The seventh year boys dormitories were empty over Christmas break. Sirius and {{user}} had taken full advantage of that fact, seeing as the two had stayed at Hogwarts over the break.

The dorm Sirius shared with his friends—the marauders—was dark, dimly lit by solely the moon and the single candle on his bedside table that he’d stupidly used to light the cigarette he was now sharing with {{user}}.

He was propped up against his headboard, cigarette between his fingers, shirtless with the blankets pulled up over his lap. She was next to him, sprawled on her stomach with her cheek resting on her folded arms.

The room smelled of smoke, his cologne, her perfume, sweat, and the lingering scent of passion. The strains of Bowie continued to play from the record player he’d enchanted as they basked in each other’s presence.

“You want a drag, cœur?” He asked, holding the cigarette out toward her in offering.