"It seems you've done it, Cousin. My son is absolutely smitten with the dentists' daughter," Narcissa lilted. Her voice was as angelic as ever through the phone receiver, with that hint of acid that was so classically Narcissa. Sirius sometimes thought it a shame she never tried the music industry — the woman was a siren.

Alas, she sold her soul to another devil — the very devil that gave her the son they spoke of.

"Told you they'd be a great fit."

"I will concede: You were right. He's been fussing over what he's going to wear tomorrow for hours — he even asked to borrow his father's cufflinks."

Of course the boy was going to wear those hideous things.

"Tell him not to overdo it," Sirius advised quickly. "The girl isn't the type to be impressed by fancy clothes . . . The opposite, if anything."

"She's disinterested in wealth?" Narcissa asked.

He could practically see the frown he knew she was wearing, perplexion bringing out the faint lines that Botox had worked so hard to reverse. Of all things, that would be the detail to shock her, possibly even worry her.

"Dunno about that, I just don't think that's what she's after."

Narcissa paused for a moment. With bated breath, he waited for her to speak, hoping with all hopes it was a good pause.

"I have to say, Sirius," she started at last, "No matter what your motivations were, I am impressed . . . In fact, I think I'd like to meet her soon."

Damn it, he thought.

It would be a fatal mistake — the exact thing that would ruin his entire plan. Narcissa was precisely the sort of mother to drive girls away even without trying — and if his idiot family broke the lovebirds up, there was no saying what it would mean for him and Remus.

Tension would be an understatement.

Sirius pressed his back to the wall and fixed the phone cord — a fighting stance for yet another game of familial wit.

"Yes, a great idea! Though, I think you ought to wait a few weeks. Could be awkward for the girl, don't you think? Meeting his mother so early on?"

Audrette Malfoy had been a terrifying old kook, from everything Sirius had heard. Life experience might've been the only chess piece he needed to pin the queen.

Narcissa sighed. "I suppose you may be right . . ."

Checkmate.

"I have been so far, haven't I?"

"It seems that way," she replied flatly. "In that case, perhaps you wouldn't mind ensuring he gets to his date tomorrow. He's terribly nervous, and I wouldn't want him to get in his own way . . . I'm afraid it's in his blood."

"You don't mean Lucius," Sirius said, unsurprised, but curious too.

"He once stood me up when we were courting . . . I nearly married Igor Karkaroff instead."

" Igor Karkaroff? Isn't he the bloke with the fuzzy teeth?"

"I would've ensured he resolved that," Narcissa said defensively. "Who knows, maybe the girl's parents would have cleaned them."

Maybe if they had access to a power-washer and a pocket full of fucking miracles.

"Right . . . " he trailed off, deciding to keep that thought to himself. "Anyway, I'm happy to handle the boy and his cold feet. I'll just get my car out of —"

"No need," Narcissa interjected. "Ernest will bring him around six thirty. Just . . . remain sober and help him calm his nerves." Suddenly she added, " without the use of anything illicit."

"I'm not a criminal, Narcissa."

"You served jail time in a foreign country."

And your husband and his father both should've spent more time in than me, Sirius thought to himself.

The Malfoys were renowned for their questionable business dealings. It was hardly a secret, though Narcissa acted as though everything was above board — as any society wife was expected to.

"I'm a changed man," he said. "The boy will be in good hands, substance-free."

"I'm holding you to that," Narcissa warned, "because if I find out any differently, I will turn you over to the police."

"Oh, I have no doubt you will. Tomorrow. Six thirty. Calm the boy's nerves and get him to his date."

"You forgot the sobriety part, Cousin."

"I didn't mention it because it doesn't need mentioning," said Sirius. "I'll be in tip-top shape as I always am — like I said, I'm a changed man."

Narcissa scoffed. "You've been slurring your words for the entirety of this conversation. You worry me more with your lying than you would if you confessed it."

"I said I'm a changed man, not a sober one," Sirius pointed out. "But sober around children? Yes — always. The pinnacle of propriety, just as our mothers always instilled in us."

"Oh, Sirius, I do hope you don't consider your mother the pinnacle of propriety."

