I own nothing.
This popped into my head. Had to get it down. It's sad, sorta. =)
I considered the man sitting across from me at the table. He was smiling and laughing with Harry, oblivious to my scrutiny. It had been ten years since the war ended, nine since we'd married. I had loved him so much back then; the delicious taste of freedom and dreams spurring us on.
His blue eyes locked with mine and he smiled warmly. Almost automatically, I felt my lips turn up and smile back. How many times had I done that? Hundreds? Thousands? It didn't matter, really. I did my duty as his wife and he seemed happy.
I glanced around the table at the numerous guests at this year's Christmas party. Ginny and Harry always invited more people than the house could accommodate and with the post-war baby boom, the party got bigger every year.
Little James and Albus were fighting in the corner of the room over a small, bewitched broom that Harry had gotten for James this year. Ginny bustled around the room, her large belly somehow not impeding her as she played the gracious hostess. She was so reminiscent of her mother that it was almost scary. Mr. Weasley was quietly discussing something or another with Fleur and Bill. Luna and Neville's brood were playing Exploding Snap at the end of the table, their adoring parents watching their every move. I met George's eyes and saw my own pain mirrored there. He hadn't been the same since Fred's death. But we all had scars, some were just more visible than others. Smiling sadly at him, I stood and left the room.
I sat on the back steps of Grimmauld Place and pulled my coat tighter. As I'd done so many times before, I pulled a bundle of paper out of the cold air. I'd acquired the forms three summers ago, when the mediwizard had told me I would never have children. I hadn't been surprised; it had taken my own parents nearly a decade and four miscarriages to get me. The news had devastated Ron, though. Frowning at the memory, I flipped to the back page and ran my icy fingertips across the signature at the bottom. "Hermione Weasley," it read clearly, as though I'd written it yesterday. This would be my gift to him this year. I'd return to him the very things that had brought us together all those years ago, his freedom and his dreams. I brushed away the tear that threatened to join dozens of its dried brethren on that last page.
"Mione, what are you doing out here in the cold?" Ron's voice spoke from the doorway. When I didn't answer, he came to stand beside me. "What's that, love?"
"Your Christmas present," I whispered as I handed the papers to him.
It was several minutes before he spoke again. "Why?"
"You know why, Ron."
He stared past me, his brows furrowed in thought. "I love you, Hermione," he whispered.
I smiled at him, perhaps the first genuine smile he'd seen on my face in years. "I know. But you deserve more than I can give you." I felt the tears welling in my eyes, so I went back in the house before my calm façade shattered.
I quickly gathered my things and slipped out of the house. Taking a deep breath, I apparated to the one steady place in my life. The one place I didn't feel like a burden, like a woman with no purpose.
He opened the door before my hand reached the knocker. That silky voice that had calmed me hundreds of times over the years was unsteady and I could tell he'd been drinking. "Shouldn't you be at the Potter's?" he sneered.
When I didn't give him the usual sarcastic retort, his face softened and he moved to let me inside.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself seated in a familiar, worn love seat, staring at a glass of red wine.
"Hermione, what happened?" I barely registered the question, but my eyes lifted and I stared blankly at him.
"You left him." It wasn't a question.
I looked back at the wine in my hands and nodded slowly.
The glass was pried from my hands and I was pulled into a warm embrace. The numbness faded and I melted into him, tears flowing freely and moistening his shirt. "I didn't think it would hurt this much." I whimpered into his chest.
"Letting go always hurts, no matter how long we've been doing it."
"Can I stay with you tonight?" I whispered. I had asked him that question many times over the last few years, my pain and disappointment pushing me to stray. He'd always refused.
His hand stopped moving in my hair and I pulled away from him, knowing the answer.
"Under one condition." Black eyes found mine and he spoke softly, "Never leave."