Chapter Text
October, 1977 — Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Veira Kaia Hecat knew she shouldn't do it.
Skipping Professor McGonagall's class was practically begging for trouble, the kind of trouble that usually came with a pointed lecture and a week of detention polishing trophies. But as she sat at her house table that morning, picking half-heartedly at toast and pretending to listen to her classmates' chatter, she felt an unshakable weight in her chest — a restlessness too sharp to ignore.
Transfiguration could wait one morning.
Besides, she reasoned, she was already weeks ahead on the material. McGonagall would hardly miss one Slytherin buried at the back of the classroom, taking meticulous notes as always.
So Veira waited until the first bell echoed through the enchanted ceiling and the hall began to empty. She slipped out of the Great Hall, her steps soundless on the stone floor, her green-and-silver tie tucked into her robes to avoid catching attention. Seventh year hadn't made her braver, only more careful — and sometimes, careful meant knowing exactly how to avoid being seen.
She took the south stairwell, passing the old tapestries that smelled faintly of dust and cleaning charms, and ducked into a lesser-used corridor that wound behind the Charms classroom. Students rarely came here unless they were late to Flitwick's lessons. Today, it felt like the perfect place to disappear.
Her heart beat faster — not from fear, but from the illicit thrill of choosing her own morning. The castle air was cool, the torches flickered, and her footsteps echoed just enough to remind her she was alone.
She exhaled, letting her shoulders relax, almost smiling and had exactly two seconds to register a blur of black robes turning the corner before she crashed directly into them.
A loud thud. An indignant yelp. And then she found herself on the floor, robes tangled, hair falling over her eyes.
"Oh for— Bloody hell," a familiar voice groaned. "Watch it, would you?"
Veira shoved her hair aside just in time to see Sirius Black rubbing his shoulder, wincing like she'd knocked him into a wall.
"I did watch," she retorted sharply as she stood. "You were the one barreling around the corner like a Hippogriff with a death wish."
Sirius stopped rubbing his shoulder and blinked at her as if surprised she had an opinion.
"Oh. Hecat." His voice softened, just a touch. "Didn't expect to see you skulking about this early. Shouldn't you be in Transfiguration?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Shouldn't you be in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
His grin — the infamous, infuriating Black grin — appeared instantly. "You first."
"Skipping a class isn't automatically skulking," she said primly, brushing dust off her robes.
"Ah, so you are skipping." Sirius leaned against the wall as though settling in for a chat, one eyebrow raised in triumph.
Veira crossed her arms. "Everyone skips something at least once."
"That sounds like a confession."
"It sounds like none of your business."
Sirius chuckled, a low warm sound that reverberated faintly in the narrow corridor. "Fair enough."
They hadn't spoken more than a handful of words to each other in seven years. She was a Slytherin. He was a Gryffindor. Their social circles orbited in entirely different universes. But Hogwarts was a strange machine — occasionally, the gears shifted, and students collided in unexpected places.
"So," Sirius said, pushing off the wall and nodding toward the dim corridor stretching behind her. "Any reason you're sneaking around secret passageways at—" he checked his watch, "—nine twenty-eight in the morning?"
Veira hesitated. She wasn't used to volunteering personal information, especially not to someone who often hurled it like ammunition. But Sirius wasn't teasing now. He looked genuinely curious.
"Transfiguration has become... repetitive," she said carefully. "I needed a break."
"McGonagall repetitive? That's a new one."
"You wouldn't understand," she muttered.
"Try me."
She considered him for a moment. He was annoyingly handsome, but also observant in a way that made people uncomfortable. Still... something about his expression made her believe he wasn't looking for a joke at her expense.
"I understand the theory too well," she finally said. "I need to learn something different today. Something that isn't in a syllabus."
Sirius blinked slowly, as though processing the idea that someone might skip class for intellectual reasons.
"Well," he said, "that's considerably more noble than my excuse, which is mostly that our DADA professor smells like boiled cabbage and I refuse to learn anything from a man who sweats while sitting still."
Veira snorted before she could stop herself.
It caught Sirius off guard. His face cracked into a smile — a genuine one, not the one he wore like armor.
"Huh," he said softly. "Didn't know you could laugh."
"I usually don't." She tugged at her sleeve. "People tend to assume something's wrong if I do."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? You lot spend half your time assuming Slytherins are plotting murders in their spare time."
"That's only the fourth-years," he corrected. "The seventh-years have upgraded to global domination."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now, faintly.
Sirius shifted his weight. "So. Where are you headed? You look like you're on a mission."
"Not a mission," she said. "I just want the castle quiet for a bit. Maybe the library. Maybe the courtyard if it's empty."
"Ah. You're chasing silence."
She considered that. "Maybe."
Sirius nodded thoughtfully, then jerked his chin down the corridor. "Mind if I walk with you? I wasn't headed anywhere in particular, and you look less likely to get me caught."
She raised a brow. "And what makes you think I'd agree to that?"
His grin returned, softer this time. "Because I'm already walking with you."
Veira opened her mouth to object, but he fell into step beside her, hands in his pockets, steps loose and confident yet oddly quiet for a boy known to thunder through corridors. She could have told him to leave. She didn't.
