The Bookshop

The Bookshop

Summary: Bouquet in hand, Sirius feels slightly more prepared to see her. A lot has happened in the last five years, and the two have a lot to catch up on.

Notes: Harry Potter universe, famous!AU, rockstar!Sirius x reader, oneshot; part two of The Linguist. Let me know if you like it! Part three coming soon ...

Part 1!

Fistfull of flowers collected and paid for, Sirius continued down the cobblestone alley, eyes peeled for his destination. He had visited Teliska & Rook’s Rare Books once before, when Y/N had first acquired a job at the small shop, but unfortunately hadn’t had the chance to revisit the cozy corner of Paris since. 

Sirius’s heart stuttered for a moment as he rounded another corner and spotted the bookshop; the sign’s gold lettering was crisp as ever despite the faded evergreen color surrounding it and the bay windows framing the tall oak door could probably do with some dusting, but otherwise, the shop was just as Sirius remembered it. He squinted at himself in the reflection of a bakery window, fixing his hair and rolling his shoulders back to fix his posture, holding the bouquet tightly in his left hand. With a breath that Sirius hoped sounded more confident than he felt, he made his way to Teliska & Rook’s Rare Books.

The heavy door opened with a groaning creak and the light tinkling of bells, and Sirius was immediately hit with the scent of old books. He nearly sneezed as a cloud of dust furled up from the ground, rubbing his nose furiously to rid himself of the feeling. 

Once he had recovered his bearings enough to look around, Sirius was surprised at the familiarity of everything. The shop was organized in the same manner it had been nearly five years ago, with one corner designated to modern reads, another serving as home to a cluttered cedar desk where patrons could check out, and the rest of the small building crammed full of bookshelves that reached from floor to ceiling. 

Closing the door behind him, Sirius tentatively stepped into the shop, which seemed alarmingly empty, and peered around. Truthfully, it seemed as if no one had stepped foot in the place in years. Sirius peered down one aisle of bookshelves, then another, until his eye caught on a familiar spine. Twelfth Night. Y/N’s favorite. She always found the classics a bit ridiculous, as her Muggle mother had made her read them all when she was of age, but Twelfth Night was “far too funny not to like”.

Sirius’s lips quirked up into a little grin, and he slid the volume off the shelf, opening it to a random page. To his mild surprise, this edition came with illustrations, though, upon closer inspection, Sirius guessed it wasn’t bought that way. Its previous owner seemed to have doodled the scenes in the margins, turning the book itself into a piece of art.

“Sérieux Noir?” An elderly man—Teliska of Teliska & Rook, if Sirius’ memory served him right—peered around the corner of the aisle in which Sirius stood, wide eyes magnified by Coke bottle glasses. “Sérieux, c’est toi?”

Sirius grinned. The man was very French and never could grasp that his name was ‘Sirius Black’ rather than ‘serious black’. 

“Oui, Monsieur. It’s been a while.”

“So it has, mon fils, so it has!” The lean man hobbled down the aisle towards Sirius, squeezing his shoulder with a falcon’s grip once he was within range. He looked to the bouquet in Sirius’ hand. “I assume you’re looking for our Y/N?”

Sirius smiled subconsciously. “Yes, I was.”

Teliska smiled knowingly. “She’s in the back. Elsie’s been getting sicker lately, so Y/N’s been drowning herself in work. You know how she gets.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sirius said as the old man guided him down an aisle, then down another towards the back of the shop. “Tell Ms. Rook I send my love.”

Teliska peered at Sirius, magnified eyes holding a grave sort of look, but nodded nonetheless. “I will.” The odd pair stopped at a plain oak door with a brass knob tucked away in the furthest recess of the bookshop, and Sirius’ palms began to sweat. He wiped them hastily on his trousers, exchanging the bouquet from one hand to the other. “She’s just through there. Working on repairing some ancient tome for the Sorbonne. They’re working her to the bone these days—far too much for what they’re paying her  …” 

Teliska muttered on as he hobbled back towards the front of the shop, and Sirius watched the old man’s thin frame as he went, silently begging him to turn around, come back so he could put off the meeting he knew awaited him beyond the oak door with the brass knob. 

