The crackling and grinding of the gravel beneath her tires was all she could hear when she turned off the main road into the unfinished parking lot outside the stone pub building.
She had been playing an old classic rock station, but had turned down the volume inside the cab of her vehicle the moment the old pub came into view. While the parking area was janky, what one could only call dilapidated, the rest of the sight was picturesque.
The building was constructed with old dark grey sea stones which held an everlasting sheen in the salty seashore air. Grass and heather adorned the rest of the property off to the side of the lot and the building, a whole field of heather and weeds filling the hilly countryside behind it.
She couldn't see the white foamy waves crashing into the rocks at the foot of the abrupt cliff to the left, but she could hear them and she could smell them after pulling into a makeshift spot and killing her engine.
She hadn't been here in two years, and for all she knew she wasn't welcome anymore; but Harry and Ron had invited her to a small get-together to celebrate Neville's official first job as a professor. Since she actually happened to be in town for the first time in while, she had decided to bite the bullet and come congratulate her old friend.
She opened her car door and stepped out onto the loose gravel, her heel crunching on the rocks with a sickening crack. She should have recalled this parking lot and chosen more practical shoes for the occasion. However, she didn't think it was unreasonable to have expected Sirius to fix the damn parking lot. It had been two years.
She shut the car door behind her, but instead of making her way to the pub door, she hesitated. The front of the establishment used to be lined with motorcycles of all shapes and colors. She recalled days where she and Harry had struggled to find a decent space on the weekends because of all the bikes and tattooed men and women adorned in leather and paisley handkerchiefs loitering, laughing and smoking, finishing up their beers.
In fact, on those busy days, the two of them would often find a secluded spot near the hill's summit to park the Dursley's old Volkswagen, and would laugh as they apparated into the outdoor stone restroom just behind the back door.
They must have reserved the whole bar today, she thought, because there were only cars in the lot and she couldn't rightly recall a single day this place didn't have at least five motorcycles.
She glanced at her watch, noticing it was only a quarter to five. It was still early.
It must be her nerves. The party wouldn't start until 8. She took in a deep breath and climbed back into the car, deciding she'd drive around the country side for a while and come back later.
"Hermione," she heard Harry call out to her from across the courtyard. "Wait up, hold on," he panted, sprinting to catch up with her.
"Hurry up, I can't wait around," she laughed, "my next class starts in half hour and I'm starving!"
Somehow, after the dust had all settled in the Wizarding world, Harry and Hermione had both found themselves enrolled in a muggle university.
It wasn't that they couldn't find jobs in the Wizarding world-- quite the opposite. Following Voldemort's defeat, the Ministry of Magic had practically offered them and Ron their choice of career, their choice of department and their choice of rank. Initially, Ron and Harry had been ecstatic to learn they wouldn't have to take the NEWTS, and had even laughed at the prospect of rubbing it in their old professors' faces.
"Said we'd never find a decent job without our NEWTs," Ron had chuckled. "Jokes on them, innit?"
Hermione, on the other hand, had been predictably affronted by the notion, finding it offensive to every other witch or wizard in their society who had actually had to work for their place in said society. So instead of taking the offer to work at the Ministry, she had returned to Hogwarts and finished her NEWTs. The following summer she confided in her friends that she was planning to earn a business degree in the Muggle world; it was what her parents would have wanted.
To both hers and Ron's surprise, Harry asked to join her. He said Dudley was beginning his own University coursework and after visiting with his cousin and learning about the program, he had found himself intrigued and wanting to learn more.
Besides, since Sirius Black had inexplicably tumbled back out of the veil at Christmastime, he and Harry had toyed with the idea of purchasing a bar together. They both thought it would be a good idea for Harry to take some business classes so they could have at least have some idea of what they were getting themselves into.
"Are you coming tonight," Harry asked out of breath, struggling to keep up with Hermione's rapid pace across the cobblestone.
She choked back a laugh and an affectionate roll of her eyes. Of course she'd be attending, but it was more fun to tease him, so she feigned ignorance.
"Coming to what, " she asked, voice as aloof as she could get it without going overboard.
"Opening night, Hermione," Harry cried, look so perfectly harried that she couldn't hold her laughter back. Her best friend only slumped in defeat when he realized she'd gotten the best of him so easily.
