black | sirius black

Skepticism At 2AM

Maybe we just found forever at the wrong time, and someday, time will pull us back together again.

She didn't realize that she had forgotten how his voice sounded.

His jet-black hair, once sleek and unruly, now hung in limp, greasy strands that framed a face etched with the lines of suffering and despair.

Gone was the roguish charm that had defined Sirius in his youth. His hollow cheeks accentuated sunken eyes, which held a haunted, distant gaze that spoke of the horrors he had witnessed within the prison's walls.

The spark that used to dance in those eyes had dimmed, replaced by a weariness that seemed to penetrate his very soul. His skin, once fair and smooth, had taken on a pallor that hinted at long periods of confinement and exposure to the elements. The angular features that had once exuded confidence now seemed sharp and gaunt, as if carved by the cruel passage of time.

The tattered remains of Azkaban's standard-issue prison robes clung to his emaciated frame, barely concealing the toll that years of isolation and despair had exacted.

Sirius moved with a ragged, almost feral quality, his body bearing the scars– both physical and emotional– of a man who had endured the darkest corners of the wizarding world. Yet, amidst the ruin of his former self, there lingered a glimmer of determination in Sirius Black's eyes. It was a silent declaration that, despite the physical decay and the weight of his past, he was not entirely broken.

"Black, do not get closer," Evan warned, his wand already pointing at the man.

Sirius seemed unfazed, his hollow gaze dead set on Remus and Jayce.

"Evan, calm down–"

"Go," Evan muttered.

As if they had discussed a plan to execute during a situation like this, Jayce immediately bolted upstairs.

Harry.

Sirius inched forward, almost as if trying to reach out to her, but Evan's defensive stance prevented him from even looking at her.

He had to remember her longer than he had known her.

"Sirius."

Remus's soft voice distracted Sirius from his thoughts.

Something he yearned for: his thoughts to finally be interrupted by something.

"Remus, we cannot take any chances." Evan's arm was still stretched out like he was frozen in time.

Remus felt a tidal wave of emotions crashing over him. Shock, disbelief, and a surge of long-suppressed hope warred within him.

Evan, however, remained stoic, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the unexpected visitor.

"Sirius?" Remus uttered, his voice barely a whisper.

The man before them seemed a mere specter, his eyes hollow yet retaining a glint of recognition.

The years in Azkaban had etched a painful narrative on his features.

Evan, ever the pragmatist, spoke first. "How do we know it's really you, Black? Anyone could impersonate—"

"I can prove it," Sirius interrupted, his eyes locking on Remus. "Remember that time at Hogwarts when we snuck into the Forbidden Forest?"

His voice.

It felt new, raspy– almost as if it was his first time speaking in twelve fucking years.

And even Sirius seemed to be taken aback with the way his voice sounded.