The Shadows Move
Sirius lay on his bed, the weight of the silence in Gryffindor Tower pressing down on him like a vice. The embers from the dying fire in the common room flickered dimly, casting fleeting shadows on the stone walls. He had been playing the perfect Gryffindor for years—charming, rebellious, always the life of the party—but now, all of it felt like a mask. A convenient mask he’d used to hide in plain sight.
The world thought they knew him. They thought they understood him. But no one knew how carefully he had always measured his steps, how he had played the game long before anyone had caught on. He had never fully embraced the ideals of Gryffindor—loyalty, bravery, sacrifice—no, they were just a means to an end. And now, Narcissa was being given to Lucius Malfoy, everything had changed.
He had been content to be the rebel. But now? Now, he would play in the shadows. No one would see the true game unfolding before them. He would make sure of it.
Narcissa’s name echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain he couldn’t escape. She was the key, the reason for everything. And now she had been stolen from him, forced into a marriage she never wanted, with a man that wasn't him. His every instinct told him that she wasn’t truly lost, not yet. She was still his. He’d simply had to help the pieces fall into place
He had been waiting for the right moment to strike—watching, listening, learning. He wasn’t foolish enough to make his move too soon. Lucius Malfoy was a pawn in a much larger game. But where the Malfoys played with open cruelty and pride, Sirius would use subtlety and strategy. For all the Gryffindor he could be, first he was a Black.
There was a meeting tomorrow night—a gathering of the pureblood families, where alliances would be discussed, deals made, and fates sealed. It was the perfect opportunity to make his first move. He needed information. Not just any information, but the kind that would give him leverage—something he could use to weaken Lucius, to show everyone that the Black name, the heir to the House of Black, was not something to be taken lightly.
He had to show them all. They thought he was unpredictable, a loose cannon. But they hadn’t seen the darkness inside him yet. They hadn’t seen the ambition that burned beneath his surface, waiting for the moment to rise.
The next day passed in a blur. Sirius played his part well, joking with James, rolling his eyes at Slughorn’s pompous lectures, and smirking at McGonagall’s thinly veiled exasperation. No one would have suspected that beneath his easy charm, his mind was already moving pieces across a chessboard only he could see.
When night fell, he made his way to the hidden passage behind the tapestry of Morgana’s Lament. He had used it before to sneak into Hogsmeade, but tonight, it served a far greater purpose. With practiced ease, he moved through the darkness, the cool night air biting at his skin as he reached the outskirts of the castle grounds.
The gathering was in a grand estate outside of London, a place he had visited as a child but had long since abandoned in his mind. It had been years since he willingly stepped into the world of pureblood politics, but tonight, he walked into the fire willingly.
Slipping unnoticed among the guests was easy. The Black name carried weight, but no one truly expected anything from him, the rake heir. With a well-placed nod or a curt smirk, he moved through the opulent halls of the manor, careful to keep to the edges of the conversation, listening.
Lucius was there, of course. Standing tall, confident, wearing that insufferable smirk he always did when he thought he had won. And beside him—Narcissa. Dressed in silk and adorned in the finery befitting her status, she was every inch the perfect pureblood daughter. But Sirius knew better. He knew how to read her.
She was avoiding his gaze.
Not out of disgust. Not out of hatred. But something else. Something she didn’t want him to see.
Fear.
Sirius clenched his fists, keeping his expression neutral. He needed to be patient. To be smart. Bursting in like a reckless fool would do nothing but prove their point—prove to them all that he was nothing but an impulsive Gryffindor who acted without thinking.
No. He wouldn’t play by their rules. He would rewrite them entirely.
He edged closer to a group of men deep in conversation. The topic of discussion was politics, alliances, whispers of the Dark Lord’s growing influence. But then, one voice caught his attention—a lower, conspiratorial tone.
“…Malfoy is securing his place well. The engagement ensures his father’s favor, but he’s been making his own moves. There’s word he’s seeking something… power beyond his father’s reach.”
Sirius tilted his head slightly, feigning disinterest as he listened.
A younger man scoffed. “He’s just another pawn like the rest of us. What power could he possibly claim?”
The first man chuckled. “You underestimate him. The Malfoys may flaunt their riches, but Lucius—he’s not content to be second to anyone.”
That was what Sirius needed. A thread to pull.
