AN: Having only been reading fanfiction for some years now I decided it was time I made some contribution to the stories about my OTP; Hermione and Sirius. Making a new year's resolution out of it I decided to get right to it. Perhaps this is not fully centred around the two lovebirds, but it was an idea that came to me some time ago and have been lying half-finished on my computer since. Also, disclaimer; I do not own Harry Potter. All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and all publishers, studios or other companies that shares the rights with her in some way. OCs and the plot are mine, however. Hope you enjoy.

Mr and Mrs Miller, of number twelve, Carnation Lane, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Or at least Mrs Miller was, and her husband felt no need to argue. She was therefore impeccably dresses, fully in black, when attending the funeral of Mr Fletcher, a widowed former army captain, who had been their neighbour for three decades. And a good neighbour at that; always tending his garden, keeping it in perfect conservative condition, only put out the dustbin on the same morning they were to be emptied and not the night before, and most important of all, he had no unsuitable family or friends coming to visit. He would be sorely missed in the neighbourhood she felt certain and it was with a bit of apprehension that she speculated on who might move into number eleven next.

Hopefully it would be someone better than old Mrs Henderson, who while surely being a respectable old lady, had the unfortunate habit of not taking proper care of her roses and having a son who worked as a journalist for The Sun and had the terrible habit of asking if they had seen the latest page three if they had the ill fortune to cross paths while he was visiting. It was no wonder the man was in his late forties and still unmarried.

"Did Mr Fletcher's son mention anything about the sale of the house?" Mrs Miller asked Mr Miller as soon as they had returned home and sat down in the living room with a cup of tea each, a plate of biscuits on the coffee table in front of them.

"Yes, as a matter of fact he did" Mr Miller replied, then taking a cautious sip of the still piping hot brew before continuing, "he mentioned something about a married couple having just offered a very tempting sum for it."

"Did he say what kind of people they were?"

"Said he's only met the man, who seemed to be in his mid to late thirties and that he appeared pleasant enough, if slightly eccentric."

"Eccentric?!" Mrs Miller asked, suddenly nervous, "he is aware, is he not, of the prestige of our neighbourhood and that we will not like to suffer any… pollution."

"He is perfectly aware, and you know he and his wife would have been happy to move in, but now that their youngest have left the nest, they feel a house of that size would be a little much."

"It is only advantageous to have a proper and well sized house when you start having grandchildren" Mrs Miller replied as if it was God's own truth.

"They feel their current home will be enough for such matters when they come to be. You know young people these days are far too busy working to start a family before thirty, so they aren't likely to see the next generation for a few years yet."

"Perhaps. Still, he cannot be contemplating letting some eccentric into his late father's house, can he?"

"I don't know. If given a strong enough incentive a lot of people would do many unexpected things, my dear. And it seemed this couple had offered a lot of money."

"Well, it might all come to nothing in the end."

As it happened, it did not all come to nothing and three months later Mrs Miller stood by the window in one of the guest bedrooms on the second floor, looking across the street at number eleven where movers were busy carrying a large amount of furniture into the house. At least it looked like tasteful pieces and the young woman who directed the workers was dressed in a pretty but simple blue dress that exposed no unseemly sights. Mrs Howard down in number two had more than enough of that fault, always dressing as if it was five degrees warmer than it actually was, at least.

Perhaps it was a little difficult to judge from such a distance, but after, fully impartially of course, observing the scene for a while, Mrs Miller came to the conclusion that the young woman who had just entered number eleven, following a worker who appeared to be carrying something fragile and in need of extra directions, seemed to be in her mid-twenties at the most, maybe even younger. That meant that either the age of the husband had not been correctly communicated or that was not the wife. For surely every decent person knew an age difference by more than seven years was highly improper and someone, or a couple as it were, who laboured under such a misguidance would never see fit to move into her neighbourhood.

