moonymoodz

[moonymoodz]

Damnatio Memoriæ

The one with the Last Ride Pt.2

Pairing : Sirius Black x Fem!OriginalCharacter.

Wordcount: 5.2k

Genre : Angst, you know the deal.

Context : School’s out, for good. Nothing in their way, only the gang’s very last ride aboard the Hogwarts Express takes an unexpected turn.

Disclaimer : I’m not a native English Speaker so there might be some mistakes. Tough shit.

Previous Part

Masterlist

The train lurched again, harder this time, throwing Sirius sideways into the wall. His hand shot out instinctively, grabbing Cordelia by the arm before she could stumble. Glass crunched beneath their feet as the four of them staggered into the corridor.

The sound of screams hit them immediately—high-pitched, panicked cries from somewhere farther down the train. The lights flickered overhead.

“Stay close,” Sirius muttered, his grip on Cordelia’s wrist like iron. She didn’t flinch, her face pale but resolute.

James and Lily scrambled out behind them, wands already in hand. The door to the next compartment burst open, and Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter spilled out, their faces streaked with sweat and soot.

“What the hell is going on?” Marlene demanded as she adjusted her grip on her wand.

“Death Eaters,” Remus spoke. His wand was drawn, his face set grimly. “A bunch of them, I think. Toward the front. People are freaking out.”

Peter’s face blanched. “What—why? What’s the point of attacking a train full of students?”

“Right,” Sirius sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “Because Death Eaters are known for their brilliant logic. Very sharp observation, Pete.”

“Shut it, Sirius,” Lily snapped, her sharp tone silencing him before he could add more. “We need a plan.”

« What we need, » James said, stepping forward, his voice calm but urgent, «is to get everyone off. »

“Off the train?” Marlene echoed, incredulous. “How, exactly? You want to shove a hundred kids out the windows one by one?”

“No,” James rolled his eyes, already striding toward the nearest exit. “The doors, dummy.” He yanked the emergency handle, throwing it open, and immediately stumbled back as the roar of the wind and the blur of the countryside slammed into them.

The train was still at full speed.

“That’s not happening,” Lily said sharply, slamming the door shut again.

“We could fly,” Peter suggested weakly, gripping the edge of the wall to steady himself.

“All the brooms are in storage,” Sirius snapped, his voice rising with frustration. “And last I checked, none of us can fly bare-arsed.”

“Disapparate, then?” James suggested

“Do you have a death wish?” Dorcas barked. “You had to re-take your test 6 times and now you want to try apparating out of a moving train? There’s a brilliant idea, Potter.”

“Besides,” Lily added, her voice tight, “there aren’t nearly enough of us licensed to get everyone off to safety.”

“I’m going to the driver’s cabin,” Marlene suddenly declared, her voice cutting through the noise. Her wand was already raised, her tone resolute. “We stop the train; we stop the chaos.”

“Are you mental?” Dorcas grabbed her arm, her eyes wide. “You can’t go alone.”

“Well, I’m not staying—”

“I’ll go with her,” Remus interrupted. His gaze lingered on Dorcas briefly, as if asking her to trust him.

Dorcas hesitated, her grip tightening on Marlene’s arm. When she finally spoke, her voice dropped to something softer, steadier. “Be careful?”

Marlene smirked faintly, “Aren’t I always?”

They watched as Remus and Marlene quickly disappeared into the dark corridor, their footsteps swallowed by the growing chaos.

Lily turned back to the group, her wand still gripped tightly. “If they can’t stop the train, we need another way to get these kids off.”

“I’m all out of ideas,” James sighed.

A couple of breathless Hufflepuffs ran past them, telling them to hide or run for their lives.

“Oh, boy..” Peter shuddered nervously to himself.

“What about Portkeys?” Lily finally asked.

They all turned to look at Dorcas.

The girl let out a bitter laugh, pushing hair out of her face as the train jolted again, nearly knocking her into the wall. She was the only one in the group who had managed to create a half-decent Portkey during her Charms NEWTs exam. Emphasis on half. “You want me to whip up a Portkey here? Best case, we land in the middle of the Atlantic. Worst case—”

“What other option do we have?” Lily interrupted, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Besides,” she continued, as the crack of spells started ringing down the corridor, “better lost at sea than dead, right?”

“Fantastic morale boost, Evans,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

A loud crash echoed from farther ahead, followed by the sound of glass shattering.

“You know,” James gulped, his voice suddenly pitched higher than usual, “I have been meaning to work on my backstroke, anyway.

Peter let out a nervous laugh. “Same here. Always fancied myself a swimmer.”

Dorcas’s glare snapped to the both of them. “I don’t even remember the proper process,” she said, throwing her hands in the air.

“Just get it from your textbook,” Sirius suggested, though his voice wavered like he already regretted saying it.

Dorcas turned on him, her frustration spilling out. “And why on earth would I have my bloody textbook, Sirius? It’s in storage. With the rest of my luggage!”

“Wait,” James said suddenly, his face lighting up like he’d just solved one of Flitwick’s riddles. “No, it’s not. It’s in your bag.”

“It most definitely is not,” Dorcas hissed.

“Yes, it is,” James insisted, already moving toward the compartment. “I saw it earlier.”

“I think I’d know what I did and didn’t pack this morning, Potter!” Dorcas snapped, hearing as he rifled through the compartment.

There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by the rattling of the train and James muttering, “It was here, I swear—aha!”

He stumbled back out, triumphant, holding a charm book aloft like he’d discovered the Holy Grail. “See?” he said, his grin wide as he shoved it into her hands.

Dorcas stared at the object, her expression unreadable for a long moment. She looked genuinely confused. Then, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “What were you doing earlier going through my bag, you pervert?” She gasped, her eyes widening and nostrils flaring, “you’re the one who stole my chocolate, aren’t you?”

“Is this really the time for this?” James fired back, though the blush creeping up his ears betrayed him.

“Merlin, help me,” Dorcas’s jaw tightened as she flipped the book open. “Fine. But if we end up in a volcano, I’m haunting the lot of you.” She grabbed her bag from James and started shoving random objects into it—a comb, a snapped quill, a Chocolate Frog wrapper. “I’ll need somewhere quiet to work. Out of the way.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Sirius snickered.

The train rattled again, the lights flickering dangerously overhead. For a moment, no one spoke.

“The back of the train.”

All eyes turned to Cordelia.

It was the first time she’d spoken since the commotion had begun. Her voice was calm, even as her knuckles whitened against the edge of the wall.

“What?” Sirius asked, frowning.

Cordelia’s expression didn’t waver. “The very last car. It’s protected. Get the students there, use the Portkeys to take off out when y-we’re ready.”

“What do you mean, protected?” James asked, clearly confused.

“I—I must’ve read it somewhere,” Cordelia stammered. Her voice faltered for only a moment, but Sirius’s narrowed gaze lingered on her.

Before he could press her further, James clapped his hands together, his jaw set. “Alright, Moony and Marlene stop the train. Students to the back. Dorcas gets the Portkeys working. Piece of cake,” he said, though it was clear he was trying to convince himself.

“B-but—what do we do in the meantime?” Peter asked, his voice trembling as another crash echoed through the train.

Sirius’s grip on his wand tightened, his knuckles white. His voice was low, grim. “I think that’s obvious, Wormtail.”

Lily raised her wand, her chin lifting defiantly as her gaze swept over the group. Her voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“We fight.”

—

As though on cue, a Ravenclaw third-year stumbled into view, his robes torn and streaked with soot, eyes wide with fear. His voice broke as he gasped, “They’re coming—they’re coming down the train!”

For a moment, no one moved.

Sirius was the first to react, shoving past the boy into the corridor, his wand already raised.

“Get to the back,” he snapped over his shoulder, not looking back. His voice was sharp, cutting through the din like a crack of thunder. “And tell everyone else to go there too. Now!”

The boy nodded frantically, his breath hitching as he stumbled down the corridor, half-running, half-falling.

Dorcas moved next, stepping forward with purpose. « I’ll help him and get cracking on the portkeys, » she said briskly, already turning to follow.

« Good, » Sirius muttered, his focus snapping back to the corridor ahead.

Behind him, Cordelia was close—closer than he realized until he felt the faint brush of her sleeve against his arm. Her wand was clutched tightly in her hand, her face ashen but set with determination.

Sirius turned to her, his jaw tightening. “You go with Dorcas,” he said, his voice firm but strained.

She shook her head, �� Sirius—”

“Cord,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. His gaze softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “You’re clearly not well. You can’t—”

« I said no. »

Her voice was steady, almost startling in its strength. She straightened, her grip on her wand steadying as she met his gaze. “I have to be there,” she murmured, though the words seemed more for herself than for him.

His chest tightened painfully, his breath catching in his throat. Why? The question burned on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. He didn’t want the answer. Not now.

Instead, he searched her face, as if looking for something—an excuse, a reason, a crack in her resolve. But he knew better than to argue with her when she looked at him like that. She’d already made up her mind.

Sirius cursed under his breath, his resolve crumbling like ash. “Alright then,” he said finally, He stepped closer, his hand brushing up her arm. « Stay close to me, » he murmured, « At all times. Do you hear me? »

Her eyes softened—just for a moment, just enough to break him—and she nodded.

Sirius didn’t stop there. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t rushed or distracted—it lingered, a brief pause in the chaos, a silent promise that neither of them dared put into words.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on hers for a moment longer than it should have, as if trying to memorize her face.

« I mean it, » he whispered as he pulled back. « Don’t leave my sight. »

Sirius turned to see James and Lily holding hands, Peter standing awkwardly to the side. “Let’s go,” he declared finally, his tone hardening again as he turned back toward the corridor.

—

They decisively stepped towards chaos ahead.

Smoke billowed through the shattered windows, mixing with the flicker of malfunctioning lights overhead. The air tasted like soot and magic, and the metallic groan of the train’s frame shuddering under the strain was punctuated by the sharp crack of spells ricocheting off the walls.

Students flooded the corridor, tripping over one another as they scrambled toward the back, some clutching younger classmates, others crying or screaming for friends.

“Keep moving!” Lily’s voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. Her wand was raised, and with a quick flick, she conjured a glowing barrier between a group of terrified first-years and an oncoming spell that scorched the wall behind them. “Get to the back—now!”

Peter was already crouched beside a Hufflepuff fourth-year, helping the boy to his feet. “Come on, come on,” he urged, his voice shaky but persistent. He half-carried the boy down the corridor, glancing nervously over his shoulder as another explosion rocked the train.

Sirius’s heart pounded in his chest as he cast a Stunning Spell at a masked figure darting through the smoke. The Death Eater crumpled, and Sirius didn’t hesitate, spinning to aim another curse down the corridor. James was at his side, moving like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

“On your left!” James shouted, and Sirius turned just in time to deflect a curse aimed at his shoulder.

“Nice one, James,” Sirius called, grinning despite the chaos.

“Don’t get used to it,” James shot back, firing off a hex that sent another Death Eater staggering back into the smoke.

Sirius almost felt a pang of guilt as he realised he was almost enjoying the moment. The thrill of it all. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been eager to join. Take part in the fight. It felt right.

Sirius’s grin faltered when his gaze flicked to Cordelia. She was standing several feet away, her wand raised but her movements hesitant. She stood there, pale and frozen, her dark eyes wide as they darted around the corridor.

Sirius’s stomach twisted. She knew how to fight. Hell, she was better than most of them. He’d seen her prowess in duels, and had been on the receiving end more than he cared to admit.

But now—amid the chaos, she looked—lost.

“Cord!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the din. “Get behind me—quick!”

Her head snapped toward him but she stayed still.

Before Sirius could reach her, another blast shook the train, throwing him against the wall.

“Damnit!” Marlene’s voice rang out above the chaos as she and Remus stumbled into the corridor, both of them looking like they’d just walked through hell. Marlene’s hair was wild, her robes torn at the sleeve and splattered with something dark. Remus was limping, his wand raised defensively as sparks flew from his free hand.

“The driver’s cabin’s a no-go!” Remus shouted, his voice hoarse. “The front cars are crawling with Death Eaters—we couldn’t even get close.”

Marlene staggered to Sirius’s side, breathing heavily. “Your cousin says hi, by the way,” she muttered darkly, her lip curling as she wiped blood from a cut on her forehead.

Sirius’s heart sank. “Bella?”

“Who else?” Marlene hissed. That cunt is having the time of her life up there.”

Remus turned to Lily, panic flashing briefly in his eyes. “If we can’t stop the train, we need another plan. Fast.”

Lily nodded sharply, her mind clearly racing. “Dorcas is working on Portkeys, but we have to buy her time. We hold them off here.”

“Fantastic,” Sirius muttered, deflecting another curse aimed too close to Cordelia. “We’re bloody outnumbered, and they’ve got—”

Marlene darted toward them, dodging spells as she rummaged through her robes. “Guess it’s a good time to try these, huh?” she said, pulling something out.

It was one of the trick bombs Cordelia had brought into the compartment earlier. A green one.

« Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, » James said, his voice half-exasperated, half-incredulous.

« McKinnon, » Sirius’s eyes widened. « You sneaky little thief! »

“You’re welcome!” Marlene shot back, yanking the pin and lobbing a yellow ball toward the advancing Death Eaters.

It hit the ground with a loud crack, releasing a blinding flash of light and an explosion of vivid, sparkling smoke. The Death Eaters reeled back, disoriented, coughing as the smoke filled the corridor.

“Brilliant,” Sirius muttered under his breath, sparing a glance at Cordelia, who was still standing stiffly, her wand clutched to her chest.

But the relief was short-lived. A Death Eater emerged from the smoke, their mask gleaming in the flickering light. Their wand was raised, and their spell shot straight toward Sirius—

“Protego!��

The shield appeared between him and the curse just in time. Sirius blinked, his gaze snapping to Cordelia. Her wand was still raised, her face pale but set.

“Thanks,” he managed after a beat, his voice strained.

She didn’t reply. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Wait, no!” Remus’s panicked shout cut through the chaos, his voice sharp enough to snap their heads in his direction. “Not that colour—don’t use the Magenta one!”

Marlene froze for a fraction of a second, the small magenta bomb already in her hand.

“What the bloody hell’s wrong with Magenta?” she snapped, glaring at him.

But it was too late. The fuse hissed ominously as the little ball ignited in her hand.

“Just throw it out!” Sirius bellowed, his voice cracking with urgency.

“Merlin’s pants,” James groaned, shuddering as he threw himself and Lily against the wall. “Everybody take cover!”

Marlene hurled the bomb forward, her arm snapping in one smooth arc. The small, innocent-looking sphere sailed through the smoke-filled corridor and hit the jagged frame of a shattered window.

For a breathless moment, nothing happened.

And then—

The purple bomb detonated with a deafening crack, a blinding flash of light tearing through the train car. The entire side of the train was ripped open, the metallic walls curling outward like paper. Shards of glass and metal rained down, slicing through the air as the floor beneath them quaked violently.

“Shit!” Sirius shouted, his arm shooting up to shield himself and Cordelia as the wind screamed through the jagged opening. It tore at their robes, the sound hollow and relentless, like a beast unleashed.

The train was crossing an aqueduct now, the gaping hole exposing nothing but an expanse of dizzying sky and the endless void below.

“Godric, no!” Lily’s voice suddenly rang out, sharp and terrified, cutting through the roar of the wind.

Sirius turned, his stomach plummeting at the sight before him: a boy—maybe a fourth-year—was flailing, his arms pinwheeling as a Death Eater shoved him toward the edge of the jagged opening. His scream was swallowed by the wind as his body tipped into the void.

“Arresto Momentum!” Lily’s voice slashed through the chaos, her wand carving a sharp arc in the air. The boy’s descent slowed immediately, his body floating just inches from the abyss. She yanked him back to safety with a flick of her wrist, her face pale but resolute.

Sirius barely had time to catch his breath before Marlene moved.

Even wandless, the girl surged forward without hesitation, her boots pounding against the trembling floor. With a feral shriek, she slammed into the Death Eater responsible, her foot driving into their chest with brutal force.

Sirius’s jaw dropped. He’d heard Marlene brag countless times about her black belt—whatever that meant—in Krav Maga. Some Muggle fighting nonsense he’d never paid attention to—but now he understood.

