Veela
The image of Alexandra Garnier, illuminated by the dim lights of the great hall and bathed in the green embers of the Goblet of Fire as she coolly placed her name inside, as though it were as easy as picking an outfit to wear, is stamped into his mind so forcefully that he can think of little else as the day passes.
She had looked more than beautiful at that moment. She seemed otherworldly, as though she were a spirit sent with the duty of punishing him and all that he had existed as.
He is starting to feel the torture.
“Padfoot, mate, you’re quieter than usual,” James comments wearily as they make their way back from the Quidditch pitch. He’s got his broom leaning on his shoulder, the sweat glistening on his face evidence of the grueling practice they’d just had.
Sirius is equally as disheveled, and he can feel his hair sticking to the side of his neck. He runs a quick hand through it to assess its level of mess. He sighs when he realizes how bad it really is. “Just pondering, that’s all.”
James pauses abruptly and gives him an incredulous look.
Now, James Potter, also the self-proclaimed leader of the Marauders, prides himself on his understanding of his friends. After all, not many could tell you why Remus enjoys chocolate so much, nor why Peter still sleeps with his stuffed bear. Naturally, however, he prides himself most of all on his knowledge of the language of Sirius Black. In fact, he could argue that he is damn near fluent in it, better versed in the habits and secrets of his friend than most could say.
Which is why he finds himself particularly confused on this fine afternoon.
Sirius is hardly shallow—James knows better than anyone that his friend has more depth than people give him credit for. His natural genius in Transfiguration and Charms is frankly astounding, and his talent for Quidditch is part of why they’re such good friends in the first place.
He does not believe, however, that he has ever caught Sirius pondering upon anything before.
Which is why he sends him a thinly veiled glance of confusion before asking, “Since when do you ponder?”
Sirius is momentarily broken out of his thoughts because of the sheer shock in James’ tone. Honestly, he doesn’t understand why his pondering would be seen as anything out of the ordinary. He does consider himself quite the philosopher, after all. It’s what draws in all the girls, right?
He’s about to express this in a very mature and deep manner, fitting of his persona as a deep and good-looking academic, when a voice interrupts his train of thought.
She’s tall and strikingly blonde, in a way that almost reminds him of his cousin and her stupid fiancé. There are no further similarities beyond that, however. She has a more willowy figure, her hair reaches her waist, and her eyes are a startling blue. She is undeniably breathtaking, and yet Sirius doesn’t find himself very awestruck.
Her pale uniform billows in the wind as she steps away from her own friends and moves to his side, apparently ignorant of his disheveled appearance. “Bonjour, Sirius,” she smiles, tilting her head slightly. Her accent is thick and French. It reminds him slightly of his old French tutor and the way she had a habit of striking him for every incorrect verb a 10-year-old him had uttered.
He pushes the thought to the back of his mind, an easy grin splitting across his face.
What better way to be rid of old memories than creating new ones?
“Colette,” he greets, leaning into her touch. “Come to watch me play?”
She smiles softly back, her pink lips moving to show her white teeth. She could pass for a model on one of those Muggle magazines, he muses. “Oh non, I don't care much for Quidditch,” she says.
Sirius throws a look at James, who gives him an amused shrug in reply.
Everyone knows Sirius Black cares genuinely for only two things in his life. The first being his friends and their well-being. The second being Quidditch. James may just be the only person who understands him on this level—the way the very result of a match can change his mood for weeks, the way the cold wind in his ears is the only thing that can clear his mind on most days. He’s known to put the game before everything else of minor importance in his life, ranging from girlfriends to annoying family members.
Meaning you’ll have to excuse him if he does feel slightly put off by Colette, now that she’s admitted to such a thing.
“Well, I can only tell you that you’re missing out,” he says, gingerly detaching himself from her shoulders.
She doesn’t seem to notice the attempt to create distance between them and moves closer. “It didn’t appear to be much,” she says, straightening her silk overcloak. “You seemed quite distracted out there.”
“It must’ve been your beauty that caught me off guard,” he replies smoothly and revels in the warm blush that rises to her cheeks at the compliment.
James snorts behind him, “More like excessive pondering.”
Sirius sends him an amused look before turning back to the girl beside him. “A man like me does have many thoughts, after all.”
Colette smiles again, and there is the appearance of one small dimple. “Ah, I didn’t take you for the pondering type,” she says, rubbing his arm. “More the courageous and suave in character.”