"Of course she's not. Walburga's more of a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do sort," Sirius replied. "I'll be sticking with the not-as-she-does part, as usual . . . So are we good? Any other concerns? Does he need to call you from a payphone halfway through the movie?"

"No, that would be terribly rude during a date," Narcissa said.

Sirius rolled his eyes. High society never made sense to him, and aside from the Malfoys, he often thought his family the worst of them all. Forcing a teenager to call home every two hours? Entirely reasonable! During a movie? Preposterous! How was he supposed to keep up?

"Right, how ridiculous of me to suggest."

"You say that with sarcasm, but it truly was," Narcissa said.

"No sarcasm meant," he lied. "Okay, I'll be ready at six thirty. No drinking, no acting like my mother, and no ending up in jail in Mexico."

"A perplexing but accurate summary."

"I'm a good listener," he said. "You have a good night now, Narcissa."

"Oh, and Sirius —"

"Goodnight!"

He hung up before she could get out another word. Every plan had its drawbacks, and the drawback in his was dealing with the Malfoys.

Hopefully, it would be worth it.

The boy was, somehow, paler than usual.

Contrary to Sirius's talk with Narcissa, he'd shown up in a three-piece suit, thoroughly convinced that would be a normal thing to wear to a movie theater with a girl. Fortunately, he's grown tall and lean over the years — tall and lean enough that his figure was the spitting image of Sirius's.

"This'll do just fine, I think," Sirius said, patting the boy on the shoulder.

The boy stared at himself in the mirror. "I look like someone from a cover band in a bowling alley."

"Rubbish. Cover bands can't afford real snakeskin," Sirius said.

Those boots were nearly four grand, you little git.

"Whatever they are, they're abysmal. And these trousers are cutting off the circulation in my bollocks — I can't say I'm too chuffed on the frilly jacket either."

"The jacket's optional," Sirius said. "And you just need to work into the denim, you'll get used to them."

The boy tried to stretch the trouser legs. He wasn't exactly successful.

"I don't even know what this band is," the boy complained, pulling at his tee shirt.

"You're telling me you don't know Fleetwood Mac?"

The boy shook his head, and Sirius had never been more disappointed to be the little prat's cousin. But, he supposed it was likely Lucius and Narcissa's fault more than anyone's. They'd sheltered him — raised him like a prized dog. The only culture he knew was the kind you'd find in Swiss ski chalets and condominiums in the French Riviera.

As the certified "Cool Uncle," perhaps it was Sirius's job and he'd failed him. He was always too busy sucking down shots from between groupies' tits, or smoking opium in Asia. Meanwhile, Lucius and Narcissa were gelling down the boy's hair to watch the ballet like the high-society wanker they wanted him to be.

Fleetwood Mac: An introduction. He could manage that much.

"It's vintage. Fortunately for you, I highly doubt the girl will ask you about any of their songs. If she does, your favorite is The Chain, and you think Go Your Own Way is catchy, but a bit overplayed. Understood?"

"There's no way in hell I'm going to remember that," the boy complained.

"Your funeral," Sirius muttered. He plucked another jacket from the pile on his bed and held it up. "Leather better than the frills?"

The boy grimaced. "I really don't see what was wrong with what I was wearing."

"It was a fucking three-piece suit," Sirius snarled, " for the cinema. Nobody wears a three-piece suit to a cinema! Not unless you're a psychopath!"

"My father always wears a three-piece suit."

"You're only proving my point." Sirius sighed and threw the jacket onto the bed. "Forget the jacket. It's summer, anyway."

"You mean go in just a tee shirt?" the boy asked, seemingly mortified.

"Yes, ditch the frills," Sirius said, nodding at the jacket. It was light suede, with beads and intricate buttons that were maybe meant for a man a little more confident than his cousin was. "You were right about that, they don't suit you at all."

The boy shrugged the garment off and tossed it aside.

"Everything is so . . . tight."

"Yes, and if you had the choice for her to wear something tight or a fucking disco dress, which would you pick?" Sirius asked him, hand on his hip.

The boy frowned. "A disco dress would be entirely inappropriate for the cinema."

"That's my whole point! Wearing a suit to the cinema is just as stupid as wearing a bloody disco dress. Do you get it now?"

The boy raised an eyebrow.

Sirius feared he probably did not get it, nor would he ever.

