Simon


"Darling, there's no need to chew so loudly," commented a very pregnant Hermione Granger. She was seated at the long counter of her kitchen, her feet propped up on the chair beside her. It was midnight, almost too late for her and the baby to be up, but her oldest munchkin was up and running, demanding to be given bangers and mash.

A pouting boy of five stared up at her with those dark, blue eyes. "But, Mummy," he protested, "Uncle Ron said that if I don't eat like a Weasley then I can't be a Weasley."

Hermione snorted. "Being a Weasley doesn't require eating like a pig, poppet."

"In that specific Weasley's case, I think it's mandatory," piped in a smug voice.

Hermione spun around in her seat and smiled at her husband. "What are you doing home so early?" she asked, standing up and wrapping her arms around him. The large bump in her stomach prevented her from fully enveloping him in her embrace.

"Da!" squealed the previously saddened, little boy. "I've got loads to tell you!" The spitting image of his father, Damien Zabini ran across the kitchen and into his father's arms, a smile similar to his mother's on his face. "Da! Da!"

Hermione laughed gaily and moved aside, letting her precious five-year-old boy shower his father with wet kisses. "Be still, Damien, darling. Your father must be very tired," she extracted her son from Blaise and stared up into her husband's eyes. "I'm happy you're finally here!" she breathed, jumping onto her toes and kissing him.

Damien made a face. "That's mucky, Mummy," he stated in distaste.

Hermione ignored him and let her mouth open slowly, reveling the feeling of his lips on hers. It had been two days since they've touched and she was beginning to get restless. Nights spent without someone to warm her bed or coddle her during the day wasn't something she enjoyed. Blaise worked with plenty of businesses throughout Europe and the States, so, naturally, his weekends were spent away from his family and with his colleagues. He'd be home for only days at a time and Hermione half-wished so could tell him to quit his job, seeing as they had plenty of money already, but he loved his work and she didn't have the heart to tear him away from it.

Blaise groaned and pressed against her, the baby, and Damien into the counter, his right hand coming up to grasp her hair and the other to massage her stomach. His briefcase landed somewhere on the floor with a thud and he smirked when he heard his son making gagging noises just by his right cheek.

"Mummy needs to breathe, Da," exclaimed Damien, quite used to his parents' display of affection. "The baby can't breathe."

Pulling back slightly, just enough to bite his wife's lower lip, Blaise whispered, "I've missed you so much."

Hermione sighed, content. "I've missed you, too, love."

Blaise raised an eyebrow at Damien. "And what are you giggling at, manic munchkin?" he inquired, nibbling on the tip of his son's nose.

Damien squealed, again, and yelled, "Da! You've got paint on your neck!"

Confused, Blaise rubbed the spot Damien was currently pointing to and looked at his fingertips. It definitely wasn't paint – it was rather something oily. Before discovering what it was, Hermione shoved him away, eyes hot with fury. Blaise watched incredulously at she wiped furiously at the tears that somehow appeared in her eyes. Stalking away, Damien still in her arms, Blaise followed, his fingers still coated with the red substance.

"Hermione!" he bellowed, "Hermione! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

Now racking with sobs, Hermione dashed into Damien's room and carefully placed him on the bed, cautious not to show her son what was running down her cheeks. "You'll go to sleep now, Damien," she ordered, tucking him in and kissing his forehead.

Damien stared, wide-eyed, as his Mummy waddled away. He may be the ripe age of five, but he knew crying when he saw it. He quivered in bed and hoped that his Mummy and Da wouldn't get into a row. It had been ages since their last one and Damien wanted it to stay that way.

Shutting Damien's door, Hermione cast a silencing spell around it and silently glared at Blaise, who halted at the top of the stairs. "I will not be made a fool, Zabini," she hissed, blatantly angered by something he had done. "You could've had the decency to wash up before coming home. It would've saved me the humility in front of our own son."

While Hermione had tucked Damien in, Blaise at last determined what the material on his neck was. He had cursed himself for being such an idiot and had quickly wiped every trace of it off. He growled at the recollection of Veronica Sutton dripping all over him at work. She had leapt at him when he wasn't paying attention and attacked his face, neck, and shoulders with her mouth, grabbing anything in reach with her hands. Blaise remembered how he had shoved her off and seen the pleased look on her face. He simply hated dealing with her, but he had to – she was, after all, his co-worker's wife.

