The grass beneath his feet was surely wearing thin, his unlaced boots kicking up the mud in time with his aggitated heart rate. Both hands were shoved into his pockets, fingering a packet of unopened cigarettes as he shivered in the evening's cold. Perhaps he should have brought a jacket - the thin jumper he was wearing not doing wonders against the night's breeze.
Sniffing sharply, Sirius paused in his footing to spit cruedly on the ground, watching as his spit splattered on the grass by his feet. He hoped Rodolphus would be here soon - his anger was beginning to rise and rise as the minutes went by.