As Sirius hurries his sweet ass out of my room, I look to my magically-enlarged wardrobe with a sigh. Now I actually have to look sexy, because I had to open my big fat mouth and the expectation is there. Idiot.

I change quickly into a gauzy black spaghetti-strapped tank top, and some low-cut, dark-wash, good-butt jeans. Good butt jeans are essential. Mostly because Sirius definitely just saw me for the first time in days, and I was wearing fucking sweatpants. I toss on some low-heeled black booties, and ponder briefly upon a cardigan.

Hells no. If you get cold, he'll have to do something gentlemanly like engulf you under his t-shirt like a ghost or whatever it is that men do for women that they cherish.

I pause my own train of thought. Why am I letting myself get all jazzed about hanging out with Sirius Black? This really does not seem like a healthy, down-to-earth plan as it relates to my future girl/potential assassin problems.

I can't help it. He's. Fucking. Hot.

Also funny.

Also adorable.

Fuck, I am in trouble. I should stop.

I ponder this further as I pick out some medium-sized stripe-y hoops for my lobes, followed by small silver studs in my other ear-holes. I slip on a delicate navy blue wristwatch and a ring for my thumb, along with a ring for the pointer finger of my opposite hand. All of my new jewelry has been charmed with so many protective spells, I can practically feel them hum against my skin.

Not wanting to be the reason anyone waits up, I dab a quick dose of lipgloss onto my lips, fluff out my hair, grab a black slouchy leather bag containing my wallet, and begin moving for the door. At the last second, however, I grab some mirrored aviator sunglasses that Tonks had declared to be "literally so god damned American," and proceed out into the hallway.

I can hear the chorus of several laughing voices as I trip up the stairs. As I emerge from the hallway, entering the foyer, I'm suddenly accosted by a tall, balding ginger man who's practically vibrating with excitement.

"Finnie!" Arthur Weasley wraps a fatherly arm about my shoulders and leads me through the entryway, towards the kitchen. "So glad I caught you before we depart, dear. I've brought a list! Just as you suggested."

I hold my hand out, palm up, "Let's see it, then."

We stumble down the three steps together, and turn the corner into the dining space. Mr. Weasley crams a well-worn piece of parchment into my waiting palm, and I see from the corner of my eye Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione loudly comparing their school supply lists as they wait near the fireplace. The boys all wear collared shirts, and both Hermione and Ginny have donned a sundress for dinner later. I glance down at the list Arthur has plainly labored over:

1) What is the world-wide-web, and how do muggles access it without alerting the likes of Acromantula when they trespass upon it?

2) How long can a typical muggle unicycle before the balance-charm wears off?

3) In university, are all muggles required to attend classes pertaining to airplanes, or is the understanding of their properties simply innate from birth?

4) How does one breed a clock-radio?

"Okay, yes. This is great," I nod my head very seriously, and glance up at the man who is clearly on the edge of his seat. I fold up the parchment and carefully slip it into my back pocket, "Can I draft up my responses and get back to you, though? Because I hate to tell you this, but some of these are a bit involved..."

"Oh! Yes!" Arthur inclines his head politely, "Quite right." He snaps his fingers suddenly, "Alright kids! We best get on our way- Molly, leave the kitchen alone." He moves swiftly towards his wife, who has been scrubbing at the countertops and muttering under her breath.

Sirius materializes at my elbow, scowling. He's wearing a black dress shirt, open at the collar (Oh, fuck yes. Tattoos.), with another pair of well-worn black jeans. Before I can begin drooling openly, I snap my head to Hermione and pretend to assess her lovely red dress thoroughly.

"You didn't actually wear a g-string with that, did you baby girl? Because you're going to freeze."

Ron and Sirius begin spluttering with indignation almost simultaneously. Ron's face is instantly at comical odds with his hair color, "A- A WHAT? A G-WHAT? 'MIONE?" While Sirius hisses in my ear, "You're just lucky your absolutely abominable sense of humor has become common knowledge- "

But while Ginny is doubled-over, gasping for air through her laughter, Hermione simply rolls her eyes and gives me an exasperated smile, "Of course I didn't, Finnie."

"You should be more careful, dear," Molly has been successfully herded to the fireplace by her husband. "You're going to give our boys a coronary one of these days. G-strings indeed," she chuckles and shakes her head, but suddenly stops dead and takes a step back as she passes me. "And what is this?" She gestures to the back of my shirt, her voice disapproving, "Your top is open in the back!"

It's true. The fabric in the back overlaps at the top of the shirt, where it's secured, but essentially hangs open the rest of the way. You can't see shit, though, unless you move the flaps.

