She could hear them sometimes, when they shouted and it echoed down to the basement. It was usually Bellatrix Lestrange, or one of the visiting Death Eaters. It was never clear enough to understand what they were saying though. Pity. She picked at the end of her sleeve, her jumper was starting to fray. She could barely tell with what little light came under the door at the top of

Sirius Black, notorious fan of Lily Evans' muggle magazines, finds himself inexplicably obsessed with one specific edition he sees her reading at breakfast. That paired with some feeling in his stomach that he'd rather not think about, he learns that Lily Evans is way cooler than he thought.

He felt disgusting, thinking this way. Voldemort is gone. He killed countless people, ruined lives of countless more, ruined his from his very first birthday. Everything in his life has been a direct result of that. And here he was, annoyed and empty that he's dead.