There was a long, curly brown hair on the guest bedroom pillow, despite them not having guests for months, and neither of them having hair resembling that kind. Seeing it was just a lovely greeting after coming home from a long day of work. Draco had been sleeping on their bed and knowing how much he hated being woken up, she kindly went to their spare room to sleep. Now she wondered if his casual request was built from guilt. Someone had been here.

Pansy's heart felt as frigid as the London air she had just walked through. It was dangerous out there so late, especially for a lady, but of course Draco couldn't be bothered to come to see her at the portkey. He didn't even leave the spare key for her, it was no longer in their marble fountain and she didn't want to think about where it might have gone.

She slept fitfully on the sofa that night, not wanting to think about anything at all. Her dreams were haunted by their marriage vows. What did eternity mean to him? Maybe he hadn't been in love and maybe he wasn't bound by loyalty like some sort of Hufflepuff, but at least for the sake of appearances she thought their binding would hold strong. Every time she woke up she was met with the silence of their cottage. Appearances were everything and Pansy had fought long and hard for them, two people shunned by society, to live together comfortably. She wasn't draped in finery like she once was and did occasionally feel bitter, but she never complained, especially not to Draco who seemed oddly comfortable in their surroundings.

Infidelity had always been pretty common along both of their bloodlines and it wasn't as if Pansy didn't have options. In fact, in the bottom of her purse there was a gold necklace and an note given to her by one Blaise Zabini. He still had all of his mother's inheritance. Blaise had been smart during the war, playing both sides just enough to be liked but not enough as to make either side see him as a spy. A Slytherin who's father may have been Muggle, he managed to gain sympathy, but his ruthless side kept him secure. If she had loved him, she would be laying on a real bed, in a mansion, with whatever she needed at her fingertips. But no, she had to love Draco, like some ditzy heroine in a bad romance novel. She wasn't that heroine though, in fact she was quite sure that the other woman in this picture was. That hair may have come from any brunette in all of the world, but there was one lady who's involvement seemed quite likely.

Pansy slipped in and out of nightmares, both in her sleep and the realizations she came to while awake.

She awoke for real quite late, a faded-looking brightness streaming in through the windows and her husband sitting at their dining table. He held some sort of reading material in his left hand, while his right swirled a glass what seemed to be some sort of alcohol. The color felt achingly familiar and making her think of things she didn't want to think.

She got up swiftly to the restroom, fixing how she looked and doing her hair. After all, appearances were everything. She changed into casual clothing and went back out to face Draco, smile painted on but legs shaking ever so slightly. The closer Pansy got the more she could absorb; none of it made her feel any better. Draco was humming, something she had never heard before, even throughout their school years. The paper in his hand was actually Witch Weekly, a tabloid he had once called "trashy and rather like hippogriff dung." He was reading it leaned back in his chair with a faint smirk on his face, and as she stood in front of him she knew exactly why. The front cover was draped in bright, shocking colors and the headline read, "The Golden Trio's Golden Couple Calls it Quits (more on page 12)." Hermione Granger, once called the Gryffindor princess, could be seen handing her husband Ronald something at what appeared to be a cafe. The Hermione on the cover walked away from him coldly, flashing whiskey colored eyes as she did.

"Did you sleep well?"

Draco's voice was a low rumble and she hated how it still warmed her. She wanted to hear guilt or pain in his voice but, quickly replaying the words, she found absolutely none.

"Yes"

She kept her answer short, focusing all her energy on her voice not wavering.

He just gave a absent nod and turned a page of the magazine. Pansy's heart trembled but her steps were sure as she grabbed her purse from the side of their sofa. She strutted toward the door, feeling his curious eyes on her, and she casually began to fish that vital piece of paper out of her bag.

Reaching the door, Pansy read over the address written on it, slipped on her nice shoes, and looked over her shoulder

"Clean the guest room if you have time."

The hand gripping his whiskey shook ever so slightly, the kind that you'd only notice if you were looking for it.

"Where are you going?"

The question in his eyes was genuine but not concerned. With it, Pansy could feel herself steel and her voice get stronger.

"Just out to see a friend" she answered with her most winning smile.

Pansy walked out the door, not bothering to stick around to hear his response. Some things were best left unsaid. If he was going to have another life, so would she. She only fleetingly wished she could've been a cared-about part of either of his.

Maybe in a completely different life they could be together and he would be happy, but she now knew that it wasn't going to happen here.

A/N

Maybe breakups make me a little bitter. No hate to Hufflepuffs, I am one. Sorry for any weird errors, I wrote this early in the morning. Thanks for reading!