The Death Eater staggered backward, their balance teetering precariously near the edge of the hole. Marlene’s grip was unrelenting, even as her hair whipped back and forth in the wind. With one furious kick to their chest, she sent the masked figure tumbling through the opening, their scream disappearing into the howling void below.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath, his voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

Marlene stumbled back, panting heavily, hands braced on her knees.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” Sirius said faintly, still staring at the hole where the Death Eater had vanished into the night.

She didn’t answer. Her breathing was shallow but her eyes burned with defiance.

For a fleeting moment, the corridor was eerily still. The sharp wind howled through the jagged hole in the train’s side, carrying the distant hum of retreating footsteps as the remaining Death Eaters disappeared into the smoke.

Sirius lowered his wand, his pulse hammering in his ears. The silence felt fragile, too thin to last. He turned to check on Cordelia—

Only to find the space behind him empty.

His heart stopped.

She wasn’t there.

Sirius spun on his heel, his chest tightening as he scanned the corridor. Students were crouched beneath benches, some trembling, others clutching one another in fear. Lily was helping a dazed second-year to her feet, James’s hand steadying her elbow. Remus was at the far end of the car, half-carrying a bleeding Ravenclaw toward the safety of the back.

But Cordelia was nowhere to be seen.

Sirius called out her name as he pushed past Marlene.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brows furrowing as she followed his frantic movements.

“She’s—,” Sirius bit out, his eyes darting frantically through the haze of smoke and flickering light. “She’s gone. She was just here—right here.”

Lily looked up sharply, her hand freezing mid-spell. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean she’s not bloody here!” Sirius snapped, his voice louder, harsher than he intended. He didn’t wait for a reply, shoving his way down the corridor toward the shattered opening in the train.

“She must’ve gone to help someone,” James offered, though the doubt in his voice was clear. He jogged after Sirius, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. “maybe she carried some kid to the back?”

But Sirius already felt himself spiraling.

“Don’t panic,” Lily said, catching up to them, her voice steady despite the crackling tension in the air. “We’ll find her.”

“I’m not panicking!” Sirius snapped, his knuckles turned white around his wand as he slammed open the door of each compartment he walked past.

“Mate,” James said gently, his hand catching Sirius’s shoulder to stop him. “She’s probably—”

“Don’t tell me she’s probably fine!” Sirius shoved James’s hand off, his breath coming quicker now. He turned back toward the empty corridor, his mind racing. «Shit—fuck—«  he cursed, kicking a pile of abandoned bags, « I told her not to fucking—fuck! »

What if—

The train jolted violently, throwing them all off balance. Sirius caught himself on the wall, his stomach flipping as he heard a muffled scream from somewhere farther up the train.

Sirius was moving before the sound had fully registered.

“Pads!” James shouted after him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He pushed past crumpled bags, shattered glass, and a group of students huddling together in tears. The sharp edge of the wind stung his face as he stormed down the corridor.

“Cord!” he called again, his voice echoing down the empty space. The train groaned beneath him, the uneven rhythm of the wheels on the track punctuating his rising panic.

He didn’t notice James catching up until his friend grabbed his arm, yanking him back.

“Stop—just stop for a second!” James’s voice was urgent, his grip firm. “Think. If she’s not with us, she must’ve gone to help Dorcas and the others. »

“She wouldn’t leave,” Sirius hissed through clenched teeth, his chest heaving as his thoughts spiraled faster than he could control. His vision swam, dark spots creeping in at the edges. His legs felt like they could give out at any moment, and the faint sting in his side sharpened into something deeper. Blood. He was bleeding, though he didn’t know where. But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

“Not like this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the remaining chaos. “Not without telling me—”

“Wait, pads!” James’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent.

Sirius turned, his breath catching as James pointed to the floor ahead.

Something in the darkness of the corridor.

A flicker of light.

It was so small he might’ve missed it—a faint glow in the middle of the corridor, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

Magenta.

« Fuck, » Sirius whispered, his eyes widening as the realization hit him.

“Don’t!” James shouted, his voice rising in panic. “Sirius, stop!”

But Sirius didn’t think. He ran.

The world blurred around him as he surged forward, his boots pounding against the trembling floor. He didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. His heart thundered in his chest as he leapt over the small glowing sphere, his mind screaming at him to keep moving.

He hit the ground hard, his knees buckling as he stumbled forward—

And then he heard it.

A faint click.

Before he could even register the sound, the explosion detonated behind him with a deafening roar.

The force of the blast hit him like a tidal wave, hurling him forward. The corridor became a blur of smoke and shrapnel, the wind howling like a banshee as he was thrown violently down the train.

He didn’t feel the landing—just the jarring crunch of his body colliding with the floor, the edges of his vision fading to black as he skidded to a halt.

For a moment—thirty seconds, maybe more—there was nothing. No sound, no pain, no thought. Just a heavy, suffocating void.

And then, like a cruel jolt back to reality, his ears began to ring.

The sound was piercing, sharp enough to make him wince as he blinked, disoriented. His vision was blurred, his head pounding with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings—the acrid stench of smoke, the jagged edges of the shattered corridor walls, the faint flicker of sparking wires overhead.

He groaned, the sound barely audible over the ringing in his ears, and pushed himself onto his elbows. His limbs felt like lead, and every muscle ached as he forced himself to move.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He glanced down, his hand brushing against a sharp piece of glass embedded in his sleeve. Blood smeared the floor beneath him, though he couldn’t tell how much was his.

Crawling forward, his palms scraped against the uneven floor as he struggled to his knees.

He turned, his heart sinking as he peered through the haze.

The other side of the train was beyond reach. The blast had torn the train corridor in half, leaving an uncrossable void between him and where James had been standing. The floor was barely holding together, broken mechanisms and sparking wires dangling precariously beneath the shattered edges.

“Prongs!” Sirius shouted, his voice raw. He winced as the ringing in his ears drowned out his own voice. “James!”

No response.

He tried again, louder this time, but the sound seemed to disappear into the void, swallowed by the darkness and the chaos around him.

Panic clawed at his chest, his breathing shallow and uneven as he turned back toward the corridor ahead. He was alone now, and the emptiness stretched out before him like a mocking taunt.

Cordelia.

She was still out there, somewhere ahead. He had to get to her. He pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling as he limped forward.

Sirius limped forward, his boots dragging against the broken floor. His wand was gone, lost in the explosion, and the weight of its absence felt foreign and wrong. Every step sent a sharp bolt of pain through his side, the ache radiating from what he was certain were bruised or broken ribs.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The corridor stretched out endlessly before him, a maze of shattered glass, dangling wires, and flickering lights. He tried to focus, to piece together whether he had made it all the way to the front car, but nothing made sense.

The Death Eaters were supposed to be at the front.

That’s what Remus said. That’s what everyone said.

So why was it so quiet?

The only sound was the persistent ringing in his ears, high and sharp and maddening. His head swam, his vision blurring as he stumbled forward, his hands brushing the jagged edges of the corridor walls to keep his balance.

There was nobody here. No Death Eaters. No students. Just the mess left behind—splintered wood, torn fabric, shattered glass glittering like ice across the floor.

Sirius stopped, leaning heavily against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. The pain in his side was sharp now, cutting through his every inhale. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away, willing everything away.

Just for a moment. Just to stop the ringing.

But when it stopped, it wasn’t the relief he’d hoped for.

A voice, quiet, soft and measured, cut through the air like a curse.

“I know.”

Sirius’s eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat as his head shot up.

The corridor ahead was dark, the light overhead flickering erratically, casting jagged shadows across the wreckage.

The light flickered on long enough for him to take in the scene before him.

His heart stopped.

Far down the corridor, two figures stood in the murky glow. One of them—a young man, tall, poised, his wand held loosely at his side—was unmistakable. Even at a distance, Sirius would recognize Evan Rosier’s aristocratic posture, the way he tilted his head like the world belonged to him.

But it wasn’t Evan who made Sirius’s chest tighten, his pulse thunder in his ears.

It was her.

The moment Sirius saw her, the urgency clawed its way back to the surface, drowning out the pain and the ringing in his ears.

She stood so close to Evan it made Sirius’s stomach churn. Too close. Her head was bowed, her dark hair falling across her face, but her wand was still in her hand, hanging limply at her side. Evan’s hand—that bastard’s hand—was grazing her cheek, his fingers tracing her skin with an intimacy that made the bile rise in Sirius’s throat.

He wanted to scream, to yell at the top of his lungs, but his voice refused to come. All that emerged was a strained rasp as he stumbled forward, his shoulder slamming into the wall to keep himself upright.

The movement caught their attention. Both of them turned to the side, their faces briefly illuminated by the flickering light.

“Get away from her,” Sirius rasped, his throat raw and burning.

Cordelia didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

But Evan looked directly at him. His pale blue eyes held Sirius’s gaze, steady and unbothered. He said nothing, his silence more cutting than any insult.

Sirius forced himself forward, his steps uneven and heavy. He didn’t feel the pain anymore, didn’t feel the blood dripping down his side or the ache in his ribs.

“Get away from her!” he growled, louder this time, his voice cracking as he gained speed.

Still, Cordelia didn’t look at him.

She just stood there, her fingers tightening slightly around her wand, her shoulders stiff.

Sirius was close now. He was about to shout again, to close the distance between them, when Cordelia moved.

Her hand rose delicately, trembling slightly, and rested on Evan’s arm. She didn’t pull him back, didn’t shove him away. She simply gripped his bicep and murmured something so soft that Sirius almost didn’t hear it.

But he did.

“Let’s go.”

The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs.

No.

« No, » Sirius groaned, his pace quickening to a full sprint. « No—»

Evan turned toward her, his expression calm, almost tender, as he reached down and took her hand in his.

Sirius’s voice cracked, his heart pounding in his ears. “Cordelia—”

He was so close now, his arm outstretched, his fingers aching to grab her and pull her away. To hold her and never let go.

She finally looked at him.

Her gaze flickered upward, catching his, just for a second, maybe less. There was something there—something fragile and fleeting, something he couldn’t name before it vanished.

He was so close he could almost feel the fabric of her blouse brushing against his fingertips.

Almost.

And then it happened.

The sharp crack of Disapparition echoed through the corridor, resonating louder than the explosion had.

Sirius’s outstretched hand grasped at empty air, his momentum carrying him forward as he stumbled and fell to his knees right where she had stood a second before. After a beat, the weight of realization slammed into him, crushing every ounce of fight left in his body.

She was gone.

[moonymoodz]

Damnatio Memoriæ

The one with the last ride

Pairing : Sirius Black x Fem!OriginalCharacter.

Wordcount: 4.1k

Genre : Angst, you know the deal. Action, mystery?

Context : School’s out, for good. Nothing in their way. Only, the gang’s very last ride aboard the Hogwarts Express takes an unexpected turn.

Disclaimer : I’m not a native English Speaker so there might be some mistakes. Tough shit.

Masterlist

—

Saturday, June 30th 1978

—

The train wasn’t the only thing eager to leave.

The Hogsmeade Station platform hummed with its usual chaos, students running between the towering piles of luggage. The Hogwarts Express loomed red and shining, ready to take the students back to London, but Sirius was focused on something else.

He was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the crowd as though willing her to appear. The restless energy that usually kept him in motion had shifted, pooling low in his stomach, a strange mix of anticipation and unease.

“Would you relax?” James clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “You know her, she loves an entrance.”

Sirius huffed, his lips twitching despite himself.

“What do you reckon Dumbledore wanted with her?” Peter asked, his sweaty brow furrowed as he struggled to drag his trunk onto the platform.

“Probably giving her some fancy award for graduating top of the class,” Marlene pitched in, rolling her eyes as she leaned casually against the side of the train.

“Or trying to talk her into reconsidering that internship with Professor Twigs,” Remus added.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” Lily said, nudging Sirius gently.

The boy nodded but didn’t reply. The truth was, he’d been nervous—an unusual feeling for what was meant to be a day of celebration, the start of something. The first day of their lives beyond Hogwarts. For the first time, there would be no goodbyes at King’s Cross, no forced smiles as they waved each other off for the summer. No. This time, Cordelia would come home with him, to the Potters’ house, and from there, they would simply figure things out, one day at a time.

The sharp whistle of the train pulled him back to the present. The last students were climbing aboard, their laughter and shouts blending with the scrape of trunks and the rush of steam. James stuck his head out of a window, grinning like the devil himself.

“Oi, Pads, if you don’t get a move on, you’ll be stuck sitting on Wormy’s lap!”

Sirius was about to curse his best friend out—but then he heard it.

The sharp click of her shoes against the pavement, a distinct rhythm he’d memorized over the years without realizing it. He straightened before he even saw her.

There she was.

Cordelia de Valois cut through the platform like a blade. Her posture was perfect, as always, though Sirius couldn’t help but notice her movements lacked their usual ease, her steps too deliberate, as though she were walking a tightrope no one else could see.

“Didn’t think I’d miss our final ride out of here, did you?” she called lightly, her voice carrying just enough to reach him. The faintest ghost of a smile flickered on her lips but didn’t linger.

“Took you long enough!” James called out from the window, grinning.

The girl barely acknowledged him, her gaze flicking briefly to Sirius before she brushed past him and onto the train.

Cordelia strode through the narrow corridor so quickly that her boyfriend struggled to keep up. As she reached the group’s compartment, she slipped into the seat by the window without a word, her head leaning against the glass as though she needed the cool surface to anchor her.

“So,” James said, dropping onto the bench opposite her with a dramatic flourish. “What did old Dumblebee want with you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Cordelia replied, her tone light but her face unmoving.

“Ooooh, secrets between you and the big man?” Marlene teased, her legs swinging over the edge of the bench.

“Something like that,” Cordelia murmured, shifting in her seat.

“Well do let him know to let you leave on time next time,” Dorcas smirked.

Sirius didn’t miss a beat, plopping down beside Cordelia, his knee brushing hers as he leaned in with a grin. « Uh-uh, Meadowes, there won’t be a next time. »

He grabbed Peter’s arm suddenly, causing the smaller boy to yelp as Sirius pointed theatrically at his watch. “Ladies and gents, it is officially four o’clock. Do you know what that means?”

The others exchanged looks, eyebrows raised, but no one answered. The school year was officially over. They were no longer Hogwarts students.

“It means,” Sirius declared, his voice a touch louder, “no more detentions. No more homework. No more sneaking out—or sneaking back in. No more lectures, no more professors, no more bloody ticking clock hanging over our heads.” He wiggled his eyebrows, the grin widening. “From now on, it’s just us. And I say we’ve got all the time in the world.”

James snorted, resting his head lazily against Lily’s shoulder. “Not that we’ll use it wisely.”

The group chuckled, light and carefree, and Sirius’s gaze flicked back to Cordelia, waiting for her to tease him or roll her eyes the way she always did.

She didn’t.

Her dark eyes shifted toward him, and for a moment, she almost smiled. Almost. But then her gaze slid past him.

“Mmh,” she hummed faintly. The train jolted beneath them, the whistle splitting the air as they left the station behind. “All the time in the world. »

—

Laughter rippled through the compartment, but Sirius wasn’t paying attention. His gaze kept flicking toward Cordelia, who sat by the window, one hand resting lightly on the frame. She hadn’t joined in on the banter once since the train had left the station, and the faint lines of tension around her mouth hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Sirius hesitated, the easy grin slipping from his face. Then, as if deciding the silence had lasted too long, he nudged her gently. The movement was small, but she almost flinched, her shoulders jerking slightly as she turned toward him.

Leaning in, his voice dropped low, meant only for her. “Everything alright?” he murmured.

For a moment, she just looked at him, her lips parting as though she might answer. But instead, she shifted suddenly, brushing her palms over her skirt as she stood. “I think I need some air,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

Sirius straightened immediately, already halfway out of his seat. “I’ll come with you—”

“No.” The word came too quickly, sharp enough to draw a flicker of surprise across his face. Her hand softened the moment, brushing against his arm. “I just—need to move around a bit. I’m getting a little queasy, that’s all.”

Lily raised an eyebrow from her place near the door. “Let’s open the window a crack. It’s too stuffy in here anyway.”

« No need, » Cordelia shook her head, her smile tight, « I could use the walk. »

For a moment, Sirius didn’t move, his hand lingering on the bench as if he might insist.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she added softly before he could argue any further. She glanced at the others before stepping into the corridor and sliding the door shut behind her.

The compartment felt quieter after she left, despite the steady murmur of the train.

« Okay, » James leaned back in his seat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, « Is it just me, or has Cord been acting a bit—I don’t know. Odd?”

“She’s fine,” Sirius snapped, the words bursting out of him like a nervous twitch.

