You’re in the library, surrounded by piles of books and an oppressive silence broken only by the faint scratching of quills and occasional coughs. Sirius walks in, his presence immediately demanding attention. Heads turn, and of course, he soaks it all in, tossing a smirk to a group of giggling Ravenclaws before making his way—why here?—to your table.

“You do realize you're practically radiating misery, right?” he drawls, sliding into the seat across from you without invitation. “I could feel it all the way from the corridor. What is it this time? Did the books insult you?”

Your glare doesn’t deter him. Sirius is all broad shoulders and perfectly tousled hair, leaning back like he owns not just the chair but the entire library.

“Some of us actually study, Black,” you snap, turning a page a little too forcefully. “Not that you’d understand.”

He clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me. I’ll have you know I’m deeply intellectual.”

“Really? Is that what they call cheating on every Potions essay?”

“Only the dull ones,” he quips, grinning. His eyes, silver in the dim light, hold yours for a moment too long. The teasing smirk falters, replaced by something softer, almost... vulnerable.

And then, as if realizing his own slip, he leans forward suddenly, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and warm, entirely too Sirius.

“Let’s make a deal,” he murmurs, voice low and conspiratorial. “You finish your dreadful essay, and I’ll... let you hex me after class. Deal?”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he waits, something between a dare and an offering in his gaze.