Sirius’ grin widens, and he can see a pout form on James’ face as he speeds up to match their pace. “Why can’t Lily talk to me like that?” he mutters under his breath, and Sirius snorts.
“Maybe because you’ve never spoken to her as a normal human being,” he says dryly.
James narrows his eyes in mock offense, “You’re hardly one to talk.”
Sirius is perfectly confused by the insinuation. He is the first to speak to all women normally. Thank you very much.
He notes his friend’s genuine despair and chooses to let it go, however. After all, one cannot claim to be the head of the Marauders if he’s not willing to give his mischievous brotherhood a bit of advice here and there.
Not all can be as intellectual as Sirius Black, unfortunately.
“Just say something to her,” he says, shrugging like it's the easiest thing in the world. “You’re James Potter. The James Potter. Girls would line up for a chat with you.”
The encouragement goes over his head though. “Well, there’s one girl that hasn’t gotten the memo,” he grumbles, stalking off ahead of them.
Colette and Sirius watch him go, a concerned look on her face. “Your friend looks upset; will he be okay?” she asks, and Sirius just shrugs, going to follow him.
“That Lily Evans has him in moods all the time,” he says, and he sounds genuinely sympathetic.
Sirius doesn’t think he’ll ever let a girl get the better of him the way Evans does to James.
He’s simply not the type.
James has led them away from the Gryffindor dorms (much to Sirius’ dismay) and into the Great Hall, where the sound of chatter is loud enough to make you wince at first entry. He catches wind of a few conversations. The tournament. Potential candidates. How good-looking he is in the Quidditch uniform.
He sends a wink of appreciation to the caller of that particular statement.
“Evans!” He can hear his friend call from over the rowdiness of the room. He winces slightly at the sound of his tone. This was not what he meant when he said James was the most desirable man at Hogwarts. There is no way Lily will give him a chance sounding like that; she can barely stand him when he sounds desperate. “Fancy a butterbeer in Hogsmeade this weekend?”
Lily, her ginger hair cascading over her shoulder in waves, shoots him a nasty look. “I think I'd rather drink poison,” she says, turning back to her meal.
Sirius can barely stifle the snort that builds up in his chest at the response, but then he sees James nursing a crestfallen expression and he jumps to his side immediately. “Give it some time; she’ll warm up to you,” he says, clapping him on the back.
“I don’t get it; why does she hate me so much?” James mumbles, his head in his hands.
Remus, situated opposite them and next to Peter, digs into his jacket potato. “Probably something to do with the incessant flirting, mate,” he offers, but then flinches at the sharp glare Sirius and Peter send him. “Just a suggestion.”
James looks as though he is going to say something very self-deprecating when an equally agitated individual takes his seat beside the four. William Turner has a rather off-putting attitude exuding from him at the moment, and Remus thinks it’d be best if he chose to sit somewhere else.
“What’s wrong with you?” James asks, his tone no less upset, though he seems slightly more joyful at the concept of not being the only one in a foul mood.
The freckled boy just shakes his head, reaching for the potatoes, when a taller, chirpier fellow joins him at their bench. Frank Longbottom rolls his eyes at the boy’s dramatics. “He’s still upset at being switched out for your brother.”
Sirius makes a face and gingerly swallows his shepherd's pie. The meal doesn’t seem so appealing anymore.
“I really shouldn’t be surprised, you know,” William starts, apparently having received all the encouragement he’d needed. “Everyone knows she doesn’t anyone around for too long."
James pets Turner’s shoulder sympathetically. “It’s not just that, is it, mate?” he says, having forgotten his own worries.
Turner nods. “It’s the way she did it, if I’m honest. Frankly disrespectful, that one.”
“Disrespectful or not, you ought to be grateful,” Peter adds dryly. “She’d probably hex you in a dark corridor and dump your carcass in an empty classroom.”
Frank waggles a finger in agreement. “You know, Pettigrew does have a point. The last one was—”
“Sorry, but are we talking about Prefect patrols, right?” Sirius interrupts, confused. “The silly things that Lily assigns every month to stop us from causing trouble?”
Since when were Turner and Garnier a thing?
That particular thought makes his stomach turn in disgust.
Remus simply gives him a tired look, as though he is already aware of his thoughts. “Yes, Padfoot,” he sighs. “What else would we be talking about?”
