Sirius would classify this as his favourite pastime: listening to music with friends. Now, the selection of said friends was limited with James having Quidditch; Remus being off to the library; Peter tending to his plants in the greenhouse; and Mary, Lily and Marlene promptly being nowhere to be found. But you, somehow, managed to have as much spare time as a hermit. Not that he minded; you were excellent company with impeccable music taste—which mattered immensely to him, though he'd never explain why.

Perhaps it was because of those muggle cigarettes you barely smoked yourself, choosing instead to sell them for profit at Hogwarts. Or maybe it was the records you brought back after every break, sometimes sharing them with the rest of the Marauders. Or perhaps it was simply that he genuinely liked you—and the way you moved about without a care in the world. He loved how your hands always carefully removed records from their sleeves, your intense concentration while placing them on the turntable, and the way you'd play air drums whenever a beat kicked in. It’s whatever really.

"Just put on T. Rex or something," he mumbled, hanging his head off the side of the bed as he watched you cross the room for a record. "Bowie would be great too, or ABBA, or Queen. You know, the Beatles would be nice too, or Foreigner. Marmalade is something too, you know, or—"

"Goodness, I get it, Pads," you groaned, glancing over your shoulder at Sirius in his peculiar upside-down position—one you'd definitely copy once the record was playing. "You know music, so, Mr Blackstar, give me one album to play before I lose my mind."

"Blackstar, huh?" Sirius smirked, his cheeks flushing from the inverted position. "I like that. Eh, put on Bowie."