Sirius/Emmeline (HI THERE! :) I'm doing belated Valentine's requests.)
"I'm going to wreck this car tonight," Sirius told her, and she climbed into the front seat anyway.
He gunned the Camaro's engine as soon as they hit M4. She didn't know how fast they were going, because the old American car's speedometer only read in miles per hour and besides, the needle had been stuck at 120 since they passed Reading. She didn't know where he'd gotten the car, and she didn't care.
They rolled down the windows and Sirius cranked up the radio. He spun the dial away from ELO - because fuck prog rock, that's why - and it was the thumping primal beat of Fleetwood Mac's "Tusk" blasting out of the speakers as he turned hard off the main road somewhere past Swindon. Emmeline leaned out the window and Sirius sang along at the top of his lungs as they careened around the hills and Wales fast approached. Sirius ignored the flashing lights of the police car except to wave his wand, and the V-8 engine surged with new power.
Emmeline laughed as the lights faded in the rearview mirror, and screamed when Sirius spun the car around another curve with speed this engine and these wheels had never been made for. Off the dirt road they went, the car rolling over itself once as they crashed through a fence into an unknown field.
He stopped her screaming with a kiss as the engine poured out smoke. He'd said he would wreck the car tonight, and Emmeline had known then that just as surely as that would happen, she'd be dragging him into the back seat afterward. A farmer might be on his way down the property with a rifle already. The police might have figured out which way they went. The engine might explode after that last surge of magic, and still all she cared about was getting his shirt off. All that was just more reason to be quick about it, wasn't it?
They were each other's new favourite self-destructive habit, and they'd keep it up until they wrecked that too.