A/N: Thanks for the reviews! xx

Buanderie

[ "Oh, well, if it stresses you out," the smirk was back, he twiddled his fingers at her, "I'll be glad to help you out."]

Hermione,

Just writing to let you know that The Prophet has printed a story about us – THE story.

I'm still trying to find out where they got their information from. Harry gave them the quote like we planned. Fallout doesn't seem too bad so far.

I've been to see the kids, they don't really seem phased, it's not like Hugo even looks at the paper anyway. Rosie asked if she and Padma could go shopping to "cheer her up" but I think she just wants new stuff.

I know that you're on your holiday, I'm impressed you actually went. (Lost five gallons to Harry on that.) But it would be good if you could give a comment to the paper, maybe via your office? Saying that it doesn't affect our work, hasn't done for the last year, etc?

I just think we should get ahead of it. Make sure it's old news before the kids get back to school. Padma agrees. She had a pretty rough day with it yesterday. Had to leave work because of all the owls. I really don't want them to turn her into the villain. So a little bit in your comment supporting us, would be great.

Cheers, Ron.

Hermione sighed and had to resist scrunching the piece of parchment up in resentment. She looked back at the angular cramped hand, so familiar. For twenty nine years there had been bits of paper in her life with that same handwriting. It hadn't changed much in that time, although he was a much better speller now. She thought back to nights by the Gryffindor fire "checking" Harry and Ron's homework. Trying to decipher the words he'd written. And even though she knew they didn't work as a couple any more, and that her kids were better off with two separate but happy parents, she still regretted that she'd let it all fall apart.

Bloody Ron , she thought, trying to be angry rather than let the sudden pang of nostalgia win and make her cry. It was pretty easy to be annoyed as she read the letter again. He always had to behave like he thought of all these plans. As if they hadn't sat and talked it all through a year ago when she moved out for good.

Although asking for her to mention Padma was new. She hadn't actually thought the media would turn on Padma. They enjoyed picking Hermione apart too much. She had thought Padma would be portrayed as Ron's great feminine saviour, beautiful and welcoming and kind, giving him what he needed in a partner. Unlike the career driven, hard nosed Hermione, who'd spent the better part of the last twenty years arguing with all the wrong people – and winning.

Hermione's envy for Padma was so tangled up. It had little to do with how she had struck up a friendship with Ron mere weeks after their marriage ended, and much more to do with her ability to accept people for what they were, or seem to. Hermione knew Padma was no push over, but she was clearly better at managing people than Hermione was. She had so many friends, Harry was always talking abouts drinks and dinners at Ron's, with many names Hermione recognised from school, but none she had kept in contact with.

It really was a miracle that they had made it to a year before the press found out they were separated, another tribute to Padma's close and trusted friends, none of them had spilled the beans. She was the woman Ron really needed, social, fun, and sporadic.

Pretty much everything Hermione wasn't.

Hermione looked through the other letters: requests for signatures, opinions on new legislation, the weekly report from the Auror Office. She smiled when she opened it, there was a note scrawled across the front page, in Harry's handwriting,

- You're on holiday, look at this when you get back!

She wished she could, but now that it was in her hands she needed to see the latest stats. She read through the report, mostly pleased with what she found. Law enforcement was a strange thing, high arrest numbers were good, it meant the Aurors were working well, but it also meant that there was still lots of bad things happening. But if numbers were low, it was impossible to tell if it was because the Aurors were failing, or that there just wasn't anyone to catch.

She laughed as she reached the last page, more of Harry's handwriting,

– I knew you'd read it anyway. This is why you're stressed.

The note was punctuated by a crude little smiley face poking its tongue at her.

She loved the man Harry had become. He'd found Ron and Hermione's separation almost as hard as they had. But he stuck by her, loyal to a fault. She was glad he'd be arriving here soon, even with the complication of Sirius and the time turner. It would be great to see him here, out of England, away from everything that got her down.

Hermione worked her way through the last of the notes from her secretary, then started on trying to write a statement for the Prophet. It was so hot in the little kitchen that she decided to go and sit outside again. When she stood up her stomach grumbled loudly; it was nearly midday. She would have to go to the supermarket soon but she wasn't quite sure the best way to manage that. She filled a big glass of water at the sink and took a handful of crackers from her travel supplies with her outside to work on the statement.

It wasn't that much cooler outside, not with the big heavy clouds trapping the heat in. She felt like she could almost taste the water in the air. Surely it must rain soon. She sat there in the heat for a good forty minutes trying to figure out how to say. "You can all fuck off, it's none of your business," in the most polite way possible.

