pretty mary

𝓛𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓵 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓪𝔂 𝔀𝓮'𝓻𝓮 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮, 𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪 '𝓒𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵, 𝓸𝓱

𝓞𝓸𝓱, 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓹𝓼 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓮 𝓞𝓸𝓱, 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮, 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓵𝔂 𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓹

𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓮ñ𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓪 𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝓭𝓲𝓭𝓷'𝓽 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓪 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓸𝓱, 𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪 𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮, 𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪

𝓞𝓸𝓱, 𝓘 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓞𝓸𝓱, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀

𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓮ñ𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓪 𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓼𝓸 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓷 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓪 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓸𝓱, 𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪 𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮, 𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪 (𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮, 𝓵𝓪-𝓵𝓪)

butterfly and wolf

words @blackinnonmicros

modern! au & no magic! au, muggle! au Chapter Two, in which "Your Musical Taste" begins operations

A few days after her conversation with the university rector — Professor Dumbledore — Marlene finally managed to catch her breath. She had replayed every phrase in her head so many times, rehearsed her arguments, nearly driving herself mad with perfectionism, so that her spontaneous venture would succeed… And in the end, the conversation went surprisingly smoothly, apart from a few rather eccentric remarks from Dumbledore about the importance of paying attention to chamber music. In the end, Marlene had managed to achieve the desired result. Now a new challenge lay ahead: the magazine Your Musical Taste was about to open its pages to readers — and all of this in the company of a completely new team.

Today was the first official meeting. Marlene stood by the board, on which the title of their joint project was written in large letters, and she kept gesturing with her hands, as if trying to grasp elusive words. Ideas poured out of her one after another as she shared them with her comrades.

On the windowsill, legs tucked cozily beneath her, sat Alice Wood — a pretty girl with chestnut hair cut in a neat bob. She clutched a notebook tightly in her hands, diligently writing down Marlene's suggestions without missing a single detail. Her enthusiasm was palpable — it seemed that any moment she would jump up and start organizing everything herself, just to get to work sooner.

Alice was studying biology alongside Marlene's best friend, Lily Evans. During exam periods, they would disappear for hours, staying late in the library, from which Marlene would successfully drag them out, simultaneously introducing the girls to Dorcas Meadowes and Mary MacDonald. They often began sneaking out for walks in the rain and had long since become an inseparable part of one loud, tight-knit group. Knowing that Alice had been on the editorial board in her school years and had published a newspaper, Marlene had, without hesitation, offered Wood a place on the team, and she had agreed.

Benjy Fenwick — a local philology student and born literary scholar, who by the end of his studies was determined to finish his novel — had been brought here by Sirius Black. Marlene quickly hid her bewilderment and shrugged, wondering what had brought Black into the realm of bookish souls. Still, she shouldn't have been surprised: Sirius had acquaintances everywhere, for in any company and in any corner of campus, he was as comfortable as a fish in water. And it would have been a shame to turn down someone connected to writing in any way: his perspective on words was special. Besides, Fenwick gave the impression of being a very peaceable and responsive guy.

Benjy had already filled half a sheet with font design options — from the strict, noble antiqua that seemed to come from ancient folios, to the bold grunge that screamed of freedom. He would lean over the paper, occasionally thoughtfully biting the tip of his pencil. And on the floor, lounging in relaxed poses, sat the Prewett twins — Fabian and Gideon, stars of the football team and perpetual motion machines of any commotion, rivaled only by the Marauders. An obvious fact that many took a while to get used to: the Prewetts were amusingly alike, like two reflections, if not for their t-shirts — one a bright red with a not-quite-censored phrase, the other a sunny yellow featuring silhouettes of Luke Skywalker and his droids against the planet Tatooine. These colors were the only way to tell them apart. Now the brothers were buried in their phones, scrolling through stacks of old magazines, shouting out ideas so loudly that their voices seemed to echo all the way to the cafeteria.

"So," Marlene said, tapping the board with a marker. "We have the name. Now we need to decide how to present it. It'll be the face of our first issue. It needs to shout, whisper, and dance all at once… Well, you get the idea…"

She swept her gaze around the room, lingering on each person: in her blue eyes, one could read impatience, hope, and that very spark that could simultaneously inspire motivation and ignite enthusiasm in everyone else.

"Benjy, what do you think about this?" Marlene inquired, noticing that Fenwick was intently hypnotizing his notes.

Benjy held up the sheet, and everyone involuntarily turned to look at it. The title letters, styled like old posters — "YOUR MUSICAL TASTE" — stretched, curved, and played with long, elegant serifs, surprisingly reminiscent of vinyl grooves. It seemed that if you ran your finger along them, you would hear the soft crackle of a record, followed by the opening chords of a favorite song.

"It's retro," Benjy explained, tilting the sheet slightly so the lamp light would fall on the letters differently and emphasize their depth. "I know it's very Beatles-esque. But if we add a bit of carelessness, like in 70s punk zines… Here, along the edges, blur the outline a little, make it look like the font was printed on an old press… Then it'll be edgy. Not just nostalgia, but a challenge."

Marlene frowned, tilting her head to one side: she was trying to hold both images in her mind — the noble echo of the past and the rebellious impulse. Then a familiar low voice with that very rasp that made her knees weak in especially intimate moments sounded from behind.

"What if we made the letters more alive?" Sirius suggested. "Like music that can't be confined to boundaries."

Black stood in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, a guitar in his hands, winking at Marlene. He walked over to her, stood so close that she could smell tobacco, and, deftly taking the marker from her, wrote the word "TASTE" on the board so that the last letter "E" turned into a speaker from which notes flew out. Marlene gave an approving thumbs-up.