Naturally, the shock Mrs Miller experienced about an hour later was thus a little more understandable, when a motorbike pulled up on the driveway of number eleven and the man who drove it took off his helmet only to reveal himself to indeed be somewhere in his mid to late thirties and the young woman came out of the house and greeted him with a passionate kiss. The motorbike in itself was problem enough, but to see a couple with such an age disparity, displaying their affection so openly no less, would have had her choking on her tea if she had not already finished the whole pot some half an hour ago.

Scandalised, she hurried down the stairs and into the living room, which sadly faced the backside, to share the horrible news of their new neighbours with Mr Miller, who had sat there reading since morning, stubbornly missing the whole thing.

"My dear! My dear! You will never believe what I just saw."

"Then perhaps you'd better not tell me, if I won't believe it anyway" he replied in a calm tone, not lifting is eyes from the current page.

When she had found a book on the topic of the war of the roses he had not yet read she had been happy to be able to buy it and present it to him on his birthday last week, but as it had now been used to keep the curiosity of the new arrivals confined to herself she could not help but regret the purchase.

"What? Oh, do not be such a bother. They have arrived! The couple in number eleven. They are here!"

"I know. You've been looking at them for a good while now."

"No! Only the wife was present, though I did not know it was her until just now."

"How so? Is she very masculine in appearance?"

"No, but she is very young. And the husband just arrived, and he seemed to be as old as young Mr Fletcher said."

"The man's an astute observer so that doesn't surprise me. But what of it?"

"Oh, but can you not see?! There must be at least ten years between them. It is an absolute outrage! And he drives a motorbike."

"Good for him."

"What?"

"Rich, has a young wife and drives a bike."

Mrs Miller could only gape in wonder at her husband, who had still not looked up from his book, for a good minute or so before she had collected herself enough to form a reply.

"Do you not care about this neighbourhood at all?! We have lived here for nearly forty years and after those pesky Saunders moved out after a few years-"

"More or less pushed out by you and your newmade friends, you mean" Mr Miller interjected, but was ignored.

"-it has been nothing but respectable enough neighbours on every number. Mark my words, those people are bound to bring us all to ruin if we do not do something about it."

"I will leave it all in your capable hands, my dear."

Being the perfect neighbour she was, Mrs Miller crossed the street three days later, a cake in her hands, to welcome the new arrivals, no matter how reluctant she might feel about it. It was the done thing, after all. It was a Saturday afternoon and since she had not seen them leave the house, she assumed they were at home.

After ringing the doorbell, she only had to wait a short while before the door was opened and she was faced with the young woman, a pleasant smile already on her face. And while her hair was clearly more unruly than any hair should have the right to be, she was once more dressed well, this time in a simple navy blue skirt and a cream coloured shirt, though the top two buttons were unfortunately undone.

"I am Mrs Miller, across the street" she began, making sure to remember to smile as well. "I though I would come over and welcome you to the neighbourhood now that you have a had a few days to settle in."

"How lovely. I'm Hermione Granger Black and my husband, Sirius, should be just about finished with brewing some tea. And I see you've brought a cake to go along with it. How lovely. Please, do come in."

Two surnames then. She hoped the husband had the same, for women who decided to keep the maiden names were such a pretentious modern upstart of an idea. But had she really called her husband serious? Was that some kind of strange name given by hippy parents maybe? Regardless, receiving more confirmation that this couple clearly did not belong; she kept her smile in place as she followed into the kitchen, where she had to drop it at the sight of the mess. The kitchen was the heart and soul of any home and should be the first to be put in order, but here boxes full of china, pans, pots and cutlery were all over the place and most of the cabinets gaped empty.

"Sirius, love."

A tall man with shoulder length black hair turned towards them from where he had been standing hunched over one of the numerous boxes and pulling out some cups. The hair style was not comforting at all and neither was the roughish smile he directed towards his wife and then even herself. At least he dressed as well as his wife and sported black slacks and a plum coloured shirt. Though, like his wife, he had left the two top buttons open.

"We have a guest I see."

"Yes, this is Mrs Miller, you know, from number twelve."

"Ah. Yes. We have seen you about a few times. Bound to happen when you live so close" the man replied and despite their polite tones, Mrs Miller could not help but feel that a slight of some sort had been levelled at her. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

"Mrs Miller, this is my husband, Sirius Black."

