#riddle!reader

Now that Voldemort had fallen, you returned to holding your beliefs close to your chest again. You found a job that was able to ignore whatever past you had with the Dark Arts and while some did remember your part in upping Voldemort’s numbers, you were able to move on with your life. For the most part, that is.

“How the hell did trash like you manage to stay out of Azkaban?” Sirius drawled from behind where you sat at the bar. 

You clicked your tongue as you looked over your shoulder. You had hoped for a quiet night. A few drinks at the bar and then off to bed. That was your plan. 

“Black, lovely. Can’t say I know what you mean though.”

“We all know about your connection to your father.”

“Being born isn’t enough to lock someone up.”

“It should be,” he sighed, moving closer to the bar to signal the bartender to pour him a drink. “Although, you did more than be born.”

“No one can prove I did anything to be locked up over.” You took a sip of your drink. “Say, how is the Potter boy? You and that half blood are taking care of him now that his mummy and daddy are in the ground?” 

Sirius’ face immediately burned. He tipped the bottom of your cup upward so your drink spilled all over your lap. You hummed nonchalantly, waving your hand over yourself to dry your clothes. 

“Classy, Black. Real classy.”

“You have no right to talk about the Potters,” he hissed. 

“Another one, sir,” you called to the bartender and then turned your gaze back to the man standing next to you. “Why’s that?”

“You damn well know why.”

“I mean, technically, they killed my father so me and that boy got something in common, don’t we?”

Sirius looked like he was about to punch you. The bartender came to your rescue though, handing you another cocktail and Sirius his shot. He threw it back and immediately asked for another. 

“But speaking of families… How are Regulus and Walburga? Haven’t heard from either recently.”

“Regulus is… he’s dead,” Sirius said firmly. “And Mother, who the hell knows or cares. Why were you in contact with her?”

“Shame about Regulus. I liked ‘im,” you replied, not answering Sirius’ question.

The answer was actually quite innocent. You had wanted to talk to her about being a well-positioned woman in a noble family and Regulus had connected you. 

“Just another casualty to blame on your family,” Sirius grumbled, tossing back the second shot. 

“You seem to have a lot of thoughts on the matter. Care to sit and talk about it?” you asked, your tone mocking.

You really didn’t expect Sirius to sigh and then take the stool next to you. Despite not being vocal about your beliefs in school, you and Sirius never really got along. You were a Slytherin afterall and he hated each and every one in your house, even Regulus. There had been one kiss between the two of you — that game of spin the bottle was the end of your participation in party games. And then after school, you really went your separate ways. So to say that you and Sirius weren’t even really acquaintances would be correct. 

“You helped tear apart families. Innocent people were killed. Over what? Purifying wizardkind?” he snarked before ordering a whiskey.

A sipping drink, you thought, that means he’s going to sit here. 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” you said. “Loyalty to family and all.”

“Please, if you really knew my family… You would’ve left too. Actual Slytherin families are far worse than the Hufflepuffs who raised you.”

You shook your head. “For someone who preaches not judging, you are quick to judge.”

“What?”

“Not all Slytherins are the same, which you should know. I’ve heard about Andromeda.” You swirled your drink before taking a slow sip. “But if you think home was all sunshine and roses, especially after my sorting, you’re well mistaken.” 

“S’pose that would’ve been disappointing for your mum.”

You gave a dry laugh. “A bit, yeah. Even after I reminded her that my dad was in Slytherin.”

There’s a few moments of silence between you as you each work on your drink. You are both thinking back to your sortings and the letters from home that followed. Disappointment emanated from each stroke of ink. You weren’t where you were supposed to. You managed to stray from your blood — well, you didn’t stray from your blood but at the time, you thought you did. 

“He wouldn’t have been a loving father, you know,” Sirius said. 

“And you’d know that?”

Sirius nodded. 

“How do you reckon you and your friend are doing?” you asked, beginning with genuine curiosity. Then a twisted part of you continued, “Going to throw him to the streets if he doesn’t get sorted into Gryffindor?”

Sirius let out a long, deep sigh. You assumed he was regretting sitting down. You didn’t need to know Sirius all that well to be able to press his buttons. He was simply that predictable. 

“He has so much crimson and gold in his blood-” Sirius started to say, but you cut him off.

“You’d have me believing that blood doesn’t mean shit, though!”

“Listen here, you little bitch.” His patience was running thin.

“I will if you commit. Does blood mean everything or not? Because if it does, then your boy’s a Gryffindor and I can be damned for being a Riddle but all those little mudbloods taint wizardkind. If it means nothing, then I’m innocent and you can be whoever you want to be.”

“You’re damned because you preached He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s agenda.”

“I’m damned for worse things,” you said with a wicked grin adorning your lips. “You know, those things no one can prove were me.”

Suddenly, Sirius whipped his wand out and had it pressed against your throat under your chin. His eyes bore into yours. You showed no fear, your grin only widened.

“What’re you going to do? Curse me? Hex me? Kill me?”

“I oughta…”

“Oi! Take it outside!” the bartender yelled.

You smirked, placing a few galleons on the counter. 

