BAD LUCK BLACK! ─── Harry Potter

xxx. Wild, Wild Horses

1976

Red sailed down a strip of road. Faster than the eye could blink, it was gone. Only the astringent stench of charred rubber and black scuffs on asphalt remained. Fauna scattered from the raucous noisemakers. In the distance, an engine huffed, spurting from exertion and a plume of darkened smoke swirled from the exhaust. Folksy tunes rattled throughout the skyline, chords of harmonicas and bluegrass beats. Cartoonishly, sunlight bounced off the cherry red exterior.

Natalie Yates was wild.

Unruly spirals of curls blew from the outpouring of wind, and her toothy grin was insatiably infectious. Her voice carried above the roaring engine as she bellowed the lyrics to blasting melodies. Every line was memorized, like they played from the very soul. Behind the wheel, Natalie was another person. An extension of the Chevelle. The pressurized sensation of indomitable speed was cathartic. The rush. She was at the machine's mercy, buckling under its every whim.

Rather, Sirius Black was at her mercy. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Moons ago when he encountered Natalie in the warmth of her diner, Sirius couldn't have fathomed her hobbies. Not even her personality. She read like an open book, yet, in reality, the words transcended language. At every avenue, she surprised him. In a good way, a great way. Muggles were never a subject Sirius was allowed to unpack. He was glad for it. Everything happened for a reason. Natalie Yates opened everything; she was his guiding light.

Knitting, baking, gardening—normal, average hobbies, if not a bit mundane. Yet, the manner in which she described them was anything but plain. Natalie could make dirt interesting, and she literally did. Sirius Black intently and willingly listened to a lecture on optimal soil quality. He wished she could narrate his life. Natalie was exceptional at confections, and she delivered the finest knitted garments. Whatever she touched, turned to gold.

Drag racing, spelunking. Merlin, Sirius thought he was adventurous. Whatever rebellious scheme he'd conceived, she had already perfected. The sweet, dewy-eyed girl was an adrenaline pumping fiend. Natalie was fearless. Thrill kept her afloat. And yet, she upheld tender morality. She was never late and always offered aid. When Natalie revealed her interest in the dangerous avocation of cave exploration, Sirius couldn't speak for several minutes.

Who was she?

Claustrophobic tunnels with limited openings and eight-legged critters was an immediate pass. Sirius would follow her to the end of the world, but not into caves (Not yet, at least!). Drag racing. Oh, Sirius's interest piqued. Natalie first explained it on their second date. He'd asked about her father's life because a man with such a marvelous mustache had to have an equally captivating story. That he did. Turned out, Bartholomew Yates was a drag racer and a mighty fine one (He was also a clown, so the man had lived many lives).

Unfortunately, Barry lost his winning mustang to a nasty pile up in 59'. Sirius would've liked to have witnessed the grandeur. Yet, instead of crashing cars, Barry began fixing them. Behind Natalie's house was a good sized garage, and it housed Bartholomew Yates' pride and glory. A polished Chevelle SS convertible. Vermillion with two white stripes down the middle. Godric, it was picture perfect. Sirius ogled at its glossy coat and the leather interior.

Natalie, in many ways, resembled her father. Sirius noticed they had the same thin eyebrows and untamable mocha hair. They stood at the same height, nearly as tall as Remus. Aside from physicality, Natalie harnessed her father's spirit. The spunk. Personally, Sirius didn't like the resemblance he carried to his own father. That reflection was nauseating. He grew out his hair past his ears, and he hated shaving. Natalie relished in the similarities.