"You know, Black, sometimes your audacity turns out to be exactly what was missing," Marlene admitted, shaking her head. "That's… just what I was talking about."

Sirius smirked, returning the marker to her, and shrugged, as if creating something like that was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Music doesn't like to stand still," he remarked philosophically. "And every word should burn, convey energy."

Alice immediately made a note in her notebook, and the twins hummed approvingly, exchanging brief remarks. Benjy nodded — he had no objections. Marlene, however, couldn't take her eyes off Sirius. She leaned toward Black so only he could hear:

"You're right. Words should be hot. But if we keep flirting like this in front of the whole team, we'll never get the first issue out."

Sirius smirked, not backing off, his breath touching her ear:

"Then work. I'll wait. But in the evening, we'll give those words a real test — see how they sound when personal plans are discussed under a guitar. Let the night catch them and carry them somewhere between the chords."

Sirius winked at her again, and Marlene stepped back half a step, feeling a hot blush spread across her cheeks. To hide her embarrassment, she turned sharply to the board. Grabbing the marker, McKinnon ran it across the smooth surface — a sharp click sounded almost like a challenge. With a confident, steady motion, she wrote the first word of the future article: "Era. Genres That Shook the World." The letters fell evenly, as if they were begging to be on the board, promising a story worth telling.

Out of the corner of her eye, Marlene kept catching Sirius's sly gaze — he was still watching her back, and it sent shivers down her spine, mixing with a surge of boldness. Marlene gripped the marker tighter, as if it could keep her from giving in to Black's game and slipping out of the room for a few minutes to cuddle without witnesses. But now she couldn't get distracted.

I've gone way over the limit and it doesn't really feel like microfiction anymore. But I can't cut it short, I really like it all :( and it's not a fact that new chapters will be released every day, but I don't plan on abandoning the story, I was very inspired by the idea

newspaper @blackinnonmicros

modern! au & no magic! au, muggle! au Chapter One, in which Marlene McKinnon has a brilliant idea

The student campus always smelled of coffee, especially in the mornings. The drink helped to perk up, dispelling even the most stubborn thoughts of sleep and restoring energy, resetting the internal compass for studying. However, today everything felt particularly exciting. It was always like that when change loomed on the horizon: they brought something grand and simultaneously stirred a sweet, almost nerve-tingling feeling of anticipation in the chest, throwing everything off its usual rhythm.

Marlene McKinnon had settled into the empty office of the university newspaper's editorial room, which she had managed to transform into her little sanctuary in just half an hour. Before her lay spreads, clippings, pencil sketches in a chaotic but personally logical order, and beside them sat a small stack of vinyl records — she had managed to haul them from home, hoping their magic would help her tune into the right course for the upcoming work.

Her light, slightly curly hair was gathered in a messy bun, with unruly strands constantly escaping and falling over her eyes every time she bent over the layout. And there, on thick paper, bold type proclaimed:

"Your Musical Taste — A Magazine for a New Generation of Music Lovers."

Marlene was in her third year of the design program, but her heart belonged not so much to interior design as to music — she lived and breathed it, and every chord was part of her pulse. For many years, she had studied at a vocal school, and on rare free evenings, when studies, extracurriculars, and meetings with friends and family finally released her from their grip, she sang in a small club, where the dim lights and the hum of voices opened a door to another world.

How had the idea of publishing her own magazine — and based at the university — even come to her? It turned out to be almost laughably simple… and at the same time inevitable. The newspaper was dying: circulation was shrinking with each issue, students were increasingly ignoring print pages in favor of scrolling news on their phones, and the administration was no longer hiding that by the end of the semester, the publication would be shut down, like another line crossed off a list of "what once was."

But Marlene saw not an end in this, but a beginning. In the fading lines, she saw not emptiness, but space for something more contemporary. She wanted to turn boring news into a vibrant musical magazine with its own rhythm, where various articles would be published. For example, about Led Zeppelin — about how their guitar riffs tore the air apart; about The Clash — about their rebellious and ageless spirit; about Nirvana and their fragile power that resonated with everyone who had ever felt lost. She dreamed of writing about forgotten 80s bands whose records were hidden on the far shelves of music stores, and about new artists who were playing in dimly lit London bars. Those whose voices hadn't yet been stamped with critics' clichés but already knew how to reach someone's heart.

Marlene knew she could handle the design. After all, she always had Dorcas Meadowes — that same school friend whose friendship hadn't crumbled after graduation but had, on the contrary, taken on new hues. Besides, Dorcas wasn't just a friend but a true artist: her works breathed character, and her eye for composition seemed almost supernatural. A few tips from her, and the layout would shine so brightly that even the most indifferent student couldn't pass it by.

But Marlene understood perfectly: she couldn't pull off such a large-scale project alone. She needed like-minded people — people whose eyes lit up with the same fire as hers, those who were ready to argue until hoarse about which font best conveyed the rebellious spirit of punk rock, and who didn't consider it insane to devote an entire spread to a forgotten demo tape of some underground band. What she needed most acutely was someone who felt music not as background, but as a living, complex universe — someone who knew how it was constructed from the inside, what its nerves and sinews were woven from.

And then her gaze swept across the table and stopped on a business card, as if deliberately left in the most prominent spot. Black letters on thick paper: "Sirius Black. Programmer. Guitarist of the band 'The Marauders.'" Marlene ran her finger over the embossing, as if checking whether the card would disappear at the lightest touch. Fragments of conversations about the band surfaced in her memory — noisy rehearsals in James Potter's garage, the lead vocalist and their founder, sharp, catchy riffs that Sirius played with such casual confidence, as if the guitar were an extension of his arm.

