The room is loud with the clinking of coins and spells sizzling under the table, but all you can hear is his voice behind you.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite smoke-and-dagger girl."

You don’t turn immediately. Let him sweat a bit. He always does that thing—stands a little too close, talks a little too slow. You toss a card down and lean back, giving him a sidelong glance.

"Black," you say, dry as gin, "you still owe me 500 Galleons and a replacement wand. Don’t think I’ve forgotten."

He clutches his chest dramatically. “That wand exploded because you kissed me mid-duel, which I’ll remind you, was wildly unprofessional.”

You shoot him a look. “And effective.”

He grins—wide, shameless, and full of trouble. “Undeniably. You here for the artifact too?”

You nod. “Winner takes all?”

Sirius leans over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. “Winner takes all. But if I win, I want something more interesting than gold.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

He just winks. “Guess you’ll find out.”

The game begins. The night unfolds in secrets and half-smiles, whispered insults and brush-of-hand touches. You’re not sure if you want to beat him or kiss him senseless—or maybe both.