M t.v.

[He smiled up at her, wondering if she was going to be kind to him in the daylight, or if she, like him, found it easier to ignore the sadness within until darkness fell.]

When Sirius opened his eyes he almost gasped in shock; bright white room, big soft bed, huge cloud of curly hair in his face. The air in the room was too warm, it was heavy, dense, and still.

Hermione, the mysterious woman who had run him down and knocked him out, only to fix his wounds and hold his hand as he fell asleep, was still and quiet next to him. He realised then that he was actually hugging her to him, his arm possessively draped across her body. He pulled it back carefully.

He hadn't woken up next to anyone – bar James on the sitting room floor after too many beers – in three months. This little fleeting thought was all it took, because just like that, the mere suggestion in his mind of the last time he woke up next to a woman, took him right back there; Marlene's flat in North London. Two big feather quilts on the bed to keep the February chill out, so warm, so fucking safe.

He shut his eyes against the familiar stab of pain, sharp in his chest, it interfered with his breathing just for a second. He should be used to it by now, but it never seemed to get any easier.

Closing his eyes didn't help either, he could see her so clearly: shaggy, artificially-blonde hair hanging in her eyes, silly safety pin earring dangling. Her wide smile in greeting when he walked in the door, she'd always been so bloody happy to see him.

Then, her dark eyes narrowed as they stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised during the last duel they'd been in against Dolohov and Judson. They'd been cornered, but she was magnificent, saved his arse at least twice that night. Then sucked him off when they got home to help him forget.

And then their fight, when she'd told him she was late. He'd never forgive himself for what he said to her. But he'd been terrified. He was scared all the time anyway, every week they lost someone else. How could she think it would be okay? A baby? In that shitshow? No way.

It had been raining, he remembered that; heavy driving stuff that blustered sideways as he left her flat, buffeting him as he'd headed towards his bike. His last words playing over in his head.

"Can't you just vanish it?"

She'd slapped him around the face, hard enough to leave a bruise. Sometimes he felt like it was still there.

Two days later she was dead, and the glorious woman who'd taken him under her wing in the Order, showed him how to fight, taught him healing magic, and let him lose himself in her when all the death and fear and depression got too much, was gone. He'd never been in love before, not really. He loved James and Remus, and Pete at a stretch, but Marlene, she kept his heart in a box.

He threw the light sheet off himself, unable to bear lying still any longer and winced a bit as his shoulder twinged. The bruising was pretty spectacular, even if he could only see the edge of it, as he twisted his neck awkwardly to peer at the healing injury. He looked around the room, wondering where Hermione had hidden his wand. Not that he'd be able to do anything about his shoulder with it anyway, bruises were pretty hard to heal.

Then his eyes fell on her where she lay, curls hiding her face, the sheet low, just covering her bum, her thin-strapped sleeping top hiked up against the mattress. Skin showing at her waist, he'd found it hard to believe she was nearly forty, the wild loose hair and pretty summer frock she'd had on yesterday gave the impression of youth. Until she'd had her wand on him. Then he'd seen something frightening in her eyes, in the way her lips pressed together in determination; little things but something had made Sirius think she was not someone to cross.

Then she'd told him she was Head of the DMLE, and he knew she wasn't someone to cross.

He'd end up in fucking prison.

She didn't look scary now though. Gentle breathing blowing a few strands of that mad hair up away from her mouth. What was she going to do with him here? He didn't even know where in France they were. North obviously, he hadn't ridden for long enough to get much past Rouen at a guess. But Northern France was quite a big place. He was content to stay here though. It probably made him a terrible coward, but it was light, and safe, untouched by all the horror here. Voldemort had been dead for twenty years, a muggleborn held the second highest position in the Ministry. This was the sort of world he'd dreamed about.

He knew enough about time travel however to know that he must go back otherwise Hermione wouldn't know who he was, she never would have met him. But it did seem strange to him that she hadn't been expecting their meeting now. Like, he thought his future self would have told her: "When you go on your mental breakdown holiday in 2019, don't you dare run me over.".

But he obviously hadn't done that, not before Bellatrix had killed him. God that fucked him right off. Bloody Bella? Hideous sadistic creature that she was. He hated that she'd beaten him.

He sighed to himself, wondering if he should have a poke around for his wand. Or maybe just go and make a coffee and have a fag. He glanced at the sleeping Hermione again; he didn't want to annoy her, not after she'd listened to him pour his foolish broken heart out. So off he went and made coffee, the muggle way.

