Chapter 1

The wind was taking up speed beyond the windows of their cozy, generously furnished home. It had been just a small breeze in the early afternoon, but as the day snailed on through arguments and resentment and tears it had turned to a persistent wind, forcing Thomas and Judy to go inside to play, and as the sun set at the purple horizon, it was nearing a storm. Hermione was gazing out of the window, trying to discern a shape or small movement other than the dancing trees and rose bushes that might be her husband returning from wherever he had stalked off to. Of course, he hadn't left the house on foot - he had used the fireplace in the parlour - and the darkness outside was so compact that she would not have been able to see anything at all out there, even if the lights had been out in the kitchen and she hadn't been distracted by her distraught reflection in the glass.

She could not understand what had gone wrong. What had started this whole circle of misery that had befallen her family. Perhaps the trigger was so far in the past that she could not remember it anymore. Perhaps they had been doomed ever since their very first encounter when they were both travelling up to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for their first year of magical education. She did not know. But the fact that they had started out as enemies, hating each other with deep intensity, may have been too stigmatizing to ever ensure a normal love life for them.

Yet Hermione had known many moments of joy and pleasure together with her husband, who surprisingly had proven to be a true, and very sweet, romantic. They had shared countless laughters, and they had always worked very hard on their marriage, always choosing to stay together. The love between them was true, and it was deep. Sometimes it was even wildly passionate, something that still, at the age of thirty-two, made her blush violently. But was their love deeper than their former hatred for each other? Could hatred ever really be extinguished, even by love - completely? Lately, Hermione had spent many anxious hours on these thoughts, these fears of ultimately being left by the man she loved. And her fears were not entirely uncalled for. Lately, they had also rowed more than they had ever done before. She knew that they were in a serious crisis - an acute change in their relationship. She just hoped that this change did not mean divorcing each other. She did not want that.

Sure, they had had their problems, just like any other couple, and they both displayed perfectly hot tempers once they got in an argument. Often about something utterly and disgustingly trivial, but all the same those small, unnecessary, stupid arguments turned into big rows. It was just so... stupid.

Hermione gave a resigned sigh and turned from the window, her arms crossed over her chest as if she was cold. Yes, a chill did travel down her spine, but it had nothing to do with the air temperature of the room. Lost in thoughts of horror and dismembered loved once, Hermione went over to the kitchen counter, took her wand from the pocket of her robe and began making a pot of vulgarly strong coffee. She would drink it black, suck up the fony energy that the caffeine would bring her and wait for her husband's return, even if it meant staying up all night.

"Mummy?" said a tiny voice from the doorway to the parlour.

Judy was standing in the doorway, dressed in her pink pajamas with her weed-loving bunny slippers and her overprotective teddybear Grasp squeezed under her arm. Her huge blue-grey eyes stared inquiringly at her, blinking in such a cute fashion that Hermione could not help but smile in spite of herself.

"Baby, you're supposed to be sleeping by now," she cooed, scooping up the little one from the floor. Grasp immediately began to reach for her with his rounded, fluffy teddy-arms, but Hermione ignored him. "What are you doing up this late? It's past eleven already."

Judy put her head on her mummy's shoulder. "I was waitin' fer Dad to get home," she murmured, and it was evident that she was very sleepy.

Hermione made a sound of affection. "Aw, that is so sweet of you, Judy. But Dad isn't going to come until late, there is no need to stay up for little girls like you. You know he'll come in and kiss you goodnight as soon as he gets here, and then you'll see him in the morning and you can play all day if you like. How does that sound? Hmm? Ready for bed now, love?"

With a happy, loving smile on her face, she put the little girl to bed, pulled her quilt up to her chin and kissed her on her forehead. "Now have some sleep, my little angel. Daddy will be back soon," she said, giving her daughter one last hug before leaving the room. Since Judy was a bit afraid of the dark, she conjured a firefly, big as a small bird, inside a glass jar as a nightlight for her daughter. With one last look on her porcelain face, she went downstairs to wait in the parlour.

The parlour was only lit by the lazy fire, and the room was dancing with suggestive shadows. Hermione sat in one of the armchairs, patiently watching the slowly dancing flames.

A few hours must have passed, because suddenly she was awakened by an upburst of green flames and a whoosh of sudden wind. Immediately alert, she stood erect on the floor, her heart thumping like a tiny hammer - pick pick pick pick.

A man was spinning in the green flames, and he was not at all difficult to identify. As soon as he had stopped spinning and got out of the fire, she ran up to him and threw herself around his neck.

"Draco!"

She hugged him hard, insistent on telling him through her touch that she had missed him, and that she loved him violently still. Sometimes she still saw in him that boy of seventeen that they had rescued from the lair of the Death Eaters, that poor misguided boy who had wanted glory, but having been fed lies and faced a threat of death merely had succeeded in gaining people's pity. For many years, that had plagued him, but with Hermione's insistence that everything was forgotten, that everything was forgiven, and that people regarded him as something of a hero, having survived all that torture that Voldemort had exposed him to, he had slowly, finally, begun to relax. His pain was eased with much love and caring - and quite a few admonishons.

His arms remained at his sides, his body stiff and unrelenting. It was more than obvious that he did not want to hug her back. Most likely he had not forgotten their row that afternoon. His unwillingness to embrace her made her blush in shame. Her heart pounded against her chest bone, an eternal reminder that she was not only alive, but also prone to panic attacks. What if this was the row that would finally split them up? Tear up their entire family, leave nothing left of the happiness they had once felt together? She didn't want to think about those things, because superstitiously enough she believed that thinking about them would magically make them real.

"Don't hold me," said Draco in an indifferent tone of voice. "Please."

She reluctantly let go of him. Watched him as he made his way towards the staircase to the upper floor. Hesitantly, she made to go after him. Then she changed her mind. A deep, desperate sigh of despair escaped her, and her shoulders slumped heavily on her body. Her head fell down onto her chest, her chin to her collar bone. "I knew it would come to this," she said in a defeated voice. "I knew it would be over, sooner or later. But I... I didn't want to actually believe it."

Tears came to her eyes and shook her body like a leaf, and she did not know how to stop. She just began sobbing, and her breathing became irregular, quick. It had been a while since she had felt this helpless, this defeated. She just knew that she would never be herself again.

Strong arms embraced her from behind, and she started. Draco was standing right behind her, slightly bent forward because of his height, his chin to her hair. She could detect his scent, the special smell that was him, and it made her dizzy with excitement for a short moment, high on pheromones. Then, he kissed the top of her head. Not lovingly, not longingly, but acknowledgingly, as if he was establishing to himself that yes, she did have a head under all that bushy brown hair. It felt odd, being kissed by her husband like that. So utterly deprived of all emotion. It made her shiver.

"Stay calm, Hermione," he was saying to her hair, "nothing is really over until it is over. Things might yet turn around."

With those words, he let go of her. Unable to turn around and face him, she stood still and waited for him to say something else. Anything. But preferably something that indicated that he wished to save their marriage, too.

"We had better keep doing this for a while, for the children," he continued, now backing away from her judging by the sounds of his feet on the cold wooden floor. "I'll sleep in the guestroom tonight. Leave you to sort out those feelings. We'll talk more in the morning."

He went for the stairs. She imagined him stopping a few steps up as he called down to her in a soft voice, as if just remembering something. "Oh... goodnight, Hermione."

And she was left to her silent tears, streaming down her flaming hot cheeks, painting her pale skin a luminescent silver in the milky moonlight.

A/N: I just want to say that this was written before I read the seventh and last book, so it is a post-halfblood-prince-story. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.