The brass knocker sounded against Remus's front door.

Sirius grinned and glanced over at the boy, hoping to see even an iota of confidence in him. Unfortunately, his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped in terror, and those ruddy trousers were still hugging him in all the wrong places. Hopefully, the girl wouldn't notice.

Still better than a suit, I suppose.

The door swung open, and the girl looked the boy up and down, her eyes wide.

"Hi! You look — erm . . . dashing."

Whether it was nerves or a complete and utter lack of sincerity, Sirius wasn't sure. Regardless, she didn't look like she was going to run away, and at that point, that was the most he could ask for. If anyone was going to bollocks up his plans with Remus, it was going to be one of three Malfoys, and right then, he was placing his bets on the drooling dunderhead to his left.

"Thank you," the boy replied at once. "So do you."

You think she looks dashing? Sirius thought to himself. My God, she's going to eat you alive, boy.

"The cinema isn't far away, if you'd like to walk?" she suggested.

"That was the plan," Sirius butted in. He peeked past her, hoping to catch a glimpse of his real purpose. "Good bit of fresh air for you kids. Figured I'd visit with Remus while you're gone."

Confusion crept across her features, as though his friendship with Remus was a problem that needed solving. She was a teenage girl, for God's sake. Her date should've been the only thing worth thinking about.

"Er — okay . . ." she said. "He's erm — he's inside." She slipped out onto the porch and gave the boy an awkward smile, only confirming Sirius's assumptions about her social aptitude. "Ready, Draco?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes, that's why I asked."

Down the stairs they went, finally leaving Sirius to cross the threshold in search of Remus. Based on the children's impressively antisocial behavior, he and the other man would need to grow close rather quickly if he planned for anything to happen between them. Otherwise, the boy's inevitable strikeout would lead to his too.

"Remus?" he called from the mudroom. He peeked into the hallway. "Just came to send off the kids, your girl said you were home!"

Remus's voice cut through the air, an echo from a few rooms away.

"Yes, come in, if you like! I was just putting on some tea."

Feeling rather accomplished — and anxious — Sirius made his way towards the living room and plopped onto the sofa. Soon, Remus would join him.

Alone.

"The boy was nervous," he shouted out, smoothing his mustache. "He showed up in a bloody suit, would you believe it?"

Remus chuckled loudly. "For the cinema?"

"Yeah, absolutely clueless, that one! Had to loan him some clothes. These wealthy sorts have no sense of what's normal, I swear to you."

Remus trudged into the living room, balancing two teacups on mismatched saucers — one was pea-green, the other white, with one of those old lead-laced patterns from the seventies. He hand Sirius the safer of the two.

"You grew up with them, didn't you?"

Sirius took the tea in his hands and nodded. "And I've been trying to escape them ever since."

He blew away the steam, perhaps a bit dramatically, but it never hurt to put on a bit of a show. His mouth was one of his best features — or so he'd been told.

Remus didn't seem to notice. He sunk into the corner armchair and sipped his tea, pulling a face as the heat touched his tongue.

"Is your nephew the only family you're close with, then?" he asked.

"Yes, we're like peas in a pod. The only one I talk to anymore, really . . . Well, aside from his mother, but that's mostly just to work out when I'll see him next."

"You really love him."

"He relies on me, needs a bit of an escape from all the high society nonsense."

"That's not the only reason you bring him around, is it?" Remus asked, his tone both humored and judgmental.

Sirius shrugged. "My reasons for seeing him are on the selfish side. It all works out in the end, though — he gets what he needs and I get time with my favorite nephew.

It wasn't entirely a lie. He had been talking to Narcissa more lately, for precisely that reason — and the boy did rely on him. The little prat couldn't even be trusted to dress himself.

And truest of all was his selfishness, even if he implied it was for a different reason.

Remus stirred his tea. "I'm not close to anyone in my family either — not anymore, anyway."

"You used to be?"

Remus placed his teacup on the small end table beside him.

"Yeah, with my mum. Cancer took her about ten years back."

Sirius couldn't relate, but it did sound nice, to be close to a parent, even for a short time. Walburga always preferred his brother, and in truth, he was glad for it. The less time she helicoptered over him with her madness, the better.

As a boy, he wondered what it would be like if she were sane.

