PROLOGUE
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Throughout her life, Hermione's parents drilled into her the importance of hard work and aspirations. They had been the perfect example of what could be achieved through hard work and keeping your eye on an end goal and remaining determined to achieve it. Hermione was the product of a happy accident between her parents while they were still at university, but instead of dropping out as most people probably would, her mother had continued her studies. She only took two days off when she was born and then somehow managed to continue attending lectures and pass her exams with flying colours.
Her mum and dad had set up their own private rental practice when Hermione had been a child, meaning that she was never left wanting for anything. They were not rich by any means, but her upbringing had been comfortable. Their example had been Hermione's inspiration and she had worked extremely hard throughout her life to get to where she was now.
At the age of 27, Hermione was the assistant and close friend of the Prime Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. She was party to his decisions regarding the running of the country and helped to prepare his speeches as well as organising his schedule. She was happy and her parents were very proud of her accomplishments.
Hermione's life was a good one, provided that she ignore the one glaring issue that loomed over her like a giant storm cloud. As long as Hermione continued to plead ignorance about her failing marriage, her life would be as perfect as it seemed to all that knew them. Because she had never spoken of her feelings regarding her husband to anyone, feeling that her reputation for perfection would be left in ruins if she admitted that she had grown to dress going home after a long day to babysit the man she married.
She had married Ron almost as soon as she had left Secondary School under pressure from his family to bare his name as she left for university. Of course she had loved him and marrying him had seemed logical, as they had been together since they were both fourteen, best friends since they were eleven. Seven years seemed like a lifetime to them when they had been so young, as it often does, and in their immaturity they had truly believed that they knew all there was to know about each other.
She had, of course, been the only married student at the university and had been questioned about it repeatedly throughout her time studying Politics at Oxford. She had, obviously, defended her decision and her husband whenever the questions were asked. There didn't seem to be any issues between them while she had been at university, probably because they barely saw each other and had plenty of time to themselves. No, it wasn't until after she had graduated that the problems had started.
It started out as small things. His laundry sitting just outside the basket, where he had thrown it and not bothered to pick it up and put it in properly. The hairs left in the sink after he had shaved. His shoes left in the middle of the hallway, just waiting for her to fall over them as she got up early to get ready for work. Over time these things had begun to grow from minor irritations to massive issues that, no matter how many times she asked or mentioned them, would never change.
But it wasn't just his lazy habits that had begun the degradation of what was supposed to be a lifelong partnership. The one thing that led her to doubt their comparability was his dismaying lack of any sort of aspiration. Her husband worked in a sports shop, a sales assistant who helped customers when they couldn't find the right size of t-shirt or needed a particular sized football boot. It wasn't like he wanted to progress, either. He was perfectly happy in his minimum wage role.
As if that wasn't bad enough, he had recently began to suggest that it was time for her to quit work to become a housewife, as he wanted to start a family. He had asked her quite a few times to quit her job and start trying for a baby, and every time she bit her tongue to keep from laughing in his face. He didn't seem to understand that her job was the one that paid the bills, for the flat that they lived in and the food that he shovelled down his throat at an alarming rate. She earned four times what he did. They would barely notice a difference if he wasn't working, but if she stopped… Well, they wouldn't be able to survive.
His weight was an issue, too, that had started when she had been at university and had become painfully obvious when they moved in together. She had always known that he loved to eat, he was constantly gorging on everything he could get his hands on, but he had a particular hatred for anything that could possibly be good for him. Sure, he could devour a sharing bag of Doritos, practically inhale a box of 12 donuts and if you put a cake designed for 12 people in front of him he would be able to make it disappear single handed, but if you so much as suggested he munch on some carrot sticks of eat a healthy vegetable casserole, he would scoff like you were crazy.
His weight had ballooned and the tall, lean man she had fell in love with was now lost to a 19 stone man who spent most of his time laying on his back stuffing his face, refusing to make any changes. Where she had once been sexually attracted to his skinny frame, she now felt slightly ill if she imagined feeling his weight looming above her in bed. How he imagined they could start a family when their sex life was non-existent was beyond her, but even if they ever did have a child, how did he expect to keep up with them when getting up from the sofa left him breathless?
So yes, while Hermione was incredibly happy in her work, her home life left much to be desired. However, despite her unhappiness with her marriage, she had never divulged this information to anybody. She had been brought up to believe that marriage was a lifelong act and that once you said your vows, that was it, you had chosen someone to spend the rest of your life with. So she had resigned herself to this life of misery and her empty heart. No matter how she felt about him, he was her husband and this was her life.