A/N: Title from 'Happy Together', The Turtles's timeless love song.

Huge thanks to Alex (newseptembers) who suffered through my constant updates every time I hit another thousand words, gave me advice on opinions of The Last Jedi (which I've only seen half of) and basically is the reason why I managed to actually write this, instead of just worrying over the details.

"Tuna."

Petunia knows who's addressing her, so doesn't think it necessary to look up at them. "What?" she hisses back. Except for them, the entire (admittedly tiny) class is silent listening to Binns, their sorry excuse for a teacher, drone on about the Russian Revolution. She's making notes and trying to understand Binns's leaps in logic, and doing a pretty successful job of it, she might add, until someone interrupted her.

"You might want to sort out your hair."

Petunia's hand, which is in her hair, freezes. She plays with her hair when she's trying to concentrate, which is what she was doing a second ago, before, again, someone interrupted her. "Thanks for the suggestion," she replies icily, determined now to not touch her hair until they get out of the lesson at least.

"Welcome," says Sirius Black, who continues fiddling with his pen instead of doing, or even pretending to do any work. Petunia could say a thing or two about his David Cassidy hair too, but she refrains.

"It's just that, well, it looks like it's gone through some vigorous activity," adds Sirius in her ear. The positive aspect to that is that no one else in the class hears. The negative is that it's downright flirtatious.

"How the fuck would you know what my sex hair looks like?" she demands in a hiss, mouthing the word 'sex' for good measure. As soon as she says it, she begins praying that he doesn't respond with something about fantasies.

Her prayers are answered, and he doesn't. However, he does smirk and say, "I've seen the look before," which is quite possibly worse.

She decides to ignore him, and goes back to taking notes. But she's missed the last few minutes of Binns's monologue, so now she's got no hope of finding her way back in. And now all she can think about is whether her hair looks like sex hair or not, and why the fuck Sirius chose to point that out to her in those words.

She sighs, and very resolutely doesn't look at him for the rest of the lesson.

So, there are three constants in Petunia's life.

The first is that most people like her twin sister, Lily, better than they like her. Petunia doesn't blame them. Lily is smart and kind and charming and beautiful, whereas Petunia is only really smart, and definitely comes across as bitter. She can understand why people like Lily more, though — Petunia supposes she brings it on herself a bit, by being so uptight. Anyway, even she sometimes likes Lily more than she likes herself.

The second is that her life, so far all seventeen years of it, have turned out exactly the way she's imagined and planned that they would. So in the future, she assumes it'll be the same. She's going to study sociology at a sensible uni next year. She'll graduate probably with a high 2:1 and go into marketing. She'll stay in her uni city, get married, give up her job when she has children and see her parents and Lily four or five times a year. If she's being morbid, which she usually isn't, she'll probably die in her mid-eighties, having lived a satisfying life, and her strongest legacy will be her two children, however they turn out. She doesn't know whether to feel miserable or comforted by this, but ever since Trelawney gave that assembly about 'opening yourself up to life's accidents of fortune', it's been playing on her mind that her life, so far, has had no accidents of fortune. And maybe it should.

The third is that Sirius Black, since the first day of Year Seven, has been a pain in Petunia's too-long neck and she can't figure out why he's chosen her as the target of his antics. It started out as childish antagonism, but from year 10 right up to now, there's a kind of sexual tension that sits uneasily and she can't escape. They sit together in history because he was late to the first lesson and the seat next to hers was the only one empty, but secretly she thinks he planned it, because he loves to provoke her. He won't let her make a single point without challenging it — and she talks back, of course, so it inevitably descends into the both of them making snide comments at each other. Binns has next to no class control, so Sirius and Petunia will just argue until the lesson ends. No one ever wins, which makes it all the more frustrating and unsatisfying.

She and Sirius are in the same friendship group, which just naturally happened after Lily started going out with James. It's bearable because usually at lunch she'll talk to Lily or Remus or Alice and save the interactions with Sirius for their biweekly history lessons, but every now and again they'll be alone together without the rest of their friends, and will start arguing.

If she thinks about it, she supposes she doesn't hate him. He's more of an annoyance than anything despicable, although sometimes she wants to rip his head off so much that she decides any feeling that passionate must be hate. Generally though, she tries not to think about it.

That isn't to say that she doesn't have thoughts about him she'd rather die before letting him know. He doesn't have to know that history is her favourite lesson, that watching him sling 'Tuna' onto the end of a sentence whilst smirking infuriatingly does things to her, that she was wildly jealous of Connie Brocklehurst in Year Ten because she'd seen them kissing in the hallway at James's party. Sirius Black sticks out in her life like a sore thumb, and she doesn't know where to place him. So she rebukes him, trades angry words, tells him his hair is bad when it looks the exact opposite and generally tries to keep their relationship in the pre-teen antagonism it started out in. She deals with his flirtation by being prudish and rising above it all, when really she hates that version of herself that's dour and humourless. So by consequence, she hates that he forces her to be like that.

Of course it doesn't escape her mind that maybe, she chooses to be dour and humourless because the other options terrify her.

She shakes her head, and thinks about something else.

"Can James come over tonight?" asks Lily at breakfast. It's a Sunday, so Lily only has to go one more day without seeing him, but apparently that's too long a wait.

Their parents love James. He's charming, intelligent, off to study philosophy and theology just because he can and has loved Lily from at least the first time he spoke to her. Petunia and James are friends so she doesn't mind that Lily's dating him, but sometimes she wishes he were less of a sap.

"Of course he can, darling," says their mother. "Fleamont and Euphemia going somewhere nice for the evening, are they?"

"A play," says Lily. "So they've abandoned him, the poor thing."

"Thank God he has you, then," says Petunia sarcastically. Lily just laughs, which Petunia should've expected. Lily is one of those people who, when happy, don't let anything marr it.

"Bitterness isn't a good look on anyone, dear," says their mother, cheerily. "Is he going to bring any friends?"

"I don't think so," says Lily. Petunia tries to send her dagger eyes, but she's too late. "Why?"

Petunia knows why. Their mother thinks Petunia is bitter that Lily's love life is going so well, so the way to resolve that is to set Petunia up with one of James's friends. She's right that Petunia is bitter, but jealousy over Lily and James is hardly the reason why. She was more or less born this way.

"Mum, no," she begins.

"I'm just asking!" Mrs Evans protests.

"But I know what you mean to ask about, and the answer is no."

Lily looks between them. "Did I miss something?"

"Mum thinks that I'm lonely because you've got James and so I should hook up with one of his friends. Who are our friends, anyway."

