#s.o.b.

You make the list on a sleepy Sunday afternoon, the kind when the rain won’t stop and the castle feels half-asleep. The common room glows gold with firelight, parchment scattered everywhere, and the faint hum of chatter from groups huddled over homework. You’re supposed to be writing your Potions essay, quill in hand, ink smudged on your fingers — but your mind drifts elsewhere.

Seventh year. The last. The thought sits heavy in your chest. You’ve spent so much of it buried in exams and N.E.W.T. prep that you’ve barely noticed how fast it’s slipping away. Every corridor you walk feels like it’s already becoming a memory. You promised yourself this year would feel different — that it wouldn’t just disappear like all the rest.

So, on a whim, you pull out a clean piece of parchment, flatten it over your knees, and at the top, you write:

“Things to do before I leave Hogwarts.”

It looks silly at first. Childish. You tap your quill against your chin, thinking. But then you smile — because why not? Everyone else has goals about careers and scores and responsibilities. Maybe you just want to live a little before the real world starts.

The first thing comes easily. Your quill hesitates only a second before you write:

1. Kiss Sirius Black.

You grin, rolling your eyes at yourself. “Obviously not happening,” you mutter, but you leave it there. Maybe it’s a joke. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just something daring enough to make your heart race when you look at it.

After that, the ideas tumble out quickly. 2. Sneak into the kitchens after curfew. 3. Charm the Great Hall ceiling to show fireworks instead of stars. 4. Pull a harmless prank on McGonagall. 5. Sneak into the boys’ dorm and switch all their pillowcases to pink. 6. Brew a potion not on the syllabus — and actually make it work. 7. Dance in the rain on the Quidditch pitch at midnight. 8. Sneak into Filch’s office and leave a cupcake on his desk labelled “For my favourite person.” 9. Fly over the Black Lake at sunrise. 10. Make Dumbledore laugh during breakfast.

By the time you finish, your cheeks hurt from smiling. You fold the parchment neatly and tuck it into your bag, ink still fresh at the edges. It’s ridiculous, completely unserious — but for the first time in a long while, the world feels a little bigger.

And maybe, you think, just maybe, seventh year won’t be so ordinary after all.

Sirius Black wasn’t usually the type to snoop. Well— that wasn’t entirely true. He didn’t mind snooping when it was funny, or when it involved James’s secret stash of Honeydukes chocolate, or when it meant reading the occasional detentions list for sport. But this—this was different. He hadn’t meant to find it.

It happened on a Thursday afternoon in the common room. You’d left your bag open on the couch when you went upstairs, parchment half-spilling out. Sirius had been sprawled on the rug, flipping through a Quidditch magazine, pretending to study. His eyes had caught on the parchment because your handwriting was unmistakable — slightly slanted, ink-dark, a little impatient.

He’d just meant to put it back. Really. But then he saw the title.

Things to do before I leave Hogwarts.

Sirius grinned instantly. “Merlin,” he muttered under his breath, “how dramatic can one girl be?”

He almost tossed it aside. Almost. But curiosity was his worst quality. So he skimmed it — eyes darting down the page, half-expecting doodles of cats or homework notes. Instead, what he found made him stop completely.

1. Kiss Sirius Black.

He blinked. Then blinked again.

“…what?”

For a solid ten seconds, Sirius just stared at the words, waiting for them to rearrange themselves into something else. They didn’t. His own name sat there in neat black ink, innocent and bold, the very first item on the list.

He could feel a smirk tugging at his lips, uninvited and unstoppable. “Number one?” he murmured, half to himself, half to the universe. “Not bad, love. Not bad at all.”

The rest of the list blurred for a moment — fireworks, pranks, the Quidditch pitch, a cupcake for Filch — but Sirius barely registered them. His mind stuck to the first line, looping it again and again like a song he couldn’t turn off.

She wants to kiss me.

He tried to brush it off. Loads of people want to kiss me. But somehow, that didn’t sound as smug in his head as it should have. Because it wasn’t just anyone — it was you. The girl who rolled her eyes when he winked, who corrected his essay margins with a sigh, who never blushed even when he was trying his very hardest to make her.

Sirius leaned back against the sofa, parchment dangling between his fingers, and grinned to himself. “This is dangerous information,” he whispered. “Very, very dangerous.”