This was one of the first times in his entire life he'd actually put thought and effort into a project, a labor of love and excitement, instead of heroism. He was stressed out, in the best possible way, because he was excited and impatient, but above else hoping the entire thing would go without a hitch in order to impress his Godfather.
Sirius, however, was already impressed by the dedication Harry had shown to his own hairbrained idea. He and James had always dreamed of opening a pub once the war was over and Harry had wanted more than anything to make that dream come true for Sirius. He may not have James anymore, but he had Harry and Harry would make it the most successful pub on the whole northern coast, if it was the last thing he ever did.
Hermione thought it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen her best friend do, so she did all she could to help and support both these men in their quest. She had been the one to find the real estate listing for the old dilapidated building near the rocky shore in the highlands, and she had also been the one to help Harry and Sirius create their joint legal entity and open an account with a muggle banker.
She and Luna had been over at the pub every night helping Harry decorate the place while Sirius taught Fred and George how to mix drinks for their big grand opening. Hermione had even helped Luna post flyers all over the near village for the event.
"Stop worrying, Harry," she chided with a laugh as she nudged him with her shoulder. "It'll be fine! And of course I'm going! Wild Hippogriffs couldn't keep me away! "
The music had been loud all night, and the drinks were practically flying off the bar top. Hermione had actually had to remind Fred and George that charming the glasses was technically illegal since this was a muggle pub; at least on the weekends.
She watched closely as Harry and Sirius mingled with their patrons, introducing themselves to the locals and discussing possible future events such as open mic nights, talent competitions and pub quizzes. Taking out a palm sized tablet, Hermione jotted down a few notes herself, thinking it wouldn't hurt to keep track of some of these ideas.
As soon as she closed the tablet and tucked away her pen, a dull red sparkling drink slid down the bar top and stopped right in front of her. She raised an eyebrow when her gaze met Sirius's amused look.
He was dressed in new jeans and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. Hermione was impressed with the way he successfully hid most of his tattoos, considering this was his debut as a bar proprietor, a title with which tattoos would actually be considered appropriate.
He threw a white dish rag over his shoulder and crossed his arms, mirroring her look with a raised eyebrow of his own.
"Thank you, Sirius, but I'm not drinking tonight, " she yelled, attempting to be heard over the music and gaiety.
"Just try it," he ordered, just as loud, a smirk playing at his lips.
"I've got a study group in the morning," she countered, quickly adding, "but it looks delicious!"
Sirius rolled his eyes and quickly tied his hair back to the nape of his neck, exposing a faint ruddy pink on the apples of his cheeks - it must have been hotter than hades inside the bar that night. He pressed himself up against the inside of the bar top and leaned across the wood to converse with the witch at a more comfortable volume.
"Just taste it, pet. I made it specially for the studious witch sitting alone at my bar," he laughed.
Too afraid of somehow offending the man now, Hermione raised the straw to her lips and soon felt the refreshing chill fill her mouth. She swallowed the sweet cherry flavor and laughed.
"You specially made me a Shirley Temple," she asked incredulously.
"I like to call it my morning study group special," he scoffed, indignantly. Hermione chuckled, taking another sip of the sweet drink.
"How much do I owe you," she asked, fishing her wallet out of her purse. Sirius just held out a hand to stop her, shaking his head.
"You drink for free in here."
"Come on, Sirius. That's an awful business model; you'll never make a profit like that. "
He copied her earlier look of disbelief and cocked an eyebrow, casting a not-so-subtle look across the crowded pub.
"I don't think your morning study group special is really gonna upset my profit tonight, pet," he drawled. "Besides, Grenadine's a petty fraction of the cost of my good liquor. "
Hermione slurped down the rest of her drink, making the most embarrassing sound around the half-melted ice cubes at the bottom of the glass.
"Who am I to fight with the man of the hour," she asked with a grin.
"Usually the first in line."
There were only a handful of noticeable differences in this corner of the Scottish countryside since she'd last been there. A mess of trees had been cleared away in favor of a small housing development. Hermione was relieved to see the three houses seemed to remain agricultural in nature when she saw a small herd of sheep gnawing on the purple petals in the field.
While she'd grown to love the flat open farmland in the United States, green and gold fields of grain and corn had nothing on the wide purple expanses of heather throughout the highlands of Scotland. She was truly glad to be back.
With a Master's degree in business accounting in hand, Hermione finally felt free to start her life how she wanted, where she wanted, and with whomever she wanted.
