disclaimer: I don't own any of it.
written for: If You Dare, Quidditch League — Round 12 (Appleby Arrows, Chaser 1).
•••
Hermione closes the door softly. "We shouldn't talk about this now," she says. "Everyone is just downstairs."
"We need to understand each other, Hermione, we need to talk — "
"I said not now!" And her eyes are so bright that he doesn't argue.
•••
"Why isn't Daddy with us anymore?"
"Well," she answers carefully. "Mummy and Daddy don't always get along." Her daughter's face falls a little bit more. "It's better for everyone this way."
The little girl's eyes water. Biting her lip, Hermione adds, "And besides, his feet stink."
Rose giggles through her tears, and then presses her face against her mother's shoulder. Hermione cradles her, stroking her bright red curls that are much too familiar.
"We'll be alright, me and you," she whispers reassuringly. "We're survivors."
•••
"I can't believe you, Ron!" Hermione slams her pocketbook onto the table. "The first time I invite you to a work dinner — the last time, now — on our anniversary, specifically because of our anniversary — first, you don't remember —
"It slipped my mind!"
"Our wedding slipped your mind?" Her face is a nasty shade of puce now. He closes his mouth quickly.
Closing her eyes tightly, she continues, "then you run off — "
"It was a very important Auror mission!"
"That someone else handled in ten minutes! Then you kiss another woman — "
"On the cheek! As a thank you for saving my life!"
"In front of all of my coworkers, and your brother, and Harry, and me!"
"Hermione, you're overreacting. I'm sorry, okay? I wanted to be with you, I really did."
"I suppose I have to believe you," she says thickly. He smiles.
"This time."
•••
The first five times, he barely notices. She's tired. It's been a long day. It's fine.
After that, it's less subtle and gradually more blatant. Every night, when he walks into the bedroom, she's already asleep. Sometimes it's genuine, but he begins to recognize the signs of a fake sleep. Her eyes will be scrunched, her fingers too tight on the sheets.
At the end of the third week, he confronts her.
She's making peanut butter biscuits. She's been baking more than usual lately, smiling a little more. It probably started the first night she neglected him in bed, actually.
The realization makes his hands curl into fists.
She looks up, noticing him, and grins. "You want one?" she asks.
"You don't kiss me anymore," he bursts.
A flash of emotion crosses her face — just for a second, she looks like the old Hermione. And then the mask comes up.
"That's ridiculous, Ron." She pecks his cheek, and then bustles over the stove and starts babbling about biscuits before he has a chance to say anything else.
•••
"Ron," she says. He doesn't respond, fiddling with papers and file cabinets.
"Ron," she says again. He looks up briefly, but his nose is buried back in the desk before she can say anything.
"Ron." He looks up again, his eyes boring into hers, looking distinctly annoyed.
"What?"
"I got us some divorce papers," Hermione admits meekly, timid now, with his stare still on her.
And his face turns to frantic.
•••
"Maybe — maybe you should go." Her voice is strained, her fingers tight on the doorknob.
"Are you kicking me out of my own house?"
"No." She breathes in deeply. "No, I just think it would be best if you go."
"If I leave."
"Yes," Hermione confirms.
His face seems to battle with itself; turning from angry to sad to broken to furious to resolved.
"Okay," he says. "Okay." He walks out, then stops on the first step, looking back, maybe expecting her to come after him.
She doesn't. She's frozen — in memories of another time, years earlier, another occasion in which he walked away in the rain. Except that time, she didn't open the door for his exit.
•••
"Rose," Hermione says gently. "Things are going to be a little different from now on."
"How?"
"Well — me and you are going to live together. Without Daddy."
"Why without Daddy?"
Hermione sighs. "Because of a lot of things, honey."
•••
"Hermione," he pleads. "We don't have to do this." His voice is raw — the longing is obvious enough for her to falter, but she also hears reluctance, which makes it easier for her to refuse.
"Yes." Her voice is firm. Longing, pain, love.. those things are gone. Washed out under layers of frustration and anger and bewilderedness and envy. "We do," Hermione says.
•••
It's a month after the divorce is finalized that she discovers she's pregnant.
Everything had gone so fast; the fighting only lasted three weeks before the divorce was appeased, and everything's been so crazy with moving out and settling Rose that she hadn't a free moment to evaluate herself.
It's Ron's child, of course. The last time they'd slept together.. probably the last time she'd been happy with him, too. She imagines at first bright flaming hair, freckles, and light blue eyes; then, she hopes beyond measure that this new child has nothing from it's father.
•••
Three days later, she tells Ron. He's shocked, of course. And then contemplative.
"It's too bad we're officially separated," he notes, somewhat bitterly.
Hermione doesn't offer any opinions, just, "I'll tell you when anything happens. And could you take Rose to the store tomorrow? She needs toothpaste."
Toothpaste.
Nuisance, brother, best friend, lover, husband.. Of all the things Ron's been to her, she'd never — not in a million years — imagined he'd be someone she'd have to make small talk with.
The thought makes her want to cry. Instead, she hears his "Sure," as she strides away.
•••
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