Crossroads

Chapter 1 – And The Hero Will Drown.

"Rain, rain, go away,

Come again another day,

All the world is waiting for the sun."

Rain - Breaking Benjamin

*~*

"Tonight was such a high." Sarah smiled at me prettily, basking in the after-glow that only your first high-profile suspect chase and imprisonment can bring. "I don't know why anyone does drugs."

"Being an Auror does have its perks."

"It's moments like these that compensate for the long hours we put in, the physical discomfort we have to endure and the lack of personal life."

"When you put it like that, it's a wonder we have to turn down so many applications for the program every year."

"I may complain about the job, but I certainly love doing it. At least, that's the official version I'm telling our boss."

"Harry isn't so bad."

"Ron." She glared at me. "The man is a workaholic Auror completely committed to his profession and a boss that demands only excellence. And you, well, you're obviously biased, being his best mate and all. He married your sister. You two saved the Wizarding world together." She cocked her head to the side, eyeing me appraisingly. "Thanks for all that, by the way."

"I got a Chocolate Frog Card out of it, didn't I?" I couldn't help but grin at her. The twenty-five-year-old Auror really was a good newcomer to be partnered with. Wicked sense of humour, great reflexes and spell work and as stealth as they came. Easy on the eyes, too. "What more could I possibly want for my life?"

"It seems to me that if you were that satisfied, you wouldn't work so hard."

"What can I do? It's for the greater good, and all that. If it were for me, I'd say 'sod it all' and move to a tropical island, enjoying the sun instead of prancing around in this sodding weather getting my good old bones wet whenever I get the chance."

"You could just ask Potter for a vacation, you know. You really could."

"As if he would let me take one."

"Pft. You allow the department to own your pretty little arse because you love this job just as much as Potter and I do, maybe even more."

"Not everyone is as hardcore about the job as you and Harry, Sarah."

"No, not everyone. But you are. You're the hardest worker of us all."

"And does that makes me automatically unsatisfied? Maybe I'm just very ambitious."

"You might be ambitious, sure, but something tells me that, to you, family comes first. And if you're spending so much time focusing on your work, maybe that's because there's something you're missing in your life."

And just like that, Sarah put into words everything I had been doing for the past few years. I wasn't in it because I was ambitious, not at all. Or even for the glory or satisfaction of doing something that enabled everyone to feel protected. I did it because I loved feeling useful, feeling as if I was truly good at doing something. I didn't use to work this much before.

You see, I'd had a loving wife to come home to every night and wonderful children to love and be loved by. My life had been complete and full of possibilities and work was something that I enjoyed doing, because it was with my best mate and it meant my children would grow up in a safer world, but that was about it.

If Hermione had ever asked me to, I would have quit my job in a heartbeat to do whatever she needed me to. But she had never needed me for anything for a long time now and had never asked me to do anything for her or the children.

And for the past years, ever since Hugo had left for Hogwarts, Hermione was all about what she could do, what she could achieve, how far she could get. And all I had was time on my hands, so to keep myself from going mental, I worked even harder.

Then I worked some more.

Do not get me wrong, my children meant everything to me, though they got a little uncomfortable whenever I told them that. They weren't so little anymore.

My beautiful baby girl, my Rosie, had grown from this scrawny little know-it-all into a confident young woman with grand plans of becoming a writer and changing the world in the process. She was making her old dad very proud. She had left school two years ago and was travelling across the world to get in contact with new Muggle and Wizarding cultures and write about them for a travelling column she had in Ginny's magazine, The Lioness' Pride.

My Hugo was all bravado and temper, an awkward seventeen-year-old with too much energy to spend. He was already taller than I was, walking around with an acoustic guitar strapped to his shoulder and had just got himself a pretty girlfriend.

And my wife… Well, she was still there — physically, at least. Always busy, bustling around, worried about every single breathing organism to walk on this Earth. Except me. Hermione was everywhere, and yet I couldn't feel her, not like I'd used to. There was an ache in my heart where she'd used to be and it hurt like hell whenever I thought about it.

Somehow, it was just easier to throw myself into my work like she did. It made it more bearable, easier to forget how absent she had been or how much I missed her, even when she was around our house or lying beside me in bed.

On the other hand, it made it easier to notice the little things: how she never kissed me good morning anymore or that she didn't seem to remember how we used to leave each other notes scattered around our house, telling the other how much we appreciated them or just to say that we loved each other. There were no notes now, except for the odd ones reminding me of a Healer's appointment or an occasional letter from one of the kids she knew I would want to read and answer.

"You're a little ambitious yourself, aren't you, Sarah?"

"I don't see it like that, not as ambition, not really. I'm just motivated, passionate about everything that I do, especially my job. "

"Were you a Gryffindor?"

"God, no! A Ravenclaw and proud to be one."

"I thought Ravenclaws strived for knowledge and attached themselves by the hip to books and theories."