The others turned to look at him.

“She’s just tired, that’s all,” he added quickly, his voice softer now, though his foot tapped restlessly against the floor. “It’s been a long year.”

Dorcas leaned back against the door, her arms crossed. “Well, she has been unusually quiet today—.”

“I told you she’s fine,” Sirius interrupted again as he ran a hand through his hair and slouched back into his seat. She was fine. She had to be fine. Everything was supposed to be fine. They were getting a fresh start, leaving behind the shadows of their families, the wars brewing outside Hogwarts, the lies, the masks, all the expectations that clung to their blood like chains.

This was freedom. This was their moment.

And she was just fine.

“She’s got a lot on her plate,” Lily said softly, her green eyes flicking to Sirius. “With the whole— you know—» She trailed off, as though unwilling to say the words aloud: The family. The engagement. The war. The universe essentially having a field day pulling her apart.

Marlene stretched her legs out, her boots knocking against James’s shins. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be.»

Sirius held back a scoff. Hard. As much as he loved his friends, they clearly didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. Hard. He’d essentially been through it too—once—and hard was certainly not the word he’d use to describe it.

Liberating, for sure. Truly, completely exhilarating was more like it.

And yet—Marlene’s words made the skin around his throat itch.

Had it?

Had it been hard? It seemed like a lifetime had gone by since he’d walked out on his family and never looked back, and he had since avoided thinking too much about that night. Perhaps it had been—slightly difficult. Gut-wrenching, really. But there’s no use dwelling on the past— all he knew now was that it was the best decision he’d ever made. And she would come to feel the same way.

Right?

Yeah. Of course she would.

“I mean,” Marlene continued, leaning forward. “Having to walk away from all of it for—”

He shook the thought away, sitting up straighter. “Can we just—” he said, his voice low and tense, “drop it?”

An awkward silence settled over the group, tension crackling faintly in the air.

Dorcas broke it, sitting up straighter. « I should go check on her, » she said, moving towards the door

« Sit, » Sirius snapped again, and the room froze. « She’ll be back in a minute. »

Dorcas hesitated, her mouth opening slightly like she wanted to argue. It wasn’t in her habits to listen to Sirius Black, but surprisingly, she sank back into her seat.

Remus, ever the peacemaker, cleared his throat and pulled a deck of cards from his bag. “Alright. How about we play something to pass the time before we’re all roped into another round of James’s Quidditch sermons.”

Lily gave him a grateful smile, and James tossed a balled-up wrapper at him.

The conversation picked up again, lighter this time, but Sirius didn’t join in. His gaze remained fixed on the compartment door, his fingers twitching faintly on his knee.

Yes. Of course. She’d be back in a minute. She’d be back in a minute and they would all be fine.

Only—

The way she’d pulled away from him on the platform. The tightness in her voice when she said she needed air. The look she’d given him—like she was holding something back, something heavy enough to bury them all.

Sirius stared at the door, the laughter and chatter of his friends blurring into white noise around him.

—

As time went by, the cards slapped down on the table, their edges curling slightly from wear. Marlene leaned in, her elbows on her knees, staring at the pile as though she could will it to explode in her favor.

“Your turn, Lupin,” she said, her tone clipped.

Remus adjusted his cards, his face calm but his lips twitching faintly, a clear tell he was about to make his move. Sirius didn’t notice. He was slouched in his seat, his own cards fanned loosely in his hand, his gray eyes still fixed on the compartment door. It had been ten minutes—no, fifteen—since Cordelia had walked out, and though the conversation in the compartment had returned to its usual rhythm, Sirius’s mind hadn’t followed.

“Pads, you’re up,” James said, flicking the edge of a card against the table.

“Hmm?” the boy replied, still elsewhere.

Remus sighed, leaning back dramatically. « It’s your turn. Any time today.»

« Oh,» Sirius blinked, looking at his hand as though seeing it for the first time, « Right. »

« Great, » Dorcas snorted. « He’s bloody useless. Should’ve known better than to let him play.”

Before Sirius could retort, the compartment door slid open, and a bright voice broke through the hum of idle conversation.

“I get winners.”

The group turned as one. Cordelia stood in the doorway with a smile, tossing two chocolate frogs into James’s lap and one at Marlene’s head, who ducked just in time.

“And before I forget—» she added, tossing a small bag onto the table. It landed with a soft thud and spilled open, revealing a handful of colorful, slightly dusty little balls. Trick bombs. It was the exact kind she’d spent most of Year 6 confiscating from students after the four troublemakers had decided it would be a brilliant idea to sell these inside a thousand year old castle. A thriving business, though it didn’t last long. « For you lot. »

“No way,” Remus said, picking one up and turning it over. “Where did you even—”

« Consider it a parting gift from Filch,» Cordelia interrupted, « figured I’d make good use of my prefect privileges one last time. »

« You are a bloody saint, Cord, » James said excitedly.

She stepped fully into the compartment, her mood seemingly lighter than before. She crossed the small space and, to everyone’s surprise, dropped herself onto Sirius’s lap without hesitation.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his hands automatically settling on her waist. “Well, hello.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said airily, plucking the cards from his hand. “You’re losing, and it’s embarrassing. I’ve come to the rescue. »

“Oh, have you now?”

She ignored him, scanning his cards and humming thoughtfully. Sirius leaned in, resting his chin on her shoulder. His teeth grazed her neck playfully, earning a quiet laugh.

“You’re distracting me,” she said, nudging him with her elbow.

“Good,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching.

The others groaned in unison.

« Merlin’s beard, would you two get a bloody room? » James groaned, shoving a chocolate frog into his mouth and chewing dramatically.

Dorcas laughed, her voice half-mocking. « Honestly. You’d think they’d spent 10 years apart, not ten minutes. »

« Some of us are trying to focus here, » Marlene added, squinting at her cards.

« All right, all right, » Sirius shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched. For a moment, the compartment felt like it always had—full of banter and the weightless kind of chaos that belonged to those who still believed, however briefly, that their world wasn’t about to fall apart. Everything felt easy again and, briefly, it was as if the knot of tension in his chest loosened.

Or so he thought.

It wasn’t until her head tilted back, her laughter mingling with the others’, that Sirius’s grin faltered as he finally caught a glimpse of her face.

Of course, he would be the one to notice it.

It was a smile Sirius had seen on Cordelia a hundred times before—but not here. Not like this.

This—was the smile she wore at pureblood galas and other distasteful social functions. There was no doubt about it. It was the same expression she’d use when her mother introduced her to some family acquaintance as though she were an antique vase to be appraised—the smile she’d perfected for meaningless compliments and stifling small talk.

It was polished, practiced, but completely, utterly fake.

The realization hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and he once again found himself questioning his own sanity.

“Your turn, Pads,” Moony said, nudging him out of his thoughts.

Sirius blinked, his focus snapping back to his cards, lying in Cordelia’s hands.

His grip on her waist tightened slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something—but stopped himself. Not here. Not now.

Instead, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of her hair grounding him.

« So, what do you say? » she challenged with a smile as she fiddled with the cards. She didn’t seem to notice the way his expression had darkened, and if she had, she never let it show. « Shall we bring them to their knees? »

He examined her features for a beat, unsure. «Well, » he eventually spoke glancing once more at the cards in her hands, « It’s you move, Cord. Don’t let me regret it.»

—

A couple of hours had passed by and the train still glided smoothly through the endless green of the Scottish countryside. Though the sun had set, the air in the compartment remained hot, laced with the sticky sweetness of chocolate. Peter, Dorcas and Marlene had made the smart decision of moving to a nearby compartment, hoping to take a brief nap. All that was left of their earlier presence were the cards and candy wrappers strewn across the seats, abandoned in the lazy aftermath of overindulgence.

James groaned theatrically, slumping further into Lily’s side. « you’re gonna have to carry me off the train,” he mumbled. “I think my body’s shutting down.”

“Perhaps you should have listened when I said eating 20 chocolate frogs in one go was a terrible idea,” Lily said, rolling her eyes, though her hand rose to card gently through his hair. “So—no, I will not be carrying you, » she added, eliciting a groan from her boyfriend who was paling by the minute.

« Still worth it,» he grinned faintly, as though afraid a full blown smile might finally push his stomach over the edge, « Easiest two galleons I’ve ever made. »

This earned a snort from Sirius, who sat across from them, one arm draped along the back of the bench, his free hand resting lightly next to Cordelia’s thigh. She had gone quiet again, the fingers of her left hand fiddling idly with a strand of her hair. Her gaze was fixed on the book she was reading—nothing unusual—but Sirius couldn’t help but notice she had been on the same page for a solid twenty minutes.

The compartment door slid open briefly as Remus poked his head in, a bundle of empty butterbeer bottles tucked under one arm. « Those idiots in front are rationing drinks, »he said dryly. «Anyone wants to join the rebellion?»

« Take Pete with you, » Sirius replied with a smirk « I’m sure the girls wouldn’t mind the privacy. »

Remus shrugged and disappeared down the corridor, leaving them to the quiet hum of the train.

Sirius let out an exasperated sigh, looking towards the window, though it was only an excuse to glance once more at Cordelia, who still hadn’t turned a page, frozen in her seat. In a gesture of habit, Sirius went to grab her hand and was suprised to feel her heartbeat drumming through it as though she’d been running a marathon.

It started quietly.

A crash, faint but distinct, somewhere ahead of their compartment.

James lifted his head lazily, his glasses sliding down his nose. “Sounds like someone’s made a mess of the trolley, » he mused, « I’m telling you, it has got to be illegal to have such an old lady striding along a moving train.»

« Meh,» Sirius tilted his head, frowning. “My money is on some third-year’s first hangover making a stop in puke city,» he shook his head, «Rookie mistake. »

« Care to bet? » James perked up, snapping out of his chocolate coma, « Those two galleons of yours are feeling lonely in my pocket, » he teased.

“Really, now? » Lily sighed, « betting on the misery of—»

Another sound interrupted her lecture—the unmistakable thud of something heavy slamming against a wall, followed by a strong rattle of the train.

James sat up straighter, his smirk fading. “That was—”

“Odd,” Sirius finished, his hand slipping off Cordelia’s lap as he stood.

Before he could move, Cordelia’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. Her grip was firm—too firm.

“Don’t,” she said sharply, though her eyes remained glued to the book in her lap.

Sirius blinked, surprised by the steel in her voice. “It’s probably nothing. I’m just curious.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Well, then sit down,” she said, her tone low but commanding. “There’s no use.”

He frowned, his gaze narrowing as he studied her face. “Cord—”

Before he could say more, the train jolted violently. The floor bucked beneath them, and Sirius staggered, barely catching himself on the edge of the seat as the carriage groaned in protest.

“Merlin—”

“What the hell—” James began, but the train lurched again, harder this time, sending his bag tumbling from the luggage rack. “Shit!” he cursed, scrambling to grab it as its contents rained down.

Sirius threw himself forward instinctively, shielding Cordelia from the falling debris.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos stopped.

The train settled back into its rhythm, the faint hum of the wheels against the tracks returning as though nothing had happened.

“Godric, that was something else,” Sirius huffed, crouching next to Cordelia. His sharp gray eyes scanned her face. “You okay?”

Cordelia nodded faintly, but she seemed to be shrinking.

“Maybe we hit something,” Lily said, glancing out the window.

“Let that poor thing rest in peace,” James quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “The train’s not stopping.”

“Well, whatever that was,” Sirius said, pushing himself to his feet, “I’m going to give the driver a piece of my mind.”

« Sirius, » Cordelia sighed.

He ignored her, shaking his head as he reached for the door handle. “I mean, can you believe it? I could’ve been disfigured, you know—”

“Please, sit down,” she said again, rubbing her temples.

Sirius spun around, gesturing dramatically. “Disfigured!” he repeated, his voice rising. “Talk about a crime against nature—”

“Hey,” Lily interrupted, her voice cautious now as she moved to the empty seat beside Cordelia. “What’s wrong?”

Her hand trembled slightly as she rubbed her temples. Her breathing grew uneven, shallow, as though the air in the room had turned too thick to inhale.

“Cord?” Sirius said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone.

But before anyone could respond, the train lurched twice as violently to the side, throwing them all off balance. Lily was slammed back into her seat with a sharp gasp while Sirius hit the floor hard.

For a moment, silence hung in the air, broken only by the rattling of the train.

Then they heard it.

A sound like delicate ice cracking—faint, brittle, and wrong.

Their heads turned toward the source, just in time to see it. Their eyes widening in unison as they saw the compartment window begin to splinter, fractures webbing out like a spider’s web under pressure.

« Fuck—» they all muttered at once, the curse hanging in the air like a warning.

« Down! » James roared.

Just then, as the glass shattered entirely, with an deafening blast, shards of glass raining down on their crouching figures, wind howling as it tore into the compartment. The lights flickered, plunging the compartment into partial darkness.

That’s when the screaming started.

Shrieks echoed from the carriages ahead and behind them, rising in a crescendo that sent Sirius’s heart hammering in his chest.

Sirius groaned as he scrambled up. A shard had nicked his arm, leaving a shallow but angry cut. He didn’t notice.

“Cord—” His voice cracked as he darted toward her, crouching by her side.

Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a tight line, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. A thin line of blood traced her cheekbone where a shard had grazed her skin.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sirius murmured, his hands moving instinctively, brushing glass off her robes. His fingers hovered by her face, his thumb barely grazing the wound. “Are you hurt? Talk to me—are you okay?”

She nodded faintly, though she never met his gaze.

Behind them, Lily was helping James to his feet, her voice shaking but steady. “You alright?”

“Peachy,” James muttered, wincing as he rubbed his shoulder. “What the hell was that?”

Sirius’s hand reached instinctively for his wand, gripping it tightly as he turned toward the compartment door.

As though on cue, it slid open with a crash, eliciting a collective gasp.

Remus stood in the threshold, his hair disheveled and his chest heaving, his wand drawn and his eyes wild.

“Shit’s going down,” he barked, his voice sharp with urgency. “We’ve got to move—now.”

[moonymoodz]

Damnatio Memoriæ

The one with the bed creaks.

Pairing : Sirius Black x Fem!OriginalCharacter. (+ kind of unrequited Peter Pettigrew x Fem!Original Character)

Wordcount : 1.7k

Genre: quite suggestive, angst or fluff depending whose pov you’re on lol.

Warning : very suggestive, some may call it smut, depending on your personal sensitivity, but it’s not particularly graphic. Kind of (very) voyeuristic situation. Also, you might actually experience pity for Peter Pettigrew, which I feel is a warning in its own right, although you might also dislike him even more, it’s kind of a gray area ig.

Disclaimer : I’m not a native English Speaker so there might be some mistakes. Tough shit.

Masterlist

—

Saturday May 17th 1978.

If there was one thing Peter Pettigrew had mastered, it was the art of silently waiting in the wings while others owned the stage.

The dorm room was dark, save for the faint silver light of the moon filtering through the heavy window. Peter lay on his side, the curtains around his four-poster bed drawn tight. Sleep wouldn’t come—not with the ghost of the common room’s laughter still ringing in his ears. He could hear their celebration dragging into the early hours, punctuated by bursts of laughter, drunken slurs, and the occasional crash of something breaking.

The door creaked open.

Peter’s breath caught as he heard the click of the latch, followed by the faint shuffle of feet and soft, muffled giggles. His heart thudded in his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself invisible beneath the covers.

“Shhhhh,” a voice whispered, and Peter’s heart stopped.

Godric, please, no.

Cordelia’s voice was hushed but tinged with laughter, “Pete’s right here—“

“Relax,” Sirius drawled in a low murmur, his voice teasing. “He’s probably snoring. Aren’t you, mate?”

The freckled boy froze, his breath hitching, his fingers curling tighter around the blanket. He couldn’t move, couldn’t respond.

The sound of soft, fumbling movements suddenly filled the space again—the thud of shoes hitting the floor, the rustle of fabric as clothes were shrugged off and discarded. The mattress on Sirius’s bed creaked, and Peter’s cheeks burned with the realization of what was happening.

“Wait,” Cordelia whispered again, sharper this time, though her voice wavered slightly. “He’ll wake up.”

“Let him,” Sirius replied, his tone lazy. “He might actually learn a thing or two.”

Peter bit down on his lip, his breath trapped in his throat. His cheeks burned with humiliation, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. The bed creaked louder.

“Don’t be an arse,” she murmured, though there was still playfulness to it.