Sirius doesn’t appreciate the sass in his tone. “Shut up, Moony. You know what it sounded like.”
“What does what sound like?” an impatient Turner asks, a bit confused by the new direction of their conversation.
“Your conversation sounded as though you had just broken it off with the girl,” Collette answers for him, cutting up his chicken before fussing at him to eat.
The boys at the table exchange looks and burst into laughter. Sirius is unsure whether it’s sparked by the accusation or the fact that Collette is now rubbing his back. He shifts away from her just to be safe.
Collette, happily unamused by their actions, doesn't lose her train of thought. “You all saw her last night, no?” she continues. “Not the first of her kind I’ve seen before.”
The boys turn to face her, albeit a bit more intrigued now. Peter doesn’t bother swallowing the food in his mouth when he asks, “What do you mean, her kind?”
The rest of the table half expect her to say something like "arrogant pureblood with a penchant for taking out her anger on whoever was unlucky enough to cross her path."
To their surprise, however, she does not, in fact, say any of the above.
Instead, she takes a quick glance over each of their faces before putting her hand over Peter’s.
The boy reddens almost immediately at the contact, and she doesn’t bother noticing. “Oh mon ami, don’t you see?” she says softly. “That girl definitely has Veela blood.”
Her friend nods vigorously beside her. “Oui, a complexion that perfect cannot just be a win in genetics.”
Sirius wonders if this is all some complex joke that he’s been barred from.
It doesn’t seem like it, though, because the rest of the table does not appear amused by the nature of the joke. Instead, they look oddly contemplative.
“Is that how she’s managed to get under Padfoot's skin for so long?” James wonders aloud, taking Sirius by the chin. “Moony, what are the side effects of being bewitched again?”
Remus opens his mouth to recite them when, in a bout of utter incredulity, Sirius exclaims, “Garnier is NOT a Veela, you twats!” before tearing his chin out of the boy's grasp.
Honestly, it’s as though his patience is tested more and more every day.
Unfortunately, it seems fate is not yet ready to let him live a life of peace, because when he exclaims that very statement, Alexandra Garnier herself enters the Great Hall and overhears his thoughts on her beauty.
She doesn’t look very impressed, and neither do her friends, who exchange amused glances before joining her in sending him a disdainful glare.
Sirius thinks he’ll shrivel up in mortification.
Unfortunately, someone beats him to it.
Turner ducks behind Longbottom’s larger frame and squeaks out something along the lines of, “Oh Merlin! She’s looking at me, isn’t she?”
Alice, pecking Frank on the cheek before settling in front of them, muses, “I don’t think it’s you she wants to hex, William,” sending Sirius a sympathetic look.
He contemplates conjuring a hole to swallow him and all his embarrassment. Collette notices the look on his face and goes back to rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s alright, Sirius,” she mutters, and he thinks he now has a worse memory to replace that of his abusive French tutor. “Just eat your carrots.”
---------------
“What was that about?” Nesrin wonders as she takes her seat across from Alexandra, who notably wears an aggravated expression.
Where does he get off saying things like that? Surely he can’t still be bitter about their last conversation.
“It’s best to ignore the likes of him,” Narcissa offers, her gaze drifting toward the Gryffindor table, where Sirius and his friends are causing their usual ruckus. “My cousin has never been one for politeness. His strange friends don’t help with that.”
Yes, because that excuses his behavior.
Alexandra rolls her eyes. “I don’t think ‘strange’ even begins to cover it,” she mutters.
“It’s a bit odd that they were discussing your looks, of all things,” Nesrin chimes in. “I’d say Black talks about you more than he lets on.”
Narcissa and Alexandra exchange a disgusted look.
“Don’t make me ill, Nesrin,” Alexandra sniffs. “I’d like to eat without having that thought in my head, thanks.”
Nesrin just sighs, clearly bored by her reaction. It’s never fun teasing Alexandra. She takes everything much too seriously.
“Honestly, you’re so boring sometimes, you know,” she tells her, rolling her eyes. “About as interesting as Professor Binns.”
Narcissa lays a napkin on her lap before scooping a piece of chicken onto her plate. “What’s boring is his insistence on being such a nuisance,” she says. “We’re in seventh year now; none of us have any reason to dwell on such petty feuds when there are more important things to focus on.”