"I've had James for a while," says Lily, amused. "Have you really been pining all this time?"

"Yes, you've had him for at least seven years," Petunia returns. "And Mum, you only choose now to notice my desolation?"

"I would never use such vulgar language," says Mrs Evans, ignoring her daughters' last two exchanges. "But that is the crux of what I'm saying, yes."

Lily grins, a beautiful, effortless grin, and Petunia wants to die. "Well, there's Remus — "

"Weird, we're too friendly."

"Peter."

"Too short." He's only three inches taller than her, and when she wears heels, that's not going to cut it.

"Frank."

"Fancies Alice."

This leaves one person left.

"Sirius," pronounces Lily dramatically.

Mrs Evans has evidently been waiting for his name to be mentioned, because she perks up. "Oh, you don't like him, do you, Tuney?"

"He's hot," Lily says, stirring the pot entirely without guilt. "In a kind of James Dean, I-don't-give-a-sh—crap way."

"Ah, a tale of two opposites," says Mrs Evans. "There's no easier love story. Your father and I were like that, you know."

"Which one of you was James Dean?" asks Lily, sweetly.

Finally, they've moved off teasing Petunia to teasing their mother, and Petunia breathes a sigh of relief.

"You're coming to The Last Jedi after school today, right?" asks Remus as they're walking to French.

Remus is probably Petunia's best friend, after Lily. They bonded after being the only two who did work on a geography group project in Year Ten, and he knows how to tell her to chill out in a way that she won't be offended. In return, Petunia tells Remus to go after what he wants more, so it works well.

"Probably," says Petunia, who has already seen it, but loved it so much she doesn't mind forking out another ten quid to see it again. "Who else will be there?"

Remus smiles sheepishly. "Ah, well. Me, Peter, Mary and Sirius."

"You brought three extra people so you wouldn't have to be alone with me and Sirius?"

"It's for self-preservation," he says wryly.

Petunia doesn't like spending any more time with Sirius than she has to, but she dislikes being a coward even more. She'll be damned if she doesn't see The Last Jedi a second time because Sirius is there.

"I'm coming," she says, as they brace themselves against an onslaught of Year Eights heading down the corridor. "I don't care about Black."

"Brilliant," says Remus, and probably means it as well.

Peter has bought the tickets beforehand, so when she, Remus and Alice get to the cinema, Peter and Sirius are already inside and in their seats.

"I want the side," says Alice, immediately upon seeing the tickets they've been left. Petunia generously allows Remus the seat between her and Alice. When they get into the cinema, it turns out that Petunia's seat is directly behind Sirius's. She looks on the positive side — since he's not next to her, then she won't be so distracted by him that she won't be able to watch the movie.

Even so, Petunia can't help observing that Sirius has terrible cinema etiquette, although she shouldn't have expected anything different. He opens his M&Ms at tense moments in the movie, won't stop talking and is so ridiculously tall that if she slouches down in her seat, it's difficult to see. The last point she supposes isn't his fault, but it annoys her anyway.

"Still brilliant," she breathes, as the credits roll. Sirius immediately snorts, and Petunia goes into fight mode, having mentally prepared arguments as she watched the movie. "Black, what is it?"

"Nothing, Tuna," says Sirius, clearly meaning the opposite.

He calls her Tuna because he misheard her in Year Seven when she introduced herself — so he claims — and six years later, still loves to irritate her as much as possible.

"No, please, don't silence yourself on my account," she says, mock polite.

Sirius sighs and hauls himself up so that he's facing her, the backs of his row of seats between them. He proclaims, "That was utterly shite."

Petunia rolls her eyes and stands up to start aggressively putting on her coat, as they all get ready to leave the cinema. "I'm not even going to try and change your mind."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Really," he says. "You're backing down from an argument?"

"With you, yes," she replies archly. She turns to Remus, who's in discussion with Peter and Alice. "Ready to go?"

"Petunia Evans, intellectual coward," says Sirius, and, well, he's really going to go there?

"Conversations with you hardly require any intellect," she snaps. This is an outright lie. Conversations with Sirius are the most intellectual ones she has, as he's irritatingly clever without doing the work to get there. She can't stand him, and at the same time wishes she were more like him, and at the same time wishes she'd never met someone who seems tailor made to drive her absolutely crazy.

"I'd be hurt if you believed that was true," says Sirius, as they walk out of the cinema. He's walking next to her — why is he walking next to her? Where are Remus, Peter and Alice? She looks, and they're in front of her. So Remus has left her to suffer, then.

Sirius's legs are so long that his strides are probably twice the length of hers, and he's a whole head taller, which would be a problem if she intended on making eye contact when they spoke. She doesn't. "Come on, Tuna. Tell me one thing you liked about the movie."

"The character development," she says, shortly.

She sneaks a peek at Sirius's face, and he looks as if Christmas and his birthday have both come at once.

"Go on, spit it out. Why am I wrong?"

She doesn't need to tell him to do that. "It's not character development if they erase everything about a character," says Sirius. "That — " he points to the cinema, as if she's forgotten that's where they watched the film — "was not Luke Skywalker. That was Luke Skywalker transplanted as a plot device. They've taken the central figures of the trilogy and killed off the one, demoted another, and completely slaughtered the third."

Petunia is disappointed but not surprised to find that he has a point. "Over forty — "

"Thirty."

"What?"

"Thirty years have passed between The Return of the Jedi and The Force Awakens."

Petunia is a bit taken aback, but supposes it's not weird that he knew she was about to say that. "Fine. Thirty years have passed. That's enough time for any person to change, even if they are your precious Luke Skywalker."

Sirius just smirks at this. "I'm more of a Han Solo fanboy myself."

"Oh, of course! That ridiculous scoundrel image that every teenage boy thinks they're the embodiment of — "

Remus appears at her side, probably alerted by the rising shrillness of her voice. "Padfoot, you hated it, didn't you?"

"Even more than The Force Awakens," Sirius says cheerfully. "At least that one didn't have a bloody romance."

"Oh, that's rich," says Petunia. "Don't tell me Han and Leia's exchange in Empire isn't exactly the kind of cool you aspire — "

"Sirius, we're going to miss our train," says Remus pointedly.

Petunia can't decide whether Remus is lying or not, but lets him get away with it. "Alright, see you next week!"

"See you!" says Remus, and starts walking slightly faster than he was before. So he's a liar, then.

"Have a good weekend, Tuna," says Sirius pleasantly, before following Remus.

