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Light shopping, my magnificent arse, Sirius thought. Regina was lucky she had her own money – both from family and her career as a sodding pop artist, because with the way she went through gold, Sirius’ hefty inheritance that he’d received from his uncle would have been gone by now. “Planning to go somewhere fun, then?” he asked dumbly, mouth full of lasagna as he spoke. It had been a few years since an invitation to the Lestrange Christmas Eve party had been extended to him. The soiree wasn’t even on his radar.

Happy for the moment with his lasagna and glass of Ogden’s and Pepsi that would need refilling sooner rather than later, Sirius nearly forgot Regina was sitting at the same table. If she had let him relax in silence just a few moments more, he might have jumped at the sound of her voice. She was simply unmemorable most of the time and Sirius found that when he did remember her, it was mostly an annoyance tinged with a bit of guilt at inadvertently leading her on. She clearly wanted more out of this relationship than Sirius did – she was a good enough shag but beyond carnal activities he didn’t fancy spending much time with her. Sirius shoved another bite of lasagna in his face, delaying the inevitable conversation that Regina had attempted. Shit. She was trying so damn hard. Guilt was building up again, so he drowned the feeling with another large gulp of his drink.

“Same old, same old,” he quipped vaguely about his day. He didn’t technically have a job but he had been working for a good part of the day. Not as an Auror, which is what he should have been doing with his wicked skillz – no, he was still not completely over that injustice, but instead he was working for Professor Dumbledore in a non-academic manner. As part of the Order of the Phoenix, Sirius was a key soldier. Dumbledore saw what the Auror Academy refused to acknowledge; Sirius was a bad ass mother fucker when it came to hunting down baddies. Today, however, he mostly was doing reconnaissance with some of the older Order members. He much preferred working alongside his mates, but James, Remus, and Peter had other plans for the day. He took another drink, then forced himself to continue the conversation. “Ran a couple errands and hung with some friends. Nothing too exciting. I suspect you had a more entertaining day than me.” Merlin help him if she had, because he was certain Regina was going to take this conversational reciprocation and run with it.

Well damn, he did like lasagna. He could put up with a few more hours of psycho delusions for lasagna with fire whiskey and pepsi. “Champagne seems a little…” he rocked his hand back and forth in the air as the end of his sentence faded into nothing. “I mean, it’s not like we’re celebrating or anything. No need to pop a cork over a random Friday.” He didn’t know what Regina was plotting, but he was wary of it. She had already managed to drink him into getting hitched, and he was apparently being ‘funny’ asking if she’d decorated her place. Did she think this was her place? Had Sirius avoided the situation long enough that the nutter actually thought she lived here full time? He had half a mind to kick her out but then they’d made it into the dining room and the smell of fresh lasagna distracted him. “You made this?” he asked skeptically, attempting to pull out his own chair and finding Regina had done it for him. He sat. “I may be going out with the lads later,” he offered as a preventative excuse for leaving his own house on a Friday night.

Out of sight, out of mind. Sirius was a simple creature at times, prone to getting caught up inside his head and forgetting there were others around him to be considerate of. Or thought of at all. His ‘wife’ would have hated to know that she fell into that category, one of the easily forgettable, but he remembered all too quickly as he turned the key in the door and heard the ear-raping sound of Regina shooing Kreacher out of the kitchen. He sneered to himself and wondered if it was too late to turn around and run to hide at Remus’ place. He’d spent a good amount of time there these days, more so than he had prior to that fateful, ill-conceived trip to Las Vegas. He had dragged his mates there for one last weekend of freedom before Harry joined them, turning their quartet into a … whatever the bloody hell a five-some was. Not a five-some like that, you sodding perv. He had no intention of getting blackout drunk – Siriusly Black-out drunk (he used that line for weeks after the fact) and getting hitched in a little chapel on the strip, with an Elvis impersonator telling him to “give your little mama a kiss now” after announcing them man and wife. When he awoke the next morning, foggy memories of a chapel tickling his head, he was certain he’d married Peter. Rather progressive of the states, he’d thought. Only, it was a different blonde he’d kissed at the behest of Fat Elvis, and she was flinging herself at him currently. Sirius forced a grin. “Regina…wow. You uh, did this. It’s…” He looked at the decorations and had to admit they weren’t half bad, but he’d rather she decorated her own house instead of his. He really needed to get on with this divorce thing already, but he smelled something baking and supposed he could put it off for a bit. Just as he had been for five months now.

Sirius was rather disappointed that Dumbledore’s emphatic, but short-lived speech hadn’t included James’ suggestion of murder, but then that wasn’t really Dumbledore’s style if it could be helped. Telling Lily Evans that her marriage to James was no longer recognized by the wizarding Ministry of Britain definitely should have warranted some sort of Dumbly-sanctioned homicide. Merlin knew that’s what the fiery redhead wanted, and Sirius certainly wasn’t going to tell her no. He’d have given her a ride on his motorbike straight to the Ministry building to have a go that racist fucking Minister if he knew James wouldn’t kill him for it. Actually, Remus would probably have something to say about it as well. Peter wouldn’t make a peep, though, so if he and Lily were ever in a place to actually go all vigilante on the Minister’s arse, then Peter would definitely be called in for backup.

Sirius was sat between James and Remus, and he hadn’t spoken anything to either of them since they arrived, except to lean over to Remus as Meadowes made her grand entrance and commented that he was “gonna marry that witch one day” in not much more than a whisper. Now that people had concluded and people were starting to head out, Sirius turned to his weathered looking friend. “Dumbledore going for world’s record for shortest meeting or something? I know that old coot has more planned than he’s letting on. What d’you think he’s up to?”

Face full of cushion, Sirius groaned into the fabric, a muffled sound escaping like background music to James’ pep talk. It wasn’t working. Everything James was saying made perfect sense. Humbert was a douchenozzle who couldn’t be bothered to do his job well, if you ignored all the damned glowing accolades the man got from the higher ups just for fucking existing, more worried about looking posh in his sodding suits than actually training the recruits. It didn’t matter that there were others – others who were far less talented than Sirius – doing well in the program under Agent Humbert’s tutelage. Lunette had done well and was nearly an official Auror, and she’d spent half the previous year practically sobbing all over the Ministry when she thought no one was looking. That might have been an exaggeration, but it was one that soothed Sirius’ bruised ego. “Bunch of sodding wankers,” he chimed in, a clear whine in his voice. He lifted his head, his body still splayed out on the couch without a care for Lily’s decorating or no shoes on the furniture rules. “We should go throw flaming dog shit on Humbert’s porch,” he said suddenly and with a wee bit too much gleam in his eye. “Or stag shit! Wormtail could sneak in and crap in his kitchen cupboards.” It was a glorious plan, completely well thought out and impossibly mature, despite Agent Humbert’s recommendation that he “act like an adult.”