“On me, Black.” You stood up, Sirius’ wand moving with you. “You heard the man. This is a respectable business. If you have issues with me, we’ll take it outside.”

You turned your back on Sirius and made for the door. You looked back at him. He stood unmoving by the counter where you left him. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, pretty boy. Or do I need to insult you some more?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes in your direction, but he followed you anyway. Once outside, you led him into an alley. 

“I feel like you’re going to murder me back here…” he muttered. 

You kicked over a crate so that it was a good height for you to sit on. Sirius, however, chose to remain standing. He did lean against the grimy wall with a steady grip on his wand. 

“If anyone’s being murdered out here, it’s me. Trust me, you’re not the only one who’d like to see me six feet in the ground.” 

“If you really think I’d kill you, why did you insist I come out here with you?”

“Because I don’t think you’ll do it. You don’t have it in you. Not in cold blood. If we were dueling, then maybe. But if I’m sitting here, looking pretty with my wand tucked away, I’m perfectly safe with you.”

Sirius frowns. He doesn’t retort with anything because he knows you’re right. Yes, you were the daughter of the man who killed two of his best friends. Yes, he knew you did horrid things, but you were right that no one could prove you did anything more than preach the inferiority of muggleborns. He couldn’t justify killing you. 

You tilted your head as you viewed Sirius in the alley’s low lighting.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a waste of pureblood?” That genuine curiosity had returned.

“All the time. Right up there with being told I’m a disappointment and a stain on the Black name. But, do tell, why do you think I’m a waste?”

“You don’t seem to want to settle down and have a family.”

That caught Sirius off-guard. He had more-or-less settled down to raise Harry, but besides the little boy and Remus, he didn’t have any desire for a family. His hadn’t given him that want and he had found that he could live without it. 

“You’re pretty. You have good blood in you, whether you acknowledge it or not. I hear plenty of people actually like you. You’re just like a few moral standards short of being the perfect bachelor.”

“Like you know anything of moral standards…” 

You stood up and walked over to Sirius. You stood right in front of him, close enough to feel his whiskey-scented breath. You dragged the backside of your hand down his cheek. 

“Just because my morals are different than yours doesn’t mean mine don’t exist.”

“Yet you just said mine didn’t-”

“No, I didn’t. I said you were short,” you corrected him, cutting him off again. “You could… raise them. Higher standards are what you need. Then you’d surround yourself with better people.”

Sirius gave your shoulders a push to make you step away from him.

“I’m only surrounded by the lowest of the low when I’m around your kind,” he spat. 

“Those willing to do anything for their families?” 

Sirius didn’t give any warning. He slashed his wand, sending you flying backwards into the crate you had been sitting in earlier.

“You can’t preach doing anything and having morals at the same time, sweetheart,” he snarled, slowly approaching where you laid in the splintered wood.

“I disagree,” you groaned. You reached for your wand and a quick wave had flames shooting out of it.

Sirius jumped out of the way, but it gave you a moment to rise to your feet. 

“Sometimes-” You sent more flames out of your wand, causing Sirius to jump out of the way. “-you have set aside-” More flames and he deflected. “-what some consider good so that you can have a moment-” Flames singed the edges of Sirius’ clothing. “-with your absent father.”

“Fathers aren’t worth it!” He shot a geyser of water in your direction. 

“Then you haven’t properly longed for one.” Enchanted ropes wrapped themselves around Sirius’ feet and he fell to the ground. 

Another wave of your wand had his being ripped from his hands. You caught it with ease.

“Your little Order didn’t teach you to duel all that well, did it?” you cooed as you stood over him. Now with his wand in your hands, the ropes bound his hands as well. “You should really consider your opponent before you engage, Black.” 

Then you sat just out of his reach. You knew better than to sit too close, even with his extremities bound, Sirius could do damage to you.

“You’re sitting?”

You nodded. “I offered to talk inside and you’re the one bringing magic into it all. Figured maybe you do want to talk, but you’re too hot headed to do so civilly.” You paused before adding thoughtfully, “Orion got that way.”

“I’m nothing like my father,” Sirius snarled.

“Oh, don’t say nothing. You two are plenty alike. Just… aligned differently.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“How do I say this in a way that won’t piss you off more?” You clicked your tongue as you thought, taking your time as if to prove to Sirius that this interaction was now on your time. “Your family likes the cosmos, right? Think of it like this: you each have your north star that you follow. Or you’re both looking for the brightest star but you have different hemispheres.” You tilted your head as you tried to study Sirius’ expression. “I’m sure he thought he was raising you the right way in the same way you think you’re raising the Potter boy the right way.”

“My father didn’t care for me or Regulus.”

“Au contraire, Black. You should know that he absolutely adores Regulus. And as stubborn as you were, he loved you until you got sorted into Gryffindor and made a bigger mess than he could clean up.”

“How would you know that?”

“Oh, did you not know I’ve been for tea for Walburga several times? And Orion likes to have a few after, as you should know.” 

“I’m aware… Bit weird you had tea with my mother though…”

You shrugged. “I needed advice.”

“You?” Sirius scoffed. “You needed advice?”

