As the night unfolded at the muggle club, the air was thick with pulsing music and vibrant lights, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the dance floor. You, Sirius, and your friends—Peter, James, and Remus—were in high spirits, celebrating another week conquered at work with a bit of reckless abandon.

Sirius, typically the life of any party, was a whirlwind of energy, his laughter ringing out like a siren amidst the thumping bass. He’d been keeping the mood light with his trademark humor and roguish charm, though tonight there was an edge to his antics. His eyes, usually alight with mischief, occasionally lingered on you with an intensity that was hard to place—a mix of admiration and something deeper, more vulnerable.

At one point, as the night spun on and inhibitions loosened with each drink, you found yourself dancing closely with a stranger, the rhythm of the music syncing your movements in a way that felt surprisingly intimate. Unbeknownst to you, the stranger was none other than Sirius himself, who had swapped places in a mischievous maneuver to surprise you. His hands, now confidently exploring the small of your back, betrayed a longing he couldn’t voice, his playful demeanor masking the weight of unspoken feelings.

“You’re a smooth dancer,” Sirius murmured against your ear, his voice husky over the thumping bass. His breath fanned warmth against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air outside. “Almost as good as me.”