a / n; Written for the Hogwarts Online prompt of the day: enlightenment. I'm a little nervous about posting this, because I'm not sure how receptive people will be to a softer Petunia, but this is fast becoming my OTP, so... Also, in my head, this is something of a companion to these delicate crimes but it's not even remotely necessary to read that to understand this.

:-:

you are the height of revelation
doubt thou the stars are fire;
doubt that the sun doth move;
doubt truth to be a liar;
but never doubt I love.

- William Shakespeare

There's a certain impossibility in them, a certain abnormality about them, and she hasn't yet decided whether it's malignant or benign (though she's certainly leaning towards the former, prudish and practical as she is).

She's Petunia after all—straight skirt, stiff shoulders, sensible. She's Petunia, and she sees dandelions as wishless weeds and knights in shining armor as oiled relics in museums; hates magic and fractured normalcy.

She's Petunia and he's the antithesis of everything she stands for—long hair, crooked grins, nonchalance, and magicmagicmagic.

He's Sirius Black and a serious mistake, and, oh, she's well aware.

But he touches like lightning and smiles like sunshine, sweeps her off her feet and leaves her breathless. But his eyes are like steel razors, cutting down her world because he can, and not because she's gorgeous but because she's a challenge. He holds her like he shouldn't and speaks to her about things she's never wanted to hear of—Quidditch and Exploding Snap; pictures that move; goblins and trolls and dragons.

He laughs at her newspapers and respect for parliament, tells her, "Life's not worth living if you can't break a few rules, Tunes." And he kisses her like he's making a point, and she misses it entirely because all she can think is that she's never loved like this.