Written for the Hogwarts Forum

Roald Dahl Event (tasting room: Write about someone doing something out of their comfort zone)

Granger Danger Event (SiriusHermione, meet cute scenario: You bought me at a charity auction, and you're probably a serial killer)

Word Count: 1412

This collection will be a series of unrelated meet cute scenarios, all in a non-magical setting.

"I really don't know about this," Hermione says, running her fingers over the plunging neckline of the form-fitting lilac dress. "It's a bit…" She clears her throat, pointedly trying to keep her gaze away from the mirror.

Ginny nods her agreement, securing Hermione's hair with a bobby pin. "I know. Just remember, it's to raise money for St. Mungo's," she says.

Hermione turns to her best friend. Ginny smooths out the black cocktail dress that clings to her slender frame. At least Hermione is in good company as she's forced out of her comfort zone. Ginny is at her side, and that's all that should matter.

"What do you think?"

Hermione hesitantly shifts her gaze to the mirror. She swallows dryly, shaking her head. While there's no denying that Ginny has worked wonders and that she's beautiful, she struggles to comprehend that the woman staring back at her is really herself.

Ginny gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "Come on. We'd better get going."

…

"And next up," Rita Skeeter says, barely able to hide the disgusted curl of her lips, "is Miss Hermione Granger."

Hermione steps onto the stage. She finds Ginny in the crowd, holding her gaze. It's the only comfort she has as she's made into the center of attention.

"We'll start the bidding a bit low," Rita says nastily, and Hermione clenches her jaw to keep from storming over there and giving the horrendous journalist a piece of her mind. "Shall we say… twenty?"

Her cheeks grow hot. Exposing Rita a hack with fictitious sources seems to have come back to bite Hermione in the ass. Still, she forces herself to hold her head high and deal with it.

"One hundred," a voice calls.

Hermione's eyes narrow as she tries to find the speaker.

Rita clears her throat. "Right… Well, that's one hundred. One-ten?"

"One-ten," a second voice says.

"Three hundred!" the first man counters.

"Quite, uh, quite an interesting turn of events," Rita says, and Hermione can't help but grin at her clear discomfort; maybe the evening isn't going to be so bad after all. "That's- ahem- three hundred. Anyone else?"

The satisfaction over Rita's discomfort quickly fades as a new realization hits. She doesn't know this man who continues to bid more and more for an evening with her. He could be anyone. Forcing herself to smile, she keeps her eyes locked on Ginny.

"Three hundred. Going once, going twice…. Sold to the gentleman in the leather."

That catches her attention only seconds before the sudden movement in the crowd. Hermione feels that sense of doom wash over her. The man is handsome enough, but in such a dangerous way. His grey eyes shimmer with mischief, a smirk on his lips. The leather jacket stands out dramatically among suits and ties the other men wear. His dark hair has been pulled into a messy bun, and slight stubble shadows his face.

Hermione has always tried her hardest not to judge people too quickly, but this man causes her heartbeat to quicken. Every nerve in her body screams danger, danger!

He approaches the stage, offering Rita a check. Seconds later, he appears before Hermione, extending his hand to her. She's painfully aware that all eyes are on her. Hesitantly, she accepts his hand, climbing off the stage.

"Sirius Black," he says, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Black?" Hermione echoes. "As in-"

"Yep. Those Blacks," he says dryly, and Hermione guesses it's a sore subject. "Would you like to get out of here?"

Hermione hesitates. Everything about this man seems dangerous. Her instincts tell her that she needs to stay here. And yet there's something hypnotic about his storm cloud eyes. Something about him makes her want to throw caution to the wind. "I… Sure," she says, a slight tremor in her voice.

He flashes her a bright grin and leads her through the crowd. Ginny smiles at her as she passes, offering her a quick thumbs up. Hermione swallows dryly, nodding.

…

"A… A motorbike?" she asks, examining the sleek black frame with a mixture of nervousness and awe.

"I like to live dangerously," Sirius explains, handing her a helmet before placing his on his head. "That, and my mother hates it. All the more reason. Hop on."

"You aren't going to murder me, are you?"

The moment the question leaves her lips, she feels silly. What sort of person asks that outright? Then again, what sort of man bids on a stranger and immediately takes her out? She has plenty of reasons to be wary.

Sirius snorts, mounting the bike. He glances at her, flashing another mesmerizing grin. "Call me old fashioned, but murder doesn't sound like a romantic evening."

Hermione nods, sliding onto the seat behind him. She rests her hands awkwardly in her lap, unsure what to do with them. That last time she's been on any sort of bike, she was a child, and it had training wheels.

"Hold on," he says, pushing up the kickstand and starting the bike. It roars to life with a jolt.

"To what?" she asks, but her question is drowned out by the sudden purr of the engine. Without even a second to think, she wraps her arms around him as the wind caresses her skin and the city light pass by in orange blurs.

…

When they come to a stop, Sirius is the first off. He offers Hermione his hand, and she accepts it, still a bit disoriented from the ride. "First time on a bike?" he asks, his tone gentle, almost teasing.

"Is it that obvious?" she asks, adjusting her dress which has ridden up slightly.

"Just a bit," he laughs.

Hermione looks around. At first, she sees nothing but trees. That flicker of panic returns. She tenses, frowning. "Where are we?" she asks quietly.

"This is where I like to come to think," he says. "My parents never go anywhere that isn't stylish, so this is a safe spot."

She nods but stays on edge. Sirius starts forward, and Hermione follows. In the back of her mind, she can see her face on the evening news.

Hermione Jean Granger, twenty years old. Last seen leaving the St. Mungo's Charity Date Auction. Her parents are working closely with police on the investigation. If anyone has any information, please contact…

They come to a stop a lake. A small smile plays at her lips. Despite her fear, she can't help but to stop and admire the way the moonlight dances across the gentle ripples on the water.

"Do you bring all your dates out here?" she asks.

"Not all rich bachelors are playboys," he points out. "I don't date, and I never bring anyone out here."

I don't date. Hermione feels a strange flutter in her stomach. "Why me?" she whispers. "Why even bid on me?"

"Your eyes," he answers.

"My… eyes?"

Sirius nods. For several seconds, he doesn't speak. His eyes remain fixed upon the water. He sighs, sitting on the edge and pulling off his shoes and socks before sipping his bare feet into the lake. "You can tell a lot about a person by looking into their eyes," he explains. "Yours made me want to know more."

"What do my eyes tell you?"

"You have clever eyes," the man chuckles. "You're wise beyond your years. Of course I wanted you."

She takes off her heels, setting them aside. Sirius lays his jacket out next to him, patting it. Hermione sits down, following his example and plunging her feet into the water, yelping as she realizes how cold it is.

"We could always go for a swim," he says.

"Or I could avoid ruining this dress," she suggests.

Sirius rests his hand on hers. She leans in, resting her head on his shoulder. "I can see why you like it here," she tells him. "It's peaceful."

"I like laying back and counting the stars."

"That's impossible." Hermione rolls her eyes at the thought.

"Yeah, well, I'm impossible."

She believes it. This evening has only just begun, but it's already been such a rollercoaster. A soft smile on her lips, she lifts her head to the sky, watching the star twinkle. Part of her wants to try and count them, regardless of how impossible it maybe be.

"Still think I'm a murderer?" he asks, his fingers gently ghosting over her arm.

"Not anymore."

"So, can I have a second date?"

"I'd like that."