To be completely honest, Arthur Weasley simply could not pinpoint the exact time he started to look at his wife of over thirty years with more disgust than love.
Perhaps it was because his bloody wife simply could not and would not move on from the death of their beloved son. Perhaps it was because he had grown tired of holding her in his arms while she cried herself to sleep every single night, babbling about how they should have done more to save Fred. He'd bite his tongue until it bled, holding back a retort about how there was nothing they could have done.
Perhaps he'd finally grown tired of working day in and day out, putting in countless hours at the office, to provide for them while she struggled to hold her weight at home. These days, her once long list of things to do, had diminished. Their children had moved out to lead their own lives. Of course, they saw their children often at family gatherings. They also babysat their grandchildren on occasion, providing their children with much needed breaks from parenting.
His wife had much less to do around their home these days, and yet, Arthur noticed that she'd been slipping and was struggling to stay afloat.
Their home was dirtier than usual. Her food didn't taste as good. He'd praise her cooking, pretending to enjoy every bite. In reality, he'd place bits and pieces into his napkin when she wasn't looking. After dinner, he'd stop and feed the garden gnomes or any other animals in their backyard before heading to his shed. He'd tinker away on his Muggle gadgets until the early morning hours, long after she'd gone to bed.
More recently, he'd developed a habit of lying to her, coming home later than normal under the guise of being swamped with work. In reality, he'd stop at the local pub for supper and a drink or two before coming home to suffer through another one of her inedible meals.
Ever the loving husband, Arthur ignored the growing mess. After all, his wife was still in mourning, and he couldn't expect much from her.
He'd lost track of times he'd suggested that she see a Mind Healer. Arthur had seen one for about a year following the war, and it had helped him overcome his depression and move on with his life. His wife had shut him out, refusing to discuss any of her problems with him. Instead, she discussed them with a local support group for parents who had lost their children during the war.
It upset Arthur that she was willing to talk to those people – people Arthur thought were still stuck in a rut, wallowing over events that couldn't be changed. It upset him that she didn't want to speak to him – her husband of all people or a professional about her problems. She argued with him every time he'd bring it up, claiming that the meetings were helping her cope with her grief. Bollocks, he'd think, but he stopped fighting with her about the meetings, turning a blind eye as she attended them every week.
But, it had been four fucking years – four fucking years since the end of the war and the death of their son. To Arthur, that was more than enough time to move on and pick up the pieces of their shattered life. He'd gotten out of the rut, but she wouldn't budge. And frankly, it angered him, watching her allow her grief and depression to take over her, leaving behind a mere shell of her former self.
XXX
Fortunately, their marriage, despite their troubles, wasn't always bad. He'd catch glimpses of the woman he fell madly in love with many years ago. He'd see it at family gatherings when she enjoyed time with her grandchildren. Her smile and laugh would light up the room. And, just like that, he'd find himself in love with her again. Or, he'd come home from a hard day at work to a dinner composed of his favourite dishes, cooked to perfection. This simple gesture always made his heart flutter, thereby securing his undying love and devotion to her.
To make matters worse, he knew he'd never leave her. He'd never leave her no matter how bad it got and no matter how far she fell further away from her former self. He'd made those sacred vows to her over thirty years ago, and he wasn't the type of man to break his promises - no matter how damned tempted he was to break them.
XXX
It had been an exceptionally bad day at the office. One of his newer employees, a kind, but somewhat daft young lad, had accidently sent a cursed doll back to a popular toyshop in the heart of Muggle London. The doll, if touched, would burn the flesh off the unlucky person who came in contact with her. Luckily, his assistant, Narcissa Malfoy, had retrieved the doll before an unsuspecting patron purchased her.
Narcissa had joined his office about a year ago, after convincing the Minister of Magic that she'd be a valuable asset to the team. Kingsley hadn't been able to overlook her extensive knowledge of Dark Magic, and how the Death Eaters had been able to harm many innocent Muggles with cursed Muggle items.
Arthur and Narcissa butted heads at the start of her employment, mainly because he questioned her intentions. Why would she want to help the Muggles she had claimed to hate with every fibre of her being? In time, he learned that her intentions were pure, and she quickly became an invaluable member of his small team. She saved their department on countless occasions, which made him forever grateful for her presence.
It did not help that they'd spend long hours working beside each other as they tried to decode a cursed item. It did not help that they'd developed a friendship outside their working relationship. It did not help that he found her intelligent and beautiful… so bloody beautiful. To make matters worse, she was single, having divorced Lucius shortly after the war.