It took for-fucking-ever.

He stood at the bench in the little kitchen, having pushed the window over the sink up to tempt the thick air into moving a bit, while he waited for the kettle to boil. The gas cooker kept spluttering and he'd ended up lighting it with a match from the box Hermione had given him.

He looked out at the green field beyond the window. There were stone walls crossing the land, dividing it up, leaving him to wonder how much of it belonged to this little place. Above the green and grey was the deeper, darker grey of low hanging clouds; charcoal in the dense centre, pale on the fluffy edges. They were almost suffocating.

A shrill whistle from the kettle startled Sirius into motion. He dragged his eyes from the serenely soporific view, and filled his mug. Then he swiped his smokes and matches from the counter top, and headed out to meet the muggy summer morning.

He sat down on the grass, the same place he'd smoked with his wine yesterday. Even the earth felt warm he noticed as his fingers met the grass, like the heat from weeks of Continental sunshine was trapped in there.

The tree that spread out above him, the one that had cast such dense shade in yesterday's sun, now seemed leached of colour by the cloudy morning; there was no breeze, it didn't sway. Just stood there still, its high branches full of twittering birds, their chirping songs weirdly foreign. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done something as simple as sit on the grass and listen to birdsong.

He thought about how much easier grief was in the daylight. He found it relatively easy to pretend he was fine during the day, even before he'd ended up in the sky with five Death Eaters on his arse. He didn't think his friends really had a clue how messed up his head was, or that he was drinking too much, or that fighting Death Eaters was suddenly much easier because he didn't care if they got him. He'd only used the time turner because the idea of ridding the world of Voldemort was so appealing; and, because he truly felt like he had nothing left to lose. So what if he'd been lost to the 1940's forever? He'd probably do quite well there. Here however, in this calm and peaceful future, he'd quite like to stay here.

It was as he drained his mug of the last dregs of coffee that Hermione appeared, dressed in her tiny pyjamas with her endearingly insane hair looped in a bun on top of her head that did little to contain it. He smiled up at her, wondering if she was going to be kind to him in the daylight, or if she, like him, found it easier to ignore the sadness within until darkness fell.

"What are you so happy about?" she asked, and though the words were snappy, she seemed more cautious than anything else.

"I'm in the moment," he said honestly. Feeling his grin widen naturally, there was something very satisfying about teasing this woman. "I hadn't planned on taking a sojourn to the Continent this summer, but here I am, so." He spread his hands, as if to say, I'll take it.

"Right, well, good for you," she said bemusedly, relaxing a bit. Then she took in his empty mug and her suspicion returned. "How did you make that?"

He glanced at the cup too. "Coffee?" he asked. "There's a container of dried stuff in a tin by the kettle, I put it in a cup with some hot water."

"I know how to make coffee," she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Then why did you ask?" he blinked up at her, completely nonplussed.

"I meant," she explained grumpily. "How did you boil the water? Did you find your wand?"

"No," Sirius started to laugh, finally understanding. "I lit the cooker and filled the kettle, bloody hell. I do know how stuff works, you know."

"Oh, good," she said, clearly annoyed, her eyes falling to his bare chest before she looked away, across the field on the other side of the stone boundary wall.

"Would you like one?" he offered, trying to get her attention back. He didn't want her to be properly annoyed with him. "I was going to make another."

"Okay,'' she said slowly, almost suspiciously. "I'm going to have a shower first though," she pulled at her pyjama top, grimacing. "It's so muggy already."

"Hmm," Sirius agreed as he hauled himself to his feet. He was still in the pyjamas Hermione had found him last night. They were loose and comfy and surprisingly suited for the hot weather.

He made more coffee while Hermione was in the shower and found himself listening to the rushing water, trying not to think about what she was doing in there. The thought of bare skin and soapy bubbles trailing over imagined curves probably wasn't very appropriate. Because for all that he was only teasing yesterday, if she'd taken him up on his offer of an 'alternative coping method' he would have been rather pleased.

He wondered if it was just because he found her quite impressive, with her ability to heal him perfectly after only a verbal description of the spell - it had taken him two weeks to learn it, and he was very good at charms. She'd been able to read his daft tattoo as well, he'd never met anyone who knew what it meant at a glance. Not to mention the huge amount of gratitude he felt that she had listened to him last night. No one ever took his feelings seriously like that.