“Come on,” he spoke casually, “all I’m saying is, this might be the closest he gets to actual action before graduation.”

“Stop it,” she hissed in quiet warning.

“What?” He said, his grin practically audible, “It’s not exactly a secret. Poor guy is all stammering and blushing. You know he probably still fancies you, right?”

“It’s not funny,” she whispered again, sharper this time, her tone a mix of scolding and embarrassment.

Peter’s entire body burned with shame, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He could’ve strangled Sirius in that moment. Strangled himself too, actually.

And yet, what followed was somehow even worse.

“Alright, alright.” Sirius let out a chuckle. His voice dipped lower, quieter, almost conspiratorial. “No more talk of Wormtail.” The bed creaked as he shifted, his tone turning warm and wicked in the same breath. “I’ve got much better things to do with my mouth right now.”

When Cordelia let out another quiet moan, soft and breathless, Peter’s stomach twisted again.

“You’re too sweet,” Sirius murmured between kisses. “Always worried about other people when I’m trying to get you to focus on me.”

“Sirius,” she whined, though her voice betrayed her, breathy and warm.

The sound of a kiss followed, wet and soft, the faint rustle of fabric as they moved.

“Godric,” Sirius murmured, his voice low and deliberate, “you’re too gorgeous for this world, you know that?”

Peter’s stomach twisted, his hands gripping the blanket so tightly his knuckles ached.

“I’ve heard it once or twice,” Cordelia whispered nonchalantly, though her voice trembled.

“My pretty girl,” Sirius teased, his voice thick with amusement, “And you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

Cordelia let out a soft sound, almost a laugh but warmer, needier. “Shut up.”

“Go on, say it,” Sirius whispered, his tone dripping with something that made Peter’s skin burn. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she breathed.

Peter’s chest tightened as a soft, stifled moan broke through the air, and suddenly the dormitory felt too small, too hot. He could hear everything: the shift of sheets, the creak of the mattress, the faint gasp as Sirius planted kisses up and down her body.

Peter wanted to be disgusted, wanted to be angry, but his body betrayed him. His face burned with embarrassment as his heart raced, his breath quickening despite himself. He hated this. Hated that he couldn’t block out the sounds—the faint gasp as Sirius whispered something too low for him to hear, the soft hum of Cordelia’s voice as she responded. The slick sound of skin against skin.

Peter shifted under the covers, his body rigid, his breaths shallow. He kept his eyes shut tight, trying to will away the rhythmic creak of the mattress.

But then, against his better judgment, something compelled him. His hand trembled as he reached for the edge of the curtain surrounding his bed, pulling it back just an inch. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as his gaze darted to Sirius’s bed.

And there she was.

Her skin glistened with the faint sheen of an early sweat. Her hair tumbled loose across Sirius’s pillow, her lips parted as she arched her back slightly, the muscles of her neck taut. He could see the curve of her breast, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped quietly.

Peter froze. It was nothing like he had imagined—and he had imagined it. More than he cared to admit, in stolen daydreams and restless nights.

Only, in that moment, he almost wished she were covered in warts, her skin marred and rough, anything that would make her less perfect, less unreachable. But no. Of course her skin was smooth as silk, calling to be felt.

A muscle in his jaw tightened as his gaze darted back to her face, catching the faintest frown of her brow as her head tipped back further with a whine.

Peter snapped his head back, his body flinching under the covers, when Sirius came into view again, his dark hair falling across her face as he shifted above her, blocking her features from sight.

The curtain fell back into place, and Peter’s fingers shook as they clutched the blanket to his chest. His breath came fast and shallow, the heat rising all the way to his face.

Then came another sound—soft, quiet, hers. A cry, muffled but unmistakable. It was delicate, almost shy, and it clawed its way under Peter’s skin.

“You like that, don’t you?” Sirius cut through the quiet, his voice lower now, rougher, laced with amusement.

“Stop it,” Cordelia whispered, her voice shaky, breathy—and Peter hated how much it betrayed her. She didn’t mean it.

“Stop what?” Sirius teased, his tone dropping into a growl, intimate and wicked. “This?”

There was another cry, sharper this time, and no less devastating. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, his fists trembling with the effort to keep himself still, silent.

“Sirius,” she gasped, her voice tight, a mix of warning and something else. “Come on—”

“Filthy girl,” Sirius muttered, his tone edged with a smirk. “Think what your etiquette tutor would say—”

Peter bit down harder on his lip, the sharp metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

His hands curled into fists beneath the blanket, the fabric twisting in his grip as the humiliation and anger bubbled inside him, hot and bitter. How could they?

How could Sirius—knowing he was there, right there—do this? Sure, it wasn’t the first time Sirius had brought someone into their dormitory. Year four, five and a decent chunk of six had been booked and busy—a parade of giggling girls, each one more forgettable than the last. Peter had long since grown numb to it, forcing himself to ignore the creaks of the bed and the muffled laughter. It had been easier, then—back when it was just another girl, another conquest Sirius would brag about the next morning over breakfast, all charm and smirking arrogance.

But this wasn’t just another girl.

This was Cordelia.

And Peter knew—had known for a while—that Sirius and Cordelia were a proper thing now, serious in a way Sirius had never been with anyone else. It wasn’t a secret. It wasn’t even surprising, not really.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The bed creaked faster now, more erratic, until it stopped suddenly, and Sirius groaned, low and guttural. The bile rose to Peter’s throat.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, heavy and uneven.

Then Sirius chuckled softly, a sound Peter had heard a thousand times before but now couldn’t stand.

“Merlin,” he murmured, still catching his breath. His voice dropped low, almost too soft to hear. “How the hell can anyone live without this?”

Cordelia laughed faintly, “Without sex?”

Sirius hummed softly, the sound low and unhurried, as if considering it. When he spoke, his voice was quieter now, laced with something surprisingly close to devoutness. “Without you.”

The sound of a kiss followed, soft and slow, and Peter turned onto his back staring up at the dark canopy above him. He wanted to rip the curtains open, to shout at them, to do something. But he didn’t.

Instead, he lay there, silent and still, as the laughter and whispers faded into nothing.

Something dark began festering inside him, a feeling that had been passively brewing in the depth of his soul for longer than he cared to admit. Hatred.

He hated Sirius for taking everything as if it were owed to him.

He hated how Cordelia surrendered it to him so willingly.

But most of all, he hated himself for imagining there’d ever be a scrap left for him to enjoy.

—

Hope you enjoyed it! If you’re interested in more please do interact, comment, reblog or send me a message! there is so little interaction with what I’ve posted before I think I might just end up dropping this blog :(

[moonymoodz]

Damnatio Memoriæ

Masterlist

Genre: Mega slowburn, Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

Pairing : Sirius Black x fem!OC

Original Character : Cordelia de Valois, Ravenclaw, Pureblood, Wealthy.

Wordcount (so far) : 26k

Year 4 (1974-75)

*not started*

Year 5 (1975-76)

*In progress*

December 1975

The one with the invites

The one with the punch bowl

Year 6 (1976-77)

*not started*

Year 7 (1977-78)

*In progress*

May 1978

The one with the bed creaks

June 1978

The one with the last ride (latest add!)

The one with the last ride Pt.2 (latest add!)

Post-Hogwarts Years (1978-81)

*not started*

[moonymoodz]

Damnatio Memoriæ

The one with the Punch Bowl.

Genre: Angst. Angst. Angst. Always and forever. (Is it friends to lovers? Ennemies to lovers? Idiots to lovers? They don’t know and I don’t know either, but somewhere in that realm) + slowburn because there is no other way.

Pairing : Sirius Black x fem!OC

Wordcount : 12.5k (yes, it’s a lot. Push through, people)

Context : Fifth year is rough. Miserable teens make crappy human beings. That’s it.

Original Character : Cordelia de Valois, Ravenclaw, pureblood, wealthy.

Disclaimer : I’m not a Native English speaker, so there are going to be mistakes here and there, don’t hesitate to message me so I can fix them.

Previous Chapter

Thursday, December 14th, 1975. —

Sirius Black was not feeling the festive Spirit.

The corridors of Hogwarts were thick with anticipation, students bustling to and fro, voices rising with excitement for the Winter Ball. Sirius tried moving through the hallways with his usual cocky swagger, but there was tension in his shoulders, sharpness to his gaze. Christmas break was looming, and he could already feel that familiar notion dragging him down.

It didn’t help that he still hadn’t received the formal robes he’d been expecting from home—an absence he didn’t particularly want to dwell on but couldn’t ignore either.

The thought lingered like a thorn in his mind as he rounded the corner, spotting Professor McGonagall speaking with a few Ravenclaws near the Great Hall.

“Professor!” he called, masking his irritation with his usual bravado. “Quick question for you. Any chance there’s been an issue with the post? I seem to be missing… well, everything.”

McGonagall turned, her expression softening ever so slightly, though her eyes still held their usual scrutiny. “Mr. Black, I assure you, the school’s post is quite reliable. If you haven’t received something, it’s likely because it wasn’t sent.”

“Oh,” Sirius’s grin faltered, though he kept up the act. “Well, I’m sure it’s just delayed. My parents are terribly busy, what with the holidays and all.”

McGonagall’s gaze lingered on him, her expression thoughtful. “I assumed you’d already heard, but given your… recent academic performance, there were discussions among the staff about your attendance at school events.”

Sirius’s bravado slipped further. “Discussions?” He laughed, though it was forced. “What, so I’m on the school’s naughty list now?”

“This is hardly a laughing matter,” McGonagall said evenly, her tone gentle but firm. “Your attendance record has been—let’s say, less than exemplary this term. And with your grades slipping—“ She hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “I’m afraid your family had to be notified.”

Sirius’s stomach dropped.

He knew what that meant.

And to think his parents hadn’t bothered to tell him. They’d simply withheld his formal robes, their disapproval as silent as it was deafening. Christmas was bound to be a jolly affair in the Black household this year.

“Brilliant,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tight. “So,” he forced out, “I’m banned from the ball, then?”

“Well,” McGonagall’s lips pressed together, the faintest trace of sympathy there. “The terms of your attendance remain your own decision, but perhaps… some self-reflection would be of value here.” She paused. “Perhaps you could use this as an oppor—”

“I’ll be there,” A small scoff escaped him, though his insides twisted. “What’s one evening?”

McGonagall gave him a long, measured look, and for a moment, Sirius thought she might say something more. But she only nodded, her expression unreadable. “Very well, Mr. Black. Just—be mindful. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you the holidays are coming.”

She looked at him knowingly and he felt his stomach tighten, but his smile never faltered.

“Not to worr.y,” he said, “Mindful is my middle name.”

—

Sirius nudged the infirmary door open, slipping inside with James and Peter close behind. Remus was propped up against a mountain of pillows, his face pale but breaking into a faint smile as they approached.

“You look like death warmed over, Moony,” James said, dropping into the chair by his bed with a grin.

“Cheers, Prongs,” Remus replied, voice scratchy but amused. “Madam Pomfrey’s keeping me in another night. Just in time to miss the ball.”

Sirius sighed perched on the end of the bed, raising an eyebrow at the parchment scattered around Remus. “Homework? Pomfrey must be thrilled to have such a star patient.”

Remus shrugged, glancing down at the unfinished notes. “Just trying to keep up. Transfiguration, Charms—feels like half a term’s worth. Not much else to do in here, is there?”

“That reminds me,” Peter fumbled in his pocket and handed Remus a few toffees he’d nicked from the kitchens. “For when Pomfrey’s not looking.”

Remus beamed as he took them. “Pete, I could kiss you.”

Sirius cleared his throat, leaning in with a smirk. “Anyway, we’ll handle the mischief at the ball—you just focus on not getting those good looks back, okay?”

Remus shook his head, laughing quietly. “I’m sure the three of you will make up for my absence.”

“You know it,” James replied, throwing Sirius a grin. “We’ll dance twice as much just to cover your share.”

“Stir up twice as much trouble,” Sirius added.

“Try and play nice, huh?,” Remus muttered, having noticed the ominous glint in his Sirius’s eye.

Sirius leaned in, tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “No promises there.”

“We’re already 600 points behind Slytherin and I can’t even imagine Ravenclaw,” Remus reminded his friends, who were headed for the exit. “I’m not joking!”

Stopping at the door. Sirius cast one last glance over his shoulder, grinning. “Relax, Moony,” he grinned, “when have you ever known me to make a scene?”

—

The study hall that afternoon was silent, as usual., students hunched over their desks, the scratch of quills and the soft rustle of pages the only sounds filling the room. Sirius sat near the back, slouched in his chair, staring down at his parchment with an empty gaze. He hadn’t written a single word.

His mind kept wandering, circling back to the unopened howler he’d shoved in his bedside table the week before. It was one of several now—each envelope still sealed. He hadn’t dared open them in front of anyone; just the sight of his mother’s handwriting on the back of the envelope was enough to tell him it was best left untouched. Out of sight but never quite out of mind.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look back at his blank parchment, but his thoughts kept circling, his pulse drumming faster than he liked. Christmas break was coming. And his stomach tightened.

A quiet, snide laugh broke the silence.

“Look at him,” came a low, oily whisper from a few tables away. Severus Snape was half-hidden behind a stack of books, his lips curled in a mocking smile. Barty Crouch Jr. sat beside him, his eyes gleaming with that nasty, focused look he always got when he saw an opportunity to prod at someone.

“Couldn’t even remember to bring ink,” Barty whispered, barely audible but unmistakably taunting. “No wonder he’s falling behind.”

Sirius stiffened, his grip tightening on the quill. He forced his gaze back to the parchment, ignoring them. He wasn’t in the mood, and they weren’t worth his time. Besides, he had indeed forgotten to bring his ink. But the two Slytherins leaned in closer, their voices like poison threading through the quiet.

“Goes to show,” Snape muttered, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “A name can only do so much.”

“No wonder Reg won’t talk about him,” Barty chuckled, his voice a soft, sneering whisper, “that name is all they have in common.”

Sirius’s jaw clenched, the anger simmering dangerously beneath his forced calm. He kept his gaze locked on the empty page, his hand fisted around the dry quill, but each word hit like a slap, cutting just close enough to the truth to leave him seething.

“Honestly,” Snape went on, his voice barely a breath but deliberately cruel, “how many more years do you think he’s got before they just—”

“Would you two kindly shut up,” a new voice snapped, slicing through the tension like a blade.

Sirius glanced up, startled, to see Cordelia de Valois, her face barely visible behind a tower of books she’d stacked between herself and Dorcas Meadowes. She didn’t look up, her expression calm, but her voice was as sharp as a whip, her gaze fixed firmly on the open book in front of her.

“Honestly, don’t you two have anything better to do?” she murmured, her voice low but laced with quiet authority. “Some of us are actually trying to get work done.”

Snape’s face twisted, but he didn’t respond, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he glared at Cordelia. Barty rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but the two of them fell silent, shifting uncomfortably before settling back into their seats.

Sirius watched them slink off, the tension in his chest easing slightly. He glanced over at Cordelia, who was still absorbed in her work, her expression cool and composed as if nothing had happened.

For a brief moment, he considered saying something. Thank you. Piss off. Only, the words stayed lodged in his throat. Instead, he looked back at his blank parchment for an hour longer.

—-

By dinner time, Sirius had managed to bury his irritation deep enough to keep up appearances. He slouched at the Gryffindor table, trying to keep his expression indifferent as he piled food onto his plate.

James nudged him with a grin. “Still planning on crashing the Ball tomorrow, yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Sirius replied, forcing a smirk as he reached for his goblet. “Not about to let the faculty keep me out of a party.”

“Good,” James said, taking a hearty bite of his own dinner. “I need my wingman.” He shot a quick look over at the Ravenclaw table, his grin widening. “Besides, we all need to see which poor sap asked de Valois to the Ball.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t entirely ignore the knot of irritation at the mention of Cordelia. “Probably some daft idiot, desperate for his last shot at impressing a de Valois before he graduates,” he muttered, trying to sound dismissive.

James rolled his eyes, smirking as he tore into a piece of bread. “Right, because we’re in such a better position. You’ve turned down every girl who so much as looked at you, Pete’s been hiding away since Halloween, and as for me…” He sighed dramatically, glancing down the table to where Lily Evans sat, laughing with her friends, clearly oblivious to him. “Let’s just say the Ice Queen remains firmly on her throne.”

Sirius barked a laugh, the tension loosening just a little. “Guess that makes us a real prize trio. We’ll be the highlight of the evening.”