She finally felt she was getting somewhere when she became aware of Sirius rummaging in cupboards in the kitchen. She looked through the window to see him eating her crackers straight out of the box and looking out the little window above the sink, across the fields towards the road into town. He had yesterday's black t-shirt on again, and his hair was pulled back into a messy knot, no doubt to keep it out of the way while working on the motorbike. He was still wearing Bill's pyjama bottoms though.

Hermione smiled. It really was so strange, this oddly calm and domestic moment in what surely should be a tense and difficult situation, the possible destruction of so many lives if somehow her theory on time travel was wrong. But no, instead she was doing paperwork and he was eating crackers in his PJ's.

He left the kitchen without coming to talk to her, and she returned to her statement. She just couldn't get it right. She was feeling even more resentful towards Ron by this point but she'd managed to get the first part finished.

Mr Weasley and I decided in June 2018 that we no longer wished to be romantically involved, in the interest of our children's wellbeing we have kept our separation private. Ron and I have a sound friendship that extends well beyond our romantic relationship. This is the reason we are able to still work successfully as a team both professionally and in regard to raising our children.

Her first draft had included,

Remember when we helped Harry Potter defeat Voldemort and rebuilt the world you're all so happily living in? Well, that shit takes its toll.

But she decided to be less of a dick about it.

How was she supposed to work in her acceptance of Padma without sounding fake? Or bitter? Or jealous?

She wished it would all just go away. She supposed she could actually resign, it wasn't like she hadn't earned enough money to live off for a while. Maybe Apolline Delacour would sell her this place and she could hide here for the rest of her days. Drinking wine with the locals and selling flowers from her garden to passing tourists.

If only her thumbs weren't decidedly black. And if only she wasn't completely task and goal orientated – to the point of mania sometimes. Retirement at thirty-nine definitely wasn't an option for her.

Feeling anxious and unsettled once more, Hermione decided to focus on the thing she could achieve. Going to the supermarket for real food, since Sirius had probably finished her crackers and was also probably starving. The best idea was to just bring him along, because while she did trust that he wasn't going to run off and start a new life here and never return to the past, she felt like leaving him here alone just wasn't the thing to do.

Sirius was humming to himself when she entered the buanderie. The body of his bike was upright now, on some sort of stand he'd obviously transfigured from something else. The two fat tires with their crisscrossing chrome spokes were stacked on top of each other off to the side. He was sitting cross legged on the floor with his wand between his teeth, distorting his humming as he used both hands to tighten something in the gap where the back wheel should be.

He grinned up at her as she entered, looking very different from the overwhelmed person who'd sat on her bed in the dark last night. Bright, focused, and hopeful. He took his wand from his mouth, and nodded towards his bike. "It's not too bad, the combustion chamber is fucked, but hopefully I'll be able to transfigure it to do the job until I get home and can get it replaced. Everything else is okay though."

"That's good," she said. There was something strange happening inside her as she watched him talk so animatedly. Five months back in eighty-one and that bright spark would be gone, lost forever.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his head tilted slightly as he looked up at her.

"Nothing," she said, realising her sudden burst of guilt or dread, or whatever it was, must have shown on her face. "We need to go to the supermarket."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I ate all your crackers, sorry," he admitted sheepishly. "And I need fags, but I don't have any muggle money," he went on. "I've got some gold with me though, could I pay you with that and you get the stuff?"

"Sure," she said, thinking that he was going to be horrified at the price of cigarettes.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sirius asked as he stood up, wiping blackened hands on a rag he'd procured from somewhere. He was doing his slightly too intense stare again, Hermione had the sudden urge to blink, was he a legilimens?

"I'm…" she was about to say fine, but then just like yesterday, her worries burst out without her permission. Her voice was higher, more tense than she expected it to be. "I got a letter from my husband, I have to write a stupid statement for the paper and it's impossible, I really don't know what to say."

Sirius moved to the cast iron sink in the corner as she spoke and washed his hands, but he looked over his shoulder to say. "How bout, 'fuck off, it's none of your business'?"

"Tempting," Hermione snorted, thinking that was exactly what she had wanted to say. "But no, it needs to be professional. I'll figure it out, I'm just feeling pissed off about it all. I hate that he's asked me to do it, he wants me to put in a bit of support for his girlfriend and I just –"

"That's proper fucked," Sirius interrupted, as he wiped his hands down the front of his t-shirt to dry them. He looked quite annoyed as he added. "Sorry, but it is, he shouldn't be asking you to do that."