“Never claimed to know it all.”

“You sure act like it.”

“And you act like the most righteous person in the ally, yet you cast the first spell.”

Sirius didn’t respond and you didn’t continue. You twirled your wand in between your fingers. You could feel Sirius watching your dexterity. You wanted him to be the next one to talk. He clearly had more to say to you, but he remained silent. 

After a few minutes of nothing, you sighed and waved your wand to unbind Sirius. He rubbed his wrists immediately after. You were surprised that he didn’t reach for his wand right away. He did after a few moments and adjusted himself so he was sitting across from you.

“Is it lonely for you?” you asked in a soft voice. “Living in the aftermath of the war.”

Sirius blinked slowly. Your words sank in slowly. 

“I… I lost a lot of friends, but I wouldn’t say I’m lonely. The survivors, we make do. We’re there for each other. I have Remus. The Weasleys. Dumbledore when I need him. Mad-Eye Moody is a character. We support each other.” He stared at you. “Are you lonely?”

“Didn’t live my life for friends. And the friends I did have? Dead. Apparently all of them. Or Azkaban.” You chuckled softly. “Bit sad, innit?”

“You chose that life.”

“I chose chasing a family who, I should’ve known this, didn’t want me. And I chose protecting myself. Chasing family and being safe shouldn’t leave me alone.”

“I chased a family and I protected myself,” Sirius said. “It was a chosen family, rather than blood. And I protected others in addition to myself. That’s how you don’t end up alone.”

“Yeah, well, it’s too late for me.” You sighed and then looked at Sirius. “You have your wand. Why don’t you get it over with or leave me alone?”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I disagree with you on so much, but… the life of a disappointing family is something I’m far too familiar with.”

“If you hadn’t put a wand to my throat, I’d say let’s go back inside and get a drink,” you said dryly.

Then Sirius stood up and extended his hand. “There are other bars, Smith. Next one’s on me.”

You found a different bar. The two of you sat, drank and discussed the war and everyone you lost to it. You talked about being disappointed in your father’s reaction to your existence and wanting to be worth something to him. Sirius listened, nodding. He got where you were coming from, even if he sorely disagreed with everything Tom Riddle stood for. Sirius loved pissing his family off, being everything they hated, but he knew that life wasn’t for everything. Some people needed that feeling of acceptance. Hell, even he did and he found that in the Potters. 

When the night came to its end, Sirius said, “You know, you don’t have to be quite so lonely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Saturday. Hippogriff’s Nest at eight?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” you asked with a sly smile. You knew he wasn’t.

“Yeah, right,” he said sarcastically. “I’m offering a conversation and some drinks. Between… acquaintances?”

“Yeah, alright.” Your answer wasn’t sarcastic.

Sirius nodded and disapparated. You followed suit after one more drink.

It was the start of a pattern. Every few nights, you’d meet with Sirius to talk about anything and everything. You discussed childhoods and your years at school. Your singular kiss came up briefly, and you’re not sure who wanted to change the subject quicker. Sometimes one of you would go too far with an insult and spells would be exchanged. That was why you rarely visited the same bar twice; you weren’t sure if you’d be let back in. 

Slowly but surely, you felt the acquaintanceship melt into something fonder. You started to consider Sirius as your friend. You personally disliked how you really should’ve considered him your best friend, given that many of your other friends were people you almost never spoke to anymore.

---

“Padfoot, what the bloody hell is this?” Remus demanded as he threw the Daily Prophet down in front of him.

“That’d be the newspaper, Moony,” Sirius said casually. 

“What’s in the paper?”

Sirius glanced down momentarily. “You got it open to Skeeter’s gossip section. That’s rubbish and you know it.”

“Read it,” Remus hissed.

With a roll of his eyes, Sirius looked down at the paper again. This time reading the headline, “FAMILY TIES?”, and seeing the picture of you and him, both of you looking at each other and moving with an air of affection. Sirius turned bright red and couldn’t look at Remus. He hadn’t told his cohabitor that he had been meeting with you.

“You know I wouldn’t normally believe anything she writes, but that?” Remus pointed to the picture. “That is pretty damning, Pads. You know who she is.”

“I do,” Sirius muttered.

“Then tell me what the fuck this is? How do you explain this?” 

“It’s a drink. People tend to get them at bars.”

“And the picture? You talked to her? At least help some kind of conversation with her? How were they able to get this picture?”

Remus sounded exasperated. As he should, Sirius thought. 

“Sit down, Remus,” he said, trying to maintain his own composure. He wasn’t ready to explain everything to his best friend just yet. When Remus took a seat, Sirius continued, “I’m giving her a second chance.”

“She doesn’t deserve one.”

“Remus, listen. We’ve been talking-” 

“Ugh!” 

“I knew you’d react this way. That’s why I didn’t tell you! I know what she’s done, what she’s supported-”

“Who she’s related to!” Remus exclaimed bitterly.

“Who she’s related to. But you know she can choose her blood as much as I can.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending the Dark Lord’s daughter. Imagine what James would say!”