For a moment, he thought about putting it back. He really did. But the mischief was already sparking behind his eyes. Because now he knew something you didn’t — and Sirius Black never could resist a secret.

He folded the parchment carefully, slipped it into the inside pocket of his robes, and tapped it once like a promise.

“Guess we’ll have to help you with your little list, sweetheart,” he said softly, voice curling with amusement. “Can’t have you leave Hogwarts without crossing off number one, can we?”

He grinned, stretched, and sauntered toward the stairs — that list burning a hole in his pocket and a new plan already taking shape in his head.

2. Sneak into the kitchens after curfew.

You didn’t think much of it, really. Sneaking into the kitchens wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, not with how often you forgot dinner because of late-night studying. It was a quiet kind of rebellion — harmless, familiar. You’d barely made it past the tapestry when someone cleared their throat behind you.

“Bit late for a stroll, isn’t it?”

You jumped, turning to find Sirius leaning lazily against the wall, wand light glinting off his grin. Of course. It had to be him.

“Bit late for you to be following people around,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Following?” He clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “Please, love. Coincidence. Just happened to be on my way to—”

“To the kitchens?” you finished, one brow raised.

His smirk deepened. “You know me so well.”

You didn’t think too hard about it when he tickled the pear on the portrait and ushered you inside first, or when the elves practically cheered at his arrival. You didn’t even question the way he seemed to know exactly which trays hid the treacle tart. You just let it happen — the laughter, the butterbeer, the stolen biscuits. You talked about nothing and everything until the candles burned low and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

You left with crumbs on your sleeve and a strange warmth in your chest, the kind that lingered even after you said goodnight. You had no idea Sirius walked back to the tower with the same dizzy smile, mentally crossing off number two from a list you didn’t know he had memorized.

3. Charm the Great Hall ceiling to show fireworks instead of stars.

The next week, the Great Hall ceiling exploded into fireworks.

It happened in the middle of dinner, one loud pop echoing through the room before golden bursts of light spiraled into the shape of a phoenix, then a lion, then the words Mischief Managed written across the stars. The entire hall gasped, then laughed, teachers scrambling to stop it, students cheering wildly.

You sat there, blinking up at your own spell gone completely overboard. You hadn’t meant for it to work that well. Beside you, Sirius just leaned back on the bench, grinning like a cat that had stolen the whole jar of cream.

“Didn’t know you had such a flair for drama,” he said, elbow nudging yours.

“I didn’t do that much,” you muttered, watching another burst of crimson light streak across the enchanted ceiling.

“Sure you didn’t,” he said, eyes gleaming, “but if you ever feel like trying again, I might know a few… additions.”

You didn’t notice how his gaze softened when you looked up at the fireworks. You didn’t notice the quiet pride in his smirk, or the fact that he’d been in the hall early, wand raised, whispering the charm before you even arrived.

4. Pull a harmless prank on McGonagall.

And then there was McGonagall.

It started with a whisper in the corridor, a dare to leave a small surprise on her desk before Transfiguration. Nothing major — just a charm that would make her teacup sing God Save the Queen whenever it was lifted. You’d planned to do it yourself, but somehow, when you arrived that morning, she was already scowling at a very melodic teacup.

Sirius didn’t even try to hide his grin as she stared down the class, trying to find the culprit. You buried your face in your notes, biting back laughter, heart pounding. When the class ended, you caught him watching you as he passed, voice low and amused.

“Harmless prank, wasn’t it?” he murmured. “Consider it… taken care of.”

You frowned, confused for half a second — but his wink disarmed every question before it could form. You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, completely unaware that somewhere deep in his pocket, that crumpled parchment now had three neat little imaginary check marks beside your name.

5. Sneak into the boys’ dorm and switch all their pillowcases to pink.

It was supposed to be quick. In and out before anyone noticed. You’d waited until nearly midnight, the castle quiet and shadowed, your wandlight low as you crept into the boys’ staircase with a bundle of bright pink pillowcases tucked under your arm. You’d planned it perfectly: everyone would be asleep, you’d swap the cases, and by morning the entire dorm would look like a flamingo convention. Easy.

