            Sirius watched her from the half-opened doorway, black hair dripping onto a fresh t-shirt. He’d pulled back on the jeans, though, and Hermione had to admit she didn’t mind. The man had only worn wizarding clothes when she knew him before...other than that one, usually warm day she’d caught him on the roof, working on that horrid motorbike. Sirius’s curls had been pulled messily into a low knot, tendrils sticking to his neck left bare from the hacked muscle-tee. His pale jeans had been stained, a crisscross of oil and sweat.