“He would question me. He’d be on your side. He’d be bloody furious at me. I have every reason to hex her into next millenia. And yet, I can’t help it. I’m giving her a second chance and she has yet to blow it.”

“When she blows it, she’ll take you down with her.”

“It’s not a when, Moony. It’s an if and I don’t think she will.” 

“It’s your own damn funeral.”

“I know.”

Remus held his head in his hands for a minute, too upset and frustrated to even look at Sirius. 

“How long have you been seeing her?” Remus asked the table.  

“We’ve been getting drinks for a few months now, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Months? Padfoot!”

“Like I said, she hasn’t burned me yet.” He paused and chuckled to himself. “Well, she’s burned my clothes.”

Remus’ head snapped up. “What?”

“We’ve dueled. Several times. She’s a big fan of fire curses.”

“Merlin’s fucking beard. You’re drinking with someone who’s trying to literally burn you?”

“She tries to burn me, I try to bleed her out,” Sirius said with a shrug. 

Remus was infuriated with how casual he was acting about it.

“She’s the bloody daughter of the Dark Lord and you’re… you’re… you’re…”

“Helping her move on from her past.”

“I can’t… I can’t with you right now.” 

Remus got up from the table and walked away. Sirius remained in the kitchen and read the column about you and Sirius. He knew so much of it was exaggerated and misinterpreted. He was certain that you had never leaned in close enough to kiss him that entire night. He rolled his eyes at the article. But he kept looking back at the photo. The photo’s version of him was looking at you with an inexplicably fond gaze. And you were returning it. 

Had he been looking at you like that? Had you been looking at him like that? Why did he feel like he needed to know?

It gave Sirius something to think about before he saw you again a few days later. 

You met at the bar, like you usually did. You ordered your drinks. You told him about your day at work. He told you about Harry’s latest neighborhood adventures. It was a normal conversation. 

Then Sirius cleared his throat.

“Did you see Rita Skeeter’s article?” he asked tentatively.

You shook your head with a frown. “With a family like mine? No, I tend to avoid the gossip section. I’m surprised you don’t.”

“Oh, I usually avoid it. Erm, Remus pointed out an interesting article to me. It’s all gossip, but still… interesting.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and tilted your head. “Interesting how?”

“Just… eye-opening, I guess,” Sirius said.

He put some coins on the counter and took your hand. “Come with me.” 

You didn’t protest despite your confusion. You let Sirius lead you out of the bar and into the alley.

“Decided to finally kill after all?” you teased, thinking back to when Sirius first ran into you.

Instead of answering your question, Sirius slammed you into the wall. It was rougher than he intended, knocking the wind out of you. You tried to reach for your wand, but Sirius grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the wall next to your shoulder.

“I need to try something,” he whispered. 

He stared into your eyes for a second. Then he brought his lips to yours, barely brushing against them. You could feel him take a shaky breath. His lips pressed against yours with more force. Your body responded before you could get over your shock. You were kissing Sirius with more fervor than he was kissing you. His hand that wasn’t holding your wrist gripped your waist and your free hand made its way to his hair. 

When he pulled back, you made a desperate attempt to recapture his lips, but he moved away from you with his whole body. You stood against the wall as he stepped into the middle of the alley. He ran one hand through his hair and the other down his face.

“Fuck…” he whispered to himself. 

You watched him, confused. First he pulled you out of the bar and into the alley to kiss you and now he was acting like he just messed something up.

“What, Black?” you asked, your voice cutting through the darkness. “You got to talk to me. This ain’t Hogwarts.”

“Fuck…” he swore again, mostly to himself before turning to you. “It was better than the one at Hogwarts.”

You didn’t respond. You were unsure if you should say anything, because what Sirius just said didn’t really answer your question. Why was he so upset? 

“The article. Skeeter’s gossip. It was about us. And the article was utter bullshit. But the picture… the fucking picture…”  

“The picture made you want to kiss me?” you asked, disbelieving.

“The way I looked at you in the picture,” he corrected, his voice dropping lower. “I shouldn’t look at you like that, but…”

“But you do?” you asked softly. 

“Yeah, I fucking do. And I shouldn’t. Everything says I shouldn’t.”

“Right,” you said. You sounded hurt and a bit bitter. Which you had every right to sound. After everything you talked about and how much time you were spending together, you thought Sirius had moved on from some stuff. Apparently not. “So you look at me. And you kiss me. Yet you want nothing to do with me. I get it, Black, I do. I got Riddle blood and that’s an end all.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You just disapparated on the spot to your flat. Sirius stared at where you had been standing. He wasn’t done talking to you. He wasn’t done processing what he was feeling. And now you were gone. 

He can’t even follow you as he doesn’t know where you live. He figures that maybe he could send you an owl. Those birds can find anyone. 

Sirius disapparated himself, appearing in his kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and decided to drink the whole thing in the solitary of his room. All he wanted was to forget the look of hurt on your face when you said “I get it, Black, I do.” It took him no time at all to finish the bottle and pass out in his bed. His thoughts were plagued with your hurt expression and that bled into nightmares. As it turned out, Sirius cared for you more than he wanted to admit to himself and now he had to somehow undo the damage he did to you. 