For the past two years she had stayed in contact with Harry and Ron. Ron had settled down with Lavender Brown and was finishing his curse-breaking training with Bill. Unlike his older brother, Ron would be taking a post locally with Gringott's.
Neville and Hannah were expecting their first child. Hannah was beginning a residency at St. Mungo's and Neville had just accepted a post as Herbology professor at Hogwarts.
Harry had finished his bachelor's and moved on to running the bar full-time alongside Sirius. Business was good, he'd tell her in every letter. Business was good. Business, she knew, was code for Sirius. Sirius was good.
Yes. Hermione knew what she wanted, but being back in town had scared her. She worked hard and fast to finish up her American schooling so she could come back. But now she feared she might not be wanted back.
Not long following the grand opening, Harry and Hermione traded the University Library and campus cafes for a corner booth at the Moony and Prongs.
Weeknights weren't as busy, but instead hosted a healthy flow of patrons in a much more subdued chaos which made it comfortable for both students to eat a quick meal in the evenings and work through their assignments and reading.
Their table was always equipped with a fresh basket of steaming hot chips, glasses of water or fountain drinks, and occasionally, when they stayed fairly late Harry and Hermione would find themselves sitting side by side at the desk in the upstairs office.
Occasionally, Sirius would find both slumped over the desk, drooling on their textbooks. He hated to wake them, but he found himself apparating each of them back to their respective flats, knowing he'd have to put up with their constant whining over crickey necks the following day if they didn't wake snug in their own beds.
Sirius let both of them use the pub as the subject for their coursework projects. Financial experiments or accounting logbooks, events or new products (drinks) they could market; he gave them free reign.
"We haven't done a quiz night, yet," Hermione mentioned to Sirius one night, after the doors had locked and she and George helped clear off the tables.
She was sitting on a bar stool, small tablet opened, face up on the counter. Sirius glanced at her quickly and resumed drying the glass in his hand.
"That's because there's no one smart enough to come up with both questions and answers," George quipped, walking back out from the restroom, his work clothes folded in hand. "Unless you want to take the time to do that," he said, casually leaning up against the bar, rather close to Hermione.
"There are game sets we can purchase that come with everything needed already," Hermione explained. "I can research which ones would work best for our venue and compare prices and go over them with you and Harry." She was looking at Sirius who was dutifully drying another cup.
When he looked up he saw both Hermione and George staring up at him, as though expecting him to say something. He couldn't remember what they were talking about, though, as all he could focus on was how close George seemed to be standing to Hermione. He was looking away because he had felt it was inappropriate but didn't believe it was his place to say anything.
Instead, he stood there, mouth opening and closing as he raced to find words that wouldn't make him feel like a total ponce.
"You know I trust you, pet," he finally said. He turned to keep eyes on another wet glass while he watched George reach for a curl on the girls head from his periphery. He tried not to snap at the boy. When he heard a loud slap and George's hiss of pain, he looked back over to see the redhead cradling his hand and backing away; Hermione was still intently looking at Sirius. The older man grinned. "Just bring me the prices and we'll get planning, kitten."
She flashed him a bright toothy grin and made a note in her tablet. His heart nearly stopped as he realized he might be in massive trouble.
Eventually Hermione would start coming in alone, abandoning her usual corner booth for the lumpy couch she and Harry had found and placed off to the side, away from the more crowded end of the pub. There was a small coffee table in front of the couch where she would deposit her book bag and pile her textbooks.
Watching her sit there alone for the last few weeks hadn't sat right with Sirius. One night, after the bar had closed down again, he had thrown himself heavily into a corner of the couch, opposite of where she sat with a book in her lap.
"Does your new residence on my couch have anything to do with Harry's new girlfriend he won't tell me a thing about," he started. Hermione smirked and placed an old faded receipt between the pages of her book before closing it and placing it on the table. She turned to face him fully, leaning back on the armrest and pulling her knees up to her chest. She narrowed her eyes.
"I'm pretty sure this is my couch," she told him, teasing. "I paid for it."
Sirius leaned forward with a barely suppressed grin. "It's in my bar, pet. Under my business license," he pointed, directing her eyes to the framed certificate just above her own head. He watched her carefully as she leaned her head back to follow his directive. Sirius swallowed deeply and coughed, glancing away from the innocently exposed expanse of her throat, fighting away the decidedly not-innocent thoughts intruding on the moment.
