A/N: So we now have another in the wonderfully all over the place universe of Sirius and Hermione. Sorry it's a bit short, depressing and unfunny. If you like it I might think of actually making the next post in chronological order and giving you a follow up!

Super props to whoever can tell me what song is playing on the telly when Hermione gets home. Hint: People my age would have grown up listening to this band on their parent's (and possibly their own) records. We are now slightly offended by try hard teens wearing their t-shirts.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.


St Mungos wasn't like most hospitals. There was a distinct lack of gloom, which Hermione found rather odd considering most people who were interned in the institution were in particularly dire straits. Also missing, was that smell that hospitals get. You know, that antiseptic-slash-latex smell that the muggle kind has in droves. This distinction certainly wasn't a bad thing, in fact it swayed her opinion back in favor of walking through the brown door on the other side of the corridor. Even if that also meant she would be walking straight into the path of certain doom.

In the narrow hospital bed lay Ron Weasley, and clasped in her slightly sweaty hand was a nondescript brown envelope. She was aware that he knew the divorce was inevitable. She was just feeling a little bad about handing him the papers while he was laid up with multiple broken bones and a possible brain injury.

She took a breath and ran her hands down the front of her skirt, the motion not only straightening out the creases, but also removing some of the sweat from her palms.

"Shit," she muttered, realizing she had crumpled the envelope a little with her movement. Her brain was definitely not firing on all cylinders.

"Mrs Weasley?"

Hermione Turned sharply and raised an eyebrow at the healer who had somehow managed to sneak up on her. She mentally berated herself for her lack of awareness and opened her mouth to snap at the poor woman, but snapped it shut again when she saw the look of apprehension and terror on the woman's face.

"Yes, healer Griffith?" She stretched her lips into what she hoped was a smile.

"I have some papers for you to sign, we need to administer a potion that may potentially cause long term side effects," the healer replied meekly.

"He's awake, can't he sign them himself?" She made a valiant attempt to keep the hostility out of her voice, but failed miserably.

"I'm afraid the cerebral healer hasn't deemed him fully capable yet."

"He was given the all clear an hour ago," Hermione rolled her eyes and clutched tighter at the envelope.

Healer Griffith shuffled through her clipboard and grunted when she got to a sheet of paper near the bottom of the rather thick stack.

"My mistake, Mrs Weasley. I'll just be a moment." She spun on her heel briskly and snapped the door open slightly more violently than Hermione thought was necessary for the usually mild mannered Healer.

She chose to sit back down on the uncomfortable wooden bench. Donated by Abraxas Malfoy she read, snorting at the irony. Trust the Malfoys to donate the least accommodating seat in the hospital, it was as if the former family patriarch knew that one day this corridor would be filled with the dreaded read headed scum.

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt briefly before opening the envelope and flicking to the pages with the little orange flags. Idiot, she thought to herself. You've checked this a thousand times, what makes you think that all of a sudden the ink's going to disappear? Shoving the papers back into the opening she stood and stomped to the vending machine at the end of the short hallway. The coffee was weak and unsatisfying, but it killed time as she waited for the door to re-open.

At last the misery was over and Healer Griffith exited the room stopping momentarily to address Hermione. "He's eager to see you," she said awkwardly.

"Thank you, Healer. I apologize for being so abrupt earlier."

"That's not a problem, ma'am. A loved one in pain is always a stressful time." She smiled kindly and excused herself.

Hermione stopped at the door with her hand on the door knob. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open determinedly and strode into the room, a panic bubbling up as she remembered the Healer's words.

Merlin, don't let him have any kind of amnesia.


A shaft of light sliced it's way through the doorway but Sirius chose to ignore it. He had been sitting in the same position for hours, briefly stretching his arm to top up his glass but primarily stared blankly at the music videos playing on the television. He quite liked the one playing at the moment, it summed up his own mood nicely. Also, the light show was pretty.

"Trust you to sit in the dark listening to metaphors for your life."

He bit his tongue and closed his eyes as the haunting voice cut through the darkness. Now that was a chorus. Or was it a bridge? He couldn't really tell. No, it was definitely a bridge.

"I have this on a record, you know. Mum used to play it to me when I was a kid all the time. She just about died when this gig finally came out on DVD." She gave a short snort. "I think she got about four copies for Christmas that year."