But the old man was out of sight soon enough, and Sirius was once again alone in the bookshop, surrounded by books and dust and everything Y/N loved. He faced the oak door again and bit the inside of his cheek. Why was he so nervous? He and Y/N were never really together, so why did he feel bad? What did he even feel bad for?

Sirius huffed out a sharp sigh and forced himself not to think. Just open the door. Open it. And he did. 

If the rest of Teliska & Rook’s was dusty and crammed with books, the back office hadn’t been dusted since the store’s opening and had to be waded through due to the sheer volume of books piled on the floor, in cabinets, on shelves and countertops—any and every square inch of would-be free space was occupied by a book. This time, Sirius did indeed sneeze when he was hit with a waft of dust, cringing immediately after at the harsh disruption to the otherwise silent back office. 

Shutting the creaky oak door as gently as possible, Sirius blinked several times at the maze of stacked books that lay between himself and where he knew Y/N’s desk resided. He was a relatively thin and quite well-built young man, but these narrow, precariously constructed corridors of books weren’t exactly something he had expertise in navigating. Nevertheless, Sirius would try. 

Each step was made with bated breath as Sirius expected any second for half the books in the room to come crumbling down around him, and each time they didn’t was a small miracle. He snuck about the back office for several minutes, trying to find his way towards Y/N’s desk until finally, he came upon a small clearing in the paper forest.

Y/N sat hunched over her desk, eyes focused on the ancient, half-rotted book in front of her as she traced line after line with a latex-clad finger. Sirius found himself unable to move for several moments, simply watching the young woman read through the ancient text, scribbling away what he assumed was the translation without so much as looking at her hand. 

It was only when Y/N’s focus switched from the ancient text to her own notes that she noticed a pair of black combat boots planted at the mouth of the book maze, and her head whipped up to look at the intruder. Sirius and Y/N simply stared at each other for several minutes, Sirius anxiously awaiting Y/N’s reaction to his presence, before Y/N’s shoulders dropped, and the corners of her mouth drew barely upwards.

“Sirius.”

Sirius took the fact that she didn’t seem to despise his very presence as a good sign. “Hi,” he said, and immediately regretted sounding so dense. “I—I brought you these,” he said hastily, an even poorer attempt to rescue the conversation from its already awkward start, and thrust the fistfull of flowers out at Y/N, who huffed out a small giggle. 

“Oh, thank you,” she said simply, rummaging around her desk until she found a small drinking glass filled with water that was probably a day old. She took the flowers from Sirius’s hand—Sirius was struggling more than he had anticipated to keep from hugging the living daylights out of her—and placed them in the makeshift vase before turning back to him. The two stood awkwardly across the small office from each other, the books keeping them from maintaining any real personal space, and Y/N coughed lightly. 

“Can I … can I give you a hug?” 

Sirius blinked dumbly. 

“Ye—of—yeah! Yeah, of course—! Of course.”

Y/N smiled, and the two met in the middle, embracing each other tightly. Sirius sighed into her hair, nose pressed into the crown of her head, and felt his heartbeat calm. They were fine. There was no need to worry—though his throat did swell up slightly when thin fingers found their way over his shoulders and towards the top of his spine. 

Sooner than Sirius would have liked, Y/N pulled away, gazing up at him with a lovely look in her eyes. Now that he had a good look, Sirius began to notice the little changes Y/N had taken on over the years: her hair was, oddly, shorter, as well as choppy, as if she had cut it herself; her eyes were lighter from the sun; the skin at the outer points of her eyes just barely hinted at crows feet. 

“It’s good to see you, Sirius,” Y/N said, lips closing around her beaming smile. 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Sirius said, much more softly than he had wanted as Y/N stepped out of his arms and resumed her spot at her desk.

“How’s your tour going so far?” she asked as Sirius found a wooden stool and dragged it up to the desk’s side. 

“You know about that?” he said, a sudden pressure in his chest beginning. 

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Sirius, I know I spend all my time on the other end of a book maze—” she motioned to the mass of books he had traversed, “—but I don’t live under a rock.”

Sirius laughed, an embarrassed blush descending on his ears. “Right, right. I mean, I don’t like to assume. You never know.” Y/N nodded in understanding. “But it’s going well. Yeah, it’s fun. Remus has been working on something he won’t show the rest of us—we all think he’s seeing someone on the side—James is finally getting somewhere with Lily—”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Sirius chuckled. “It’s a miracle, truly. We’re all amazed. And … did you hear about the whole deal with Peter?”