You groaned again. Some reasonable part of your brain made you get up, find parchment and write a quick owl to your employer. You wouldn’t be able to come into work in the morning. There, you thought, now I can do whatever. 

Whatever proved to be leaving the handle in the kitchen and going to bed. You buried yourself under your blankets, hoping that you’d feel just the tiniest bit better in the morning. You had to.

When the first rays of sunlight started to peek through the curtains, you rolled over and pulled your blankets tighter around yourself. 

No. Nope. Absolutely not. 

You were in no state to get up. Slight headache from the amount of vodka you had before decided it was better to sleep the pain away. The pain. That remained. How you allowed yourself to trust Sirius. To feel safe with him. How you allowed yourself to have feelings for him. It was something you had kept yourself safe from your entire life and this was why. This horrible feeling that you refused to call heartbreak. You were a goddamn descendant of Slytherin. You should not fall to the folly of weak emotions. 

But the warmth of your blankets and softness of your pillows kept you in their grasps. You thanked that reasonable part of your brain for the single moment of clarity last night. You would not be able to work in this state. So, you allowed yourself to wallow, drifting in and out of sleep until well past noon. 

An irritable tapping on your window woke you up midafternoon. It was incessant. It was loud. You couldn’t ignore it. It simply wasn’t going away.

Disgruntled, you got up and went to your window. An owl. A goddamn owl was tapping your window, insisting that it be let in to deliver the letter attached to its leg. You cracked the window open just enough for the bird to fit through. It landed on your desk and held out its leg. You removed the letter, dropped it on the desk without looking at it and held out your arm.

“Let’s get you a treat and send you on your way, hmm?” 

The owl seemed to understand you as it hopped to your arm. You winced slightly as its claws dug into your arm. You carried the bird out of your room and to your kitchen. The bird happily accepted the treat you poured out of a container you had for your own owl. Then you tried to release it out of the closest window. It stayed on your arm. You frowned at it and it stuck out its leg, as if to signal to you that it was to return with a response.

“Off you go. I’ll respond later if I must,” you told it. 

You stuck your arm out of the window and gave it a little shake. Reluctantly, the owl took flight. You closed the window with a sigh and went back to your room. You ignored the letter the owl had brought and crawled back into bed. Whatever it was, it could wait. 

---

Sirius jumped up from the table as soon as his owl started tapping on the window. Remus and Harry watched as he opened the window and then sighed. He pet the bird and let it go hunt or whatever it wanted. 

“Write to someone?” Remus asked, returning his gaze to his dinner. Obviously Sirius had written to someone if he sent his owl out.

“Yeah… She didn’t bother to respond.” Sirius sat back down at the table and stabbed the vegetables on his plate. 

Harry, unaware of the sudden tenseness between his uncles, pushed his own dinner around his plate. He would eventually tell them that despite only eating half of his dinner, that he was full, and then he’d ask for pudding in an hour. 

“Please tell me you didn’t write to Smith,” Remus said, rubbing his temples. 

“I can’t do that, Moony.” He shook his head. “She didn’t burn me; I burned her.”

“That shouldn’t bother you. If she’s still alive… she hasn’t been burned enough.” 

Sirius raised his eyes to glare at Remus. Remus’ opinions on you hadn’t changed since he showed Sirius the Daily Prophet article. Sirius’ feelings toward you had changed, or rather, they became acknowledged. He hadn’t realized how much he looked forward to your bar chats, how they thrilled him, how he didn’t care if you ended up dueling from time to time.

“Moony…” Sirius warned, his voice dropping lower as he snuck a quick glance toward Harry.

“Padfoot. Come to your senses, mate. She’s not someone you should be spending time with.” 

The short exchange was charged enough for Harry to pick up that something is wrong. He looks from Remus to Sirius and back. Their intense stares are something he can’t quite comprehend. Semi-nervously, he ate more of his dinner until there were only a few scraps leftover. He knew his uncles were talking about a girl and it wasn’t good. Their tones told him that he should just be well-behaved and keep his head low for the evening. 

“Go play, Harry,” Remus said once he saw that Harry had nearly cleaned his plate. “Maybe some pudding later.”

Harry nodded and left the dining room faster than he ever had.

“Padfoot, her father killed James and Lily. She did more than her fair share of tormenting. She’s as bad as every Death Eater in Azkaban,” Remus said. His face was flushed with frustration. “And you’re writing her and getting drinks with her and being all buddy-buddy. You do see how this is a problem, yes?” 

“I told you this before. I’m giving her a second chance and she’s been good. She’s not as bad as you paint her out to be.”

“What part of she tormented people are you missing? Have you actually gone mental after all these years?” 

Sirius scoffed. “Maybe I’ve gone soft, but is that so bad?”

“Yes.” Remus’ voice was so firm that Sirius almost flinched. 

Sirius’ fork scraped against his plate. It cut through the tension in the air but did nothing to defuse it. Remus, having finished his dinner, got up to put his and Harry’s dishes in the sink. There was a heavy feeling of disappointment hanging in the room, coming from both of the men as each wanted the other to see what they thought was the light. Remus sighed heavily as put his hands on the back of his chair. 