You tiptoed into the room, heart pounding, the scent of broom polish and parchment filling the air. James’s snoring echoed faintly from the far bed, Remus had a book still open on his chest, and Sirius’s bed— of course— was messy, blankets tangled like he’d fought them in his sleep. You grinned to yourself and got to work, gently tugging off the first pillowcase, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

You were halfway through the second when a voice murmured from the dark, low and amused. “Now, what exactly do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

You froze. Your wand nearly slipped from your fingers. Then, from the shadows, Sirius sat up — hair mussed, eyes glinting in the dim light, smirk already forming.

“Merlin’s sake—” you hissed. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Not when there’s a girl sneaking into my dorm with suspiciously pink fabric,” he said, stretching like a cat. “Should I be worried?”

You rolled your eyes. “Go back to bed, Black.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, leaning forward, the lazy grin never fading. “See, I’d love to, but now I’m curious. Care to enlighten me?”

“It’s for my list,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head. “Your what?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Sirius stood, the hem of his T-shirt brushing his hips, silver chain catching the light as he stepped closer. “Oh no, no, I think I’ll remember that. But since you seem so determined—” He plucked one of the pillowcases from your arm, twirling it around his finger. “—you might as well have a little help.”

You blinked. “You’re offering to help me?”

He grinned. “Of course. Can’t let you commit pillowcase sabotage alone. Terrible form.”

You should’ve said no. You should’ve told him to get back in bed and stop being smug. But somehow, ten minutes later, the two of you were whisper-laughing as you replaced every pillow in the room, trying not to wake anyone. You nearly fell over each other when Remus mumbled something in his sleep, and Sirius caught you by the waist, pulling you against him to steady you. The world went quiet for half a heartbeat — just his breath close to your ear, the faint thud of your pulse, the pink fabric slipping from your hand.

When you finally stepped back, you couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks,” you whispered.

“Anytime,” he said softly, and there was something in his tone that wasn’t teasing anymore.

By the time you slipped out of the dorm, you were grinning like a fool. You told yourself it was just because of the prank — because in a few hours, the entire Gryffindor Tower would wake to a sea of pink. You didn’t let yourself think about the way his fingers had lingered a second longer than they needed to, or the way your stomach had flipped when he’d said “sweetheart” like it was something sacred.

You didn’t know Sirius was standing at the window long after you left, looking down at the courtyard, smiling to himself like he’d just made a very dangerous discovery.

6. Brew a potion not on the syllabus — and actually make it work.

You hadn’t meant for it to work. Honestly. It was supposed to be just another one of the ridiculous challenges on your list — “brew a potion not on the syllabus,” nothing too complicated. But then Slughorn had left the storeroom unlocked, and curiosity got the better of you, and somehow you found yourself hunched over a bubbling cauldron in the corner of the dungeon, a candle flickering dangerously close to your sleeve and your heart thudding so loud it felt like it might echo off the stone walls.

You’d read about Amortentia before — the most powerful love potion in existence, capable of smelling different to everyone depending on what they found most attractive. You’d told yourself you were just testing your skill. Just seeing if you could. It wasn’t like it would mean anything.

The potion shimmered, iridescent, spiraling like liquid starlight. You leaned in, cautiously, watching the pearly vapour curl toward you — and that was when it hit.

The scent was intoxicating, warm and sharp all at once. Smoke and cinnamon. A trace of leather. Wind after rain. Something wild and bright that you’d know anywhere. Your chest went tight, breath catching before you could stop it. You blinked, trying to clear your head, but the smell didn’t fade. It was Sirius. Every bit of him distilled into something heartbreakingly beautiful.

You staggered back, shaking your head. “No. Nope. Absolutely not,” you muttered under your breath. “That’s… that’s wrong. That can’t be right.”

“Can’t be what?”

You nearly dropped your ladle. Sirius was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, grin lazy and amused. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up, and of course he’d picked now to show up.

“Merlin’s beard, Sirius! You nearly gave me a heart attack,” you hissed, quickly moving to block the cauldron.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re brewing something. And judging by the smell—” he sniffed dramatically, “—something dangerous.”

“It’s nothing,” you said too quickly.

“Nothing smells like that?” He stepped closer, nose wrinkling playfully. “Wait. Don’t tell me that’s— oh, it is, isn’t it?” His grin widened. “Amortentia. Naughty, naughty.”

“It’s just an experiment,” you mumbled, turning away so he wouldn’t see the flush creeping up your neck.

