A/N: Hi there! I'm starting a new project!

PLEASE READ!

I know I have portrayed Sirius as a bit of a slut here, and before you start screaming at me for butchering his character-since the fandom likes to portray him as a sex maniac-please note that I have reasons for him sleeping around, ok? Just trust me. Just this once.

:

:

:

Being an angel has it's perks. You live forever, you don't age physically, and you can pretty much do whatever the hell you want. Of course, there are some basic guidelines. You can't kill, you can't have sex with someone who's married—although there are ways around that last one—and you can't reveal your existence to mortals. All in all, it's a pretty good deal. Sirius has never had any complaints.

But while there are the written rules, there are also the "expectations". Angels are supposed to have a certain heavenly aura about them, the whole hands-above-the-covers ideal. Angels are pure, wise, and supposedly above all mortal vices. Sirius is made up of nothing but mortal vices. He drinks, he swears, he does weird shit, and he has sex. He has a lot of sex. He's had sex with mortals, centaurs, pixies, succubi, vampires, merpeople, the whole spectrum. You name it, Sirius has probably fucked it. It's one of the many reasons why the entire guardian angel department looks down on him.

Sirius isn't really good at keeping his sex life private. He's more of a "flaunt it" person than a "we must hide the evil within" person. This is, of course, a constant source of exasperation for his fellow guardians. They're all about seriousness and maturity and other boring things that have no rightful place in a sane person's life. As far as Sirius is concerned, any immortal being with the body of a 20 year old who is not having gratuitous amounts of sex is either extremely depressing—*cough* James *cough*—or kidding themselves. Sex is great. Why make a big fuss over it?

"Because you parade around like you're some sort of bloody sex god," James scolds him over the phone. "People don't like it when you tell battle stories of Sirius and his Magic Cock."

"People don't have to listen to my battle stories. Don't pretend like I don't know who you're talking about," Sirius snaps right back. It's an age-old debate, but it's never reached a satisfying conclusion. "Those people are acting like it's the 18th century."

"Some of them lived through the 18th century, Pads. You gotta understand where they're coming from."

Sirius ignores James for a moment and glances down at the lovely city below him, flapping his great wings a bit to gain speed. It's a good thing that Sirius has remembered to remain invisible to mortal eyes. Last time he visited London, he scared the living shit out of some poor businessman who'd ended up in the hospital because his coworkers thought he was having some sort of a nervous breakdown. (Which truly wasn't that unbelievable. Any man who wears a suit to work everyday is automatically labeled "clinically insane" in Sirius' book.) He swoops down and perches himself in a tree that's overlooking a small park.

"You know," Sirius says into his earpiece, "getting a promotion for a big-shot top guardian position doesn't require you losing your sense of humor."

James' gasp is very audible. "Me? Losing my sense of humor? I'll have you know I spent a good two hours yesterday convincing Nicholas that in order to properly open a can of whoop ass, one has to spread their—"

"Yes yes, whatever you say," Sirius sighs into the line. He inspects his cuticles, looking all angelic and cool.

James' tone goes dark. "How dare you. How dare you question my sense of humor."

"And how dare you call me when I'm pre-coital."

"Pre-coital? What do you mean pre-coital? My tracker says you're in a tree in London!"

"Firstly, stop tracking me, I'm not your charge. It's creepy. Secondly, I'm always pre-coital."

James snorts. "Right. Of course." A big intake of breath. He's steeling himself. "Look, are you coming to the meeting or not? Mad-Eye's getting pretty pissed."

Sirius frowns. Mad-Eye? Why's he at the meeting? He's a warrior, not a guardian.

"What'd I ever do to Mad-Eye?" Sirius asks.

"I dunno, farted near him or something. Point is you need to get your pre-coital arse over here before that vein in his forehead pops."

Sirius smiles. "Sounds promising. Snap a photo for me."

"Padfoot."

"Prongs."

"You know what, fine then. If you don't want a new charge, I guess we'll have to give yours to someone who's less smartass-ey."

Sirius twitches so hard he almost falls out of his tree, which would have been very un-angelic and cool. "New charge?! Wait, you didn't say anything about a new charge! They're really giving one to me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know, it's not like I made the decision. Trust me, I was just as surprised as you when I saw your name on the roster."

Sirius huffs. "Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Jamsey."

