#muggle world

[m1dnightdancer]

wolfstar au but sirius is studying in the uk from france and he gets in but his english isnt rly good enough so he has to take english classes w his course

and whos his tutor? remus

[holysmokesblog]

Summer Love

Harry Potter x reader

Summary: Every summer, Harry Potter returns to Privet Drive. But this year, the heat brings much more than a reunion.

wc: 1.7k

Masterlist

The summer heat was unbearable; your mother had insisted you wait inside, but you politely refused. From your yard, you could see the moment Mr. Dursley's car turned the corner and parked in the front yard. You sighed anxiously. It was supposed to be today, like every summer, that your friend would return to his aunt and uncle's house once again. You knew it wasn't a situation he would find pleasant at all, but having him around after another year of studying at St. Brutus's Secure Centre.

Finally, the car you'd been waiting for turned the corner and abruptly parked right where you were waiting. Mr. Dursley slammed the door before walking straight into his home. Harry calmly got out of the passenger seat. You watched him walk distractedly, with a resigned expression, to the trunk of the car to pull out a heavy trunk with his school's insignia on it.

You looked both ways before crossing the street to where he was. Upon seeing you, his expression changed to a genuine smile, and without another word, the two of you melted into a tight hug.

"I missed you so much," you confessed, hiding in his neck.

"Me too," Harry responded. Hedwig's complaint in the backseat forced them to separate. Harry hurried to get her cage out of the car. The animal hooted with delight when she saw you, remembering the treats you gave her every time she delivered a letter. "It seems I miss you too."

"Well, I spent all my allowance on treats, it was the least I could do," you played with the owl between the bars of its cage. "How are you feeling? Are they tough at that horrible school?"

He hesitated before answering. "Uh, no, it's actually great. I swear I'd spend my summers there if I could." You couldn't help but feel your heart ache at his revelation. You knew Harry's relationship with his family well enough, but the fact that he didn't want to come back at all hurt you deeply. He seemed to notice the noticeable change in your face, so he quickly added, "I mean... If it weren't for you... You're the only thing worthwhile in this place."

Your cheeks flushed at the revelation, and Harry, likewise, seemed to have just realized his revealing confession. He was about to speak when the front door swung open abruptly.

"Boy!" Mr. Dursley growled from the doorway. "Come in this instant!"

Vernon stood in the doorway, waiting for his nephew to enter. Harry gave you an apologetic look before grabbing his suitcase and pet and entering his home. Mr. Dursley didn't take his eyes off you until you reached your garden, when he slammed the door shut.

You'd never liked the Dursleys; you'd lived across the street your whole life, and they were unpleasant neighbors. You'd never had any problems with them, but everything changed when you started school and inevitably became friends with Harry Potter. Since then, you'd received nothing but annoyed glances and awkward comments. Like the time Petunia casually commented that your clothes were inappropriate and only drew inappropriate looks from the neighborhood boys. Or the time Vernon told your parents that you only came to their house to bother their beloved son in cahoots with their nephew, the rebellious criminal. You couldn't even count all the times Dudley had bothered you at school and on the way home.

You sank down onto your bed, frustrated at not being able to talk to your friend after almost a year without seeing him. You looked over the nightstand at the countless letters he'd sent you using his (extraordinarily trained) owl, telling you about his friends and teachers. Even though he'd never mentioned a girl to you before, an uneasy feeling formed in your chest at the mere thought of the possibility.

It was around eleven when a small rock hit your window. You ignored it at first, but it kept coming again and again. You walked sleepily to the window when you saw Harry standing in your yard. He motioned for you to come down quietly, which you quickly obeyed, but not before checking your hair on the bathroom vanity.

Harry was sitting on the curb with his back to you, making sure the Dursleys' lights were off. You walked over to take the spot next to him.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly. But he didn't even look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, well... At least we're here, and so are you..." He leaned in slightly, causing your shoulders to bump. You responded playfully.