“An experiment, huh?” He leaned over the cauldron, inhaling deeply. “Smells like…” He trailed off for a second, expression flickering. “You.”

You blinked. “What?”

He straightened, smirk returning like nothing happened. “Lavender, ink, and a bit of trouble. Definitely you.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, but your brain was spinning too fast. You forced a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugged, stepping around you until you were almost chest to chest. “Maybe. But tell me, what do you smell?”

You hesitated. The air between you was too warm, too charged, and for a second you thought about lying — about saying something easy, like chocolate or rain or firewhisky. But the words got stuck in your throat. “It’s— it’s nothing.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you closely. “You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallowed hard. “Positive.”

He grinned again, all teasing and charm, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat too long before he turned to leave. “Whatever you say, love. But if you start acting funny, I’ll know who to blame.”

When he was gone, you exhaled shakily, staring into the shimmering potion. The steam still curled up, sweet and smoky and painfully familiar, wrapping around you like a secret you couldn’t unlearn. You dipped the ladle one last time, whispered, “I am so doomed,” and watched the reflection of your red cheeks ripple across the surface.

7. Dance in the rain on the Quidditch pitch at midnight.

Gryffindor had won. The stands were roaring, scarlet banners flashing in the wind, and somewhere in the middle of the chaos, Sirius was grinning like he’d swallowed the sun. You’d been screaming yourself hoarse, the thrill of the match buzzing through your veins long after the final whistle. The rain had started halfway through the last lap, turning the pitch slick and golden under the evening light, but no one cared. Victory looked good on him — hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. You told yourself you were just going down to congratulate him, nothing more, but your heart clearly didn’t get the memo.

You found him near the goalposts, surrounded by his teammates. James had just thrown an arm around his shoulder, yelling something about “bloody legends,” when he caught sight of you lingering a few feet away. Sirius’s gaze followed, and for a second, the noise seemed to fade — just you, the smell of rain, the grass glistening like emeralds. He said something to James, who smirked (of course he did), and then Sirius jogged toward you, broom in hand, grin still wide.

“Came to bask in our glory, did you?” he teased, voice rough from cheering.

You laughed, shoving your hands into your robe pockets. “Just thought I’d say congrats. You were brilliant out there.”

“Was I?” He stepped closer, dripping rain, looking unfairly good in the grey light. “You almost sound impressed.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you said, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

A thunderclap rumbled above, followed by a sudden downpour — the heavens opening in full celebration. The students shrieked and scattered toward the castle, but neither of you moved. The rain was cold, but the air between you was warm, charged, alive.

“You’re soaked,” you said, brushing water from your lashes.

“So are you,” he replied, and somehow that was funny enough to make you laugh, loud and real. He watched you like he couldn’t look anywhere else. Then, in that careless, impulsive Sirius Black way, he dropped his broom and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

“In the rain?” you asked, half laughing, half breathless.

“On the list, isn’t it?”

Your heart skipped. You froze, eyes widening. “What— how do you—?”

But he only smirked, stepping closer until you could see the raindrops clinging to his lashes. “Come on, love. Don’t ruin my fun now.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just twined his fingers through yours and spun you onto the slick pitch. The world tilted — laughter, water, thunder — his hand steady at your waist, his smile softer now, almost reverent. You forgot how to think. You forgot why you’d ever promised yourself not to fall for him.

When the rain finally slowed and the cheering inside the castle faded, you were both breathless, soaked to the bone, grinning like idiots. Sirius squeezed your hand once, then brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, eyes dark and unguarded. “Guess I can cross that off the list too.”

You stared at him, heartbeat stuttering. “You—”

He only grinned wider, tapping the tip of your nose with his dripping finger. “Later. You’ll thank me later.”

And just like that, he was gone — running back across the field, laughter trailing behind him, leaving you standing in the rain, half in love and too scared to admit it.

8. Sneak into Filch’s office and leave a cupcake on his desk labelled “For my favourite person.”

You had no idea what was wrong with you lately. Every time you even thought about the list, Sirius seemed to appear — right place, right time, with that infuriating smirk and some perfectly convenient excuse. He’d shown up for the kitchen raid, somehow “guessed” you wanted to charm the Great Hall ceiling, and now, as you stood outside Filch’s office clutching a cupcake in one hand and your wand in the other, you couldn’t help thinking this was getting suspicious.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Sirius whispered beside you, crouched low in the corridor shadows.

