Sirius, completely in a flush and carrying a ruffled bouquet of carnations, stood at the girl's door.

"I'll be right out!" she shouted from inside. He heard scuffling and the door opened.

From the inside of her apartment came a radiant light as she stepped through, like an angel descending from heaven. She was wearing a dark gray sleeveless blouse with blue pinstripes and a Manhattan hat, stylishly tilted to the right so her eye was mildly hidden in shadow.

"Shall we?"

"Y-yeah…" Sirius stuttered, bringing himself sharply back to reality. "Let's .. um- go."

"Wait, I have another place in mind."

"You don't even know where I want to take you!"

"Where do you want to take me?"

"The Pixie Room."

"OK," she said, pausing, considering it, and then, all of a sudden, she added, "I have another place in mind."

He smiled.

"Do you like crepes?"

"What?"

"Crepes. They're like these … French pancakes, only thinner and you can eat them as a meal. Hang on, I know where we're going."

France was an interesting place. The air was not as intoxicated with cigarette smoke as London was, and the stars shone brighter than Sirius had ever seen them in England.

The small café the girl had chosen was situated about ten miles away from the Eiffel Tower, and on a hill, so most of the country was visible. They ate their food, talking, and gazing up at the stars, laughing, the only thoughts zooming through Sirius' mind focusing on her.

"So, we met a couple days ago, and we're on a date, but I don't even know your name."

"That's true."

Sirius waited as he chewed his crepe, expecting her to tell him her name. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What is it? What's your name."

She laughed. "I'll tell you my name if you tell me something no one knows about you."

Sirius thought. "OK," he said slowly. Then something popped into his mind. Something only five people in the world knew about besides himself, but he didn't feel an hesitation in telling her what it was. "I'm an … unregistered animagus."

She smiled widely. "That's fair. My name is Freya."

"Freya?" he said.

She covered her face in her hands. "I know, it's horrible. That's why I don't tell it to anyone."

"No! No, no," said Sirius softly, pulling her hands from her eyes and holding them in his own. He took off her glasses and looked into her eyes. "It's the most wonderful name I've ever heard."

She smiled sheepishly.

From the corner of his eyes, Sirius saw a shooting star pass by overhead. His gaze shifted to the sky, but he could still feel her eyes upon him, drilling into him. "Shooting star."

"Make a wish," she whispered.

Sirius looked back at her. "I wouldn't know what to wish for," he said. And slowly, like it was happening in a dream, he leaned towards her over the table and their lips met, entwining them in a silent embrace. He put his hands on either side of her face, her hair falling between his fingers. Her hat was knocked off her head and fell silently to the ground, as if the noise had been turned off. Their lips still connected, they stood up together, knocking the table over.

Her glasses broke and the wine glasses clattered and the red wine was leaking across the cement floor, like blood, but they didn't care. Nothing mattered.

All that existed to Sirius was Freya.

Freya and her lips.

Remembering the shooting star, he knew what he would use it for.

I wish this moment would never end, he thought. But how often do those wishes ever come true?

Slowly, very slowly, Freya pulled away, touching her lips and staring at Sirius as if he'd bitten her. "Oh god," she whispered. "Oh my god."