Weakness
Onesmartcookie78
Summary: They were doing it again. The question was why.
Disclaimer: I own nothing
"I give up, I give in
To the whole of your skin
(I give up, I give in Am I doing this again?)"
-"The Heart" by Mary Lambert
She wasn't sure how they'd started this. She was married and so was he and they both had kids. It wasn't that she didn't love Ron or Rose or Hugo. It wasn't that she was unhappy. If someone had asked her why she was committing adultery, she wouldn't even be able to tell them the reason. But the fact stood that she was.
And she was supposed to be the smart one.
Hermione Jean Granger slunk out of bed slowly. She never stayed after the sex. Guilt mixed with the notion that if she were to sleep next to him after, she wouldn't be able to leave. And then she looked at him over her shoulder, saw his sweaty blonde hair and half-lidded eyes and she was defeated.
Hermione sighed; turning back had been a mistake. So she retrieved his shirt from off the floor, buttoned it halfway and opened the small window in the room. There were enough rooms in Malfoy Manor that they could've chosen to have sex there, but his wife stayed home all day. Neither wanted to run the risk of running into Astoria. So they chose to rent a room at The Leaky Cauldron.
The arrangement fulfilled both of their needs.
He, on the other end, wasn't happy with his marriage. It wasn't that she was a awful; they just didn't click. She was pretty enough, but he wasn't attracted to her. Hermione though? Hermione had a fire about her that he couldn't help but come back to, over and over. He wouldn't say he was obsessed, but addicted was the perfect describer.
He couldn't say when it started. Probably in Third year when she'd punched him. He'd deserved it, though he hadn't thought it then.
Thus his hatred of her had escalated, and then she'd vouched for him when he'd been tried as a Death Eater. She'd already been married at the time. After the war, everyone had realised that they may not have as much time with their loved ones as they'd expected. She'd been one of many to take the hint and marry before her time ran out.
She'd looked good that day, dressed in a pencil skirt and white blouse pinstriped with black. He'd been unable to drop her gaze through the entirety of the trial, his grey positively locked on her warm brown.
His case had taken three days to run its completion, and when it was done, he'd thanked Potter and Granger. Weasley hadn't been able to come -which was just as well, considering he wouldn't have had anything kind to say about him- and by the time he and Granger had finished talking, they'd had a mutually unspoken agreement to see each other again.
Under the obviously different circumstances -old house rivalries were no long relevant and though blood status bothered him, she'd nagged on him enough that he had stopped caring... much- their newfound spark had flourished. There had been many times where they could have crushed it, let it die out, but both parties had undeniably encouraged it in the end.
What had started out as lunch when they were both on break from the Ministry had turned into the occasional dinner date and dragged into sex. It was fantastic. Completely, utterly, detached. At first.
And then the feelings had payed a visit to him and he'd woken up from a deep sleep in the middle of the night after one of their flings with a jolt. That was when he'd realised he loved her. He didn't say anything. He knew she didn't feel the same.
Both had been lost in their thoughts, her at the window and him laying in bed. Then he rose and took his place behind her, his arms looping around her waist easily, her bushy hair tickling his mouth when it brushed against his lips. She'd slipped into his embrace, her head falling into his chest in a delightfully snug and frighteningly familiar manner.
"What are we doing?" She whispered.
"I don't know," he admitted, aware that that fact was what scared her most.
She turned in his embrace and he buried his face in her neck, drinking her in. "You have a wife. And a son," she stated.
"I do," he agreed, then added: "And you have a husband and two kids."
"I won't leave them, if that's what you're asking," she withdrew, eyes narrowed at him as though daring him to even consider doing so. "I can't. I love them."
"And you think I don't love Astoria? And Scorpius?" He loved his son. He cared for Astoria, but claiming love of her was a matter in an entirely different spectrum- one which he never wished to approach.
"I don't love you," she whispered.
That gave him pause, made him swallow the sudden lump in his throat. "Don't of won't?"
"Can't," she corrected, "I can't love you."
"But you do?" He raised an eyebrow at her, curious for her response.
"Yes," she acknowledged with a nod, "but it's wrong."
"Would you have it any other way?"
Her reply was nearly drowned out by the rapidly increasing drum of his heart. He found that he was nervous for her admission, praying that she didn't so that he could let her go, but begging that she did for some closure.
She closed her eyes, standing on her toes and pressing her forehead to his. She was tentative, kissing him gently, her lips moulding expertly to his, both knowing where to touch to receive the desired response from each other. He nearly groaned into her mouth at the innocence of it, but held it in. "No," she breathed, lowering herself.
She backed away rom him, distance becoming necessary to keep her in-control façade. She took off his shirt and jerked her own clothes back on, taking her time to make sure nothing looked out of place or messy. "We should stop."
"Will we?" His fist clenched on the fabric.
"Do you love me?" She countered, shoving her feet into her heels.
"Yes," he muttered.
"Then we won't," she pecked him on the cheek and flounced out the door.
She wasn't his addiction- she was his weakness.
And thank Salazar if he ever managed to get enough of her.