Petunia resists the urge to yell something at him, and catches up to Peter and Alice.

Another day, another history lesson, another argument with Sirius in which Petunia strongly suspects he's playing devil's advocate.

"The phrase 'Red Tsar' contradicts itself," he says, lounging back in his chair like he couldn't give less of a shit, when in reality this is a highly intellectual debate and both of them are super alert, in case the other fucks up. "The Tsars believed in a hierarchy. The Communists didn't. At their cores, there's no similarity."

"Their cores don't matter," says Petunia. "Ideology means nothing if you're starving because the government keeps taking your grain — which is what both the Tsars and Communists did. They both threw dissenters into prison. They both were uncompromising on political ideology — "

She immediately knows she's made a mistake. "You just said ideology doesn't mean anything," says Sirius, grinning at the surface-level criticism he's managed to make of her argument.

Petunia glares at him. "Ideology doesn't mean anything if you're a hungry peasant," she says, bitingly. "It means everything if you're in power and have time to think about what you're meant to do with that. Nicholas let them have the Duma, yeah, but put so many restrictions on it that it's clear he'd die before constitutional monarchy. The NEP was an economic concession to avoid a political one — "

"You're just drawing together vaguely similar actions, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Well, they all ruled Russia, a unique country, so I think similar approaches towards that rule do mean something."

At this point, Binns gets bored of not saying anything and letting his students talk, so he calls their discussions to a close and begins lecturing again. Sirius grins at Petunia and rolls his eyes at Binns. Petunia glares back. She will not share camaraderie with Sirius Black, who only really talks to her to argue with her, but expects that to endear her to him.

She returns Amos's sympathetic smile, though, just to make clear to Sirius that she's perfectly capable of expressing exasperation at a teacher — it's him that she has a problem with.

"Where is my Russia textbook?" demands Petunia, storming into the Sixth Form conservatory that is their friendship group's base. "I've got history next period, and it's not in my locker or my bag."

Only Peter, Alice and — unfortunately — Sirius are in the room. Everyone else is probably in the canteen or at a Heads' meeting.

"You probably just left it at home," ventures Peter.

"I did not leave it at home," Petunia insists. She sees Sirius, and makes the logical leap. "Sirius, do you have it?"

Sirius looks up, as if he's been unaware of this commotion the whole time. "Have what?"

"My history textbook," she says, through gritted teeth. "For Russia, which we have next period."

He shrugs. "Nah, don't think so."

This is not good enough for Petunia, who demands, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm bloody sure," says Sirius. "What's got your knickers in such a twist?"

"Losing my textbook, that's what," Petunia shoots back. "Are you sure — "

This is when Alice decides to intercede. "Petunia, Sirius doesn't have your textbook. Sirius, don't be an arse."

"That's all I needed to know," mutters Petunia, who turns and leaves.

Later, she finds it under her bed.

Lily and Petunia usually sit on the bus together, because they are each other's best friends after all. Today, Lily drops into the seat next to Petunia, and starts texting her instead of talking.

To: Petunia

From: Lily

I have something to tell you but I can't tell you now. Remind me when we get off.

Petunia stares at her sister, whom she sometimes thinks might be mad, but nods curtly.

They spend the journey talking about charity week, which, as Head Girl, is Lily's duty to organise. Lily can't plan for shit though, and Petunia has a much better head for remembering details and practicalities. When they get off the bus, Lily turns to Petunia excitedly.

"I suppose this is the big news," Petunia says, unimpressed before she's even heard it.

Lily grins. "Not huge, I'll admit. And it's a bit of a throwback to Year Nine. But you know how we were playing mixed hockey today?"

Obviously Petunia is aware of this fact, since she was there, playing hockey. "Yes, I was there."

Petunia's sarcasm bounces off Lily like a ping-pong ball. "Right. And who was the captain of the team you were against?"

"Sirius," says Petunia slowly, like saying his name causes her pain and she can only manage it gradually. "Lily, where are you going with this?"

"Aha! So you are intrigued."

"Only because you're dragging it out like an Eastenders plotline."

Lily shrugs and looks behind her, as if there would be someone spying on them, keen on hearing this confidential information. "Yes, well, the drama is high in both that and this. Tuney, I think Sirius fancies you."

Petunia is usually a person who is never surprised by anything, but this is not usual. She laughs, harshly, then manically. When she calms down, she says, "Lily, you must be mad."

"I'm not," insists Lily. "Doesn't it explain so much? The constant belligerence, the weirdly long eye contact…"

"You're beginning with a conclusion and ending with an observation," says Petunia, snidely. "Very uncool for a scientist."

"Medicine's an art," Lily says airily. "Anyway, I brought up hockey because it adds to the evidence. He was staring at you, Tuney. When you scored, he looked so impressed."

"Ah yes, because I live to impress Sirius Black."

Lily rolls her eyes. "I'm just telling you what I saw. And what James saw, and Mary, and Pete."

"Why were they looking? They should've been concentrating on the match."

Lily smiles fondly when she says, "Even if James were concentrating, it wouldn't help much."

They start talking about how surprisingly awful James is at hockey and continue until they get home. Petunia watches two episodes of Black Mirror before the guilt hits her and she does her homework, plus half an essay plan. She is definitely not thinking about how Sirius was apparently impressed at her hockey skills, and how much she wishes she saw him look at her that way — not for that reason, obviously, but because it'd be interesting.

She usually switches off all her electrical devices by ten p.m. and lies in bed for about fifteen minutes before she drifts off. Tonight it's at least twenty, because Lily's words: "He was so impressed by you," keep playing through her head. Petunia thinks that it would take a lot to really impress Sirius, whose permanent state seems to be one of disinterest and lazy smirking. Petunia wonders if it would be sad to ask Alice if she saw what Lily says, too.

She doesn't ask Alice, but she makes sure to be very observant during their next PE lesson, and it turns out that Lily was right. As always.

It's flattering, really, because Petunia does go running twice a week and is objectively in pretty good shape. He doesn't look at her in a way that makes her feel like a piece of meat, either. A quick glance every now and then, like it's where his eyes want to look or rest, but keep getting interrupted.

She was frozen to the ground for a few seconds after the first time she saw him do it, but when she's watched him do it a few times, she gets used to it. And it's fine that he does it. It doesn't mean he has a crush, God no. She can accept that he's physically attracted to her, but in every other way is repelled almost to the point of madness.