“We?” you muttered. “I never invited you along.”

He flashed you a grin that didn’t belong anywhere near a dark, forbidden hallway. “Please. You’d be caught in five minutes without me.”

“That’s not—”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to your lips, eyes glinting. “Filch’s office is just there.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was doing that stupid fluttery thing again. The corridor smelled like dust and damp parchment, the lanternlight faint and flickering. You crept toward the door, wand poised, muttering, “Alohomora.” The latch clicked, and Sirius let out a low, impressed whistle.

Inside, the office was exactly as miserable as you’d imagined — shelves lined with confiscated items, chains hanging from the ceiling, and that faint smell of cat and despair. You set the cupcake down carefully in the middle of the desk, the little parchment tag fluttering — For my favourite person.

Sirius leaned over your shoulder, breath ghosting your ear. “You know, if anyone ever left me one of those, I might just melt.”

You gave him a side-eye. “You’d never deserve one.”

“Harsh.” His tone was light, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “All this charm and no cupcake? Tragic.”

You turned to face him, whispering, “Are you trying to get us caught?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He was far too close now, close enough that you could see the raindrop still clinging to the end of his hair from earlier, close enough that your voice caught before you could say anything else. He noticed, of course. Sirius always noticed.

When you slipped out into the hallway again, heart pounding, he followed a step behind — humming, smug, unbothered. You squinted at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Just helping a friend make her dreams come true,” he said innocently.

That was what did it — that exact line, too pointed, too knowing. You stopped walking, staring at him. “Wait,” you said slowly. “How do you—?”

But he just smiled, that maddeningly perfect, infuriating smile. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” And then he was gone again, disappearing around the corner like smoke.

You stood there, cupcake icing still on your fingertips, trying to shake the feeling that he was two steps ahead of you — and that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t really mind.

9. Fly over the Black Lake at sunrise.

It had started as a joke. You’d scribbled Fly over the Black Lake at sunrise onto the list one night half-asleep, more wish than goal. You couldn’t actually fly — not properly, anyway — and you’d long since accepted that broomsticks were for people braver, lighter, less prone to falling off. But when Sirius found you standing at the edge of the lake one morning, clutching the folded list and squinting into the pink horizon, it was clear the universe had other plans.

“You planning to jump or something, sweetheart?” he called, voice lazy, wind-tossed.

You turned to find him there, leaning on his broom, hair catching the early light. He looked like he belonged to the dawn — wild and golden and alive. “Just thinking,” you said.

“About?”

You hesitated. “About number nine.”

His grin curved slow and dangerous. “Ah. The infamous list again.”

You froze. “The what?”

But he only shrugged, stepping closer, broom balanced casually against his shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll take you.”

“What?”

“Over the lake. Sunrise waits for no witch.”

You blinked. “Sirius, I can’t fly.”

“Good thing I can.”

You tried to protest, but his hand was already extended, his smile too disarming to resist. Against every rational thought in your head, you took it. His fingers were warm even in the morning chill.

“Up we go, love,” he murmured, swinging his leg over the broom and tugging you gently to sit in front of him. The world tilted as the broom rose, smooth and effortless, air whipping past your face. The ground fell away, replaced by endless reflection — the lake mirroring the sunrise, rippling like liquid fire. You gasped, clutching at his arm.

“Relax,” he said softly, close enough that you felt the words against your ear. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, but when the broom dipped slightly, instinct took over — you spun and pressed yourself into his chest, burying your face there, heart pounding so fast it felt like you were flying without the broom at all. His laughter started, but it died almost instantly, replaced by silence — the kind that hummed, fragile and electric.

Sirius had been touched before. Hugs, handshakes, the casual roughhousing of boys who grew up on pranks and chaos. But this was different. Your breath was warm against him, your fingers clutching at his shirt, and something in his chest cracked open.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice gone soft in a way you’d never heard. “You’re alright. Look—” He angled the broom just enough for you to peek. “See? The sunrise’s showing off for us.”

You dared to open your eyes. The sky was a painting — pinks melting into golds, the castle glowing in the distance. You let out a shaky breath, still holding him tight. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

He smiled, though you couldn’t see it. “Yeah. It is.”

