I Think I'll go to Boston
It has been 5 years since I kissed him during the final battle. 5 years, 60 months, 260 weeks, 1826 days, 43 830 hours, 2 630 000 minutes, 157 800 000 seconds. I'm 22 years old, I am the brightest witch of my generation, and I was head hunted at the age of 19 for one of the highest paid jobs in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the overall ministry. I am an exceptional witch, an exceptional human being and for some reason I am still stuck in this ridiculous excuse of a relationship. No, this isn't a relationship; you couldn't call this sleazy affair a relationship by any stretch of the word.
Ronald will be home from work any minute now. The two of us live in a very spacious, upscale London penthouse; we have been roommates for almost 4 years only because it became too difficult to keep sneaking around while we were both living with our parents. Looking around the freshly cleaned flat, I can see why, from the outside, this would look like an ideal life. Expensive art, black leather and stainless steel everywhere, silk sheets, lace underwear and a cabinet full of expensive liquor; the perfect life. We have an outstandingly large den, magnificent kitchen, three bedrooms (although we rarely use more than one), two huge granite covered bathrooms and a library to rival even Hogwarts. How lovely it must seem from the outside, two best friends living in absolute luxury after an adolescence filled with unimaginable turmoil. Even Harry doesn't know; he is far too absorbed in his own perfection, living in 'sin' with his very own Weasley lover. Even if he did know it wouldn't matter, I've chosen this for myself. I've never tried to change this life.
I normally don't surprise Ron like this but I got promoted again and I wanted to celebrate with him. That sounds pathetic, let me try again. I got promoted and I wanted to celebrate my favourite way, I just need Ronald's help. The fact that I cleaned our whole apartment, cooked his our favourite meal, lit candles, bought new underwear and brought home enough pinot noir to take out an army are all just insurance for our my celebration. Of course I am well aware that anyone looking in on this situation would think that I was hopelessly in love with my best friend, but of course those people would be moronic dimwits. Ron is currently dating a thick, brainless beauty queen and I couldn't care less if I tried. She is just the newest in a long, long series of beautiful fucking idiots. The door opens and I can hear him laughing, that's good, he's in a good mood.
"…and then she said 'Kassy, you simply must get yourself a Weasley boy, they're just to die for and they've got adorable little freckles everywhere." She's here, in my apartment; I might faint. They walk into the kitchen arm in arm, giggling like drunks and stop dead in their tracks when they see me, black lace, garter belt and all.
"Oh, my goodness, Hermininy, I'm so sorry, we didn't know you'd be home, we thought we'd come home for a quick… nap." More giggles. "But I guess your plans were kinda the same weren't they?" She's laughing, he's not; his face may as well be set in stone: tight jaw, feverish passion in his eyes, nostrils flaring. I have become very familiar with this look.
I push out the driest laugh I could have conjured up. "They were, unfortunately my date has cancelled on me." At this point it takes all the dignity I have left not to look over to where his hand, his wonderful big calloused hand is clenching and unclenching around my discarded silk robe where I left it on the countertop.
"Kassy, why don't you go home, I think Hermione and I need to have a friend's night tonight." He's not asking her, he's telling her, demanding; there is no measure of friendliness in his tone.
"Oh but munchkin, we had big plans to not leave the room all night, I already bought the whipped cream, Hermelody will be fine!" She's throwing a tantrum, big frown, disappointed eyes; clearly she doesn't know him as well as she thinks. Ronald does not respond to foolishness, he's much better than that.
"I don't give a shit about the whipped cream; you have a fridge and a vibrator, now go home." He didn't even glance at her; his eyes have been fixed on my thighs the whole time.
"Fine monkey, but call me tomorrow morning as soon as you wake up so we can plan our days together. Oh and Hermary, I have a great trainer if you want to do something about those love handles or you know, tone up those legs a little." If only she knew what her precious monkey would do to these thighs if he could. "Ta-rah!"
The door slams shut and he immediately drops the robe, slowly walking towards me. "Oh monkey, if you really believe this is still going to happen after that display, perhaps you really have gone insane."
He laughs a real, genuine Ronald Weasley laugh, "Call me crazy baby." He grabs my arse and hoists me up on to the marble countertop, rubbing me along the length of his hardness as he does.
Baby. Never has a single word carried so much weight in a situation before. I reach down and grip his hands, forcing them to stop their trail along my thighs; my voice lowers to a whisper, "Don't call me baby, you don't get to call me baby."
He laughs, he thinks it's a joke and once again the depth and severity of this affair comes crashing down all around me. I feel a tear fall from my eyes and before I know what's happening, my hand raises and I slap him harshly across his cheek, the same one that, moments ago, was brushed up against my own.
Suddenly his eyes are on me with a look of pure confusion and dejection; we'd been playing this game so long that this reaction is understandable. "What happened? What did I say?" If I were him I'd probably be confused too.
I push him backwards and jump down from the cold stone, landing with bare feet in front of his stunned figure. Shoving my way past him, I grab the bottle of wine off the table and begin to walk to our my room, far away from the warmth and comfort of my wounded lover. Before I can ascend even the first step he has bounded in front of me, taking hold of my waist.
When he speaks his voice is fierce, challenging; he's gearing himself up for a fight. "Don't you walk away from me. You tell me what the fuck is going on now." He doesn't frighten me, but he hasn't really started yet either. "I don't have all night."
This shouldn't have made me so mad but at this point I was picking a fight, anything would have made me mad. "Who do you think you are? You come waltzing in with your latest whore and you expect me to just lay back and spread my legs on command? You bring these sluts in to my home, bring them up to my bed, and fuck them one by one on my sheets and you don't see a problem with this Ronald?"
