WARNINGS: Bad language, references to drinking/addiction, some violence

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows
Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together
Brighter than a lucky penny
When you're near the rain just disappears, dear
And I feel so fine
Just to know that you are mine
My life is sunshine, lollipops and rainbows
That's how this refrain goes
Come on, join in, everybody

"Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows" - Lesley Gore

The decisive click of heels on marble was an ice pick to her brain. The soft tinkling of music a million ants crawling across her skin.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Ron said dryly, leaning against the wall next to her. Hermione forced herself to breathe. When had the act of drawing air in and then pushing it out become such a manual process?

"What's that?"

Did her voice sound queasy? Were the words tinged a faint green, the same shade her skin had been before she slathered on enough makeup to drown an elephant?

Ron snorted and tossed back half a glass of sparkling water the same way a college coed would toss back a shot of tequila on spring break.

"You're hung over."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I spent all of my early twenties either drunk or hung over, Hermione. You can't fool a pro."

"I just have a headache. I'm on my period," Hermione replied, hoping to embarrass him into dropping the conversation.

"Right. Do you want to talk about it?"

"My period?" Hermione said, purposefully being obtuse. Inside though a part of her wept at the irony.

Nine years ago she'd been the one trying to get Ron to talk about things, trying to pry feelings out of him the way one forces a clam open, looking for pearls. And now, here he was, ready and willing, and she couldn't talk to him about it if she wanted to.

What was she supposed to say?

Every time she started thinking about the impending marriage law anger welled up within her so thick and hot it was as if her heart could no longer pump blood through her body. Her face and chest burned but her limbs felt remote, icy cold. Her mouth went dry and magic pooled within her, making her pupils dilate.

Hermione was resolute in her decision. She would not let them take anything else from her. Not her magic, not her freedom. Just the thought of being held down by a man and forced to spread her legs… it made her palms grow clammy and her stomach clench. Then came the anger. Fuck them. Really. Fuck. Them.

No, she would run. America was as good a place as any.

Whether or not she would seek asylum from their ministry was a different story. Hermione didn't want to be a pawn in anyone's game. She wasn't looking to fight another war. And if she came out against the British Ministry of Magic she knew she'd have no peace, not for a long time.

It might be better to simply disappear. Such a thing would be difficult, but it wasn't impossible.

These were the thoughts that had kept Hermione up all night. These were the thoughts that drove her to overindulge in alcohol, leaving her hung over for only the second time in her life.

And all of it made it ten times harder to keep her shields up, to occlude, which was even more important now.

So, all in all, Hermione felt like rubbish. Disgusting, week old trash sitting at the curb under the hot sun.

And she knew it was a bad idea to be here. A very bad idea.

She wasn't in any condition to smile and shake hands. In fact, she was pretty sure her smile looked more like a wild animal baring it's teeth in warning than a friendly greeting.

She realized, suddenly, that she'd been lost in thought for a very long moment and that Ron was looking at her expectantly.

Hermione felt herself flush.

"Sorry, Ron, what was that?"

"I said we can talk about whatever you like. You can't embarrass me, Hermione. You've seen me at my worst… so if you want to talk about your period, if that's really what you want to talk about, lay it on me."

"It's hard. Being back here. Especially right now." This was a shade of the truth, the tip of the iceberg so to speak.

"Yeah," Ron agreed with a sigh. They both looked around the room.

"I'm surprised you're here. Fundraisers for magical creature protective legislation don't seem like your cup of tea. Besides, aren't you supposed to be at training camp?"

"Jeez, mom…. How is it that I haven't seen you for nearly two years and you still know my schedule as well as I do?" Ron teased.

Hermione flushed again. It was true. She and Ron weren't close any more. Hadn't been for a long time, but she still kept tabs on him. She felt that she had to, that he was still, in some way, her responsibility. After all, wasn't there some Chinese proverb about if you saved a life you were then responsible for it?

"Sorry."

"You're not."

"No, I'm really not. You look well."

And he did. Ron looked… well sober, for one. The last time Hermione had seen him, he was in treatment, and he'd looked like death warmed over. Pale, washed out like sun bleached driftwood, and thin with hollow angry eyes.

"I came because I thought you'd be here. I heard you were back in town, and I knew if any event would lure you in it'd be one for oppressed creatures."

