The Son of Mystery - Harry Potter Male Insert

Poison

The front door of Grimmauld Place creaked as it swung open, the heavy wood groaning like it had a mind to refuse entry to anyone, even to him. Y/N stepped over the threshold, his breath misting in the cold air of the darkened hallway. The familiar scent of aged wood, dust, and a faint trace of something unidentifiable - perhaps remnants of  old magic - washed over him. But, the usual sense of dread that had filled him since the summer was now replaced and overpowered by something else: a hollow, echoing emptiness.

He stood there for a moment, letting the silence envelop him. The house, once full of chaotic energy that came with having Sirius around last year when it was occupied by the Weasley's and the rest of the Order for the summer, now felt like a tomb. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind through the cracks in the windows, seemed to mock him, reminding him again that Sirius would never stride down these halls with his carefree swagger, never again toss him a lopsided grin or ruffle his hair when he thought he wasn't paying attention. 

Y/N exhaled slowly, the weight of the last few months pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had been dreading this moment, the inevitable return to the place that had once been a sanctuary but was now a reminder of everything that he had lost. The summer holidays were supposed to be a time of warmth, of family. But here he was, standing alone in the dark, a void where his father should be. 

His steps echoed softly as he moved further into the house. The walls seemed closer than before, like they were closing in on him, trapping him in his own memories. He couldn't stop his mind from replaying that moment, the moment he had called out to Sirius, the one word he had never managed to say before: "Dad."

He had said it. He had finally said it. And in doing so, he had sealed his father's fate.

The guilt was a constant, gnawing presence, a beast that lurked in the shadows of his mind, whispering that it was his fault no matter how many times he had been told it wasn't. If he had just stayed silent, if he had just kept fighting, Sirius would still be here. He wouldn't had been distracted. He wouldn't had been hit by that curse. He could have done something, anything, differently, and maybe things would have been different. 

But no amount of wishing or what-ifs could change what had happened. Sirius was gone, and Y/N was left behind, drowning in guilt and the unbearable ache of missing him. 

He paused at the foot of the staircase, his hand resting on the bannister, the wood cold under his fingers. His eyes drifted up the stairs, towards his room that Sirius had spent months fixing for him, memories flooded him of shared laughter, plans made, and even the occasional argument. All of that felt like a lifetime ago, before everything had spiralled. 

And then there was Ginny. 

The thought of her sent his head even more. His feelings for her had always been a tangled mess, a web that he couldn't quite untangle. She was with Dean, that should have been the end of it. But every-time he saw her, every-time their eyes met across the room, or she smiled in that way that made his heart race, the feelings came rushing back, stronger, more insistent. 

It wasn't fair. None of this was. He shouldn't be feeling this, not when everything had been falling apart around him. Not when he had lost so much already. But he couldn't help it. She was always there, at the edge of his thoughts, he couldn't shake her no matter how hard he tried. 

Y/N gritted his teeth, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him like a second skin. He had more important things to be worrying about, more pressing concerns. But here, in the emptiness of Grimmauld Place, with nothing but his thoughts for company, those feelings, guilt, longing, sorrow, came crashing over him, a sea of emotions he had no idea how to deal with anymore.