"Well, most of us do, but that's a stereotype — like saying that Gryffindors are stupid and Hufflepuffs are naïve. Some Ravenclaws have a unique approach to dealing with learning and knowledge, and I am one of them. Books never did much for me, except to help me get wherever I wanted to be. Theory can only get a person so far, and I tend to get a bit restless when I'm not moving, doing something…"

"You should tell my wife that. I swear she's trying to go down in history as the most literate person in the last century."

Sarah frowned and bit her lower lip. Her pale, Irish complexion flushed, and she looked away. What had I done wrong? Had I offended her somehow?

"Sarah —"

"Listen, Ron we, as in my roommate Antonia and I, are hosting a huge Halloween celebration in two weeks. I know you're all about the job, but maybe you could consider coming by? It wouldn't hurt to relax once in a while. Drink, dance, have fun. Does this concept sound familiar to you?"

"I might be a little too old for that, don't you think?"

"Nonsense, you don't look a day over thirty."

"That's flattering, I suppose, as I am several years over thirty."

"I would, I mean Antonia and I would be really happy if you could make it."

"I'll talk to Hermione, she might enjoy the idea. Taking a break from work, relaxing. I guess we're entitled to have some fun, once in a while."

Sarah worried her bottom lip again. I was definitely seeing a pattern here, and this wasn't the first time it had happened. Every time I mentioned Hermione, she would frown, pout or change the subject.

I knew my wife didn't particularly care for her, and they had butted heads about how to deal with some of the people we had arrested a couple of times, but I hadn't thought there was much to it. They had always acted, if anything, civilized around each other whenever they happened to meet.

What was it with the sudden antagonism?

"That would be great." She enunciated every word, sucking a deep breath at the end, and an adorable crease appeared in her right side of her lips as she did. My stomach churned. Sarah caught me staring and gave me a toothy smile that had enough power to light the entire room.

My hands started to sweat and red warning lights suddenly lit up inside my head. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

The lights blinked red, bold letters warning me: Danger, Ronald Weasley!

It was clear as day now why she looked putout every time I mentioned Hermione's name or declined her invitations to grab a pint after work.

Sarah Coates fancied me. A lot.

Oh, bloody sodding hell.

*~*

It was a couple of hours past midnight when I got home. The sound of Hermione's non-stop scribbling on some legal parchment from her study was the only sound that could be heard in our big, empty house. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I avoided the creaky step on the stairs and instead ended up accidentally stepping on Crookshanks' tail. The blasted cat hissed loudly. I could almost hear Hermione perking up, about to fire a question.

"I'm home!" It would be easier if I beat her to it.

"I can hear that," was her answer, dripping with sarcasm. I could tell by her tone that she wasn't amused. Oh, well.

"Isn't it a tad late, Ron?"

"We had a lead on McNair." That bastard was still on the run, so many years after the fall of Voldemort. I truly hated the persistence that some daft Death Eaters still showed. "We had to chase him halfway across Glasgow then there was all the paperwork once he was safely secured in a cell."

"We?"

"Me and my partner." She knew that, she knew who my partner was. What was up with all the questions? Hermione wasn't one to forget things or play dumb. She was seriously irked by something I had done, that much I knew.

"Sarah Coates?" Her sigh was loud enough for me to hear through the bathroom door. "The pretty, young blond on your team? The one that worked with Italy's Elite Squad for a while and transferred back here six months ago?"

"That's the one."

"Oh." I dropped my dark green set of work robes along with my common clothes on the bathroom floor, and set the hot water to its maximum. "So, it was fun?"

"A riot. You know how we, middle-aged Aurors, love to chase elderly Death Eaters out in the rain, occasionally slipping in the mud and spoiling our clothes. Some people even claim that kind of action does wonders for your joints."

"Ron!" The sternness in her voice carried on, even when I tried to drown myself under the constant flux of the water that was nearly peeling my skin off and turning it an angry shade of red. I had to wash away the coconut smell of Sarah's hair and the look of raw lust I saw in her green, almond-shaped eyes. It had been a long time since I had ever felt this…wanted.

Back in reality, I was half-hard and miserable. Groaning, I took my undesired erection in my left hand, bracing myself against the wall with my right one.

Shallow, fast strokes and I was lost in blurred memories of Hermione and me making love in the shower, her slick hotness enveloping me, her voice murmuring sweet nothings against my skin, her pink tongue nibbling my ear lobe. I came, hurriedly and hot against my belly.

It wasn't enough to erase the need of burying myself in Hermione's body, of feeling her smooth and tight all over me again.

It wasn't enough to erase the look of pure longing on Sarah's face.

Oh, sod it all. I couldn't be more fucked if I'd tried.

A.N: I would like to thank Shannon for encouraging me to follow this plot with caution, Lisa for being a fantastic friend and beta for this story, as well as PigWithHair for getting onboard with "Crossroads" as well.