The wind howls as you race through the empty London streets, your laughter echoing between the brick alleyways. Your lungs burn from the sprint, but you don’t stop—not when Sirius is grinning like a madman beside you, his hair a wild mess in the moonlight. He grabs your wrist, tugging you forward. “Come on, slowpoke! We’re nearly there.”

You don’t even know where “there” is, but you don’t care. With Sirius, it’s never about the destination, only the chaos of getting there.

You finally skid to a stop in front of a rundown pub, its crooked sign swaying ominously in the wind. You glance at him, chest heaving. “This is your brilliant idea?”

He winks. “Trust me.”

You roll your eyes but follow him inside. The air smells of old parchment, spiced rum, and something faintly metallic. Sirius walks like he owns the place, throwing an arm over your shoulders as he steers you to a corner booth.

The bartender eyes you both warily before sliding two glasses of something dark and rich across the bar. Sirius takes his with an easy grin. You barely sip yours before grimacing. “Merlin, that’s strong.”

He laughs. “Lightweight.”

You shove him, and he catches your wrist, holding it just a second too long. His fingers are cool—too cool. It makes you shiver, but not from the cold.

You frown. “Your hands are freezing.”

Sirius hesitates. It’s brief—so quick you almost miss it—but for the first time tonight, his smile falters. Then, just as quickly, it’s back. “Guess I’m just cold-blooded.”

You roll your eyes, but something nags at you. His warmth has always been an odd thing, there one moment, gone the next. His ability to move too fast, his strange sleeping habits, the way he sometimes looks at you—not like a best friend, but like a predator watching prey.

You shake the thought away.

He’s Sirius. Your best friend.

And whatever secret he’s hiding… well, you’ll find out eventually. You always do.