~7~

Hermione gave a frustrated growl and threw her hairbrush into the sink. It had been raining for nearly a week, and her hair had staged a full-on rebellion by reverting back to its Hogwarts third-year state.

"Perfect," she said miserably to the bathroom mirror. "Just… bloody perfect."

Not only was her hair a bushy, frizzy, unmanageable mess, but she was bloated from having started her period, and she had a spot the size of Mount Olympus on her chin – all just in time for the monthly Sunday dinner gathering at Grimmauld Place.

Not that she was trying to impress anyone. On the contrary, having not heard a single word from him in nearly a month and a half, Hermione had no delusions or false hopes about his level of interest. Still, was it too much to ask not to look and feel like a completely bloated cow when she was finally about to come face to face with Sirius again?

Evidently yes, yes it is too much to ask…

Heaving a resigned sigh, Hermione picked up the brush once more and began dividing the unruly dark cloud of hair into three sections. Once she had it tamed into a somewhat tidy plait, she paid a final look at herself before turning to go. It was probably just as well, really. She had the sudden odd idea that perhaps her ragged appearance served as a sort of inner rebellion against the superficial and shallow-minded. This thought did nothing to improve her mood however, as an image of one of Sirius' more superficial yet far more glamorous past conquests suddenly came to mind.

Oh gods, she thought in a panic, what if he brings one of them to dinner?

It took a full ten minutes for Hermione to relax and convince herself that, while he might be insensitive and childish, Sirius would never intentionally do something that low. When she finally arrived on the front doorstep of Grimmauld Place, dinner had almost begun. Molly chided her for worrying them with her near-lateness, while Harry and Ron gently teased her for using the doorbell. In the bustle of adding her dish to the long layout of food brought by others and getting settled in, Hermione hadn't expected to see Sirius right away. But once they were all seated at the huge table, she looked around with a frown.

"Where's Sirius?" she asked. Then, with a tight little chuckle she added, "Another date, I suppose?"

Hermione felt Remus' eyes on her, but she didn't care. What the hell kind of childish prat was Sirius that he was skipping out on their monthly tradition again?

"He's at work," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of food, having already dug in before everyone else.

She shot a surprised look at Harry. "Work?"

Harry's smile was subdued, but there was a look of pride in his eyes. "Er, yeah," he answered, spooning a pile of mashed potatoes onto his plate. "He's been doing some sort of top secret work for Kingsley for the past month. Won't even tell me what it is."

"But on a Sunday evening - ?" Hermione asked, still skeptical.

With a shrug, Harry replied, "He's been keeping odd hours. We really hardly ever see him anymore."

"Yeah, except for when he's telling us off about cleaning up," Ron added in a grumble. "Honestly, he could afford to pay a house-elf ten times over even with the new regulation standards. But no…"

"You know how he feels about house-elves, Ronald," Hermione gently chided, feeling her mood about Sirius lighten a bit. "After the whole mess with Kreacher…"

"I know, I know," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes as he tore open a roll and slathered it with butter. "Not that you're biased or anything, Miss Spew," he teased.

"But when did all this happen? You said a month ago?" she asked. How could no one have told her?

"You haven't exactly been around much yourself," George remarked.

"Yeah, you moved out and forgot all about your boys," Fred added in a mockingly hurt tone. "You've missed out on more than just Sirius getting a job and Ron trying to do his own laundry, you know."

"Course, he hasn't exactly succeeded yet, has he, Fred?" George quipped.

"He had to floo Ginny and bribe her to fix his work robes after he turned them all canary yellow by mistake." Fred elbowed Hermione with a grin.

"Still not convinced one of you didn't do that," Ron muttered peevishly.

"So, what else have I missed, then?" Hermione asked, hoping to move the topic of conversation away from her own absence. She gave a quick glance around to the others at the table. Her eyes met with Arthur's for barely a fraction, unnoticeable to anyone else. Sirius wasn't the only one with 'top secret missions,' and Hermione wondered briefly if there was any connection. Undoubtedly there was, but if her own experience was any indication, it would likely remain a mystery as to the nature of it.

Harry had been the first to know when she'd decided to take on the position of Assistant Manager at Flourish and Blotts. But it was less of a job and more of a paid hobby to Hermione; it really didn't take up so much of her time as to prevent her from seeing her friends for nearly a month straight.

After nearly embarrassing herself at her own housewarming party, she'd decided to 'take a step back' to get some perspective and emotional distance from the whole situation with Sirius. At least, that had been the initial reason for her sparseness. Shortly after taking on her new job, however, she'd received an owl from Kingsley Shacklebolt requesting audience to discuss a proposal for a private research contract.

Being Muggleborn, Hermione had often wondered why the British wizarding world was so far behind the times technologically. As a child, she'd taken it at face value for what it was. However, after school and the war, she'd learned of other magical cultures and how they'd managed to embrace the technological advances of their Muggle counterparts, incorporating them into their own worlds.