James snorted, nudging him with an elbow. “Honestly, mate, it’s like we’re cursed. Only ones left without a date by the end of term—”

Before he could finish, a fit of giggles erupted from the far end of the Gryffindor table. Sirius looked up to see Maisie and Daisy Pevensie huddled together.

The Hufflepuff twins had a knack for drawing attention. Big laugh, nice tits, sweet lips—their charm only slightly marred by their thick Geordie accents and questionable taste in fashion.

Sirius caught James’s eye, and a spark of mischief passed between them. The Pevensies might not be the most dignified option, but they were certain to entertain—and right now, that was exactly the distraction he needed.

“Bet they’d be a laugh,” Sirius said, tilting his head toward the twins.

“You’re not thinking—“ James replied with a grin.

“Well,” Sirius said with a grin, glancing back at the twins, “if we’re going to go, might as well go big.”

James raised his goblet in a toast, a resigned grin spreading across his face. “Eh, what the hell.”

They clinked their goblets with mock solemnity, and downed the rest if their pumpkin juice.

“Shall we?” Sirius said as he rose from the table.

James laughed, getting to his feet beside him. “After you.”

——

Friday, December 15th, 1975.

The celebration had already begun to slip into a pleasant chaos, laughter mingling with music, the ballroom alive with swirling colors and drifting sparks from the enchanted ceiling. At a table near the back, of the hall, Sirius, James, and Peter sat in quiet rebellion, pointedly ignoring the dance floor as they lounged in varying degrees of disinterest.

Sirius was, as usual, the centerpiece of their little scene. His bright red suit cut a stark, deliberate contrast to the traditional black robes every other boys were sporting, and with his shiny patent shoes propped on an empty chair, he looked both out of place and entirely in command of his own version of the night. Heads had turned when he’d walked in; he’d caught the glances, some amused, some shocked, and a few clearly disdainful. But he’d merely flashed a grin and leaned back, fully prepared to hold court from his seat.

That being said, it seemed he couldn’t quite shake a nagging, restless feeling in the back of his mind. Every few minutes, despite himself, he found his gaze drifting toward the entrance, where students running late still trickled in.

« Oi, Pads, » said James, as though he’d read his best friend’s mind, «Has Cordelia shown up yet? »

« Couldn’t say, » Sirius mumbled in fake nonchalance.« I haven’t been paying attention. »

« Maybe she’s preparing a grand entrance, » Peter suggested.

Sirius rolled his eyes. Formal events knew no such thing as fashionably late. Not in Cordelia’s world, anyway. No. It had to be something else.

« Or maybe,” James grinned, nudging Peter, “she’s already snuck off with her mystery date for a little smooching session. »

“Come on, now, » Sirius rolled his eyes, though a smirk tugged at his lips. His friends were watching him, intrigued. He shrugged, leaning into his casual tone. « Isn’t it obvious? » he elaborated, « Almost an hour in, and she’s still a no-show. I can’t be the only one who think she’s been bluffing all along?”

Peter looked up, his eyes wide. “You think she doesn’t have a date?”

Sirius shrugged, his smirk widening. « Oh I’m sure she’ll come up with a perfectly reasonable excuse, » he paused, his gaze sweeping the hall as though already convinced. « But I’m betting she just realized no one could put up with her highness for a whole night.”

James raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Right. So you’ve just been watching the door to keep track of how many people didn’t want to go with her?”

« Come off it, Prongs, » he nudged James, « I’m just saying, it wouldn’t exactly be surprising if she couldn’t find anyone willing to keep up with all the etiquette.”

« Speaking of etiquette, » James muttered as he leaned over, trying to keep a straight face as he discreetly looked over to the side.

Maisie and Daisy Pevensie—the frilly tangerine-clad Hufflepuff twins to whom Sirius and James had extended a last minute invite to the ball—sat at the edge of their table.

With their big curls, thick purple lipstick, and matching puffy dresses that looked like they’d been dipped in pumpkin juice, the twins were impossible to ignore.

“Your genius still amazes me, Pads,” James said under his breath, his voice thick with amusement. “They’re really something.”

The girls’ thick Geordie accents could be heard even over the band. Maisie (or was it Daisy?) had already charmed a stack of Chocolate Frogs to race across the table, shrieking with laughter as her sister egged her on.

Sirius shrugged, watching them with a grin that was part admiration, part bewilderment. “Lively, aren’t they? Still can’t tell which one I snogged last year, though.”

“It would be hard to say,” James said, barely containing his laughter.

« Although it may have been both of them, » Sirius continued, pensively, « I am a giver, after all. »

Peter choked on his drink, and Sirius’s grin widened as the twins shrieked again, Maisie accidentally charming her chocolate frog straight into a bowl of custard, causing another eruption of laughter.

“Absolute class, those two,” came a cool voice from beside them.

They looked up to see Lily Evans, standing there in her dainty chartreuse-coloured dress, an eyebrow arched as she took in the scene with a mix of amusement and disapproval.

“C’mon, Evans, don’t be so stiff,» Sirius said with a smirk, “you can’t tell me you’re not entertained.”

Lily sighed, glancing from him to James, her lips curling into a reluctant smile. “I’d call it horrified fascination.”

“Nice suit, Sirius,” Marlene stated, arching an eyebrow as she took in the bright red. “Could see you coming a mile away. Very subtle. »

“Subtlety,” Sirius said, raising his goblet in mock toast, “is for people who can’t pull off scarlet.”

James rolled his eyes, nudging Sirius. “Real shame de Valois didn’t show. You know she’d just love writing you up for dress code violation.”

« Has she not arrived yet? » Lily asked, glancing at the clock.

Sirius shrugged, throwing back his drink with a look of utter disinterest. “Shocker, I know. The Duchess remains in her tower. »

James opened his mouth to respond, but his gaze shifted, his eyes widening a little as he glanced over Sirius’s shoulder.

« Poor thing. » Sirius continued, leaning back in his chair, « Probably couldn’t stand the embrassement of coming alone.”

«Uh— » James began, his voice quieter, a strange note of surprise in it. « You may want to reconsider that theory, Pads.” He nodded towards the great doors.

“Wait—» Sirius raised an eyebrow, turning with a smirk that was meant to hide any actual interest to follow his best friend’s gaze, ready with some quick retort. But the words died in his throat.

There she stood, in the hall’s entrance, her hand resting lightly on the skirts of her dress. The soft silver silk rippled under the enchanted light, catching and throwing reflections like liquid moonlight as she stepped into the hall.

For a moment, everything seemed to still. The flicker of candlelight danced off her hair, pinned back with a faint glint of diamond, making her look a touch otherworldly. Her gaze drifted across the hall, calm, detached, as though she didn’t care every head had turned in her direction.

« Oh, Merlin,” Peter mumbled, eyes wide, “Sh-She’s…”

“An angel,” Marlene finished, the awe in her voice echoing their collective thoughts.

“Well,” James cut in, breaking the trance with a grin aimed at Lily, “I’ve personally always been more partial to redheads. »

« Oh, give it a rest, » the freckled girl rolled her eyes, swatting him on the arm. “She looks stunning.”

Sirius scoffed, leaning back as if to distance himself. “Sure, if you’re into the prim-and-proper look,” he muttered.

But even he couldn’t deny it. There was something in the simplicity that drew him in—no flashy jewels, no frills or excessive trimmings. Just the quiet, understated elegance of elven silk draping her frame effortlessly.

It struck him as the same pretension his family had drilled into him. True wealth whispers, he could hear his mother’s voice, reminding him, Only the desperate need to show off.

The thought made his skin itch, and he found himself loosening the crimson polyester bow that suddenly felt too tight around his neck.

Still, there she stood, calm, perfectly poised and—alone?

Before he could process it, a figure emerged from the crowd.

Evan Rosier—his face that familiar picture of arrogant calm. He stopped a few steps in front of her, bowing slightly in the kind of polished, antiquated way that had Sirius’s smirk turning sour. Cordelia inclined her head, her face softening into a faint, polite smile as she took his arm, and together they moved into the room, a pair that looked—infuriatingly—like they’d been made to fit.

James chuckled quietly, leaning back with an eyebrow raised at Sirius. “Well. So much for her bluffing, eh?”

“You didn’t seriously think no one asked her, did you?” Lily asked, glancing sideways at Sirius.

He forced a laugh, though the sound was tight. “Well, not really. Although I can’t say I expected that pairing. Then again, I suppose that’s fitting enough—birds of a feather, and all that.”

“Sure, Pads,” James smirked, nudging him. “They make a good-looking pair, though.”

Sirius forced himself to shrug, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from them, Cordelia and Evan, the two of them moving through the room like royalty. As they passed a few admiring third-years, Cordelia glanced in his direction—just a brief flicker of her gaze, her face unreadable. Sirius swallowed thickly.

Suddenly, Maisie or Daisy—he still couldn’t tell which—sidled up next to him, her giggling almost startling him as she tugged on his sleeve. “I’m bored silly, let’s dance!” she exclaimed, her accent spilling over the words like a blunt instrument.

Sirius barely glanced at his date. « Later, yeah? » he muttered, though she didn’t seem to notice or care, twirling back to her sister with a loud chuckle that made a few nearby Ravenclaws glance over with faint looks of alarm.

“You sure you’re alright there, Pads?” James asked, a grin creeping back over his face.

“Perfectly fine,” Sirius muttered, though his gaze stayed fixed on Cordelia, who was now exchanging words with Evan as they drifted further into the crowd. She looked entirely unaffected by the attention she was attracting, as if she’d been born to stand there in her pale, starlit gown, drawing eyes without effort.

For the first time that night, Sirius was quiet, his smugness gone. For all his teasing and jokes, he hadn’t expected that twist of irritation—and something else he refused to name—at the sight of her on Rosier’s arm.

——

A few songs and several drinks later, Sirius hadn’t seen her again, though she kept lingering in his thoughts, unsettling and unwelcome. He was deep in some half-hearted conversation with Peter about Quidditch tactics when he noticed James looking over his shoulder, grinning.

“Duchess incoming,” James coughed, his voice smug, “I repeat, Duchess incoming.”

Sirius turned just in time to see Cordelia weaving her way through the tables toward them. He straightened slightly, his usual smirk shifting into something more guarded.

« Well, well, » he drawled, leaning back with his drink in hand. “To what do we owe the honor? Dont tell me you’re bored, already.”

Cordelia tilted her head, a faint smirk of her own tugging at her lips. “Not at all,” she replied smoothly. “Just figured I’d check in, see who won the bet on my date. I imagine you all had your guesses. »

« I’m afraid we’re all losers here,” James admitted with a grin, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

“To be fair, we had ruled out sixth-years,” Peter added, shrugging.

“And we had hoped you’d steer clear of Slytherins.” James shot her a raised eyebrow, then shook his head with exaggerated disappointment.

“Guess that was wishful thinking on our part.” Sirius snorted, crossing his arms as he looked her up and down, gaze lingering on the silver of her dress. “Well, look at that, fellas—she’s even dressed for the part.”

Cordelia’s gaze flicked over his suit, the bright red fabric standing out sharply against his dark hair. “You’re one to talk. That suit is certainly a… bold choice.”

James stifled a laugh, but Sirius’s smirk faded. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, “I was just thinking black never really suited you anyway.”

Something in her tone—casual, detached—sliced a bit too close. His face hardened, his smile slipping as he leaned back, his expression closing off. “Right, very subtle.”

Cordelia blinked, her brow furrowing slightly, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “N-no, I only meant— red suits you better, it’s nice. »

The tension thickened, and James, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat, giving Sirius a quick, warning look before he turned to Cordelia. “So, how’s your night going? Rosier keeping you entertained?”

Cordelia’s face softened, though there was a hint of something unreadable there. “Evan’s an old friend. I’m fairly certain his mother asked him to ask me, but so far he’s been a perfect gentleman.” She glanced over her shoulder, and Sirius followed her gaze toward Rosier, who was standing near the punch bowl in a group of Slytherins.

She glanced back at Sirius, then at James, her eyes flicking toward the dessert table. “I spotted your dates earlier. They look—“She hesitated, casting a polite smile. “Lively.”

Sirius turned, following her gaze to Maisie and Daisy, who were currently leaning over the chocolate fountain, letting the chocolate stream directly onto their plates, oblivious to the stares around them.

Their bright tangerine dresses were marked with smudges, and one of them was licking a streak of chocolate off her arm, giggling as her sister elbowed her. They looked completely unbothered, perfectly harmless, yet Sirius couldn’t help but feel a foreign surge of embarrassment as he watched them.

“Truly charming,” Cordelia murmured, her tone light but unreadable.

Sirius’s gaze snapped back to her, his irritation flaring up. “What’s that supposed to mean, then?”

Cordelia blinked, once again taken aback by the edge of his tone. “Nothing at all. I was just saying they look like… they’re having fun.”

“Fun, yeah, we get it,” Sirius let out a scoff, his irritation flaring. “Well, sorry our dates don’t meet your polished standards. Not everyone needs your stamp of approval, you know. »

Cordelia’s faint smile faded, her gaze flicking over him with the smallest frown. “That’s not what I said.”

“Yeah?” His voice was colder now. “It’s what you meant, though, isn’t it?” He leaned back, crossing his arms, the faint flush of irritation creeping up his neck. “Maybe it’s not all your taste, but at least they’re having a laugh. Could say the same for you, but I have a feeling that’s not on the schedule with your Slytherin prince.”

Cordelia’s face tightened, and she took a steadying breath. She looked like she was weighing her response, her gaze fixed on him. « You know, not everything needs to turn into a fight, Sirius. » Her tone was calm, but there was a tension there now, an edge of hurt.

James cut in, his voice casual but with a warning note. “Come on, Pads. Maybe we’re all taking this a bit seriously, yeah?”

But Sirius ignored him, his gaze still locked on Cordelia, his expression hardening as he felt his anger simmering. “Why are you even here?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he intended. “Shouldn’t you be with your date?”

Cordelia’s gaze didn’t waver, her face a study in calm, though a flicker of frustration passed across her eyes. She took a steadying breath before she spoke again, her voice soft but pointed.

« Actually, » she said, « I came to make good on a promise. » She turned to face Peter, her eyes softening and tone shifting. The girl extended her hand toward the shy boy, offering a small yet cheery smile. « I believe you still owe me a dance. »

Sirius blinked, caught off guard as he saw the flush rise on Peter’s face. “Oh, I—are you sure?” Peter stammered, glancing between her hand and her face as if she might change her mind at any second.

“Positive.” Her voice was calm, steady, and with a kind of warm patience that made Peter turn even redder.

James leaned back with a grin as he gave Peter a nudge. “You heard the lady, Wormtail. Don’t leave her hanging.”

Peter gulped, nodding awkwardly as he took her hand. Cordelia’s expression didn’t change, even as he stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet as she led him toward the dance floor, her silver gown trailing behind her like a quiet statement.

——

Surius watched, quietly brooding, as Cordelia guided Peter through a waltz near the center of the floor, holding his hand lightly, her other hand resting delicately on his shoulder. Peter, looking as though he might combust at any moment, was trying his best to follow her lead, but his steps were heavy and clumsy. Twice already, he’d stumbled, narrowly avoiding crashing into a couple dancing beside them.

“Poor Wormtail,” James muttered beside him, trying not to laugh as the stumbled again, nearly stepping on Cordelia’s toes. “She’s got her work cut out for her.”

Sirius couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at his lips. Yes. Poor Pete—The lad could barely string two words together when Cordelia was around, and now here he was, red-faced and mortified, as he bumbled his way through a dance with her.

Cordelia, to her credit, didn’t seem to mind. She counted out the steps softly, her voice calm and reassuring, and each time Peter apologized, she only smiled, saying, “It’s fine, Pete. Just follow my lead.”

“…Two, three, one, two… that’s it, you’re getting it!” Her voice floated over the music, light and encouraging.

Peter, crimson from collar to forehead, stammered, “Sorry—again, sorry—I’m not exactly, uh—”

Sirius knew Peter’s little crush was one-sided, innocent—yet there was something about the scene before him that lade his jaw clench. For the hundredth time that night, he wished he’d chosen a better distraction.

That was until one Evan Rosier appeared in the corner of his eye.

Sirius’s grip on his glass tightened as he watched the towering Slytherin boy stride confidently onto the dance floor, his gaze fixed on Cordelia. There was something smug about the way he moved—that easy, arrogant air that made Sirius’s blood boil.