The mood around the girls dampens, and they all turn solemnly back to their meals.
There are more important things to contemplate—things that may actually impact her future away from here. The likes of Sirius Black and his pathetic friends will become forgotten memories in the halls of Hogwarts.
She frowns deeply at the sweetcorn in her pie. She hates sweetcorn and how it forces its presence onto her no matter how desperately she tries to ignore it. She forks it out, determined to eliminate it from her meal, but every time she thinks she’s done and has finally found peace, the sweetcorn reappears.
She eats the shepherd's pie nonetheless, wincing at every bite infiltrated by sweetcorn, because the end result is still good enough to sate her hunger for the afternoon.
The rest of the table has fallen into idle chatter at the arrival of Malfoy and his friends. A few Durmstrang students are with them, and Alexandra frowns at the thought of any of them becoming potential adversaries.
She hadn’t had time to watch others place their names in the cup—she was much too light-headed. It was an out-of-body experience, if she’s honest. She can hardly remember anything but the pounding feeling of dread it induced. Then again, that emotion has practically been branded into her very organs; she won’t be forgetting it anytime soon.
Narcissa had told her she looked strong, the way a champion should.
Not great like Lucius.
Not arrogant like Rosier.
Not excited like Potter and Black.
But strong, as though the very calcium in her bones did not quiver in fear of it all.
She’s pleased by this.
It’s more than she would’ve asked for.
Severus Snape is moving away from her on the bench, making room for someone else.
She shoots him a confused glance, and the boy doesn’t bother maintaining eye contact. It’s no surprise, really; it’s always been his way. Antisocial with anyone who wasn’t Lily Evans, and now that she’s gone, antisocial with everyone.
She supposes she respects him for the consistency. He’s a reliable fellow; you can always trust him not to do you any favors.
Which is why, when she meets the gaze of a familiar pair of startlingly dark eyes, she wonders what the true motivation behind his action is.
The thought is pushed to the crevices of her mind, however, when his broad shoulders block her view, and he settles in the seat beside her—the same way he had last night, when he had humored her despite the direness of her mood.
She sends him a bored glance before reaching over to scoop up more pie. She can feel his eyes on her, so she doesn’t bother picking out the sweetcorn as she normally would. She takes a bite, and the taste of it is too strong. She forces herself to swallow nonetheless.
“Forgive me, my presence is unwarranted.” His accent is thick, Russian, and strong. She doesn’t bother letting him know it has garnered her attention. “You are the girl from last night, yes?”
Narcissa allows her mask to slip for a moment, looking confused. Even more so when she sees the smile crawling onto Nesrin’s face.
“I’m not sure I’m the person you’re after,” Alexandra says dryly, still refusing to make eye contact. She knows well that she is, that somehow, she is the one he cared enough to notice after a mere fleeting conversation.
He chuckles, a deep sound like an earthquake rumbling across a mountain. “Oh, I am certain,” he murmurs under his breath. “I do not often forget faces like yours.”
It’s a bit inappropriate, really, that he can cause such a rush of warmth to erupt in her chest at the Slytherin table during lunchtime. She has to pinch herself to prevent the heat in her chest from pooling in her cheeks. She doesn’t think he’d notice anyhow, given that colour doesn’t often appear on her complexion, but she doesn’t put it past him.
Narcissa seems to be sinking further into confusion, and Alexandra half expects her to start questioning her right there. She doesn’t, though, merely watching the interaction with narrowed eyes.
“Oh yes, I bet you say that to all the girls you meet,” Alexandra says, half-believing it.
He isn’t offended by the accusation and instead reaches forward. Alexandra thinks he’s reaching for her, and she considers shoving him away. Instead, he picks up the bowl of broccoli beside her and spoons it onto his plate.
He’s situating himself beside her, and she hasn’t a clue why.
“I would tell you that you are the first, but I don’t think you’d believe me,” he muses casually, as though he hasn’t sent her insides into a whirlpool of confusion.
She doesn’t bother replying, not trusting herself to speak.
Nesrin, who has been intently watching the entire conversation, interrupts, “Sorry, but who are you?”
Alexandra thanks her mentally for the intervention. She believes nothing good would have come from him looking at her so intently.
