HARRY POTTER AND EVERYTHING RELATING TO THAT MAGICAL UNIVERSE BELONG TO JK ROWLING, WARNER BROS, BLOOMSBURY BOOKS ETC. AND I AM VERY PRIVILEGED TO BE ALLOWED TO PLAY WITH IT ALL.

Dog Days

Schoolboys unbuttoning their shirts, toddlers pulling off sunhats, a panting dog licking itself, roller-bladers in shorts, a queue at the ice cream van and half-stripped builders made the park look like mid-summer. But it was the end of September.

Bill sweated in his pin-stripe suit. He carried the jacket over his arm, but didn't dare undo the tie. One of his contacts at The Bank of England might spot him. He had to stay in rôle for a while longer.

Sun-soaked images passed in front of him but he was too hot to focus on any. He needed to drink but he wasn't carrying any Muggle money so he'd have to wait. Something in the park felt wrong. He weaved between the bodies lying on the grass. More topless men. Think about Fleur. Imagine her topless. Better?

He was definitely too old now to have noticed the bare skin bordered by school uniform white shirts. Was that what felt wrong? Or watching the thigh muscles of the skaters? It was September, for Godric's sake! Wasn't it time the Muggles started dressing decently again?

That dog was somehow familiar, the one that had been washing its balls the way dogs do. It reminded him of the old joke:

A man walks into a pub, or somewhere, and sees a dog licking its privates. So he says to the landlord, or whoever, "I wish I could do that," to which the landlord replies, "If you give him a bone I expect he'll let you."

Bill chuckled to himself. Then he remembered how he knew that dog. He felt nauseous. He told himself the punch-line again and he felt something else. Think about Fleur.

His hand felt suddenly wet and he looked down.

"You dirty dog! I know where that tongue's been!" He wiped the dog's spit onto its own fur. The dog stood still, panting with its tongue hanging out. As though it were laughing. Bill took a quick look round at all the happy, hot Muggles. People do talk to dogs, don't they?

He crouched down and grabbed the animal by the scruff of its neck, looked straight into its big, wet eyes and said, "You're not supposed to be out. I'm taking you back."

The scruffy, black dog whimpered pathetically, then attempted a sharp move to dislodge his grip. He held tight.

A young woman with a pushchair stopped to watch the tussle, eventually asking, "Is it your dog? We were a bit worried. He hasn't got a collar."

Whether she was worried for the dog or for her child she didn't say.

"It slips it off," Bill explained, keeping hold of the warm fur. "It's not mine but I know where it lives. I'll take it back to its home."

The woman smiled and nodded as she moved on, clearly relieved that she wouldn't be expected to do anything. Bill started to drag the beast, but it wasn't co-operating. He kicked its leg, which earned him some disapproving glares. The dog growled, baring its teeth, trying to twist out of his grip.

Bill sighed and clamped the squirming hound between his knees while he took off his belt and fastened it round the dog's neck as a make-shift lead. Then he remembered who he was actually restraining and straightened up rapidly.

The dog pushed its nose into his crotch, as dogs do. Bill pushed it away, as people do.

They walked through, and out of, the park. The dog was frisky, jumping about, but for a while it allowed itself to be lead. When they got to the street, however, it slowed up and started to drag behind, before wrenching Bill's arm round as it caught up with him and shoved its snout between his sweaty thighs. Bill nearly fell over. Angry, he grabbed its ears and looked it straight in the face, starting to say: "Cut it out …" but getting a face-full of drool instead as the disgusting creature licked him from chin to eyes.

"That is foul! Ew! You just licked your … I am not in the mood, Snuffles. You know why you're not supposed to be …" he looked up to make sure no-one had heard that. Dogs don't know why they're not supposed to do anything. "I mean, you know you're not allowed out. Don't lick me again!"

This time he ignored the disapproval of the surrounding Muggles as he dragged the mutt through the London streets on his belt. He carried the struggling creature up the steps at 12, Grimmauld Place and slammed the front door shut behind them.

The noise set off Mrs Black in her portrait but neither of them took any notice.

Sirius changed back into a man. A laughing man.

"What are you playing at?" Bill demanded angrily.

"Relax! I'm just bored and lonely," Sirius replied, undoing the buckle of the belt which was still round his neck.

"But Dumbledore said … no, leave it on, it suits you."

Sirius growled and wrapped the leather round Bill's neck instead.

"Can I get a glass of water?" Bill asked.

"Of course," Sirius replied. "You're in the Order, you don't need to ask. It's your HQ."

Bill removed the belt with one hand and his tie with the other as he walked into the dark, stuffy kitchen. He was calming down. He undid a couple of buttons while he Accioed the glass and the water.

"I'm so hot!" he complained.

"Oh. Yes. You. Are." Sirius responded slowly.

Bill turned to see the older man leaning against the doorframe looking lean and intense and watching him intently. Black's dark eyes glittered in the low light. And they were focussed on Bill.

Bill laughed nervously. He looked into his glass. "I'll just finish this and I'll go," he gulped.

Sirius leaped across the kitchen and grabbed hold of Bill's forearm. "Don't go!" he begged, "I'll be good! You just got here and I spend so much time on my own! I'm sorry. I'll behave myself. I promise."

Bill looked down at the long, dirty fingernails digging into his shirt. He didn't dare look up at Black's face. He tried to picture Fleur's clean, soft hands. He said nothing.

Sirius let go, sat down in a chair, steadied his breathing. "I'm sorry," he said calmly, "I didn't mean to be so … I'm alone too much. I forget how to be with people. I need more practice." He looked down at his own hands. "Merlin! My fingernails are filthy."

Bill concentrated on his own breathing. If he was going to go straight, he was going to have to learn how to cope with this sort of situation, with these sorts of feelings. It was hardly Sirius' fault how Bill reacted.

"Warm weather for September," Bill ventured. Nice, safe topic of conversation, the weather. He sat down.