delicate ✷ sirius black

VII. the lion's den

"This is a bad idea, right?"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Pandora shrugged, dabbing petal-pink lip gloss over her pouted lips, mouth barely moving as she replied mildly, "Oh, most definitely."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Sadie stared at her boots resting beside her feet, chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees as she sat, slumped, on the edge of Pandora's bed. Her hair cascaded over her vision, streaks of fawn curling in her peripheral as she slowly wiggled her toes, the white cotton of her socks creasing and smoothing out, over and over. "Should we not go?"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Well, it'd be rather rude if we pull out now." Pandora smacked her lips together, running her eyes over her reflection in her vanity.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Sadie didn't quite have the energy to point out the contradictions of Pandora's advice, and instead focused on carefully slipping on her boots, pulling up the zippers as if the bones in her fingers were shattering with every centimetre of calf she hid within them.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Who bloody cares if it's rude?" Evan scoffed, sprawled across Pandora's bed with his knee knocking into Sadie's back every so often. He was still bitter from Slytherin's loss against Gryffindor in their Quidditch match yesterday—he broke his Beater's bat from slamming it onto the pitch too hard, and had been twitchy and snappy ever since. "You're walking into the literal lion's den. Just wag."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "We're already dressed, Evie," Pandora pointed out, tugging her hand-knitted cardigan over her slip dress and grabbing her tote bag from beside her brother. She raised her pencilled brows at him. "It's not too late for you to come."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Evan stared back at his sisterly blankly. "I'd rather shove my wand up my arse."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Pandora hummed, and chirped airily, "You'd probably like it, too."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ As Evan hurled a pillow violently at Pandora's innocent expression, Sadie stood up and straightened out her sienna-and-cream crochet dress, the gold-trimmed hem just brushing her mid-thigh. Sadie shook back her bell sleeves, glancing at her watch. "Should we go? I think it starts at eight."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Don't be early." Evan wrinkled his nose, kicking out a booted foot and tapping the backs of Sadie's knees. "You'll look like a kiss-arse."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Pandora tugged fiercely at one of Evan's locs, and he let out a whine. "Be quiet, Evie."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Sadie felt as if she'd swallowed one too many flakes of snow, and she had been infected with a frosty disease that was spreading claws of ice across her insides, causing her lungs to shrivel and her heart to seize painfully as if dunked into the coldest of lakes. Her chest heaved, as if trying to dislodge the snow flurrying within her sternum, and she swallowed down bitter winter as she attempted to keep her breathing even.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Brewing within the depths of her rotten mind were anxious whispers of the cruellest kind—conjuring up worst-case scenarios that did little to calm the snowstorm raging under her too-thin skin. She felt like she was trying to breathe icy water.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎What was wrong with her? Sadie had been to countless parties at Hogwarts—what had changed to make this one be any different, or worse?