ink - sirius black

fateful thunderstorms and tight grips

tw: violence
tw #2: mentions / extreme implications of rape

put yalls seatbelts on.

May 31, 1978
7:09 pm
Hogwarts

Five days had passed, and Violet Goldstein was annoyed.

"Because this castle is ridiculously confusing for no reason," she said, walking so fast that the boys were struggling to keep up. "Did anyone see where my aunt went?"

"I think she already went to the ceremony, or wherever it's taking place," Mitchell replied, out of breath from how quickly his girlfriend was walking. "L and A's graduation is going to start if we don't find this Great Hall or whatever soon."

"They don't have much of a flair for adjectives here," Cliff grumbled, adjusting the rolled up cuffs of his shirt. "How has Anneliese been surviving?"

"Well, she's almost done," Violet said. "Just this stupid ceremony and it's all over, if we can find it. God, why couldn't it be outside? The grounds would be easier to search."

"It's raining, dipshit," Cliff rolled his greenish blue eyes, taking a mindless turn down a lucky corridor. "No one wants a soggy graduation. Ah, here we are."

Several heads turned as the trio walked in.

Violet Goldstein. Half blood. Thunderbird.

President of the Ilvermorny class of 1978. Tall, thin, black. Dressed in a light orange suit and lime green heels that matched her hoops and bangles with impeccable eyeshadow the twins would be jealous of to match.

Cliff Hutchison. Pureblood. Thunderbird.

Captain of Thunderbird quidditch team, seven year in a row quidditch cup winners. Muscular, curly hair, tan. Dressed in a navy button down that very purposely showed all his muscles, a pull tab necklace, and hot pink kicks that he wore for his muggle friend who had cancer and didn't give two shits what anyone thought about him for.

Mitchell Morales. Muggleborn. Horned Serpent.

Valediction of the Ilvermorny class of 1978. Lanky, latino, suave. Dressed in an impeccable suit with an assortment of necklaces over his turtleneck that he would never admit took him thirty eight minutes of staring in the mirror to get just right.

All three of them from Mass if anybody asked, the place they were proud to represent. All three of them made a show stopping trio. All three of them were unique.

All three of them affectionately attacked Callaway and Anderson the second they saw them.

"I mean, why would I be nervous?" Anneliese shrugged to James, who nodded along. "It's just walking up on a stage and shaking a hand. We both know that the Cup was the most nerve wracking things that we've ever done-"

Callaway whipped around as she heard the air split behind her, a tiny bottle of cologne landing solidly in her palm with a loud smack.

Anneliese looked down at the glass with confusion, a slight recognition that seemed to be impossible. The last time someone had thrown something at her like that was-

"Cliff?" Callaway muttered, looking back up and scanning the room with a furrowed brow.

"What?" Sirius asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and following her scattered line of sight as he pulled the cigarette out from between his lips. "People really need to stop throwing things at you- who the hell-"

"CLIFF!" Anneliese shouted, ducking out from under a bewildered Sirius's arm and racing towards the grinning boy who immediately tackled her in an embrace. "WHAT- HOW-"