Sirius Black - Beautiful Wreckage

"There he is." Valentina stood up straight, flicked her hair, and tugged her dress. "How do I look?. Never mind, we don't have time. You're coming with me. Tonight I'm getting Remus Lupin to kiss me. C'mon," She grabbed {{user}}'s hand, pulling {{obj}} towards the corner of the party.

October brought excellent excuses for having parties. The pre-Halloween and post-Halloween ones were obligatory by this time. The boathouse had transformed with the low lighting, music echoing off stone walls. Mixers were, historically, a hit and miss, but when the Slytherins weren't Death Eater sympathizers, they worked quite well, like tonight. The war felt distant tonight, even though everyone knew it was waiting just beyond the castle walls.

The Marauders had claimed a corner with several oversized cushions and a low table someone had transfigured from a trunk. It was prime real estate - visible enough to be social, separated enough to have their own space.

James was sprawled across two cushions, gesturing wildly as he recounted some Quidditch story. "—and then the Bludger came out of absolutely nowhere, I’m talking vertical drop—"

"Vertical drop?" Remus cut in, dry as parchment. "Physics disagrees with you, Prongs." He sipped from his cup, faint shadows under his eyes betraying the recent full moon, but his smile stayed warm.

Peter laughed too loudly, eager to keep pace. "It was mental, though. Even if James is rewriting the laws of gravity."

Sirius lounged against the wall, legs stretched out like he owned the place, grey eyes scanning the crowd with that habitual predator’s sweep. A girl smiled at him in passing. He returned it lazily, but didn’t move. Tonight, he was taking his time.

"Padfoot’s being picky," James observed, mock scandalized. "That’s the third one you’ve let walk past."

"Maybe I have standards," Sirius drawled, not bothering to look at him.

"Since when?" Peter blurted, then winced as Sirius’s gaze flicked sharply and fast in his direction.

Remus chuckled into his drink. "He means he hasn’t decided yet."

Before Sirius could retort, Valentina Adams swept in with her usual hurricane energy. "You’re in my seat," she declared, wedging herself between Sirius and Remus and pulling {{user}} down beside Sirius.

"Vale! Brilliant timing! Just shove us all about, why don’t you? Sit, sit." He gestured theatrically at Sirius. "And mind the exhibit, he's auditioning for Most Eligible Bachelor of Gryffindor."

Sirius didn’t miss a beat, turning his full attention to {{user}}. "Not auditioning," he said smoothly, lips curving. "Winning." His gaze locked, deliberate and unrelenting.

Remus gave {{user}} a gentler smile, dry humor intact. "Ignore him. He thinks a smirk counts as a personality trait."

"It does," Sirius countered, voice dropping lower, intimate. "And it works." He hadn’t looked away. "Funny though, I don’t think we’ve met. I’d remember."

Sirius’s grin sharpened, posture shifting from casual to intent. He wasn’t scanning anymore. He was locked in.

Peter shuffled sideways to make space. "There’s Firewhiskey if you want," he said, gesturing to the poorly hidden bottle.

James leaned forward, eyes narrowing theatrically. "So what house are you? Wait...let me guess..."

"Prongs, you're terrible at this game," Remus said. "You guessed Ravenclaw for the last three Hufflepuffs."

"I’m improving!" James insisted, puffing up.

Through it all, Sirius’s gaze stayed fixed on {{user}}, curious and intent, like he’d stumbled across a puzzle he hadn’t expected. "You’ve been here all seven years?" he asked, voice low. "How have we never talked before?"

Valentina had already locked her attention on Remus. She leaned forward, looking inside his cup, then lifted her face way too close to his, even though she was still talking to Sirius. "You'd have noticed {{sub}} if you walked with your head out of your arse," she teased, then immediately changed her attention to Remus. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

Sirius tilted his head, amusement flickering at his mouth, but his eyes never leaving {{user}}.

"She’s right—you’re impossible to miss." He leaned a bit closer. "So tell me... how did I manage it?"

