Sirius Black
He reclined lazily in an old armchair in the Gryffindor common room, tilting backward and precariously balancing on only two legs. His elegant, lustrous dark hair fell across his brow, naturally exuding an effortless grace that not even James could emulate. Narrowing his striking grey eyes, he watched the Slytherin students passing across the lawn outside the window. His expression carried an innate arrogance and boredom, yet the corner of his mouth curved into an easy, untamed smirk.
Inwardly, he thought: let those old bats keep clinging to their mouldering pure-blood dogmas and rot away in the mud. He might have been born with the Black name, but he would never let it become his shackles. As long as he was with James, he wouldn't care if they tore the roof off Hogwarts—life felt utterly glorious just like this.
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