She and Black had first met in their first year. Their majors were different, but fate had brought them together in shared philosophy classes, where students either desperately fought sleep or tried to adopt a thinker's pose without fully understanding what was being discussed. It was then that Sirius had managed to casually slip Marlene his business card. And all with the air of a man who knew for sure: the world had to remember his name. At that moment, he had seemed unbearably arrogant to her, like a self-absorbed poodle who did nothing but pose in front of mirrors and collect admiring glances from girls. It was infuriating! In retaliation, Marlene had even acted childishly and stuck gum to his shirt.

And yet, contrary to all logic, something about him had caught Marlene's attention. Perhaps it was the way he argued with the professor — not for show, but as if he genuinely wanted to get to the heart of the matter, even if he did it with a defiant smirk. Or the way his eyes lit up whenever the conversation veered from dry theory to something alive and interesting to him. Or maybe it was simply that beneath all his cocky confidence there was so much energy that she wanted to be part of it.

Either way, Marlene didn't throw away that business card. Even when a stack of useless papers was mercilessly tossed into the trash, her hand seemed to pluck the card from the pile on its own. She kept it somewhere in the bottom of her bag, then moved it to a desk drawer, then into a notebook — as if waiting for the moment when this piece of cardboard would finally find its meaning.

She smiled and bit the cap of her pen — a habit she just couldn't shake. Now, Sirius was more to Marlene than just a talented musician, more than just the guy she'd been dating for six months. He was her challenge — the one who constantly pushed her to go further, to look beyond what she wanted to see. Her inspiration — because the moment he picked up his guitar, the world seemed to grow louder. They complemented each other perfectly: his playing and her vocals. And at the same time, Sirius Black was her favorite headache: stubborn, sharp, always arguing for the sake of arguing, yet capable of melting Marlene's irritation in an instant with some stupid, disarming smile or supporting her in a difficult moment.

Sirius often performed with his friends at student parties. He was an excellent guitarist, but it wasn't just about technique: there was a wild energy in his playing, as if he wasn't just performing music but pouring out everything that was churning inside him through it. And he had plenty of inner demons, considering his break with his family in his teenage years.

And yet he could explain with burning eyes why "Bohemian Rhapsody" wasn't just a song but an entire universe woven from contradictions, and why "Smells Like Teen Spirit" had been a revolution that reshaped the musical landscape. He managed to program in Python, pass his exams with good grades — and all this despite skipping half his lectures, showing up on campus only to tease someone or stage a mini-concert in the hallway.

Marlene paused for a moment, as if listening to her own thoughts, then grabbed her smartphone. She found the chat with Black in the messenger and, without hesitating, pressed the voice message record button.

"Hey. Listen, I have this idea… the kind that you'll either say 'that's genius' or 'you've lost your mind.' Anyway, Black, I have a proposal for you. Urgent. Come to the university editorial office, I'll show you everything. Spoiler: if you agree, I might even let you choose the cover for the first issue. And bring the record player!!"

Oddly enough, Sirius responded almost immediately — not with a text, but with a call. His sleepy, slightly hoarse voice came through the receiver, as if he had just lifted his head from the pillow and hadn't quite believed the world was already awake. Marlene paused for a second, allowing herself a tiny moment of weakness: to imagine how wonderful it would be to lie in his arms, inhaling the scent of his shirt, listening to the steady, calm beat of his heart. Or to drive each other wild with caresses, indulging in all sorts of indecent things.

But she immediately shook herself, chasing away those thoughts. After all, music was sacred. For that, she could even sacrifice morning sex with her hot boyfriend.

"McKinnon," Sirius grumbled into the phone, "not only did you sneak off at the crack of dawn, but you also send me voice messages at eight in the morning, promise me some cover, and talk in a tone that makes me want to drop everything and run to you. Fine, I'll be there in twenty minutes. But if this is another one of your brilliant ideas that turns out to be total nonsense, I'll make you listen to my new track until lunch. And don't even think about saying you have a class — I know your schedule."

Marlene smirked. Sirius was fairly brief in his message and didn't even let her get a word in edgewise. Half an hour later, he burst into the editorial office in his signature style: dark jeans, an AC/DC t-shirt, and that leather jacket he wore even in the heat, unafraid of melting. Black stopped at the threshold. His gaze darted around the room, catching details: stacks of vinyl records, scattered sketches, sheets covered in pencil notes, draft headlines circled, crossed out, corrected again. Something like shock flickered in his gray eyes, then genuine surprise, and then he suddenly saw not a cluttered room, but a map of a familiar yet alien universe. And then his usual defiant smirk slid back into place, as if it had never disappeared.

Sirius slowly walked over to the table and ran his fingers over the layout. He lingered on her sketches, his gaze gliding over the pencil marks where Marlene had written band names, drawn arrows, connected ideas that even she thought were insane.

"Marls, you want to save the newspaper from being shut down by turning it into a music magazine?" Sirius placed his palms on the table, and the wood creaked slightly under his impatient pressure. "And you want me to help you?" He leaned in and touched his lips to her temple.

"I've always appreciated your ability to put two and two together quickly," Marlene smiled contentedly, stroking his chin, feeling the slight morning stubble under her fingers.

"Well… I'm in. But on one condition: the first page will be dedicated to The Marauders. You'll do the interview, and we'll pick the silliest photos — so everyone knows this magazine isn't old-fashioned, not a dusty archive, but something alive, real, with character," Sirius ran a hand quickly through his hair, copying James Potter's signature careless gesture.

