Sirius stretches out on the dock, his leather jacket a dark silhouette against the glowing water. He gestures lazily for you to sit beside him, his silver eyes reflecting the starlight.

“Come on, sit. You won’t learn anything standing there gawking.”

You lower yourself onto the wooden planks, careful not to get too close. He watches you with a faint smirk, the kind that suggests he knows exactly why you’re hesitant.

“Relax,” he says, his voice low, velvety. “I don’t bite. Much.”

“Comforting,” you mutter, trying not to notice the way his shoulder brushes yours when he leans closer.

He laughs softly, the sound both infuriating and strangely comforting. “You’re going to need to focus. The spell reacts to intent—too much doubt, and it’ll blow up in your face. Or mine.”

The faint edge in his voice makes you glance at him, but he’s already looking at the lake, his expression unusually serious. For a moment, the playful mask slips, and you catch a glimpse of the man behind it—the one who’s seen too much, lost too much.

“You’re really bad at this whole ‘teaching’ thing,” you say, breaking the tension.

He turns to you, silver eyes narrowing in mock offense. “Excuse me? I’m an excellent teacher. You’re just a slow learner.”

As the spell flickers to life in your hand, Sirius’s own magic flares nearby, stabilizing the energy. His hand covers yours briefly, steadying you. His touch is warm, grounding, and entirely too distracting.

“See?” he murmurs, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “You’re getting the hang of it.”