God it was so nice to hear someone say it so bluntly. She hadn't realised until that moment how much she wanted someone else to echo the niggly little complaints in her head. Harry never spoke against Ron, not in such a forthright way. Even if she herself was mostly to blame for their marriage breakdown, she still felt hurt and bitter. She just didn't admit it aloud.

"She's really nice," Hermione found herself saying, trying to justify it. "His girlfriend, like so nice, and social and fun, perfect for him actually, and my kids love her –" Hermione's voice wavered, unexpectedly emotional, "and it's so s-stupid ."

Suddenly she felt close to tears, ridiculous . She should be annoyed, not sad.

She hadn't realised how close he'd gotten as she spoke. "You shouldn't let that bother you," he said, his hand coming to rest on her upper arm bracingly. It was still damp and felt nice and cool against her skin in the stuffy room. "Being nice is overrated."

His eyes were back on hers and for a change she felt like she could read him. He'd managed to make the word 'nice' sound like an insult, like he knew something much better than being nice .

She swallowed, and the lump in her throat seemed to vanish. She was suddenly very aware that he was touching her. Too aware, and much too appreciative.

"Being a workaholic with no personal time is overrated too," she said, trying to inject a bit of reality, because she definitely didn't feel like this moment was real any more. She'd managed to break eye contact but now was apparently mesmerised by his lips. She'd never felt the need to stare at someone's lips before. Was this how breakdowns started? She tried talking again, "I've just spent the morning working and I've only been away from the office for twenty four hours."

"You need a proper distraction," he replied, his thumb stroking her arm where his hand still rested. Although his words were light, there was no mistaking what he meant.

Hermione knew she should tell him to stop joking around. She needed to step back, she needed to remember to breathe in, she needed to silence the mischievous voice in her head telling her that this was a good idea. It was all too much apparently, a foreign feeling of recklessness was stealing through her.

"It's still a bit early in the day for wine," she said, the words leaving her without permission. She wondered if he'd understand her meaning.

It seemed he did. His right hand had found her waist, and then, before she had time to second guess herself, he had leaned in and kissed her. Soft and slow as their lips met, but then, as she swayed forward, completely taken in by this dreadful, yet thrilling development, his hand left her shoulder to cup her cheek, holding her there as he deepened the kiss.

She could not have said the last time she had such a reaction to another human being, or if she ever had. There was pounding in her ears and her fingers were tingling as her hands landed against his chest, not sure if she was going to push him away or drag him closer. His left hand was in her hair now, long fingers against her scalp, his tongue sliding against hers.

Terrible decision! Her brain tried to tell her, but she wasn't listening anymore. She'd forgotten what it was like to feel, to be held, to be wanted. Her back hit the wall next to the big old copper boiler, and his mouth left hers, he dipped his head to trail his lips down the length of her throat. She had to push him away then, very reluctantly to be sure, but there was a frightening amount of desire curling inside her, she needed to stop it before it went too far… before it went further , it had already gone too far.

His lips left her skin at her little shove to his chest, and she made the mistake of looking into his eyes again. His pupils were wide, the grey iris just a ring, black lashes just a bit too pretty to be masculine. Loose strands of his hair had escaped the knot at the back, hanging down, level with his mouth, and then those lips again, pinker than they had been, taking her attention.

He still stood too close, his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before he spoke. There was no feigned casualness in his tone this time; his voice was quiet, almost hoarse. "Are you really telling me you don't want to?" Hermione turned her face away with effort, the heat coming off him was distracting. "Because if you tell me you don't want to, that's fine."

"It's more that I don't understand why you do," she said, unable to say anything except the truth as her brain was no longer functioning properly, "it's … unsettling."

"Sorry," Sirius's shoulders twitched with his murmured apology, but he didn't sound like he meant it. "I don't think you'd believe me if I gave you some romantic line, right?"

"Probably not," she said weakly, the air in the room was so thick and warm, she felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in it.

"Truth then; I think you're fit," he said simply, as though that was a good enough reason. "Fit and seriously in need of an orgasam." She looked back at him, just to see if he was teasing, but she was met with those same distracting eyes, and yet another smirk. "Think of it as a thank you?" he suggested, already leaning in again. She clenched her hand in the fabric of his shirt, and pulled him the last few inches, surprising a little laugh out of him before their lips met again.

There was no hesitancy in him after that, she'd almost forgotten that he was so much younger than her, but as his youthful enthusiasm took over, she was reminded – but not at all worried. His hands started to roam, and she found herself totally captivated, there was no caution, or concern, just him there, lips on her neck, her collarbone, his hand running up her thigh, squeezing her bum to pull her closer. It was fabulous.

