Imagine Book 2

Squatter- Sirius Black (Harry Potter)

Fem Y/N

The rain pelted down in relentless sheets as Y/N clutched the hood of her soaked cloak closer to her face, her heart racing with each frantic step. London's dim streetlights offered little comfort, the shadows stretching long and menacing around her. She felt the telltale prickle at the back of her neck—the Death Eaters weren't far behind.

She needed a place to hide, somewhere they wouldn't think to look. Her feet led her instinctively, mind clawing for safety amidst the haze of fear. Then, it struck her. Grimmauld Place.

She'd been there before, years ago. A house steeped in pure-blood tradition, dark magic, and secrets—a place most people would avoid. But Y/N knew better. Despite its ominous reputation, it was a fortress, shrouded in protective enchantments. More importantly, no one would expect a supposed muggle-born sympathizer to seek refuge in the lion's den of the Black family.

As she approached, the buildings shifted, revealing the hidden Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. She exhaled sharply. The door creaked open as she whispered the old family incantation that had remained stubbornly etched in her memory. Inside, the house loomed as dark and oppressive as she remembered, the air thick with dust and memories.

The last time she'd stepped foot in this house, Regulus Black had been her closest confidant. He'd invited her here under the guise of studying, but they both knew it was to escape their suffocating families. Sirius had been a fleeting figure then, a storm of rebellion she could never quite understand. He'd sneer at her, throw barbed comments, and yet, his eyes lingered a little too long.

She shook the memories away, focusing on the present. For now, she was alone. The silence was both a comfort and a torment as she carefully explored the familiar halls. Y/N found herself drawn to the sitting room, where a fire still crackled faintly in the hearth, as if waiting for someone to return. But the house was empty. Save for maybe Kreacher, but if he knew she was there, he didn't reveal himself.

Exhausted and soaked to the bone, she curled up on the worn sofa, her head spinning. The adrenaline that had kept her moving began to wane. She let herself close her eyes, just for a moment.

__

The sound of heavy footsteps startled her awake.

Y/N bolted upright, wand clutched in her hand. She hadn't heard anyone Apparate, which meant whoever was here had the same intimate knowledge of this house as she did. A voice, low and rough with age, called out from the hall.

"Who's there? Show yourself."

Her stomach flipped. She knew that voice.

Sirius Black stepped into the sitting room, his grey eyes sharp, his jaw set in that defiant tilt she remembered so well. His hair was longer, streaked with grey, and his face bore the wear of Azkaban's horrors, but he was unmistakably Sirius.

His gaze locked on hers, and for a long moment, neither spoke.

"You," he finally said, his voice flat. "Of all people..."

She tensed, bracing for the tirade she'd anticipated ever since she decided to hide here.

"You look terrible," he added, his tone unexpectedly soft.

Her brows knit together in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"You're soaked through," he said, gesturing to her wet cloak and the mud smeared across her boots. "When's the last time you ate?"

Y/N blinked, at a loss for words. She'd expected anger, accusation—maybe even the demand that she leave immediately. Instead, Sirius was scrutinizing her like she was some fragile thing in need of care.