"Oh come on, why shouldn't I be surprised? After the whole mess with Regulus…"

Sirius rolls his eyes skyward. Here we go again…

James, the bloody idiot, blunders on. "What I mean to say is that no one really expected—well, you know…"

Know what? Sirius wants to ask. What do I know?

He knows that his last charge, Regulus, had been fucked over so badly that it threw Sirius in a Dark Mood for a good year. He knows that after what happened, the chances of him getting another charge were slimmer than James dating a girl for longer than a month. He knows that the entire guardian department views him with a mixture of disgust and pity. He knows all of this, so why doesn't James fucking say it?!

Sirius makes it a point not to speak until James does, which predictably only takes a couple of seconds.

"You, uh, coming to the meeting?"

"Yeah. Probably."

"Right then. Good."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

God Sirius hates this. He decides it's time for a change-up. "Just answer me one question," he begins.

"What?" James asks warily.

"Is…she there?"

James, beautiful man that he is, recognizes the subject change for what it is and goes along with it. "Of course she's here. She wouldn't miss an audience with you for the world."

Sirius smiles up at the sky. "Ah, my dear love. Tell me, is she excited?"

"Practically pissing herself."

"Of course. Oh McGoogles, how did I ever survive without her in my life?"

"Not a clue, mate."

"I'm telling you Prongs, that woman's it for me. Her terrifying threats, the way she screams at me, her spectacles." Sirius growls for effect.

"Alright, don't hurt yourself there."

Sirius smirks and nestles himself into a more comfortable perching position. "Why James! Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your voice?"

"Please. I left your sorry arse for Dumby long ago."

"Ah yes. Good ol' Dumbles. Do you braid his beard?"

"Sirius! A proper lady never kisses and tells."

"I do."

"Yeah, you ain't a proper lady."

"Oi! I could be proper if I wanted to." Sirius is about to add more when a little group of boys run up to his tree. He double checks his invisibility, making sure it's still intact. The kids take no notice of him. They're too busy teasing the little girl that followed him.

"Come on, give her back!" The girl yelps.

The boys snicker amongst themselves. One of them holds a pink doll aloft by the foot. Sirius watches with interest, ignoring James and his babble. He recognizes this game as one he used to play with his friends when they were fledglings. He watches as the leader of the boy pack steps forward with a smug little smirk. There's something very James-ey in the way he holds himself.

"Why should we give it back? You can't possibly want this dumb old thing," the boy taunts loudly.

Another boy, the one who's holding the doll, moves next to his leader. "Yeah," he says, "it's too stupid for anyone interesting to play with."

Ah, yes. That one would be the Sirius of the group.

The girl sniffs. Sirius can see she's making a valiant effort not to cry, but her bottom lip quivers. "Please, just give her back!"

"Give her back!" Little James mocks in a falsetto. The other boys laugh.

Sirius frowns. He hopes he wasn't that obnoxious when he was a fledgling. (He probably was, if not worse.)

Meanwhile, the girl has had enough of this, Sirius can see it in the set of her tiny shoulders and the furrow of her eyebrows. He, who has seen this look on many a girl's face, knows what's going to happen next. Out comes the fist, and bop goes Little James' nose.

He lets out a loud yelp and falls back on his behind. The other boys crowd around him while Sirius laughs out loud. He takes a good look at the little girl. She has choppy brown hair that she probably cut herself with a pair of safety scissors, and she's wearing a faded yellow dress with a strange purple stain on the front. She looks immensely pleased with herself.

Little Sirius, once he has made sure that Little James has indeed been punched in the face by a girl, turns around and gives said girl a horrible glare. He throws the doll at her feet. "Here," he sneers, "we don't want your stupid girl's toy anyway."

The boys hurry away, Little James howling in over-exaggerated pain. The girl crouches down and picks up her doll. Now that the boys are gone she's allowed to look upset. Her doll's head is cracked from where it made impact with the ground. She frowns at the crack, her eyes tearing up and her lower lip trembling dangerously.

Sirius' heart just about breaks. He acts without thinking, and snaps his fingers.

"Nymphadora!" The girls' mother calls out on cue. "Nymphadora Tonks, where are you?"

The girl rubs her runny nose on her dress and looks around. In the split second that she looks away from her doll, Sirius fixes the crack with a wave of his hand. Nymphadora Tonks? He thinks to himself, marveling at the name's strangeness. What on earth were her parents thinking?

