Summary: All Hermione wanted was a night of fun. Instead she got a rock star. No magic, all Muggle. Modern era. AU.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Betaed by the lovely TheUnrealInsomniac

Pick

Intro: Avada Kedavra

Sia - Chandelier

She was dying.

There was no other explanation for the overwhelming pain she was currently experiencing.

Really, she was in the lowest circle of hell. This, Hermione knew, was what Dante had tried and failed to describe because words for this level of torment could not possibly exist.

Her mouth was dry. Her head was aching and her stomach churned in the most disgusting way.

She wanted to vomit and she sat up straighter, her eyes shot open as she took deep breaths. Thick streams of saliva coated the back of her throat and her eyes watered as she began to gag.

The brunette shut her eyes. Mind over matter she told herself. She'd never vomited while drunk and she was hell-bent on not breaking that record. It was a matter of pride and honour. Being sick was not an option.

Deep breaths. Mind over matter.

She was in control.

It took her longer than usual but thankfully she managed it in the end. She wouldn't have to lose her title as Queen of the Drink nor would she have to lie to keep it. Having a naturally high alcohol tolerance wasn't much of an achievement but it guaranteed one of two things, a certain level of respect from her mates and the unlikely chance that she'd make an arse of herself. Usually it was her telling tales of people's embarrassing drunk misdeeds.

This time however, she had a horrible sinking feeling she'd fucked up.

Damn Vegas. Damn New Year. Damn alcohol.

Going by the unholy headache she was having, she'd gotten well and truly pissed.

She tried to recall what she'd done and drank only to come up empty.

The last thing she remembered was dancing with the twins and Lavender as the countdown to the New Year began. Parvati had been in charge of getting the bubbly for midnight and had come back with a bright green liquid in a test tube instead. A black and yellow hazard sign on the long glass. It'd looked like absinthe and when a drunk Lavender had complained, the eldest twin had defended her choice in drink.

It's not absinthe, she'd shouted over the rapidly growing noise and excitement. It's that new drink that's been all over the news. Avada Kedavra, The Killer Drink? The one that people are trying to make illegal.

'Avada Kedavra,' she groaned under her breath, her face scrunched up with regret and shame.

And pain.

A lot, a lot of pain.

Her head was pounding. Even her teeth were throbbing and Jesus-fucking-Christ was she thirsty.

Never again, she swore. If this was what rebellion felt like then she would have no more of it.

They'd all taken their respective shot when midnight arrived and had then proceeded to be kissed by every person within arm's reach.

The alcohol in her system potent, successfully numbing the fear of potential STDs as lips and tongues were smooshed against her own ... and that was it. That was the last thing she remembered.

Being snogged by drunk Americans.

Charming.

Hermione opened her eyes and leant against her cushioned seat with a frown. She did not like this blacking out thing. If indeed it was that. She highly suspected it but she wouldn't know, she'd never been that level of drunk before and had never experienced this.

The brunette shut her eyes as her body began to demand rest. Her seat was far too comfortable to ignore and the hum of the plane only encouraged the idea. She ran her hands over the soft leather of her armrests, a small smile pulling on her lips. First-class really was spectacular.

Hermione's eyes shot open.

She was on a plane.

She didn't remember getting on it.

Dark brown eyes scanned her surroundings and a startled gasp escaped her. This wasn't her flight home. It wasn't even a commercial airplane.

She was in a fucking jet.

The brunette swallowed thickly as she took in the empty champagne bottles and festive streamers lining the floor. Her panic built as her confusion grew.

Lavender's dad was rich and though he'd gifted her an all-expenses paid trip to Vegas for her twenty-first birthday, he'd drawn the line at a private jet.

Also, all three girls were missing.

'Hello?' she called out, her voice timid and unsure.

'Hey,' murmured a soft voice behind her.

The brunette shot to the sound with dizzying speed. 'Ow.'

She slammed her eyes shut. Everything was spinning too damn fast. Her need to vomit was growing by the second.

'Deep breaths baby. C'mon,' said the same voice.

His encouragement followed by a gentle massage on the back of her neck. She shouldn't have allowed it. Technically, when a stranger is pawing at you it's best to push said person away. That was the proper protocol. Instead, Hermione bowed her head, giving him more room to work with.

She allowed it for a bit longer until her mind started screaming at her. Desperately trying to knock some sense into her hungover brain, telling her how wrong it was to let some strange man give her a neck rub. No matter how good it may have felt.

Either way, right or wrong, the bloke had skills. Hermione'd always snickered when she read passages from a book where a girl purred from a well-placed touch but now … she didn't think it completely idiotic.