He finally turned his head in her direction as she dumped her purse and keys on the sideboard and winced at the clang of metal.

"Do you have to do everything so loud?" He turned back to the pretty light show.

"This is my house. I can be as loud as I bloody well chose mister home invasion over there."

He could hear her flicking her hands in his direction and in return tossed a rude gesture over the back of the couch.

"How did you get in anyway? I thought I had warded this place against jealous nutters."

"Because I'm not a jealous nutter, you promiscuous little slapper," he snapped back.

"My my, someone's a little tetchy. I didn't know it was suddenly a crime to visit one's husband in hospital." There was teasing in her voice and he was briefly irritated that she wasn't taking him seriously. She trailed a hand up his neck and over his head as she walked past and he grunted.

"Stop trying to seduce me Granger."

"If you don't want me to seduce you then why are you here?" Her blazer was coming off, the sound an unwelcome arousal.

"I don't want to be your rebound. I wanted to tell you that in person. Oh, and here's your spare key back. I didn't think you'd mind if I borrowed it for a few days." He continued to stare blankly at the screen, left index finger dangling the key over the back cushion. The man with the lovely voice was now playing an equally lovely solo on a cherry red and white Stratocaster. Her heels clicked toward the couch and he jumped a little when her hand swung over the back and an envelope was slapped against his chest.

"Open it." She walked into the kitchen.

"What's the point?" He rolled his eyes and tossed the envelope over his shoulder.

"You're supposed to be pleased," she replied arrogantly.

He responded by flicking the TV to a news channel and setting his glass down gently on the coffee table. Pushing himself slowly off the couch he started towards the door.

"You're not going to ride home are you? You've slaughtered that bottle."

He looked back at her and continued in his original direction. He didn't reach for the door handle however, instead leaning over slowly to pick up a paper bag that had been dropped next to the sideboard.

"What's that?" She was still being snotty and he was briefly enraged by her haughty manner. He hated himself sometimes for allowing her to play him like that Strat he had taken such a shine to, but he shoved the bag in her direction anyway.

Hermione gingerly lifted it to her face and peered inside, slowly reaching in as if she were expecting a tiny Blast Ended Skrewt. Sirius took little pleasure in the confusion that crossed her face when her hands finally clasped around the contents of the bag. Her nose eased even further into the opening and he snorted.

"Do you really think I would give you something dodgy?"

"The way you're acting tonight I wouldn't put it past you to put some superglue in the bottom, to be honest." She finally gave in and pulled the long thin object out and looked over at him curiously.

"I thought you could use it to sign, ya know? But I guess it's too late now." He took the now empty bag and crumpled it, tossing it toward the waste paper basket next to her desk. He turned back to the door, "G'night."

"Sirius, wait. I -" His hand paused, resting on the handle.

"Don't. Just leave it."

"You're not a fucking rebound, you dickhead."

"So you don't just see me as a toy. Play with it lots when you first get it but eventually the novelty wears off. Back to the crayons and hopscotch."

"Of course not. I -" he interrupted her again.

"Don't say you love me because we both know that's not true. You've barely even spoken to me in a month and every time I come by your office you're in some meeting or off gallivanting in some far flung country with Malfoy," he was gesticulating wildly now, arms whirling in all directions.

"What I was going to say was I've had to keep my distance. The last thing I need is Ron accusing me of adultery, there goes my no contest divorce and my salary for the next six months on lawyers bills." Her hands were on her hips now, voice slowly rising in both decibels and octaves.

"You know money's not an issue!"

"I don't want to deal with all the shit that goes along with the mess, Sirius! Why do you always have to be so fucking selfish!" She shoved him in the chest and his back hit the door, followed by his head. A flurry of snitches crossed his vision momentarily, but it quickly turned into a swarm as Hermione's lips pressed heatedly against his own, tongue taking advantage of his partially open-in-pain mouth. He briefly pondered pushing her away, but decided against it. As Usual, he thought ruefully before again being distracted by her deliciously tantalizing mouth.

"Angry sex?" She breathed, lips open against his own. He nodded emphatically and pushed away from the door, shoving her toward the sofa. She stumbled a little at the force but he caught her, tossing her on the soft cuishions.

"I love angry sex."