So, she had kept her maiden name then. Just wait until Mrs Jones heard about that.

"And a pleasure to meet you both. We have all been terribly curious about who would replace dear old Fletcher. He lived her for thirty years you know and was always the most proper and considerate of neighbours."

"Sounds like a lovely man. His son was much the same" Mr Black commented.

"Why don't you take the cake and find a plate for it, love" Mrs Granger Black said then, "and I'll show Mrs Miller into the living room. It's a bit more orderly in there."

"Right. Thank you very much, Mrs Miller" Mr Black said as he plucked the cake right out of her hands without so much as a by your leave.

"Right this way then, Mrs Miller" Mrs Granger Black said, ushering her out into the hallway again and on towards the back of the house. "Though I'm sure you are already familiar with this house."

"I have been over a few times over the years, yes."

"It must be hard to see it so changed, or at least in such a disarray. But since the sale did not go through until last week, which was a little later than we had hoped, we had to move in before we could start the renovation, so there was not much point in packing up more than the bare essentials. All the workers will come and start on Monday, so I'm afraid it will be a while of some minor disturbances over the coming weeks. But we've hired only the best and plenty of them, so it should not take too long to get it all done. The kitchen especially we felt the need to change completely, not to mention the bathrooms. While Mr Fletcher, or if maybe it was a wife, had good taste, it was a little old-fashioned and sadly not matching up well with our own. Or, I should perhaps say mine, seeing how Sirius cares little for how things look so long as I'm pleased with it. He is such a good husband in that way. Where is Mr Miller by the way? We haven't seen him as much, but a glimpse or two has told us you are still happily married, Mrs Miller."

"My husband is at his weekly get-together with his fellow crossword puzzle enthusiasts in the area. They meet every Saturday at this time at one of their places. Oh, and yes, I am most happily married. I simply cannot stand the way people get divorced right and left these days. Even the royals do it. No, I am properly married. We know how to make it work and do not balk at the slightest disagreement."

"Then I am happy for you. Sirius and I have found a highly effective way of solving our disputes, so I don't think we'll have much trouble in that department. Besides, our union was perhaps a bit more binding than most."

The conspiratorial smile on Mrs Granger Black's face at the first part left her feeling scandalised, but she hurriedly schooled her face into neutrality and then had to bite her tongue in order to not ask what she meant by the emphasis on binding. There she could not imagine at all what might be the cause for such a phrase, but she also knew she could hardly ask such a thing after only just having introduced herself. Perhaps Mrs Jones or Mrs Sutton would have some theories.

After having paused in the hallway for that little chat, they entered the living room and while a few boxes stood in a corner, it was tastefully furnished with that, no doubt antique, sofa she had spotted being carried inside three days earlier, as well as two matching armchairs and a well-polished coffee table in the middle.

"Please, have a seat" Mrs Granger Black said, motioning towards one of the armchairs, "I'll just go and see if Sirius needs any help."

Mrs Miller took the opportunity to study the rest of the room while she was alone. There was no TV, which she found a bit odd. She knew very few people, none of them younger than forty, who did not have one in their home. Maybe they had one elsewhere? Instead, the room seemed to lean more towards a place to interact rather than silently watching something together. There was a set of four identical old-fashioned leather armchairs sat around a small round table not much taller than the level of the seat of the chairs to one side. Over by the middle of the three windows stood a chess table with a chair on each side, all of it looking as if it had been plucked right out of a royal dwelling. No curtains had been put up yet but seeing how they would soon start renovations it was not surprising. A few paintings had been hung up on the walls, though, all complementing the style of the furniture. Yes, these people had both money and taste, which made it all the more regrettable that they themselves made so many transgressions in regard to propriety.

Just then, the two persons in questions entered the room, each carrying a tray. Mrs Granger Black set down one with her cake on it while Mr Black carried a larger one with a beautiful teapot and matching cups and plates. It was the same cups he had been unpacking when she arrived, she noted.

"I'll be mum" Mrs Granger Black said and started pouring tea for them all, placing a teaspoon on each saucer before handing them out.