“Get a grip on yourself, Padfoot. We are all that Harry has and I can’t let you throw that away.”

Sirius thought that mentioning Lily’s sister would have made things worse so he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t think seeing you really affected his relationship with Harry. If anything, maybe he could teach Harry about forgiveness and allowing people second chances if things worked out between you and Sirius. Sirius just needed you to agree to see him again.

---

You forget about the letter for the rest of the day. You remember it as you’re getting ready for work the next morning, grabbing it off your desk right before you head out the door. It doesn’t take you long to get to work. The short walk is enough time for you to read the letter. At first, you didn’t recognize the handwriting. It wasn’t anyone you were related to or any of your past friends. But as soon as you got past your name at the top of the page, you knew it from Sirius. 

He wanted to meet again. He apologized for how he acted and said he wants to explain himself in person. He said what he needed to say to you was better said in person. It wasn’t a long letter per se, but it was fairly well written. Beyond that, it was beautiful. Gorgeous sloping handwriting in dark blue ink. You figured that Walburga had trained him and Regulus when they were young; you vaguely remember Regulus having pretty handwriting the few times you sat next to him while studying. 

The contents of the letter repeated in your mind as you did the menial tasks that were your job. The shop wasn’t too busy. You allowed yourself to reread it several times, shoving it back into your pocket if your manager or a customer approached you. Every time they walked away, your mind was back on Sirius. 

It’d been less than 48 hours since he kissed you in the alley. It didn’t seem like enough time to come to your senses; you were still feeling hurt by his reaction after he kissed you. 

“I shouldn’t look at you like that.”

If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t think Sirius had looked at you in a way that said admiration or affection. You thought it was all platonic coming from him. You wouldn’t have been surprised if you did look at him with looks of admiration and affection though. He was effectively your best friend and the best person in your life right now. Even if you hated to admit it, it made sense that you fell for him. He filled you with something exhilarating every time you dueled because of something one of you said, something too heated for each of you to process. He was as attractive as he had been back at Hogwarts, only now it was less boyish and more man-like. He had grown into himself. 

And you? Well, you were still Voldemort’s daughter. It doesn’t matter that you’ve only ever been a Smith, rather than a Riddle. It didn’t matter how skilled you were, how pretty you were nor how fun you were to be around. You are who you are. Although, you wouldn’t change your bloodline if you could. It made you into who you are – it gave you determination, brilliance and grit. 

“Smith, sweep out front and wipe down the windows. Then you can go,” your manager called from behind the counter. 

“Alright. Thanks!”

You’re sure the manager could tell that you were a tad distracted today. He wasn’t usually one to let you go early, but you’d take it today. Maybe he thought you were still ill. You didn’t call in sick yesterday. 

As you finished your final tasks of your shift, you started to draft your response to Sirius in your mind. You’d see him, even if it was just one last time. You wanted some kind of closure. It also wouldn’t hurt if you got into one more duel; maybe he’d finish you off like you had expected when he first ran into you at the bar. You didn’t want to come off as hurt in your letter. It’d be too weak. You weren’t going to let Sirius see how much he affected you. Well, you weren’t going to let him read it. Whatever you did when you saw him again would be a different story. 

When you sat down at your desk, you stared at the parchment in front of you without a quill or ink well. The urge to respond had vanished into thin air. Confusion and hurt had planted a seed in you and it had grown into Devil’s Snare, gripping you so tight that you felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

Did you really want to see Sirius again? Did he actually want to see you? What could he say to excuse what he said? Was there something he could say that would allow you to forgive him and let him back into your life? Did Sirius want to still be in your life? 

You sighed and with shaky hands, reached your quill and ink. You reminded yourself to write with a firm, indifferent tone. You’d agree to meet up again. You’d tell him when and where; it was going to be on your terms. You didn’t say if you accepted his apology or not since that would be more or less decided when you saw him. 

You folded the letter and sealed it before fetching your owl. You attached the letter to its leg and opened the window.

“Sirius Black. Don’t wait for a response or payment.” 

The owl chirped in the way a private responds to their commander. The owl took off into the evening sky, soaring above the London skyline. You watched until the bird disappeared. You left the window open for its return and then disappeared into your kitchen to make dinner. 

Sirius was sitting in the back garden watching Harry play when your owl found him. His face lit up when he opened the letter and saw it was from you. He couldn’t be more glad that he was outside with Harry rather than inside with Remus; Remus would immediately know who the letter was from and berate him for it. Sirius quickly read the letter. And then he reread it. It wasn’t until after his third readthrough that he noticed your owl disappeared. 

“Am I not to respond?” Sirius asked no one in particular.

“Padfoot?” Harry called from his play structure.

“Nothing, sport. Talking to myself.”

Sirius looked down at the parchment again, staring at your handwriting. It was neat and small. Quite different from his, but clearly written with purpose. He sighed as he folded up the parchment and slid it in his pocket. He hoped that Harry wouldn’t bring up this incident to Remus. He didn’t need his friend to remind him how horrible of a decision he thought this was.