The night was warm and the silence comfortable, so, wary of being rejected, you rested your head on his nearest shoulder. "I really missed you," you said almost in a whisper. Harry didn’t respond, but he rested his head on yours, making your heart race. "How was your year?" he asked without changing his tone.

"I feel like your letters are too limiting to tell the stories."

"It’s impressive how well-trained Hedwig is," you commented. "I’ve never seen a bird travel such a distance just to deliver a letter."

Harry tensed beside you and stood up straight again. You raised your head, not understanding what had made him uncomfortable. You watched him, waiting for an explanation, but again, he didn’t dare look at you.

"I don’t like lying," he said finally. "I don’t like lying to you…"

"Lying to me? About what?"

He sighed heavily once more before standing. He held out his hand for you to stand up as well. You took it confidently. He firmed his grip before leading you down the street. For the first time, you noticed he was carrying a bag.

You walked in silence for a few minutes before reaching the local park, which, due to the schedule, was completely deserted. Harry made you sit on one of the swings. You obeyed, but he was still standing in front of you.

"I haven't been honest with you," he confessed. "It's not true that I go to St. Brutus's... I don't know what. That's something the Dursleys force me to say to avoid questions."

"So, where are you all year round?"

"The school I attend is actually called Hogwarts... It's a school for wizards."

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. You searched for a smile or something that would indicate he was joking, but he remained completely serious, waiting for an answer from you.

"Is this the part where we laugh about this or..."

"It's not a joke, I swear," Harry quickly answered.

"Are you trying to make fun of me? Is that it?" You began to get annoyed at the possibility that he had only made you leave the house at late hours to laugh at you.

"No, no, I swear it's not like that... I can show you." He quickly pulled some kind of old rug out of his bag. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow, not knowing how to respond. He sighed nervously before shaking his cloak, trying to gain confidence.

"I just need, no matter what... Don't freak out."

"Frighten me how?"

Harry covered himself with the cloak, disappearing completely before your eyes. You looked at the ground, expecting to find a large hole he'd fallen through or a large structure in the sky that had pulled him up, but there was nothing, just the emptiness of the park, where you were now alone.

Suddenly, your friend's brown head popped out of nowhere, floating in the air. You brought your hands to your mouth, holding back the gasp of surprise you wanted to give. Harry finally completely uncovered himself from the invisibility that surrounded him, becoming visible once again.

"I would have liked to show it another way... But you can't do magic outside of school. I might get expelled," he excused himself. But you couldn't stop trembling in place.

Harry knelt on the ground, lower than you. He took your hands to stop them from moving and looked at you, waiting for an answer.

"Harry... This is... Incredible."

Those green eyes that were so familiar to you shone with emotion at your affirmative response. With a jerk, he had you up from the swing and wrapped his arms around your waist. You responded to that tender hug with the same intensity as him.

When you broke away, Harry didn't remove his hands from your waist, nor did you remove yours from his shoulders. You were so close that you could feel his breath mingling with yours.

And then it happened, just as you had imagined for years.

He joined his lips with yours in a tender kiss. It didn't last more than a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity.

When you broke apart, you both looked at each other with a mixture of nerves and tenderness, not entirely sure of what you had just done, as if afraid of ruining everything.

"Would you like to try it?" Harry suggested. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Of course not!" He downplayed it before wrapping the thick fabric around your shoulders. A part of your body disappeared from view, although you still felt it there. You laughed nervously, unable to believe it. 

The two of you continued hugging, neither wanting to separate from each other, until the sun began to rise over the horizon. Only then did you start walking home. Without saying anything, Harry intertwined his fingers with yours, trying not to break contact. 

When you reached the door of your home, his hand felt so comfortable intertwined with yours that you didn't dare let go. Although he didn't seem to have any intention of doing so either. 

"Good night Harry" you murmured, leaving a soft kiss on his lips, which was quickly reciprocated. 