Saying her thanks, Mrs Miller poured some milk into her cup and added a cube of sugar as well. However, when she plucked up the spoon she frowned.

"This is not silver, is it?" she could not help but ask, feeling it was somehow sacrilegious to not have genuine silverware to go with such lovely china.

"No" Mr Black replied while calmly stirring his own tea, "we don't use silver at all in this house. One of our close friends has a bit of an… eh… allergy to it. Gives him a terrible burning rash touching the stuff. So, we had all of our cutlery specially ordered. They are all made out of titanium."

"Oh. I see. I have never heard of a silver allergy before."

"Thankfully it is a rare condition" Mrs Granger Black said, "but very painful for those cursed with it."

"Your friend is lucky to have such considerate friends in you then."

"As we are lucky to have him" Mr Black replied. "The man is a treasure and does not deserve such suffering. We actually had the idea about the cutlery when he and his wife celebrated their first-year anniversary. They sort of eloped, you see, as it was something of a tumultuous time in our circle of friends back then. My darling Hermione was not my wife yet, of course, but she came up with the idea and as she knew it would be costly approached me with it. To this day, I'm still certain that was the moment my love for her was ignited."

The look he gave his wife then was all the proof needed to verify that he did indeed love her, and Mrs Miller felt a small tug of envy somewhere deep in her heart at witnessing it. While she and Mr Miller were fond of and devoted to each other, they had never had anything close to the passion it was clear this couple enjoyed. But then again, passion was an unseemly thing, she forcefully reminded herself and added it to the growing list of faults her new neighbours displayed.

"You are the one who brought the money into the marriage then, Mr Black?" Mrs Miller could not help but ask then, curious about the dynamics of her new neighbours' marriage.

A brief flash of annoyance seemed to cross the man's face at her words, but it had been too quick for her to be entirely sure it had not just been her imagination as he had a friendly smile in place the very next moment.

"Yes. My family has been around, and richly so, for quite a few centuries and while I was the rightful heir by order of birth the only reason I've ended up with it all is because I'm the last male standing."

Ah! A black sheep of his family then. Hardly surprising, Mrs Miller though, but the direction her mind had taken must have shown through more than normal as the man then went on.

"Don't get me wrong, Mrs Miller, but being the outcast of my family is nothing short of an honour. They were such xenophobic, ultra-conservative bigots that they elongated the political scale all on their own. The world is much better off without them, I can assure you. Well, I say all but there are a few exceptions still alive in the form of a few female cousins, but they are all married and don't share the name Black with me any longer. I'm sure you will see them soon enough as we're sure to have them over regularly."

"Yes, we do hope you're not averse to a little liveliness in the neighbourhood" Mrs Granger Black continued and for some reason, and highly improperly, put a hand on her husband's knee. It looked like a gesture made to calm him down, or at least one of reassurance, but she could not find a reason for why he would need such a thing. He certainly looked calm enough. But the younger woman went on, so she had to drop the thought; "We have something of a large group of family and friends and we all like to see each other often. And now that we have found a well sized home for ourselves, we'll be wanting to have them over from time to time as soon as the renovations are completed."

Mrs Miller was a bit divided in the face of such news. The thought of having a whole group of people who would no doubt be likeminded to these two was disconcerting, but, as she had just realised, it would also give her fodder for her conversations with Mrs Jones or Mrs Sutton for a long time to come. One could only stretch Mrs Howard's dressing choices so far when it came to lamenting the state of their neighbours after all. And once their usefulness was at an end, it would be the easiest thing in the world to encourage them to find someplace else to live.

"Not at all" she thus replied with a smile that was actually halfway genuine. "In fact, I look forward to it."

"I'm glad to hear it" Mrs Granger Black replied, a sudden glint in her eyes that Mrs Miller could not approve of.

Maybe she should have understood, in that moment, that this was an adversary she had never encountered before and that backing down would be the prudent course of action. However, Mrs Miller was not one to admit defeat, and what, in the end, could a young woman who seemed to be barely out of school really do.