Disclaimer: Nothing from the amazing world of Harry Potter belongs to me. I am just a poor little girl wasting my time on the computer, and writing stories that play around with the characters.

Author's Note: This is going to be a Sirius/Hermione ship. It's going to be more of a simple, romantic story, I guess, which is new for me. I'm not really sure how I want the plot to develop, so I'm going to post this first chapter, and then we'll see what suggestions I get from my reviewers. So PLEASE REVIEW!

Cheers : )

i wanna dance with you in the rain.

P.S. Takes place in Hermione's seventh year, and we'll pretend that Sirius never fell through the veil, and he's still in hiding from the Ministry.

Is It Love?

Just outside London, hidden in the countryside, there was a small village by the name Ottery St. Catchpole. It was the middle of December, and the heavy snow that was falling cast a beautiful, silent charm on the houses, stifling any sounds of chirping birds and breezes that floated through the naked limbs of trees.

A little way up the main road there stood several houses, each a good half mile apart, their shingled red roofs smothered in a snow pillow of at least two or three feet. But one of these houses was different. It was tall, perhaps with seven stories, and appeared extremely unstable, as though the smallest wind could topple it. Surrounding this strange building was a large, unkempt garden, but the undisturbed snow sparkling over it cast a serene appearance, as though it was a small clearing in a magic forest.

This house is where our story begins.

Inside, the atmosphere was as relaxed as outside, the calming mood of another approaching Christmas leaving everyone contented. But even so, there was still a shadow that hung over the occupants of this house—for these weren't people of the likes that inhabited the rest of Ottery St. Catchpole. These people were witches and wizards, and they were part of a secret organization that was fighting the world's greatest evil.

But perhaps it does not do good to sound so dramatic, for these people certainly would not allow even these dangers to ruin their holidays. That was why they left their headquarters, and came to this house for Christmastime.

In the kitchen, a woman with slightly graying red hair was watching a pot of stew stir itself as she chopped vegetables. A tall, black man was sitting at the small table, swigging from a mug of hot ale, and conversing with another red headed man, trying to avoid the most pressing topic of discussion.

A little way to your left, you would have seen a doorway leading to a cramped parlor, in which five people were lounging, three young women and two men, not talking much. One of the girls—she had red hair, too—was stretched on an overstuffed sofa, her head supported on the armrest as she lazily flipped through a magazine. Opposite her sat another woman—this time with pink hair—curled in the arms of a man who looked tired and years older than his age, together whispering in quiet undertones.

At the far end of the room, in a dark corner, sat the second man, brooding. His black hair fell in matted layers around his face, and his dark eyes shone with a hardness that showed the years of unjust imprisonment he had endured.

Those dark eyes were fixed on one specific thing in that room. Or, more precisely, on one specific someone. Lying on her stomach, with her chin in her hands, was the last person; a girl whose brown eyes matched her curls, and who was staring into the fire.

The man watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, watching as her knees bent so her ankles crossed in the air, watching as her warm sweatpants slid a little down her calves. He wondered what she was thinking about.

Suddenly, she stretched on the floor and flipped onto her back, one hand resting under her head, the other playing with the hem of her shirt. He didn't have time to avert gaze, and she saw him looking at her. Completely at ease, she offered him a smile, not knowing anything about his feelings.

Her eyes closed, and he watched her chest moving up and down in a slow, rhythmical beat that was her breathing. He couldn't tear his eyes away, why, he didn't know. It was simply lust, he supposed. But after all those years in solitude, he thought he would feel something for any girl. But then, why wasn't there anything with Ginny? His gaze reluctantly turned to the girl lying on the sofa, the exquisite profile of the face, the slender, freckled arms holding the magazine. But she was nothing compared to Hermione. Why had he chosen her?

Was it her innocence, maybe? He doubted it, since she had went with plenty of boys, too. Intelligence? That was also a no, there were plenty of smart girls he could have chosen from. Thinking about it, she wasn't that different, but in a way completely unique. He tried to deny it, but he couldn't. He wanted her, he needed her. Did he love her? No. That was absurd. She was half his age, best friends with his godson. No.

"Padfoot, is anything wrong?"