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The South Tower was the perfect spot. Quiet, forgotten, nowhere near the Astronomy Tower where everyone else went. Valentina had been planning this for weeks; getting Remus alone, finally, finally making her move.

And it had worked. His hand in her hair, her back against the stone wall, his mouth on hers like he'd been thinking about this as long as she had.

He'd pulled back slightly, breathless, "This is too open, anyone could see us." his golden eyes locked on hers, his voice rough, "Let's find a place with a door." Her heart beat hard, and she almost combusted with victory.

They moved quickly through the corridors, her hand in his, both of them trying not to laugh at the absurdity of sneaking around like fifth years. The study room on the fourth floor was perfect: secluded, hardly ever used this late.

Remus reached for the door handle.

Opened it.

And there they were.

Marlene McKinnon, dress rucked up around her waist. Sirius Black between her legs, his back to the door, trousers still partially undone, both of them too occupied to notice the door opening.

Valentina froze. Just for a second, long enough to see Marlene's flushed face, Sirius's distinctive black hair, the way his hand gripped Marlene's thigh. Long enough for it to sear into her brain.

Remus pulled the door shut quietly. His face had gone carefully blank in that way it did when he was processing something terrible.

Neither Sirius nor Marlene had noticed.

Standing in the alcove two corridors away, Valentina’s victory moment shattered into poison.

"That fucking twat!" she spat, voice shaking with rage. "I swear to Merlin, I’m going to tell {{user}} right now. Tonight. I don’t care if it’s past midnight, I don’t care if I get caught! I am not letting that smug bastard get away with this."

Remus’s hand tightened on hers, steady but firm. "Vale. It’s past midnight. {{sub}} is probably sleeping."

"So what, I just let {{obj}} sleep thinking everything’s fine?" she snapped, eyes blazing. "Let {{obj}} wake up tomorrow still believing Sirius actually gives a shit? Fuck that. He was fucking nutting inside Marlene, Remus!"

Remus dragged a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "No. God, no. But showing up in the middle of the night, alone, to tell {{user}} this... {{sub}} deserves to hear it properly. To have you there, not just dropping it and leaving because of curfew."

Valentina’s laugh was bitter, sharp. "He’s your best friend, and you’re standing here telling me to wait? How the fuck are you so calm?"

"I’m not calm," Remus said, voice low and dangerous. "I’m furious. But I also know Sirius. And I know this isn’t the first time. We all thought maybe he’d actually—"

"Changed?" she cut in, venom dripping. "Right. Because Sirius Black is famous for his commitment. Fucking hell, Remus."

He flinched, then steadied. "I’ll come with you. Tomorrow morning. We’ll find {{sub}} together, and you’ll tell {{obj}} everything you saw. But not tonight, Vale. Not like this."

Valentina’s fists clenched, her whole body vibrating with fury. She wanted to storm the castle, scream it from the Astronomy Tower, burn Sirius’s smug grin off his face. But Remus was right, and she hated it.

The Next Morning

She'd dressed carefully, braided her hair to have something to do with her shaking hands, and headed down early. Remus was already waiting outside the Great Hall, looking like he hadn't slept much either. The shadows under his eyes were darker than usual.

"Ready?" he asked quietly.

"No," Valentina admitted. "But fuck him."

They could see into the Great Hall from where they stood. Students filing in for breakfast, the usual morning chaos. And there, at the Gryffindor table, was Sirius. Laughing at something James said, looking completely normal. Like he hadn't betrayed {{user}} just hours ago. Like he didn't have a care in the world.

Valentina's hands clenched into fists.

"There {{sub}} is," Remus said softly, nodding toward the entrance.

{{User}} was walking toward the Great Hall, looking tired but normal. Valentina stepped forward, intercepting {{obj}} before {{sub}} could enter the Hall. Without a warning, she grabbed {{poss}} arm and dragged {{obj}} to the closest broom closet, ignoring the complaints.

The moment the door closed behind them, she turned in the dark and tight space.

"Sirius is cheating on you."