When Nymphadora looks back at her doll she immediately notices the absence of the crack. She frowns at first, turning the doll over and over. Finally her face breaks out into a grin. She hugs the doll close to her chest, then gets up and takes off running towards her mother. "Momma! You won't believe what just happened!"

Sirius watches her go with a sigh. Sirius, you old sap. You're growing soft.

"Sirius? Sirius, are you even listening to me? I'm not used to being ignored, you bastard."

Right. He was talking to James.

"Sirius?! I can hear you breathing!"

"Yes yes, I'm here, never fear," Sirius drawls.

"What did you just do? My tracker says you've used magic. Did you steal candy from a baby again?"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "One time four years ago and I haven't heard the end of it since."

"It was a baby, Sirius. It was a baby and you're a guardian."

"It wasn't even eating it! It was just whacking it on the—you know what, never mind. What were you talking about?"

"What did you use magic for?"

"Manly things," Sirius says shiftily.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"I don't need to explain myself to you, Mr. I-Wouldn't-Know-Manly-If-It-Bit-Me-On-The-Nipple."

"I'm very manly! I'm the manliest of all the—oh hello Madam McGonagall!"

Sirius hears a muffled voice on the other line and listens with glee.

"Um, no ma'am, I was just…uh…taking a survey."

"Taking a survey?!" Sirius hisses into the phone, fighting the urge to let out a cackle.

"Shut up! Oh, not you ma'am! I was talking to the survey!"

Sirius is beside himself. This is wonderful. There's muffled shuffling and protest and all of a sudden there's a very sharp voice in his ear.

"Mr. Black, would you be so kind in telling me where, exactly, you are at the moment?" McGonagall demands in that special tone of hers, the one that scares small children.

Sirius smiles, leaning back against his tree. "Ah Minverva, how I've longed to hear that sultry voice of yours. How's your day going?"

"Considerably terrible. I hope Mr. Potter has informed you that your presence is required at the upcoming meeting."

"He has. Good boy, he is. But let's not talk about him. Let's talk about us."

McGonagall lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl. "Gladly, Mr. Black. If you should fail to show up at this meeting, your consideration for a future guardian position will be in serious jeopardy."

Sirius swallows.

"Now, if you wish to avoid spending the rest of your angelic career with a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other, I advise you to fly here immediately."

Her voice is like ice. Sirius shivers.

However, he will not go down without a fight. He builds up his resolve as he drops to the ground beneath the tree, and stretches out his wings. "Why Madam, you needn't sound so eager to see me. I might just faint."

"I trust that you won't. And, Mr. Black?"

Something in her voice has changed enough to catch Sirius' attention. "Yes, my dear?"

Silence. McGonagall almost never pauses in a conversation. Sirius listens intently. She lets out a little humph before saying, "This could be a second chance for you. Keep that in mind."

Sirius doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything. He listens to McGonagall hang up and then stares off into space for a moment. Of course the department would see this as a second chance, a redeeming test. He's sort of angry about it. Sirius doesn't like being controlled and watched like this, which is stupid because a large part of his job involves obeying orders. Or rather, a large part of his old job involved obeying orders. He's not much of a guardian anymore.

But this meeting will change that. If he's there on time. He spreads his wings, gets a good running start, and takes off into the sky.

Sirius' wings are black and he loves them. They're a bit smaller than average since they're built for speed rather than strength. The larger feathers shine like oil in the sunlight, and the smaller, softer feathers underneath shift into colors of dark gray. They're very uncommon, which means they're cool. They're also a bad omen. It's an old and stupid superstition among angels. Wings of white will bring delight, wings of blue are always true, but wings of black will bring despair, for those are wings that monsters bear. Sirius had listened to that dumb poem throughout his childhood, when he decided to turn it into a battle cry. He thought having monster wings were awesome back then, and never took the saying seriously. After what happened with Regulus though, he wonders if the poem holds a bit of truth to it. Perhaps he's destined for disaster.

He narrows his eyes and beats his wings to gain more altitude and speed. Him? A disaster? As if. He's destined for greatness, if anything. He's Sirius fucking Black. He's amazing.

Sirius sneers and bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds, because there's only so much that a person can lie to themselves.

:

:

:

A/N: Welp. That was short. I'll post the next chapter really soon.

So. If you are new to me and my writing, hello. I am a dork. I don't update regularly. You will hate me in the future for many reasons.