DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or world
Taking a deep breath and shutting her brown eyes from the world around her, Hermione prepared herself for the four words she never imagined she would have to hear. "Hermione, love? I want a divorce." Opening her eyes once more, Hermione's brown eyes met Ron's blue. "It doesn't come a surprise to me Ronald. We knew this marriage was over a year ago." Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she continued, "I'll collect my things and be out of the flat by the end of tonight." As much as Hermione tried to keep her voice devoid of emotion, her voice hitched at the end. Looking down, she saw Ron awkwardly reach out to her, before clearing his throat and looking away. A faint red tinge marking the tip of his ears as the only betrayal of his emotions. "You know that I never intended to hurt you 'Mione. We tried that er, what do you muggles call it? Ah yes," his head bobbed up and down, "Marriage counselling. We tried and it didn't make us better. We lost our passion for each other and you know it."
Anger sparked within Hermione. Yes. That. She thought darkly. The biggest regret of her life was suggesting that they try counselling following the distance she felt growing between them. A harsh laugh barked out of her, "Indeed you are right Ronald. Rather than repairing our marriage and rekindling our passion, it just rekindled yours for a certain Gryffindor." Ron's mouth opened only to be interrupted as Hermione put her hand up, silencing any response he had. "I just wish that you had the Gryffindor bravery to call quits on us prior to my discovery of Ms. Brown's rather descriptive letters of your work trip." The memory still pained her, finding letters to dear Ronniekins stashed underneath their mattress. What a foolish woman she was, to believe that she could still repair their marriage after his infidelity.
"Hermione, please," Ron whispered beseechingly. Any excuse died within him as she sent him her most withering glare, "Just do me a favour Ron. Do not try to contact me unless it has to do with our divorce." And with that, with the flick of her wand, Hermione gathered all her belongings from five years of marriage and tucked them away into her beaded bag. The last thing she saw was their wedding portrait cracking as she disapparated on the spot.
The following morning Hermione groaned, head pounding as if leprechauns were dancing a jig within her skull. Rolling over she buried her head under her pillow, begging for the tapping to cease. Feeling some movement beside her, Hermione froze. "What the bloody hell are you doing in my bed, Zabini." Hermione hissed, the pounding within her head increasing. Suddenly a wave of nausea rolled over her. "Shit," she muttered, and with a hand clamped over her mouth, she dashed to the loo retching into the toilet.
Yawning, Blaise meandered over to the porcelain bowl where the bushy haired girl from his school days was currently resting her head against. What started out as an unconventional friendship following the Battle of Hogwarts, blossomed into half a decade of unwavering loyalty. Wrinkling his nose at the acrid stench of her vomit, Blaise sat down next to her on the cool white tile. "If you were worried that something happened between us last night, Hun, I can assure you that nothing did. As to you being in my bed, that is a question I have for you. When your friend wakes you up with an unintelligible patronus message at 4 o'clock in the morning, you pick them up and apparate them home. However, you insisted on not going back to yours and Ron's flat, hence why we are at mine." Groaning, Hermione mumbled a quick "Sorry Blaise," before retching again. Running a soothing hand along her back, Blaise stood up to grab a small vial from his medicine cabinet. "Here, this should help with your hangover," wrinkling his nose he continued, "however, not with your smell. A small chunky managed to make its way into your locks as you paid homage to the porcelain gods." With that he left the small bathroom to give Hermione her privacy as she cleaned herself up from her night's escapade.
Pinching her nose, Hermione knocked back the small vial of clear liquid. Gasping as it burned its way down her throat Hermione yelled, "This tastes like paint thinner Blaise!" Hearing his muffled laugh through the door Hermione stomped out, shooting a glare in Blaise's direction.
"I never told you that it would taste good. Really for the brightest witch of our age, you would think that you'd know that most hangover cures taste horrid." Shrugging, Blaise took a sip of his coffee from his kitchen table as he read the Daily Prophet. "Hey Granger? You might want to take a look at this headline from our lovely Rita Skeeter." His voice dripping with sarcasm as he mentioned the sensationalizing reporter's name.
"Oh sod it." Hermione huffed as she dropped down into a chair across from her friend. "What does the Wicked Witch of the West have to say now. I don't even know why the Prophet has kept her on all these years, let alone allowed her to keep her daily column when all she writes is rubbish." Scanning over the headline, her eyes widen. There in bold print was the headline: Trouble in Paradise: Has the Golden Trio finally been bitten by a snake? A blurry photo of Hermione being carried out of the Leaky Cauldron by Blaise from the night before appeared below the headline. Hermione could vaguely make out the tears trickling down her face as Blaise cradled her head against his chest before disapparating. Hearing tapping against the window, Hermione and Blaise looked up. There was the Weasley family's owl, Errol Junior, tapping at the window with what appeared to be a brown package attached to his leg. Standing, Hermione walked over to the window to let the owl in and removed the package from his proffered leg. Offering him a small treat from the jar on the window sill before sending him on his way back home, Hermione turned the envelope over, frowning slightly.
"What is it?" Questioned Blaise as he appeared behind her, looking over her shoulder. Opening the package Hermione pulled out some legal documents. Turning the papers over she responded, voice laced with a resigned finality, "They're my divorce papers."