Her saviour rubbed a particular spot with his thumb and she saw stars. A moan was ripped from her throat. Low and guttural. His movements stopped, his fingers gripped her neck and that's when logic and common sense finally kicked in.

She raised her hand and with a soft nudge, she pushed away his gloriously firm but gentle fingers. Internally, she wept at the loss.

Reason was a pain in the arse sometimes.

Hermione peeked over her seat, to the man with magical hands who was currently rubbing his eyes.

He was beautiful. Really, there was no other way to describe the fine specimen of man before her. Long, wavy, black hair that reached down to his neck. High cheekbones covered by stubble. Full, smooth lips and tattoos.

Lots and lots of them, as far as the eye could see and she could see plenty considering he was shirtless.

Heavily tattooed arms, blue roses on one hand and skulls on the other. Black and grey with sporadic bursts of colour littered his chest and lean torso, across his stomach and holy hell, he had a treasure trail.

A path of dark hair leading downwards and full of promises. A blush threatened to form and she looked away before her study of him turned into obvious eye-fucking.

Her eyes shot to the bloke's face and she suppressed a sigh of relief. He hadn't caught her eyeing him. Thank fuck for small favours.

Tired eyes, tinged pink ran over her face and hair. Knowing her curls in the morning, she had a rat's nest atop her head. She would've been embarrassed under normal circumstances, would have tried to tame the thing but she was otherwise occupied with the shitstorm she'd found herself in.

'Good morning,' he said, a lazy smile on his face.

He pushed back his fringe and her eyes narrowed in recognition. He looked so damn familiar.

She'd never known someone like him though. Definitely not some tattooed bloke whose long hair, low slung jeans and designer briefs screamed bad boy.

Hermione's eyes darted over his face and her mouth fell open as her eyes grew wide.

She slammed her eyes shut and her mouth snapped closed. She shook her head.

'No fucking way,' she muttered.

A slow chuckle broke the strained silence and a shiver ran down her spine. Hermione pushed back her fringe as she set startled eyes on the man lounging before her.

A sparkle of light caught her attention as she lowered her hand and gave her pause. Her mouth fell open.

'Holy shit!'

A huge rock sat on her left ring finger.

The digit that implied marriage.

As in married.

On her finger.

Someone was taking the piss.

In one swift move, the ring was off and she lobbed it at him. It rebounded off his chest and landed at his feet. He picked it up and after studying it, the bloke bit it like she'd seen in films.

The stranger was a certified moron. If that was a diamond he'd break his teeth.

'Huh,' he said. 'Guess it wasn't a prank then.'

Her gaze snapped back to the bloke and her mouth slammed shut, rattling her teeth. He sat up and leaned in close as her breath caught in throat and a strangled moan escaped her. Now that she saw his face more clearly, she knew exactly who he was.

'What wasn't?' she asked him with an increasing sense of dread.

A paper filled her vision. Brightly coloured and extravagant, she read it's heading and her vision swam. Marriage Certificate.

No.

Her eyes darted to the signatures and she lost the ability to breathe.

Fuck no.

Hermione pulled her hair back trying to make sense out of all this.

'Oh shit,' he laughed, eyebrows up and a smile curling his lips.

She glared at him but he didn't notice. Grey eyes studied the paper in his hands and that panic she'd been holding back started to break through.

They were married?

No way.

Fucking hell it was impossible.

She was hallucinating.

She had to be.

Because there was no way in hell she'd gotten drunk and woke up married. To him of all people.

She was still drunk. Or dreaming! Yup, that was it.

Hermione rubbed her eyes and even bit her tongue for good measure. She blinked. Once, twice, three times and nope. He was still there. Staring at her with a rapidly growing scowl.

Sirius Black. Lead guitarist to the world famous Marauders.

'What?' she asked him, growing anxious the longer he stared at her that way.

She frowned when she realised he was glaring at her chest. Hermione fought the urge to cover herself, refusing to be embarrassed by him.

It'd taken her years to feel comfortable with her body and she was not going to allow all that hard work to be ruined by a single look. She may have been more hips and bum than breasts but she was finally at a place where she liked the way she looked and she would not permit some man to change that. No matter how rich and pretty he was.

Before she could ask again, he started running his hands over himself and he just as quickly stopped. His eyes grew wide as he rubbed at his neck. He flinched and shot out of his seat before she could blink. He pulled at a door and darted inside.

'What the fuck?!'

Hermione lowered herself to her seat, eyes wide and her heart pounding. His sudden change in demeanour was startling. She'd heard stories of crazy rock star moments and tantrums, this had to be one of them.

