Disclaimer: I don't have rights to Harry Potter, or Bryan Adams (always inspired by song I am)

The only thing that looks good on me

Sirius brushed his hair back from his face as he exited the lift-in-a-phone-box and stepped into the Ministry's Atrium. He grinned to himself as he drew more then one pair of eyes to his form as he strode across the room and pass the fountain.

He knew he drew stares. Middle age, by muggle standards at least, never looked so good on a man. His ebony hair was as black as it was during his Hogwarts days and his grey eyes only bore the wrinkles of age and maturity. Like a fine aged wine, the name Sirius Black oozed an elegance and regard his family had not seen out of pureblood circles for centuries.

This particular evening Sirius wore stone-washed jeans that hugged his lithe form as if he himself had been the mould for the designer. The slight bootlegs hid the black dragonhide boots that sounded against the marble floor with confident steps, they were slightly scuffed, giving hint to being well worn-in from a mode of transportation that left many a witch swooning. Sirius smiled to himself, there was only one witch he cared about, only one who would never admit to swooning of any sort, despite the fact that he had caused that reaction in her countless times.

To complete his ensemble, Sirius wore a crisp white shirt of the highest quality linen, soft and as smooth as silk against his skin as the garment made his startling grey eyes pop. He wore it open at the collar, leaving a trail of soft black hair to disappear within its confines and give hint to what was hidden from desire filled eyes. Over this he wore his leather jacket. A prized possession, the soft, supple leather was worn with age but Sirius wore it like new, inhaling the scent of the hide as if it was fresh off the hanger.

Stepping over to the lifts, Sirius smiled charmingly at a witch as she exited, her conversation with her male companion trailing off as her eyes caught the black haired wizard in front of her.

Chuckling Sirius entered the lift and pressed the button of his desired floor.

Of all the clothes in his closet, of all the longing stares of the witches and the jealous gazes of the wizards, Sirius only felt comfortable wearing one thing.

He smirked. She'd be pissed if he expressed those thoughts, after all she was not something someone wore, but her own individual witch, independent to the core. Aside from his insatiable need for her to be his, that is. It was that insatiable need that had got him in trouble this morning. She'd been running late for work, her hair was a mess as she tried to sort out her paperwork he'd interrupted her from the evening before. She was angry, at herself more than him, but her anger only flared his desire, and without putting up much of a protest, they'd shared a shower before she hurried off to work.

Stepping out of the elevator Sirius made his way through the halls to her office. The door was open and he leant on the wooden frame, watching her as she busied around the office.

Her fitted black robes were elegant on her tall frame as she bent over the side of her desk, scribbling a note on a spare piece of parchment. Her brown hair was loose and flowed down her back in the way he liked it the most, free and wild like the minx he knew her to be. On her desk were piles of parchment and folders, legal cases ready for her to pour over, her brow furrowed as she scribbled out a notation before sighing and placing her quill between her teeth.

Rounding her desk to her chair she sat and pulled a file towards her, releasing the quill from her mouth and scanning the pages in front of her. Sirius' mouth curled at the edges as he noted the smear of ink on her forehead.

His steel grey eyes moved to meet her chocolate pair and he realised he'd been seen. His grin grew as he saw the look of desire in his wife's eyes.

"Sirius." She breathed, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long, love." Sirius replied, unfurling himself and striding around the desk. Seeing him approach Hermione spun in her chair, smiling up at him.

"I thought we were meeting at the restaurant." She said as he crouched in front of her.

Sirius grinned, "I thought I'd pick you up." He replied, licking his thumb and reaching up to tenderly wipe the smear of ink from her forehead. He felt Hermione's brow furrow in confusion as he dropped his hand. Smiling he moved forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips, the familiar pool of desire flaring in his loins.

"Have you finished work yet?" he asked quietly after pulling back.

Hermione nodded and he took her hands in his and pulled her up as he straightened his legs.

"Shall we?" Sirius asked, gallantly offering her his arm.

Hermione sent him a dazzling smile and accepted, curling herself into his side as they wandered down the quiet hall to the lift.

As they made their was across the atrium, Sirius noted the different looks they pair were receiving from when he'd wandered through not half an hour before.

Instead of hunger and jealousy, the glances betrayed happiness, longing and – Sirius was sure – looks that could only be described as 'Awww'. And when Sirius, barely pausing, leant down to give his wife another soft kiss he could have sworn the witch in purple robes actually voiced that very thought.

This is what he preferred, after all the comfort and style he seemed to posses, the elegance and regality that was essentially 'Black', the only thing that looked good on him, was Hermione.