He was a spawn of Satan, he was a whore, tramp, slut, harlot.
The blame was reserved for him, in a way, and he liked it.
"Hey, you were the dude I fucked with! Yeah, no shit! I met you in the bar the other night and in the morning you were gone and I was missing 40 pounds!"
Call him an asshole, a jerk, he deserved those names and he knew it.
"You said you loved me yesterday after I lent you all those pesos.. Who the fuck is this bitch that's deep-throating your dick, anyways?"
Who else was taking more than four different girls a week into bed, while also building (or at least trying to) a relationship with another man? His idiosyncrasy was wanting sex, his whole character based around taking what he wanted, no matter the cost.
So it was really only expected of Sirius to take his godchild–of all the people he could've chose–to bed with him. The act of serenading Harry was merely supposed to be a joke. After a few drinks and a slap for the bum of a curvy passerby, Remus and Sirius had thought of the wonderful plot. How better to add some spice to an otherwise uneventful and boring week?
Really, Sirius never thought it would go so far. He didn't think anyone would actually get hurt out of this.
It was just supposed to be a joke.
Author's Notes: 40 British pounds is equal to about 70 dollars, and I'd rather trust my converter than be wrong.