She scratched at her collarbone and flinched at the sudden burning sensation. With a frown, the brunette picked up a spoon and her mouth fell open.

There tracing the curve of her collarbone was a name in fancy cursive. Dark ink, surrounded by pink skin.

Sirius.

Without a thought as to how it'd happened she found herself facing a mirror, Sirius Black behind her staring at his own tattoo. His hair pushed back, revealing his neck with its own fresh ink.

Hermione.

The same lettering but unlike her simple one, his tattoo was embellished with Hermione roses.

Her mouth opened and closed. Faint noises escaped her and her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. All the while he continued to stare at her through the small mirror in the loo.

Hermione gave a startled gasp and jumped when the Marauder threw his head back and laughed long and hard. He clutched at his gut as tears began to roll down his face. His bark like laughter echoing in the small ro... she froze.

That's right, they were on a plane. She'd almost forgotten.

'Where the fuck are we?' she asked and flinched at her screeching tone.

It was highly possible that she was starting to freak out. That only set him off more.

'On a jet back to England,' he finally answered.

The grin on his face was grounds for murder. No one would dare convict her. She pushed him out of the way, needing more room to breathe. Outside the small windows, a vast ocean of clouds and a horizon of endless ocean met her eyes.

International waters. It'd be easy to dispose of the body. She needed answers first though.

'Why are we going back?'

'Don't know. I woke up about an hour ago and I asked the pilot. He said I said England, so yeah ... Who are you?'

His question, while reasonable, was a bit insulting. Also worrying because she'd married him and he didn't know her name.

If they indeed were married. The ring and paper and tattoo all said yes but still. There was no definitive proof.

He was staring again and she stared right back, too stuck on stupid to reply.

'Right. Well you know who I am and since I don't know how to fucking say your name, assuming this word on my neck is your name and as you obviously can't talk, we'll call you baby.'

That brought her back.

Hermione's eyes turned to slits. 'Call me baby and I will fucking end you.'

Dark eyebrows shot upwards and his laughter started all over again. Hermione's head throbbed at the sound. She flinched, acutely aware of her aches and nausea which had been mostly ignored due to extenuating circumstances.

Shaking hands smoothed down the front of her dress. Black, slinky and shimmery, it was low on the front and backless. It was the most daring thing she'd ever worn. Men and women had stared and she'd felt damn good in it last night. Now in broad daylight, not so much. Brown eyes looked past her hands and its ring, to her bare feet. Expensive high heels nowhere in sight. Borrowed expensive heels. She hoped Lavender didn't mind. She frowned, intent on looking for them and gasped at the sight before her.

The private jet was trashed. Everywhere she looked she found evidence of hard partying. Bottles of champagne and vodka littered the floor. Bottles with corks that resembled potions sat all over the place, bright green liquid at their base.

'Yeah. We got fucked up. I don't know about you kitten but I will never drink that shit again. Killer Drink my arse, fucking mind eraser more like.'

She agreed wholeheartedly but was not about to say so.

'Don't call me kitten,' she hissed, turning her head to look at him.

Again, his eyebrows disappeared into his fringe.

'Why the fuck are you mad?' he asked her. His voice shaking with amusement. 'You're the lucky one in this. I'm the one who married a fucking groupie.'

A groupie.

She studied her husband's face and blinked at the honesty in his eyes. He wasn't lying. To him, that was all she was. Even though she technically wasn't.

He was right though, she did know who he was. His pretty face was plastered all over Lavender's bedroom walls because the bloke was fuckable. His band had been famous for years. Their loud and senseless music a constant noise played on the radio, their faces always on the damn news because one of them did something crazy and wild because sex, drugs and rock n roll. Blah, blah, blah. She was not impressed.

She knew who he was alright, but she was not a fan. Much less a damn groupie.

Hermione knew one or two of their songs and had vague knowledge of their names and faces. Really the only one she was sure of was Moony, the drummer. Even then she only knew him because he was the one on the news the most. Being labelled the wild one in a group of crazy wankers made him stick out apparently. Also because it was a well-known factoid that he had a thing for howling at the full moon. Fucking nutter.

According to Lavender, he too was shaggable. Then again, her favourite member changed on a bi-weekly basis. By her account, all four boys were knickers dropping hot.

The thought gave her pause and Hermione frowned as wild, unseeing eyes searched the cabin. Her whole focus centred on her physical aches.

She didn't feel any different. Nothing felt sore and there was no discomfort beyond her head. Hermione clenched her vaginal muscles, swallowing the lump in her throat.

There was no pain. The likelihood of them having had sex was small. But still.

'Did we have sex?'