Hermione couldn't argue with that.

"I wanted to say thank you. And I'm sorry. I know I was a right git the last time you saw me. I was… I blamed you for making me face things I didn't want to face, but you were right. I did need help."

Hermione was quiet for a long time. She reminded herself to keep breathing.

Finally, "I'm sorry I went about it the way I did. It wasn't right to twist your arm like that. I was just—Merlin, Ron, I was scared. When I found you in that hotel room, for a minute, I thought you were dead, and I can't do that any more. I'm trying to let everyone find their own way, but I'm not very good at it."

At 24, Ron, star quidditch player for the Chudley Cannons, had gone on the bender to end all benders. It had ended with him in a seedy motel, passed out with dried vomit crusted on his face and shirt. Hermione had been the one to find him. She'd also been the one to dump him in an ice cold shower and tell him if he didn't go to treatment she'd ruin him. Tell all stories about his drinking, womanizing, and the minor crimes he'd committed, which had been covered up by the ministry and the Chudley Cannons, would be in every tabloid she could think of. Hermione had essentially railroaded him into treatment.

It had made her persona non grata at the Burrow and strained her relationship with Harry and Ginny. But at the time Hermione had felt, with a sort of righteous indignation, that it was the right thing to do.

The whole incident had also made Hermione realize something important about herself. She had a nasty habit of thinking she had the right to run people's lives because she knew what was in their best interest. If they didn't go along with her she cajoled, manipulated (as she had with Ron), or forced them (as she had with her parents).

It had been a wake up call for her. And so, while she was still keeping tabs on the people she had once cared about, she was actively trying not to meddle.

"I'm glad you did, Hermione."

Hermione looked at him, really looked at the boy she'd known for over two decades. His face was bright, eyes shiny. He looked happy and healthy. For a second, Hermione thought, idiotically, "everything is going to be alright." She smiled up at him.

And then she remembered the impending marriage law, and it took every ounce of strength she had to keep the smile on her face.

An hour later, Hermione knew she had accomplished all she could hope to at the fundraiser. She'd put in an appearance, which she was sure wouldn't go unnoticed by the Ministry. She'd given money to a good cause. She'd made up with Ron, which was an unexpected bonus.

Sure, she hadn't done everything she wanted to do, but the last remaining item on her to-do list for the evening had been a long shot. Something she'd have to put off for another day.

The thought of kicking off her shoes, dropping her shields, and scrubbing the makeup off of her face was enough to make Hermione's heart feel a little lighter. She imagined her front door closing and the wards rising around her, sealing her safely inside, and it felt like that first drink of cool water after a long, hard run.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy.

Hermione was waiting in line for the apparition point, which was seemingly a mile long, when Sirius approached her.

"Hermione."

"Sirius."

At first she thought that'd be it. He'd acknowledge her existence and move on. That'd been their MO, barely saying more than handful of words to one another, since Harry and Ginny's engagement party nine years ago. But, again, it couldn't be that easy.

"Might I have a word?"

"Perhaps another time. I've got a bit of a headache," Hermione begged off.

"It'll only take a second, and I'm sure this lovely woman won't mind holding your place in line?" Sirius said, brushing her excuse aside. The woman behind Hermione, of course, readily agreed.

Regardless, Hermione thought about refusing him. She had no incentive to make Sirius Black's life easy nor any desire to speak to him

"Fine."

"Thank you."

She brushed past him without comment.

They stopped a little ways away from the line, near the front door. Hermione leaned against the wall, watching the smear of lights against the night sky over his shoulder.

"Hermione, I wanted to talk to you about… something—"

"Apparently."

"Right, well, I wanted to know if you'd like to get dinner some time… and catch up."

Hermione went very still. In fact, it seemed like time itself slowed down to a trickle.

"Dinner? With you?" It sounded abrupt even to her own ears and again, Hermione did not like making a scene, but it was hard to care about that when she was talking to Sirius. She straightened to her full height, spine stiff to create as much distance as possible between them. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd put herself against the wall and let Sirius kind of cage her in.

"I know we've had our differences, but that was a long time ago. I thought we could catch up."

Hermione stopped herself from snorting, barely. "Differences" was one way to put it.