I open my mouth in mock-indignation and point my thumb towards Sirius next to me. "I can practically see the outline of his nipples through his shirt! I don't see him getting any shit for it." Sirius grins wolfishly down at me, and my downstairs clenches just a little.

Hoo boy.

Mrs. Weasley just sighs. "Anyway… Everyone to the floo- Harry, Ron, quit whispering about knickers. We can hear you quite clearly."

As the teenagers floo one by one to the Leaky Cauldron, Mr. Weasley turns to Sirius and me and says, "We'll meet at the boys' shop, yes? Be on your guard, both of you. Diagon Alley is not as safe as it once was." I notice now, both he and Molly have small worry-lines etched into the edges of their mouths, "Bill and Lupin are going to be meeting us there, for added security and all. And we've got reservations at a new spot in Hogsmeade, which we'll floo to as well."

I frown at this, "Will I be able to get there? To Hogsmeade?" If I'm not able to waltz into the Leaky Cauldron, the wizarding-hamlet next to Hogwarts is practically guaranteed to be a no-muggle zone.

Arthur pauses at the grate, "Ah-," he looks uncomfortable, he likely hadn't thought of this. "We'll ask, shall we?" he looks down at me, abashed. "I'm terribly sorry Finnie, I'm not certain."

I give him a reassuring smile and a nod, "No – I understand. We'll see you at Wheezes." With a final rueful grin, he disappears in a dash of green flame.

I sigh deeply. Everyone rather continuously forgets I'm a muggle, and I can't decide yet if it bothers me or not. I feel a bit like an alien.

It's not like I've fit in perfectly with muggles these last few years either, though.

Before I can sink much deeper into these thoughts, my attention is diverted by an extremely warm, light brush of skin-on-skin beneath the gauzy fabric of my shirt. I freeze.

Sirius had run the tips of his fingers along my back, just on the inside of the shirt's opening. Without looking up at him, I'm literally frozen in place, I hear him murmur, "I don't know what Molly was on about…I quite like this top."

To my horror, I feel a flush move across my breastbone as my stomach warms with pleasure at his attention. Before I can think much of it, I turn on the spot and look directly up into his face.

Oh fucksocks, he's a lot closer than I thought.

Before I lose my nerve, I hold his rather intense gaze. His face is almost painfully handsome. He's got the hint of a 5 o'clock shadow, and he smells absolutely heavenly – like sharp cinnamon and muted evergreen. He seems surprised at my response, he likely expected I would jump, twitch away from him, or even squeal. We are locked in place, and I'm scrutinizing his face for a clue as to what he's thinking. Is he just flirting? Taking advantage of being around a woman who isn't a cousin for the first time in a long-ass time? Or…

Does he actually like me?

Shit.

Do I like him?

The spell is broken suddenly, when he smiles an almost mocking smile and drawls, "You're a ballsy bird, I'll give you that."

I try to ignore the small jab of disappointment – he was just being a cheeky flirt after all – and I prop one hand on my hip and say with as much arrogance as I can muster, "Oh absolutely." I sniff, "I've got arguably the biggest balls in the room, most days." Sirius throws his head back and issues a great, barking laugh.

My stomach seizes, and I realize it makes me absurdly happy to have made him laugh.

I'm such a fucking loser.

His toothy smile is still a little predatory when he responds, "Well we're about to test that theory, aren't we?" He begins to lead me out of the kitchen, his hand still at the small of my back, but above the fabric now. We continue down the immediate hallway, until we're at the end. After which, he pulls out his wand and taps it twice against the last door on the right.

"How's that?" I ask, "Are we getting there through the sewers or something?" The door swings open, and a light flicks on automatically, "Teenage mutant ninja turtle-style?" Sirius walks over to some extremely bulky object, covered in a tarp, which sits in the middle of the otherwise bare, concrete-floored room. "Is Master Splinter going to be my tour guide of the London Underground? Will there be safewords?"

"Shut up now," he says, and he whips back the tarp with a flourish.

Beneath it, helmet resting on the seat, is a great, black, Harley Davidson motorcycle.

We zoom between the cars waiting at stoplights in the streets of London, weaving with ease and skirting the line of recklessness and practicality.

My heart feels lighter than air. Sirius' helmet crammed on my head, I keep my aviator-clad eyes pointed up to the beautiful, ancient buildings dotted between their gorgeous modern counterparts. Every block there's a statue, a high rise, and a tour of folks gabbing about the history of London. It's absolutely intoxicating, and for the first time since I've arrived, I feel a bit like a cheesy tourist.

I feel free.