He took a slow sip from the glass he had snatched from a passing house-elf, forcing himself to appear at ease. If Lucius was after something—something big—Sirius had to know what it was. Knowledge was power, and power was how he would win.
Lucius was too much of a fool, too eager, too hungry for a power that would never belong to him. Would he ever realize how foolish he looked? His pompous acting took everything away from what could have been.
He could have been a genuinely formidable strategist—one who didn’t let his own pride blind him. He has intelligence, influence, and an understanding of power dynamics, but his downfall would come from himself, too caught up in his own status and self-importance.
His eyes flickered back to Narcissa. Her posture was perfect, her expression composed. But he knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled ever so slightly at her sides. She was fighting herself. Fighting the pull between the life she had been raised for and the life she had once whispered about when they were alone.
He would not let them break her. He would not let them take what was his.
Sirius exhaled slowly, the fire in his chest burning steady and controlled.
Let them believe he was reckless. Let them underestimate him. The game had only just begun, and they had no idea that the shadows had already started to move.
Sirius lingered near the edges of the gathering, careful to keep his expression unreadable as he observed the ebb and flow of conversation. The air was thick with politics and veiled threats, every word measured, every smile laced with an underlying calculation.
It was a world he had been born into, a world he had long since rejected. Yet, tonight, he stood within it again, not as a participant, but as a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
He shifted his gaze back to Narcissa. She stood beside Lucius, her chin lifted with practiced grace, her demeanor effortlessly composed. To anyone else, she appeared the perfect Black daughter—obedient, poised, and resigned to her fate. But Sirius could see past the facade. The way she kept her hands folded too tightly in front of her. The brief flicker of hesitation when Lucius spoke to her. The way her gaze darted past Sirius but never landed on him.
She was avoiding him, and that alone told him everything he needed to know. If she had truly accepted this, she would have met his eyes. She would have stared him down with the cold detachment their family had perfected. But she hadn’t. And that meant she was still his.
He needed more. More than just speculation and gut instincts. He needed proof. Proof that Lucius was scheming beyond his reach, proof that Narcissa’s engagement was more than just a family arrangement. And most importantly, he needed to know what she wasn’t telling him.
Sirius turned his attention back to the conversation unfolding nearby.
“…and you’re certain?” One of the men leaned in, voice hushed, wary of eavesdroppers.
The older gentleman beside him gave a slow nod. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I weren’t. Lucius has been dealing in secrets, acquiring… resources.”
A younger wizard scoffed, swirling his drink lazily. “Lucius Malfoy has been acquiring ‘resources’ since he could speak. What makes this different?”
“Because this time, he’s not acting under his father’s guidance.”
That was all Sirius needed to hear.
Lucius had always been his father’s puppet, an extension of Abraxas Malfoy’s will. If he was making moves on his own, it meant ambition was driving him beyond his usual posturing. And ambition led to recklessness.
A weakness.
Sirius let the conversation continue around him as he considered his next move. He could not confront Lucius outright—not yet. But if Lucius was seeking something beyond his father’s reach, then there would be evidence. And evidence meant leverage.
He needed a way inside Malfoy Manor.
The thought settled into his mind like a puzzle piece clicking into place. It was dangerous, reckless even, but if there was one thing Sirius Black excelled at, it was slipping into places he didn’t belong.
The shadows would move in his favor.
But first, he had to speak to her.
He turned away from the murmuring aristocrats and began making his way toward Narcissa. He had barely taken a step before a hand clamped onto his shoulder.
“Sirius.”
He recognized the voice before he even turned. Regulus.
His younger brother stood before him, his expression carefully neutral, but Sirius could see the tension in his jaw, the uncertainty flickering behind his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Regulus’s voice was quiet, but firm.
Sirius arched a brow. “Oh? And here I thought I was still a Black. Doesn’t that give me a free pass to these little gatherings?”
Regulus’s frown deepened. “You know what I mean.” He glanced around, wary of being overheard. “They don’t trust you.”
“They never did.” Sirius smirked, though there was no humor behind it. “And yet, here I am.”
Regulus hesitated. “What are you doing?”
Sirius tilted his head slightly. “What I must.”