"Besides," he said, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position in his corner of the couch, which suddenly seemed much smaller than it had a minute ago. "You know something about this new girl, don't you?"
"Mmhm," Hermione hummed, now resting her chin on her knees, fingers toying with her shoelace. She was biting her lips closed.
He unconsciously scooted closer. "Tell me, pet," he coaxed, catching a mischievous gleam in her eye when she looked back up at him. "What flirty muggle girl has my godson under her spell?"
Hermione let out a laugh, throwing her head back again, giggling. Tears of mirth had welled in her eyes and she released her shoelaces to wipe the moisture away. Sirius was undeniably entranced by the sight, begging himself to make her laugh like that again.
"Sirius," she finally hiccupped, "have you really not figured it out?"
The man groaned, covering his eyes with a single hand and using his middle finger and thumb to rub circles into the sockets. "Kitten, I hate being teased."
"You can tease mercilessly, but you can't take a small amount of teasing, yourself?"
He cracked an eye and leveled her with a look. "Not from you, pet." He watched in satisfaction as her laughter died and a dark blush rose up to her cheeks. He shut the eye and chuckled. "Just tell me. Is it a boy, not a girl? I don't really care, you know, I just need to know: the secrecy is killing me," he whined.
"Poor little Padfoot hasn't seen the most obvious coupling in the world," she giggled, far too entertained by his agony. "Fine! I'll give you a hint. But only one!"
Sirius sat up straight, presenting full attention. "I'm all ears."
"Why has George been working every night?"
"Because Luna asked for the month off," he responded automatically. Hermione raised a brow. Sirius raised two as it dawned on him.
"Harry and Luna?"
Hermione only smirked and nodded.
"Well, good on him! She's a bit strange, mind, but she's got a good heart."
A part of him, a hidden selfish part of him, was relieved Harry had found himself a girlfriend. He'd likely go barmy if Harry had ever expressed an interest in Hermione, which Sirius had feared for a couple of years now. He knew of push came to shove, he'd shove his growing feelings for the girl way down into the deep depths and carry on as though he wasn't unequivocally gutted.
He cleared his throat, curious and frightened; "what about you, Pet? Got your eyes on anyone at that school of yours?"
She snorted. "Not a chance. They're all a bunch of arrogant busy bodies, all set up to take over their fathers' businesses."
"So no one at all, then? Seems kind of lonely."
"Well, I didn't say no one at all, did I," she said, now hugging her legs tightly to her chest. "And even if he'd never look at me twice, it's really not all that lonely at all."
Sirius furrowed his brow in confusion. "Who'd be stupid enough to not give Hermione Granger a second glance?"
She huffed. "No one, not… well. He'll look at me, yeah, but he wouldn't seriously consider me… like that. You know?"
Sirius shook his head. "You don't want to deal with a total prat your whole life, Hermione. If he can't see what a catch you are now, you'd better leave the thought of him alone because his head is already too far up his arse."
She was giving him a very strange melancholic look. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning, as she leveled him with a fond gaze.
"I don't know. I think he may be worth it, eventually."
"Bullshit," he exclaimed. "You deserve someone who doesn't take an ungodly amount of time sussing out what he wants."
"I'm pretty sure he knows what he wants."
"And is it you? Godric, pet, he sounds like an arse."
She smiled then and laughed. "Oh he definitely is. I appreciate the advice, but I think I'll pass on it. Just this once."
He was irritated. He stood and stretched as Hermione began packing away her books and throwing on her jacket.
"Thanks, Sirius. You know I respect your opinion." She rose to her tip toes and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I'm trying to practice grace with him," she said softly, falling gracefully back down to her normal height.
Something inside him snapped; he reached out to take her waist in hand and brought his lips crashing down over her own. Startled, she pushed his shoulder back and when he opened his eyes again, he looked frightened.
Hermione smiled, though. "I knew grace would get me somewhere," she breathed, looking into his eyes and grinning brighter as a look of comprehension dawned on him for the second time that night. He grinned roguishly, but cradled her face with his hand and leaned down to press a much gentler, more deliberate kiss against her lips.
Hermione tucked her fingers in his hair, gently scratching her nails against his scalp in a way she knew he would enjoy, and sighed into the kiss. Sirius tightened the arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
They continued to stand there, embracing, long after they had ended their kiss, his lips resting in the curls at the crown of her head as she snuggled her face into his chest.