"I won't be home tonight," Hermione croaked, her emotions getting the better of her. "Please tell Dame that I'll be back in the morning. Speak nothing of this to him – he won't understand."

Making a move to leave, Hermione growled fiercely when Blaise lunged forward and held her from behind, his hands intertwined over her stomach. Glancing down at her baby, Hermione sobbed, thoughts of her child growing up without a father flitting through her mind. She couldn't believe this was happening – none of this was to happen. Everything had been perfect during their five years of marriage – everything. "Let go," she managed to say through gritted teeth.

"You were never one for excuses, Granger, but, for this, I think you might need to make an exception," he said smoothly, caressing her belly with soft hands.

Hermione glowered at the red dot of lipstick on his finger and jerked away, feeling scalded. "Stay away from me!" she shrieked. "I don't want you near me! Don't you ever touch me again! I want none of her leavings!"

Blaise's jaw locked. "Her leavings?" he asked deathly. "I've touched no one but you, Hermione, so I'm not sure what you're babbling about."

Hermione laughed bitterly. "Don't feign innocence with me, Zabini. For years I've told myself that you handling these businesses was a good thing – that it kept you happy. I was right for the most part. Unfortunately, it was your businesses that I knew nothing about." Looking at Damien's bedroom door with miserable eyes, Hermione whispered, "If I couldn't fulfill my duties as your wife, why didn't you merely remove me out of your life and start anew?"

"Don't you dare," he hissed, "don't you dare! Don't you dare say that I've never loved you! Don't you even think that you're not who I want!"

Feeling lightheaded, Hermione held onto the wall for support. "You can go back to your bint if you're feeling frustrated. I can take Damien with me."

"You're not going anywhere," he demanded, not sounding in the least bit confident. Panic rose in his system and he disregarded the feeling of dread that mocked him.

"I'll draw up the papers tomorrow," Hermione continued, as if Blaise never spoke. "You'll need to sign them, so I'll send them to wherever you'd like me to." She shakily drew a breath, aching for this all to be a dream. "She's that man's wife, isn't she? The same harlot who threw herself at you during your congratulatory dinner?" She smiled resentfully. "I knew as much."

Blaise stepped forward, the distance between them deafening. "Don't do this, Hermione. Don't do this unless I explain. We promised each other we'd listen to what the other had to say. Don't jump to conclusions and make the biggest mistake of your life."

"We promised each other we'd abide fidelity," she said hollowly. "And this wasn't my mistake to make, Blaise. It was yours."

"It was nothing!" he screamed, using any last resorts that were left. He couldn't stand to see her go – not now, not when she was expecting his child and mothering his other.

"I'll have my things packed by tomorrow. I don't care what you say – Damien is coming with me," she said with finality. "The papers will be drawn by the afternoon and I'd like them signed by nightfall. I need none of your money or any of your things. I'm sure you'd love to shower Veronica Sutton with your riches – and please do – I don't mind."

"You can't Apparate or Floo," he blurted, "not with the baby. You can't leave tonight."

"There's no need to worry about me Apparating. I've concocted a potion that will keep the baby safe during travels. If you were home enough, you would know this," she replied, her tone bland.

"Hermione, please," he pleaded. "Don't do this – don't do this to Damien."

Her eyes welled with tears. "My son isn't a weapon to use against me, Blaise," she whispered harshly.

"And what of our baby? What of the baby we made together?" he asked viciously. "I will not have my child grow without me."

Gripping her wand within her pocket, Hermione snapped, "You should've thought of that before you shagged somebody else. I'll be here in the morning to fetch Damien. Have his things ready by then."

Just as he dived for her, she Apparated away, leaving him with the remnants of their fight and the hopelessness on her face.

"You can't do this to yourself, Hermione."

Hermione sought refuge in the Burrow the night before. Ginny had informed her of Ron's arrival and Hermione jumped at the change to see her best friend. With Harry in Paris honeymooning with Daphne and Ginny busy taking care of her own children, she really didn't have anyone to turn to.

She had run into Molly the second she Apparated in and wailed on her shoulder, eyes bloodshot and body trembling. The Weasley matriarch asked no questions and simply gave Hermione a hot cup of tea and sent her to bed. It was no use for the brunette, for all she did in bed was cry into her pillow, muttering affectionate whispers to her child within. She itched to Apparate back and take Damien, but she couldn't risk having her son see any of this. Morning came and she reluctantly woke up, hunger overpowering her.

When she had walked down the stairs, she was only greeted by the cheery face of Ron, who blindly pulled a seat out for her and held her close.

