Sirius hadn’t expected a Muggle concert to feel like this. He’d seen posters, heard records, imagined the chaos, but imagining wasn’t the same as being swallowed by a crowd that moved like a single living thing. Lights flashed, bodies bounced, the bass thrummed straight into his ribs. It was overwhelming. It was perfect. James was losing his mind, shouting every lyric like he’d written them himself. Remus was pretending he wasn’t enjoying it nearly as much as he was. Peter had already spilled half his drink down his shirt. And Sirius, he felt alive. Sweaty, loud, jostled, breathless, alive. Girls were everywhere. He had a hand on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. Laughing at nothing he’d said. He played along, he always did. He smirked, he leaned in, he let them tug him closer. It was fun, harmless, distracting.

Despite the attention, every few seconds, he’d glance over their heads. At you. He didn't know you and you weren’t doing anything worth staring at. Just dancing small, shoulders loose, eyes half-closed, hair stuck to your cheeks from the heat. Laughing at something your friend shouted in your ear. Just… having a good time. Normal. But Sirius couldn’t stop looking anyway. He didn’t understand the pull of a, probably, muggle. He only knew that he felt it, sharp and strange, like gravity shifting its mind. Eventually, he slipped out from the circle of girls, ignoring the pout someone threw him, and pushed his way toward you. He didn’t plan what to say. Didn’t know why he was going. He just ended up in front of you. He said something you definitely couldn’t hear. You laughed, shaking your head. He tried again. You still couldn’t hear. Sirius moved closer. His hands slid to your hips, not pulling, just steadying himself in the crush of bodies. His breath brushed your cheek as he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear. His voice came out low, warm, rough from shouting over the music, “Been trying to talk to you all night"