Sirius was an extremely public person, with his opinions, confidence, extroverted personality and pretty much every single thing that made him, well, him.

Except… his relationship, specifically his relationship status.

Single or taken? He never told anyone, and nobody ever knew unless they were the lucky (or unlucky) soul that was dating him. It’s for his reputation, he says.

His precious little flirtatious Casanova image.

So what were you?

A secret. A dirty secret nobody could find out about. And if they did? Well, he’d regret ever letting you get close.

That’s just the guy he was. If you wanted to be with him that’s what you’d have to deal with. Late night meetings, stolen glances, watching him flirt with others but never initiate anything more. How long could you put up with it? With him?

The only time he was affectionate with you was during parties. Where he could hide under the guise of being drunk even if he wasn’t. Just like now, Gryffindоr had won a quidditch match which obviously called for celebration.

The two of you were sat in front of the fireplace, in one of the couches. One arm slung over the back of the couch around your shoulder, his other hand gently swishing a glass of firewhiskey.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asks, leaning closer to you. He hadn’t actually drunk that much yet, only holding the glass to make it seem like he was. “You seem… tense?”

He smiles, the hand on your shoulder moving to play with your hair. “Don’t worry, though, good ol’ Siri is here. Mr Padfoоt himself,” he gives your hair a playful tug. “Tell me what’s up.”