There's nothing that gets in the brain more than knowing someone is attracted to you, though, and Petunia's body has decided to reciprocate the favour. Now she's glancing at him, and instead of knowing on an intellectual level that Sirius Black is ridiculously good looking, she's living the knowledge every time she looks at him. She doesn't have a crush. But it's alarming to know that someone whom she finds attractive also, in all likeliness, feels the same way about her.

She isn't quite sure what to do. It's not as if she doesn't have any romantic experience; she went out with Vernon Dursley once, because he promised and did take her to some miserably fancy restaurant, and kissed him too. But it was a bit gross and she cried when she came back, and Lily had to assure her that kissing was not supposed to be like that at all.

But this isn't a significant enough change to act on. She'll carry on as usual, as he's been doing, and maybe if they're the same on the outside then things on the inside — i.e., her feelings — will go back to normal too.

It inevitably all goes to shit because they have to work together on an essay plan. Petunia is paired with Sirius, thanks to the alphabet, and they're in an empty classroom after school, trying to work on it. She's supposed to call Lily when they're done so they can take the bus together, because Lily's in town with Mary, and she's about to do it, but her phone is in her bag, and her bag is under the table, and it's just too much of an effort to make to reach it.

"It's so hot," says Petunia miserably. "Why is it so hot? It's only April."

"Maybe because you're sitting next to me," says Sirius.

Petunia thwacks his arm.

The essay question is on Russia's urban economy, which might well be the dullest part of the whole course. She's currently reading out statistics, as if that's going to help them learn this. "Cotton cloth production increased by two thirds from the years 1890-1900." She steals a glance at him as she writes.

"So, Evans says you like me."

Petunia has just taken a sip of water and nearly spits it out, in a moment that had great potential to be mortifying. "I don't," she chokes. "My God. Lily's — she's mad."

Sirius nods. "That's why Prongs likes her," he says, sagely.

"That's not true," she replies, throwing her pen down. "Lily isn't — " She pauses and realises her mistake. "Particularly madder than anyone else," she corrects. "What did Lenin do for the urban economy?"

"Fuck all, that's what," says Sirius. He's enjoying this, Petunia thinks. He was put on this Earth to drive me insane, and it's a job he probably volunteered for. "Let's get back to what Evans was saying."

"I'm also Evans," says Petunia, snippily, "and I don't say anything."

"Tuna, in no context is that ever true."

"It is in this one." She proceeds to flip through the textbook, writing down literally anything that looks relevant, and pretending that this isn't one of the most terrifying moments of her life.

He peers over at what she's writing. "That fact is about the rural economy, not urban," he says, pointing to the line as well, just to be extra annoying.

"Thank you."

"No worries."

How dense is he?

"So what you're saying is that you don't find me attractive."

Petunia wants to scream, she does, but that would also prove Sirius right — "I didn't realise your love for me could drive you to such distraction, Tuna." She takes a deep breath, then turns to face him. "No," she says. "In fact, there is not a single thing I like about you."

"A single thing, huh?" His voice is full of a challenge Petunia is dying to accept. "I think you like our conversations," he says, far more bemusedly than is appropriate for this situation. "I think they stimulate you."

"You're disgusting," says Petunia, sniffing.

Sirius laughs. "You like talking to me because I never agree with you. The rest of the world folds when you face them, because you're like this force of nature, determined and difficult — "

Petunia cuts in, not because she's uncomfortable with where the conversation is going, but because she's a diligent student who doesn't want to have extra homework. "Can we finish the work now?"

Sirius is one of those people who probably finds it an affront if they're ever seen doing homework, but must work their utter arse off at home because they get fantastic grades — or, so Petunia likes to think. It would simply be unfair if Sirius was attractive and so amazingly intelligent he didn't need to do work.

"I'll do it when I get home," he says, completely misunderstanding the point that this is supposed to be a joint essay plan, meaning they are supposed to work on it together.

Something takes hold of Petunia in this moment, and for years afterwards, she would seriously consider this to be demonic possession.

"Fine, you're hot. Now will you do the work?"

The second Petunia looks at him, she feels immediate regret. Sirius looks elated. There's no way someone with such a shit-eating grin is about to embark on an essay plan.

"Really," says Sirius. "You could've had me fooled, you know. All that talk earlier — "

The demon apparently hasn't left Petunia's body, because then she says: "Don't think I haven't seen you checking me out either."

There's a silence, during which Petunia seriously considers moving to another country and never making contact with anyone from her previous life ever again.

"You fool," says Sirius. "You were supposed to notice."

"What?"

"You were supposed to notice," he repeats, very slowly, as if she's completely thick, which she might be.

She can't think straight.

"Oh," she says. "Well, I did."

"Clearly," says Sirius, amused.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" His tone is daring, and Petunia feels like this isn't real, Sirius Black isn't challenging her, Sirius Black doesn't look like he's about to kiss her.

Petunia thinks about herself, thinks about what she wants. And she wants Sirius.

"Like you want to kiss me," she says, swallowing. The room is silent and the humid air hangs over them like a canopy. The afternoon feels like it'll never end, not when it's so hot that everything, even time grinds to a halt. It's a million years between when she says those words and when Sirius gives the faintest indication that she's right. Then he licks his lips, and Petunia pounces.

She isn't completely sure what to do, so she just bluffs and hopes for the best. She's still in her chair, but leans forward and grabs his collar. Their lips meet, like discharging electricity. She springs back from the shock of it, far enough to stare at him.

He looks slightly dazed. "Tuna, I — "

They're both breathing hard.

"I want you," he says, and well, that settles the question. She kisses him again, his mouth sliding along hers. He tastes like things she's only ever experienced fleetingly: Jack Daniels, cigarettes, faintly, and then ostensibly, bubblegum. She's moved so that she's almost entirely sat on his chair too, one of those crappy plastic school ones, and it's kind of painful, but she kind of doesn't care.

Her hair is up, so he doesn't need to shove it behind her shoulder before he starts pressing kisses against it. Petunia gasps and somehow, the removal of his mouth from hers jumpstarts her brain.

"So you don't think my neck is too long?" she gasps, breathless. Why on earth she asks that she doesn't know, but she isn't thinking properly.

Sirius growls, and removes his lips from the slope of her neck. "No, I don't think your neck is too long," he says. Petunia is relieved when he starts kissing along it again.

Then she hears buzzing, faintly, and it takes her a moment to register the sound. It's her phone. Lily's probably wondering where she is and might come into the room at any second. They're at school and the blinds aren't drawn and this classroom looks out into the staff building… McGonagall is going to give her detention, her parents are going to find out about this, Lily is going to find out about this…

She pulls away from Sirius, digs out her phone and presses 'answer'.