They walked in companionable silence, passing a set of tall windows spilling pale October light onto the stone floor. Dust floated like tiny stars in the sunbeams. Outside, the Forbidden Forest stood dark and windless, the leaves not yet fallen.
"So," Sirius said after a minute, "you said you wanted to learn something that isn't in a syllabus. What does that mean?"
Veira tugged at her robes, a nervous habit. "It means sometimes the things worth learning don't have instructions. Sometimes they're in the in-between places. The quiet ones."
"You sound like Remus when he's trying to explain poetry," Sirius said.
"Well, maybe poetry matters."
He seemed surprised by her answer — pleasantly so.
They reached the library doors sooner than she expected. The large carved wood panels towered above them, guardian-like. Veira hesitated, fingers brushing the handle.
"You don't have to come in," she said quietly.
"Are you kidding?" Sirius murmured. "This is the closest I've been to the library before noon in months."
"I wouldn't be proud of this," she said with a quiet laugh.
"I've been told worse."
She pushed open the door.
The library was nearly empty, as she'd hoped — just the smell of parchment, dust, and ink, and the gentle rustling of pages turning somewhere far in the back. The enchanted lanterns glowed softly overhead.
Veira stepped inside, breathing in the comforting scent of old books.
Sirius stopped just behind her, hands shoved in his pockets, his voice low. "So this is where you disappear to."
"Sometimes," she answered. "It's... peaceful."
He studied her for a moment — really studied her, as though memorizing a version of her she didn't often show. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time in his life, even though they had been classmates for six whole years.
"It suits you," he said quietly.
Veira tilted her head in surprise, and as she looked up at him, their eyes met. Perhaps for the first and last time in their lives, they thought the same thing: they had no idea what they saw in the other's eyes. Interest? Amusement? Scorn? Irritation?
She walked toward her usual table — tucked behind a shelf of ancient magical theory, away from the main aisle. She expected him to peel off, bored, but Sirius followed, settling into the chair opposite her with surprising ease.
He rested his boots on another chair.
"Feet down," she hissed automatically.
He obeyed — not out of fear, but amusement.
"You know," he said, leaning back, "I always thought you were... different."
"Different how?"
He shrugged. "Everyone else seems busy performing something. Faking something. You don't."
She blinked. "And you would know?"
"Oh yes," he smirked. "I'm an expert in faking things."
She studied him, seeing — for the first time — the thin fractures underneath the bravado. The tiredness. The strain of a boy raised by a family that tried very hard to break him.
"Maybe you don't have to fake things here," she said softly. "Not in the library."
Sirius looked at her as though she'd said something impossibly kind. The silence that followed was comfortable, like a blanket settling over them. Veira pulled a thick book toward herself, flipping to a familiar chapter, quill already in hand.
Sirius watched her for a moment before leaning back, arms behind his head.
"So this is what we're doing, then? You work, I... sit here uselessly? The thrilling life of academia?"
"You're free to leave."
"Not a chance."
She shook her head, suppressing another smile. And in that quiet, sun-dusted corner of the library — between the soft rustle of parchment and the steady sound of Sirius's breathing — Veira realized something unexpected. She didn't mind his company. Not at all. And Sirius Black, who had never stayed still for anyone, stayed.
"Are you just going to sit there and stare at me?" she asked, but she didn't look up. There was frustration in her voice.
"Am I disturbing you?" Sirius grinned, pleased, as if that was exactly what he was aiming for.
"Definitely," she snorted. "I repeat: you're free to leave."
"I'm having fun," he shrugged.
“Did you come here to bother me specifically?” she finally asked.
“No,” Sirius answered honestly. “But I think it’s a nice side effect.”
Veira stood up abruptly.
“Where are you going?” Sirius asked, rising as well.
“Somewhere quieter.”
Sirius followed, as if intent on making fun of Veira's frustration.
“That wasn’t an invitation for you to follow.”
He didn’t look ashamed. He didn’t even pause. “You’re not very good at escaping things.”
“This isn’t escaping.”
“It looks a bit like escaping.”
She exhaled in frustration — but not true anger. More the sort of exasperation that felt… oddly light.
“Fine,” she said through her teeth. “Walk with me if you must. But talk less.”
“No promises.”
He fell in beside her as they left the library, his strides matching hers with effortless familiarity. They walked through the second-floor corridor, past tapestries and draughty windows, the castle echoing with distant sounds of classes and shifting staircases.
She could feel him watching her — not intrusively, but as though her existence puzzled him in an unexpectedly interesting way. She gave him a look that should have turned him to stone. He only grinned.
Somehow — Veira would never be able to trace exactly how — they ended up climbing the narrow tower staircase beside the north wing. Maybe because she turned a corner and he didn’t object; maybe because the castle’s quietest places tended to be its highest.
Halfway up, Sirius said, “You know, for someone who says she wants quiet, you walk very quickly.”
“You talk very much.”
“Balance,” he said cheerfully.
By the time they stepped into the open-top platform of the Astronomy Tower, Veira had half-forgotten she was annoyed. The sky was overcast, pale clouds drifting low, brushing the edges of the battlements like wandering ghosts. A soft wind wrapped around them, cool and lifting.