The words were easy, but they didn’t mean the sunrise. They meant you — the way your hair glowed in the light, the way your laughter still trembled with fear and wonder. He wanted to stay there forever, with the cold wind biting his face and your heartbeat pressed against his ribs.

When they finally landed, the world felt different — softer, quieter, like something had shifted. You stepped off, cheeks flushed, trying to steady your legs. “That was—”

“Terrifying?” he teased, voice a little too steady for the way his heart still raced.

“Maybe a bit,” you admitted, smiling up at him.

He grinned back, but for once, it didn’t reach his eyes — they were too full, too bright, too raw. “Guess that’s another one off your list.”

You frowned. “What— how do you—”

He just laughed, brushing a stray curl from your forehead. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Before you could answer, he turned away, heading toward the castle, leaving you standing there with the sunrise and the dawning realization that he knew everything — and that maybe, so did you.

10. Make Dumbledore laugh during breakfast.

For the next few days, you did your very best to pretend that flying over the lake hadn’t meant anything. That you hadn’t felt Sirius’s heartbeat against your ear, or the way his voice went quiet when he told you to open your eyes, or how the world had never looked that beautiful before. You laughed when your friends teased you, rolled your eyes when they mentioned him, and ducked out of sight whenever he came around a corner. It wasn’t that you were angry. It was worse — you were confused.

He hadn’t said anything, either. No teasing, no smirks, no sly comments about your mysterious “list.” He just looked at you sometimes — not in the usual cocky way, but like he was trying to read something written between your ribs. It made your stomach twist. You needed a distraction, something easy and harmless, and luckily, item ten was exactly that: Make Dumbledore laugh during breakfast.

Simple. Foolproof. Non-emotional. You could do that.

So, the next morning, you positioned yourself at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by giggling second-years, trying to come up with something clever enough to make the Headmaster chuckle. Across the Hall, Sirius sat with the boys — laughing with James, tossing toast at Remus, pretending like everything was perfectly fine.

You tried not to look, but your eyes betrayed you. He looked good, of course he did — hair messy, tie loose, a trace of ink on his fingers. The same fingers that had steadied you on the broom. You swallowed hard and focused on your plan.

Dumbledore was already sipping his tea, his twinkling eyes watching the morning chaos unfold. You leaned toward one of the enchanted platters and whispered a quick charm under your breath. A heartbeat later, the bowl of porridge on his table let out a cheerful meow.

The entire Hall froze — and then erupted into laughter. Even McGonagall’s lips twitched, but what made your chest tighten was Dumbledore himself, eyes crinkling as he laughed softly, the sound warm and unbothered. “Ah,” he said, patting the table fondly, “a most talkative breakfast indeed.”

You grinned, a rush of victory flooding through you — until your gaze drifted back to Sirius. He was already watching you. Not smiling, not teasing. Just watching.

You looked away too quickly, pretending to be engrossed in your toast. He didn’t call your name, didn’t try to come over, but you could feel the weight of his eyes across the Hall.

By the time breakfast ended, you slipped out first, heart pounding, the sound of Dumbledore’s laughter still echoing faintly behind you. You told yourself it was fine. You were fine.

But as you passed through the empty corridor, a scrap of parchment fluttered from your pocket — the list, creased and soft at the edges, a few items crossed off in a hand that wasn’t yours.

You froze.

And just below number ten, someone had scribbled, in neat, lazy handwriting that could only belong to one person:

“You forgot number one, love.”

1. Kiss Sirius Black ??

The day blurred past in half-thoughts and echoes — laughter, footsteps, conversations you didn’t quite hear. But through it all, one thing wouldn’t leave you alone: you forgot number one, love. It replayed over and over in your head, Sirius’s voice threaded through the words, lazy and low, as if he’d whispered it right into your ear.

You’d found the note after breakfast, tucked between your books, the familiar parchment crinkled with faint ink smudges. You’d tried to focus in Charms, tried to laugh with Marlene at lunch, tried to tell yourself that he was just teasing, that it was another joke — but your heart refused to listen. The memory of him on the broom, the warmth of his breath in the cold morning air, the way he’d looked at you across the Great Hall — it was all too much.