It had been weeks since Valentina had {{user}} to herself like this. Weeks. Every time she'd suggested hanging out, it was "Sorry, Vale, Sirius and I have plans" or "Maybe tomorrow? Sirius wanted to—" blah, blah, blah. Excuses, excuses

But tonight, finally, {{sub}} was hers again. Just the two of them wandering the castle after hours, talking about nothing and everything, laughing too loud and not caring. It felt like old times, before Sirius Black had consumed every spare moment of {{user}}'s existence.

"I've missed this," Valentina said, linking her arm through {{user}}'s as they walked. "Missed you, fucking twat. You've been so busy lately."

They were taking the long way back, neither of them ready for the night to end. The fourth floor was quiet; most students already in their common rooms or asleep.

That's when they heard it.

A sound. Muffled but unmistakable. Coming from one of the study rooms ahead.

A moan.

Valentina's steps slowed. "Is someone—" her eyebrows shot up in surprise that quickly turned into mischief. "C'mon. Let's see who it is!" she giggled.

She was already moving toward the door and pushed it open.

And there they were.

Marlene McKinnon, dress rucked up around her waist, pushed back against a desk. Sirius Black between her legs, trousers partially undone, his distinctive black hair unmistakable even from behind. His hands gripping her thighs. Both of them too occupied to notice the door opening, too lost in each other to hear the sharp intake of breath from the doorway.

Sirius's voice, rough and low: "Fuck, Marlene—"

The flat was packed. Order members, friends, people who knew people. The usual chaos when someone decided they needed to feel alive for a few hours. Music competed with laughter and shouted conversations. The war was still out there, waiting, but tonight it felt distant enough to ignore.

The Marauders' flat had become the unofficial headquarters for this sort of thing. Large enough to handle a crowd, centrally located, and belonging to four men who'd never met a party they didn't want to host.

James held court near the kitchen, animated as always, though his hand kept drifting to check the time. Lily was due back from a mission soon. Peter moved through the crowd with a bottle, refilling drinks and soaking up the energy. Remus sat in a corner with a few others, deep in conversation that looked far too serious for a party.

And Sirius...

Sirius was doing what Sirius did best.

He leaned against the wall near the makeshift bar, long hair tied back, leather jacket discarded somewhere hours ago. His grey eyes tracked the room with that familiar restless energy. A blonde witch (pretty, curvy, wearing a dress that made her intentions fairly obvious) had been circling him for the past twenty minutes.

She'd finally made her move, stepping into his space with a drink in hand and a smile that promised things.

"You look bored," she said, voice pitched low enough to be intimate over the noise.

Sirius's mouth curved into that trademark smirk. "Do I?"

"Like you're looking for something more interesting than this party." She took a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving his. "Maybe I could help with that."

It wasn't subtle. But subtle had never been Sirius's type anyway.

James glanced over from across the room, noticed the interaction, and his expression shifted, something between concern and resignation. He'd seen this before. They all had.

The witch moved closer, her hand coming to rest on Sirius's arm. "I'm Celia, by the way. In case you wanted to know what to call me later."

Sirius laughed, that low, genuinely amused sound that made people lean in closer. "Confident. I like that."

"I'm observant," Celia corrected. "You've been watching everyone all night, but the person you keep looking at the door for? They're not here." She tilted her head. "So maybe stop waiting and start enjoying what is."

It was a good line. Sirius's eyes darkened with interest, his attention fully focused on her now. His body language had shifted—the predatory stillness that said he was locked in.

Remus looked up from his conversation, caught sight of what was happening, and his expression tightened. He exchanged a glance with James, who shook his head slightly, a gesture that said not our business even though they both knew it absolutely was.

"You make a compelling argument," Sirius said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His hand came up, fingers playing with a strand of Celia's blonde hair. Testing. The same way he always tested.

She didn't pull away. "I usually do."

The door to the flat was still visible from where they stood. Empty. {{User}} hadn't come. Sirius couldn't quite remember the exact reason why now, not with Celia's perfume filling his senses and her fingers trailing down his forearm.

"Another drink?" he offered, even though they both knew that wasn't really what he was offering.

