He watched her for days, not because he had any vested interest in her, but because he thought, rightly, that she was trouble.
There was a marked difference when they were alone together, something he tried to avoid. Her posture relaxed, her hips swayed a little more, her cheeks flushed. She stammered and stood too close to him. Incidental touches that were, he suspected, not so incidental occurred often.
The night before his birthday found him alone in the sitting room, thinking over the last thirty-five years, a brandy snifter twirling between his long fingers. He was considering turning in when she slipped through the double doors, trying to go unnoticed. She jumped at his voice.
"It's late," he mellowed, crossing his legs. She started, clutching her dressing gown around her chest.
"Sirius, you frightened me," she laughed shakily. She hesitated for a minute, unsure whether she should leave or not before coming to stand behind the couch he was seated across from. "I was looking for my Runes book."
"A little night reading?" he smiled, setting the glass down. She laughed again, relaxing a little. He swallowed the slight niggling playing at the back of his throat and laughed back.
"Harry has this funny piece of a parchment, I was trying to-", she trailed off, looking down at the floor. "Why are you still up?"
"As it turns out, being closer to forty than thirty is cause for rumination," he sighed, feeling much older than he had a few minutes ago. "How old are you, Hermione? Fifteen?"
"Sixteen," she answered quickly, as if an extra twelve months aged her enough to continue the conversation. Sirius smiled again, feeling increasingly uncomfortable; he should not have been alone with her. "Well, goodnight."
"Hermione," he called, standing and crossing to where she was rooted. "I think you're a lovely girl-"
"Sirius, this really isn't necessary," she groaned, her cheeks blushing furiously. He held up his hand to silence her.
"You're trouble for me, darling," he tempered, gently touching her arm. "If you were twenty years older, or myself twenty years younger, but it's inappropriate for you to-"
"I said it isn't necessary," she snapped, jerking her arm back. "Goodnight, Sirius."
He watched her leave hurriedly, sure he had just made things worse and was about to head off to bed when she came stomping back in.
"Wait a tick," she said, her eyes narrowed to slits. "What makes you think that I'm even interested in you? That's a bit bold, don't you think?"
He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, I simply assumed that your change in behavior was indicative of-"
"I act that way around Remus… I mean, Professor Lupin-"
"I'd say not," he sighed.
"Mr. Weasley, then. I'm sure he would attest that I'm nothing but a lady," she said, her voice slightly manic.
"Hermione, I must have missed the part where I said you were anything but. I misinterpreted, I apologize. After twenty some odd years of relationships, I thought I'd learned it all, but, as always, you are showing me otherwise."
She stood there for a minute, mouth slightly open. He wasn't sure if she was going to cry or slap him, but he was sure he preferred the latter.
"Hermi-"
"It's fine," she said, exhaling. She turned and stood with her hand on the doorknob for a minute before looking over her shoulder. "If you were twenty years younger?"
"I swear it," he said, smiling a half smile that she returned before leaving him alone, even more lost in thought than before.