Post Azkaban Sirius Black X Reader - Blog Posts

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PostAzkaban!Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

Angst, fluff (comfort)

Summary: A chance encounter in Grimmauld Place leads Sirius Black and a former classmate to find solace in each other’s company.

AN: **spoilers, please skip this and head on over to the story if you don’t want spoilers** So I had no intention to sneak in the kiss but as I planned this out, I realised it flowed and sort of fit the vibe I was going for so I hope yall enjoy it.

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The dim lighting of Grimmauld Place cast long shadows across the hallway as you quietly made your way down the worn floorboards, your hand lightly brushing the wall. You hadn't been here long, only a few days helping with Order business, but the house still unsettled you. It was filled with history and weight—just like the man who lived there.

You paused at a door you hadn't noticed before, curiosity tugging at you, but before you could move, a low voice came from behind.

“You always had a habit of poking your nose where it didn’t belong.”

The sarcasm was unmistakable. You turned to find Sirius standing behind you, arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes held that familiar glint of mischief, but there was something else there too—something quieter, wearier.

“Sirius,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “I wasn’t—”

“Exploring?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Just taking a leisurely stroll through my family’s personal mausoleum?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, folding your arms defensively. “I wasn’t snooping. Just... familiarizing myself.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because walking around in the dead of night is the best way to get acquainted with a place.”

There was a beat of silence as his teasing words hung in the air. You studied him for a moment—the same Sirius Black you remembered from Hogwarts, but different, aged in ways that went deeper than the lines on his face. He still had that sharp wit, the biting humor, but you could see the exhaustion behind his eyes, the pain he kept hidden beneath the surface.

“Old habits die hard,” you said softly, stepping back from the door.

Sirius chuckled under his breath, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

The tension between you wasn’t hostile, but it was there—an unspoken understanding, a shared knowledge of darker times. He watched you closely as you moved toward the small window at the end of the hall, the moonlight barely illuminating the worn wood beneath your feet.

“I never really noticed you much at school,” he said suddenly, his tone less teasing, more thoughtful. “Slytherin, right?”

“Not exactly in your inner circle,” you replied quietly, looking out at the moonlit street. “But we had classes together.”

“I know.” He was closer now, though you didn’t turn to face him. You could feel his presence, the warmth of him standing just behind you. “You always seemed... different.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Not all Slytherins fit the mold.”

There was a pause, and then you heard him exhale softly. “I missed a lot, didn’t I?”

You finally turned to face him, catching the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he looked away. “We’ve all missed things.”

Sirius leaned back against the wall, arms still crossed, his usual smirk replaced with something more thoughtful, more tired. "Seems like all I’ve been doing since Azkaban is missing things. Time. People. Myself.”

His voice trailed off, and the rawness of it surprised you. There was no bravado here, no sarcasm to cover up the scars. Just him. Just Sirius. And for a moment, you saw the man beneath the layers of wit and pain.

“You’re still here,” you said quietly. “That counts for something.”

He gave a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Some days, I’m not so sure.”

You stepped forward, your hand reaching out without thinking, lightly brushing against his arm. He stiffened at the touch, his gaze snapping to yours, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d crossed a line. But then, something shifted in his expression—just the smallest crack in the walls he’d built around himself.

“You’re not alone, Sirius,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to be.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling between you. There was something in his eyes that spoke of years of isolation, of mistrust and pain, but also something else—a longing, buried deep, for connection.

Sirius let out a breath, his usual defenses faltering. “And what about you? Why are you here, really?”

You smiled faintly, stepping just a little closer. “Maybe I’m trying to remind you of what you still have.”

He looked down, shaking his head slightly, though there was a hint of something softer in his expression. “You’re too kind for this place. Too kind for me.”

You felt your heart tighten at that, the quiet self-deprecation in his voice cutting deeper than any of his sarcastic remarks had. Without thinking, you took another step closer, your hand finding his, your fingers brushing lightly against his.

Sirius looked down at the contact, then up at you, his gaze intense and searching. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you heavy with something unspoken. Then, almost imperceptibly, he squeezed your hand back, his touch tentative, as if he was afraid to let himself feel it.

“I’m not looking for a savior,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“I’m not offering to save you,” you replied softly. “Just to be here.”

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place, but before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you. The kiss wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was slow, careful—two people finding their way through the darkness together. His hand came up to cup your face, the touch surprisingly gentle, as though he wasn’t quite sure this was real.

And in that moment, you knew—he didn’t need saving. He just needed someone to be there with him, to remind him that there was still light, even in the shadows.