"No problem," Marlene declared defiantly, hands on her hips, tilting her head slightly as if ready for an argument she actually enjoyed. "Just keep in mind, this isn't a one-band show. It's a magazine about music. About its history, its scars and victories, about how it breaks and rebuilds people. About what we love. And if you think I'll let you turn the first issue into a promotional brochure for The Marauders, you don't know me very well."

He cupped her face in his hands, leaning closer, so she could feel his breath.

"Don't stress," he said. "The magazine will be so good that even Jim Morrison would smile in his grave. Because when you've got an idea like that, McKinnon, and a voice like that, and that kind of passion…" he kissed her, lightly brushing her cheekbone, as if this gesture could say more than words ever could, "you can move mountains. And I'll be right there. And together, we'll write why Abbey Road isn't just an album — it's a whole religion."

Marlene closed her eyes in pleasure, absorbing the moment: the weight of his palms, his captivating voice, the promise he didn't speak aloud but that resonated in every word. Then she smirked, looking at Sirius from under her brows — just enough to let him know she appreciated his support but had no intention of becoming a passive muse.

"Just don't try to turn me into a rock ballad heroine," she lightly tapped his wrist but immediately intertwined her fingers with his. "I don't need odes. I need a partner."

Sirius snorted. He let go of her face but didn't step back; instead, he braced his palm on the table, tilted his head, and stared at the scattered sheets.

"By the way," he continued, "Jumbo never stops raving about The Beatles. He's got a thing for them: can spend half an hour explaining why 'Here Comes the Sun' is an anthem for humanity, and then another half arguing that 'Revolution 9' is pure chaos, and that's exactly why it's genius. So we can channel his energy in a positive direction. Let him write about the Beatles — at least his rambling will be useful for once."

Marlene laughed. She had long since gotten used to the Marauders constantly teasing each other. She reached for the stack of papers, pulled out a blank sheet, and handed it to him with a conspiratorial look.

"Exactly! Well, now we're officially partners in crime!" Marlene snapped her fingers contentedly and leaned back in her chair so suddenly it creaked in protest.

"Ooh, save some energy for the night," Sirius grinned, a playful note slipping into his voice that usually made Marlene roll her eyes, though this time she just snorted.

Then she smirked slyly, and a pencil flew at Sirius, but he caught it effortlessly mid-air without even looking.

"Marls, you don't suit being a drummer," he continued, twirling the pencil between his fingers before placing it back on the table.

In response, she laughed. And so Sirius and Marlene sat in the editorial office until evening, sorting through records, listening to tracks, arguing about whether to include an article on the Sex Pistols or focus on Pink Floyd; Sirius explained how sound worked, while Marlene showed him how fonts could convey mood. At some point, as it grew dark outside and two cups of cold coffee and leftover takeaway pasta appeared on the table, Sirius caught Marlene's hand and pulled her toward him, making her rise from behind the desk. His fingers closed firmly but gently around her wrist.

"Aren't you afraid of going crazy with this kind of workload?" Sirius's voice held a mix of concern and care that he usually hid behind sharp remarks and laughter, but now it slipped through.

He spun her around the empty office, as if they were truly dancing to magical music that played only for the two of them. Marlene rested her head on his shoulder and replied, eyes half-closed:

"Don't worry. We'll go crazy together. And it's even more fun that way."

"And what have I gotten myself into, you little dictator?" Sirius smirked, and slinging Marlene over his shoulder, he headed for the door.

"What are you doing?" Marlene laughed, hitting him on the back. "Put me down, you madman! I'm not a backpack!"

"Looking after your sleep," Sirius whistled, deliberately swaying slightly, as if carrying her was the most natural thing in the world. "And you know, I still prefer my dorm room. At least there's a real bed there, not a chair that's about to break a leg. Besides, James is gone with Lily and won't be back until tomorrow evening."

ice cream @blackinnonmicros

The summer afternoon was melting in the heat: stuffiness reigned everywhere, and the desire to go home grew stronger with every step. The only island of salvation seemed to be a tiny Muggle kiosk on the corner: behind its counter, an ice cream vendor with a mustache that made him look like an old walrus — a bit like Professor Slughorn — was leisurely arranging huge, fluffy cones at three pence each. Sirius walked up to him, hands in his shorts pockets, and without even glancing at the selection, placed his order:

"One. The biggest. With vanilla ice cream and chocolate sprinkles."

When he returned to Marlene, she was sitting on a bench, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. She had been complaining bitterly about forgetting her sunglasses at home, and Sirius hoped this would significantly improve her mood. For in his hand was a large cone, the top of which was already beginning to melt. Sticky streams of creamy liquid ran down the waffle edge, leaving sticky trails. Marlene opened her eyes slightly, glanced at this mountain of ice cream, and the corners of her lips twitched almost imperceptibly, as if she were fighting back a smile.

"Black, did you decide we were going to share this?" she inquired. "Or are you just planning to stand there and watch me drown in ice cream?"

"I'm planning," he said, sitting down beside her and leaning in slightly, as if trying to shield her from the blazing sun, "to share the ice cream with you."

He handed her the cone, and Marlene took a huge bite right from the very top. Tiny chocolate sprinkles scattered across her fingers, and a small smudge of white cream remained on the tip of her nose. Sirius barely managed not to laugh, but catching Marlene's formidable glare, he restrained himself in time.

"You always get messy, McKinnon," he teased, shaking his head. "You act like a child. Worse than Dora, honestly."

Marlene just smirked, quickly licked her lips, and, looking at him defiantly, slowly ran her tongue along the edge of the cone, gathering the drops that were running down the waffle. There was so much subtle provocation in that movement that Sirius had a fleeting thought of Apparating with her somewhere far away. The only thing stopping him was that they were in a Muggle area.