The man broke out of his thoughts, and offered the man who had spoken a half hearted grin, attempting to be lighthearted. "Of course not, Remus, why would there be?"

Remus shrugged. "You looked…upset."

"I'm fine. Leave me alone and go cuddle." He waved a disgusted hand at the couple.

The woman, Tonks, chuckled. "Don't be so bitter, Sirius. It's Christmas. Things will clear up, you'll see. Dumbledore is getting closer to having you cleared."

"That'll never happen," Sirius said flatly, and settled in his chair again. Silence fell over the room once more, but not for long.

Almost immediately, the back door banged open, and a group of six boys—or shall we say men?—stomped into the room, covered in snow, with flushed cheeks, laughing and balancing their brooms on their shoulders.

At their entrance, the two youngest girls stood up, and walked over to the cold group. Ginny, Sirius saw, wrapped her arms around Harry's neck and kissed him on the mouth, and Hermione stood on tiptoe to kiss one of the other five red headed boys on the cheek. He looked away, hiding the frustration in his eyes.

"Hey Snuffles," Harry walked up to Sirius and stretched out on the floor in front of him, pulling Ginny down as well. "Why didn't you come play with us today?"

Sirius just grunted, knowing that everyone was used to his mood swings and bitter attitude. "Molly didn't want me risking it again."

As if on cue, the plump witch came hurrying out of the kitchen, hands on her hips. "Look at you!" she screeched. "Everything is getting wet from the snow you brought in. Upstairs, all of you, go change!"

Without any arguments, the boys did as the command stated, and she went into the kitchen once more to prepare six mugs of hot chocolate. Tonks, Ginny, and Hermione followed her in.

"I saw you watching her again," Remus remarked lightly, looking at his friend.

Sirius's dark eyes snapped to him. "What?"

"Hermione."

"Leave me alone," he growled.

"Padfoot, don't," Remus warned.

"Don't what?" Sirius gritted out.

"Don't…" his friend tried to find the right words. "Don't seduce her."

"Leave me alone."

"Listen, I know you're desperate for…something. But wait it out. Dumbledore's almost gotten you out. Don't ruin it again Besides, you're old enough to be her father." Remus wasn't giving up.

"Do you know the meaning of shut up?" Sirius asked, irritated, and stood up. "I don't want to hear anything." He stalked out of the room and moved out onto the porch, seating himself on a cold loveseat.

Was it an illusion, what he felt for her? A repercussion of being left alone for so long? He dwelled on it constantly. Sometimes he thought it might be, after seeing her so happy with Ron, but whenever he just watched her alone…the delicate movements, the smile…he wasn't so sure. And what was love, anyway? How would he know if it was love when he didn't even understand what the feeling of it was? It was lust, he decided. That was all. A phase.

That night at dinner, Hermione was sitting between Ron and Sirius, who did his best to ignore her and get caught up in a discussion with the twins. Only once was he interrupted when she tapped his forearm to ask him to pass the mashed potatoes. The spot on his arm seemed to burn for hours after.

But Hermione was completely oblivious to all this. True, she had had a crush on him once, four years ago, when she was thirteen and had first met him. But that was all gone. Now she had Ron, who was her best friend, and the sweetest boy she had ever met.

They had begun dating only last September, after Harry had asked Ginny out, and she never regretted the decision for one moment. That is, until Ron had started telling her he loved her. She didn't like that, only because she believed that neither of them had enough experience to truly be able to say that they were. And because of this, she started to wonder what it would be like, to be loved. She and Ron had shared several kisses, but hadn't gone anywhere farther. And when she saw how close Ginny and Harry were, she felt a slight jealousy. But Ron was her best friend, and she wouldn't break his heart.

A/N: Ok, I know that was really short, and I'm sorry. But the plot bunnies are eating my toes, I desperately need some suggestions.

Also, please tell me what you think of my Sirius. I know it's out of character for him, but I thought he'd be sweet like this.

Anyway, if I don't get up to five reviews for this chapter, I won't update because it'll be pointless. So it's up to you if you want me to keep going, I'm not too impressed with it so far.

i wanna dance with you in the rain.