He wanted Narcissa so bad, that it hurt. It didn't help him when she'd lean in close, her shoulder pressed gently against his. Her sweet perfume always made him grow lightheaded when he inhaled it for too long. Her clothes always hung well on her lithe body, and more often than not, he'd have to tear his gaze away from her before she caught him staring at her.
Some nights, he'd come home so aroused that he'd try to initiate intimacy with his wife, but she'd always turn him down, claiming that she had a headache or some other ailment. At some point, he simply gave up. He'd lock himself in their guest bathroom and take matters into his own hands. He'd always feel guilty after, knowing that he'd just finished to images of a certain blonde.
Part of him wished that he wasn't an honourable man. Part of him wished that he could start something with Narcissa, knowing that his wife would be none the wiser. She'd believe every lie he spun for her. She wouldn't question him. She trusted him completely. Unfortunately for Arthur, he couldn't take advantage of that trust.
XXX
"Thank you so much," Arthur mumbled, flashing Narcissa a small smile. "You really saved us there," he added, taking the doll out of her hands and placing it on the table.
"Don't worry about it," Narcissa responded, shrugging her slim shoulders at him. "You don't have to speak to Jones about it. I know how much you hate doing that. I've already spoken to him, and he knows that he'll be out if he makes another mistake. I'll keep a closer eye on him and accompany him on his upcoming missions."
"Thank you, Cissa," Arthur replied, turning to look at her. His heart rate skyrocketed as he briefly lost himself in the depths of her bright blue eyes. "You don't have to do all that. I can accompany him," he offered.
"It's all right, Arthur," Narcissa responded, shaking her head at him. "I can tell you've been stressed, and it's the least I can do to help." She leaned closer and placed her hand on top of his, giving it a small squeeze. His face flushed and his trousers tightened.
"You can tell?" he rasped, flashing her a look of disbelief. He knew that he should pull his hand away from hers, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. She nodded. A strand of hair fell in front of her face. He had to exercise all his willpower not to brush it away.
"Yes, Arthur," she responded, squeezing his hand once more. "You are unhappy. You are unhappy with her, and that's making things worse for you here."
"How so?" Arthur inquired, not wanting to believe Narcissa's assessment. True, he wasn't happy with his wife, but he was doing just fine at work.
"You've become more careless. You didn't double-check Jones' work on the doll, did you?" asked Narcissa. Arthur's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "People are beginning to notice," she confessed.
"They are?" asked Arthur, still in complete disbelief over her words. Narcissa nodded. "What do you suggest I do?"
"May I answer honestly?"
"Go ahead," Arthur rasped, tearing his eyes away from hers.
"Leave her," Narcissa stated. Her hand jutted forward, cupped his chin and turned his face toward her. "Leave her for me. Arthur, I could be so good for you, and you know it," she finished.
Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Narcissa's petal soft lips pressed softly against his. He froze for a few seconds before returning her kiss. Their lips remained locked for a few minutes before Arthur's rational thought kicked in.
"I'm sorry, Cissa," he groaned, pulling away from her. "I do have feelings for you, but I can't. I made a promise to Molly, and I can't break it – no matter how much I want to…"
"That's all right, Arthur," Narcissa responded, running a shaky hand through her disheveled hair. "Your loss."
She flashed him a small, sympathetic smile and left the room. He could have sworn that he saw small teardrops in the corner of her eyes, but he refused to reflect on that. He immediately left the office and headed to the pub to drown away his feelings with copious amounts of Firewhisky.
XXX
Arthur sighed deeply, running a shaky hand through his messy red hair. He locked eyes with the bartender and requested another tumbler of Firewhisky. He knocked it back and waited for the warmth to numb away the emotions running through his mind.
"Oh, shite!" he exclaimed, realising that today marked his thirty-fifth wedding anniversary with his wife. They were supposed to meet at a restaurant in Diagon Alley with their family to celebrate. He had completely forgotten to get her a gift.
He tossed a few Galleons on the bar, bade the bartender goodbye and went in search of the nearest shop to find her a gift. He spent a few minutes searching, before stumbling upon the perfect gift, the newest cookbook written by her favourite chef. He'd suggest that they cook something together.
Before he Apparated home, he stopped by a florist, selecting the biggest and most beautiful bouquet of red roses his money could buy. He also picked up a hangover potion, which he downed immediately, wanting to appear presentable for his wife.
Upon further reflection, he decided that as much as he liked Narcissa and as much as the beautiful blonde tempted him, he loved his Mollywobbles. He wanted to make his marriage work, and he was going to start fighting for it. He wasn't going to let Molly slip through his fingers because he'd given up on her. She deserved more than that from him. He was confident that with time, they could repair their marriage and make it stronger.