"Think Harry will be upset," Sirius asked, only half in jest. Hermione snorted inelegantly.
"He, Luna and George have a pool to see how long it'd take you to 'pull your head outta your arse,'" she finished in a voice eerily similar to his red-headed employee.
"Fuck."
The sun was setting now, and as Hermione approached the turn off again she smiled at the sight of a familiarly packed parking lot. Once again, a series of motorbikes lined the front spaces, and people were joyfully coming in and out the front door brandishing sloshing beers and exclaiming in delight.
This was the Moony and Prongs she recalled, filled with light, music and life. Among the bikes, however, was a single black 1979 Triumph Bonneville. She'd recognize that bike anywhere.
Again, she began to worry her lip, debating whether she should even be here tonight. Surely she should have gone in earlier, made peace.
"Sirius," Hermione screeched, hoping he could hear her over the roar of the engine and the harsh splashing of rain on the road. "Sirius, I can't see a bloody thing," she screamed.
"Hold on tight, love, we're going to have to stop at the pub, visibility is shit!"
She could feel the chill from the rain penetrating her bones despite the heavy leather jacket Sirius had dropped over her shoulders before she climbed onto the bike with him.
His own jacket was slick with rain, making it difficult for Hermione to find purchase and grasp. Thinking quickly, she reached halfway up the man's chest and found the tab of his zipper, pulling it down far enough she could slip her own clammy hands through and she could finally cling to the temporarily dry fabric of his t-shirt.
"We're almost there, darling," he yelled back at her, though she had pressed her head tightly into his shoulder blade to avoid the sharp cold rain on her face. She nodded slightly, fully aware he couldn't feel her movement.
As soon as the bike came to a stop, Hermione jumped from the seat and hurriedly cast an unlocking charm on the front door, breaking into the warm pub.
She quickly divested herself of the jacket and began fumbling around for her wand, casting drying charms on every bit of fabric she could find. She looked up only when she heard the door slam, to see Sirius pulling off his own shirt and tossing it near the roaring fire.
"Let me help you, Kitten," he muttered taking hold of her own sodden t-shirt and pulling it over her head to reveal a white cotton bra. Both stood still before they were compelled by the same cosmic force to crash together.
Hands and lips worshipped and pet every inch of available skin. Teeth nicked and gnashed at ears and necks and fingers pinched and clawed before the pair of them fell together onto the couch, leaving a trail of clothes, lips gasping, kissing, and loving at last.
From that evening on, the pair were scarcely seen one without the other unless Hermione was in class.
They were joined at the hand and by their lips most evenings, hardly a night passing where they weren't together in bed.
Nights at the Moony and Prongs were spent shooting each other secretive smiles and winks, often throwing the odd horribly suggestive pick up line at one another.
Much like before, if Hermione was studying, her corner would stay supplied with chips and often a burger or fish. When Sirius looked too serious, Hermione would put away the books and drag the man out onto the wooden dance floor.
Their friends watched with fascination, Ron and Fred often exchanging galleons while George and Harry picked up the slack behind the bar.
As Hermione edged closer and closer to end of her final semester, Sirius edged closer and closer to a local jeweler. When finals approached, Sirius pulled Harry into the office and showed him the brilliant ruby ring he'd chosen for his witch.
"Godric, I'm flattered, but I have a girlfriend, Padfoot," Harry said, voice dripping with regret as he shot his Godfather a grin. Sirius punched the young man's arm with a sarcastic "Har bloody har, kid."
But Harry merely hugged the man and gave his blessing, congratulating him and expressing his joy for his friend and his godfather.
The night of Hermione's very last exam, she arrived at the pub just as Sirius was beginning to lock up. He'd expected this, and had prepared by placing a rather important palm sized box in his pocket. Upon seeing her, he felt the box grow heavier and his nerves more restless. He cocked his head toward the door, indicating she should come in and take a seat.
She wrapped her arms securely around his neck and greeted him with a deep kiss.
"Hi," she said, pulling back a fraction to see his eyes glint with affection; a glint that always set butterflies rampant in her stomach. He grinned back and replied lowly, "Hello, my love. How was the exam?"