"I'm sorry."

Remus waved him off. "Don't be. She's not in pain anymore — really all I could ask for after all the chemo . . . Almost wish she'd never done it, poor woman."

"I've heard horror stories about that stuff."

"Yes, well, they're all true." Remus's expression was strained, lines that told a story Sirius knew better than to ask. He sighed. "Anyhow, what are your plans for the day? Just hanging about with the boy?"

"And you, apparently," Sirius replied. "Have you ever been on a motorbike?"

Remus blinked, seemingly taken aback. "Erm — no, I can't say that I have."

"Would you like to be?"

"Well, maybe someday —"

"I mean now," Sirius interjected. "I think you could use it."

Remus furrowed his brow. "What d'you mean by that exactly?"

"I mean exactly what I said, I think a bit of wind in the old hair will do you some good." Sirius stood. "Just down the way. We'll be right back."

"Oh, I don't know . . . I've barely touched my tea . . ."

"C'mon. I'm not taking no for an answer."

Remus stared at him, his features akin to the girl's from earlier: Calculating, unsure. After a long moment, he finally rose from his chair and sighed.

"Fine, why not?"

"Those legs of yours are too bloody long," Sirius said, trying to adjust himself on the motorbike seat. Remus's knees were knocking on his elbows.

"Well, we tried," Remus said, preparing to dismount.

"Oh, no you don't. You just need to scoot." Sirius twisted around. "You're supposed to sit back on the seat."

Remus reluctantly slid backward and sat on his pockets — nearly the way he was supposed to. It'd be safe enough for a short ride, anyway.

"Is this right?"

"Close enough. Now hold on tight."

Remus gripped Sirius's ribs so hard Sirius thought he was going to perforate a lung. Nevertheless, he enjoyed it. The other man needed him — Sirius was his safety. And if anything were to develop between the two of them, it would be nice to feel needed for something that wasn't entirely depraved or financial.

Of course, he wanted the depravity too. He wouldn't be Sirius Black if he didn't.

He thumbed the throttle; the engine revved.

"Three . . ." he started, glancing behind him at Remus one last time. He looked bloody terrified. "Two . . ."

"Sirius, I don't know —"

"One!"

They jolted forward. Remus yelped into his ear and squeezed impossibly tighter, but Sirius smirked and kept driving. He remembered his first time on a bike too — he'd clung to that American's back like a baby opossum, picturing his flesh staining every inch of passing pavement.

Then, he fell in love with it. He knew Remus would too.

"It's scary at first, then you'll know what it's all about," he shouted over the roar of the motor. "Trust me!"

"When is that supposed to happen?"

Sirius slowed to a stop at the intersection, the engine purring in his ears.

"You'll see."

He hit the throttle again.

The moon loomed over Number Twelve as they pulled up to the curb. Sirius parked and leaned to stabilize the bike with his foot, Remus still clinging onto him for dear life. Once it was balanced, he turned the key and plucked it out. A heavy, satisfied sigh came from the depths of his aching chest.

"What'd you think?"

"It was absolutely . . ." the other man paused, momentarily unable to find the word. He settled for: "Incredible."

Sirius smirked and swung his leg over. "Told you."

"How long were we out there?" Remus breathed, dismounting just behind him. He tailed Sirius as they headed back towards his house.

"Not long enough."

Sore legs protested all the way up Remus's stairs, but Sirius paid them little attention. Nothing could bring him down — not even a pulled groin.

"Long enough it got dark," Remus said. "Damn, this really gets the old legs aching, doesn't it?"

"You get used to it. D'you have your key?"

Remus nodded and pulled his keys from his pocket. He fumbled with the lot of them — the man had so many keys — before finding the right one and sticking it in the keyhole. He frowned. "Huh. It's already unlocked."

He pushed open the door and peered inside. Sirius followed suit.

"Oh my! Sorry!" Remus exclaimed, shielding his eyes.

But it was too late. Sirius had already seen.

The kids were standing in the living room, pressed close in a full-on, awkward, teenage lip-lock.

They jumped apart.

Sirius held in his giddiness; at this rate, he and Remus would be spending the entire summer together. And it never would've happened if they boy had worn that godforsaken suit.

He'd have to send Stevie Nicks a thank-you card.