"Petunia? Where are you?"

Petunia coughs. "Hey, Lily. Um, I'm in E — sorry, I was going to call you, but I lost track of time. This essay plan is taking longer than I thought."

Sirius snorts and Petunia glares at him.

"Right," says Lily. "Well, Mary's had to run off. I'm sitting in Costa trying to look interesting, but I finished my book fifteen minutes ago and playing Solitaire on my phone isn't giving the same effect. When do you think you'll be done?"

Petunia glances at the very little she's written. "Um, well. I think — " Sirius has started pressing kisses to her neck again, and it's difficult to think properly, or think at all. "Maybe five minutes?"

"Alright, cool," says Lily, and Petunia hisses, "Get off." To his credit, he does, but the shit-eating grin on his face doesn't cool her anger.

Lily has the ears of a bat, and the curiosity of a cat. "Oh, my God," she says immediately. "Who's on you?"

"No one," says Petunia, affecting a casual tone. "See you in five!"

"Tuney! Fine. Bye!"

Petunia hangs up, and tries to convince herself that the awkward silence isn't as awful as it feels.

Sirius breaks it first. "So are you going?"

"Lily's waiting for me," she says. "Um, don't worry about the work. I'll finish it at home."
Sirius raises an eyebrow, but doesn't complain. "If that's what you want."

"It is," says Petunia, firmly. She stands up and begins shoving things in her bag, uncharacteristically untidy, but she needs to leave now. "Bye!" she says, and basically runs from the room.

She spends the walk to Costa replaying the last ten minutes. He'd called her a fool, then told her she was 'supposed to notice', then she'd uttered words she'd definitely picked up from a Disney Channel Original movie: 'like you want to kiss me'. Then, like in a Disney Channel Original movie, he'd actually done it, and they had been the most thrilling moments in her boring life.

"That was quick," says Lily, hopping off a stool when she sees Petunia. "You finish the essay plan?"

"Sort of," lies Petunia, as they leave the shop. "How was your day?"

"Mm, good. Beat Remus on the chem mock. Then he trounced me in stats."

"You win some, you lose some."

Once on the bus, Lily sits back, and gives Petunia a look.

"Sirius finally went for it, did he?"

"Oh, for god's sake," says Petunia.

Lily sighs. "Come on. I'm right, aren't I? Tuney, I'm your twin sister. You have to tell me everything."

"No, I don't," says Petunia. "But I will tell you this, because it was a fly that I was telling to get off."

Lily narrows her eyes and gives Petunia a steely, intense look. However, seventeen years of dealing with Lily's stares has made Petunia excellent at not crumbling under the pressure of them, and she does a fine job of staring back, appearing to look bored and slightly annoyed. She can't be sure that Lily believes her, but at least she doesn't probe further.

"So, any luck with persuading James to dye his hair?" she asks, and Lily allows the tangent.

Petunia finishes the essay plan that night. Three times, she seriously considers calling Sirius under pretence of needing help with it, but forces herself not to. They don't have history until next Tuesday, which means three whole days without having to talk to him. She can figure out her feelings in three days, right? And then she'll talk to him. But there's no use doing it when she doesn't even know what she'll say.

She spends Saturday doing sociology and watching Friends, and resolutely not thinking about him. On Sunday, she goes on a 5K at the park, then listens to loud music in the shower so as to not think about him. Monday goes fine: they don't have any lessons together and she spends most of the day in the library and the gym. Remus asks her if she's OK twice, but she figures it'll be weird to get him involved since Sirius is one of his best friends, so she just says she'll talk if she needs to. Remus seems satisfied with this, and Petunia goes back to pretending nothing weird has happened in her life.

They have history on Tuesday, and Petunia spends all Monday afternoon worrying about it. She hasn't thought about it because she's been too scared, and now she has no idea what she'll do. But it seems like a higher power is smiling down on her, because at half past five, an email pops into her inbox. Binns has cancelled the lesson, they're to do some extra reading in the library, but no one's going to go. She won't have to see Sirius until Friday.

Then ten minutes later, that higher power abandons her, and Sirius calls. She picks up, because she isn't a coward.

"Hi!" she says, extra chirpy.

"Hi," comes his voice. "Lucky email, huh?"

"Very," agrees Petunia, deliberating ignoring the subtext. "It'll be nice to have another free hour tomorrow."

He doesn't say anything for a bit, and Petunia begins to worry.

"Look, Tuna, if you just want to pretend that nothing happened and go back to what we were like before, then that's what I'll do."

He's always so direct, and fearless. It puts her off guard.

"I think that might be for the best," she says, her voice small. Sirius is — exciting, terrifying, difficult, and Petunia's not the kind of person who jumps into anything, let alone something of that magnitude. "It's just — I wasn't even myself that day, you know? It was so hot outside. And I just went a bit — mad."

"Mad," repeats Sirius. "Right. Got it."

There's another silence, something that Petunia could reach over, if she wanted. But it's slipping away now, and then it's gone before she can make up her mind to grab it.

"I'm glad we could have this conversation," she says.

"Oh, me too."

"Then, good." She can't take another silence. "I'll see you on Thursday?"

"Yep."

"Bye then!" She hangs up.

She stays still for a very long time. Then she places her phone down on the table, and is surprised to feel tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Stupid," she mutters, and starts her homework.

On Wednesday evenings, Lily has dance rehearsals. Also on Wednesday, Petunia's resolve finally breaks, and she desperately wants someone to talk to about everything. She can't talk to Remus, because he'll definitely tell Sirius, and also it's just weird. Alice is a possibility, but even though they're good friends, Petunia doesn't know if she feels comfortable spilling her guts to her. So that leaves Lily.

She kissed Sirius, or he kissed her, and then he'd said I want you, possibly the most ambiguous declaration of want in the English language. What part of her? Just in that moment? Did he want her romantically, or just to snog in empty classrooms when the mood feels right? And last night, she told him that it didn't mean anything. But it did, it does, and she's desperately regretful of everything she said.

Lily comes back at 9, and Petunia drags her into her room.

"You could've texted, you know," says Lily, but sits dutifully on Petunia's bed. "What did I miss?"

"My breakdown," says Petunia matter-of-factly, as she also takes a seat. "So, I lied. It wasn't a fly I was telling to get off Friday afternoon."

Lily looks triumphant. "I knew it!"

"Yes, well." Petunia pauses. She'd planned this out when Lily was gone, but now finds that it's quite difficult to stick to a plan for a conversation about emotions. This is so awkward.