The amusement in his eyes set her on edge and her tears welled up hard and fast. She didn't remember it and what's worse, she'd lost her virginity to him.

'Shit! Don't cry,' he said, his voice panicky. 'If you want to fuck, we'll fuck but please don't cry.'

He reached for his zip when his words registered and she shut her eyes, backing away from him. Her hand outstretched, blocking that from becoming visible to her poor virgin eyes.

She'd never seen a penis in real life before and the last thing she wanted was for his to be the first.

'Stop,' Hermione yelled. Relief coursing through her when he did. 'Did we, yes or no?'

The Marauder frowned as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a string of condoms. Several bit of paper fell out as he did but he paid them no mind as they littered the floor around him.

Sirius looked up at her shaking his head. 'I don't think so. They're all here and I don't touch anyone without one of these. No matter how drunk I get.'

Thank fuck, they hadn't fucked.

Her highly prized and cherished virginity was still hers to give away when and to whom she saw fit.

'Oh thank God,' she laughed. Her relief immeasurable and infinite.

'Wait ... you're happy I didn't fuck you?'

She laughed long and hard because yes she was. His insulted tone only managed to set her off more. She knew it was a mixture of nerves and humour that was setting her off but she didn't care. They were a welcomed relief. Happy tears were better than frustrated and scared ones.

Eventually, after her cackling stopped they sat down to talk and make sense of their ordeal.

Sirius, though he was as clueless as her, had been active since he'd woken up.

According to the pilot, they'd seemed pissed but nothing too extreme. Some stumbling and slurring but nothing to justify this level of fuckery. They'd seemed almost normal if a bit drunk.

Her husband didn't remember anything either but he, unlike her, still had his belongings with him. Upon waking he'd fired off calls and texts trying to figure out which of his mates had set him up only to find that no one had done anything. This fuck up appeared to be theirs and theirs alone. After several confusing calls and angry texts from his manager, information was forthcoming.

Yes they were married. Yes their quickie Vegas wedding counted as a legal one and yes it was valid in the UK as well. No, no one knew why the hell they were on a jet back to England. Yes shit would be sorted by the time they landed. Yes the media was aware of it and yes, her flat was surrounded.

Shitstorm did not begin to cover it.

'Hermione. Stop worrying,' he said for the hundredth time.

Leg shaking and fingernail clasped firmly between her teeth she turned to him. 'Are you sure this'll all be settled by the time we land?' she asked for the hundredth time.

The Marauder nodded, reaching over to lower her hand. 'Yes. The lawyers are on it. The second we land, we sign the annulment papers and you'll be rid of me Mrs Black.'

She gave him a sad little smile because she didn't really have a real one to give him.

The way he said it made it sound so simple. Sign papers, shake hands and okay, bye. It wasn't that easy though, her parents would make sure of it.

Hermione had never caused them problems. She was a model student, almost always top of her class. She did not break rules and always did as she was told. She was a good girl who somehow still managed to disappoint them.

Her life had been planned long before she'd been born and shed fallen in line magnificently. Go to school, sixth form, university and excel. Become a dentist, apprentice under her parents for a few years and gain experience. Run the family business once they retired. Somewhere along the line she was expected to marry a dentist and produce more dentists.

Perfect plan for the only child of Doctors Granger.

Her first act of rebellion had been going to a university they had not approved of because it was in London. That she shared a flat with her friends was another. They'd disapproved and three years later, they still refused to let it go.

This was not going away any time soon, if it ever did.

She'd only wanted one night without pressures or responsibilities.

Hermione lowered her hand again. Her nail had somehow managed to find its way back into her mouth. Dark eyes studied the man sat on her right.

His hair hid his features as his bowed head read over the words written in his journal. A pen on his right hand, his foot tapping away to a tune only he could hear. As she watched him, he started to write again.

Turned out he was the writer of the group.

He'd been surprised when she'd started asking questions about basic band knowledge. That she didn't particularly like his band had amused him to no end. After a while, he'd pulled out his journal and began to write.

She had limited knowledge about his music, knowing only two of his songs. Burnt Daydreams and another that she didn't know the name of but whose lyrics were vivid in her mind because of the chorus.

This is all I am and I can't be more.

Can't you see? Can't you see? Can't you see?

This is me.

She'd never admit it but that song had hit a nerve. As far as loud and angry songs went, it was a brilliant one and she'd told him so. His smile had been beautiful and sincere and she'd returned it. Grey eyes had darted across her face before lowering once again, disappearing into his writing world.

Their conversations grew steadily warmer. He told her about life on the road, told her funny stories about his band mates and of his music. His passion had been beautiful and jealousy had burned in her chest.

