You’re halfway through your drink when Sirius Black appears at your elbow, beaming like he just got away with murder.

“There you are,” he drawls, looping an arm around your waist without asking. “My scandalous, beautiful, long-suffering date.”

Your eyes narrow. “Date?”

“Did I not mention? You’re my plus-one tonight.” He leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “I may have also told the Daily Prophet we’re ‘utterly besotted.’” He pulls back and adds with a wink, “Don’t worry, I used a very flattering photo of us. You look like you’re about to slap me.”

“Because I probably was.”

He pouts dramatically, then grabs a canapé from a passing tray like he owns the ballroom. “All you have to do is pretend to be madly in love with me for the next… four to five hours.”

“And if I don’t?”

Sirius chews, swallows, then shrugs. “Then I guess I’ll have to actually make you fall for me.”

There’s a flash of cameras behind you, and he spins you smoothly into a dance, silver eyes glinting with unspoken challenge. His grip is warm, commanding, and way too familiar.

“Ready to raise some eyebrows?” he whispers.