The characters and situations in the following story belong solely to J K Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic and Warner Bros. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
Hermione took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. The comfort spell was starting to wear off, but she was simply too tired to bother renewing it. It wasn't like she even needed glasses anyway – she just liked the way they looked. She blushed at her tiny act of vanity. If anyone found out, the embarrassment would cripple her.
"No danger of that happening," she thought to herself miserably. Even Ron didn't notice. Twenty years in and they were starting to show classic signs of marriage breakdown: he was always at the office; she was always complaining or drinking. Or both. The worst part was that he just didn't want to have sex anymore. After four months of trying on various lingerie, barely-there panties and see-through bras, he hadn't even batted an eyelid. Every night was the same with Ron: get home from work, eat dinner, watch TV, brush teeth, ignore semi-nude wife, and fall asleep.
It's not as if she looked bad, for Merlin's sake! She'd managed to age extremely well through a healthy lifestyle (and a knack with potions), and for a woman nearing forty she was still in great shape. She didn't have a grey hair on her head, and she still made an effort despite Ron's lack of appreciation. The truth was they were both just...bored. The kids were at Hogwarts now which meant they had more time together than they'd had in years. And for the life of her, Hermione could never think of anything to do. Except for one thing...but that was clearly out of the question.
For the millionth time she wondered if Ron was seeing someone else. Someone less...demanding than her, who wouldn't force him to do the dishes every night and make him look stupid. "Someone who can cook as well as his mother," she thought bitterly. She could never live up to the unattainable idol of womanhood that was Molly. Why should she even try?
Speaking of dinner...she quickly threw some fish and chips into the oven, and hoped they'd be ready before Ronald dearest got home. He was always so damn grumpy if he didn't get his food. Once again, the temptation to just disappear off somewhere and leave him to it, struck her. But that would be immature wouldn't it?
Wouldn't it?
There was a knock on the door. Obviously Ron had decided to take a walk today instead of the Floo. Good – maybe he was trying to get into shape again. Not that he was really out of shape. All things considered, she thought, her husband still had a nice arse.
"You have a key!" she called out.
"...Really?"
That wasn't Ron's voice. Not even close. But it did seem strangely familiar...
She got up, heart in her mouth, palms sweaty, and walked down the hall. A familiar shape was silhouetted against the frosted glass of the front door. She hadn't seen a pair of shoulders like that in over twenty years. She knew with a sudden certainty who they belonged to. Hoping that he couldn't see her, she paused in front of the mirror to check her hair. All in all, today was not a bad day. But there were slight bags under her eyes. Oh well, she had no time to fix that now.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Hello, Hermione."