"How right was I?" asks Lily, softly.

Petunia feels a rush of affection for her sister, who knows her so well and says, with ease, what she needs her to say. "Completely right," says Petunia, miserably. "We kissed. Well, it's your fault. He said that you told him I liked him."

Lily opens her mouth, then closes it, before speaking.

"I think I told James that I thought you did, in passing. But God, Tuney, I'm so sorry."

"Well, it's fine," says Petunia. "Because then we started snapping at each other, only there was more sexual tension than usual — "

"Really?" asks Lily. "It's pretty bad most of the time."

" — And then I said that I'd seen him looking at me, and then he said: 'You fool, you were meant to notice'. Then everything we said after that felt like a challenge, until I just — went for it. Kissed him."

Lily sighs. "I never knew Sirius was so romantic. Go on."

"Then we made out, until you called."

Lily squeaks a bit, but to her credit, doesn't say anything.

Petunia continues. "And, er, I was hissing get off because he wouldn't stop kissing my neck."

Lily, very admirably, smothers a giggle.

"So then we didn't talk until yesterday. He called, and just said: we could pretend like nothing happened, if I wanted. I said I did and started rambling about how the heat made me mad. And I don't think he took it very well. But Lily, I was such an idiot. I don't want to pretend like nothing happened. I want to know him properly, I want to talk to him without him being an exaggerated flirt and me being brusque. And I — God, I want to kiss him again."

Lily gives her a mournful look. "That good, huh?"

"That good," confirms Petunia miserably. "Lily, what do I do?"

Lily clears her throat. "Alright. Take it from the love expert — "

"You've literally only been with James."

"And we're very happy, so it makes me an expert," Lily says smugly. "I think you should just be honest."

"How can I be honest when I don't know what I want? Do I want to kiss him again? Yes. But do I want to date him? God, I don't know. This is why I avoided it for so long. I can't go into a conversation not knowing what I want."

"Yes, you can," says Lily. "Just say you want to take things slow, or something. But lay all the cards on the table."

"Right," says Petunia. "Be honest. OK, I can do that."

"You can," says Lily. "Alright?"

"Alright," Petunia repeats. "Thanks. Love you."

"Aw, love you too," says Lily, and hugs her. It feels like it's going to be alright.

"Can we talk?" Petunia asks Sirius. She's got a plan for this conversation that she rehearsed in the shower. So far, it's all working out. She's found him in the common room, and it's so early in the morning that thankfully no one else is around. Registration doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, which is enough time for a conversation, but also if it gets awkward they'll only have to endure it for a quarter of an hour.

He lowers his book. "Fine. Where do you want to go?"

Petunia's surprised at his abrupt acceptance, but recovers. "Er, is the vestibule OK?" No one ever goes through the vestibule, especially in the mornings.

"Fine," says Sirius. They walk there in silence.

Sirius leans against the wall, careless and bored as always. "Alright, talk."

The vestibule is narrow enough that Petunia can stand against the wall opposite to Sirius, and they can have a normal conversation. "Yes. Well. About last Friday."

"Which part?"

She can feel herself getting angry, but she breathes deeply and reminds herself that he's doing this on purpose. He wants to provoke her, probably because the last time he did, they ended up making out.

"The kissing part," she says bluntly. "And then what I said on the phone."

"Romantic," he says, mockingly.

Petunia is finding it more difficult than usual to deal with Sirius's determination to make her life harder. She smiles pleasantly. "Could you not do that, please?"

He almost returns her smile at this, but it's a cruel and sarcastic smile she wishes he wouldn't do. "Do what?"

"For God's sake, stop being so childish," she says. This is not how it was supposed to go. Lily had made it sound much easier than it really is. "Fine, I'll hand over you. What do you want me to say?"

"If you need me to supply you lines, then we shouldn't be having this conversation at all."

Petunia stares at him until she feels tears pricking. "Do you want to be having this conversation?"

"Not really," he says, bitingly casual. He hasn't moved since the beginning of their conversation, his hands still in his pockets and still doing that irritating, posed leaning against the wall. He looks like a picture from a magazine, she thinks, so frozen and more an image than a person. Only Sirius Black could use his own attractiveness as a kind of shield. To break the poised casualness he's acting at, Petunia feels, would be nearly impossible. And anyway, she won't do it if he doesn't want her to.

"Well, then." She feels awful. "I'll go."

Half-unaware of her actions, she picks up her bag and leaves, forcing herself not to look over her shoulder. Clearly, he doesn't want to acknowledge that anything has ever happened between them. And if he doesn't want to try, then what's the point in her trying, either?

She feels a sudden stab of anger as she shoves open the door, and isn't sure whether it's at herself, for being so hopeful, or him, for being so difficult to read.

Miraculously, things go on as normal. She's only got two lessons today, so she spends most of the day in the library. She sees Sirius around James, but doesn't go near or talk to him. She basically goes about her day like he doesn't exist.

"Hey, Petunia," whispers Remus, after half an hour of sitting near each other in the library, neither of them talking. "You OK?"

Petunia appreciates his concern, she does, but this is one of those days where she'd rather not talk to anyone.

She smiles wryly at him. "Yeah, just feeling a bit low. Exams, you know. Thanks for asking."

Remus has probably detected that she's lying, judging from the slightly faster way she says 'exams', but he doesn't comment on it. "Alright. Talk to someone if you need to, yeah?"

By the time she's on the bus, she's less of an emotional mess that she can manage to hold a conversation, but can't even think about what happened without feeling a rush of pain.

"I don't want to talk about it," says Petunia, when Lily sits down next to her and gives her an inquisitive look.

Lily nods, and immediately starts telling a story about Remus and Peter in biology today.

Back home, Petunia finishes her homework and learns some French vocab before watching some TV. Everything's normal. She gets ready for bed at 9:30, is in bed by 10, and lies there, staring up at the ceiling.

She thinks about reaching for her phone — something she usually doesn't do — then decides against it.

It's over, chimes the first intrusive thought.

Don't be stupid, she thinks back. How can something which never begun be over?

She tries to look at it rationally. Friday afternoon: they kiss, after potentially years of unresolved sexual tension. She leaves because Lily's waiting for her. Tuesday evening, Sirius calls, and they agree to pretend it never happened. Wednesday evening, Petunia realises how much she bitterly regrets that. Today, Thursday morning, she tries to talk to Sirius. He doesn't seem to care. She leaves again. Now, Thursday evening, she's lying in bed, trying to rationalise and understand what's happened in the last few days. Did she completely misread him? Or does she just have the poor taste to fall for a frustrating, impossible idiot?