Y/N nodded, and Sirius was thankful there was minimal pity in her expression—though there was something he couldn’t quite identify. “How are you all doing after that?”

“Eh, as good as can be expected,” Sirius said with a shrug. “Dorcas’s been on drums for us ever since. She and Marlene are still going strong.”

“Of course they are,” Y/N said with a hint of pride. “The relationships I put together always last.”

Sirius laughed lightly, eyes drifting through the room without really seeing before they landed again on Y/N. 

“And what about you? How’ve you been fairing?”

Y/N shrugged. “Ah, you know, the usual. Helping around the shop, doing some freelance work for the Sorbonne.”

“Mr. Teliska said something about how they don’t pay you enough,” Sirius mentioned, eyeing her with brows raised, and Y/N sighed, irritated. 

“Okay, listen,” she started, and Sirius laughed. 

“Had this conversation a lot now, have you?” he said, and Y/N rolled her eyes. 

“You’ve no idea.” Once Sirius’s giggling subsided, she continued. 

“Ivan thinks that because I’m basically doing research for the Sorbonne, I should be paid as much as a researcher—that I should be paid a salary—but, as I’ve explained to him countless times,”—Sirius began to laugh once again—“I simply don’t have the level of education that the Sorbonne is looking for in their faculty and therefore can’t be paid a faculty salary. I simply don’t have the financial means to go to school again.”

Sirius’ laughter had barely subsided when Y/N was finished, and he nodded understandingly. 

“You know, I could always just give you the money,” he suggested.

Sirius had never heard Y/N laugh so hard in his life. He laughed as well, though to a much lesser extent as he watched her hair bounce through peals of giggles.

“Oh please, Sirius,” Y/N said, delicately wiping a tear from her eye. “That’s absolutely ridiculous.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is,” Y/N insisted, letting out an incredulous breath. “Sirius, I am absolutely not going to take money from you. And I don’t have to work at the Sorbonne anyway. I’m getting by just fine with what I’ve got.”

“Y/N, life isn’t about getting by, it’s about enjoying yourself,” Sirius said, and Y/N shook her head. “Love, you can’t expect me to not try to help you when I’ve got the means to.” The pet name slipped without Sirius’s permission, but he stood his ground as Y/N sunk further into her chair. He knew her well; at the beginning of their friendship, she would have insisted on refusing, and he would have asked if she would do the same in his position, and she would go silent, and Sirius would have won. But Y/N was the smartest person Sirius knew. She didn’t need to go through the whole conversation to know what would be said.

But Y/N’s mildly defeated look made Sirius’s mind itch uncomfortably; he didn’t want to make the rest of this visit awkward or weird in any way.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked, commandeering the conversation away from whatever it was before. Y/N peered up at him, biting her cheek.

“I had a coffee this morning,” she mumbled, and Sirius’s face fell into a disapproving frown. 

“Merlin’s beard, Y/N.”

“Do you want to get lunch?”

“Will you eat something if we go get lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s get lunch.”

Y/N nodded and the two stood, Y/N finding a thin jacket and Sirius standing at the mouth of the book maze as he watched her pack her purse. 

“Ready?” she asked, throwing the strap over her head. Sirius simply nodded, and Y/N drew her wand from her pocket. With a simple wave of the thing, the books blocking the floor between the two and the door flew into the air, some stacking onto other already-precarious piles and others floating close to the ceiling, creating a sort of paper-and-ink trellis under which Y/N walked. Once at the door, Y/N peered back at Sirius, who was looking at the floating books, jaw hanging open. 

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

Screaming Portraits

Summary: Sirius has been anxiously waiting at Grimmauld Place for ages before his girl comes home.

Notes: Harry Potter Universe, pre- or post-Azkaban Sirius Black, blurb

“Sirius?” said Samantha, stepping out of the fireplace of 12 Grimmauld Place and dusting herself off. 

“Sam?” came Sirius’s voice from the second floor, followed quickly by a thundering of footsteps that stopped halfway down the stairs. “You’re back!”