Since the night of Harry and Ginny's engagement dinner, Hermione had had very little contact with Sirius, which was perfectly alright by her. However, distance and time had not made the heart grow fonder. Nine years later, she still found him as distasteful as ever.

He was standing too close to her. Talking to her in that soft voice, the way you'd handle something delicate. As if she were damaged, liable to break at any moment.

From what she had seen in the papers and heard from others, he was still hanging around, hanging on to Harry. Desperate to be relevant. He didn't really do anything. He didn't work or contribute. He just siphoned. Siphoned glory, fame, money, energy. He prayed upon Harry's deep seeded desire to build a family. Hermione wanted no part of it.

There was something about Sirius Black that she simply didn't trust. It was the same way that most humans are instinctively put off by spiders and beetles. There isn't necessarily a rational reason for it… something in our lizard brains just says "no."

"The last time we really spoke, you said I was jealous of my best friend's happiness and failing to be a proper role model. I insinuated that I could get away with murdering you. Since then, I've left my teaching position at Hogwarts, trained in potions all over the world, damaged most of my close relationships by forcing Ron to go to treatment, as you well know, and have worked on formulating several new potion recipes. There, you're caught up."

"Hermione, I don't know what I've done to agitate you so…. " He reached for her arm. Hermione drew back.

"Well, again, you accused me of jealousy and of not trying. You also minimized the trauma I suffered during the war by telling me how we 'all' went through things."

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." He didn't sound particularly sorry. He sounded condescending, as if she had misread the situation. As if she were being overly dramatic.

"Why do you want to have dinner with me?" Hermione asked bluntly. He wanted something. She was sure of it. She had no intention of helping him, but she wanted to know what it was.

"Hermione, the day may come when you need a friend—"

"I have friends."

"—or perhaps more than a friend," he continued as if she hadn't interjected. Hermione could feel her stomach starting to drop. It's was like being a roller coaster, when the car just starts to tip over the edge. That freezing moment before the fall.

"More than a friend?" She had to force the words out of her mouth. They tasted metallic. Her head gave a plaintive throb.

"Hermione, there may come a time when you need someone to… when you need a partner." He was looking her right in the eyes and she could swear that she saw a glint of amusement there. Amusement mixed with triumph.

Hermione knew then, with a sickening certainty, that Sirius Black knew about the marriage law.

She instantly tightened her shields, squeezing them around her mind until it felt as if her brain would suffocate. Not even air could permeate the barrier. She didn't know if she'd ever occluded this hard. She felt a burning behind her eyes.

"A partner?"

"It may sound… odd, at first. I'm sure you've frequently thought of me as a father figure just as I've thought of you as a daughter. However, you've grown into a beautiful, incredible woman, and I think in time we would find a common ground, a mutually beneficially arrangement. My dear, I've never wanted anything other than for you to be happy. I can't imagine… I couldn't allow you to be in a situation, forced into a circumstance, so to speak, that prevented that—"

Even as she was gathering her strength, synapses sending messages to her muscles, Hermione knew it was a bad idea. A very bad idea. However, she didn't care. Really, she should be applauded for holding back. She could have done so much worse to him in that moment.

Hermione Jean Granger balled her fingers into a fist and punched Sirius Black in the face.

In the nose to be more specific.

She did it in full view of everyone.

Without a word, she spun on her heel, strode directly to the front of the line, and aspirated away.

As soon as she got home and the wards closed around her, welcoming her with a soft buzz, she dropped her shields and screamed.

When she ran out of air, when her throat closed tight around the sound, she squeezed her eyes shut and made a decision. One that she hoped wouldn't be as bad as her last decision.

She went to her desk, pulled out a piece of parchment, and began to write….

Severus,

You said if I ever 'decked' Sirius I could write to you again…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to everyone who took the time to review chapter 1! Your feedback is much appreciated. I'm looking forward to hearing what you think about this chapter.

The song for this chapter was inspired by "The Umbrella Academy." There's an episode where two characters have a knock down, drag out fight and this song is playing. I loved the juxtaposition of the campy music with the violence/bad mood. I thought it'd work well here.

By the way, if you want to read conversation between Hermione and Sirius that happened at Harry and Ginny's engagement party, it's chapter 7 of "Letters to the Dead."

Have a lovely week everyone!