Or maybe he just liked the way she looked. Simple as that.

The kettle whistled, and Sirius looked around, surprised by the noise again, releasing that he'd just spent a good five minutes staring out the window, not thinking about Marlene for a change. He didn't know if this made him happy or sad. Was he forgetting her? Or had the shocking events of yesterday finally been able to distract him?

Hermione re-appeared not long after he'd sat down, she wore a new frock today, pale and sleeveless with buttons all the way down the front. Her hair was wet from the shower, and even though he hadn't even known her for twenty fours hours yet, he thought she looked strange without the billowing chestnut mass curling down, swallowing her shoulders, defined little ringlets springing out on their own. Now however, it hung dark and shining, almost thin looking, and so long, the ends were level with her elbows, flicking out as they tried to return to their usual shape.

Was it strange that he noticed these things? This sudden awareness of her after such a short time? The difference in their ages bothered him much less than the way his mind seemed to turn constantly to her today. He'd never found age made much of a difference to a person's true self, not once he'd left school anyway. Marlene had been nearly ten years older than him. James had given him endless shit in the beginning. It wasn't until Remus had pointed out that her age and experience possibly made her quite an excellent girlfriend, that James conceded. Remus had been right, she certainly had taught him many things.

Hermione had come outside with the coffee he'd made her and sat down at the little outdoor table. The same one she'd eaten her dinner at last night when she was ignoring him. Sirius had gone back to the grass with his second coffee and third cigarette of the morning. He was nearly out of smokes now. He'd have to ask Hermione where the nearest shop was soon, he didn't imagine she'd be particularly keen to let him go though.

"I wonder how Harry is getting on with Madam Lincoln," Hermione mused in a raised voice, so it would carry to him across the lawn.

The thick, still air meant he could hear her easily; the dawn birds had quietened now, the only other sound were the lazy cicada's songs off in the fields around them. It was such a peaceful place, such a contradiction to how he really should be feeling.

He should be scared, worried about how he was going to get back, possibly fearing arrest and imprisonment for meddling with time. It had occurred to him yesterday that this was the reason she wouldn't give him his wand back. The Head of the DMLE would have the power to arrest a British citizen, even on foreign soil. But he just couldn't find it in himself to fear her; caution yes, but not fear.

"What does Harry do?" Sirius asked. He was quite excited to meet Harry, even if it would be bloody weird. A grown up Harry… Sirius had seen his nappy being changed three days ago, and now he was going to be a man nearly old enough to be Sirius's father? Totally fucked up.

"He's Head Auror; technically he works for me," she said with a smile. "But don't tell him that."

Head Auror? Maybe they really were going to arrest him. He still doubted that. He probably needed to work on getting his wand back before Harry arrived though, just in case. He wondered if Harry still looked like James and Sirius suddenly realised that he hadn't asked how many of his friends had survived the war.

"What are James, Remus and Peter doing these days?" he asked casually, finishing his smoke before standing and coming to sit in the chair on the other side of Hermione's little table. He was thinking how weird it would be to see them as old men. "Do you know Remus too? You must if you knew me and James."

Hermione's expression told him everything he needed to know. He felt the familiar thud of loss hit him in the gut as she confirmed what he read on her face. His fingers went to the thin braided leather band he wore on his left wrist. Made by James nearly a decade ago when they had discovered Remus's secret, and promised to stick with him. They all had one, Sirius had scoffed at the idea when James suggested it, but he'd still worn it ever since.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "None of them survived the final battle." She gave him a cautious look, apparently choosing her next words carefully. "They all died fighting Voldemort, protecting Harry actually." Her voice was kind as she added, "you included."

"How long will he stay?" Sirius asked, trying not to think about his friends, his chosen family, being dead. The dark coldness he knew so well was trying to take hold, creeping through him, but he'd already broken down in front of her once, he didn't need to make it a daily occurrence. "Will you make me go back as soon as he arrives?"

Hermione was still looking at him sadly, seeing through his blasé facade easily. "Remus has a son too," she said, obviously trying to comfort him. "He's your age now."

"Ace," Sirius said. That did actually make him feel a little better, at least part of his friend lived on. "Is he much like him?"