"Watch yourself," Marlene replied casually, raising an eyebrow slightly. "And help me out before it all melts. Or are you just going to sit there admiring how I handle this mountain all by myself?"

Marlene shoved the cone at Sirius, and without a second thought, he bit into the side. It didn't go very well. Apparently, Murphy's Law was in effect, because the ice cream immediately spread in white patches: on his cheekbone and chin, and also got all over Marlene's cheek. They froze, staring at each other. From the outside, Sirius and Marlene surely looked like two carefree idiots, smeared with ice cream, with white cream mustaches.

"Oh, you…" she drawled, and a dangerous, low note crept into her voice, promising nothing good. "Now I'll treat you my way."

Marlene took the cone, deftly broke off a piece of the waffle, scooped up some thick ice cream with it, and, looking Sirius straight in the eye, pressed it to his cheek, leaving a wide white streak. Then, unable to resist, she leaned in and licked it off, running her tongue over his skin and leaving a wet trail behind. Sirius flinched in surprise and, without even thinking, grabbed her by the back of the head, pulling her towards him.

"You asked for it," he whispered, and there wasn't a trace of seriousness in his voice. "I declare war on you, Marlie."

Sirius, not waiting for a reply, quickly dipped his finger into the remaining ice cream and smeared it along her collarbone, leaving a sticky milky trail. Then, tilting his head to the side and looking at Marlene with the most innocent expression, he deliberately slowly licked it off. His hot breath sent a shiver down Marlene's spine, having nothing to do with the coolness. She moaned softly, tilting her head back, and allowed him to continue — running his ice-cream-smeared fingers along her neck and arm, each time teasing her, now with his tongue, now with slow kisses. A simple cone was turning into something far more intimate and heated than this damn July day.

However, their game didn't last long. The idyll of war, which would have ended in Marlene's complete surrender, was interrupted by the sudden appearance of children. A couple of little brats came around the corner, having bought from the ice cream vendor and settled on a nearby bench. Sirius clicked his tongue in annoyance, glancing at the children, while Marlene couldn't help but burst out laughing. The look of displeasure on Black's face was just too funny.

"Your plans are ruined, Sirius," Marlene took a bite of the ice cream, licking her lips. "What a shame! You're not angry with those cute little boys, are you?"

"Marls, learn to lose gracefully," Sirius snorted. "You melted faster than this ice cream," he whispered the last phrase into her ear.

"Idiot!" Marlene pulled away, pointing at the cone, drops of which had stained her denim skirt and his shorts. "Black, you always do this! This is my favorite skirt!"

"McKinnon, you're the one who distracted me," he retorted, "and you're still trying to make me the villain!"

They spent five minutes in a minor argument before finally turning their attention back to the cone and finishing it. Then Marlene rummaged through her bag, trying to find something to wipe away the ice cream stains. A handkerchief came in very handy, which they used in turns.

"By the way, this is pretty good ice cream," Marlene said, pressing against Sirius and carefully licking the remaining ice cream from his lips. "No worse than Florean Fortescue's."

"You only say that because if old Fortescue saw our crazy way of eating ice cream, we'd immediately end up on his blacklist," Sirius joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Don't be ridiculous," Marlene snorted. "He's the sweetest man!"

"Marls, should I start getting jealous?" Sirius smirked. "I didn't know you had a thing for men older than your father…"

"Oh, just shut up," Marlene pouted and turned away.

Sirius smiled, studying her profile, and then kissed the tip of her nose, where a tiny drop of cream still remained white, like a little star on her freckled skin.

"Okay, Marls, don't sulk," Sirius continued as Marlene looked at him with irony in her eyes. "Of course, Fortescue and his ice cream are beyond compare."

"Black, don't suck up," Marlene placed her palm on his.

They sat on the bench for another whole hour, despite the heat, from which they now found relief in milkshakes. The sun painted the sky in warm peach hues that looked beautiful against the backdrop of white clouds. The shadows grew a little longer, and even the stuffiness eased slightly. Marlene stopped pouting — it was hard to stay angry for long when Sirius kept pouring the remnants of his milkshake into her glass, as if it were some special sign of reconciliation. She laughed, catching his sly glance, and shook her head:

"You're the most insufferable person in the world, Sirius Black."

skinny dipping @blackinnonmicros

Loch Lomond proved to be truly magnificent. Marlene had long spoken of the stunning views from its shores, but only by seeing this natural beauty with his own eyes could Sirius fully understand his McKinnon's enthusiasm.

The water seemed to beckon them, promising long-awaited coolness on this sultry evening. Sirius and Marlene had walked here across the heather moors and now stood at the edge of a wooden pier, admiring how the moonlight fractured on the dark surface. This spectacle transformed it into an endless silver mirror, reflecting the night sky.

Without the slightest hesitation or unnecessary movement, Marlene slipped off her sundress, letting the fabric fall softly to her feet. Sirius smirked with obvious pleasure, unabashedly taking in her figure. He couldn't miss such an opportunity — before him was the perfect angle, and it would be a sin not to make the most of the moment. Marlene looked incredibly alluring in her underwear. The delicate fabric elegantly emphasized her seductive curves. The graceful lines of her waist flowed smoothly into rounded hips, and her bra barely concealed her full breasts.

"Are you coming, Black? Or are you just going to stand there staring at me as if you've never seen me undressed before?" Marlene said with a smirk.

Sirius pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing his muscular chest. Then he deftly unbuckled his belt and let his jeans fall to the wooden planks of the pier. In the semi-darkness of the night, the moonlight played across his bare torso, outlining every line of his body.