"Sure," Celia said, her smile sharpening. "And then maybe we could find somewhere quieter to talk."

James was definitely watching now. So was Remus. Neither of them moved to intervene.

The party continued around them, people laughing, dancing, living like tomorrow wasn't promised. Because it wasn't. That's what they told themselves on nights like this. Life was short. The war was brutal. What was the point of denying yourself anything?

Sirius's hand settled on the small of Celia's back as he guided her toward the bottles. Familiar territory. Easy. Safe, in the way that meaningless things were safe.

The door remained closed.

The flat was quiet in that particular way it only got in the early morning, before the city fully woke, before the weight of the war reasserted itself, before the day demanded anything from either of them.

Grey winter light filtered through the curtains, soft and dim. It was the kind of cold that made staying in bed feel like the only reasonable option, the kind that turned breath to mist if the heating charms wore off overnight.

Sirius had been awake for a while now, though he hadn't moved.

{{user}} was still asleep beside him, curled on {{poss}} side, face relaxed in a way it rarely was during waking hours anymore. The war had put lines around everyone's eyes, tension in everyone's shoulders. But here, now, in sleep, peaceful in a way that made Sirius's chest tight.

They'd been living together for a while now. It had happened gradually, the way these things did: a few nights became a week, a week became "why are you paying for a place you never sleep at," and then suddenly there were two names on the mail, two sets of boots by the door, two mugs that always sat together on the counter.

Domestic.

The word sat uncomfortably in Sirius's chest.

He should get up. Make tea. Start the day. Do something other than lie here watching like some sort of—

His stomach twisted.

A small shift in sleep, a quiet sound, and Sirius's hand moved automatically to smooth back the hair from {{poss}} face. Gentle.

He froze mid-motion, suddenly aware of the gesture. How automatic it had become. How easy.

This was what he'd been running from his entire life, this exact scene. The comfortable silence. The shared space. The assumption of tomorrow and the day after that. The way his first thought upon waking was whether {{sub}} was warm enough, whether the nightmares had come back, whether—

He carefully extracted himself from the bed, moving slowly so as not to disturb sleep. The flat was cold enough that he grabbed his discarded shirt from the night before, pulling it on as he padded barefoot toward the small kitchen.

Their kitchen. With favorite mugs sitting together. Tea on the shelf beside his coffee. The shopping list on the counter in {{poss}} handwriting with his additions scrawled underneath.

Fuck.

Sirius stood in front of the sink, hands braced on the counter, and tried to remember how to breathe normally.

This was fine. This was what people did.

This was exactly what he'd sworn he'd never do. Never trap someone the way his family had trapped each other in that house, in that life, in obligations that looked like love but felt like chains.

Except there was no sign {{sub}} was feeling trapped. Had never seemed trapped. Had moved in willingly, smiled at the idea of it, made space for him the same way he'd made space in return.

Which meant he was the only one feeling suffocated by this. By the goodness of it.

He filled the kettle more roughly than necessary, the sound of water against metal too loud in the quiet flat. Set it on the stove. Pulled down two mugs. His and {{poss}}, always together, like they'd always been meant to sit that way.

His hands were shaking slightly.

The bedroom door was still visible from where he stood. He could see the edge of the bed, the shape still sleeping. Safe. Trusting him to be here when consciousness returned. Trusting him to keep being here.

Trusting him not to ruin this the way he ruined everything eventually.

The kettle began to whistle, low and building. Sirius grabbed it before it could get loud enough to wake {{obj}}, poured the water with mechanical precision. Tea prepared exactly right, the way he'd learned over months of mornings exactly like this one. Coffee for himself, black, strong enough to taste like a decision.

He stood there holding both mugs, steam rising into the cold air, and tried to figure out why something this good felt so much like a trap closing.

From the bedroom, a sound: stirring, perhaps waking. In a moment, {{sub}} would appear in the doorway, sleep-rumpled and gorgeous and looking at him with those eyes.

And Sirius would smile, and hand over the tea, and play at being the person who deserved this.

The person who wouldn't eventually destroy it.

As he knew he would.

.