He breaks his stare to look at Nesrin instead, giving Alexandra a chance to properly take in his features—each dark and masculine. He radiates such power that she has to forcefully look away. “Ah, how rude of me,” he says, moving his hand away from his plate to shake Nesrin's hand. “I am Dmitri Volkov. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Alexandra frowns slightly at the name.
House Volkov. Her father has mentioned them before. Almost as noble as her own family.
“Nesrin Parkinson. It’s nice to meet you too,” she says, grasping his hand. “And this is Alexandra Garnier.”
Alexandra’s gratitude for the girl fades as soon as the words are uttered because Dmitri turns back to look at her. “Yes, I asked one of your friends over there.” He gestures toward Malfoy and Avery, who are so involved in their own whispering that they don’t notice the attention being turned toward them. Alexandra doesn’t miss the slight furrow in Narcissa’s eyebrows at the sight, but she doesn’t follow it up.
“That’s a bit stalkerish, don’t you think?” Alexandra mutters, though she isn’t half as disinterested as she sounds.
Once again, he takes the jab as a joke and huffs amusedly before replying, “I can see how it may appear that way—my apologies.” He has a lazy smile on his face now, and Alexandra kicks herself inwardly as her body betrays her, a small smile perking up on her own lips. “But I could not handle the risk of losing someone so brilliant before I had a chance to speak with her.”
Her smile begins to falter, and she can almost feel the flattery washing off him in waves. She doesn’t intend to be wooed just yet. “I spoke two words to you, and one of them was ‘move,’” she responds bluntly.
“Yes, but isn’t it said that a great person is often of very few words?” When he notices her skepticism and realizes that the reference has soared right over her head, he coughs before adding, “It wasn’t our interaction that caught my attention, but rather your performance afterward.”
“He has hardly stopped talking about it,” another student, wrapped in the same red as him, comments.
Alexandra sends him a sly glance, as though questioning the truth of the statement.
He doesn’t meet her gaze, instead busying himself with the peas on his plate. It’s mildly endearing, the way he seems nervous. “Yes, well, it has hardly left my mind.”
His words are infinitely stupid and probably shallow. He likely enjoys the fact that she’s most definitely not going to give him a chance. He probably wants to use her for information on the tournament and then discard her when she’s no longer useful.
She knows this, and it seems as though he knows too.
She says nothing.
And so, for years to come, she will ponder on what she ought to have said here, what she might have replied with had the circumstances differed, had she had prior knowledge of the events to come.
But alas, fate cannot be trifled with, and so she sits quietly as the seeds of something greater settle within her chest unbeknownst to her.
Allegra appears moments later, wedged between the two with a drumstick in hand. Her messy hair falls carelessly onto her shoulders, and her cheeks are flushed, telling Alexandra that she was off ogling at a Gryffindor player during their free period.
“We have Potions, Alexandra. Hurry up and eat!” Allegra says, unaware of the space she’s put between Alexandra and a rather large question.
Alexandra rolls her eyes before attempting to scoot away. “Don’t be annoying—you’re getting sauce on my uniform.”
Allegra turns her nose up at the accusation, muttering, “Might encourage you to take a bath,” before unlooping her legs from the bench. “Get up, come on now.”
Muttering darkly about turning her hair into a nest of snakes, Alexandra stands, dusting off her uniform.
She feels a pang of guilt for leaving Dmitri Volkov high and dry without so much as an apology for her abrupt departure, but then it hits her that he probably has others to talk to and that her absence won’t affect him at all.
It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse for why she doesn’t bother turning around to send him one final glance.
Not because she’s certain his eyes might paralyze her if they continue boring into her back.
----------
“Was that tall lad just making bedroom eyes at Garnier or am I still hungover?” Marlene McKinnon asks, her tone as incredulous as the expression on her face. Alice Fortescue, equally baffled, merely shrugs in response.
“I suppose he is quite handsome.” She concedes only to wince when she catches the look Frank gives her. “What? Am I not allowed to state the obvious?”
“Not when you’re calling another bloke handsome Alice.” Peter says, running a hand over Frank's shoulder in mock sympathy. “Real blow to his self esteem that’ll be.”
Frank gives him a look that half agrees with what he’s saying, and half seems as though he wants to see Peter’s head bubbling in a cauldron. “He’s not that good looking.” Is what he chooses to say, sighing.