"Tell me what you like," he breathed close to her ear as his hand coasted up her side, his thumb dragging across her nipple where it had already pulled in taught, trapped by the linen of her dress. She exhaled heavily, more turned on than she should be, this one little sentence sparked that same curling desire in her again. But she didn't really know what she liked, she hadn't liked anything in a long time.

"I mean, I'm happy to guess," he said, as his other hand travelled over her hip, and around her thigh to hitch her leg up. His lips back on hers as he pressed himself against her suddenly much more intimately than before.

The hand on her breast was still teasing across her nipple, she breathed him in as he moved against her. His intention was quite clear, she could feel everything . The thin cotton of his borrowed pyjamas hid nothing. His hips thrust forward minutely, just a hint of what was to come, the heat and length of him right there . She couldn't stop the little gasp of pleasure that left her, her eyes fluttering open; she hadn't realised they were closed.

His mouth was back on her neck now. "Good guess?" he all but purred against the skin, his tongue tasting her skin as shivers seemed to roll through her.

"Yes," she managed. The room was spinning; he gripped her hitched up leg to secure it, and thrust more purposefully. Her head fell back against the wall again, to be so lost, so caught up in it, while both of them still had their clothes on was crazy, but Hermione found herself holding onto him, her own hips moving to match him. His lips met hers again, messy and urgent as they rocked against each other.

Ironically, after being annoyed at his constant shirtlessness, she was now frustrated that he still had one on. She'd got her hands under the hem, and the smooth, overheated skin was tantalising. She couldn't stop touching; the ridge of his hip bone, the way the muscles in his lower back tensed as he continued to move against her. It wasn't until her fingers hit a rough patch of skin on his left side, that she remembered he was still injured, although he didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. He did notice her hesitation however.

"Could you come from this?" he asked, lips breaking from hers, a centimetre apart, his breath short. "Or do you need something else?"

"I don't k-know," she said, her voice seeming to flutter. She probably would get there if he kept it up, but Sirius was apparently more interested in efficiency. He dropped her leg, the hand that had been supporting it kept contact, skimming across the skin beneath her dress to travel around to the front, then in between her thighs, kissing her again as he pushed aside her underwear, two fingers slipping in, sliding up to find their mark, circling. Hermione shuddered, knees weak.

"Good guess," she breathed, impressed that he really did seem to know what he was doing. He laughed softly, making her gasp again as the pressure inside her built, his circling fingers, driving her closer and closer. She couldn't keep quiet, little moans escaping her lips. "Oh, I'm…" and suddenly, forcefully, her release washed over her. Her forehead dropped to his chest, and after a moment she opened her eyes again, looking down as the pleasure pulsed through her.

Definitely better than wine.

Her hands were clumsy as she went for the drawstring on his pyjamas, trying not to think about the fact that they were her ex-brother-in-law's, so weird. Sirius was very obviously in need of a hand, and she was quite eager to return the favour. She snuck her hand inside, pulling him toward her by his t-shirt with her other and kissing him as she wrapped her fingers around his length. He groaned into her mouth as she pumped her fist up and down, his hips moving again, faster, much more forcefully than when he'd been grinding against her.

It didn't take very long before his breathing became erratic, and then without warning, he stilled, and with one final jerk she felt the pulse and heat against her palm as he came, his hand thrown out against the wall, his face close, stubbled jaw prickling against her cheek.

He sighed, his breath tickling her ear as he recovered himself. "You're not a bad guesser either," he murmured and then he kissed her again, softer this time. "Fuck, its hot in here," he said, as he stepped back, grimacing slightly as he hauled his t-shirt off over his head and scrubbed it over his sweaty face.

Hermione was in shock; ten minutes ago she'd been thinking about a shopping list, now she was wiping come from her hand on the t-shirt he'd just handed her. It was hot in the little room, she could feel sweat popping out down her back, the pulse of her sudden orgasam was still throbbing through her occasionally, and he was grinning at her like it was no big deal.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "I don't understand you."

"What's there to understand?" he said easily. "You need a distraction, I really like having sex. Seems like a good fit."

"But – " she began.

"Merlin, woman, don't overthink it," he cut her off gruffly, shaking his head slightly.

"That's not something I'm particularly good at," Hermione told him, not particularly pleased to be told how to think.

"Oh, well, if it stresses you out," the smirk was back, he twiddled his fingers at her. "I'll be glad to help you out."

"You're ridiculous," she said, but she was smiling now. He really was impossible. "I'll keep it in mind."