Prologue:
The Puzzle That Wasn't Meant To Be Solved
Author's Note: This IS a Dramione fanfiction! Don't fret because Draco hasn't appeared yet~ 3 This introduction is also EXTREMELY SHORT. I intend for each chapter to be much longer than this due to more depth and time lapse, among other things. So don't throw me to the curb just yet because of a lack of length to chapters, please~
I had originally meant to write a one-shot for this, but then the idea morphed into something so wonderful and detailed that I decided… It HAD to be an entire story! 3 Everything will be revealed as the chapters progress, but if you're DYING to know how it all goes down… Shoot me a PM and I'll try not to spoil too much~ 3 Hope you enjoy! I'll try to us fast as possible, so please be patient! It may take one week to publish each chapter~ :)
All it took was a whisper. One whisper and her world tumbled into chaos.
"I want a divorce."
It was as though a force field prevented the phrase from registering in the woman's mind. She stared blankly at her husband's scuffed shoes as the words rattled inside her head, as though they couldn't find the proper place to lodge and be processed.
"Did you hear me? I said that I—"
"I heard you," the woman softly replied, almost too quiet for him to hear. Her husband's next words were lost to her from the ringing in her ears. This wasn't right. This wasn't how her life was planned. A divorce was not in the stars for Hermione Granger, but apparently Hermione Weasley had a different path to follow.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Forcing her gaze to shift from the man's shoes to his face, she saw his face flush from agitation. "I'm sorry, Ronald, but I've had an excruciating day at the Ministry—"
"As excruciating day at the Ministry," her husband mocked, his voice higher pitched than normal. "As if you even know what excruciating means anymore! You haven't used a single offensive spell since the war, and you think you know what excruciating is like?" His eyes flashed dangerously as he took quick steps towards his wife, his voice trembling as he continued. "I'm the one who is still chasing dark wizards, Hermione! I'm the one at risk of dying every time I step out of this bloody house! I know what excruciating really is; all you do is sit behind a desk and whip your wand around to flutter papers through the air for filing!"
Hermione said nothing, only observed. Over the years, the Ronald Weasley that she knew as a child had been chipped away until this remained – this morose creature that couldn't hold a candle to the Ron of the past. Where did things go wrong? Where did we go wrong? Hermione's shoulders sagged as her husband kept spewing insults and accusations towards her, but she had heard them all before. The whispers to secret lovers when he thought she was asleep, the grumbles of discontent beneath his breath, the words implied between the lines. It all fit together perfectly in the puzzle Hermione had been unknowingly solving; it was in her nature to collect data and catalogue it for future use, but she had never imagined finding a story whose ending she didn't want to know. The final piece to the puzzle was the prized piece; the sought-after component that brought the adventure to its glorified end.
Hermione wasn't ready for her story to end.
Her soft, pink lips parted to speak, but Ron was gone. There was a faint imprint in the carpet from where he had been standing, but nothing else other than that and the ache in her heart revealed that he had ever been in the room. Hermione wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there as he ripped apart the foundations of their relationship, but her muscles were stiff and her fingers seemed melded together from the vice grip she was holding.
Resting in her lap was Ron's wedding band, the metal seeming to scorch her thighs through her slacks. Hermione recoiled immediately, the object falling with a soft thud to the carpeted floor. It bounced towards the fireplace, and Hermione's gaze followed its every movement. It hadn't moved more than a few feet, but it still seemed to burn her skin like a white-hot branding iron. The woman shivered and tore her gaze away, her almost eyes brimming with unshed tears. No, she commanded herself, fighting against her quivering lip. You will not cry for him.
Despite telling herself this, the tears came in full force, like a hurricane in the Bahamas. Guttural sobs claimed her body as she slid from her arm chair onto the floor, and she wrapped her arms around herself as though she could hide from the onslaught of emotion. It was too much to handle. Hermione had adjusted to life after the war – a life without heart-wrenching sorrows and nightmares at all times of the day. She hadn't planned on the person she trusted the most to leave. She hadn't planned on her story ending so soon.