“Looks a bit too moody in my opinion.” Sirius offers, he isn’t actually annoyed, just disgusted that such antics are taking place during lunch, of all times. Someone has to think of the vulnerable first-years, after all.
James sends him an amused glance before running a hand across his chin as though he were stroking an imaginary beard. “More like too mysterious.” He says. “I reckon he’s the pondering type.”
Sirius rolls his eyes and elbows him in the side. “Merlin Prongs, do you let anything go?”
“You of all people should know the answer to that mate.” He smirks. “Wouldn’t still be after Lily if I did.”
Someone behind them scoffs particularly loudly and James freezes before slowly turning to face the angry redhead who happens to be holding her wand very threateningly in her hand. “L-Lily darling, why didn’t you tell me you were nearby?” He says, wincing when his voice comes out higher than he’d thought.
Sirius holds back a laugh and Peter kicks him weakly whilst slapping a palm over his mouth to do the same.
Lily rolls her eyes and pushes past James, falling into step with Marlene and Alice as they head into the classroom. “Because I don't make it a habit to willingly converse with you, Potter,” she snaps. “And honestly, you wonder why Alexandra hates you both so much. Maybe don’t talk so openly about her love life!”
With that parting shot, she marches to her seat at the front of the room, leaving Peter, James, and a very stunned Sirius Black alone in the corridor. “Love life?” Sirius echoes incredulously. “Garnier doesn’t have a love life!”
“Honestly, mate, it was bad enough when she was just breaking my heart, and now she’s spreading false allegations too?” James exclaims in a tone of exaggerated disbelief.
With the way the past few days have played out, James doesn’t think his Lilyflower will ever give him a chance, let alone be the love of his life and the mother of his children.
The thought alone makes him want to curl up on this busy corridor and burst into flames.
Peter pets him encouragingly on the back. “Come on Prongs, she’s clearly just trying to get your attention.”
James perks up slightly at this, ready to ask Peter to skip class with him to explore this intriguing theory further, when a loud voice suddenly scoffs, “As if.” Before he can open his mouth to react, he’s roughly shoved aside.
James has always known that Sirius had a flair for the dramatic, but Merlin, he had no idea his friend could be so feminine—or that he was that freakishly strong.
Naturally, he’s about to comment on this, more so on the former (he couldn’t have Padfoot thinking he was any stronger than him now, could he?), and you can imagine his surprise when he whips round only to find, not a familiar pair of stormy grey eyes, but rather a fiery brown that seems to burn into the very essence of his soul.
The glare is so intense, that James finds himself feeling rather self conscious under the weight of it. Seeing as he is half crouching as a result of a girl successfully toppling him over, and said girl being Alexandra Garnier who is now looking at him with the same disdain one may view a piece of poo on the bottom of their shoe with.
“Ah Alexandra!” He says, getting back onto his feet. “Finish sucking the lads face?”
Allegra and Alexandra exchange a look that James doesn’t quite understand. He puts it down under his general lack of knowledge around the species roaming around Slytherin house. He’s not a Magizoologist after all, he can’t be expected to know all of their strange customs.
“Get out of my face, Potter,” Alexandra grumbles, brushing past the three of them in a manner eerily similar to Lily’s.
Peter shakes his head sympathetically sending furtive glances at both Sirius and James. He’s rather glad his love interests have always been of the meek Hufflepuff type. He doesn’t think he’d survive being in love with either of those girls.
Much too aggressive for him.
“We ought to make her apologise for embarrassing you like that, mate,” Sirius says, frowning slightly.
James considers this for a moment before shrugging. “You know she won’t go out with me if I run around being all vengeful, Sirius,” he points out. “Besides, she does this all the time—no need to get worked up n—”
“You want to go out with Garnier ?” Sirius interrupts, somehow sounding more conflicted than earlier.
James appears slightly nauseous at the accusation. “Of course not! I mean Lily, you twat!”
“It’s not my fault you’ve become a target of two girls in the past five minutes!” Sirius retorts, “Maybe you should start writing this stuff down, it’s getting hard to keep track!”
James raises a hand to his heart as though wounded. “Well you’re one to talk aren’t you. What about Leanne and Laura?” He starts. “I recall a rather large bit of humiliation there on your part!”
“Oh don’t even go there.” Sirius snaps, though he’s a bit too defensive to be completely innocent. “That has no relevance here!”
Yep, Peter thinks.
He’s very glad he’s not in love.