Wishing I could feel the wind in my hair – Sirius' voice returns to me, "You don't wear the helmet, you're not getting on my bloody bike" – I content myself with watching Sirius' long dark locks whip about his neck and shoulders with abandon. I can't see his face, but I can feel the joy radiating from him in almost tangible waves. It's as though they're colliding and resonating with my own joy-waves, and the combined effect is making me feel downright giddy; I feel an extreme sort of camaraderie with him.

I smile in my mind. With the ex-con.

Before we had taken off, I had pointed out to him how he should really be the one wearing the helmet, since technically he'll have an easier time saving me after my brains smush on the pavement being the one between us who can wield magic. But he wasn't having it, and after a good five minutes of solid arguing he finally snapped, "My first time back on my baby isn't going to include me wearing a helmet, Fin, so just give it up."

So I gave it up.

However, as the trip progresses, I've been trying and failing with increasing obviousness not to thoroughly take advantage of the opportunity to have my hands on him. When we left Grimmauld Place, they had been demurely resting flat-palmed on the outside edge of his torso. As the minutes passed, I slowly allowed them to creep forward and encircled him more securely with my arms, my hands moving closer to his belly-button.

Now, though, I'm not even pretending. Every time we brake a little, I act startled so that I'm pressed up against his back, my boobs flattened, and I've got one hand angled up to his chest, with the other wrapped around his abdomen.

All details aside, I'm on a fucking motorcycle with a hot guy. Sue me.

Because I'm nothing if not an opportunist, while we wait at a red light I rest my chin between his broad shoulders. My breath flutters the hairs at his nape, and I murmur loud enough for him to hear over the rumble of the engine, "How much farther?"

He seems to spasm in his seat. I grin into his hair – holy shit he smells good – but my heart stops suddenly as he takes one hand off the handlebars and uses it to cover mine at his stomach. My blood's rushing in my ears as he leans back in his seat that so we're pressed even closer together. He turns his head, and his face is only two inches from mine when he says in a husky-ish voice, just loud enough for me to hear, "Only a couple more blocks, love."

Oh, fuck. Well played.

Wait.

What is wrong with me?

I, unfortunately, burst my own bubble from my cozy seat astride Sirius Black's fucking motorcycle.

I barely know this man. He certainly does not know me. This is not someone I'm able to introduce to my mom; he doesn't even know of my family, or of my life, or of who I really am 20 years from now. Am I really so displaced and lonely that I'm seeking comfort throwing my flirtatious affections at some dude – who can turn into a fucking dog, by the way – who would be nearly 60 years old in my time?

With his warmth and scent permeating my bones, and his bike vibrating in a particularly – ahem – interesting fashion beneath me, I struggle to do this to myself. Why force myself away from something that is clearly making me happy? Especially when everything else is always so goddamn hard?

What the hell is the problem, again?

Suddenly feeling a little lost, I glide my hands back gently from their rather intimate placements on his person, to get a clearer headspace. Before they get far however, Sirius squeezes his hand which remains placed over mine. Still squeezing, he tugs it back across his abdomen, forcing my body to lean forward and press against his wide back. My arms basically encircling him, my head now turned so that my cheek is against his spine, he presses his large hand against the back of my fingertips, but then slides it up and down my arm, massaging it.

Reassuring me.

My stomach does a flip while I feel my face warm with a blush that reaches from my ears to my breastbone.

Aw, fuck. I'm in so much trouble.

We're stopped, I realize with a jolt. Sirius has pulled us over and parked in what appears to be a particularly grimy alleyway, complete with overflowing dumpsters, a rusted fire escape, and a mangy cat I can hear, but not see. I sit up with alarm, breaking contact with him. The alley air cools the front of my torso which had just previously been pressed up against the motorcycling wizard, and I repress a shiver.

"You should get off first, Fin," Sirius mumbles over his shoulder.

"Right, yep. Logic," I swing a leg around the back of the bike and clamber off onto the dirty cobblestones. I'm pretty sure I've just immediately stepped in some gum.

Sirius coolly dismounts, and rounds the front end of his bike – reaching for me.

I don't know what the hell I was thinking. Ok, that's not true, I know what I was thinking, but I also know I'm a fucking idiot sometimes. As his hands come toward my face, I rock on the balls of my feet just slightly in preparation for takeoff.

As in, to takeoff in his direction – into his arms, preferably. Where I would then maul his face… with my face.

But quick as lightning, he deftly unsnaps the fastening of the helmet on my head, and turns away from me as he tosses it onto the seat of the bike.

I take an extremely deep, fortifying breath through my nose. I probably sound a bit demented, but ultimately I'm able to look up at him, hands on my hips, and ask, with only a faint wheeze of dejection, "So this is it? We're at the Leaky Cauldron?"