The distinct contours of muscles stood out on his shoulders, leading to a scar on his collarbone — a reminder of a dangerous mission carried out at great personal risk. This scar was not the only testament to his reckless bravery: beside it gleamed a new tattoo, done at a Muggle parlor. They had chosen the design together.

"I'm staring because it's the best view in Scotland, McKinnon," Sirius said calmly. "And if you think I'm going to look at the water when I could be looking at you, you're very much mistaken."

"Black, do you really think I'm going to fall for that?" Marlene said with irony.

"Mmm, you're right, that's not interesting," Sirius deliberately traced his finger slowly along the strap of her bra. "Marls, you're a brave girl, aren't you?"

"Afraid I'll drown you and hide the body?" Marlene challenged.

"My dear bloodthirsty mermaid or siren," Sirius smirked, alluding to her love of singing, "how about we get rid of all this extra clothing?"

Marlene opened her mouth to respond, but Sirius gently placed his thumb on her lips, silencing her.

"I knew you couldn't handle it," he said with a smirk, enjoying her reaction.

Marlene deliberately gave Sirius a slight shove, then, with a sly smile, stepped to the edge of the pier. Without wasting a second, she quickly removed her underwear and dove into the dark, cold water. It closed over her with a dull splash.

Sirius, not one to be left behind, discarded his boxers and jumped in after her. Surfacing, he saw Marlene already a few meters away. She tossed her wet blonde hair back, and it gleamed in the silvery moonlight. At that moment, she truly resembled a siren — a mythical creature created to enchant and captivate him not only with her wondrous singing but also with the wild ideas that constantly popped into her beautiful head.

Now Marlene seemed even more graceful and alluring. Droplets of water streaming down her skin created a mesmerizing interplay of light and shadow. Marlene swam easily and gracefully, as if she were made for this element. Sirius swam up to her, feeling excitement spreading within him. He reached out his hand to touch her, and at that moment, they were even closer to each other than just a few minutes before.

"You love playing by your own rules," Sirius drawled.

The water was so clean and cool that it relaxed his entire body after the day's heat.

"Gryffindors and rules are hardly compatible concepts, darling," Marlene sang in reply, her lips brushing against his ear. Her breath was warm and uneven.

Sirius held her tighter, and they stood there, embracing, as the water gently rocked them. The stars reflected in every droplet, creating a magical radiance around them. Sirius felt Marlene tracing patterns on his back and shoulders with her hands. And he, in turn, teased her, trying to tickle her sides.

"You know, Marls," Sirius began, "sometimes rules aren't as important as what happens between us."

She looked at him with understanding and a coquettish smile. On this night, under the moon and stars, they truly wanted to act with complete freedom. And even if the rules were left somewhere on the shore, in the lake they would do as they pleased.

Sirius leaned forward, and their lips met. At first — only a light, teasing touch, wet from the water. Then the pressure grew more confident and deeper. Her mouth opened for him, accepting his tongue, while water ran in cold, thin streams between their faces.

He felt her fingers instinctively tighten on his shoulder, her nails lightly scratching his skin. The water around them grew denser, pressing their bodies together. Each new kiss was met with a sensation of sliding — lips pressing together, then parting for a fraction of a second, only to meet again, far more demanding and heated. Marlene's breath came in short, uneven gasps as Sirius's palms tightened around her waist.

Sirius held Marlene closer, pulling her even nearer, as if trying to dissolve into her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and they stood there, bodies intertwined, losing all sense of time.

"I love you," she whispered, when they pulled apart to catch their breath. "But that doesn't change the fact that you drive me crazy, Sirius Black."

"The feeling's mutual, Marlene McKinnon," Sirius smiled contentedly, savoring her closeness.

However, Marlene, as if determined to shatter the romantic and passionate idyll, abruptly slipped from his embrace and swiftly swam toward the shore, shouting:

"Try and catch me!"

Sirius had no intention of giving her a head start or playing the gentleman. With a mischievous grin, he followed her, enjoying the chase. The water caressed his body, giving him strength and lightness. He knew Marlene couldn't evade him for long. As they reached the shore, Sirius, wasting no time, stepped out of the water and grabbed Marlene's hand. Their eyes met — hers sparkled with mischief, while his gleamed with excitement.

"You won't get away from me that easily, McKinnon," he said, pulling her closer.

"We'll see about that, Black," she replied, laughing and trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

wedding @blackinnonmicros

Having a wedding without a lavish ceremony would have been the worst possible decision for many. But not for Sirius Black and Marlene McKinnon. They, as always, went against all expectations and acted according to the call of their hearts, not according to a clear and boring plan.

The formal part passed swiftly and almost unnoticed, because no one wanted to waste time on unnecessary words when everything was already clear. And then Sirius and Marlene Apparated to their special place, which they had chosen at the very beginning, when they had only whispered about the future in between Order raids and shared adventures.

They had chosen this shore for its freedom — unspoiled by beach umbrellas or noisy crowds of Muggle tourists. Here there was only golden, bitingly cold sand that crunched underfoot, and the endless sea merging on the horizon with the sky into one boundless expanse of blue.

Marlene, having removed her shoes, stood barefoot, feeling the coolness of the sand softly embracing her feet. She wore a beautiful ivory-colored dress — fine cotton that flowed over her figure, with bare shoulders and a high waistline. It seemed made for the wind: every gust caught the fabric, making it dance around Marlene, emphasizing her effortless grace. Her loose curly hair looked perfect without any elaborate styling.