He was surprised two days later when he was able to slip out of the house without running into Remus. Usually his friend sat in the front room reading a book after dinner. Not tonight for some reason and Sirius wasn’t complaining. He didn’t need to answer to Remus, but they were co-parenting Harry and they had to work together. 

But rather than facing an interrogation, Sirius was able to holler “I’m heading out,” to the house and then close the front door loudly.

You were already at the pub, swirling a half-drank drink with a few melted ice cubes, when Sirius arrived. You focused on your drink intently to prevent yourself from checking the door every few seconds for him. So focused that you didn’t see him enter. You didn’t see him until after he ordered himself a drink and slid into the seat across from you at the high-top table. 

“Thank you,” Sirius said immediately after sitting down. “For meeting with me again. I… I know we left things on, ah, not great terms.”

You scoffed and took a sip. “Not great terms. That’s one way to put it.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who left.”

“You’re the one who kissed me and then said you shouldn’t like me.”

Sirius pressed his lips together. You were right, you both knew that. 

“I know. And I can’t take that back.”

You tilted your head with a slight frown. “Then why are we here?”

“I let Remus get into my head. He showed me the article. He’s been trying to convince me that you aren’t worth forgiveness. He tells me that I’m going to get burned.”

“Only your clothing,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, but he heard you and laughed. 

“I actually told him that. But I let Remus and his opinions of you get into my head rather than trusting my gut.” He inhaled deeply. “You are worthy of forgiveness, second chances, whatever you want to call it. And if I could get Remus to have a drink with us sometime, I’m sure we could get him to see-”

“I’m not here to talk about Lupin,” you said firmly, cutting Sirius off. “I get it. You live with the bloke and he means a lot to you. But why did you kiss me? If you can’t handle possibly having feelings for me, why kiss me?”

“The article. The gossip article and its damn picture. I didn’t realize how much I like you.”

“You like me but you can’t like me? Make some fucking sense, Black. I’d rather not regret coming out tonight.” 

“I like you.” A statement. Solid and unwavering with the tone of genuinity. “I guess I needed some time to come to terms with it and realize that I care for you.” 

You took a sip from your sweating glass to avoid saying something.

“I haven’t cared for someone like this in a long time. Not this much. And yes, most of your past and your blood say that I should be running for the hills, but I’m not. I like this person sitting in front of me and all that doesn’t matter.”

“What now then?” you asked, maintaining your indifferent tone despite the way your heart was pounding in your chest. You were still determined to keep your cards close to your chest for as long as you could.

This time it was Sirius’ turn to swirl his drink and take a sip. You didn’t say anything more. You needed him to answer. 

“I guess… Do you like me as more than a casual drinking buddy? Did you… enjoy our kiss?”

Sirius Black sounding nervous always amused you. It was so out of character for him. 

“Well…” you said, dragging out the ‘L’ to prolong Sirius’ wait. “That kiss in fifth year wasn’t great.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “The more recent one.”

“Oh, that one. Hmm, yes. That one was enjoyable while it lasted.” 

The corners of your lips twitched slightly as you fought your smile. Sirius, however, didn’t bother to fight his. He grinned widely at that before lowering his chin.

“So are we drinking buddies with benefits or are we… I don’t know, committed? Together? Seeing each other romantically?” 

You laughed and Sirius brightened even more. The sound carried over the chatter from the tables near you and drew a few looks. 

“Can you handle being my boyfriend?”

“I sure as hell want to try.”

“Try not to break my heart then?”

“I’m not planning on it.” 

“Good. Then order another round before I start bitching about my manager.”

tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007, @galaxystern08, @corawithfanfiction, @azure-drag0ness, @arwenscarlettalisonsloaneb, @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable

Of course, as soon as you were popped out of the womb, you were left behind at Malfoy manor in the care of the same nanny that took care of your cousin, Draco. Your mother was too busy with being a Death Eater to care about a brat. Her words exactly.

And it's not like it matters anyway. The Malfoy's are good to you, even besides the fact that you are the Dark Lord's daughter. At first, they handled you with additional care. But after a while, they saw you more as a daughter than anything else. Especially aunt Cissy, who's always fussing over you.

The first time you were genuinely terrified was during the house sorting at Hogwarts. As a precaution, your last name was changed to Black, after your mother's maiden name. Having the surname of either Riddle or Lestrange was way too dangerous.

You can still remember the whispers as your name was called. 

"A Black?" "I didn't know a Black her age still existed." "Could she be the daughter of the mass murderer?"

A sort of relief went through your body as you were sorted into Slytherin. There was no doubt, being the heir of Slytherin nonetheless. But still, the fear of disappointing a father that you've never met was all too great, even for an eleven-year-old.

That same year you got the first letter from your father. He wrote how proud he was of you for being sorted into Slytherin and that he expected big things from you. Thanks, dad, no pressure at all.

During your second year, you heard all kinds of weird whispers as you moved about the castle. It was then that you discovered that you could speak Parslemouth. The giant murder snake in the sewers was not as scary as many believed. Of course, as she was murdering muggle-borns, you felt guilty and tried to forbid her to do so. But the Basilisk couldn't help her nature.