He came up behind Cordelia, his gaze briefly skimming over Peter’s clumsy efforts with a mild look of disdain.

“Mind if I cut in?,” Evan drawled, his voice loud enough for even Sirius to hear. “Thought I’d come and spare you the bruises.”

Peter went scarlet and practically froze, his steps halting as he took in Evan’s amused expression. Cordelia, undeterred, kept a firm grip on his hand. “It’s quite alright, Evan,” she said evenly. “Peter’s doing wonderfully.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, casting Peter a glance of pity that made Sirius’s blood boil. “Sure he is,” he replied, voice thick with condescension. “But I’m sure a break wouldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t want to see you nursing sore feet for the rest of the night.”

That was it. Before he could stop himself, Sirius rose to his feet and strode over.

“Think you’re a bit out of line, Rosier,” Sirius said, his voice louder than he intended, cutting through the soft music and drawing a few curious glances.

Evan turned, raising an eyebrow as he took in Sirius’s expression. “Is that so?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than stand around insulting other people?” Sirius spat.

“I meant no harm, » Evan’s smirk only deepened. He tilted his head at Sirius, as though examining something underwhelming. « Merely thought my date might appreciate something a little more her speed.”

Peter ducked his head, visibly retreating, but Cordelia caught his hand, giving him a reassuring smile. “You were lovely,” she told him softly. “Practice makes perfect. »

But Evan’s smile didn’t falter, his gaze fixed on Peter with a detached amusement. “I’d be happy to take over, you know. Save your toes a little trouble.”

“Oh I’m sure you would,” Sirius scowled, “you misera-“

“Sirius,” Cordelia interjected quietly. She cast Sirius a look of subtle exasperation, a look that said he was very close to embarrassing himself, “this really isn’t necessary.”

But Sirius ignored her, his attention fixed on Evan. “Right. And making Pete feel two inches tall—that was necessary, was it?”

“It’s nothing personal, Black. we can’t all be cut out for— society functions,” Evan shrugged, glancing down at Peter, who looked ready to evaporate on the spot, “I’m sure Pettigrew agrees, right?”

The freckled boy, still flushed, mumbled, “It’s all right, Sirius… I don’t mind.”

“Oh, grow a pair, will you? » Sirius snapped at his friend, «Can’t you see he’s being an arse?”

“That’s enough,” Cordelia’s gaze snapped to Sirius, a flash of irritation in her eyes. “Evan was only offering to help.”

Peter, still red-faced, mumbled, “Yes, it-it’s fine Pads, really—”

Evan smirked, clearly pleased. “See?”

Sirius’s gaze shifted back to Cordelia, who looked between the two of them with a faint, exasperated sigh.

He clenched his jaw. “Fine,” he muttered, taking a step back. “But maybe you should rethink who you’re spending your time with, De Valois.”

Cordelia’s gaze hardened, her patience finally wearing thin. “And maybe you should rethink sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

After a beat, she turned back to Peter, her expression softening, and placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice gentle. “Shall we, Pete?”

Peter, still flustered, looked up at her and then back at Evan, hesitating. “Uh, it’s—I-I think I’ll sit this one out.”

Cordelia paused, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face, but she nodded, letting her hand drop.

Evan stepped forward smoothly, extending his arm toward her with a polite nod. “May I?”

For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze flicking back to Sirius, but whatever she saw in his expression seemed to settle her decision. With a faint sigh, she took Evan’s arm, her face smoothing into a composed mask as they stepped back onto the dance floor.

Peter gave a weak laugh, scuffing his foot against the floor. “You… didn’t have to do that, you know.”

But Sirius just shook his head, biting back his frustration. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I know.”

—

Frustrated and restless, Sirius slipped outside, his footsteps muffled against the cool flagstones as he crossed the courtyard and ducked into the shadows beneath one of the stone arches. The chill of the night air hit him, grounding and refreshing, a stark relief from the crowded, stifling heat of the Great Hall. He fished a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a flick of his wand, and took a long, slow drag, letting the smoke ease the tightness in his chest.

He exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the night, wishing he could do the same with the restlessness twisting inside him. But his thoughts kept circling back to Cordelia, her hand resting on Evan’s arm, her calm dismissal of him—and of course, the infuriating way Rosier had looked down his nose at Peter, and at him.

He shook his head, annoyed at himself for caring at all, and was about to take another drag when voices floated through the night. He froze, pressing himself further into the shadows.

“Have you seen the Black boy tonight?” one voice asked, slightly shrill, with the clipped vowels of his History of Magic professor.

“What about him?” another voice chimed in, dry and nasal. Professor Greaves from Arithmancy, no doubt. Sirius could practically see the disapproving frown.

“All in red,” another voice sniffed, a chuckle bubbling under her words. “Quite the statement. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Always has to make his mark, doesn’t he?”

Sirius felt his jaw tighten, his fingers curling around the cigarette as he fought the urge to step out and say something. Instead, he held his breath, listening.

The third voice joined in, a low, bemused laugh. “I’m fairly certain I saw Regulus earlier, and he wasn’t-“

“No, no, not Regulus,” the second professor cut in with a scoff. “The other one.”

“The other one?” Crone repeated, sounding vaguely bewildered.

“Why, yes. Sirius, the eldest,” the Ancient Runes professor explained patiently.

Crone gave a skeptical sniff. “Regulus has an older brother? I could’ve sworn he was an only child.”

“Oh, there’s another one, all right,” another one said, amusement giving way to a hint of pity. “Rather infamous, if you keep your ears open.”

There was a pause before there was a soft chuckle. “You’re sure? I certainly haven’t seen him in my class.”

“Not surprising,” Greaves said with a faint, dry sniff. “I don’t think he’s had the ambition to take Arithmancy.”

Sirius drew hard on his cigarette, the taste of smoke and irritation sharp in his mouth.

“Not that it would make much difference,” another continued lightly, as if commenting on the weather. “I believe I was meant to teach him last term, but… Well, let’s just say he never darkened my classroom’s doorstep more than once or twice.”

“Always up to no good, so I’ve heard,” Greaves muttered, and Sirius could almost picture his frown. “If it were any other student, they’d have been expelled by now.”

“And Horace lets it slide?”

“Well, it’s not exactly his purview, is it?” One said dryly. “The boy’s in Gryffindor.”

Another pause, filled with the faint rustling of robes. “Gryffindor,” Crone echoed, a note of faint astonishment creeping into his voice. “You don’t say.”

“Oh, yes,” one said, her voice touched with something close to fond exasperation. “You should’ve been there the night he was sorted. We thought there might be a riot.”

A chuckle ran through the group.

“A scandalous debut, I see.”

“You can say it only set the tone,” Runes added, voice light. “Isn’t the boy always in detention? »

One nodded, « Minerva practically has a table in her office reserved for him. »

“Merlin, yes,” Greaves said, realization dawning. “Giving her grey hair, I’ve no doubt.”

Sirius’s grip tightened on his cigarette, the irritation giving way to something heavier, something that ached.

“Well, he’s a funny lad,” the third interrupted, more amused than critical. “But funny can only take you so far, can’t it?”

“Merlin,” Crone said, sighing. “In my day, a Black would never earn such a reputation.”

“Yes, quite the path breaker, young Sirius”

“And not the only thing he breaks, from what I hear.”

“Rules, Noses, wands—“

“—Hearts” one giggled.

“A Black Hooligan. Now we’ve truly seen in all!”

A pause settled over them, and Sirius could almost feel the words coming before they spoke them.

“Well,” Greaves said quietly, a hint of resignation in his voice. “There’s always Regulus.”

“Yes,” Crone replied, their voice softening with something that almost sounded like relief, “thank Godric for Regulus.”

They moved away, their voices fading into the night, but the words lingered, heavy and raw.

Sirius stayed still for a moment, leaning back against the cold stone. The cigarette had burned down to his fingertips, leaving a faint sting against his skin, but he hardly noticed. With a sharp exhale, he flicked the last of the cigarette away, the embers scattering in the darkness.

—

Sirius strode back into the Great Hall, his head still ringing with the professors’ words. Their laughter echoed in his ears, bitter and clinging. Across the hall, the orchestra had begun tuning for the next set, a low hum that rose into a spirited, precise melody—the Witch’s Reel, an old, formal dance that he was all to familiar with, but hated beyond measure.

The crowd gathered in anticipation.

As the students lined up on the dance floor, he spotted Evan and Cordelia among them, her silver gown catching the light as she took her place across from Rosier, the picture of poise. Evan whispered something in her ear, earning a faint, polite smile, and for some reason, it set Sirius’s teeth on edge.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his date’s hand and guided her toward the lineup.

Ignoring the muttered complaints and pointed glares, he maneuvered them until he stood directly across from Cordelia and Evan, his date teetering beside him, wide-eyed and already a bit flushed.

“Better get ready, love,” he muttered, sending her a lopsided grin. She giggled, smoothing down her frilly dress with a proud little smile, looking to her twin across the room who gave her a cheerful thumbs-up.

The orchestra’s tempo picked up, signaling the dancers to bow.

With a grand, sweeping bow, Sirius dropped his gaze and took Maisie’s hand, her grip surprisingly firm as she curtseyed clumsily.

They moved in time with the music, each step precise, punctuated by turns that led them down the line. Every few steps, the couples shifted, new pairs forming as they spun into the next part of the reel.

As the partners switched, Sirius found himself face-to-face with Cordelia. She glanced up, her face unreadable but her gaze steady as they moved through the first steps, hands brushing only briefly. “Enjoying yourself?” she murmured.

“Immensely,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow as he spun her outward, the lace of her gown brushing his arm as she turned back to face him. “I can’t believe I almost missed this.”

Cordelia held her posture with perfect elegance, her voice soft but edged. “Well, the night is still young. Plenty of time for you to make a spectacle of yourself. »

They circled, each movement deliberate, shifting back into the rhythm. She spun, and he took her hand to guide her back in, their eyes meeting, the tension crackling between them.

“And you, Duchess?” he asked, voice low, a taunting glint in his eye. “Making the most of your evening with Rosier?”

Cordelia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “As a matter of fact, I am,” she said evenly, letting her hand slip from his as they turned, partners shifting again.

Sirius found himself paired with Dorcas, who raised an exasperated eyebrow as they began their steps. « Could you at least try to act like you’ve got some manners? » she murmured, glancing pointedly at Cordelia.

“Manners?” He scoffed, matching her step for step. “I arrived on time tonight, didn’t I? More than I can say for de Valois.”

Dorcas narrowed her eyes. “She was in the infirmary with Remus, helping him catch up on his classes. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Sirius stumbled slightly, caught off guard, but recovered quickly, his jaw tight as he returned to his spot. The words landed harder than he expected, and he struggled to maintain his easy smirk as Dorcas moved away with one last spin.

Sirius turned to his next partner, only half-listening as his date launched into a loud, giggly commentary on their clumsy footwork. He barely registered her words, his gaze fixed on the opposite side of the floor where Cordelia moved with infuriating grace, her focus back on Evan,

He didn’t get her.

She called Lily a friend, yet attended the ball on the arm of a blood purist who wouldn’t think twice before having her thrown her out of Hogwarts.

She’d seemed more than happy to dance with Peter, but had promptly let Evan walk all over him.

She helped Moony with his recovery, but when it came to actually defending him in front of other students, she remained silent.

She called him a friend and yet—

He was pulled from his thoughts as the line shifted, this time landing him across from Rosier. Evan’s expression was cold, his eyes hard as he held Sirius’s gaze.

“Glorious evening, is it not?” Sirius said, voice dripping with mockery.

« Yes, » Evan replied coolly, eyes flicking over him with thinly veiled disdain, «It was. »

The line shifted, and Sirius once again found himself face-to-face with Cordelia. There was a flicker of tension in her eyes, a warning, when he offered a mocking bow, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Don’t look so dour, de Valois,” he drawled, taking her hand and guiding her into the next step with surprising precision. “I’m only here to keep things interesting.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Cordelia arched a brow as they spun. “And I suppose that’s how you justify the little scene you pulled earlier?» She shook her head, «Peter must be mortified. »

Sirius’s smirk faltered, though he masked it quickly. “I was looking out for him.”

She held his gaze, her eyes sharper than before. “Please. You use him as a punchline every chance you get. Don’t start pretending you care.”

They spun, switching directions again, but Sirius’s eyes stayed locked on hers. “Maybe I care more than you think.”

Cordelia’s expression softened, just for a fraction of a second, before she hardened it again. “You might want to start showing it in ways that doesn’t leave your friends wounded» Her voice was barely above a whisper. « Or you’ll find yourself dancing alone. »

Before Sirius could say a word. The line shifted again and Cordelia returned to Evan, who was now watching Sirius with open disdain.

“Why do you even bother with him?” Evan muttered loud enough for Sirius to hear as he pulled her closer.

Cordelia’s response was quiet, something Sirius couldn’t quite hear, but the look on her face was one of steely resolve.

By the time the final note rang out, the room was buzzing with energy, everyone breathless and flushed. But as Sirius met Cordelia’s gaze one last time, there was no mistaking the unspoken challenge in his eyes—the reckless invitation that simmered just beneath the surface.

Cordelia held his gaze, her chin lifting, a hint of defiance in her own expression. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

——

The night had unraveled into a blur of spinning lights and blaring music, each cup of spiked punch Sirius downed stoking the simmering irritation in his chest. After the Witch’s Reel, he’d stalked back to his date—Maisie, Daisy, whatever her name was—plastering on a grin that barely masked the sting of bruised pride, his mind lingering bitterly on Cordelia’s parting words.

« Come on, love, » he announced, grabbing her hand before she could protest. He dragged her onto the floor with a loud, wild enthusiasm that bordered on desperate. « Let’s give’em a show. »

« ’Bout time! » she slurred, giving him a bright, tipsy grin, her eyes wide with anticipation as the tangerine frills of her dress bounced with each step. Sirius let out a reckless laugh, throwing himself into a messy rock step that immediately drew stares from around the room. But he didn’t care. He spun her with an unhinged abandon, each twirl harder than the last until she stumbled, nearly toppling over as she clung to his shoulder, giggling.

In one particularly wild spin, her skirt flared up, flashing her knickers to a chorus of gasps and giggles. The girl didn’t seem to mind, grinning as she drank up the attention, while Sirius threw his head back with a bark of laughter just shy of a sneer, reveling in the scene they were making.

His gaze drifted over the crowd, searching, and found Cordelia chatting off to the side with Lily and Marlene. She was the only person not glancing his way, her expression serene, unbothered. Something sharp twisted in his chest at the sight.

Sirius’s eyes flickered over to one table, where a few Slytherins were chatting with Rosier, clearly basking in their own importance. An idea struck him, and he leaned over to James with a mischievous grin. “Fancy a little excitement, Prongs? Think our mates in green are a bit too comfortable.”

James, who was trying as best he could to hold a conversation with his own date, shook his head, sighing. “Not tonight, Pads. I’m tired.”

Sirius’s grin weakened. « Suit yourself,” he muttered, then slipped his wand out, muttering a quick charm that left the contents of their goblets fizzing and bubbling in ominous green smoke. Satisfied with the Slytherins’ bewildered looks, he turned back to his date.

“So, what do you say we get out of here?” he shouted over the music, leaning in with a cocky grin. “Maybe we can top last year.”

Her smile froze, her expression shifting from confusion to irritation. “What are you on about?”

Sirius gave her a lazy, lopsided grin, too drunk to catch the warning in her tone. “Oh, come on, love. Don’t bruise my ego. We both know how it went.”

Her face grew stony, the tipsy flush fading as her eyes narrowed. “I don’t, actually.”

But he barely registered the shift in her tone. “Please,” he drawled, his words slurring as he leaned closer. “Practically broke a desk, didn’t we?”

Her face suddenly twisted in fury, her voice like ice. “You’ve got the wrong sister, you absolute git.”

Sirius blinked, thrown, but before he could recover, he let out a scoff. “My bad.» He leaning closer, «Although—there’s no need for the prudish act. You two aren’t exactly known for being— hard to win over, yeah?”

The music seemed to drop out, leaving a sharp silence in its wake. Without a word, she picked up her drink, her face flushed with fury, and threw it directly into his face.

The cold punch hit him like a slap, the tangy liquid dripping down his hair and splattering across his suit. Blinking in shock, he staggered back, wiping his eyes as she fixed him with a glare that could have frozen the Black Lake. « What the fuck? » he muttered.