"A bit," Hermione said. "He looks like him, but he's a bit more like his mum in personality. Harry is his godfather. Teddy has spent every weekend at the Potter's since he was about five. That's when Harry's boy James was born."

Sirius smiled. "So there's another James Potter in the world?"

"A James Sirius Potter," Hermione said. Sirius felt his smile stretch wider, affection for little Harry blooming inside him.

"Your sacrifice was worth it," she said softly. "Yours. James and Lily's. Remus's. We wouldn't have gotten here without you."

"Lily's gone too?" he murmured, feeling another little stab of horror. Merlin, he hoped James had gone first, Sirius could imagine all too easily the broken man James would have been without Lily. Hermione nodded and Sirius shook his head sadly. Harry's kids wouldn't have known how brilliant their grandparents had been. It was such a waste.

"Not Pete's?" He asked suddenly, realising she'd left him off the list.

Hermione looked away, across the lawn, to the bright flowers along the boundary wall, but he didn't think she was seeing them. Her voice was distant as she said. "His sacrifice was, in that moment, one of the most valuable of them all."

Sirius did not like the sound of that. "Does he have any kids?" Then something seemed to hit him with palpable force- visions of being terrorised by little versions of himself flooded his mind. "Do I?"

Her eyes came back to him then and she smiled at his horrified expression. "No, you were a confirmed bachelor as far as I knew. Peter too."

He didn't know whether to be consoled or disappointed by this. Did that mean he'd never get over Marlene's death? Or just that there was no other woman in Britain willing to put up with him?

"I think Harry will stay a couple of days before we send you back," Hermione said. "He'd love to see you again."

Sirius felt a little better, at least Harry would be a connection to home. As long as he wasn't coming to arrest him.

"I've got a few things to do this morning," she said abruptly, standing up from the table. "Are you happy to occupy yourself? I can put the telly on if you like?"

She went back inside and he followed. He hadn't realised there was a television here. She picked up a small black remote control and pointed it in the direction of a flat black glass rectangle on the wall. He'd wondered what it was yesterday, and decided it was just a weird bit of modern art.

The screen came to life, he'd seen tvs of course, in the windows of the shops in London, but they didn't look anything like this. The picture was so sharp it was like the people were right there, looking in a window at him.

"Woah!" He said, as a thumping beat filled the room and the picture showed a close up, barely-clad bronzed arse jiggling in time with the music. He couldn't drag his eyes away, or tell if he was horrified or turned on.

Hermione was giggling at his reaction. "Sorry," she said. "If it helps, lots of people nowadays think this stuff is crazy too."

There was a man on the screen now, dressed in a big puffy coat, surrounded by more beautiful, but terrifying, butt-shaking ladies. Sirius was finding it hard to blink. They were mesmerising. Was this how Veela looked in the future? Dark and voluptuous, moving in a way that didn't seem quite natural, all while the beat pounded on. How was this allowed on television in the middle of the day?

Then they were gone. Replaced with someone Sirius recognised easily, Joe Strummer from The Clash, although he didn't know the song. Or what a Casbah might be.

"Golden Oldies more your scene?" Hermione said, still sounding amused.

"Golden Oldies?" Sirius started to laugh too, shaking off the mesmerising magic of the music Veela. "Fucking hell, don't get me wrong, I like The Clash, but what is this shit?"

Hermione watched the screen for a moment. "It's one of their most famous songs isn't it? I don't know much about them, this one might be later though…" she shrugged, and passed him the remote. "Here, push those ones to change the channel," she pointed at two buttons with up and down arrows on them. "I'm going to get my jobs done."

"Okay," he said vaguely, sinking onto the sofa. Still watching the weird upbeat song being sung by a band he knew as punk. It was only slightly less disturbing than the butt dancers, much less erotic though.

Hermione left Sirius on the sofa, hoping that the television would distract him while she sorted something out. After twenty minutes of toing and froing from the car, and many levitation charms, she was done.

"I have a surprise for you," Hermione said, as she came back into the living room to find him still staring at the television.

"What happened in the 80's?" he asked in a dumbfounded voice, obviously not listening to her.

Hermione's mind instantly went to Peter's betrayal, James and Lily's death, and Sirius's imprisonment, and she didn't know what she was going to say, then she glanced at the screen, and started to laugh again.

"That's Mick Jagger and David Bowie," he said, horrified again. He blinked and looked at her, pointing at the telly. "Bowie maybe, but have the Stones broken up? What is he wearing?"

