scars || sirius black

47 - chancer

Over the next couple of months, the war began to creep into every aspect of their lives. Hogsmeade trips were cancelled, Dumbledore spent hours teaching them defensive magic and the newspapers were filled with reports of kidnappings and murders.

There was an inevitability in it, a sureness of what was to come. Like soldiers marching to the war front, they studied and practised spells in the common room until late into the night, reading up on the latest invisibility spells and how to detect someone using Polyjuice potion.

With heavy resignation, Sirius got used to none of the other students being able look him in the eye. They'd all heard the rumours of what had happened in the Christmas holidays, the Slytherins gleefully telling them how he'd murdered eight muggles on Christmas day and convinced the authorities he was under the imperius curse.

His dark mark bothered him more than he'd ever admit. Ignoring it was the only way of making sure they never won, proving that he couldn't be broken.

Like a drowning sailor to a life raft he depended on Emmy to keep him breathing, to keep his head above the water. She was the only one who knew exactly when he wanted to talk and when he just wanted someone to take his mind off the screaming in his head. And yet they couldn't be together, not openly anyway.

They tiptoed around the castle, sneaking halcyon hours together in the clock tower or entangled in each other in empty classrooms, but it wasn't what they ever wanted. He had to hide the Marauder's map any time he snuck out to meet her for fear the others might see their footprints.

He barely saw Regulus and they hadn't spoken since Christmas, but he had received plenty of letters from his mother detailing exactly why he was such a disgrace. They didn't bother him anymore, but occasionally, just occasionally she'd say something about his friends or how Regulus was to follow where he refused to lead and he would see red, unable to keep the sheer rage at bay.

On the bright side, quidditch practise was going better and they stood a good chance of beating Slytherin at the game on Saturday. James was working them into the ground and that, combined with their mountainous piles of schoolwork, left them completely exhausted.

The night before the match, he and Emmy had snuck up to the clock tower to escape the buzz of the common room. He lay his head on her lap as she sketched, counting the freckles that scattered like constellations across her nose.

She glanced down at him and smiled softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

"What're you thinking?" she murmured, as she smoothed the charcoal off her paper.

"How in love with you I am."

She rolled her eyes but moved down to kiss him again, lips in a broad smirk.

"Chancer," she muttered. "You know we probably should have gone back about an hour ago?"

"What difference is a couple more minutes going to make?"

"If we keep going, I'm not sure we'll stop."

"I could remind you to?" he grinned.

"You have the self-control of a three-day-old puppy, Sirius."

He laughed and pecked her neck softly.

"Come on then, let's go back. James might actually murder me if we don't get enough sleep before the match tomorrow."

He stood up and slung her satchel over his shoulder as she clambered to her feet and brushed the charcoal from her hands, tucking her sketch book away.

He checked the map before they left and spotted Filch walking nearby.