Ophelia was a tempest cyclone.
A god damned hurricane.
Your common sense, your best defense –
Lay wasted and in vain.

-Natalie Merchant, "Ophelia"

On the third of every month, he comes. He doesn't ask, he doesn't hesitate – he just comes. We talk, we reminisce, and somehow the night always ends with us in bed together. We label this interlude many things, but never do we call it by its true name – betrayal.

He is the adulterer in this relationship of ours, and I am the mistress. Only two weeks ago was his anniversary with his wife of two years. I didn't attend the party her mother organized. In fact, the last gathering I attended with the Weasley family was their wedding. My connection with them dissolved after I ended the engagement with Ron. I told him it was because we could never be, that what we had was only an old teenage love. But in truth, I couldn't bare lying to him anymore, of committing sin against him. I loved another man, and I sinned against him with that man.

Yet Harry didn't react like I planned when I ended the three year engagement. Instead, he proposed to Ginny the next day. I had thought – I had hoped – that he would leave her for me, just like I had left Ron for him. I was wrong. And yet, he still comes, still sins.

It's the third of the month. I watch the clock anxiously, waiting for the hour hand to reach eleven. Every time, like clockwork, he arrives at eleven, an hour before midnight, an hour before a new day. He doesn't knock. We've learned a long time ago that our relationship goes beyond knocking, despite how dark and twisty that relationship has become.

The door opens. From my uncomfortable seat on my worn couch, I have to turn to see him. And as my eyes meet his, I wish I hadn't. I feel light headed, ill – I feel like the world is spinning and yet I'm standing still. His eyes – the ones that were always so open to me – tell me everything I need to know: tonight won't be like the others.

I look away. I don't hear him approach, or feel the couch sink as he sits beside me. It isn't until he speaks that I look at him. I don't meet his eyes. "Ginny has noticed."

Took her long enough, I think mutinously. "And how do you figure that one out?"

He looks away from me. "She asked me today. I told her my field partner and I go out once a month, to take a break from our auror duties."

A lie. That's what our lives have become, a web of lies woven so thick, we don't even know the truth anymore. I idly twirl a strand of cloth that has come lose from a blanket. A small part of my mind wonders if our lies will ever come out, if our truths will also stay woven. "Why are you telling me this? Time had it you never mentioned Ginny."

I need him to meet my eyes; I need to know what he's feeling, what he's thinking. Never has he questioned this arrangement of ours, at least not out loud. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost forced. "I just never realized how much I've hurt her…and she doesn't even know it."

And you don't even know how much you've hurt me. "So what you're saying," my voice matches his in monotone. "is that you want to end this?"

He shakes his head vigorously, and I feel my eyes moisten dramatically. "No, no. I just…thought I'd tell you."

"Unless you were ending this, there would be no reason for you to tell me." I snap, my words sounding harsher than I had intended. And then, my inner eye shifts. Ginny…she doesn't know, she doesn't know that when she goes to bed every night, she goes to bed with an adulterer.

"We can still do this, Hermione."

I shake my head. The tears that have threatened to fall since my engagement ended finally do. He reaches a hand out to brush them away, but I grab his wrist. "I'm not letting you put Ginny through the same pain you've put me through all these years."

…'I'll love you forever, 'Mione, just give me time.'

"But, Hermione…"

"No," my voice quivers as I say it. How can he not remember, how can he forget? All the promises he has broken in the past three years come crashing down around my ears. It's too much to bear, too much to live with. For so long I've ignored them, boxed them away in a small corner. "I can't do this anymore."

…'Promise me you'll come back to me. Promise me we'll be forever.'

It's a lie and we both know it. No matter how much it hurts to just be his sweet charade, his escape, I could play this role forever, as long as I can be with him. To touch him, to hear his ragged breath…even when he's speaking in ineloquence and anger, I still fall for him. I've been falling for him since we first met – and as hard as I try, I'm never going to hit bottom.

"I'm married, Hermione." He says testily, and I can tell he's becoming angry with me. I don't care.

…he laughed. 'Married? To Ginny? It's not in our cards, Hermione.'

"I was engaged," I shoot back, my own anger reaching a limit I can't possibly contain it at. "I didn't follow through with it because of you!"

I just want to curl into a tiny ball and cry in a corner, to wallow in my grief. But this isn't finished yet; it's oh so far from finished.

"Did you honestly think I would break up an agreement of marriage for you?"

…'it will always be you, Hermione. It will always be you.'

I feel like I'm playing Ophelia to his Hamlet. My world is crashing before me, and no matter how hard I try, I can't pick up the pieces. I knew he wouldn't want me, knew he wouldn't leave Ginny…and yet I still let my heart believe one day he would see me, love me. Here's metal more attractive…why can't he stand by me? Why can't he ignore Ginny and choose me?

I wrap my arms around me protectively. It's a futile attempt to feel safe, I know, but I feel so horribly exposed. "I guess that's it then, isn't it?"

…'Promise me we'll be forever'

"It doesn't have to be…" But I see it in his eyes. Hope is moving in them, the hope that he can make good with his adulterous sins.

…'Forever.'

"I can't keep doing this, Harry." A lie.

…'Promise you'll come back to me.'

"I never meant to hurt you." A truth.

…'I promise.'

"But you did." Words left unspoken for so long.

…promises made, declarations said.

Promises broken, declarations wasted. I feel numb; nothing seems real, nothing seems to be changing – and I am glad. I want to be alone when this numbness fades. I can't – won't – let him see me cry. I can't allow him to have another victory, even if he isn't counting.

He reaches I hand out to mine. This time, I allow the contact, for I am too numb, both physically and mentally, to feel it. I will myself to feel it, to imprint this last tender moment we'll share. But I can't; my heart has already blocked him out.

Abruptly he stands. The sudden movement forces me to look at him; he is not looking at me. It isn't until he reaches the door that he turns back. For the first time this night, he meets my eyes. The numbness reacts to this: I cannot read his eyes, do not want to read his eyes. I am afraid of what I might find.

I brace myself, ready for his harsh words, his slurs – bracing myself for the hated I am sure to receive. It does not occur to me that he's the one who deserves to be walked out on, for all I wanted was his love – all he wanted was an escape.

"Goodbye, Hermione." He turns his back on me, and this time I know it will be the last time I see his retreating back.

As he shuts the door behind him, the numbness shatters with the resounding snap of the door. I start spinning with the world again, but the tears don't come as expected. Instead, a revelation – the waiting is over. Maybe I can live now; maybe I can find love, a love that will be returned. Or maybe I'll just fade away…