She grinned brightly then and softly exclaimed, "crushed it!" He pulled her back into a deep, congratulatory kiss, the ring burning a hole in his pocket. But it wasn't time yet.
He pulled away and spun her around, patting her rear playfully, and directed her to take a seat at the bar while he finished up. Hermione sat there, watching her partner move deftly between tasks, appreciating his movements and his face, committing every bit of this moment to memory. Because she had news she was excited about, but she couldn't be entirely sure how he was going to take it.
She cleared her throat. "Sirius," she called. He looked up and sauntered back over to her, leaning across the bar top, and giving her a chaste kiss. "Yes, darling?"
"I have something I wanted to talk to you about," she said. Sirius could sense she was nervous, putting him immediately on edge. He rounded the wooden counter and sat on a stool next to her, his right leg hidden in the shadows to obscure the sight of the ring box's bulge.
He took her small hand in his own, and she took in how utterly perfect her fingers looked while encased by his larger, tattooed fingers. "What is it, love," he asked softly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
"My advisor wants me to take on Master's study," she breathed, looking into his eyes to assess his reaction. His face brightened.
"Kitten, that's wonderful," he exclaimed, squeezing her hand.
"It's a two year program," she continued, wincing. "In the U.S. In Nebraska." She felt the air shift as he stiffened.
"There's not a program you can do here," he asked carefully, not releasing her hand. She shook her head.
"This is a beta program he and an American colleague are starting at a university out there. It's supposed to be really prestigious and it'll cover so many different aspects of running and managing all types of businesses," she explained.
"Kitten, that's great, it's good. I… I don't know how Harry will feel about running the place himself for a bit, but I trust him. We'll make it work."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Sirius, I wouldn't ask you leave the pub," she said, shocked. "That never even crossed my mind."
She realized too late that she had said the wrong thing. At her words, Sirius felt as though he'd been slapped across the face.
"You didn't think I'd come with you," he asked slowly.
"It's not that, I just couldn't ask you to leave--"
"Hermione, you weren't even going to ask me to go with you. To America. You thought you'd just go alone, for two years?"
"You love this place, Sirius."
"Hermione," he exclaimed, "I love YOU."
He had jumped from his seat, hand running through his hair as he returned to the business side of the bar and paced.
"I know, that, love, but--"
"But what? But you were just planning on leaving me behind. You didn't even-" he stopped, looking for the word, "Consider I'd be coming along? You were just going to take off for two years?"
"No, Sirius, calm down!"
He spun to look at her. He was running hot with confusion and hurt. He wanted to marry her and she didn't think he'd move across the world for her. She didn't think he'd move across the galaxy for her if she asked. But she clearly wasn't going to ask. She didn't need him, and she'd made it perfectly clear.
"Leave," he'd told her. She gasped.
"No," she protested, jumping up and slamming her hand on the counter. "No, Sirius! You don't get to do this. You don't get to retreat into your stupid self-pitying shell!"
He glared at her.
"I'm not planning on being gone for two full years, Sirius. I'll be back every chance I get, every break, every three day weekend-,"
"If you have it all planned already, why are we even talking about it," he snapped. "You could have just left and sent me an owl when you got there."
"That's ridiculous, Sirius," she chided, tears welling up in her eyes. She tried to hold them back, determined to make it out of this stupid argument without losing it. "Of course I'm discussing it with you. We're partners. I love you!"
"You love me, but you can bloody well leave me," he roared.
"I'm not leaving you, Sirius!"
"You've got this whole thing planned and scheduled and nowhere in that brain of yours did you consider I'd go with you," he accused.
"Stop it! Just stop yelling," she screamed. "I wasn't going to be selfish and ask you to leave this place Sirius, it's your life!" He saw red.
"It's my life," he laughed humorously, "You stupid- you! You are my-," but he couldn't get the words out. His thoughts were failing him in the midst of his hurt and anger. "If you thought it was asking too much for me to leave this place, what made you think it wouldn't be too much to ask me to leave you," he asked, defeated.
"Sirius," she said, tears welling up in her eyes again.
"Go." He rasped, turning away from her. "Go to America."
"Sirius," she tried again.
"Oh, and don't bother coming back." He slammed the door to the stairwell and she stood petrified, listening as his boots stormed up the stairs.
Those last words he had ever spoken to her were a constant ringing in her head. They played on a loop during the worst days of her Master program, and shoved through the joy on her best days, especially when all she wanted to do was share her successes and her failures with Sirius. She wanted to share everything with him.