Britain was woefully, embarrassingly behind the times, and Minister Shacklebolt was apparently ready to rectify that problem. It was an ambitious agenda, to say the least. The Ministry had boxed itself in centuries ago with countless outdated laws and regulations regarding the use of Muggle items and artifacts. It would take a Minister's entire term just to amend those laws, much less accomplish anything beyond that. This was where Arthur Weasley came in to the picture, clearing a very winding and unnoticeable path that allowed Hermione access to various electronic devices and magical modification procedures that were currently illegal to perform.

Buried amidst so much paperwork and red tape, the work she'd been doing for the Minister of Magic was theoretically safe from discovery until the time came to bring hard evidence to light that Britain's wizarding world could and should benefit from moving into the twenty-first century. In the meantime, however, Hermione's new home had become a heavily warded lab, filled with American and Japanese texts, magical science and technology journals, computers, cellular phones, CD players, and even video games and the newest portable music players. The last time anyone other than Hermione had seen the inside of her beautiful new flat had been at her housewarming party. And that was how it had to stay, indefinitely.

As dinner came to a close, Hermione looked fondly around the table at her friends and surrogate family. She had the distinct feeling that her life had officially moved on to a new era, and while that was exciting and inspiring, there was a definite tinge of melancholy there. Remus and Tonks once again had to leave early to put Teddy to bed. Tonks was looking markedly more pregnant than she had a month ago. Fred and George were still doing brilliantly with the joke shop – she occasionally got to see them in passing while working at Flourish and Blotts, at least. Ginny was preparing for another tour with the Harpies, and Harry was quickly rising through the ranks at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with Ron not far behind. It was sad to not be a part of their daily lives, but Hermione knew that had she stayed, she would still feel a similar disconnect.

Shooing Molly off from cleaning the kitchen, Hermione set the sink to work on the dirty dishes while she gathered up the few leftovers to be set aside for lunches in the morning. In a moment of impulsive sentimentality, she loaded up a plate of Sirius' favorites and charmed it to stay warm until he returned. Harry caught sight of this and grinned at her as he finished wiping down the stove. At least I'm not the only one who still does some things the Muggle way, Hermione thought with a smile. Rinsing the washcloth in the sink, he nudged his shoulder against hers.

"He does miss you, you know," Harry said, giving her a crooked half-smile before hopping up to sit on the counter. "Not that he's said it, but we all do – even Sirius."

"Thanks," Hermione said. "I miss you all, too. Even Sirius," she added with a laugh.

"You seem really happy with your new job and place, though," he observed.

"I am – and I'm really sorry I haven't been around, Harry. It's just been quite an adjustment," she said honestly, stepping smoothly around the details.

"Well, they've finally put me and Ron back on the same shift at the Ministry. Guess we've stayed out of trouble long enough," he added with a sheepish grin. "Maybe we could come by and take you out to lunch now and then, yeah?"

"I'd really like that," she replied warmly, hopping up onto the counter next to him and reaching around behind his back for the mug of tea she'd prepared for herself. She'd been secretly pleased and a bit touched to find a fresh tin of her dark brown muscovado sugar tucked away behind the box of vanilla spiced tea in the pantry.

~o~

It was 2 a.m. when Sirius' motorcycle finally made its silent descent over London. The constant traveling between multiple time zones was really starting to fuck with his sense of normalcy, and he was glad to know this was the last trip he'd have to make for a while. He was looking forward to the next phase in Kingsley's project, too.

Sirius shook his head. He never imagined he'd have that thought. Of course, he never really imagined he'd have a 'normal' life, period. Not that what he was doing was remotely normal or humdrum, even by wizarding standards. Eventually it would be, however, Kings had practically warned him. It wasn't the sense of excitement that Sirius found so fulfilling anyway, he'd recently realized, but rather the sense of purpose.

The cross street to Grimmauld place appeared below him, and he circled back and around in a deep, graceful dip, the tires of his bike touching asphalt with a soundless grace that made him grin every time. 'Sylvia,' sleek and modern and nearly all black except for the sparse silver of chrome in the relevant places, was much faster and comparatively more efficient than her predecessor had been. Not that Lydia wouldn't always hold a special place in Sirius' heart, but he'd almost been grateful to hear of her demise when he'd returned. His old bike had too many memories, most of them embarrassingly stupid and typical of a young, spoiled, wannabe playboy, all followed by that one big, unspeakably terrible memory. It had taken a couple of months of research before Sirius had finally decided on the more subtle, yet far more powerful black BMW. But once he'd found her, it had been love.

Usually, whenever he'd return home from a flight, as soon as it touched pavement Sirius would throw off the bike's Silencing Charm and open her up wide, speeding up one street and around the block, weaving in and out of cars at full throttle for the sheer joy of it. Tonight, however, he was hungry and tired, both physically and mentally. He'd missed the monthly gathering for Sunday dinner. Which meant he'd missed his one chance to see Hermione without having to go out of his way and risk making an even bigger arse of himself.

Not that he wasn't prepared to do just that, if necessary.

