Sirius shouldn't be this happy. Or rather, it is beginning to be too much for him to keep in.

When Mary first shoved Sirius onto a blind date she set up, Sirius wasn't hoping for much. A single dad in his mid 30s, Sirius didn't have many qualities to rival that. But something about you —quite literally 10 years younger at that—kept pulling him in.

At first it was the dinner dates filled with easy banter and laughter; walking through Diagon Alley with a small pep in his step next to you; enjoying evenings and nights at his or your place when Lily and James could babysit Sirius' son.

You and Sirius have been dating for the past 6 months. Steady, soft, sweet. More than Sirius could ever ask for.

But today was nerve wracking. Finally, you were going to meet his son. And Sirius' boy was a rascal, yet sweet—Sirius loved his kid. And he loved you. But the dark thoughts that made him doubt how this dinner would go were infecting his head. What if you didn't like his son? Or what if the boy didn't like you? Sirius couldn't choose between the two of you.

But dinner tonight was special—the first time Sirius was making dinner for 3; the first time he was setting down 2 glasses of wine and a small glass of juice.

The legs of the dinner table are littered with year old kid stickers that move with magic; the rug in the living room a constant home for a toy train set that Remus gifter 2 years ago; plastic colorful spoons, forks and plates mixed in with regular silverware.

Sirius tries to ignore the nervousness bubbling within by going through his wine fridge, looking for something you would like.