Smokescreen
Her face stares back at him between his fingers—crumpled parchment and barely restrained something. He’s not sure what it is, just that it's coiling, tight, dangerous.
It can’t be anger. He offered to help her.
But she’d made him. Somehow. Nonverbally. Probably the vow twisting his instincts, whispering that he’s bound—one way or another.
There’s too much confidence in her face. It comes off as arrogance. It won’t impress anyone. But they eat it up anyway. Correction: he isn’t impressed. He knows it's fake—he's the one who told her to lie for the cameras, goddammit.
And it's not like she wouldn’t have lied anyway. Why does he bother? She doesn’t need him. She’d be fine. She annoys him. Saw his desperation and twisted it until he became the dependent.
She likes knowing he has to do what she asks. He rebels by doing it anyway. Maybe it irks her—that he doesn’t mind. Maybe it's his only act of control left.
She doesn’t make him mad. She just—gets under his skin.
She always has.
Her face jars him. Makes him feel small. Like that boy he left behind years ago. She looks at him, and he is that boy again. Those eyes, that look —it makes him want to lash out like a rabbit cornered by a fox.
She cages him. She won’t let him act. Acts like she knows everything. She knows nothing .
He doesn’t know how she keeps a straight face. Or a straight conscience. Or a straight reaction. Anger or silence—that's all she offers.
He hates himself for agreeing to this. But he would do it again. Remus means more than anything. He’ll swallow whatever pill she shoves down his throat—so long as he gets to choose where this ends.
“She’s impressive,” Moony mutters beside him, nodding at Alexandra’s interview on the newspaper. It’s balled up in Sirius’ fist.
Remus is wrapped in too many layers. Always hated the cold. And yet here he is, insisting on smoking outside. The cigarette is a weird little Muggle thing. They pass it between them—James and Peter opt out. Fear of early death.
It’s silly, really. He’d almost told them: We’re wizards. Not weak like them. A little smoke won’t hurt.
The thought had made him flinch. He’d inhaled too sharply to cover it up. The smoke doesn’t do much for him anyway. Picked it up only because Moony had. Didn’t want him thinking Sirius was a wuss.
“Wouldn’t say impressive,” he mutters, exhaling. They’re tucked near one of the old passageways in Hogsmeade. It’s quiet. Thought-heavy. James doodles an ‘L’ in the dust. Peter smudges it with his foot.
“Honestly mate, pull yourself together.”
Remus snorts, takes a breath. “He can’t help it, Wormtail. He’s in love.” No argument from James. “Same with old Padfoot.”
Another beat. Sirius might actually admit something—unlikely. He’d never fall for her .
“What are you on about?” he mutters, brooding.
“Hey, what ever happened with you and Marlene?” Peter asks instead.
Not better. “We’re friends. Nothing happened.”
The boys exchange a look. James glances up through his lashes. “So... you told her?”
“She hasn’t given me the chance.”
More silence. Marlene is touchy. They all admire her in their own ways. She’s not just another girl to toss aside. He knows that. He tries not to ruin it.
“Bit of a stupid choice,” Peter mumbles. “Falling for the bloke who hasn’t kept a girl longer than a week since fourth year.”
Sirius chokes on the smoke. Coughs like he’s dying. Passes it back to Remus and leans against the wall.
“This is where I first stood,” he mutters, looking down. “When I found this passage.”
“If I had Lily, I’d keep her,” James sighs. “Be a bloody idiot not to.”
Sirius stares at the ground. They think he’s a bachelor—interested only in friends and looks. They’re not wrong. But he doesn’t mean to ruin things.
“I mean it. I don’t end things ‘cause I’m bored.”
A puff of smoke. “Then why?”
He hesitates. He doesn’t know.
“I feel trapped.”
They glance at each other but let him talk.
“It’s like I’m wasting their time. I ruin it anyway. I can’t do that to Marlene.”
“You don’t love her though, do you Pads?” James asks gently.
Sirius shakes his head. “Not like that.”
“Then it’s alright. No one’s forcing you to be hers.” James grins. “She’s fit. She’ll find someone.”
Peter snorts. “What do I know, Potter?”
They start elbowing each other. Sirius laughs as Peter gets a good hit in. Remus offers the cigarette again.
Sirius eyes it, remembering the coughing—but then the cold wind hits, and his nose is red, and nothing could ruin this moment. Asthma or not.
He exhales.
And in the fog of his breath—he sees her. Walking alone. Cloak wrapped tight. Head down. Practically trying to disappear.
She might’ve succeeded—if he hadn’t already memorised the way the air tugs when she’s nearby.
It started before the vow. But for his own sanity, he’ll blame the magic. Not whatever mess of instincts binds him to her.
He stiffens first.
The others don’t notice. James is still wrestling Peter. If Remus weren’t distracted, he might question Peter’s suspiciously good moves.