For a brief moment, the weight of unspoken words hung between them. A brotherhood fractured, yet not entirely severed. Regulus, for all his loyalty to their family, had not turned away yet. He had not reported Sirius’s presence, had not immediately dismissed him as an enemy.
Perhaps, in some way, he was still listening.
But there was no time for that now.
“I need to speak with her,” Sirius said, letting the weight of his words settle.
Regulus exhaled, his gaze flickering toward Narcissa. “Be careful,” he muttered before stepping aside.
Sirius didn’t hesitate. He wove through the crowd until he was at Narcissa’s side, his presence disrupting the carefully curated conversations around her. Lucius was momentarily distracted, caught in discussion with an elder Lord, leaving her unguarded.
For a moment, she didn’t look at him.
Then, slowly, she turned her head.
Their eyes met.
And in that instant, Sirius saw everything he needed to see.
She was afraid. But more than that—she was fighting it.
Fighting herself.
Fighting him.
“Narcissa,” he murmured, the name barely a whisper on his lips.
She inhaled sharply but did not move away.
“I need to know,” he continued, his voice low, insistent. “Tell me the truth.”
Her lashes lowered, and for a fraction of a second, he thought she might. But then, her expression smoothed into careful detachment, the walls slamming back into place.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, echoing Regulus’s earlier warning.
Sirius’s jaw clenched. “And yet, here I am.”
Narcissa exhaled, her gaze flickering toward Lucius, toward the weight of duty pressing upon her shoulders. “Please, Sirius,” she whispered, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. “Don’t make this harder.”
His fingers curled into fists at his sides.
They had gotten to her.
They had made her believe this was her only choice.
But she was wrong.
Sirius took a step closer, his voice nothing but a breath against her ear. “This isn’t over.”
She didn’t reply. Didn’t move. Didn’t look at him.
But she didn’t tell him to stop, either.
And that, Sirius decided, was enough.
For now.
Sirius didn’t need to look up to know when his father entered the room.
Orion Black didn’t announce himself. He never had to. The sheer weight of his presence was enough to shift the air, to pull the attention of those who knew power when they saw it. Conversations dipped into murmurs, respectful nods replaced idle chatter. And though Sirius had spent years trying to detach himself from the man’s influence, tonight, he let himself step into its shadow.
Because tonight, that shadow worked to his advantage.
“You’ve been observing,” Orion murmured as he came to stand beside his son. He did not look at Sirius directly, only surveying the gathering with his usual detached indifference. “Not your usual role at these events.”
Sirius tilted his glass slightly, letting the amber liquid swirl against the sides. “Perhaps I’ve finally realized the value of listening before acting.”
He felt his father’s sharp gaze flicker toward him, searching for something beneath the casual remark. Orion had always been able to see through him—Sirius had spent years ensuring he never saw too much.
Tonight, though, he wanted to be seen.
“Hm.” Orion’s hum was neither approving nor dismissive. “And what have you learned?”
Sirius took his time answering. He let the silence stretch just enough to feel intentional. Finally, he gestured subtly toward Lucius, who was still engaged in conversation, completely unaware of the scrutiny he was under.
“Malfoy’s overplaying his hand.” Sirius’s voice was light, as though discussing nothing more than a game of chess. “He thinks his engagement to Narcissa solidifies his position, but he’s too eager to climb higher. Too eager to prove himself.”
A small pause, just enough to let the weight of his words settle. “He’s making mistakes.”
Orion exhaled quietly through his nose—a sign, Sirius knew, of interest. “And you see an opportunity.”
Sirius finally turned his head, meeting his father’s gaze fully. There was something like amusement flickering in Orion’s dark eyes, but also something deeper. Calculation. Consideration.
“I see a weakness,” Sirius corrected. “One that could be useful.”
Orion studied him for a long moment before finally nodding. “Perhaps you are not as reckless as I once thought.”
It wasn’t quite praise. But from Orion Black, it was close enough.
For the first time in his life, Sirius let his father believe what he wanted to believe. Let him think this was the moment his son had finally stepped into the role expected of him.
He would let Orion believe he was finally taking his responsibilities seriously.
Because if his father believed that, then he wouldn’t question what Sirius was truly planning.
Across the room, Narcissa lifted her eyes, just for a second. And in that second, before she turned away, Sirius saw it again—the hesitation, the fear, the war within her.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still.
Not yet.
But soon.