Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to J.K. Rowling, the genius who invented these amazing people from out of nowhere. We fan fiction writers would be nothing without her!

Author's Note: Welcome to my brand new FAN FICTION STORY! It's been about a year since I've updated at all but I've had new inspiration, so I'm writing my first slash fic. It won't be scary, I promise. Read, review and let me know if you love it or hate it. Some characters are different, but they've undergone changes that could possibly happen for the purpose of the story line. So, enjoy!

Domestic Inner Rage

"Pass the caper berry gravy, dear!" That was it. The phrase that summed up her unhappiness. The phrase that summed up Mrs. Hermione Weasley's marriage.

Hermione shook her head as her straightened mousy blondish brownish locks fell out of the loose bun that she'd quickly put up before as she'd hurried to stop the boiling pot on the stove for Ronald's dinner. She remembered stirring it's contents and getting lost in thought as she's looked around their run down apartment in a dark corner of Diagon Alley. The mismatched furniture, the crocheted flowers on the walls, the clocks that randomly shouted out the wrong time and awoke Hermione from the deepest of slumbers…all of it spoke of her life. Her life that she resented with every fiber of her being.

"Getting married young was supposed to be magical and full of adventures!" she recalled silently as she stared across the table at her ravenous husband. But all it had turned out to be was a way for her to feel used, unappreciated and uninformed. So rarely could she walk the streets with the same confidence and pleasure that she used to. She almost felt herself yearning for an escape. Some way to fill the void. Someone. She'd searched high and low all over England's wizarding communities, but no one seemed to want to have anything to do with a lonely, out of work witch.

Her new areas of expertise could no longer be spells and magical charms. She couldn't fight against evil and wish for peace…because peace was all that she had now. Such a sense of peace that her nightmares raged with visions of dark men with red eyes and forbidden, illegal curses. She dreamt of killing Ron. Of torturing him just as he tortured her.

When her husband had asked her to stay at home, she had happily agreed. Their marriage was successful and she had felt more loved than she ever had in her life. She had forgotten about her love for learning and working hard because she was entirely wrapped up in how much she loved him. She would have performed the forbidden curses on any of his enemies if he'd asked her to. She would have braved Azkaban if it meant saving his life or happiness. But now, all she longed for was to be taken away from him. For him to leave her alone.

"And the magical and sociopolitical ramifications of this new decision within the ministry are continually leading—" Ron continued speaking as capers sprayed out of his mouth and he downed the pumpkin juice that she's set out for him. His voice was put on mute in her head as she continued to remember what their beautiful marriage once was.

She had been physically, emotionally and sexually awakened that first year. Exploring the beauty of a marriage that she believed would last for all of eternity. That would produce generations of young Weasleys that she could be proud to take care of. But it didn't. The week after she had quit her job, things went from amazing to bad. Their relationship had complications and problems. She was bored. He began treating her badly.

"Her new duties," Ron had explained in a drunken stupor over strong butter beer one night, "Would be in the kitchen and the bedroom. He would take care of the office and the business part. As long as he was satisfied, she would also be satisfied." And she had believed him. That maybe they could make this work.

She sighed as he continued talking, his voice muted in her head as her long calloused fingers ran up and down the striped plastic table cloth that covered the badly chipped and falling apart table who's leg needed repair. The table threatened to collapse every single day and Hermione grew tired of listening to it's gentle moans of anguish. Still, Ronald wouldn't fix it…she noticed he'd stopped talking and looked up at him, un-muting his voice from her head.

"What was that, darling?" she asked quietly.

"Well," he looked at her hungrily, "Only half of your duties have been fulfilled tonight. And obviously, you've listened to my difficult day of work and how that idiot tried to swindle me out of my work, so now it's your time to make it all better." He grinned and licked his lips in a way that made her feel weak with revulsion.

Even his handsomeness, roguish good looks had gone away. At age twenty, after two years of unhappiness, he no longer seemed at all attractive anymore. He'd gained weight, never shaved, and his once sweet lengthy hair had grown out of control. She hated him for it. Every ounce of her body cried out to push him away. Every single part of her wanted to weep until no more tears came out. Until she'd cried away every last ounce of life in her so that she could die knowing it was all over.

But she never had the courage to do it. Every night she prayed for her old strength back. So that she could say no to him. Or so that she could end her own suffering. But every single part of the old Hermione was gone. All that was left was an empty shell of a human being. A person so hollow that she couldn't even taste her food anymore…all she could taste was bitterness.

"Well?" he asked demandingly.

"Just let me clean up," she replied through gritted teeth.

"That's my girl!" he growled as he put his dirty, mud filled boots on the table.

She glared once more and began clearing the filthy dishes off of the table.

"Oh, and 'Mione?" Ron grinned with capers in between his teeth, "Ginny is coming for dinner tomorrow. So make sure you make something that doesn't taste like a hippogriff rolled in it, okay?"

Frothy hatred boiled within her and she felt her hollow heart crack.

"Yes, Ronald," she quietly stammered. "Is she bringing anyone?"

"Well, you know she's into, ah…different things now, don't you?" he stupidly replied.

"I believe your mother mentioned that. But is she bringing anyone?" she annoyingly pointed out her obvious question again.

Ron glared, "No. She isn't bringing anyone. She just got out of a relationship with that one girl from—"

"Parvati. I know." Hermione retorted with jealousy. Jealousy? She felt her eyes widen in surprise. She'd forgotten that she was capable of feeling at all anymore. With a sense of hope, she continued clearing the table as she sensed Ron's eyes watching.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, he grunted, "I'm tired of waiting. I'll meet you in the bedroom in a minute. Whenever you're done." And he stormed off.

She stifled her own voice. It was no use trying to reason with him in his drunken stupor. She'd just get hurt…and she didn't want to have to cover up more bruises. She'd been quiet for too long. She'd put up with her unhappiness much too long. She had half of a mind to—

"HERMIONE!" An angry voice sounded.

Her duty called and she felt tears of hollow regret fall down her cheeks as she made her way to the unhappiness she liked to call HOME.

Please, if you've read…REVIEW! I cannot tell you how much I want reviews. It may seem like a cry you hear every fan fiction author saying, but honestly, I had no idea how much they meant until I started writing. PLEASE please PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE…I need to know whether I should keep going, if you like it, what you think I can improve on…just help me out if you want this story to keep going. Thanks a lot.

-Weeping Rose-