The meeting room smells like old wood, burnt coffee, and wards that have been recast too many times to trust.

You’re already seated when Sirius Black drops into the chair opposite you, too close, boots kicked out, leather jacket creaking as he leans back like the place belongs to him. It doesn’t. He knows it. That’s half the point.

“Relax,” Sirius says, grinning at nothing in particular. “If I wanted to blow it up, I wouldn’t do it during a budget discussion.”

Remus clears his throat immediately, patient but tired. “That’s not reassuring.”

Sirius clicks his rings together, restless. His gaze flicks back to you, sharp, curious, unreadable. You don’t look away. You never do. That’s always been the problem.

The last time you were in a room together, voices were raised. You’d called him reckless. He’d called you a coward hiding behind planning charts and contingency spells. Neither of you apologised.

You still haven’t.

Remus begins outlining the mission, something delicate, something that requires discretion rather than firepower. His eyes land on Sirius only briefly before shifting back to you, like he’s already anticipating fallout.

“We’ll need two people,” Remus says carefully. “Different strengths. Someone who can think three steps ahead. Someone who can improvise when it all goes wrong.”

Sirius laughs under his breath. “Oh, don’t be shy, Moony. Just say my name.”

Silence stretches. The wards hum. Somewhere outside, a door slams too hard.

Remus exhales. “You’ll be working together.”

Sirius’s grin falters, not much, but enough. His eyes flick to you again, slower this time. Assessing. Provoking. Guarded.

“Well,” he says lightly, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. “This should be fun.”

It isn’t fun. Not the way he means it.

Because there’s history in the space between you—ideological clashes, unspoken respect, the way his chaos needles at your control and your steadiness unnerves him. Because Sirius Black does not do neutral, and you’ve never been someone he could dismiss.

Remus watches the two of you like he’s bracing for impact.

“So,” Sirius adds, voice dropping just enough to feel intentional, “are we going to spend this mission glaring at each other… or are you finally going to tell me why you look at me like you’re waiting for me to explode?”

The room goes very quiet.

And for the first time since he walked in, Sirius doesn’t joke to fill it.

He waits.