“What is it?” he mutters, noting Sirius’ stare. A girl. A note in her hand. She looks ready to burn it.
Sirius doesn’t answer. Just drops the cigarette and grinds it under his heel. The soft crunch of ash is the only warning.
James makes to follow. Remus stops him.
“He’s getting sweets,” he lies. “Round two?”
He catches up to her at the end of the alley. Doesn’t call out. Just walks close enough to feel the shift in the air—like a string pulled taut.
She knows he’s there. He’ll assume the pull is mutual. A tether that refuses to loosen.
She turns without flinching. Slides the note into her robes. Her icy mask locks into place.
“Stalking me at night too?” Her voice is sharp, but her eyes—her eyes are tired. Fire burning in hollow coals.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Garnier,” he scoffs. “Just surprised to see you slumming it. Where’s your fan club?”
“Off doing better things. I don’t need a babysitter,” she says flatly.
“Shame. You’re so good at playing the role.”
She doesn’t blink. But she’s annoyed. He sees it in the breath she has to pull into her chest.
“Oh, right,” she says, dry as bone. “Forgot to thank you for the unsolicited advice. Next time, specify your intentions before you go handing girls instructions on how to be palatable.”
“Most girls don’t require instructions.”
“Most guys aren’t pompous toads with sticks so far up their arses it hurts to walk. What exactly do you want, Black?”
He doesn’t know.
“Where’s your wand? Gonna hex me? Dump me in a bin?”
“Wouldn’t willingly breathe your air, much less touch you.”
“Oh, so where’s the note you’re going to dramatically hand me before disappearing into the night like some tragic, broody prat?”
“You read it?”
She scoffs. “Bit hard not to. It fell into my lap like a dead pigeon. Are you drunk?”
“No. I figured you wouldn’t use it.”
She crosses her arms. “So this is your ‘come grovel before me’ plan?”
He frowns.
“You look like you’re about to do that anyway.”
“Excuse me?”
“You look like shit.”
Her expression curdles. He regrets the words as soon as they leave.
“I mean—you look sick.”
“Oh, brilliant ,” she snaps. “What next, gonna comment on my weight?”
“I’m saying you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
She gives him the look of someone personally offended by his oxygen intake. “Wow. Knighthood-worthy observation, truly.”
“Do you have to be like this?”
“You followed me , Black. One concealment charm and they’d never find your body.”
He goes quiet. “Have you been using dark magic?”
She freezes. Anger transforms her.
“You absolute bastard,” she whispers, shaking. “That’s what you think of me?”
“I’m asking ,” he snaps. “Because if you are, you’re stupid—and you’ll get us both killed.”
“THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS!” she yells, poking his chest. “You self-righteous tosser . Who do you think I am?”
“GIVE ME A REASON NOT TO THINK IT!” he fires back. “You made a vow without blinking. You wander alone, at night, half-dead, too lost in your own head to notice danger—AND YOU DON’T EXACTLY HAVE A CLEAN TRACK RECORD!”
It shuts her up. But not the way he wants.
She goes still. Pupils blown wide with fury. The wall is back. Iron-clad now.
“I thought you were just an arse,” she says, cold. “Turns out you’re worse. A coward with a big mouth.”
She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t stoop.
It stings more than it should.
“You don’t know me, Black,” she spits. “You’re bitter about the betrothal. Bitter because you’re the only one who paid for it. You think if I share my pain, it’ll make yours feel smaller.”
There it is. The topic they always avoided. The one that shattered him.
She walks away.
When the boys find him, he’s still standing there—staring at where she was. No comeback. Just smoke in his lungs and fury in his chest.
“She kill him?” Peter whispers.
Remus lights a new cigarette. “Special case, that one.”
“What do you think she said this time?” James asks.
Peter shrugs. “What hasn’t she said?”
—-------
That morning he wakes up on a mission. He’d make things right.
Marlene isn’t the same.
He owes her this.
The library might be too quiet for this kind of conversation. Too open to consequence. There’s a high chance she won’t take this well. A very high one, actually.
At least here he can get her to whisper.
He shifts in his seat. Legs crossed, arms folded, making himself as small as possible. He’s already let his knee brush hers a couple times too many.
This mission has not begun on a positive note.
Marlene’s doing that thing where she pretends she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing. He’d seen her face when he’d suggested the library. The way she keeps glancing at the bookshelves like he’s got ulterior motives.
It wouldn’t be out of character for him. And frankly, it’s getting quite difficult not to revert to that particular way of thought. Her head is tilted, lips soft, fingers drumming on the armrest like she’s bored. Like she’s waiting for him to excite her.
Well—
“Marlene.” He clears his throat.
She hums. Not looking at him, twiddling with his cloak, nudging his boot with the toe of hers, like it’s casual. Like she has no clue where this is going.