Samantha Makeba practically flew up the other half of the stairs to meet Sirius, who spun her around as giggles of glee spilled from her lips. 

“Merlin, you’ve no idea how glad I am to see you,” said Sirius, setting Sam down on the landing and brushing her black coils from her face. 

“Oh, I think I have an inkling,” whispered Samantha against Sirius’s lips. She pushed herself onto her tiptoes, her lips just brushing Sirius’s—

“A MUDBLOOD! THE DISGRACE HAS TARNISHED THE BLACK REPUTATION FURTHER! I DIDN’T THINK IT POSSIBLE!” came the screech of Walburga Black—or rather, her portrait, which hung over a chest of drawers directly behind Samantha. Sirius and Sam jumped in surprise, having forgotten the awful painting’s existence in their rare moment of joy, and Sirius glared up at the wall behind Sam.

“SHUT IT, MOTHER!” he shouted, but the woman continued her ranting.

“A MUDBLOOD IN MY HOUSE—!”

“STOP SAYING THAT WORD—!”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! A MUDBLOOD—!”

“STOP CALLING HER THAT—!”

“MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD! FRATERNIZING WITH SUCH A FOUL CREATURE—!”

Sirius was overcome with white-hot rage. Samantha had seen him like this only a handful of times; once when he had lost the final Quidditch match against Slytherin in their third year, once when she was staying at James’s house and he had shown up at the door in the middle of the night, and once when Lucius Malfoy had called her something foul that Sirius refused to repeat to her afterwards as she was cleaning his knuckles of the blood that wasn’t his. 

But before she could do anything about it, Sirius had picked the short girl up by the waist, set her on the chest of drawers in front of the portrait, and pushed his lips into hers. Sam went with it, slightly surprised but quite happy to be this close to Sirius again. She had been on a mission for the Order for three weeks—an abnormally long time for a mission, if she was honest—and it was the longest she and Sirius had gone without seeing each other since they had met in their first year. 

Sirius’s hands shamelessly flew over Sam’s dark skin, creeping under her shirt and pressing into her back, bringing her chest flush against his as the kiss became fervent and desperate. Walburga’s hysterics had increased tenfold, but at this point, neither Sirius nor Samantha noticed it. They were drowning in each other, and as Samantha wrapped her legs around Sirius’s waist and he brought her to his room, they both knew: there was no place they’d rather be than in the other’s arms.

Strings [1]

Summary: Sirius disappeared a long while ago. As a child, you resented him for it, though the feeling dulled over time. But when he started appearing on the front covers of popular magazines, nearly a decade after he’d left your life, the ache in your chest showed itself again. Though, it seems he hadn’t forgotten about you as you had thought.

Notes: rockstar!Sirius Black x conductor!reader; this one’s pretty short, more like a prequel to the real one-shot, but I’m working on the second and final part now. Much love <3

The only thing Sirius enjoyed about summer holidays as a child were the months he spent in France. During July and August, the Black family would pack the essentials and move from Number Twelve to their townhouse in Paris. Orion and Walburga were both of the opinion that England, although fine enough to send their children to school in, was inferior to France in the arts and culture department. Thus, Regulus attended the French wizarding world’s most prestigious art school, the Mamot Académie des Arts, and Sirius spent his days in rehearsal for the Summer Youth Symphony of the Palais Garnier. 

If he was perfectly honest with himself, Sirius truly hated the violin. Sure, he was quite good—he held the position of concertmaster in the Youth Symphony by the time he was fifteen—and he enjoyed himself enough at rehearsals, but the instrument itself was loathsome. It was too high-pitched and far too elegant for his style. Sirius much preferred the electric guitars Muggles were using in their music at the time. But he had very little choice in what he did with his life, so he suffered through.

The one silver lining to Sirius’s annual musical internment was the Youth Symphony’s principal cellist. Y/N. She was a very skilled young individual, and Sirius couldn’t be more thankful for it, because that meant she sat directly across the conductor’s podium from him. This allowed him to, whenever he wasn’t performing his duties as concertmaster, watch her as she led her section with that quiet sort of elegance she exuded with everything she ever did. And Sirius loved to watch her. 

