A/N: Got a tip that to break up writer's block you just have to keep writing.
Something written to do just that.
She is short, short, short; but her hair is dark and long, long, long. Her eyes are clearer and bluer even than Sirius's – and they're nice, her eyes. They look like stars twinkling with affection, as she gazes at Sirius. She stands with his arm around her waist.
They quietly talk with another couple near the punch table.
And now Sirius turns towards her and kisses her softly and sweetly, chastely.
She wears an ice blue floor-length gown that doesn't really match her eyes, which are more like the sky. It complements her dark hair nicely, though.
How Sirius manages to gaze at her with such clear adoration, he doesn't know. Where did the old Sirius go? The one that loved shagging a different girl every other night?
But they've all matured. He supposes that's what a war does to you. What was supposed to be a raucous party has turned into a sober, quiet event of pretty girls and handsome boys, all dead-set on taking their NEWTs, getting grades, and doing something with their lives. Most of them are too scared to fight, though. The girl in the ice blue dress, Sirius's girl, is scared too. Sirius is trying to convince her.
Then again, some parts of Sirius never die, he thinks. Was it normal for a boy to be encouraging his girlfriend to fight, rather the other way around?
They make a rather good-looking couple, he reflects. Both with dark hair, blue eyes. Sirius is taller; her head barely grazes his chin. His arm has to rest a little lower than is probably comfortable to line up with her waist, and her hair gets caught in his fingers, it's so long. But Sirius simply rubs the threads between several fingers, looking perfectly at ease. She does too.
They're both fearless that way; neither cares what surrounding people think. That's what makes them an almost intimidating couple. They carve their own path, do their own thing. It fits them.