And yes, she's figured out by now that she has a crush on Sirius, and God knows how long it's been there. Aside from his physical attractiveness — of which there is a lot — he's clever and shrewd and never dishonest. He constantly argues with her, confident in her ability to fight back, and kisses her like her life depends on it. And — fuck. He's such an arsehole, pretending like what happened last Friday was nothing, dismissing her attempts to talk things through and not caring enough to go after her when she left, visibly hurt.

She lets herself cry for a bit, then pulls herself together. She's got a timed essay on Friday she's determined to smash — she can't be lying here on her bed, crying silently over some boy. Briefly, she considers calling someone, but decides that he doesn't warrant talking over. She'll be fine.

She sits up, and starts unpacking her bag.

Lily knocks on her door at 10 that night. Dinner had been fairly silent on Petunia's part, but Lily and her dad started talking about Bob Dylan, so that sort of excused Petunia's silence.

"Come in," she calls.

Lily opens it and stands in the doorway, affecting casualness. She examines her nails for good measure. "So, Sirius was a miserable shit today."

Petunia retorts, "Good."

Lily looks up from her nails and raises a perfect, arched eyebrow. "Oh? Was he an arse during your talk?"

Petunia sighs. Clearly, her sister isn't going to leave.

"Stop standing in the doorway and pretending to be cool," she grumbles. "You can come in."

Lily sits on the bed. "He really was hurt, you know. Maths was painful."

Mostly Petunia doesn't care, because she too is really hurt and doesn't understand why Sirius was such a dick. She's known him for seven years, and is pretty sure he's not a horrible person, as frustrating and antagonistic as he is.

"Thanks for telling me," she says.

There's a silence.

"I take it your conversation didn't go well," says Lily.

Petunia scoffs, but it turns into a sob. "It was awful," she says, her voice cracking. "Lily, he — God. I don't know why he was like that."

Lily envelops her sister in a hug. "It's going to be alright," she says, soothingly. "He'll get over himself."

"I've got double history tomorrow," Petunia says, which sounds like a ridiculous detail but it means she'll be sat next to him for two hours, neither of them saying a word, preferably, or he'll be talking and she'll just crumble in front of their whole class, which only has about eight students, but still. The prospect makes her stomach turn slightly.

"Skip it," says Lily, the girl who's never bunked a lesson in her life. "Or sit next to someone else. Or go, and let him see that you're completely fine. I believe in you."

Petunia smiles, although it's somewhat forced. "I'll try."

She decides to go to the lesson and be civil. He's just a boy — a stupid, insignificant boy — and she has so many more important things on her mind. He's clearly too moody and ridiculous to talk to her about it, but she won't push it. And in a few weeks, she'll be able to forget this ever happened, and they can go back to what they were like before.

She hopes.

Sirius is already sat down when she gets into the room. Briefly, she considers turning back and fleeing, but also already in the room are Benjy and Marlene, and she refuses to lose face in front of them.

She sits down next to Sirius, and begins unpacking her bag. He barely shifts to allow her space. It's like she isn't there.

She smiles at him, bright and artificial, and opens her textbook. Binns enters, followed by Marie, Ed and Felicity.

She and Sirius stay on separate sides of the table for the whole double period. It's like they're both enclosed in separate bubbles, and if either one of them gets close enough to the other, the bubbles will pop. Today is also another one of Binns's regular lecture lessons, where he just… talks, for two hours. Usually she exchanges a smile or eye roll with Marie every so often, but today more than ever she's aware of Sirius and what he's doing.

He spends most of the lesson writing — she can't see what, because his handwriting is atrocious and anyhow, it'd break their bubbles to look. He pauses a few times, to scribble something out or adds a few words in, but never seems to look anywhere else, aside from whatever he's writing.

Binns finishes three minutes after the bell has gone. When he does, Sirius slides the papers towards her — there are at least three sides of writing, Petunia reckons — and immediately leaves, slinging his bag on his shoulder and going out the door.

Petunia sits there, slightly in shock. She gingerly lifts the top page. It doesn't vanish when she touches it, so it must be real.

She puts the paper between some pages in her textbook and closes it before anyone can ask what they are. She leaves the room as quickly as she can, and heads for the girls' toilets. That, at least, is the one place where she knows nobody will interrupt her, least of all Sirius.

No one's waiting in the loos, so Petunia can slip into one of the stalls without anyone knowing she's gone in. She realises once she's in how ridiculous this is, but she's there now. It'll have to do.

She sits on the seat lid and opens up her textbook. Her hands are shaking, just barely, but she takes out Sirius's letter and begins to read.

Tuna,

I've been an idiot. I'm still an idiot, because as you're reading this we're still not talking to each other, but I've written this letter so I'm getting better. I hope.

I'll start from the beginning, because as I'm writing this we're going to be here for two hours so I need something to fill the time, and describing all seven years of our relationship seems like a good way to do it. I hated you in Year 7, but I hated everyone except James, and later Remus and Peter. So you see, it wasn't personal.

Your nickname was, though. I was proud of that.

Fuck knows what happened in Year 8 and 9, but then it was September of Year 10 and suddenly you were there, and you were hot. I stared at you a lot, and you stared back, but by then you hated me so much that I knew I didn't have a chance. I know you saw me kiss Connie Brocklehurst, because I planned it. I got James to tell me when you'd come down the hallway. Don't feel bad for Connie, though. Out of the three of us, at least she got what she wanted.

I decided to forget about you after that, because if the sight of me kissing another girl wasn't enough to incense you into dating me, fifteen year old Sirius didn't know what else would. I kept up the flirting, because that was fun, but you see it hasn't been a weird, lifelong pining. I'm not Prongs.

I can't tell you completely what happened last week, because half that experience is yours. For my part, I knew you were changing your mind about me, so I started again, and started being more obvious. I had no idea that what happened on Friday would ever happen. And then you left so quickly, and I thought you didn't give a shit, and then when I called — Tuna, you've got me calling you, don't you see? — it seemed to confirm that. It didn't occur to me until yesterday that you were scared, or unsure, or anxious.

Because I never have been — at least, I've been so sure that it outweighs the other things. About you, that is. Of course I've been scared, unsure and anxious about other things, and I think you know that, even though I usually pretend otherwise. But I decided a long time ago that if you offered, I'd say yes. I'm selfish and bad at seeing things from other people's views — that's why you're better than me at history — and it took me longer than it should have to realise that your feelings about this are different to mine. I thought you were blowing me off — I didn't realise you were just confused.

