You’d spent seven years at Hogwarts dodging pranks, sneaking into the kitchens for extra treacle tart, and laughing so hard you cried. But somehow, through all the chaos, Sirius Black had become… different. Not just the reckless, loud, trouble-seeking Padfoot everyone knew—he was yours. He laughed a little softer when he looked at you, teased you a little more carefully, and somehow managed to brush your hand accidentally on purpose. Every time he did, something inside you twisted, like fire dancing over ice. It was the last week before exams, the castle buzzing with restless energy. You and the Marauders had taken over a quiet corner of the library, sprawled across chairs and tables, textbooks half-forgotten. James was arguing with Remus about the best strategy to ace Potions. Peter was trying not to spill ink all over his parchment. And Sirius… well, Sirius was sitting impossibly close to you, one leg hooked over the side of your chair, smirking. “You’re way too tense,” he murmured, leaning just enough so your shoulders brushed. “I’m fine,” you said, eyes on your textbook, though your pulse betrayed you. “Sure,” he replied, but his voice had a note in it—a dangerous, playful tone that made your stomach flip. “Fine is your default when you’re lying, you know.” You rolled your eyes, trying to push back a grin. But Sirius wasn’t fooled, and he never was. That’s part of why being around him was… electric. Every look, every touch, every shared joke carried something heavier, more charged than either of you admitted. By the end of the evening, the library was empty, leaving only the two of you. Sirius leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes tracing your profile. “You’re not thinking about studying anymore, are you?” he asked. You shook your head, trying to focus, but he was too close. One knee nudged yours. His hand brushed yours “accidentally.” And then, he smirked, that dangerous, heart-stopping smirk he reserved just for you. “You know,” he whispered, voice low, “I’ve been waiting seven years for you to notice… for you to stop pretending we’re just… friends.” Your chest tightened. “Sirius…” “Don’t,” he interrupted, leaning closer, eyes dark with intent. “Don’t tell me no. Not tonight.” Your breath caught as he tilted his head, brushing your hair behind your ear, letting his thumb graze your cheek. The heat between you was impossible to ignore. For the first time, you realized he wasn’t just your best friend—he was your person. And he’d been right there, so close, waiting for you to finally see it too. “I’m not pretending anymore,” you admitted, heart hammering. His grin spread, full of relief and mischief. “Good. Because neither am I.”