After everything happened with the Chamber of Secrets, you went to Dumbledore and confessed everything, from your true parentage and being a Parslemouth. You cried while asking the headmaster to not expel you.

"My dear child", said Dumbledore calmly, producing a handkerchief out of thin air, "you have nothing to worry about. If I learned one thing throughout my long life, I've learned that parentage could mean nothing. If you let it mean nothing."

He did make you promise to give him every letter your father would send. You agreed without hesitating for a moment.

Third-year was uneventful. You stayed as far away from the Golden Trio as possible, knowing that Sirius Black was after Harry at the time. It proved difficult as they ─ especially Harry ─ were constantly around you. Even at remote parts of the castle, when you needed some time alone from all the stares and whispers, he seemed to find you.

You sniff, burying your face into your hands. Some sixth-year Gryffindor made you fall down a flight of stairs with a spell and scattered all your stuff around the ground. 

Suddenly, a pair of feet appear in front of you and you jump up, raising your wand in defence. Harry Potter looks at you with wide eyes and your schoolbag in his hands.

You drop your wand and turn away, wiping away a stray tear. "What do you want, Potter?" The words come out harsh, just like you see your cousin do all the time.

The boy in question shuffles awkwardly from his left foot to his right. "Are you... are you okay? I saw what happened." He holds out your bag and you take it.

You mumble out, "thanks", and you stand awkwardly across from each other. You fumble with the straps of your bag while Harry plays with his tie.

"I don't think you're like him at all", he suddenly blurts out, making you look up at him with wide eyes. "Like your dad. Sirius Black."

You stiffen. "O-oh no! Sirius isn't my dad. I'm- we're cousins... I think."

"Oh..." Harry's face heats up, obviously embarrassed.

After that rather awkward encounter, every time someone tried to trip you over or bully you, he was there to stop it. Draco was obviously not happy about it and you begged him to not tell uncle Lucious.

And that's how we arrive at your fourth year. Or, actually less than a month before the new term.

"Hey, Bowtruckle, are you awake?" Draco waves his hand in front of your face, obviously annoyed that you didn't listen to whatever he was raging about.

You snap up and turn to look at him, raising one eyebrow in annoyance. "What?"

Draco rolls his eyes and points outside the carriage. A sigh leaves your lips as you see that you've arrived at the Quidditch World Cup finale. To be completely honest, you don't care that much for Quidditch. But Draco does, and Uncle Lucius cares for your public appearance, so you were forced to go.

Climbing out of the carriage, you stretch out your arms and breath in the fresh August air. Everywhere you look are wizards from all over the world, people flying and zooming around on brooms, flags waving proudly. 

You trail behind the two Malfoy's as they strut up the steps, showing off their badges that Lucius got from the Minister proudly.

Suddenly, Lucius spots a familiar family of red-heads, a smirk forming on his face.

A sigh leaves your lips as he and Draco brag about having seats in the Minister's box. Your eyes lock with Harry's and a small smile forms on your face, raising your hand subtly to wave at him. He returns the gesture with an equally shy smile. 

Draco seems to notice whatever's going on between Harry and you and he janks at your arm, pulling you behind him. "Keep your filthy blood traitor eyes away from my cousin, Potter", he spits in Harry's direction as he pulls you along.

Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you move along to the box and take place in the far-most corner of all the seats. Ignoring the looks both Draco and uncle Lucius give you, you stare at the stadium and see the Irish and Bulgarian teams flying around.

As the match continues, and the crowd gets rowdier, you grab a pair of binoculars and look around the stadium. Most people are boring. Here and there are a couple of interesting figures, but nothing more.

Aiming the binoculars higher, you spot the Weasely family with Harry Potter, Hermoine Granger, and two others. They are having fun by the looks of it.

"You're lucky I caught you flirting with Potter instead of father", hisses Draco in a whisper, making you roll your eyes while still peering out of the binoculars.

Glaring at him, you grumble back, "I wasn't... flirting."

He looks at you incredulously before clasping his hands together and fluttering his eyelashes.

You scoff and give his shoulder a shove. "Come off it, you twat."

As you and Draco squabble a bit louder than desired, uncle Lucious snaps his attention to you. He clears his throat and you immediately break apart, cowering under his hard glare. "What... did I say?", he spats.

"Do behave", you both mumble, looking down.

Uncle Lucius gives you one last look before turning back around, resuming conversation with some ministry person. Your cousin and you both share a glance before focusing back on the game. 

The match ended with Ireland winning over Bulgaria by 170 to 160. But Draco and you don't get a chance to enjoy the festivities as uncle Lucius shoves you into a carriage.

"Why can't we stay?", you ask with a frown and produce the same puppy eyes that always work on your uncle.

Not this time, apparently. Lucius gives you a sharp look. "Because I am your uncle and I said so." Giving Draco a piercing look, he slams the carriage shut and sends it on its way.

Slumping down on the seat, you fold your arms over each other.

"You are only making things harder for yourself", muses Draco as he sits back, plucking an old Daily Prophet from the seat next to him.

You opt to ignore his remark and stare out of the window for the rest of the ride home.