So I take back what I said in the vestibule. I do want to be having that conversation — and any, and all conversations — with you. And if you wanted to tell me that you'd changed your mind, you wanted to try — that's brilliant. (And that's an understatement.) Or if you wanted to say something else, I still want to know. I want to know all you've got to say to me.

I'm impressed, but not surprised that you haven't looked over to see what I'm writing. I'm not surprised because, well, you have no idea how much of you I've remembered. This is getting creepy, and Moony would tell me to stop. I should probably listen to him. I know you like him more than you like me.

Look, Tuna, I'll do whatever you want me to do. If this letter manages to do what I hope it might, then you should probably know I'm lurking in the vestibule until break is over. If it only redeems me, then I'll be your friend, or whatever we had going on before, or your goddamn debate partner. If I've pissed you off even more, then I won't talk to you again.

The bell's just gone, so I estimate about three more minutes of this lesson/lecture. I'm sorry for being a dick, I'm sorry for being insensitive and difficult and rude, and I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to realise. But I've figured it out now. I mean what I said on Friday: I want you. And I want you whatever, however you'll let me.

Sirius

The first thing Petunia does, after reading that whopper of a letter, is realise she's been holding her breath. She lets it out, slowly, and tries to calm the thumping of her heart.

Then she checks her phone, and sees that there's only ten minutes left of break.

"Fuck!" she says, completely blowing her cover. She dashes out of the loo, clutching her textbook and the letter — the loveliest, most romantic thing she's ever had in her life and probably ever will — and starts running towards the Sixth Form block, praying that Sirius is still as he said, lurking in the vestibule. She gets to the foot of the stairs and prays again that no one comes in in the next ten minutes, and starts going up.

Sirius is there, pacing. He stops when he sees her, though. Then she walks up the stairs towards him, slowly, and drops her bag when she's on the same level as him.

"Did you read it?" he asks, almost emotionlessly.

"Yes," says Petunia.

"And what did you think?"

"Yes," she says again, which doesn't make conversational sense, but he knows what she means. "Yes, I want you!" She laughs a little. "Romantically, whatever. We can discuss that later."

He looks relieved and overjoyed. "We can."

Petunia pauses. What's supposed to happen now? For some reason, she starts speaking again. "The letter was a good choice," she says. "I mean, Persuasion is the most roman— best Jane Austen novel for a reason, and — "

"Tuna," says Sirius.

"Yes?"

"Will you stop talking? I'm going to kiss you."

Her mouth forms an O, and he takes his chance, cupping her chin with one hand and tilting her head up to meet him. She squeezes her eyes shut and goes on her tiptoes to pull him closer and twist her fingers through his hair…

And then the bell rings.

"Dammit," she mumbles, breaking the kiss. He pulls back to grin at her, ridiculously charming despite the disastrous hair. She smiles loopily back.

"I've got a lesson," she says, after a few moments.

He kisses her again. "Mm, so?"

"Sirius."

"I know," he grumbles, reluctant. Then that charming smirk appears on his face again. "Meet me here at lunch?"

Petunia has her bag slung on her shoulder, about to leave, but she turns round and smiles at him, wide and genuine. "Of course."

It's Remus's birthday, so a few of them have a picnic after school in the gardens at the centre of town, because everyone except James is too poor to afford a normal meal. But they buy Sainsbury's Basics tortilla chips, dip and some ice cream, so it's alright.

"Right, I'm biting the bullet," says James. He gestures to Sirius and Petunia. "What the hell is this?"

Sirius's head is lying on Petunia's lap as he sprawls out on the grass and eats tortilla chips. Petunia eats a choc ice as normal, apparently unaware of the fact that her mortal enemy, as of only last week, is reclining on her legs.

"Seconded," says Peter. "Padfoot, I can't believe you didn't tell us."

"Tell you what?" asks Sirius, although it's hard to discern exactly what he's saying as he's got a mouthful of tortilla chips.

"Mortally hurt and offended that you didn't tell us," James says, embellishing.

Lily swats his arm. "James, it's only because we've been together so long that you've forgotten how confusing the beginning of a relationship is."

"I have not forgotten anything," he says, indignant. "I remember every moment with you, thank you very much."

"Rubbish," says Lily, smiling. "Tuney, Sirius, feel free to be ambiguous for as long as you want."

"We're not going to be ambiguous," says Petunia.

"Oh, thank God. I've been dying to know, but I needed to keep the moral high ground."

Sirius snorts. "Prongs, your girlfriend's a shameless hypocrite."

"At least I have one," James shoots back. "Unless there's something you want to tell us?"

Sirius looks up at Petunia. "Is there?" he says, slowly and carelessly.

"I don't know what they're talking about," replies Petunia, feigning obliviousness. She finishes off her choc ice and throws the stick in an empty ice cream box, their makeshift bin.

Remus intercedes. "No one has to tell anything anything they don't want to." He gives James, Lily and Peter very stern looks.

"Ugh, I know," says Lily. She sighs. "Fine! Be confusing. See if I care."

Sirius sits up so he can look at Petunia properly. "Are we confusing?"

A smile tugs at her lips. "Our friends seem to be confused by us."

"We are," confirms Peter.

Sirius reaches for another tortilla chip. "Personally, I don't see what the confusion is about."

Petunia gives up pretending not to smile, and smiles openly. "Neither," she says. "I mean, it looks pretty clear to me."

"Oh, yeah?" His eyes are intense and unfathomable, but his mouth is lifting at its corners. "What does it look like?"

All she can see is him. "It looks like we'll be around each other for a long time."

Dimly, she registers a sigh from Lily and a whoop from Peter. But mostly, she's focused on Sirius, who grins and moves to kiss her.

"This is supposed to be my party," says Remus mildly. Sirius doesn't care, evidently, because he kisses her anyway. It doesn't go on for as long as she'd like, but that's fine. They'll have time — lots of time, she hopes — for kissing in front of and disgusting their friends.

She leans against his shoulder and listens to Lily try to convince Remus to ask out that girl in the year below, with pink hair, who goes by her surname.

"Look at Tuney and Sirius," says Lily. "You and Tonks can't be any more unlikely than that."

Petunia tunes out the rest of their conversation and looks at Sirius. "Are we unlikely?"

Sirius shrugs. "Not to me."

A/N: Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr at loversinfiniteness to discuss this (crack)ship, send me prompts, or anything else.