"Can we meet tomorrow in the park?" he asked without taking his eyes off yours. You just smiled and gave him another quick kiss before hurrying into your house. You watched through the peephole as he quickly crossed the street and entered his own.

You couldn't help but smile like a fool. You were hopelessly in love with Harry Potter... Who turned out to be a wizard.

[yourflowergirlfriend]

you spin me round 👻

[icarusexists]

Sirius Black doesn't just love the song "piano man" by Billy Joel like anyone would.

The song came out in 1974, he would be in fourth year. Remus would've come up to the dormitory with the record, excited to show Sirius the new music, because ofc they both love muggle music. Remus knowing a lot of it because he's half blood and has one foot in the wizarding world, one foot in the muggle world, and Sirius as a rebellion to his family.

Sirius would've listened to the lyrics and gone completely still and started crying because those lyrics are quite like him. "Sing us a song, you're the piano man. Sing us a song tonight. Well, we're all in the mood for a melody, And you've got us feelin' alright."

Because Walburga insisted he play piano for guests, and would hit his knuckles till they bled if he hit a wrong note. Because it's a "family tradition" to play piano, and he refused be the first one ever to fail that. And he got good at it, but he never enjoyed it, because how could he, with his mother behind him, watching his every move and technique, waiting to hit him. Or even worse, his father, waiting with a curse.

Remus asked what was wrong, and Sirius shook his head, signaling 'nothing.' He'd just never felt so understood by a song.

So when he was sixteen, he played piano man at a gathering. No one knew it wasn't a wizarding classic, because they're all pureblood. The only one who knew was Regulus, who smiled slightly from across the room.

"But there's some place that he'd rather be. He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me," As the smile ran away from his face. "Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star, If I could get out of this place."

A week later, Sirius would escape to the Potter's, half dead, and dragging Regulus along with him. His mother would walk into his room and find the few records he purposely left behind, one left out on his bed in plain sight, titled "piano man."

(Yes, I absolutely headcannon that Reg would've left with Sirius, or at least gone the next summer, sue me)

[moonyeyedstar]

hi!! i love your writing and i just wanted to ask if you could do some dom james potter smut? please and thank you <3

Just the Tip- Stepbro!James Potter x f!reader pt 2

*18+* *Hi! If this is not what you wanted and you want more of a heavier dom/sub relationship, please let me know! I hope you enjoy this regardless!*

“Fuck, James, quick, they’re getting back soon,” you rushed as he quickly slipped off your panties.

“I know, I know,” he hurried as he pressed his red, swollen, aching tip to your entrance.  He was dripping with enough precum to challenge your dripping cunt.  Your breath hitched as you prepared yourself to be filled.  You let your hands rest on his strong shoulders.  “Tell me if it’s too much,” James smirked cockily as he filled you slowly with every thick inch of his length.

“Oh fuck, James,” you whined as your walls spasamed around his cock, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“So fucking tight,” James groaned as his hands gripped your hips, his fingertips burying themselves into your skin before picking up his pace.

“Oh shit!”  You cried out, “Just like that, James, just like that!”

“You like how that feels?”  James teased as he continued his rough pace.  You just nodded your head, unable to speak as pleasure overcame you each time he slammed his tip against your now bruised cervix.  “Use your words, princess, unless you want me to stop.”  You just whined and shook your head no, choking down your moans.  James halted his thrusts abruptly, making you feel like the rug was ripped right out from under you.

“James!”  You whined, staring at him in disbelief.

“I said to use your words, it really is quite simple.  Tell me if you like how it feels and I’ll fuck you until your eyes roll to the back of your head, or I can just go take care of myself in the restroom while you struggle and chase after an orgasm you will never reach without me fucking you.”

“You’re such an arse,” you groaned.

“Alright then, see you around,” James reached down for his trousers, but you kicked his hands away.

“No no please, please, fuck me James, I need it.  It feels so so so damn good when you fuck me.  No one fucks me like you, I swear.  Make me cum quick before they get home and I’ll suck you off every night before bed for the rest of the month,” you pleaded shamelessly.