"They left for Percy's commencement," he had told her, "They let me stay behind."

So, here the witch was, a plate of food before her and Ron's hands massaging her shoulders. He knew just where to touch her – knew the exact way to make her smile. Taking a sip of her milk, Hermione mumbled, "I'm terribly sorry about this."

"S'not a problem, 'Mione," he replied, taking a seat beside her. He tucked a stray hair behind her eat and stated, "When you're ready to talk about it, I'll be right here."

"He slept with someone else," she divulged unthinkingly.

Ron's eyes hardened. "Where's Damien?" he asked, his first consideration the little boy.

Hermione glanced at the clock. "I'll be picking him up in an hour." She turned to Ron and buried her face in his neck. "Oh, Ron! How could this happen? Why did this happen to us?"

He wrapped his arms around her. "Are you sure he did this? Did you see him?"

She sniffled and muttered, "He came home with lipstick on his neck. He let some bint mark him with her lips, Ron." Sobbing for the millionth time that morning, Hermione wept, "What am I going to do? How am I going to survive this? I have nothing, Ron! I resigned from my job at the Ministry for him! How will I support my baby and Damien? What am I going to do? I'm eight months pregnant! I should've thought of this already!"

"You won't do anything, 'Mione – nothing. I'll take care of it," he promised. "I'm moving into a bigger flat next week in Hogsmeade. You can stay with me for as long as you like. I'll have Percy talk to your boss and we'll get your job back. Damien will be with us as well and don't worry about the baby – they'll be enough for all four of us."

"I can't, Ron. I can't," she protested. "I can't live off of you. Not when you've done everything for me already."

"Nonsense," he snapped, irritated. "You'll be staying with me."

"What about Pansy? I thought you two wanted to live together. Ron, I don't think she'll like the idea of us living together."

Ron chuckled. "You shouldn't worry, 'Mione. The flat's big enough for the family – believe me. And Pansy will be there and she won't mind you and the children."

"This is it," Hermione whispered. "This is it. This is the end of my marriage."

Ron kissed her gently on the forehead. "It may be the end of your marriage, Hermione, but it's not the end of your life." He stood up and helped her stand. "C'mon, love. Let's get you ready. I reckon Damien is waiting to see his favorite uncle."

"Mummy!" squealed the dark-haired boy from across the room. "Uncle Ron!" he screeched delightedly, wiggling away from his father's lap and jetting over to the two figures who just Apparated into the parlor.

Hermione stiffened when she spotted Mr. and Mrs. Sutton sitting in her parlor, sipping her tea. Well, Hermione thought bitterly, it won't be mine any longer after the separation goes through.

Ron gaily invited Damien into his arms, his tall build hovering over the boy. "Look at you!" he laughed, tickling him. "You've gotten so big! What've you been doing, Squirt?"

"Mummy! You didn't tell Uncle Ron that Da's been teaching me Quiddie?" he scolded, eyes wide with excitement. "Uncle Ron, you've gotta see!"

Hermione swallowed back rivers of tears and bent down, as far as her baby would let her go, and kissed her son on the cheek. She rubbed his face softly and whispered, "Are you going to give Mummy and the baby a proper hello?"

Damien giggled and shot forward, his hands dangling around his mother's neck. "Is the baby okay, Mummy? Did Uncle Ron take care of you?" He snickered. "Uncle Draco said that Uncle Ron can't properly do things without mucking up first."

Ron glowered. "Your Uncle Malfoy is an idiot, then," he concluded.

Hermione swatted him in the arm. "Ron! Don't say things like that in front of him!"

Blaise watched in fury as his wife and his son interacted so naturally with her past lover. His eyes filled with hate as they trailed from her hand to his, both obviously entwined. "Damien," he spoke up, catching the attention of everyone in the room. "It's rude to walk away from your meal. Sit down, son," he commanded.

Hermione lips almost transformed into a sneer at Blaise's antics towards their child. She loathed the idea of him treating Damien like he was just an heir – just another person to inherit his money. He was their son, for Circe's sake.

Damien stood in-between Hermione and Ron, both his hands coming up to disconnect theirs. Each hand held theirs as he trotted back to the table, a huge grin on his face. "Will you fly with me today, Uncle Ron?" he asked, eager.

"Actually, lad, we were here to come pick you up. You fancy spending the day at the Burrow?"

Damien's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Yes! Yes!" he chirped. "Let me go get all my Quiddie stuff!"