Harry had assured her several times that Sirius had felt like an ass about what happened, constantly berating himself for running her off the way he did. But she wanted to hear it from Sirius, not from Harry.
However, she could barely blame him for cowardice when she herself had written the man over a thousand heartfelt and unsent letters. She had, during one particular session with her muggle therapist, realized where his hurt had stemmed from. She understood his pain, she understood what her own mistake had been. But she'd never plucked up the courage to let him know.
She stood in that familiar parking lot, two years and two months from the day she had tearfully walked out of Sirius's life and she was terrified of stepping back into that bar that had become her home for four solid years. Terrified of stepping back into his life. Absolutely petrified that he would toss her out again.
But she had to go in because this time, she wasn't leaving without him.
The music grew louder and the crunching grew quieter the closer she drew to the door. Without even reaching for the push knob, Hermione could hear laughter and the distinct sound of Ron exclaiming, "Bloody hell, mate," followed by another wave of raucous laughter.
She took in a deep breath and stepped into the pub, stupidly expecting the entire establishment to hush down to whispers the moment she did so. Instead, she was hit with a solid wall of noise.
Looking around, she found the group of her friends on the far end of the pub, huddled in a large corner booth that hadn't existed before she left. She saw her best friend before he saw her, but Ron had been standing near Neville at the end of the booth and nearly dropped his drink in surprise.
"Bloody Mary," he boomed, goofy grin gracing his features; she could tell he was already a few drinks in. "'MIONE!"
The sound of glass shattering across the floor came from her immediate right, and she stood still once more, eyes nearly doubling in size.
Forgetting to plaster a smile on her face, an unaffected facade, she spun toward the sound and was met by a hauntingly familiar set of slate grey eyes.
It was nothing like that movie, Sweet Home Alabama. The bar didn't go quiet. Drinking and gaiety continued undisturbed at their perimeter, but the world was silent for the two of them, as they stood like deer in the headlights before one another.
Finally, Sirius broke the silence.
"Been a long time since you came around," he stated, clearing his throat, emotionless.
"Back in town," she offered.
He nodded, glancing around the bar. She looked toward Neville's party; Ron was sitting with his head in his arms on the table being berated by nearly every other person sitting near him. Harry was doing a mighty fine job of pretending he wasn't intently aware of the situation at the counter.
Hermione turned her attention back to Sirius, searching for something, anything, to say to him.
"Parking lot's still blown to shit," she settled on. He grimaced.
"Haven't had time to really do anything about it, lo-" he stuttered, "love."
"When do you go back," he asked, giving up all pretense of being casual and unaffected.
"I don't."
He nodded awkwardly, fingers twitching at his side, as though looking for something to hold that wasn't there. Hermione wanted nothing more than to take that hand and hold it her own.
"I'm sorry,"
"I'm sorry," they said at the same time, both with a hint of desperation in their voices. Hermione laughed for lack of a better reaction. Sirius flashed an embarrassed smile and shook his head, looking down at the ground where the glass hadn't yet been cleaned up.
Hermione approached the bar top and slid onto a stool.
"When you leave again," he started, leaning on the bar with a hip, still staring at the shimmering glass.
"Sirius, I'm not,"
"Let me finish, pet," he pled. He took a deep breath, "when you leave again, I promise I'll let you come say goodbye."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Eventually you will."
"I'm not leaving without you."
He lifted his head and met her gaze. She had her familiar resolute look, a wall of stability, a sign hanging over it that read, "try me."
He couldn't stop it, so he smirked.
"Is that so?"
"It is. You'll have to kick me out on my arse, Sirius, and I'm being totally honest, you'll have to fight me out that door."
His smirk became a genuine grin. "Go take a seat, pet. I have things to finish up."
She nodded, standing to make her way toward her friends when she felt his hand wrap loosely around her wrist. She looked up at him to find him giving her a stern look, eyebrow cocked, smirk hiding behind pursed lips.
"Where you belong," he said simply jerking his head toward the wall behind her. Glancing in that general direction Hermione saw her favorite lumpy couch in the corner.
She grinned.
There's something, something about this place.
Something about lonely nights and my lipstick on your face.
Something, something about my cool Nebraska guy
There's something about, baby, you and I.
-Lady Gaga, You and I