By evening, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You needed air, space, anything. The Astronomy Tower was quiet at this hour, drenched in the faint pink and indigo of a dying sunset. The castle below was alive with flickering lights, laughter echoing faintly from the courtyards. You leaned against the stone railing, letting the wind cool your flushed cheeks, your fingers clutching the folded list so tightly it might tear.

“Thought I might find you here.”

You didn’t even have to turn. His voice was unmistakable — soft, rough at the edges, that kind of casual drawl that sounded like trouble wrapped in charm.

“Sirius,” you said quietly, not turning around. “Do you ever knock?”

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Didn’t realize towers had doors worth knocking on.”

You sighed, still staring out at the sunset. “You’ve been awfully good at finding me lately.”

“Guess I’ve got a knack for it.”

He walked closer, slow and unhurried. When you finally looked at him, the fading light caught his hair and turned it silver, his eyes reflecting the sky — dark grey, storm-touched, full of something you couldn’t name. He wasn’t smiling for once.

“Been avoiding me,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to.” His tone softened, the teasing falling away. “Did I do something?”

You almost laughed — because it was such a ridiculous question, coming from him. “You tell me,” you said, holding up the parchment. “You seem to know my secrets better than I do.”

His eyes flicked to the list, and a slow grin curved his lips. “Ah. That old thing.”

“Sirius.”

He raised his hands, mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I may have stumbled across it.”

“‘Stumbled’?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow.

He had the decency to look at least a little sheepish, though the corner of his mouth was still twitching. “Found it in the common room one night. Meant to give it back, but then…”

“Then you decided to make my life a living mystery?”

“Then I realized it’d be more fun helping you cross things off.”

You stared at him, torn between annoyance and something that felt alarmingly like affection. “You could’ve just told me.”

“And missed seeing your face every time something ‘coincidentally’ worked out? Not a chance.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest ached in a way that made it hard to breathe. “You’re unbelievable.”

He stepped closer, the air around you shifting. “Maybe. But you smiled, didn’t you? You laughed. You lived.” His voice dropped lower. “That list wasn’t just a list, was it? It was you trying to squeeze every last bit out of this year before it’s gone.”

The words hit harder than you expected. You looked down, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s brilliant,” he said quietly. “It’s you.”

You finally looked up — and the distance between you was gone. He was close enough that you could see the faint constellation of freckles near his collarbone, close enough to smell the faint trace of smoke and rain that clung to him. Your pulse fluttered.

“You really shouldn’t read other people’s lists,” you whispered.

He smiled, that slow, familiar, heart-stopping smile. “And you really shouldn’t make me number one if you didn’t mean it.”

You froze, breath catching. “I— I didn’t—”

But he shook his head gently, stepping closer until your back brushed the cold stone of the railing. “You did. You just didn’t think you’d get this far.”

Your voice came out barely audible. “And what if I didn’t want you to know?”

He leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek. “Then you shouldn’t have let me fall for you halfway through helping.”

That broke something loose inside you — the ache, the fear, the longing you’d been holding back all year. You met his eyes, and everything in them told you the truth: he’d known from the start, and he’d never once stopped choosing you.

The silence stretched, delicate and heavy, until finally he whispered, “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You didn’t.

Sirius kissed you like it was inevitable — slow and steady at first, then deeper, like he’d been waiting for this longer than he’d ever admit. The world fell away — the fading light, the cool wind, even the castle below. All that existed was the warmth of his hands cupping your face, the way your heart felt too big for your chest, the quiet sound you made against his lips.

When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless, laughter bubbling up between you like relief. He rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed, and for the first time, he looked utterly at peace.

Then he slipped a hand into his pocket and held up the crumpled list between two fingers. “Guess that’s one more thing to cross off, love.”

You laughed, half-shocked, half-dizzy, shoving his shoulder lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said, tucking the parchment into your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “But now you’re stuck with me.”

The sun disappeared behind the hills, the stars beginning to appear — the same ones that had watched over all your chaos and laughter and quiet moments. You looked at him, his grin softening into something real and rare, and whispered, “I think I can live with that.”

And as the first stars blinked awake over the castle, Sirius kissed you again — this time slower, sweeter — while the list, now complete, fluttered forgotten to the floor beside your tangled shadows.

◟ 1. Kiss Sirius Black.