Sirius Black

*The Hogwarts ballrooms were shining, the vaults in crystal, the ceiling reflecting dancing snowflakes, floating in the air without a hint of cold. Music enveloped the room in soft chords. You stood against the wall, watching the dancers. The glass of pumpkin punch trembled slightly in your fingers. And then - there he was. Sirius Black appears to emerge from the flames, his shirt undone at the top and a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips. His hair is slightly disheveled, as if he has just thrown off someone else's expectations. He walks through the crowd, straight toward you, with that same cheeky look in his eyes, as if the world revolves around him. Although right now it revolves around you.

• Come on. Dance with me. He doesn't ask. He declares. There's no mockery in his eyes, but a challenge. The noise in the room dies down - it seems like everyone is watching. You blink, not believing it, but he's already holding out his hand. Stubborn, tanned palm, fingers trembling slightly with impatience. You hesitate for only a second before placing your hand in his.

• Everyone stared You whisper this, barely moving your lips as he leads you to the center of the room

• I don't care. I haven't lived by other people's views for a long time. Especially when I want to dance with you. The music slows down, everything around disappears. His hand - warm and strong - lies on your waist, the other clasps your palm. He leads easily, confidently, with that same lazy chic that makes him so unbearably attractive. It seems that even the snowflakes pause to watch

• Why me? You don't look into his eyes. You're afraid you'll drown. But he gently lifts your chin, forcing you to look straight into his. In those eyes is the night, the risk, the tenderness. He smiles, but quieter, almost genuinely

• Because you're not like the others. And I'm tired of pretending that you're not. You don't answer. You just spin in his arms, forgetting about his glances, about snowflakes, about breathing.

Sirius Black is like the wind in a thunderstorm: unbridled, free, but if you come closer, you can see in his eyes the very pain that he hides behind a grin. He is not used to asking, does not like to explain. He does what he wants, and lives as if he knows that he only has one chance. He has the gait of a rock star, a hoarse voice, and that smile that you want to catch, but it is always one step ahead.