“Let’s talk.”
“We are talking.”
“No.” He exhales through his nose. “Not about what we should be.”
That gets her to look at him. “What's wrong?"
“Nothing’s wrong.” He says carefully. “Just... not right.”
She reaches to cup his fingers. “Since when does that bother you?”
“Look, it’s not—” He takes his fingers back from her grasp. “We’ve been messing around too much. I don’t want to hurt you.”
That earns a scoff. Dismissive. “I’m not made of glass, Sirius.” Her face is scrunched, maybe in thought, maybe in anticipation. It doesn’t make anything easier.
“I know.” His voice dips low. Firm. Too firm. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just—look, before anything’s said, before it gets worse—I don’t feel the same way.”
And there it is. Said.
Marlene doesn’t flinch. But she doesn’t smile either. Just leans in slightly, like she’s testing how far she can push. Her knee presses against his. Her fingers find his sleeve. He doesn’t move.
“You sure?” she murmurs. “You sound confused.”
He exhales, shaky. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend this isn’t happening.”
She’s already left this conversation. Mentally at least. Her expression hardening. She’s looking past him. Over his shoulder, to the right. Her body stills, her grip going taut.
He knows what she has seen.
Only one person can elicit such a reaction.
He follows her gaze.
Black hair. Dark skin. Long eyelashes. Crisp uniform. No sign of the girl she was last night. Head down, corner table. Reading a particularly thick tome. Not paying them the slightest attention.
But he knows better than to believe that.
He still hears her voice from all those nights ago. Low and certain, like she'd rehearsed it in her head a hundred times.
“I vow to keep Remus Lupin’s secret, from now until my death.”
He hasn’t stopped thinking about it. Or her. And he hates that.
He has the same sinking feeling as last night.
“Fucking cow.” Marlene mutters, and it’s like he's not even there anymore.
Sirius turns back to her. “Oi. Focus. This is about us—”
“There is no ‘us,’ remember?” Her voice is sharp. “I’m just the one you snog when you’re bored.”
He doesn’t reply. Can’t. She’s reckless when she’s hurt. Doesn’t help much that she’s been out for the Slytherins ever since Lily was attacked. She’s seething, and she’s found the one that perhaps pisses her off the most.
“I’ll hex her,” she says. Calmly. Like she’s already picturing it. “Right here.”
He already knows that's not a good idea. She’s outnumbered. They won’t let this go. Add her to their tally.
He also doesn’t want to speak to Alexandra ever again.
He also hasn’t stopped watching her.
“Marlene—”
“Reckon I can get her before she looks up. Bat-Bogey Hex? Or maybe I should dye her hair then chop it off, like they did Lily.”
Too late.
That particular threat might’ve been said too plainly. The table of Slytherins—each one terrible in their own curated way—peer up at her with enough hostility to charge the air. It makes him antsy. Like he has no choice but to fire curses and protect his behind.
That won’t happen though. He won’t let Marlene prod them. Prod her .
Allegra, evidently eavesdropping, gives her a smirk. It’s arrogant and aggressive. “Speak up, McKinnon. We haven’t heard your response yet.” She turns to him. “She’s much too ugly for you, Black. Good for you for knowing your worth.”
He scowls at her. “Funny, because I was just noticing how much you’re starting to resemble your father. How’s ugly Arnold doing then?”
“You should come home and find out, cousin.” The icy voice to the left of her speaks. He hasn’t directly spoken to Narcissa ever since that day. He might see her here and there. Might share a cold glance. But nothing else.
It upsets him that she’s stopped caring.
“Don’t lie to your friends, Cissy.” He smirks, that familiar arrogance falling off him in waves. “Merlin knows we don’t look like cousins.”
Glares, but no replies. She doesn’t like arguing. She thinks it’s beneath her. She is not her sister and he silently rejoices that Bellatrix is not the one sat in front of him.
Feeling angsty and probably left out, Marlene adds, “How’s your wand arm, Flint? Still broken?”
Sirius frowns. He doesn’t know what interaction she’s referencing. Then again, these days it seems nobody tells him things they ought to.
Fat. Beater’s build. Cruel smirk.
“How’s your mouth, McKinnon? Still sore from being stuffed ful—?”
“I’ll break your fucking nose.” Sirius is on his feet before he’s even thought about it.
Mulciber’s response dies in his throat. He knows it's not an empty threat. Sirius has done it before. He covers himself, mouthing blood traitor before Madam Pince effectively threatens to boot them all out of the library for the third time this conversation.
Marlene is beyond seething. So is he. He hates that, despite all this, the one who caught their attention to begin with is still busying herself with the notebook in her grasp. Like this is just another Tuesday. Like they’re all too predictable to be interesting.