"I don't think they ever broke up," Hermione mused. "Actually, I think they did a world tour last year."

If Sirius had looked confused before, now he looked downright gobsmacked. "Are they wizards then? Wouldn't they be nearly 80? Muggles don't normally live that long do they? Or not long enough to do a world tour?"

Hermione shrugged, "Maybe they are wizards, would explain a lot about Keith Richards."

Sirius was nodding, his eyes back on the video. "It's not a terrible song," he said, "but what the hell are they doing?" He was laughing again as they danced off down the dark street. "Fucking mad," he said in disbelief.

Hermione was laughing too. It was a ridiculous video, one that had spawned decades of rumours about how close the two famous men really were.

"If you don't want to watch anymore, I have something to show you," she said.

Sirius looked instantly intrigued, and got up from the sofa at once.

"I wanted to say thank you, for listening yesterday," she began, feeling a bit self conscious. He was giving her his full attention now and it was quite intense to be the sole focus of those piercing eyes. "I haven't had many people to talk to in recent years, especially about my marriage. My best friend is also my husband's best friend, and my closest female friend is my husband's sister. It's a bit lonely really."

"I don't mind," Sirius said, a little smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

"Well, that's what I thought," Hermione agreed, leading him through the kitchen. "So I've got you something to do."

She pushed open the door that led to the spacious buanderie off the kitchen, obviously built in the days when one needed a lot more room to wash clothes, the old stand for the big copper boiler stood next to the deep cast iron sink in the corner. The modern washer and dryer took up only a small area on the far wall, and there in the middle of the cleared floor, was Sirius's wrecked motorbike. Hermione had used a summoning charm to make sure she collected all the bits from the road. It looked severely damaged to her eyes but Sirius didn't seem phased in the slightest.

"You did bring it!" He exclaimed, as he rushed into the room, and crouched down beside the black body, running his hand over the seat in apparent concern for its well-being.

"Thanks,'' he said, so earnestly that she smiled again, glad to have made him happy. "Can I have my wand back? I'll need it to get this fixed."

She had wondered if he'd ask for it again. She'd been surprised that he'd been so comfortable without it. She certainly wouldn't have been. She hesitated, she didn't know why it worried her so much.

"Do you really think we're not on the same team here?" he asked, almost sounding hurt. "You do know that if I wanted to leave, I would have done it by now? I'm very good at travelling undetected."

"Huh," she said, as realised what he meant. She had a sudden vision from twenty five years ago, of the big black dog, trekking quickly and easily up the side of a mountain in the Scottish sunshine, leading them to his Hogsmeade hiding place. She had completely forgotten that he was an animagus, how had that not occurred to her? He didn't need his wand to turn into a dog. He could run off at any time, covering a lot more distance than his human legs would allow, in the same amount of time.

"I forgot," she said, feeling foolish. It had been such a huge part of the interactions she'd had with him in her past: the Shrieking Shack, the cave in Hogsmeade, the hospital wing after the third task, walking to the train station when they went back to school at the start of fifth year, the loping happy mutt, bounding along beside them, chasing pigeons.

"Okay," she said, deciding on the spot. All of those things were still firm in her memory, whatever happened to him here, must have always happened. "I'll get it for you."

His bright eyes lit up. "Brilliant," he murmured eagerly. Then he turned away from her, and sank to the floor beside his bike again, picking up the smallest pieces of broken whatevers and beginning to arrange them in neat little piles.

Hermione went and retrieved his wand from the locked wardrobe in her bedroom. As she came back through the kitchen she saw that her owl, Doris, had arrived with a decent sized packet of letters with her. They were all bundled up neatly by Hermione's secretary. Holiday or not, the biggest department at the Ministry still needed running.

Sirius took his wand gratefully when she offered it to him, and held it on her just for a second. "So, do I get to stun you now?"

"I wouldn't,'' Hermione said sternly. He didn't reply, pure mischievous amusement dancing in his sharp eyes again.

She left him to his bike, concerned once more by the picture fixed in her mind. Surely it was normal to be a little distracted when there was an extremely good looking, shirtless flirt fixing his motorcycle in her washhouse?

Ridiculous she thought. The whole situation.

A/N: Thanks for the comments! And to K for her beta skills xx

Hope you enjoyed this foray into Sirius's mind. We'll be going there occasionally. See you next week xx