My name is Hermione Granger, and I have a secret.

It was the numb feeling I noticed first, I suppose. When you're married, you're supposed to feel all warm inside, it's supposed to be like an internal flame from your toes to your ear tips. But I felt… nothing. No, not nothing. Nothing would be easier to explain, I would be able to say I was sick if I felt "nothing."

I felt numb. His hand would go to my cheek, and I would feel the oddest sensation. I knew something was pressing there, my nerves expected some kind of feeling to run up through my central nervous system, but the connection failed – all I felt was a slight pressure. There was no warmth there, no tingling that would begin at the base of my spine and run all the way up to the nape of my neck, causing me to shiver involuntarily, like there had first been when Ron and I began to see each other.

He was so goddamn hopeful. That was the worst part. He knew I wasn't as happy, something had set his radar off. Those blue eyes of his would look into my face, he would catch my hand as I would be walking out of a room, demanding "…just one more kiss, 'Mione, just one last kiss." I couldn't begrudge him that. Maybe he felt that a multitude of "last kisses" would end up being the start of it all again.

When we started to keep to ourselves more, I knew that he knew. There was no more spontaneous asking the lads if they wanted to come around for a pint, or going over to the Weasley's for a cuppa. We both knew what resided over at the Weasley's. It made me somewhat furious. Did he think I had no self-control, that I would immediately start screaming to him, "Get me out of here, take me away from these red-headed idiots, anywhere, just kiss me you ignorant fool!"

I had self-restraint. I had control. I was, after all, the smartest witch of my age. And it broke my heart.

My name is Hermione Granger, and I have a secret. I'm in love with my husband's best friend, The Man Who Lived. Harry Potter.