XXX
His heartbeat quickened, recalling all the lovely memories they'd created in their dilapidated home. He berated himself for wanting to throw it all away. Yes, Molly's warm and loving personality had faded. Her beauty had also diminished over time, but deep down, he knew that the woman he'd fallen in love with was still there, buried under the heavy layers of grief.
He committed to help her in whatever way he could. Perhaps they'd take a long vacation somewhere so she could relax. They could rekindle their relationship. Besides, Narcissa could run their department perfectly well without him.
He transferred his purchases into one hand, sticking his key into the door. I must get that fixed, he thought as the key got stuck in the lock. He fiddled with it for a few seconds before it finally gave way, allowing him to turn the knob.
"Mollywobbles, I'm home!" he singsonged, announcing his presence.
His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open and his purchases tumbling to the floor as he caught sight of his wife.
His wife, his loving, devoted wife of thirty-five years, was completely naked and bent over their dining table. Her eyes were closed and her mouth hung open.
"Yes! Right there… harder… I'm so close," she moaned as Amos Diggory thrust deeper and deeper into her.
"Like that?" Amos slapped Molly's round bottom, causing her to squeal louder. Arthur felt sick watching Molly's flesh jiggle with the force of Amos' thrusts.
The pair, completely caught up in their pleasure, did not notice him. The table started banging into the wall as Amos complied with Molly's demands. A few seconds later, she came with a high-pitched scream, and he soon followed, grunting as he spilled into her.
"Arthur?" both exclaimed, finally spotting him standing in the doorway. Amos whispered something into Molly's ear as he pulled out of her. He grabbed his clothes and Apparated away, without giving Arthur a second glance.
"I'm so sorry," Molly apologised, tears in her eyes as she rushed toward Arthur. She tried to place a hand on his arm, but he backed away, hitting his rear on the front door. "Arthur, I am so sorry."
"Bollocks, Molly!" he snapped, refusing to believe her half-arsed apology. She was sorry that she'd been caught. "How long have you been seeing him?" he demanded, curling his hands into fists at his sides.
Molly opened her mouth, shut it and then opened it again. He could tell that she was contemplating on lying to him.
"Dammit, Molly – how long have you been fucking Amos?" he shouted, advancing toward her and slamming his palms on the table.
"Two years," Molly whispered, hanging her head in shame.
"Two fucking years?" roared Arthur. "Are you fucking serious? After all I've done for you – you do this?"
"I'm sorry," Molly apologised once more, turning her back to him so she could redress.
"Do not lie to me, Molly," he threatened, his voice dropping dangerously low. "We both know you're not sorry. This explains everything."
"Arthur, it's just that Amos understands me. He understands what I'm going through, and we talk about it. He's helping me."
"Molly, I'm your husband! I'm supposed to be the one helping you! Not him! I tried, Molly. I tried so damn hard to get you to open up to me, but you shut me out. You always shut me out, and now, I know why. It's because you've been seeing him!"
She didn't respond and just simply looked at him. And, he knew he'd hit the nail on the head.
"You love him, don't you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. Once again, she couldn't form a response, but it didn't matter. He already knew the truth.
"I want a divorce. For your sake, Molly, I hope Amos makes you happy," Arthur stated, casting her one last look as he Apparated out of their home.
XXX
"Molly's cheating on me," Arthur slurred, stumbling into Narcissa's apartment. "She's been cheating on me for two years with Amos Diggory. Amos Diggory of all people! Can you believe it? And to think, Cissa… to think… I wanted to make it work… I wanted to make it work…" he muttered, shaking his head.
"Oh, Arthur! I'm so sorry!" Narcissa exclaimed, trying not to smile as she pulled him into her sitting room. She sat him down on the sofa. "Love, you're drunk. Take this and we'll talk about it in the morning."
She thrust a hangover potion and a dreamless sleep potion into his hands. He complied, quickly downing them. She took the vials, placed them on a side table and helped him lie down. She took off his glasses and ran a hand through his messy hair.
"It'll be all right," she whispered. She draped a blanket over him and pressed a kiss to his temple before she left the room.
XXX
Three months later, Arthur's divorce from Molly was finalised. The Wizarding world made a fuss over it, mourning the break-up of one of their favourite couples. Arthur, being a merciful man, kept the truth of their separation away from the public's eyes. It helped that the press quickly pushed aside the news of Arthur's divorce to report on his new relationship with Narcissa.
"It all worked for the better," Arthur whispered, looking down at Narcissa's nude body curled into his. He smiled, watching her stir in her sleep and press her face into his shoulder. "Thank you," he breathed, pressing a soft kiss into her hair as he drifted off to sleep.