Leaning against one of the posts holding up the inn's front porch, slowly-smoldering cigarette in hand, Sirius stares.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he asks, and then pulls a face. "Is that a mating call? There aren't any grease spots round here, Snivellus. Maybe try behind the butcher's." Still frowning, he takes a drag and then sighs it out with a muttered, "No wonder you've never been laid."