He knows better than to force her attention. He wants her gone from this moment. He wants himself gone from this moment.
Marlene isn’t entirely in agreement with that. She’s been baiting her with glares and muttered hexes for weeks now. It’s not in her nature to let such an opportunity to bother Alexandra slip through her fingers. She’s a true lion, and she tries to claw at the throat of her enemy.
“Can’t even look up at me, Garnier.” She hisses. “All that gall gone, then? Why don’t you hex me next?”
No response. Dry yawn. Flick of a page.
He doesn’t know why she makes everything worse even when she’s doing nothing.
Marlene has had enough. He knows what she’s thinking. He sees it in the furrow of her brow and the sharp intake of breath. He’s seen it enough. He’s been on the receiving end often.
He grabs her wrist. She looks at him. She doesn’t understand why he’s stopping her.
Another pair of eyes share a similar look—confusion, amusement, curiosity.
They’re not the vibrant green of Marlene’s. They’re deep brown and glinting with question. Since when are you damage control, Black?
He suddenly feels very self-conscious under the glare. He lets go. Marlene notices. She looks conflicted. Confused. And then angry.
“Well?” She prods, her grip on her wand tight. “Are you willing to take this outside?”
Sirius thinks this is beyond his control. He wishes Remus was here. Maybe even James. He’s never been one for reducing tension. She’s right—in what circumstance is he damage control?
Alexandra just rolls her eyes dramatically before closing her book with a sharp thud . For a moment they think she might take up the offer.
They should know better.
“I give the opportunity to hex me about three times a day, McKinnon. You clearly just feel like putting on a show. Ask the Mudblood what happened the last time one of you tried that.”
Her answer is rude. Disrespectful. Cruel. Fuel for every negative thought he’s ever had about her. And yet—he’s relieved it hadn’t turned violent.
Not that he’ll forgive her. Not for that .
A fan of the dramatics, she packs her things and takes them to the front desk, checks out her book, and leaves without so much as a look back.
He watches the door too long after it closes. Waiting. Hoping she might turn around.
She doesn’t.
Marlene yells profanities at her back, tries to follow her out, hex her—but she can’t. Sirius’ grip is back on her like a vice.
The other Slytherins share muffled laughter before filing out after her. Allegra pretends to reach for her wand. Marlene stiffens. They all burst into laughter.
He doesn’t usually feel defeated at the hands of Slytherin house. It feels wrong. Like the moon’s fallen out of the sky. Mortification runs up his spine. He wants to face-palm.
He can’t, though. Marlene’s still pressed against him, furious and radiant.
“What’s your problem?” she yells, snatching her hand away as Madam Pince stands. “You’re supposed to hate her!”
Sirius recoils. “What are you saying? Of course I hate her!”
She snorts. “Not very convincing. I could swear you spent more time ogling her than even speaking.”
“Ogling?” He repeats, scandalised. “I don’t ogle—that’s not—”
“Is that why you tried that earlier then?” Her face scrunches again. “Thought she was a better time?”
Sirius thinks his face might permanently morph into confusion. “Marlene, seriously—do you hear yourself right now? Why on earth would I give you up for her ? I’d be the biggest bloody fool in Hogwarts.”
She frowns. “Then what was all of that about?” Her voice dips, softer now. “Lily wouldn’t come out of our room for a week because of them. And here you are, sympathising.”
“I’m not sympathising, Marlene.” His voice comes out harsher than he means. “I just don’t want you getting hurt too. They’re not good people.”
She sniffs. “I don’t believe you.”
“How do I make you believe me?”
Her hands reach for his shoulders. They’re pressed up against the bookshelves. The corner where Alexandra just sat. Her cloak is still on the chair.
He can still smell her perfume.
He ought to stop this. Ought to stop Marlene’s hands from caressing his cheeks the way he likes. Ought to stop thinking of Alexandra. Of vows whispered into empty air.
“Sirius?”
He looks up at her. Green eyes pleading, cheeks flushed. “Yes, Marlene?”
“Prove she means nothing.” She whispers into his neck. “ Prove it. ”
He kisses her.
It’s hungry. Desperate. Like he’s trying to crush something else with the weight of it. Crush her . Crush the memory of soft skin and dark eyes and unspoken truths.
He pretends her words mean nothing.
“I vow to keep Remus Lupin's secret, from now until my death.”
They don’t matter here.
Madam Pince breaks them up. Week of detentions, both of them.
His shirt’s wrinkled. His face is flushed. His hair’s a mess.
She likes him best this way.
She kisses his cheek and leaves him there, stunned and aching.
“'Ello, Padfoot,” comes a familiar voice from the wall beside him. “So how’d it go? Marls seemed pleased.”
Sirius looks up. Then at the door.
James takes one look at his dumbstruck face and bursts into laughter.
“Oh Sirius,” he wheezes. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”