Sirius gained the confidence to approach Y/N after rehearsal during the summer of 1974, between his third and fourth year. He was fifteen, she fourteen, and as soon as they became friends, they began to wonder why they hadn’t done it earlier. The pair couldn’t be more different personality-wise—Y/N was miles more reserved than Sirius, though it only seemed to improve their friendship—but as they grew closer together, they realized that their families were quite similar as well, and each found solace in the other for the rest of that summer and the following one. 

Then, on Christmas Eve of 1975, Sirius ran away from home. He hadn’t seen Y/N since.

The Rebel Black Boy

Summary: Neither Sirius nor Freya want to be here, but at the very least, they can find solace in one dance together.

Notes: Harry Potter Universe, pre-Azkaban Sirius, blurb

Sirius took Freya’s hand and led her gracefully across the ballroom of Lestrange Manor. Mechanically, he secured her in his grip as the small string orchestra began again.

“How’ve you been, Fawley?” he asked in her ear, and Farah smiled at the sound of his voice.

“Alright,” she breathed out with some difficulty. “You?”

“Good, good.”

The two swept across the ballroom floor, parting the throngs of other couples like the Red Sea. There wasn’t a soul that couldn’t appreciate their grace, and no one dared interrupt such beauty as the two waltzed.

“Your corset is too tight.”

Sirius tapped Freya’s back gently, making a dull thump sound against the whalebone inside, then lifted her before continuing.

“Yes, well.” Freya sighed. “There’s nothing I can do now.”

“I could always loosen it for you,” offered Sirius. 

Freya smirked. “Merlin—what would my mother say if she caught the rebel Black boy undoing her prized daughter’s corset in a side-corridor?” she teased. Sirius rolled his eyes, a blush creeping up his neck despite himself.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he mumbled, spinning Freya before dipping her one last time as the piece ended. 

“I know, Black,” Freya said, standing up straight again. “I appreciate the offer, but my mother would kill me.” There was a dark flash of pain in Freya’s eyes before they went back to their regular golden-brown. “Thank you for the dance, Black. I’ll see you around.”

Freya pressed a kiss to Sirius’s cheek before striding gracefully to the ballroom’s perimeter, leaving the rebel Black brother blushing like a schoolgirl.

Oh my goodness

Apparently headcannons are where its at bc you all have been interacting like crazy with my blog ever since I posted my first one and I’m so thrilled about it!!! :D

Just wanted to thank you all for all the support, it means the absolute WORLD to me and I love you all so much!! I recently hit a thousand likes and fifty reblogs, which is so crazy to me, but I’m so glad that you all enjoy my writing!!! 

As always, requests are always appreciated, and I’d love to hear anyone’s thoughts on where The Linguist should go, because I really didn’t have much of a plan for it in the first place (so sorry lol)

Also I fixed my asks so you can actually send asks now :) I had it set so you couldn’t send asks when I first started posting on tumblr and forgot to switch it back when I started asking for requests *facepalm*

Anyway, just wanted to say thank you. Hope you all have a fantastic day <3<3

Masterlist of Masterlists

Hi there, lovely!

I’m boricua! I’m thrilled that you’ve decided to take the time to snoop around here, and I hope you like my writing! I’m always open to constructive criticism and can also serve as a wall to talk to/bounce ideas off of if you can’t think of anyone else to ask. We can talk about anything you want, from waffles vs pancakes to how Monet married his widowed daughter-in-law. Literally, anything goes as long as you’re respectful to me, others, and yourself. :)

In terms of what I write for exactly, I’m open to pretty much anything! Harry Potter was what got me into writing fanfiction in the first place, so I write mostly for the Marauders, but I love Marvel and Stranger Things as well, so if you have any requests for those or any other fandoms, ask and I’ll do my best to fulfill your wishes! 

Update: yall, guess what. It's been a while. Quelle suprise. (not the dangerously high levels of sarcasm and self-loathing because I promise you I want to post more here, I'm just bad at it im sorryyyyyyy) Nothing much is new, just trying to continue that goddamn Sirius saga (I think I'm sorta on my way with it actually) but I've also been into AUs a lot lately, so maybe I'll do someting with that *shrug* we'll see. I hope you, my lovely, are doing wonderfully though! Much much love <3 (22/2/2024)

Happy reading! - boricua

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