“What a wonderful offer, I will gladly take it,” James boasted cockily, “but you know I would’ve fucked you just for telling me it feels good,” James slowly filled you up again.

“Maybe I am just dying to get your fat cock in my mouth,” you moaned out, the filth that spilt from your lips made James pick up his pace.  “Maybe I dream about choking and drooling around you as you fuck my tight virgin throat.”

“Such a dirty girl,” he moaned, fucking you at an almost ruthless pace.

“Fuck, James,” you cried out, your brain instanly turning into mush, “You make me feel so fucking good.”  Your shameless moans filled the space between the two of you, urging him to fuck you deeper and harder each and every time.

The two of you cried out in pleasure, James was spilling into you seconds after your own release, just as you heard keys jingling and the front door opening.

“Oh fuck,” you panted, tears streaming down your cheeks as James rushed out, stopping at the door to throw you an arrogant wink.

“See you tonight for what better be the best blowie of my life,” he smirked.

“God, yes.”

[romanczukowsky]

The Owl Brings More Than News part. I

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Every Saturday brought a letter and a little more magic. Through your sister’s stories, Fred and George Weasley had become legends in your mind—until the day they showed up at your front door. And when George smiled at you for the first time, you realized nothing in those letters had prepared you for how real he would feel… or how quickly he’d steal your breath away.

Warnings: Slow Burn / Romance / Muggle world / Friday

The tapping at your window had come like clockwork. Every Saturday morning, just as you had lifted the kettle from the stove, the great brown owl appeared with a neat roll of parchment tied to its leg.

You had opened the window, smiling despite yourself. “Morning, big guy,” you had whispered, easing the ribbon free. The owl had hooted softly before launching back into the sky, leaving you alone with your weekly treasure.

Your sister’s handwriting had spilled across the page in quick, excited lines. She had always written too much, never able to fit an entire week of Hogwarts into just one letter. Potions disasters, Quidditch drama, and now—an entire section dedicated to two boys who apparently had turned the school upside down.

Fred and George Weasley.

According to your sister, they had been geniuses of mischief. Charms gone wrong, fireworks in the common room, enchanted suits of armor that sang rude songs to the professors—every paragraph about them had been wilder than the last. You had caught yourself laughing aloud more than once, pressing the parchment to your chest as though holding it closer might let you feel the magic yourself.

By the time you had reached the bottom of the page, your cheeks had been warm. You had known them only through your sister’s words, but you could already picture the twins in your mind: fiery hair, quick grins, the kind of presence that made ordinary days unforgettable.

And you had hated how much you had wanted to meet them.

Your fingers had brushed the edge of the parchment again, tracing the loops of her handwriting as though you could squeeze yourself into the spaces between her words. You had tried to shake it off—remind yourself they were just names, just faces you had never seen. But every letter had been worse than the last: more stories, more laughter caught between the lines, until you could almost hear it echoing in your kitchen.

And then, almost hidden beneath the rest of her neat script, there had been a hurried postscript. Just a single line, scrawled as though she had nearly forgotten:

Oh, and don’t be too shocked—but Fred and George will be coming home with me for the weekend when term ends. I can’t wait for you to finally meet them!

The kettle had whistled shrilly behind you, but you hadn’t moved. The words had burned against your eyes, the parchment trembling slightly in your hands.

Meet them.

All at once, the stories were no longer only ink and imagination. They were real, flesh-and-blood boys who would be walking through your front door in a matter of weeks.

And somehow, that thought had made your heart race faster than you wanted to admit.

The weeks had slipped by faster than you had expected. Each Saturday morning, the owl had tapped at your window with another letter, another glimpse into your sister’s world, another reason for your chest to tighten whenever the twins’ names appeared on the page.

And then Friday had come.