Blaise shot up in his seat and growled, "Sit down, Damien!" He turned to Ron. "My son will be spending the day with me at work."

Hermione cleared her throat and feigned a sweet smile. "Good morning, Daniel," she said pleasantly, shaking his hand. She did the same to his wife, "Hello, Mrs. Sutton." The woman looked at her with disinterest, but Hermione kept her calm. Staring up at Blaise and willing herself not to cry, she said softly, "I'd like Damien to accompany me to the Burrow today. I promised him I'd let him fly there one day this week."

Blaise fisted his hands. "Hermione," he whispered, at a loss. "Can I speak to you in private outside, please?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm to leave now. I have an appointment later today and I can't miss it. Are Damien's things packed?"

Mr. Sutton shifted in his seat, the tension in the room evident. "We will come back at another time, Blaise," he stated, standing up and motioning for his wife to follow. "We'll discuss your trip tonight, maybe? Over dinner?"

Hermione scoffed, not surprised. "Another trip? Of course." She smiled at Damien, reassuring the scared boy that everything was alright. "Go pack your things, munchkin," she said gently. "Uncle Ron will help you."

"C'mon, mate." Ron lifted Damien high into the air, earning a barrel of squeals from him. "Let's go get your things!"

They left as the Suttons did and Hermione didn't waste time in saying, "I won't have you treating Damien like that. He's leaving with me today – we talked about this last night. I'm not leaving him here while you're out fucking your co-worker's wife."

Filled with rage, Blaise yelled and threw table before him over, plates, glasses, utensils, and food spilling all over the parlor. He stalked over to her and pressed her up against the wall, eyes as cold as ice. "I'm not fucking anyone but you, you daft wench!"

Genuinely terrified, Hermione mumbled, "Blaise, please."

He shut her up completely when he covered her mouth with his. His hand tracked its way underneath her gray skirt and into her knickers. When his fingers met her warmth, he almost burst in his pants. Tearing away the barrier that was her underwear, he spread her legs wide open and didn't even flinch when he heard the rip of her skirt. He delved into her folds, two fingers sliding in to work their usual magic.

Hermione's breathing came in low pants, hands coming up to grip his shoulders. "Blaise, no," she moaned, knowing that this wasn't the right way to solve a problem. "Stop, no, stop – oh, god."

His fingers found her clit and he gradually drew small circles over it, his other arm holding her up against the wall. He watched as she threw her head back, her orgasm nearing. He felt the walls around his fingers clench and just as she was about to scream, just as her satisfaction approached, he pulled his finger away and stepped back. Kissing her fiercely once more, he said callously, "You are mine. Do not forget it."

Shaking with embarrassment and shame, Hermione smoothed down her skirt and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "I'll be taking –" Her hand came up to cover her mouth when a sob escaped. She quavered violently, her breathing now nothing more than wheezes. "Why?" she wailed. "Why would you do this to me?"

Blaise stood there, unmoving, unable to do anything else. He had almost taken his pregnant wife up against the wall of their disheveled parlor. He had been taken with so much wrath at the sight of her cuddling up to Weasley that he actually disgraced her with his disgusting act of idiocy. He told himself that he'd explain everything to her today – that he would woo her with his charm and let her see the light. He didn't expect the Suttons to visit him so early, or for Veronica to even show up at all. What the hell was he doing? He was so keen on keeping his wife that he entirely forgot his morals.

"Hermione," he whispered, desperate.

"After holding my love for so long, why would you do this to me?"

He knew she wasn't referring to his cheating, or short of, but to his lack of finesse when it came to controlling himself. "Hermione, I –"

"I love you, Blaise," she said, broken. "But, I can't live with myself if I stay with someone who treats me like a whore."

"Stop that! Stop staying things like that!" he thundered.

"I wish I looked half as good as Veronica Sutton, but, Blaise, I don't! I can never be as beautiful as her or as graceful or as detached! I'm sorry if I was born with a heart that developed itself some morals, but this is who I am!" She had been longing to say those things ever since last night – to give him some clue as to the woman he once knew and loved. "We can set up visitations," she declared. "When the baby is born, you're allowed to see him. I'm not cruel enough to –"

"I have done nothing with Veronica," he lashed out, fist coming up to punch the wall. "I've never even thought about touching that slag! I understand you're hurt – Circe knows I went through an entire fucking night to let you calm down – but to actually believe I'd touch another after claiming my right on you?! You must be insane! I have done nothing and yet you still continue to carry on this notion of my infidelity! I would think you'd listen, Hermione – I would think you'd let me explain why there was such a mark on my neck!"