“Enjoy the rest of your night alone, Black,” she hissed, her voice cold and venomous. With one final, scathing look, she turned on her heel and stormed away, grabbing her sister’s arm and leaving him drenched, alone, in the middle of the dance floor.

Sirius stood there, swaying slightly, feeling the eyes of the room on him. He could sense the stares, the whispers, rippling through the crowd. With a careless shrug, he wiped his face with his sleeve, then threw the room a reckless grin, his voice slurred and loud.

“What?” he called, laughing despite himself. “Can’t a bloke enjoy his own party?”

But even as he forced the laugh, he felt a dull, sinking weight settle in his chest, the lingering taste of punch sharp on his tongue, as the night swirled on around him.

——

Sirius stumbled over to the refreshment station, squinting as he patted around for a napkin to wipe his face, his fingers brushing over the rims of empty glasses and sticky patches of spilled juice. No napkins, nothing but his own smeared reflection in the brass of the tabletop.

Muttering to himself, he swiped a hand over his face, smearing the sticky trails across his cheek, then, with a slurred smirk, began licking his own lips, catching the faint sting of whatever they’d spiked the punch with.

He was mid-lick, tasting the firewhiskey on his own skin, when he felt a gentle nudge at his shoulder. Slowly, a delicate, pale hand came into view, holding out a crisp, immaculate pocket square embroidered with a three letters he knew toi well.

Sirius didn’t need to look up to know who it belonged to. The sight of his brother’s initials brought a smirk to his face as he waved off the offered handkerchief, still licking stray drops from his lips. “Think I’ve got a good two sickles’ worth of firewhiskey on me,” he slurred, his voice just loud enough to carry. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

Regulus lowered the pocket square, his mouth pressed in a faint, unreadable line. “Since when are you worried about money?” he asked softly, a thread of disbelief—or disappointment—woven through his tone.

Sirius laughed, a short, bitter sound, finally meeting his brother’s gaze. Regulus was, of course, dressed in the traditional black robes their mother had surely handpicked, tailored perfectly to fit. The crest of the Black family was embroidered discreetly on his shoulder, every detail as flawless as their mother would demand. And there, pinned neatly at his collar, was the Black family brooch, the dark silver and onyx heirloom that had, for as long as he could remember been meant for Sirius to inherit.

Sirius’s eyes lingered on the brooch, a sharp pang slicing through his drunken haze before he forced his grin back into place. “Nice robes,” he drawled, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. “I’m afraid mine must’ve gotten lost in the post. Lucky I had this old thing lying around.” He gestured down to his garish red suit.

Regulus’s gaze flicked over him, unreadable, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—disdain, perhaps, or worry. “Lucky,” he murmured, his voice flat.

Sirius forced a grin, letting his gaze drop again to the brooch. “And sporting the family jewels, I see,” he sneered. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

Regulus’s hand went instinctively to the brooch, his fingers grazing over it as if he were only just aware of its weight. “Mother sent it,” he replied, his voice barely more than a murmur. There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, but he held Sirius’s gaze.

“Good.” Sirius’s voice came out sharper than he intended, and he forced a lazy smirk to soften it. “Not like I wanted the bloody thing anyway.”

Regulus’s expression didn’t change, though a faint line creased his brow.

« We’re going home tomorrow, » Regulus finally said, his voice neutral.

Sirius swallowed, the familiar dread clawing up his throat. « Someone’s learned how to read a calendar, » he mocked, though the words landed hollowly.

A flicker of something unspeakable passed between them, an acknowledgment neither of them dared give voice to.

Home.

Regulus’s gaze softened, barely, his expression unreadable but his tone low, edged with a caution he didn’t dare make explicit. « You know, » he murmured, « maybe you should’ve skipped tonight. »

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes, though he knew deep down his brother was right.

He’d be surprised if they hadn’t received yet another owl by now. Or some bloody oil painting depicting the scene. He could picture their expression already. He didn’t know which one would push them over the edge. The ghastly red suit, the tasteless half-blood on his arm, the sloppy dancing, chain-smoking, heavy-drinking. They’d have a wide selection to choose from, as per usual. And if all of that weren’t enough, the glass of punch thrown in his face in the middle if the dance floor was sure to take the cake.

Sirius let out a short, humorless laugh, tipping his chin up. « What, and miss the party of the year? Not my style, » he shook his head, feeling his coat pockets for his cigarette case.

Regulus’s expression barely changed, though his jaw tightened. « Maybe, » he started quietly, « you could consider changing your style. »

« And maybe, » Sirius giggled as he brought the cigarette to his lips, lighting it with the tip of his wand, « I could set myself on fire. » He smirked, exhaling smoke in a lazy swirl. « How’s that? »

Regulus’s hand shot forward, snatching the cigarette from Sirius’s mouth. Before Sirius could react, Regulus stubbed it out in a half-empty glass on the bar, the cigarette fizzing in the dregs of punch and firewhiskey.

“Oh, what’s the matter now, little brother?” Sirius taunted, with a pout, “Have I embarrassed you?”

Regulus’s face hardened, his expression carefully guarded as he met Sirius’s eyes. “No,” he replied, his voice calm, almost resigned. “I was only thinking—things might be easier if you’d only try to behave, just once.”

Sirius’s grin faltered, something dark and resentful flashing in his eyes. “Behave?” He took a step back, lifting his glass in a mocking toast. “Well, here’s to behaving, then.” He raised his voice, spreading his arms wide with a derisive smirk, drawing a few curious glances. “And thank Godric for Regulus, ladies and gentlemen!” He turned back to Regulus, lowering his voice to a bitter mutter. “A Black through and through.”

Regulus’s expression remained steady, impassive, though his gaze was heavy, weary, a strange resignation settling in his eyes. For a moment, he looked as if he might say something more, but instead, he simply nodded, his voice quiet, almost soft. “Someone has to be. »

With that, he turned, slipping back into the crowd, leaving Sirius with the quiet, heavy ache of everything that remained unsaid.

——

Sirius stood slouched at the refreshment table, pouring himself another cup of punch and downing it in one swift motion, the alcohol stinging his throat as he refilled the goblet with careless abandon. He barely felt the warmth spreading through him now—just enough to keep the edges blurred.

“Still enjoying yourself?” a voice rang out over his shoulder.

He glanced up, his hand paused mid-pour. Cordelia stood before him, her tone deceptively light, her expression anything but.

Sirius raised his goblet in a mock toast, a lazy, crooked smirk stretching across his face. “More than I expected, actually.” He gestured to the punch bowl with a flourish, extending the ladle toward her with exaggerated politeness. “Care for a drink?”

Cordelia’s eyes flicked to the bowl, her lips pressing into a thin, disapproving line. “I can smell it from here. » She lifted a brow, arms crossed. “Spiking the punch bowl? Really? That’s beneath you.”

He shrugged, his face unbothered, almost bored. “Bit of pizzazz never hurt anyone,” he drawled. “It’s a party, after all.”

« There are third-years here,” she shot back, her voice steely. “Students who don’t know any better. And you think it’s funny.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, the sound ringing hollow and defiant in the dim light. “Yeah, I do. Lighten up, Duchess. Maybe loosen the stick.”

« You’re drunk,” she observed, her voice low, wary.

“Not drunk enough,” he retorted, raising the cup to his lips and pausing just long enough for the punch to tip precariously over the rim.

Cordelia’s gaze hardened as she took him in—rumpled, glassy-eyed, his smirk sloppy and fading, like he was losing grip on the mask he wore. “You’re a mess you know that?,” she muttered.

“And you’re a buzzkill.” He scoffed at the hurt look in her eyes. « I mean for Godric’s sake isn’t that the whole point of tonight? To forget about all the crap for a while? Or is that too much to fucking ask for? »

Cordelia’s eyes darkened, « I don’t know, you tell me. How’s that working for you so far? »

Sirius blinked, the question catching him off guard. Something twisted in his chest—a spark of discomfort, of anger, as her words seeped past his defenses.

Across the room, James glanced over, sensing the tension. “Leave it, Cord,” he called, his voice light. “Let him have his fun.”

But Cordelia didn’t back down. She rarely did. “Is this fun, Sirius?” she pressed, her voice quiet but cutting, each word sharp enough to slice through his bravado. “Getting so drunk you can’t see straight? Picking fights just to feel something?”

His jaw clenched, his hand tightening around the cup. “I’m not the one picking a fight, here.”

“Then what are you doing?”

She shook her head, when he didn’t reply, a trace of frustration in her gaze. “See, this—this is exactly why—” She stopped herself, biting her lip as though holding back a truth she didn’t want to give voice to.

“Why what?” Sirius challenged, stepping even closer, his heart pounding hard against his chest. “Go on. Say it.”

Cordelia’s eyes flashed, and for a split second, her mask slipped. “Why people don’t take you seriously.”

Sirius blinked, momentarily thrown.

“You’re not a child anymore, Sirius. You can’t keep acting like the rules don’t apply to you.”

He forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “And why do you care?”

She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms, her silver gown shimmering in the low light, her jaw tight with frustration. “Because you’re not helping yourself by acting out like this, » she stated, voice soft but steely. “What are you hoping for—that they’ll suddenly change their minds?”

Sirius’s smirk faltered. He laughed, a harsh, hollow sound that echoed in the tense silence between them. “Change their minds?” He leaned forward, his gaze sharp, challenging. “You think I care what they think?”

Cordelia’s eyes softened, just for a moment, and she dropped her voice, her tone measured. “I saw you with Regulus just now.”

His smirk faltered, his jaw tightening. “And?”

“You didn’t look like someone who doesn’t care.”

Sirius’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on the cup as he raised it toward his lips, eager for another sip to drown the bitter taste left by her words. “You don’t know shit,” he muttered, lifting the cup to his mouth.

Cordelia’s hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around the goblet before he could drink, her grip surprisingly firm. “You’ve had enough.”

« Let go, » he said, his voice low, his fingers clinging to the cup, refusing to release it as they locked eyes, a silent standoff between them.

“Or what?” she snapped, her eyes flashing as she tugged at the goblet, her tone edged with impatience. “You’ll make an even bigger fool of yourself?”

«You know what? I just might,” he replied, his smirk returning, daring her to push him further.

« Sirius, for once in your life, could you just—” Her voice softened, almost pleading as she reached for the goblet again, her fingers brushing against his as she tried to pull it from his grasp. “Just give it to me. Please.”

They struggled for a brief moment, his grip tightening, her resolve hardening, as the cup teetered precariously between them. In the tussle, Sirius’s balance shifted, his feet slipping on spilled punch. He reached out, trying to steady himself on the edge of the table, but his hand landed on the rim of the punch bowl instead.

For a breathless second—a gasp—time seemed to freeze. The bowl wobbled, caught in a precarious balance between their hands.

Then, with a sickening lurch, it tipped forward, the contents spilling out in a crimson wave.

It hit Cordelia head-on, the bright liquid soaking into her silver gown, spreading like a sea of blood across her figure.

A hush fell over the hall. The music, the laughter—all of it died in an instant, leaving a heavy silence as every eye turned toward the scene unfolding at the refreshment station. The soft drip of punch hitting the floor was the only sound in the room.

Cordelia stood there, motionless, her eyes wide with shock as she stared down at the red stain spreading across her dress. Her breaths came in slow, controlled gasps, her expression a mask of calm that did little to hide the rage simmering beneath.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Sirius, too stunned and, frankly, too drunk to process the full weight of what had happened, simply stared, open-mouthed.

Slowly, Cordelia lifted her head, her gaze burning as she fixed him with a look that made his stomach twist.

“You,” she growled, jabbing a finger at his chest, heavy with barely restrained rage.

Sirius swallowed, but the words he might have said caught in his throat, his bravado slipping under the weight of her glare. He squinted, bracing himself for the gathering storm.

Only, Cordelia suddenly stopped herself, glancing around at the crowd of eyes watching her, as if realizing just how many people were witness to this moment. Her hand dropped, the anger in her gaze flickering into something far colder. She took a step back, her expression unreadable as she fought to compose herself, blinking back the tears that threatened to break free.

With a single, determined sigh, she turned on her heels, pushing through the crowd as she stormed towards the exit.

The silence hung thick in the air, broken only by Evan’s pompous as he stepped up beside him. “Well played, Black,” he drawled. “Real class act.” He cast Sirius a mocking glance before slipping into the crowd, following Cordelia’s path.

Before Sirius could react, Dorcas appeared at his side, eyes darting between the punch stains and his damp suit. “What on earth happened?” she asked, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Sirius opened his mouth to answer, but a new voice cut through the din—cold and stern, echoing across the hall. « Wonderful question Miss Meadowes. »

Sirius turned to see Professor Greaves looming near the doorway, arms crossed and a look of displeasure etched into every line of his face. « I, too, would like to know what exactly is going on here. » The professor’s gaze locked onto Sirius, unyielding. “Care to explain yourself, Mr. Black?”

The room fell utterly silent, students staring, a few muffling nervous laughs behind their hands. Sirius felt a surge of defiance flare up, his gaze narrowing, every instinct telling him to push back. But he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned sharply, shoving past a few lingering onlookers as he headed toward the doors.

“Mr. Black!” Greaves’s voice boomed behind him. “Get back here!”

Ignoring him, Sirius quickened his pace, pushing open the heavy doors and stepping out into the cool corridor. He could see Rosier’s figure up ahead, heading towards the Astronomy Tower—no doubt to offer Cordelia some chivalrous comfort.

Moron, Sirius thought, changing direction. He had a hunch where she’d actually go. He turned left, taking the stairs two at a time, as he headed toward the second-floor girls’ lavatory.

She had essentially claimed it as her own, private restroom, ever since she’d realized everyone else avoided it like the plague. Sirius had spotted her slipping in and out of there a few times, back when it was just another habit of hers that made him roll his eyes. Trust Cordelia de Valois to prefer a toilet bowl ghost over having to queue up for the mirror with the other girls.

Reaching the door, he hesitated only a moment, then opened it. The door hadn’t even clicked shut when he heard her heels echo sharply against the tiled floor and the sound if the water running.

Sirius walked in quietly, leaning against the tiled wall, his arms crossed.

Cordelia finally glanced up at him in the mirror, her lips set in a tight line as she ran a wet handkerchief over her ruined gown, streaks of red punch staining the delicate silver fabric like fresh blood. Her reflection was all angles—tense, a figure poised at the edge of restraint.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Her voice was taut, each word clipped as if she were biting them back.

He shrugged, an infuriatingly casual tilt of his head as he offered a tentative smirk. “Come on, lighten up. It was an accident.

Her laugh was dry, humorless. “An accident? Of course it was. Just like everything you do—‘an accident.’”

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes as if she were overreacting. “What, you’re going to pretend this wasn’t blown out of proportion? It’s a bit of spilled punch, not the end of the world.”

«Please leave. » she muttered, running the now stained handkerchief under water.

“I’ll pay for the bloody dress if that’s what’s got you knickers in a twist.”

At that, Cordelia stopped fussing with her gown, turning fully to face him. « What do you want, Sirius? » Her voice dropped, cold and unyielding. “What more could you possibly want from me?”

The corner of his mouth curled, his gaze narrowing, glinting with something reckless. “Nothing. Just—didn’t think you’d want to end the evening on a sour note.”

She shook her head, letting out a sharp breath. A sour note. “Oh, please,” she said, her tone barely restrained. “You’ve been itching to ruin this night for me since before it even started.”

“Uh—how’s the ego?” he replied with a smirk, an eyebrow raised in mock innocence.

Her eyes flashed, but her voice remained low, icy. “Well, you got what you wanted.”

“And what’s that?” His voice was quiet now, controlled, the smirk lingering, a mask to whatever churned beneath.

“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped, her voice gaining a dangerous edge. “It’s puerile, even for you.”

“Merlin, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Look, if it’s about Rosier, you could’ve just—“

“This isn’t about Evan,” she interrupted, her tone harsh. She stepped closer, her chin raised, her gaze steady and searing. “This is about you and your compulsive need to destroy everything you touch. It’s about you acting like the whole world exists just so you can tear it apart. You push and you provoke everyone around you, and when it backfires, you just— laugh it off. Like nothing matters.”

“Nothing does matter,” he replied, his voice cool, distant. “Certainly not the opinion of those idiots out there.”

“You say that, as though you’re any better than them,” she countered, her tone sharpening, her words hitting like thrown knives. “Newsflash, Sirius, from where I stand you don’t have half the decency of—.”