By the time the evening sun had dipped low, casting gold across the rooftops, you had been pacing your room, glancing out of the window every few minutes. Your hands had been restless—straightening books on your desk, smoothing your bedsheets, tugging nervously at the hem of your shirt.

It had felt ridiculous, the way your heart had hammered at every sound outside. They were just your sister’s classmates. Friends. Nothing more.

And then you had seen them.

Three figures had turned the corner of your street, your sister in the middle, her smile as wide as you had ever seen it. But your gaze had snagged instantly on the other two. Tall, with hair that caught the sunlight like fire and laughter that carried even through the glass of your window.

Fred and George.

Your breath had hitched as though the world had tilted. They had been real—more real than the ink on your sister’s letters, more real than the half-formed faces you had built in your imagination. They had been right there, walking toward your door as if they had always belonged on your street.

You had torn yourself from the window just as the front gate had creaked open. Your pulse had thrummed in your ears as hurried voices filled the hall, your sister calling out your name.

And then the door to the living room had swung wide.

“Here she is!” your sister had said brightly, tugging the two boys inside.

You had lifted your gaze—and found yourself staring into the kind of grin that could undo you in an instant.

George Weasley.

George’s eyes had met yours for only a heartbeat, but it had been enough to steal the air from your lungs. His grin had widened, like he had already caught some secret about you that you hadn’t meant to give away.

“Blimey,” Fred had said first, clapping your sister on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell us your sister looked exactly like you—except less terrifying.”

Your sister had swatted him with a laugh, and George had only shaken his head, smirking as though he had expected nothing less.

You had forced yourself to smile, mumbling a quick hello while hoping they couldn’t hear the way your pulse had thundered. George had answered with a warm “Evening,” his voice low, casual, but laced with a teasing lilt that had settled right under your skin.

Dinner had been chaos. Fred had told stories so animated you had nearly choked on your drink from laughing, while George had leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange with quiet amusement until he had tossed in the sharpest punchlines. At one point, when you had reached for the breadbasket, George’s hand had brushed yours—lightly, almost carelessly—and you had pulled back too quickly, heat rushing to your cheeks. His smirk had told you he had noticed.

By the time the plates had been cleared, your sister had been dragging Fred upstairs to show him her latest collection of enchanted trinkets, leaving you and George in the quiet of the living room.

He had lounged on the sofa, legs stretched out, that crooked grin still tugging at his mouth as he glanced at you. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“I talk plenty,” you had shot back, surprised at your own boldness.

His eyes had glinted, the grin deepening. “Good. I was starting to worry I’d have to do all the work this weekend.”

Your heart had skipped, the room suddenly feeling much too small.

And for the first time that night, you had wondered if three days would be enough.

You had flicked on the television, more out of nervous habit than real interest, and dropped onto the sofa beside George. The film had started already, a fast-paced mess of car chases and one-liners.

Except George had tilted his head, eyes narrowing at the screen. “What on earth is happening?”

The laugh had burst out of you before you could stop it. “Oh—you’ve never seen this? Right, so that guy—” You had leaned forward, pointing, words tumbling faster than your brain could catch them. “He’s not really the villain, he’s working undercover, but no one knows that yet, so everyone thinks he’s the bad guy. And the girl—well, she’s just pretending to like him because she’s actually working with the other guy, except she doesn’t know he’s working undercover too—”

Your hands had moved as quickly as your mouth, sketching out entire webs of alliances in the air. George hadn’t interrupted once. He had just watched you, head resting on his hand, a slow smile tugging at his lips as though the film had already been replaced by something far more entertaining.

When you had finally realized how long you’d been talking, your words had sputtered out. Heat had crept up your neck, your cheeks burning. “Sorry. I—I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

George had leaned back, grin soft but steady. “Don’t be. I could listen to you all night.”

Before you could think of anything to say to that, footsteps had sounded on the stairs. Your sister had appeared in the doorway, arms crossed but smiling. “Beds are ready.”