Sirius exhaled, long and content. “Never gets old up here.”
Veira let her gaze sweep over the castle grounds, the Forbidden Forest stretching darkly beyond the lake. The world felt far away. Softer.
“It’s quieter,” she admitted.
He smiled sideways at her. “Better?”
“Yes,” she said before she could check herself.
Sirius leaned against the parapet, arms crossing loosely over his chest. They stood in the grey sunlight of autumn, neither rushing the silence that settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t even strange. It simply… was.
After a minute, Sirius spoke again — lighter this time. “So you’re a runner.”
“A what?”
“A runner. Someone who flees loud rooms for quiet ones.” He gestured vaguely. “You seem like that sort.”
“That’s not entirely incorrect,” Veira said.
“And you don’t like crowds.”
“They’re unproductive.”
“They’re loud.”
“That too.”
He looked at her again — really looked. The sunlight glinted around her, and Sirius caught a glimpse of her for the first time, as if she had only seen her briefly before. Her hair fell like a long, dark curtain down her back, the kind of black that the gray day lit up and tinged with silver at the edges. Her skin was pale, almost moonlight, so delicate that it seemed more sculpted than born. And her eyes — strange, striking — were a color he couldn’t name, somewhere between storm gray and green, sharp enough to be piercing and soft enough to be absorbing. She was slender, almost too slender, but she carried herself with a quiet elegance that made every little movement deliberate.
Sirius blinked once, slowly. There was something unusual about her. Unusual — and unforgettable.
Veira held his gaze without flinching. “And you? You run toward noise.”
“That obvious?”
“Yes.”
Sirius laughed under his breath. “I suppose so. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “you’re different up here.”
“Different how?”
“You look like you’re not waiting for something to snap.”
Veira went still.
He had noticed.
She hadn’t expected him to.
Before she could respond, Sirius cleared his throat lightly — like he knew he’d crossed too close to something he didn’t understand.
“So,” he said, quickly shifting tone, “if this wasn’t studying, and this wasn’t escaping, what exactly was it?”
Veira considered him — his unpolished honesty, the wind tossing his dark hair, the surprising gentleness under the usual bravado.
“An interruption,” she said.
Sirius tilted his head. “A good one?”
She hesitated. Then — very softly — “Yes.”
His smile in response wasn’t wide or teasing. It was small. Real. Almost grateful.
“Look at that cloud,” Sirius said suddenly, pointing toward a drifting mass overhead. “Tell me that doesn’t look exactly like McGonagall turning into a cat.”
Veira squinted. “More like McGonagall judging someone turning into a cat.”
He huffed a laugh. “Fair. She does have that look.”
A moment passed before she added, “There is a musty smell in the corridor of the Transfiguration room this year, by the way. I’ve filed a complaint.”
“You would,” he teased. “Personally, I think the second staircase to the west is the real menace. Tried to kill me twice.”
“It tried to save the school from your chaos,” she countered, the corner of her mouth lifting.
He nudged her shoulder lightly. “Fine. But at least agree the elves make the best blackberry pastries on Saturdays.”
Veira nodded solemnly. “Those are sacred. Even Slytherins don’t fight over the last one.”
“See?” Sirius grinned. “You and I can agree on something.”
This conversation felt strangely… easy. Not dangerous. Not dramatic. Just human.
When the bell rang from below, Veira gathered her things.
“We should go.”
“Yeah, we should...”
She walked toward the stairs. At the landing she turned back — just once. Sirius Black was watching the clouds again, his expression unreadable. Something warm flickered in Veira’s chest. She found herself thinking that maybe Sirius Black wasn't as horrible as she had thought for the past six years.
It was the first memory of Veira Hecat that Sirius had never managed to shake loose, no matter how many years had passed or how much life had carved itself into him. Even now — forty, tired, frightened of what was happening to magic — he could recall her with startling clarity: the way she had stood beneath the drifting clouds, the wind catching at her dark hair, her strange eyes reflecting the pale October sky.
He had thought then that he’d never really seen her before. Seventeen and arrogant, adored by half the school, Sirius Black had lived his life surrounded by girls who wanted him for the same glittering, shallow reasons. A smile, a laugh, a night, and then nothing. But Veira… Veira had been different. She hadn’t blushed around him or giggled at his charm. She hadn’t tried to impress him. She hadn’t even looked at him the way others did.
She saw past the swagger and bravado — to something he hadn’t known she could see.
And he, in turn, hadn’t seen the brilliant duelist or the infamous prodigy or the stubborn, sharp-tongued Slytherin the school whispered about. That day on the Astronomy Tower, he had simply seen a girl. A young witch searching for her place in a world too vast and too cruel, just as lost and hopeful as any of them. Human. Real. And that caught him.
And that memory, soft as it was, had been the beginning of everything — years before either of them realized it.
Sirius exhaled shakily and pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, the fire crackling low beside him in Grimmauld Place’s drafty drawing room.
They needed Veira Hecat.
And for the first time in twenty-one years, he knew he would have to face the girl he had once found beneath the clouds — and the woman she had become since the world took everything from her.