because she’s out to get you. You can’t stand that she’s not impressed by your usual charm.” He says boredly.
Sirius scoffs, though the sound is more defensive than dismissive. “That’s not it. I don’t care what she thinks of me.”
And he doesn’t. Why should he care what Alexandra thinks? She’s just another annoying presence in his life, another obstacle to overcome. It’s not about her, it’s about the principle of it all. No one gets to treat him the way she does, with that disdainful, superior attitude.
This time James sends a glare over to Remus. This is the exact thing he was hoping to avoid. More wallowing.
To remedy this, James throws an arm around Sirius’s shoulders, a grin splitting his face. “Forget Remus. We all know she’s got a stick up her arse. Don’t let her get to you, mate.”
Remus, offended at James’ offer to forget him, stalks ahead of the two muttering something about stupidity and eating them on the next full moon.
Prongs naturally pretends as though he hadn’t heard the threat and quickens his own pace. As much as he does love his adoptive brother, he has to admit wallowing is not his best look.
As for Sirius, he trails after them, a dark cloud of anger still hovering over his head.
A few fifth years walking by point and make sure to note how handsome Sirius Black looks when he’s brooding. One of them comments, “He’s straight out of a Hollywood film," a tinge of awe in her voice.
That catches Sirius’s attention. He straightens up a little, his earlier scowl easing as he tosses his hair back in a practised motion, letting it fall artfully over his eyes before tucking it into a bun with his wand poking out. The girls’ giggles intensify, and Sirius can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips.
James notices, of course, and rolls his eyes, doubling back to grab Sirius by the arm and drag him down the corridor. “Come on now, Pads,” he says exasperated though he’s clearly amused. “Don’t be a show off.”
By the time they reach the Great Hall, Sirius is still fuming, but he keeps it buried deep, hidden beneath layers of bravado and indifference. They enter with their usual swagger, James leading the way with that easy confidence that Sirius both admires and envies. The hall is alive with the usual buzz of conversation, students milling about, but Sirius’s gaze is immediately drawn to the Slytherin table, and to the person seated beside his brother.
Alexandra.
The sight of her with Regulus sends a fresh wave of irritation crashing through him. She’s snorting at something Regulus has said, her eyes bright with mirth, and Sirius feels a spike of anger twist in his gut. Why does she get to be composed, when he’s constantly on edge.
When she notices Sirius glaring at her, she doesn’t look away; instead, she meets his gaze with a raised eyebrow, as if challenging him. It’s infuriating, the way she never backs down, never shows even a hint of the frustration that’s boiling over inside him.
“Oi, what’s wrong with you?” James asks, noticing the way Sirius’s hands have curled into fists.
Before Sirius can respond however, Dumbledore rises from his seat at the staff table, and the hall falls silent. His presence commands attention, his long robes of deep midnight blue shimmering slightly as he moves. The fabric, embroidered with silver stars that seem to twinkle as he speaks, catches the light, lending him an air of timeless wisdom. His half-moon spectacles perch on his crooked nose, and his silver beard flows down to his waist, giving him the appearance of a wizard from an ancient tale.
“Good evening,” Dumbledore begins, his voice resonating through the Great Hall with a calm authority that commands attention without ever needing to demand it. “Tonight, we are gathered for an occasion most extraordinary,” he continues, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as they sweep across the sea of students before him. “We have the distinct honour and privilege of welcoming our esteemed guests from two of the most revered magical institutions in the world. From across the Channel, the graceful and talented students of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and from the far reaches of the North, the formidable and disciplined students of Durmstrang Institute.”
He pauses for a moment, allowing the words to sink in, and a murmur of anticipation ripples through the hall. The air is thick with excitement, a palpable energy buzzing just beneath the surface.
“Let us extend our warmest greetings to our friends from abroad,” Dumbledore says, a smile spreading across his face. “This evening marks the beginning of a new chapter in our shared history, one where we will come together not just as representatives of our respective schools, but as witches and wizards united by our love of magic, by our pursuit of knowledge, and by our commitment to honour and fair play.”
Dumbledore’s gaze travels to the staff tables, where the visiting professors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang sit, their expressions ranging from polite curiosity to stoic composure. “In times such as these, when the world around us grows increasingly complex and, at times, uncertain, it is all the more important that we build bridges, foster understanding, and forge bonds that will endure beyond these walls and last a lifetime.”
A few glances are shared between students, and Slytherin, over on the furthest edge of the hall, visibly tense.
Everyone knows why times are becoming more complex. Sirius would guess half of that table is contributing to the tensions themselves.
