Sirius Black

The storm had rolled in fast, rumbling like something ancient and angry just beyond the clouds. Rain hammered the windows in relentless rhythm, and the old walls of the house seemed to creak beneath the weight of the wind. Sirius sat curled on the couch, a half-read book in his lap, but his eyes kept flickering toward the hallway. You hadn’t come back from your bath. He tried to tell himself you were just taking your time—maybe soaking in the water, letting the warmth soothe the ache in your back and the weight of the pregnancy. But something in him stirred with unease. You usually called out to him. Even just a soft “Siri?” if the thunder got too loud. But now, the only thing he heard was the storm. He set the book down and rose, moving quietly through the dimly lit hallway. The light from the bathroom spilled out in a soft golden stream, and the door stood just slightly ajar.