Sirius stood beside her, in a shirt, leather jacket, and trousers. In his usual, slightly casual style, which somehow seemed especially right today. He held her hand in his, firmly and tenderly, as if wanting to convey all his confidence to Marlene: here, on this shore, amidst the wind and sea, they were home.

"So, Marls, happy to have managed to put a ring on the most notorious Marauder?" Sirius inquired cheekily, tilting his head slightly and flashing a mischievous grin, as if he still couldn't quite believe what was happening.

And just a couple of months ago, the former Miss McKinnon had boldly declared that she would never change her surname to Black! And now here she stood before him, looking so beautiful that he wanted to both smother her in hugs and get a Collograph to capture every moment.

At that moment, the reflections of waves and sun danced in Marlene's azure eyes, as if all that endless blue — the sea, the sky, and even the faint gleam of the sand — fit inside them. On her lips was that same satisfied smile that, back in sixth year, had made Sirius forget about everything else, and it seemed to still possess that special magic.

"And are you happy that you'll have to put up with all my whims for the rest of your life?" Marlene replied with a question, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius laughed out loud. He squeezed Marlene's hand tighter and pulled her a little closer, not taking his eyes off her.

"I'd turn the whole world upside down for those whims of yours," he said lightly, but in those words, despite his usual bravado, there was such sincerity that Marlene couldn't help but smile a little wider, trying not to reveal the full storm of emotions that had washed over her. "Besides, who said I'm just going to put up with them? I'm planning to participate in them. We'll never be bored with each other, you and me."

Marlene laughed, shook her head, and then leaned slightly towards Sirius, so her hair brushed against his shoulder.

"You know," she whispered, as if sharing a secret, "this is exactly what I wanted. Not grand speeches or stupid parties — just you, and no one interfering with us being ourselves."

Sirius listened carefully to Marlene's words, then leaned in and gently touched his lips to her temple.

"Then let the whole world wait," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, so they could watch the sun slowly slide down the horizon, painting the sea in gold and crimson. "Today is our special day."

Marlene pressed against him, feeling his heart beating strongly.

"Just imagine," Sirius continued, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling the scent of the sea and her hair, "we have no champagne. And no cake. And I'm not even sure we have anything except that stupid blanket in the backpack. But I think I'm the happiest person in the world."

"Tomorrow we'll find the most expensive restaurant in the nearest town and eat everything down to the last crumb," Marlene promised with a defiant smile. "But today… I want you to take off your shirt, and for us to finally use that blanket for its intended purpose. Because we're husband and wife now, Black, and I want to celebrate that."

Sirius paused for a moment, listening to her words and smirking. He had always loved Marlene's straightforwardness! Then Sirius scooped Marlene up in his arms, making her squeal in surprise and laugh brightly. Her laughter gradually mingled with the sound of the surf.

camping @blackinnonmicros

Summer in the Scottish Highlands was capricious, but this evening turned out to be exceptionally generous. The sun, tired after a long day, reluctantly sank below the horizon, the heat receded, and the smell of the campfire, on the contrary, spread through the air. Sirius and Marlene had set up camp in a small hollow, sheltered from the wind by rocky outcroppings, far from prying eyes, and the tent, which Sirius had conjured in a hurry, turned out to be more spacious on the inside than it appeared from the outside — with soft pillows and warm blankets that created a comfortable atmosphere.

Marlene sat by the fire, her legs tucked beneath her, wrapped in his leather jacket. Her blonde curly hair, touched by the reflections of the flames, resembled molten gold, while her expression remained focused and serious, because she was holding a marshmallow on a long stick and turning it over the fire, careful not to let it burn.

"Are you sure we won't get lost tomorrow?" she asked with a hint of skepticism, glancing sideways at Sirius. "Because I still remember how last time you managed to break the compass, and then we wandered through the forest for three hours, like in some endless labyrinth. And you were still trying to convince me it was a 'planned route'!"

Sirius sat across from her, his gaze fixed on Marlene, and his signature smile played on his lips. As if for Black, the whole world was one big joke. He snorted and casually tossed a couple of sticks into the fire. Sparks flew upward, flaring brightly orange for a moment, then scattered into tiny particles before burning out completely. The flames flickered slightly, and in this uneven light, Sirius's features seemed both mischievous and serene.

"Admit it, that time turned out even more interesting than usual. And besides, McKinnon," Black declared impudently, leaning forward slightly as if to reinforce his words with the gesture, "first of all, I didn't break the compass — I just… wanted to improve it with a few charms. You know, add a couple of features so it would show not only the cardinal directions but also, say, the nearest pubs or places where you can get a decent cup of coffee."

He paused for a second, as if doubting the wisdom of the idea himself, then broke into his charming smile again.

"Secondly, if you burn that marshmallow now, I'll be forced to eat it, and then in retaliation, I'll steal your sleeping bag. And don't give me that look: I'm serious. In the forest without a sleeping bag, even in a tent, you can't manage, and yours is clearly warmer than mine… And thirdly," Sirius deliberately paused, drawing out the moment, clearly about to say something incredibly important, "even if we do get lost, it's the best way to spend time alone that I can think of. Without a compass, without a map — just you, me, and this forest, which, I hope, no one will cut down anytime soon."

Having finished his monologue, Sirius leaned back and looked into the fire, as if he saw some special meaning in the flames, known only to him. Marlene tore her gaze away from the marshmallow, which she was still holding on the stick, and rolled her eyes. She imagined what Black was chattering about and barely suppressed a laugh: in his head, any absurd idea immediately acquired heroic details. If her hands weren't occupied, she would have definitely twirled her finger at her temple, but instead she just shook her head, resigning herself to the fact that arguing with Sirius was a losing battle.