I knew that would rile him up, he hates when I make him feel like a visitor in our place. "Is that what this is about? I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I couldn't bring girls into OUR home anymore." He loves to yell, not me, I never raise my voice; it always catches him off guard. But suddenly his eyes narrow and his voice becomes very quiet, almost inaudible. "Or is this about something more?" As another tear escapes my eye he has all the answer he needs. "This isn't about Kassy or Lauren or any of them is it? This is about you and me. What's left of you and me."
"There is no you and me Ronald, this is what we are. Unless you have some better idea, it'll always be this way." I shouldn't have said that, I knew what he would say before the words left his mouth.
"A better idea… I did once. We could've had a good life together 'Mione. I made so many plans but you didn't want it and this is all we've got now."
I can't help but repeat his words; I think I can actually feel the walls of my heart tear. "This is all we've got now." If I ever thought there was a chance for us it broke in that split second. I lift the bottle and drink as much as I can in one breath before numbly handing him the bottle. He repeats my action and drops the bottle on to the counter top before scooping me up in his arms and carrying me up the stairs effortlessly. My arm wraps around his finely muscled shoulders and my head fits easily into the crook of his neck. He eases me softly on to our my bed letting his hand linger in my hair before moving to take his shirt off. He faces away from me and proceeds to take off his fancy watch, expensive cuff links and designer dress shirt before stripping away his undershirt and placing them all neatly on the chair next to his side of the armoire. I take a moment to appreciate the lovely structure of his back and the intricacy of the FW tattooed into his perfect shoulder. I turn away from him, unable to submit myself to this kind of self torture anymore.
A few moments later I feel his hands grip my hips and turn me on my stomach. He wants tonight to be a night that we don't look at each other. Sometimes it's easier to live the lie when you don't have to look in its eyes. His lips begin to burn a trail down my back while his hands free my breasts from the lace holding them in. His next target is my panties as he slowly and methodically slides them down my legs and past my feet, an action he has done many times before but suddenly feels more final, more desperate. His knee spreads my legs easily and before long his entire staggering length is driven quite violently into my center. There is a moment of calm when neither of us moves and I can feel the indecision through his shaking hands. He pulls out and quickly turns me over before driving back in. Like so many times before, I am drunk off him. All I can smell is the mix of vanilla, clean clothes and manliness that always pours from him. All I can taste is his sweat. All I can feel is the skin stretched over the muscles and the soft red hair. He looks up, his eyes burning into mine; scorching sapphire colliding with watery chocolate brown. He's angry again and for once I don't look forward to his roughness. He looks for a moment as if he will do something forbidden between us as his lips inch slowly towards my own. Never, not once in five years have I felt his lips on mine and I can feel the electricity moving between us. His hand moves into my hair and just as I close my eyes to allow my lips their full pleasure he pulls my hair back, jerking my head with it and moves his lips across my throat.
He comes hard inside of me and lingers only a moment on top of me before turning away and heading to the bathroom off of our my bedroom. Turning away from him, I pull the dark brown silk sheets up to my chin.
His voice comes from the bathroom and jerks me away from my thoughts. "Listen, my mum invited us to dinner this weekend so I thought you could pick up a bottle of wine or something before Sunday."
My mind plays over the day I had and I sit up, looking around the room at the life I've made for myself. My eyes pass over the expensive art and fine furnishings before settling on the photo at the bedside; Ronald and I at Bill and Fleur's wedding. That photo seems a lifetime away now.
"Ron, I met a man from the American Ministry today. He wants me to go to Boston and be the department head for the department of international magical cooperation. He offered me a great deal of money plus a signing bonus and a huge apartment." My own words seem devoid of emotion as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
He laughs from the bathroom. "You told him to bugger off of course. Hermione Granger at the American Ministry of Magic; what a barmy git."
I am silent for a minute. I'm not really sure what to say. My hands are shaking and my stomach feels sick. I can feel the tears ready to pour over my eyes and I hear him walking out of the bathroom. His face is nothing but panic and anger. "You told him to bugger off… right?" He's breathing heavily and his hands are in fists.
I look up at him again and my tears escape me. "Ron, there's nothing left for me here. I told him I would think about it and I was all ready to say no but then I had a thought. What would happen if I left? What would I be leaving behind? My parents are always working or travelling. Harry can phone and visit. I can see you and the family on holidays. You and I…" I try to finish but the words won't come out.
"You and I what Hermione?! What is all of this supposed to mean?" He is screaming now, frightened.
"I think I'll go to Boston. " It's barely a whisper but it's enough for him to hear.
He moves slowly to the armoire and puts on a crisp white t-shirt and jeans. I can see him move to his underwear drawer and pull something out and then he turns to me and the look on his face is enough to force the breath from my chest. "I have loved you longer than I care to think about. I should have told you that every day because I loved you more every day. I wanted you to have everything you always dreamed about; the life that you deserved. And then somewhere in between your late nights working and the cold leftovers, I found Kelly and Erica and Suzanne and Amy and all the rest. I was mad at you 'Mione. I planned a life for us and you weren't there and it got really hard to keep trying when you gave up a long time ago." He lifts my left hand and slips the most beautiful diamond ring on to my ring finger. He stares at my hand for a long time and I see a tear fall down his cheek for the first time in over four years. "I bought that a week after you moved in here. I'll stay at Harry's for a few days while you move out." He stands up, grabs his coat off the chair and walks away, leaving me in stunned silence with shaking hands and a broken heart.