You had mumbled goodnight, standing a little too quickly, while George had only stretched and given you a look that made your stomach flip.

And as you had climbed the stairs to your room, one thought had looped again and again in your mind: tomorrow was only the first full day.

The link will take you to Part 2 of the story:

Post by @romanczukowsky · 3 images

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · The Owl Brings More Than News part. II · Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader Summary: A weekend visit turns into a slow-b

[waytootiredforthistoo]

do we ever talk about the practicalities of being a muggleborn at Hogwarts? I mean, I know *i* do, but does it infest anyone else's brain?

right, cause we have one (1) train, and it stops in one (1) place. You're boarding the Hogwarts express in London, which is great if you live in/near London or you live with an adult who has magical teleportation powers, but what tf are the muggleborns supposed to do about that???

Oh god and the isolation of it all?

can't phone, no normal post. I'm so sorry but my landlord would boot me out if I brought a fish into my apartment. I KNOW those muggleborn families in flats couldn't have owls coming in and out at all hours

hell, most apartments don't have fireplaces, so that's floo right out

do you just not speak to your parents for 4 months at a time? You're 11! You've just been taken away from everything you've ever known! That's awful!

and there don't seem to be any services for incoming muggleborns. Like, we've got muggle studies for upper year wizards, but why is there no wizard studies for new muggleborns? Like, even just a once a week first semester class going over shit like, 'this is how you tie a tie' and 'this is how owl post works' and 'this is how you open an account at Gringotts'

I don't know. it just seems like a full nightmare for me to imagine an 11 year old having to try to navigate a whole new society on their own

[fawns-angel]

Pawing at Guitars

Sirius religiously visits this one music store in his town, but something is different tonight. There’s a new worker tuning the guitars — mousy brown hair, warm skin, freckled cheeks. On the bumped bridge of his nose runs a small scar. His name tag, unevenly pinned to his loose shirt, reads Remus. Sirius has never been so entranced by a man before in his entire life.

Wolfstar — Sirius POV word count: 1121

The sky above Sirius was beautiful, comparable to a painting. The Starry Night. The full moon shone on his otherwise grey path.

The occasional car passed his way, lightly splashing the puddles in the road. Fortunately, they weren’t dramatic enough to drench him.

His silver eyes remained focused on a glowing sign ahead — leading him to the music store. Practically inviting him inside to spend even more money than he already has.

He wouldn’t mind a new vinyl.

Soon, Sirius came to a stop outside the storefront. Droplets of rain from earlier still remained on the windows, reflecting the light of the moon. But Sirius could make out the shape of a figure inside. Tall, somewhat broad shouldered — a man.

With a hint of curiosity, he passed the threshold. A bell jingled above Sirius’ head as he pushed open the door, his hands slipping inside his trouser pockets upon entering.

Immediately, he relaxed at the warmth of the store, tickling his cold skin. Ahead of him were rows of records, and to his right an empty counter. Sirius briefly wondered to himself if the shop was closed…

Yet, as he looked further ahead, his eyes finally landed on the man he could see from outside. Stood in the back of the store among the instruments, almost hiding. He was a new worker, tuning the guitars with surprising softness despite his large hands.

His head remained down, not taking notice of the customer in his store. Sirius was slightly irritated by the lack of welcome, so his mind was made up already. He didn’t like this worker, and wouldn’t fancy staying for long.

He’d just come back tomorrow, he thought, until the stranger carefully lifted his head to look over.

Sun kissed freckles littered his cheeks, and his skin had a natural, warm glow. His mousy brown hair was like a cherry on top, perfectly tying together his features. Sirius noticed a small scar running across the bumped bridge of his nose.

Unevenly pinned to his shirt was a name tag that read Remus.

Rather abruptly, he was knocked from his thoughts. He only just realised he had been staring like an idiot, his mouth was slightly agape too. Sirius quickly began to distract himself, suddenly finding everything else in the store other than Remus to be interesting.