Sirius' escape - his go-to for clearing his head and thinking problems through - was his motorcycle, preferably above the clouds, at night. Since working for Kings, the countless trips he'd made with Sylvia to various international underground contact points had afforded him more than enough opportunities sort out his thoughts and his feelings – about his life, and about one particularly intelligent, sexy, curly haired witch.

Sighing, he turned the engine off, giving the fuel tank a loving caress as the vibrations murmured to a silent halt beneath him. Food first, then he'd sleep, and tomorrow he'd find out what was next on Kingsley's agenda. Perhaps then he'd ask around for Hermione's new address and try to at least salvage their friendship, if nothing else.

As quietly as possible, Sirius crept through the front hallway, not bothering with any lamps until the door to the kitchen was shut behind him. He immediately set about scavenging for leftovers, frowning and shaking his head at how little remained, until his eyes fell on two covered dishes left on the counter. The first one he touched radiated with a warming charm, and he was delighted to pull back the cover and find all of his favourites kept fresh for him. The second dish was smaller, but he groaned out loud to discover the brownies that were Hermione's specialty. The brilliant little goddess had actually left him his own plate of dinner and dessert? An utterly silly spark of hope flared in Sirius' heart.

"You're back," Harry's sleepy croak came from the kitchen door.

"Yeah – sorry," Sirius answered, "I tried to be quiet."

"Oh, I was just getting a glass of water," his godson said with a yawn, padding to the sink in his bare feet.

Too tired and hungry to respond, Sirius simply nodded and took his plates to the table, grabbing a bottle of butterbeer from the refrigerator before dropping down into a chair.

"You were missed at dinner," Harry said, sitting down across from him. There was no accusation in his voice, however. "She had to charm that plate to shock anyone else who tried to touch it, you know," he added, nodding to the dish of brownies.

"I'd believe it," Sirius replied absently, shoveling a forkful of Molly's pot roast into his mouth. He was so caught up in enjoying a hot, home cooked meal for once, that he missed Harry's frown.

"So are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and her? Or am I just going to have to guess at the worst case scenario?" Harry asked dryly, although there was an undertone of warning in his voice.

Sirius stopped mid-bite, looking up at the younger wizard. It was eerie to see Lily's trademark no-nonsense glare staring back at him through Harry's glasses. Slowly, he set down his fork and straightened, swallowing hard. This really wasn't what he was expecting…

"Did she say something?" he asked carefully, hoping to get some idea of just how much Harry did know before he went and stuck his foot in it completely.

"No! And that's just the problem. One minute she's here, the next she's moved out and suddenly neither of you are around, much less actually speaking to one another. You're both pants at covering this up, you know," Harry remarked in a grumble.

Sirius considered this for a moment. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked softly.

Harry stared at his godfather for a long moment, then shook his head in mild disgust. "Were you drunk, or was it just a random, mindless disregard for - "

"Now wait just a minute," Sirius interrupted in a growl. "Neither of us were drunk, and what the fuck do you take me for, anyway? You think I'd just… 'mindlessly' - with her? And as for disregarding anything, make no mistake, Harry – Hermione Granger is no innocent, weeping willow of a girl."

"She's my friend, Sirius – more than my friend. She was there for me through everything. If you hurt her…" Harry warned, his jaw set.

Exhausted, cranky, and barely having been able to touch his food, Sirius snapped in reply, "And what about me, eh? Or is it perfectly fine for it to go the other way?"

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"You think I'd lay a finger on her if it didn't mean something, Harry? I know I'm hardly a saint, but that's a pretty low assumption," Sirius responded, shaking his head. "Look - Hermione is a grown woman. I guarantee you, if I fuck this up – there is no one else on this planet who would do more damage to me than her. If there's anything left to fuck up," he added miserably, stabbing his fork into a piece of chicken.

He knew Harry's attachment to Hermione was part of the package, as would be the inevitable raised eyebrows and disapproval from others due to their age difference. Of course, this was all assuming he still even had a chance with her, much less whether or not it could work out. But discussing his feelings for Hermione with his godson was just not on Sirius' list of things he wanted to do. Not ever, but certainly not at two thirty in the morning when all he wanted was food and sleep.

"I'm sorry," Harry finally said, after a long silence filled with the soft scrape of knife and fork against plate as Sirius pushed his dinner around. "I know you would never intentionally hurt her, and I also know you're not that irresponsible…"

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sirius almost snapped back.

"And you're right – Hermione's an adult. If anything, I suppose I should be more worried for your safety," Harry continued, a tinge of amusement creeping into his voice before he turned somber. "I guess… I just hate seeing two of the people I love the most being on non-speaking terms."

"We're not on non-speaking terms, Harry," Sirius answered wearily. They just hadn't seen each other since she'd moved out. Mostly due to his avoiding her, but that still didn't technically count as not speaking to each other…

"Well, then maybe you should go talk to her," Harry replied, pulling his wand from his pajama bottoms pocket and summoning a quill and a piece of parchment. "Here's her address," he said, and pushed the note across the table to Sirius before turning to head back upstairs, bidding a muffled 'goodnight' as he pushed through the door.