Hermione remained quiet, speechless.

"You're not leaving me," he said in conclusiveness. "You're not taking my children with you either. I'll not have my wife leave me – I'll not have the Zabini name ruined."

"You bastard," she hissed. "Is that all you care about? The Zabini name? Bugger your bloody name and reputation. I care nothing of it! I want nothing of it any longer! Stay away from me!" She propped herself against the wall and began to walk away. "If you'd like to speak to me any further then please contact my lawyers."

"And why are you leaving, my darling wife?" he inquired, the terror in his heart growing more and more each time she spoke. "Veronica believes that she will become my mistress," Hermione's back stiffened, "she believes that she will occupy my bed every night. Yesterday, when I was at work, Daniel left the office for an hour to see his mother. Veronica saw it fit to attack me with her bloody claws. I see nothing in her. There is nothing in her that I would want in you. Why would I stoop so low as to fuck someone else's wife when I have my own gorgeous one at home waiting for me?"

Hermione didn't understand, but his words affected her deeply and somewhere, in the darkest pits of her heart, she believed him – every single word. "So – you're not leaving me for a younger slag, then?"

He chuckled, the setting around him fading, and the only thing in his line of sight his wife. "If my memory serves me right, Granger," he drawled, walking forward to embrace her. "You were the one intent on leaving." He spun her around and dove into her hair, smelling the sweet smell that was his wife. "I love you," he murmured. "And I'm so sorry for being such a moron."

"I'm not forgiving you," Hermione said sternly. She grasped his hand in hers and dipped down low underneath her skirt. Blaise groaned when he felt her wet, hot core, drenched with her lust for him. "Not after that."

Crushing his lips to hers, he backed her into the chaise lounge, the back of her knees hitting its edge. She fell brusquely onto it, Blaise following. He switched their positions with little effort – Hermione sitting on his lap. His eyes flew open when his naughty wife slithered her hand down his trousers and wrapped around his cock. "Ah," his words were unintelligible as she leisurely stroked him up and down.

"Blaise," she whispered, "Blaise – oh."

He unbuttoned his pants and guided the head of his cock to her entrance. Fully inside her now, Blaise mumbled the words, "Ride me, love."

Clutching onto his shoulders, Hermione lifted herself and slammed back down onto him, her verbalizations echoing throughout their parlor. She peered down at her husband and smirked at his closed eyes and uncontrolled desire. "Yes, fuck, I –"

"I'm so close – I'm –"

Hermione's sentence was cutoff, for Blaise gripped onto her waist lightly and pounded into her, his grunts vibrating the column of her neck.

She screeched, the evident result of her arousal consuming her, bringing them both into a devastatingly satisfying state of completion. He continued to thrust forth, milking his shaft until it completely emptied inside of her.

"Oh, Circe," he muttered, tenderly cuddling her. "You think he heard all of that?"

Hermione sighed. "Simon was always one for eavesdropping," she said softly, covering Blaise's hand with hers as they rubbed her belly together.

"I meant everything I said, Hermione," he said calmly, still trying to recuperate. He had never come so hard in his entire life – it was expected for his breathing to become wholly erratic. "I've never sullied myself with her touches – that much I can say."

"I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions," she voiced. "I'm sorry for thinking that you'd do such a thing to Damien, Simon, and I."

"It's acceptable, love. You're pregnant. It's about time your mood swings came into play. I actually thought you strange when you weren't given the curse of morning sickness or tantrums." He looked up at her, those warm, loving eyes that she adored. "I nearly died when you mentioned obtaining a divorce. I could never leave you, let alone you leaving me."

She traced patterns around his face, her expression contemplative. "I thought I had lost you."

"You haven't. You still have me."

She groaned, her head falling onto his chest. "What kind of mad world are we bringing our child into?"

"Damien survived, didn't he?"

Hermione giggled. "I can't believe he was conceived the night before our wedding."

"I can't believe you were able to walk the next day."

Hermione pinched him. "Stop being such a prat!"

"For what it's worth, Simon's conception was an odd one," he added.

"It was not!"

"Hermione," Blaise interrupted, giving her a look. "He was conceived in the Burrow – in Weasley's bedroom – in his bloody bed."

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully, "I wonder what how our third child will come about."

"Third child?"

Finite