“Do you need anything?” He asked after a moment, his voice somewhat rough and warm at the same time. His accent was a blend of Welsh and English.

Sirius could feel the phantom sensation of eyes exploring his face. He was still taken aback, normally he could control himself better around people he found attractive. This was embarrassing. He had never fancied anyone this much before.

“It’s alright, thanks,” Sirius replied, tilting his head to send the worker a confident smile.

He almost melted as Remus returned his smile, revealing the dimples in his cheeks. How could this man get even more attractive?

“My boss said there’s a dark haired fella who visits the shop often, is that you?”

Blinking in surprise, Sirius slowly spoke up, “That’s me. Sirius.”

The worker hummed thoughtfully, testing the name on his tongue before nodding.

“I’m Remus.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

Sirius couldn’t help but grin in amusement, his eyes flicking to the worker’s badge until he realised, earning a slight chuckle from the man.

“I’m still getting used to this, alright?” Remus smiled, thoughtfully tapping a finger against the neck of the guitar in his arms.

Sirius sighed as he looked away, an entertained smile remaining on his face.

“Clearly.”

After that, the pair fell silent for a moment — returning to their own worlds. Sirius thought the conversation was over, until Remus spoke up once again, “Mind giving me a hand, Sirius?”

He slowly blinked, taken by surprise at the question.

“I don’t mind,” He muttered as he approached, his hands returning to his trouser pockets in an attempt to act casual. But he only just realised how tall Remus was, and he couldn’t help but feel a little flustered.

“Right,” Remus spoke, handing Sirius the guitar he was just holding, “Test this for me, yeah?”

The guitar was still warm from Remus’ touch as he adjusted it in his arms, Sirius resting his hands where he once did. Softly, he strummed the guitar strings, earning a satisfying tune. A smile tugged at Remus’ lips.

“I have a feeling you’re a guitarist, Sirius.”

Sirius barked a laugh, “How could you tell?”

He shrugged with a half smile, soon taking the guitar from him to hang up with the rest of them. Sirius’ cheeks flushed at the closeness of him, and the feeling of their fingers brushing together. The warmth of his skin and the entrancing smell of his cologne. He couldn’t get enough.

And unfortunately, Remus must’ve noticed. He lingered beside Sirius in silence. It was the longest minute of his life. Remus had these almond shaped, hazel eyes that zeroed in on his face.

Finally, Remus spoke, “Your hands are cold.”

“And yours are incredibly warm,” Sirius smiled, his pinkening cheeks betraying his confident expression.

“Are they? I swear I’m normally colder than this,” Remus blinked as he lifted his large hand with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, mate.”

Remus huffed in amusement, soon gliding his hand through his mousy brown hair, in a way that captivated Sirius.

“Shit, well… I should probably start closing up shop, um, sorry to kick you out in this weather,” Remus smiled slightly, apologetically.

“Not gonna keep pawing at the guitars all night?” He teasingly smirked, adjusting his jacket as he headed towards the front of the store.

“Unfortunately, no,” Remus huffed as he followed, stepping close to open the door for Sirius, the bell jingling once more.

But Sirius didn’t leave. He remained in place, a contemplative look in his silver eyes. Remus stared his way with a silent question. This man was already reading him like an open book.

“When do you… get off work tomorrow?” He carefully asked.

Remus paused at the question, slightly surprised himself, “Six, why?”

“Ah, perfect. I’ll come by when you’re finished.”

Remus blinked in confusion, a slightly nervous chuckle escaping him, his dimples reappearing.

“For what reason?”

“To pick you up, ‘course. We’re going for a drink,” Sirius said with that iconic smirk, soon turning on his heels to leave the store.

Remus stared after him, moonstruck. Sirius did his best to remain calm until he rounded the corner of the street, finally allowing himself to giddily smile. It wasn’t every day he felt this silly over a crush.

He may not have left with a vinyl, but he bloody well secured himself a date with the hottest man alive.