In turn she'd told him about her planning to become a dentist and her friends. She'd felt boring but he'd listened and asked questions like he'd actually found her interesting. Which was ridiculous of course. He was a world famous rock star and renowned guitarist. In comparison, her pathetic little life was vastly underwhelming and bland.

It was gone four in the morning by the time they landed and true to his word, everything had been sorted.

After a speedy read through, annulment papers were signed and that was it. Stood in a hanger, shoeless, unwashed and exhausted she officially became a twenty-one year old divorcee. Not something she'd expected but whatever, it was over.

To her great relief, a private car had been set aside to take her wherever the hell she wanted.

Somewhere other than her flat had been encouraged. It was surrounded by reporters and fans alike who wanted to meet the woman who'd married a Marauder.

The last twenty-four hours were a blur and she wanted nothing more than to be home hiding under a blanket, but that was wildly out of the question. Realistically, it'd never been an option.

She hoped the girls were okay. She'd sent them emails using Sirius' mobile but they'd not replied since the last time she'd checked. Hopefully, they hadn't done something as equally stupid as this.

Hermione nodded at the Marauder who wasn't as wild as he'd made out to be. Cocky and smirky definitely, but he wasn't so bad.

Hermione turned to the tall bloke whose air of mischief and constant amusement had yet to waver. She took off his leather jacket and handed it to him. He'd found it earlier in the day and had insisted she wear it, opting to remain shirtless. He didn't take it however and her hand lingered in the empty space between them. Instead, his eyes flitted over her body in obvious appreciation. Hermione fought the urge to squirm.

Sirius eventually shook his head. 'Keep it.'

'I can't. It's yours.'

'You can and you will. Please.'

She put the jacket back on. She was too tired and mentally exhausted to argue.

Hermione reached out her hand to him, smirk in place, he shook it.

Warm metal fell into her palm. It was the ring. The brunette blinked up at him. 'What are you doing?'

'Keep it,' he urged her. 'Sell it if you want.'

'I can't. It must've cost a fortune!'

He shrugged, like money wasn't an issue. Then again, she realised, he was a rock star so it wasn't.

It was non-negotiable though, she couldn't keep it. Hermione stared him down as she set it on the annulment papers.

'Okay, have it your way.' Sirius smirked and shook his head. 'It was a pleasure meeting you Hermione.'

'Likewise Sirius. Good luck with your music.'

'Good luck with your dentist stuff.'

A parting nod and she walked away, towards her waiting ride. She turned to look at him once more before climbing into the black car. She found him staring after her and as their eyes met, a slow grin formed on his lips. He winked at her and she shook her head. A closed lipped smile, a parting wave and that was it.

Her short-lived marriage was over and it was time to go home. Back to Godric's Hollow. Back to her mum and dad to face the music.

One year later...

'Your ex-husband is on the news again,' her mum said as she fought the urge to cringe.

She knew. She'd seen the morning news.

He'd gotten married and divorced for the sixth time and she couldn't help but think that he was a fucking mess. Likewise she was equal parts ashamed and relieved at having been the first ex-Mrs Black. The first implied accident, anything beyond that was foolish intent. Almost all his wives had been groupies and not a single one had lasted a week.

From the corner of her eye, she saw her mum shaking her head before walking away. Hermione sighed.

The media attention she'd received at first had been the worst but it paled in comparison to her parents' continued reactions and passive aggressive remarks.

She heard her mum head upstairs and she raised the telly's volume as the sound of rushing water filled the house.

She was half-way through an episode of Red Dwarf when the knocking started.

Hermione's heart skyrocketed the second she opened the door and saw his handsome, stupid face. The last thing she'd expected was to see him here, standing there, watching her.

'So I've been thinking,' Sirius said, that same damn smirk firmly in place. 'And I reckon we should get married.'

A/N: Hello and welcome to the magical free world of Harry Potter. A wonderful place full of our favorite characters but without all those pesky, evil people.

I love fics like these and I love this ship. It's lovely, glorious and delicious and completely fucking lacking on the diverse side of things.

So, I wrote Pick.

A story about a rock star and the girl who made him fall.

Something different to break the monotony and barrage of Time-Turner fics. In an unrelated note, check out my own Time-Turner fic, Silver.

Hypocrisy is a good word by the way.

I know where this fic is going and how it'll end, but I don't know the road it'll take to get there. I look forward to figuring it out. Hopefully, you decide to come along for the journey. Should you decide that a rock god Sirius is for you, please contribute to my writing process via song recs and reviews.

Thank you all for reading.

Erica x