Sirius takes his wand out of his dress-shirt sleeve and taps it upon his motorcycle. With a waterfall effect, the wordless spell cloaks the entire machine as though with invisible paint. "Yeah, it's this one on the right," he drawls, indicating the building with a lift of his chin.

I start stepping, clicking in my heeled boots, towards the entranceway to the alley, to get a better look. I kick aside some lidless McDonald's cups in my path, secretly attempting to use them to scrape the gum off my shoe but probably only succeeding in looking like I'm trying to play World Cup with fucking trash. I hear Sirius move quickly to catch up; he grasps my arm suddenly, and his warmth and smell overwhelm me again for just a moment, "Hang on, love."

I furrow my brow in confusion, and look down at my arm held in his firm, strong hand. I look up into the face of this man, his sultry features are amused, and I then finish my cataloguing by turning to face the street in front of me, still about twenty feet away. There aren't many cars passing, but the three I see crawl by are on the wrong side of the street.

"You've got to stay with me, Fin. The confundus charms are bound to be close by; I'll help you."

The fucking what?

Where the hell is everyone?

I feel a small fissure of alarm, activating my muscles. I snap my head between the dark-haired man, to the street, and back to the man. I calmly start to extricate my arm from his grasp, playing it cool. If I don't have to go full she-hulk on this guy, I don't want to. He's pretty damn fine.

I'm barely out of his hold when he moves to take my arm in hand again. His face is no longer amused, but veiled in confusion and a little concern. I pivot so that my back is now to the street, effectively putting a few feet of distance between us and avoiding his grasp. I stutter step quickly backwards, adding even more space, but I keep my tone light and my eyes on him as I let him know, "Not to be rude or anything, because you're extremely good-looking and all, but don't fucking touch me, maybe? It's weird to touch people you don't know."

He immediately drops his hand. I frown. Fuck, I'm confused.

The dark-haired man clears his throat, "Fin, we came here together."

What? "I don't fucking know you," I say, firmly. My head is starting to buzz a little, I should probably just go home. This is extremely strange.

"We came to meet your mum," the whackjob says, taking a step toward me. "She's right next door, Finnie."

My mom? I take a few steps without thinking towards the building he indicated. At the corner of the alley and the sidewalk, it becomes clear that it's an abandoned laundromat. "What?" My voice sounds shrill, "Why the hell is she in there?" My head really hurts now. I drop my chin and press the heel of my hand between my eyes, trying to alleviate some of the sharpness and buzzing.

"I…I just-," I can't seem to form a complete thought, "I want to just go home, I think." As soon as this occurs to me, the pain eases. Yes, I think going home is the right call.

But the aggravating alley-man won't shut the fuck up, "Everyone is in there waiting on you, Fin, you can't just leave without at least telling them you're going." He makes a fair point. But wait-

"Everyone?" my head whirls around as I face him. His face is still extremely handsome, but he looks amused again which is irritating as hell. "Even Sam?" I ask, my heart lifting just a smidge at the thought. He's been cooped up in the hospital so much, it must be a big deal for him to be out with Mom.

An expression flits across his face momentarily, and I think its shock but it was so brief I can't be sure, before he says with a firmer tone, "Yes, even Sam. He's in there, waiting for you. The shop isn't what it looks like, obviously."

I nod a little numbly, the buzzing has resumed full force. But, squaring my shoulders and wincing through the discomfort, I march right up the sidewalk to the dilapidated storefront. I don't even take pause at the 'Closed' sign in the window before I swing the door open calling, "Sammy?"

"No luck here, gorgeous," Tom the barman calls back to me from his post behind the clean but dingy mahogany bar. He's cleaning a pint glass with a grey rag, but smiling a toothy grin that's full of holes. The place is deserted, I observe while my faculties return to me. Empty mismatched chairs and red plastic-covered stools sit amongst pine and mahogany tables, their stain etched and scraped off from time and use.

Sirius crowds me from behind and places his warm hands on my shoulders in order to migrate my ass farther into the Leaky Cauldron.

I realize I have no idea how I got from the motorcycle to here. It must have been the anti-muggle charms, I gather…they must have gotten me good. It's an incredibly disorienting feeling, actually. I'm not particularly enjoying it. I can feel the remnants of some adrenaline in my system, along with a buzzing in my ears which is beginning to fade.

I smile what I hope is a charmingly apologetic smile as Sirius moves around me to lead the way across the space. "Well, we made it, right?" I quip, "I wasn't too bad, was I?"

Sirius barely glances back at me before continuing to move forward past Tom. "No," he says in a distant, uninterested voice, "No trouble at all. Let's get there quick, though."

My smile fades a little. "Yeah," I respond, "Yeah, of course."