"Oh yes, the height of romance," she smirked, handing him the toasted marshmallow.

The golden crust crunched slightly, while the inside remained gooey and warm. As he took the treat, she, without a second thought, leaned in and lightly kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Though getting lost with you really is fun. Like another adventure," she added, a little softer.

Sirius smiled, popped the marshmallow into his mouth, and after chewing, pulled her by the back of her head to give her a proper kiss — more passionate and lingering.

lazy @blackinnonmicros

Sunday morning was so lazy that greeting the new day felt utterly unappealing. Sunlight, invading the bedroom through the partially drawn curtains, slowly spread across the floor in golden stripes, while outside the window, the city was only just beginning to stir. Somewhere in the distance, an old car rumbled down the street, and the first voices of passersby could be heard.

Sirius and Marlene were still lying in bed, and the blanket, half-slipped onto the floor, seemed to hold the memory of the night that had passed — too hot to stay covered, and too long to know exactly at which moment they had finally fallen asleep.

Marlene rolled onto her stomach, arms outstretched as if she wanted to embrace the whole world, a blissful, sleepy smile frozen on her face. She was clearly still dreaming a good dream. Sirius propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her; his black hair fell carelessly across his forehead, and he, as if unable to stop himself, lazily traced patterns on her bare shoulder. Each touch was almost weightless. He traced her name.

"You know," he said, fighting a yawn, "I could lie here forever."

Marlene reluctantly opened one eye. She was already awake but still hadn't decided whether to surrender to the day and head for the shower. Something rather sly flickered in her half-asleep gaze.

"You're just lazy, Black," she whispered, stretching her whole body so slowly that the blanket slipped even lower, revealing her delicate collarbones and the scattering of freckles he had been kissing last night. "And I completely understand you. Getting up now would be like going against nature itself, Sirius. But… I wouldn't say no to breakfast in bed."

He leaned down and touched his lips to Marlene's shoulder, making her smile. Then his lips slid higher — to the thin line of her neck, to the barely visible vein fluttering beneath her skin, and then to the corner of her mouth. Marlene moved closer, buried her nose in Sirius's chest, inhaling his familiar, dear scent, and wrapped her arms around him.

"And who's going to make breakfast?" Sirius asked matter-of-factly, lazily running his fingers through her golden hair, twirling unruly strands around his fingers. "I want to laze around here until evening. Maybe even until tomorrow."

"Are you hinting at me?" Marlene squinted slyly, propped herself up, and looked at him, purposely frowning. "Black, I'm not your slave."

"McKinnon, and am I your slave?" Sirius snorted, leaned back on the pillow, and crossed his arms over his chest, displaying wounded pride with his entire demeanor. "That's, you know, not dignified. Besides, I'm a creative person — I'm supposed to lie here and think about inspiration."

"Hmm…" Marlene paused for a second, as if weighing all the pros and cons, and then snapped her fingers, as if she had found the perfect solution. "Here's the deal: whoever gets hungry first makes breakfast."

Sirius raised his eyebrows, then broke into a wide, sly smile.

"Deal," he drawled, pulling her back to him. "Then I'm ready not to eat… say, for three days."

Marlene laughed, pressed her forehead to his shoulder, and shook her head.

"You're impossible, Black," she whispered, tracing her finger along his new tattoo. "Simply impossible."

Meanwhile, the city outside had fully woken up: somewhere a door slammed, a car drove by, and in the distance, a bicycle bell rang. The voices of passersby grew louder.

"Three days, you say?" Marlene repeated, squinting so that small wrinkles gathered at the corners of her eyes. "You won't last three hours. Your stomach is like a hippopotamus's — it roars louder than an alarm clock."

Sirius theatrically placed his hand over his heart and snorted in mock offense.

"You're wounding me in my most sensitive spot, McKinnon," he drawled. "I, for the record, am a person of delicate spiritual constitution."

"Yeah, with the appetite of an elephant," she giggled and suddenly froze, listening. "Do you hear that?"

"Merlin, are you planning to list the entire zoo?" Sirius asked. "If we're starting a 'world of animals' segment, allow me to remind you that I'm a black dog."

Marlene burst out laughing loudly, and Sirius tossed a small pillow at her, which she, however, caught easily, recalling her Quidditch training days. They messed around a little longer, teasing each other, and then Marlene suddenly grew quiet, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You know," Marlene confessed, looking off to the side but still watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye, "sometimes I miss simple moments like this so much. I wish it could always be like this."

Sirius smiled affectionately, and his features softened. He ran his palm over her wavy blonde hair, continuing to twirl one of the strands around his finger.

"Today, we don't have to rush anywhere," he whispered, burying his face in her hair. "Let the whole world wait. We have our own universe here."

Marlene smirked. How Black loved his pompous phrases! Yet she immediately gave in and pressed closer to him, interlacing their fingers.

"Okay," she murmured, "five more minutes. Just five. And then… well, then we'll think about what to do next."

"Deal," Sirius nodded, pulling the edge of the blanket over both of them, as if hiding them from everything waiting outside the door. "Five minutes. But I'm betting that in five minutes, you'll say 'five more.'"

"I won't say that!" she grumbled stubbornly, but a moment later her voice sounded very relaxed. "Well… maybe five more. Just a tiny bit."

He laughed, held her tighter, and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her hair. And really, why rush? In this small, warm world where there were only the two of them, there were no hours, no schedules, no urgent matters. Only light and the feeling that everything most important had already happened — simply because they were together. Sharing one pillow between them.