“Decency?” His laugh was sharp, brittle, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen your perfect Rosier and his ‘decency’ up close. There’s nothing real about him—nothing real about any of them.”

“Merlin, are you hearing yourself?” Her voice was laced with disdain. “You’re fighting a one-sided battle and you don’t even realise it. Not everyone is watching, hanging onto your every move. Most of us just wish you’d grow up.”

He tilted his head, a dark smile flickering on his lips. “So that’s it, then? I’m just some insufferable, petulant attention-seeker?” His tone dropped, venomous, his gaze piercing. “I suppose that would make sense coming from you, what with your perfect family, perfect record, always doing everything by the book.” He leaned closer, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “Tell me, how’s it feel to be the most well-behaved doll in the box?”

Her expression didn’t falter, but he saw it—the tightness in her jaw, the barely perceptible twitch in her eyes. Her hands curled into fists, her shoulders squared.

“You think you’re so clever,” she whispered, her voice raw, each word deliberate and biting. “Pushing everyone away before they can look too closely. You don’t fool me one bit. You’re just scared that if anyone does, they’ll see exactly what you are—nothing but a coward.”

“Coward?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a chilling, deadly whisper. His eyes glinted with something vicious, reckless, the kind of look that meant he was holding nothing back. “I’m not the one letting my family pull the strings every second of the day.”

“Aren’t you, though?” she snapped, stepping closer, her voice cold and razor-sharp. “Face it, Sirius. If anything, you’re no more than the other side of the same bloody coin—rebelling just for the sake of proving them right. It’s transparent and, quite frankly, pathetic.”

He let out a low, dangerous laugh, the sound reverberating in the quiet space.

“Guess I’m a lost cause, then.” He sneered, his tone laced with scorn, before falling down to hus knees, “Oh, do forgive me, then, Saint Cordelia, please,” he drawled, laying a hand over his heart, “I’ve been a very bad boy, haven’t I? Won’t you please take mercy on that black soul of mine and spare me a prayer?”

“Don’t mock me, Sirius,” she warned, her voice taut, though her hand trembled as she clenched it by her side.

“Or what?” He jumped back to his feet. His voice was barely above a whisper, cutting and venomous as he leaned in, his face inches from hers, a mocking gleam in his eyes. “What’ll you do, hmm? Finally drop the act and show how cold you really are?” He tilted his head, his expression dark and unhinged, a mirthless smile stretching his lips. “Will you punish me, mummy? Curse me, leave me bleeding on the tile?”

He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, and smell the stench of alcohol in his breath. Her chest heaved, breath coming quicker as she stared at him, a mix of fury and something she couldn’t name flickering in her eyes, but she couldn’t force a single word past her lips.

Sirius only watched her, his voice dropping, his tone venomous, mocking. “Of course not,” he said, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Because that would require an ounce of sincerity—and we both know you don’t have a fucking scrap of it.”

Her eyes hardened, a flicker of something dangerous flaring behind them. “Are you finished?” She moved to push past him.

He blocked her, laughing, hollow and sharp. “What, did I hit a nerve? Look at you, de Valois,” he taunted, his tone thick with mockery, “the perfect daughter, the pureblood princess—untouchable. Must be nice up there, on your little pedestal, sheltered from the dark.”

“That’s enough,” she warned, her voice low, a tremor in her words.

But he didn’t listen. He leaned closer, a twisted grin on his face. “Does it scare you?” He taunted, shaking his head, “You think you know so much. You haven’t got a fucking clue what they’re like.”

Her voice was taut, clipped. “I know enough. Now let me through.”

Sirius scoffed, his eyes gleaming with defiance, arms crossed. “So that’s it? You’re just tired of me now? Done with the show? Wish I’d disappear?” He laughed, bitterly, a taunt on his lips. He didn’t even notice she was on the verge of unravelling. “Maybe you’re right. Better yet, maybe I should never have been born at all—join the queue for that wish, Duchess. You’ll fit just fine right behind my paren—”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them!” she finally snapped, her voice cutting through his words like a blade. His smirk instantly vanished, but she wasn’t finished, words spewing out like venom.

“Maybe your family wouldn’t hate you so much if you weren’t so hell-bent on proving just how worthless you are.” She shouted, her voice raw as she held his stunned gaze with her own teary eyes. “But you can’t help it, can you? And that’s exactly why they’ll keep hurting you, and why no one—no one—will lift a finger to stop them. Congratulations on showing everyone you’re not worth saving.”

Her words settled in the silence, colder than any look she could give, and Sirius just stared, stunned, the cruelty sinking into every hollow place he’d tried to bury.

Cordelia’s face, too, had gone pale, and he could see the realization of what she’d said sinking in, her own expression flickering with regret before she forced it away.

He opened his mouth, some retort rising to his lips, but it died there, unspoken. He didn’t want her to know how much it hurt, how true her words felt. Instead, he took a step back, his gaze never leaving hers as he forced himself to laugh—a hollow, breathy sound that barely made a dent in the silence between them.

“Right,” he whispered finally, voice barely audible. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

Cordelia’s throat tightened, the weight of her words crashing down on her. She’d gone too far, pushed past the boundary of what was forgivable, and she knew it. But before she could say anything, before she could find the words to take it back, Sirius turned and walked away, his shoulders tense, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.

—

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[moonymoodz]

Damnatio Memoriæ

The one with the invites.

Genre: for this chapter ? Not sure, it’s not smut, or fluff, or angst, really. Def slowburn. Idiots to lovers.

Pairing : Sirius Black x fem!OC (here, friends (?) to lovers (?) )

Wordcount : 2.1k

Original Character : fem, Cordelia de Valois, Ravenclaw. Pureblood and wealthy.

Context : fifth year is rough. bruised egos on the daily.

Disclaimer : I’m not a Native English speaker, so there are going to be mistakes here and there, don’t hesitate to message me so I can fix them.

—

Monday, December 11th, 1975.

If one were to ask any boy at Hogwarts what the word “ball” meant to them, the word “nightmare” would be sure to pop more than once.

That being said, one may remember that in December 1975, the chilly air of the Great Hall did little to quiet the lively chatter of students buzzing with excitement. With the Winter Ball just around the corner, breakfast conversations seemed to center solely on the three unavoidable topics: Dresses, Dancing, and, most importantly, Dates.

At the Gryffindor table, James was busy doing what he did best—whining about Lily Evans, who sat not too far away, ignoring him completely.

“I mean, it’s ridiculous at this point,” James grumbled, stabbing at his eggs with unnecessary force. “I’ve asked her every single year. This time I’d even rehearsed the whole thing!”

“Don’t remind me,” Sirius mumbled with a shake of his head, as he poured milk in his tea, “there are things a man can’t unsee.”

“And she still turned me down.” James chewed through an entire slice of bacon.

‘Sorry, James,’ Lily had said lightly, ‘This year, it’s a girls-only affair,’ before hopping back towards Marlene and Mary, who were in stitches, unable to contain their laughter.

“You do make it easy for her,” Remus remarked, not looking up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. “There’s a kind of—satisfaction in watching you beg.”

“Beg?” James sputtered. “I don’t beg.” He shifted his gaze among them, uncertainty creeping in. “Do I?”

“It’s tragic, really,” Sirius drawled from his seat, not even bothering to hide the grin that tugged at his lips. He was lounging in his usual spot, looking as though he owned the entire table. “Maybe a change in strategy would do you good.”

“That’s rich,” James shot him a dark look. “Coming from the one bloke who’s never had to lift a finger.”

Sirius let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back in his chair.

“What’s the count so far?” James asked. “How many girls have you turned down already for the ball? Ten? Fifteen?”

Sirius tilted his head, feigning thought. “Mmm, closer to twenty, I think. But who’s counting?”

“Modesty, thy name is Sirius,” Remus muttered under his breath, not quite suppressing a grin.

Peter, who had been quietly picking at his food, piped up suddenly, his voice nervous. “I don’t have a date either, Prongs,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing as his gaze darted from the Ravenclaw table.

Sirius leaned in, grinning wickedly. “Don’t look so grim, Wormy, we’ll get you a bird in no time.”

There was a brief pause before James, smirking, clapped Pete on the shoulder. “Right, there’s still time. Have you been eyeing anyone?”

Peter’s eyes darted back toward the Ravenclaw table, where Cordelia sat with Dorcas and a few others. His face went from red to crimson and he quickly looked down at his plate. “No one in particular.”

“Oh, come on,” James urged, catching on. “I see you looking over there,” he nudged Peter. “Didn’t think you were into bookish gals.”

“I’m not,” Peter mumbled defensively, “Anyway, everyone’s probably taken by now.”

“There’s always Cordelia,” Remus suggested, out of the blue, “Why don’t you ask her?”

Peter nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. “Wha- no, I—I can’t ask her.”

“Well, of course you can’t ask her,” James chuckled, shaking his head, “but it’s not a terrible idea—she might fix you up with someone—”

“Hold on a minute,” Remus said, pretending to be genuinely interested, “Someone’s got to ask Cordelia, why not Pete?”

“Because,” James hesitated, “she’s… well… he’s.. I mean- you know.”

Peter’s face was now almost matching the Gryffindor tablecloth.

“Moony, please,” Sirius whined, “you know I would tongue Peety, here, real hard if I were a chick. Hell, I have tongued him real hard not that long ago, and it wasn’t half bad,” he raised his hands. “But let us be real for a second, the lad doesn’t stand a chance.” He continued with a teasing grin. “She’s probably got some noble suitor lined up already. You know how it is with girls like her—always got some lofty standards.”

Peter sank lower in his seat, looking thoroughly embarrassed. But before anyone could say more, the very object of their conversation approached.

As though summoned, Cordelia had appeared at the end of their table, her Ravenclaw robes fluttering softly as she walked towards them, holding a handful of parchments. She glanced at Remus as she laid it all on the table. “Here, your notes from last week’s divination.”

“Thanks Cord,” Remus replied, taking the notes with a nod.

“No problem.” She gave a small smile before turning to leave.

But Sirius, ever one to poke the bear, leaned forward. “Leaving us so soon de Valois?” he called, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. “Won’t you grace us, mere mortals, with your—delightful company just a tad longer?”

The girl stopped, “It may be a foreign concept to you, Black,” she spoke calmly, turning to face him with an arched brow, “but some of us actually have things to do.”

Sirius leaned forward, his grin widening as he took full advantage of the attention. “Surely you can spare a minute to discuss this week’s hot topic. Tell us, have you settled on a hot date for the ball, already?” He asked. “I suppose you must have your pick of eligible suitors.”

Cordelia raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh, come on,” Sirius continued, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “You’re telling me you haven’t been bombarded with offers?”

Remus spoke, “Didn’t that Hufflepuff lad ask you just the other day? What’s his name? The sixth year-”

She shook her head, her tone clipped. “He didn’t.”

“Really?” Sirius continued, his grin widening. “What about your fellow Ravenclaw Prefect? You two would make a lovely pair of rule-abiding bores. I bet he’s just dying to escort you.”

“Also no,” Cordelia said, her patience starting to wear thin.

James leaned in, grinning. “Please tell us you’re not going with some Slytherin fuckwit”

Sirius’s eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. “Ah, of course, how could I forget? Snivellus, perhaps? Or better yet, Mulciber. Quite the catch,” he giggled. “Can’t go wrong with a bloke who’s just as charming as a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

“Definitely not him.” The corners of Cordelia’s mouth twitched, but she remained composed. “Are we done here?”

“Oh, but if not him,” Sirius mused, “then maybe… no… don’t tell me you’re going stag?” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with amusement. Cordelia rolled her eyes. “What’s the matter, duchess? Has your charming personality sent all the boys running?

Remus shot Sirius a look, raising an eyebrow as if to say tread carefully. “Pads…”

“To be fair, you are tough to approach, Cord. Not everyone’s brave enough to handle all that—pedigree.”

Cordelia’s expression hardened, but before she could reply, Peter, sensing the growing tension, blurted out, “Well, I-I’m going alone.”

She turned, her face and voice softening as she looked down at the freckled boy. “I’m sure you’ll find someone, Pete,” she laid a gentle hand on his arm, “Either way, you must save me a dance,” she winked at him.

Peter’s face lit up, a bright blush spreading across his cheeks as he stared at his plate.

“You know,” Sirius stated, louder than anticipated, “if you’re that desperate, I could always step in. I’ve had to fight off so many invites, already, it’s a full-time job, but I’m sure I could— squeeze you in for a twirl or two.”

Cordelia’s eyes flashed with something cold, though her smile was still polite. “I’m sure you could.”

“A lion can hardly be tamed,” Sirius declared, laying a dramatic hand on his chest, “But I am nothing if not selfless, I might make an exception-”

“That won’t be necessary,” she sharply cut off his rant and Remis sighed in relief at the interruption. “Believe it or not, Sirius, somebody did ask me to the Ball,” she continued, before adding, “weeks ago.”

The table fell silent. Sirius, for the first time, looked slightly thrown. “And you said—yes?”

Cordelia nodded, her expression calm but her eyes dancing with satisfaction. “I did.”

“So, who’s the lucky guy?” James asked eagerly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Potter?” She rolled her eyes.

“Come on now, Duchess,” Sirius urged, leaning forward with a playful grin. “Don’t leave us in suspense.”

“You really want to know?” Cordelia challenged, raising a single eyebrow, her voice dripping with mock curiosity.

The boys nodded eagerly, exchanging glances, clearly waiting for her answer.

Cordelia leaned in closer, hovering just above the table as if preparing to divulge a deep secret. Her eyes flicked around dramatically, scanning the hall to make sure no one was eavesdropping. They all leaned in, hanging on her every word.

“It’s…” she began in a whisper, dragging out the suspense, “…someone who doesn’t need to brag about their conquests.”

Sirius sighed in exasperation as the group collectively leaned back, realization dawning. Cordelia straightened with a satisfied smirk, her eyes locking onto Sirius.

“You should try that sometime,” she added, her tone light but razor-sharp,

Sirius’s smirk faltered, the cockiness wiped clean off his face. The others, watching closely, stifled their laughter.

James burst out first, laughing loudly. “She got you there.”

Sirius tried to maintain his nonchalant demeanor, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. “Well, forgive me for taking interest in a classmate’s social well-being,” he muttered, though his voice had lost its playful edge.

Cordelia, now with the upper hand, tilted her head slightly. “Yes, I’m sure your intentions were noble. Anyway, guess I won’t be needing you to— how did you put it? Squeeze me in, after all.”

Sirius’s smirk faltered, just for a moment, before he leaned back in his chair with a mock-relaxed grin. “Hey, play nice, I’ll let you know plenty would kill for the offer of a dance with me.”

“Yeah,” James chimed in with a grin of his own, “In all fairness, he has been fighting off girls left, right, and center.”

“The proof’s in the pudding,” Sirius added, his grin widening as he winked at Cordelia.

The girl paused, her eyebrow arching slightly as she glanced between Sirius and James, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, I’ve heard you’re popular, alright.”

Sirius, still smirking, leaned in a little. “Have you?”

There was a beat of silence, and Cordelia’s smile remained cool as she regarded him. “It’s a shame popularity doesn’t equal quality, though, isn’t it?”

Sirius’s smirk dropped and Cordelia’s eyes glimmered with amusement as she delivered her final blow. “Yes—like those chip shops everyone queues up for in London. Foul things. Greasy, dreadfully common, and the smell? Stays with you days after you’re done, or so I’ve heard.”

James snorted into his goblet, laughing loudly. “She’s got a point there, Pads.”

Remus, grinning, chimed in. “Careful there, Cord, I happen to enjoy a good chippy.”

The girl gave him a sly smile, “Case and point. However dreadful they may be, there always seems to be a line out the door,” she sighed in fake contemplation, “Makes you wonder doesn’t it?”

James chuckled. “Sure beats me.”

Sirius, though clearly thrown, tried to recover, giving James a playful smack on the back of the head before meeting Cordelia’s gaze. “Well,” he said with a pause, “I guess not everyone is a picky eater.”

Cordelia raised her chin, a smirk dancing on her lips. “I suppose not. Lucky for you, isn’t it?”

The laughter from the table grew louder, and Sirius, for once, had no retort. He could only watch as Cordelia straightened, shot him one final, victorious glance, and turned on her heel with perfect grace.

The Ball was certainly going to be something.

—

Next Chapter

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