His voice grows slightly softer, more introspective, as if sharing a thought meant just for those who care to listen closely. “For it is not merely the magic we wield that defines us, but the friendships we cultivate, the respect we earn, and the courage we display in standing up for what is right—even when it is difficult.”
From across the hall, his cousin mutters something to Alexandra and the girl snorts.
Sirius scowls.
The hall is silent now, most students hanging on Dumbledore’s words, drawn in by the gravitas of the moment. His words carry weight, but there’s a lightness to them too, an invitation to embrace the possibilities of what lies ahead.
“And so,” Dumbledore continues, his voice lifting once more, “as we embark on this grand adventure together, I encourage each of you to seize the opportunities that this extraordinary event will present. Learn from one another, challenge each other, and most importantly, support one another. For while this is indeed a competition,” he adds with a mischievous glint in his eye, “it is also a celebration—of magic, of unity, and of the indomitable spirit that lives within us all.”
He spreads his arms wide, as if to encompass the entire hall, his smile broadening. “And now, without further ado, let us welcome the students of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute!”
As if on cue, the doors to the Great Hall swing open, and a procession of Beauxbatons students enters, led by their Headmistress, Madame Adeline. The girls move with grace, their powder-blue robes fluttering elegantly as they perform a coordinated dance. Their movements are fluid, almost ethereal, like a breeze that barely stirs the leaves but makes you feel it all the same. One girl, in particular, catches Sirius’s eye. She’s tall and willowy, her blonde hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of silk. Her movements are hypnotic, and for a moment, Sirius’s irritation fades, replaced by a grudging admiration for the display.
Pettigrew nudges him. “She’s got her eye on you, mate,” he whispers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Sirius barely reacts, just shrugs, not caring enough to respond.
His mind is already drifting back to Alexandra, who appears entirely unimpressed by the Beauxbatons display. He scoffs—of course, leave it to her to ruin a perfectly good moment.
When the Durmstrang students enter, their presence is as imposing as expected, clad in heavy fur-lined robes that contrast starkly with the delicate elegance of the Beauxbatons group. Their footsteps are heavy, their expressions stern, and Sirius can’t help but feel a grudging respect for their no-nonsense demeanour.
One of the Durmstrang boys catches Alexandra’s gaze, and Sirius notes the intensity with which she looks at him. His jaw tightens, as he watches the silent exchange. He doesn’t know if they have some kind of history, and frankly, he doesn’t care. It’s not like it matters who Alexandra associates with—she’s just another annoyance in a long list of them. But the idea of her being involved with someone from Durmstrang, of all places, gnaws at him in a way that he can’t quite explain.
Then again, he assumes they’d probably bond over their love for blood purity and hatred of muggles.
He scoffs.
It’s a shame, really, how such good looks are wasted on someone so foul. If it were up to Sirius, Alexandra would resemble a goblin—anything to make her face match the ugly way she acts. But no, she has to be beautiful, with her dark hair gleaming like obsidian in the candlelight, her skin a warm, rich tone that seems to capture the very essence of dusk. Her hair is always impeccably done, today swept back into a single neat plait that accentuates her sculpted cheekbones and the delicate curve of her jawline.
Sirius has never claimed she’s ugly; even he can’t deny her physical beauty. But Merlin, she’d be better off never getting angry again. There’s something almost fearsome about her when she’s enraged,that twists the face of a princess into that of a constipated mule. And that thought… that thought only fuels Sirius’s resentment further. How can someone who looks like that be so insufferable? It feels like a cosmic joke, one that Sirius is on the wrong end of.
Remus’s voice breaks through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “Sirius? You alright?”
Sirius blinks, his gaze snapping back to Remus. There’s a confusion in his friend’s eyes that Sirius isn’t used to seeing directed at him. “It’s a shame, really,” he mutters, more to himself than to his friend. “That she acts this way.”
James smirks, catching the direction of Sirius’s glare. “You know, if you fancy getting her back I might have a few ideas.”
There’s a spark of mischief in James’s eyes, a playful glint that has Sirius grinning and ready to join in on whatever scheme his best friend is concocting.“Honestly Prongs it’s like you were made for me.”
And he is. James understands Sirius better than anyone, knows exactly how to feed the fire burning within him. It’s what makes them such a formidable pair right at the head of their mischievous brotherhood,
Remus sighs, shaking his head, his disapproval clear in the furrow of his brow. “I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking.”
Sirius elbows him in the side. “Don’t be so boring, Moony.” He sighs sending him a look. “She deserves whatever we come up with. The sinister bitch.”
He doesn’t get much response other than a weak chuckle from Peter who’s clearly just trying to be nice.
Sirius rolls his eyes before reaching for some pudding.
Remus of all people should understand his irritation, he thinks.