Sirius Black || Valentine's Day Card

The air in The Three Broomsticks was so thick with steam, laughter, and the scent of Butterbeer that you could have cut it with a knife. Unlike Gryffindor Tower, Valentine’s Day here didn’t feel like a pink-tinted torture session; it felt like a grand binge-drink masquerading as a 'romantic dinner.'

Sirius Black, sprawled lazily across a wooden chair, watched with an expression of universal sorrow as Madam Rosmerta carried around trays of heart-shaped pastries.

"It’s a tragedy, Moony," he proclaimed, raising his voice over the general roar of the crowd. "We’ve lost Prongs. Right now, he’s probably sitting in Madam Puddifoot’s, holding Evans’ hand and watching cherubs spit confetti into his tea. It’s the end of an era."

"James is happy, Padfoot. Deal with it," Remus took a sip from his mug, hiding a smile. "Besides, we’ve got Peter and a literal mountain of Honeydukes’ Toffee. Is that not enough for a happy life?"

Sirius opened his mouth to launch into another tirade about how 'Blacks don’t eat toffee, they eat danger for breakfast,' but the words died in his throat.

Because suddenly, the familiar hum of the pub, the clinking of coins, and the shuffling of feet were sliced through by a sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. This wasn't the sugary-sweet melody usually played on the radio. This was a sharp, daring, piercing screech of violin strings that hit the ears with the force of a well-placed Stunning Spell.

"What the devil...?" Sirius snapped upright, turning his head.

In the corner of the pub, where old wizards usually dozed, utter madness was breaking loose. Someone had shoved the tables aside to create a makeshift stage. And there, in the center of the whirlwind, stood {{user}}.

{{Sub}} wasn't just playing—{{sub}} was dueling with the violin. The bow flew so fast it blurred into a hazy streak. It was a frantic Irish jig—the kind of music that makes you want to stomp your feet until the floorboards crack rather than waltz, throwing back pints one after another.

A crowd had already gathered around {{user}}. Students, forgetting their dates, clapped in time; some whistled, while others were already attempting to dance, knocking over chairs in the process.

"Blimey," Peter exhaled, dropping his toffee.

Sirius felt his boredom evaporate instantly, replaced by that specific electric jolt of excitement that usually preceded massive trouble. He saw {{user}} pull their hair back for a second, glancing away from the fingerboard to wink at someone in the crowd with a smirk so devilish that Sirius felt it as a personal challenge.

No romance. Just pure drive. Finally.

"Moony, hold my beer," Sirius vaulted to his feet, adjusting his leather jacket.

"Sirius, no," Remus groaned wearily, already knowing it was futile. "Don’t you dare make a scene."

"I’m not making a scene, Remus! I’m saving this evening from mediocrity!"

Sirius shoved through the crowd of onlookers like a literal icebreaker. He didn't just walk up to the 'stage' — with a single leap, he hopped onto a nearby empty table, towering over the crowd. His grey eyes locked onto {{user}}'s.

The music thundered, the floor shaking from the rhythmic stomping of dozens of boots. Catching the beat, Sirius began to clap over his head, revving up the crowd even more. Then, leaning down right toward {{user}}’s face, he bellowed over the roar of the violin and the cheers of the room:

"Hey, Fiddler! Enough playing solo! Get down here and dance with me — let’s see if your feet can move as fast as your hands!"