Writer's Ramble: I don't know if it's still required, but I'll go ahead and throw out the "I don't own anything, it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, no copyright infringment intended, and so on and so forth." Moving on, it has been quite awhile since I've written anything so bear with me while I shake off the rust. Please also take into consideration that this is not PWP so don't expect a bunch of smut in the first chapter. Also, I don't find Lucius and Hermione locking eyes once then falling madly in love to be believable therefore that's not really how this story goes. Lastly, I do not hate Ron, and there is some HG/RW. On with the story then...
In a sense, they used to be a golden couple. After the war ended, they were all finally supposed to get a chance at a happy ending. The Boy Who Lived was now a successful auror madly in love with the youngest Weasley child; she and Ron were meant to be the same way. Five years after Voldemort's downfall, however, she was in tremendous pain, a kind she never knew possible. It was like constantly drowning with no hope for air.
At twenty-three, Hermione had found herself exceptionally successful at the Ministry of Magic working for the Department of International Magic Cooperation. Her cleverness and tact had led the head of the department to take her under his wing as a protégé. At twenty-two, Hermione had an equally satisfying personal life; she and Ron had wed shortly following the war and bought a quaint flat just outside London. Though not as ambitious as his wife, he also fared well at the Ministry while working for the Department of Magical Games and Sports. They were young and finally carefree. For once, Hermione and Ron had a chance to enjoy their youth until it all came abruptly to a halt.
"Ms. Granger, did you hear a word I said?" Hermione's boss caught her attention by using her maiden name. Though she often responded to Mrs. Weasley, she had made the decision to formally and legally keep the muggle name she was born with. "Ms. Granger?"
"Sorry, Mr. Rosier. The, um, reports you requested are filed by date on your desk. They, err, are just waiting your review, sir." Mr. Rosier eyed the brunette before him critically.
"Thank you, my dear, you're dismissed for the day."
"But sir, it's barely noon, I'm sure there is more work to be done." Hermione's eyes had an imploring look to them which her boss either chose to ignore or did not take notice.
"I can assure you, Ms. Granger, that it can wait. Please take the afternoon to find something suitable for tonight's Ministry gala. I would like the department to be well represented, it does help with funding."
Hermione had forgotten entirely about the semi-annual party, but nodded in resigned acceptance of her boss' words. Though she could hardly focus these days following the incident and her since deteriorating marriage, she needed work to distract her from her worst thoughts. When she apparated home, she found those thoughts briefly erased. Lying on her bed was a beautiful scarlet chiffon dress. It was knee length with lace cap sleeves and never before had she loved a garment so much. Next to it was a note that left a rare smile on her lips.
"To my beautiful wife - I know that a social Ministry function is probably not high on your list right now, but I thought it couldn't hurt for you to be the loveliest witch in the room. And in case you don't give a shit about a silly dress, there's a box of your favorite chocolates on the dresser. Love, Ron"
Eight hours and three truffles later, Hermione had slipped on her dress, pulled back her hair, and pasted on a smile. She made polite small talk with her boss' wife, briefly spoke to Harry and Ginny, and even held the minister's ear for a minute or two. Ron had even convinced her to dance, but she had the disconcerting feeling she was being watched. Her eyes scanned the room twice before landing on the sharp grey eyes staring daggers into her. Lucius Malfoy was standing among several important Ministry officials accompanied by his wife who was looking quite modelesque in her black gown, yet his eyes were trained on her.
"What's wrong?" Her husband asked lightly. Ron, who had taken to tiptoeing around her most of the time, was looking at her cautiously. Hermione shook her head, but continued to watch Lucius watching her.
"Nothing, I just need something to drink. Excuse me a moment."
Hermione found herself at the bar ordering firewhiskey to calm her nerves. There had been something distinctly unsettling about the way the Malfoy patriarch had been staring at her.
"Awfully brazen dress, Mrs. Weasley, but then I guess muggle-borns can frequently lack the grace and understated elegance that comes with pure breeding." Hermione finished her liquor before responding to the man who had approached her.
"Forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, but you wouldn't know grace if it was adhered to your forehead with a permanent sticking charm."
"Oh, how delightfully sassy you are. Tell me, does that husband of yours arise even remotely as much emotion out of you as I just did?"
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blond leaning against the bar as he sized her up. He ordered two glasses of the finest white wine before continuing the conversation.
"Well, being as powerful a wizard as I am, it requires I make certain appearances, painfully dull as they may be." Lucius took a moment to swirl one of wines that had been placed before him then took a sip. "Tonight, however, watching how painfully uncomfortable you are with what you call a husband...it's just been delightful."
"Before you stick your nose into my relationship, perhaps you should consider your own." Hermione smiled wryly as she spoke. "After all, Mrs. Malfoy should be holding your eye, not I."
"Narcissa and I are compatible in ways your simple lineage could never allow you to comprehend. I suppose with a Weasley, though, you're bound to get simple."
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Ah, never you mind. Best to get back to him then." Lucius smirked as he returned to his wife with two drinks in hand. Hermione ordered another and watched the dance floor clear as the silent auction began.
"Ministry workers and guests, welcome again to our semi-annual Ministry of Magic British Wizarding Gala," Kingsley boomed across the room in his deep voice from the stage in front of the dance floor. "As is tradition, we will end the night with a silent auction benefiting St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. This year's items include four box seats at the next Quidditch World Cup, a weekend dragon safari for two observing Norwegian Ridgebacks, a goblin-made sword encrusted with onyx, and lastly, donated most generously, a necklace formally belonging to Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of Hogwarts co-founder Rowena Ravenclaw. The bidding will conclude in one hour." Hermione eyed each of the items in turn before making her way back to Ron.
"I'm ready to go home," She muttered.
"You don't want to see who wins what?" Ron asked, looking as though he very much would like to see who would win what.
"No, I'm tired." Hermione quickly made her way to the foyer and disapparated back home, briefly catching Lucius' eye on her way out. Back in her bedroom, with a wave of her wand she was in a simple tank and shorts and makeup free, her new dress now hung in her closet. As she sat down at the foot of the bed, Ron appeared with a sharp crack.
"When are you going to talk to me, 'Mione?" He was staring down at her, still in his dress robes.
"What are you on about, Ronald?"
"I mean, for Merlin's sake, you said more words to Luicus Malfoy than to me tonight." Hermione considered his words, but said nothing. "Baby, it was ten months ago. I know it hurts, but I just want us to be us again, for us t-to move past this."
"How can you expect us to just go back to before?" Hermione found herself suddenly on her feet with her voice rising with each successive word. "We lost a child, Ronald, a child! Maybe you don't care because you weren't carrying a tiny human in your tummy for seven months, you couldn't feel her like I could, but I...I...I feel like I failed her. Something I did killed her!"
"Gods, Hermione, you know that's not true!" Ron's face had become a shade comparable to his hair as he continued the shouting match. "All you do is blame yourself and I have to be so concerned for what you're feeling that I don't even remotely have time to grieve myself!"
"You? Grieve?" Hermione elicited a derisive laugh at his statement. "Ron, it's like it never even happened for you! Like you weren't there when Lorna was born and didn't cry! Like you didn't see how blue she was! As if you were watching the doctors try to save someone else's child, not ours!"
"Well, maybe if you'd had her at St. Mungo's with healers instead of at some muggle hospital-"
"I knew it. You do blame me for choosing a muggle birth."
"That's not what I meant, just-"
"Just what, Ronald? You know what, forget it. Today's been long enough, I'd like to rest now."
Hermione had no more words for her husband as she climbed into bed. She focused her entire attention on a novel as he changed clothes and repeatedly made attempts at conversation. Eventually he gave up and took his pillow to the living room couch along with the extra duvet from their closet. Hermione eventually fell into a restless sleep punctuated by hospital hallways and strong grey eyes.
And so here we have the beginning. Next chapter will be done soon, hopefully. Cheers.