Hermione

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Christmas traffic and Friday traffic rolls into one to give me a headache the size of England itself by the time we reach home. We left the station two hours ago and it's now after seven as I pull into the driveway. The drive got a lot smoother once we had hit open road, but for the most part we spent the better half of an hour in traffic in London. I hate driving sometimes. The children are cranky and hungry. We have just enough time for them to put away their stuff and get dressed before we head over to Harry's. I get out of the car and as I magically open the boot, I am reminded of why I didn't Disapparate from King's Cross – can't take the chance of Hugo or Rose leaving behind a finger or a toe, but with all of the luggage reaching in one piece. Why on earth do these children have so much stuff?! They'll only be here for two weeks before they return to school. I don't get it.

"Hurry up. Hugo, you'll shower last. I don't know what you do when you get inside there, but I don't want to be late because you discovered Atlantis in our tub." I float the trunks out and towards the house as they hurry inside.

"I think I know what he does when he gets in there and let me just say that's disgusting, Hugo!"

"Rose!" Hugo balks.

"Rose," I start but don't finish. I'm going to tap out of this one; this is Ron's territory. He tapped out when Rose first got her period, so I'm tapping out with the 'masturbation talk'. "Just hurry up and shower first."

It's so dark now as it's nearing Christmas and with a slight wiggle of my wand the front porch light comes on. In the distance I can see the lights of my neighbours further down the hill. My nearest neighbour is three miles from me and to be honest, most days I like it that way. Still the people are always friendly whenever we go further into town. They don't know that we're Wizards, but secrecy (and a sky-high mortgage) is the price to pay for this perfect house and view.

I head inside, mumbling Lumos as I make my way in. I hear Hugo trip up the stairs.

"Why didn't you put on the lights?" I scream at him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Don't know. I thought that you were doing it." He shouts back and I roll my eyes. He is clearly Ron's son.

We recently got our hybrid Magictricity installed. A wizard from the Ministry came and spent half a day, which is a fraction of the time we spent waiting for him to arrive in the first place. First it was Wednesday, then he'd said next Tuesday and then it was next Thursday. With shame I had to swing around my clout as war veteran and recent status as Wizen of the Wizengamot to get the process hurried. He spent the better part of a day waving around his wand and installing switches. Afterwards he explained when I noticed a distinct lack of wires, that the source is the Ministry – another fifteen minute speech as to how that was magically possible – and that's from whom the bill will come every month. He went on and on about the complications and how really old magic-filled buildings like Hogwarts and even Malfoy Manor would never be able to get Magictricity not unless they wanted to burn everything in the place. It simply was not compatible. I didn't think that anything was compatible with Malfoy Manor and it never failed to surprise me that Malfoy continues to live there. Even his mother had moved to France or something. Of course the wizard explained to us that the gadgets that came along with Magictricity had to remain basic. Hugo and Rose had been devastated when they realized that that meant we would not be getting a computer. My parents were thrilled that they still had a bargaining chip for their grandchildren's attention, besides their love and affection of course. But at least we can watch the telly and listen to the Minister saying incredibly stupid things. People have no idea of the headache that went into passing the laws for something as simple as whether to have Magictricity or not. Every variable has to be considered and it is exhausting, so imagine my more complicated cases the Wizengamot must review, like giving parole. It makes me appreciate the smaller things a lot more and that's why I get absolutely pissed when I go into the kitchen and see a pile of wares in the sink.

It's not possible for one wizard to make that kind of mess. Ron had to have had help. He got up early this morning, sometime around four, to follow a lead on a case. I stayed another hour in bed before I got up and did some work in the study and then set about making breakfast. I left breakfast on the table for him. Who knows, he might have come back by seven and he might be hungry, I rationalized. Bread and jam; nothing fancy especially since he has recently given up meat (his latest fad thanks to Padma Patil). Apparently Ron did come home. He ate breakfast. He made lunch – vegetables, beans, rice – and seemed to have found a way to use almost every single ware in our kitchen. The mess is unbelievable. But that's not what's bothering me. Ron has a wand and he knows how to use it. Why couldn't he have done a simple washing up spell? I've only showed it to him a million times. I set about doing it with a flick of my wand. My parents always ask "what's the big deal?" They don't seem to understand that magic is connected to a person physically, and while I'm not actually washing up, the constant use of magic will eventually leave me feeling a bit tired out (though arguably not as tired as if I had done the washing up manually). This is a simple spell and is not that tiring normally, but I'm exhausted after a full day at the Wizengamot. The least Ron could have done was wash up. I sigh and head into the study wondering if I have enough time to work on my rebuttal for a trial I have tomorrow, but as soon as I see the Daily Prophet I turn right back out and head upstairs to take my shower.

It's hard to tell when it first got serious since most of the time things remained as it always had been. Ron would go to work, come home in the evening, we'd have dinner, he might nip over to Harry's or to George's, he'd come back home, we'd chat a bit and then fall into bed and have sex or not have sex as the case was fast becoming. Ron always picked up a hobby that usually lasted no more than three weeks to a month tops. When he'd told Harry and me that he wanted to start writing for the Daily Prophet's Sports Section on a part-time basis I laughed out loud.

"What? I can't be a writer? Always the tone of surprise." He shook his head and I smiled. That joke was running on twenty years and I still smiled.

"Of course you can. But you help out with George at the Shop and then of course, and more importantly, you're an Auror."

"'Mione, I'm a Third Grade Auror. I think I can read and run after Dark wizards at the same time."

"If you couldn't then the Auror Department would really need to revise their entry requirements." Harry said with a smile and took a sip of his drink. I looked at Harry and snorted a laugh. I settled back further into Harry's couch. Ginny had long ago fallen asleep on the setee. It was always so surprising that she couldn't hold her liquor. We'd been celebrating my recent promotion as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At first I thought that Harry would be peeved that he wasn't promoted, but it turns out he never wanted the job in the first place and considered it a hex dodged. He was just glad that now I would be on the Wizengamot with him as well in our capacity as ex officio members.

Ron got up and went to the bathroom. I shifted closer to Harry and grabbed his hand before he took another sip of his drink. He was on his way to being tipsy, his eyes a bit lidded. We were sitting a bit close on the sofa and I could see the faint crow's feet that were starting to form around his eyes.

"He can't actually work for the Daily Prophet, can he? I mean, he's already employed by the Ministry. You're the Head of the Auror Department, you would know."

"You don't actually think he'll do that, do you?"

"Of course he's going to do it. You know how he gets and when did he start showing sense about these things?"

"You think it's a bad choice?"

"I just don't want him to be crushed when he doesn't get it. He's no writer, Harry. You and I both know this."

"Sometimes people have to make their bad choices on their own and live from it."

"I get that, but it doesn't mean he ought to jump off a precipice every time he sees one."

"Well maybe you should just leave it alone. It's a fad and it'll fade." He chuckled at his use of alliteration. "Maybe I should do the writing." And he chuckled again and hiccupped.

"You and your wife are hopeless." I said and took the drink out of his hands.

"Ain't that the truth?" He said more sombrely and I looked at him, really looked at him. He looked like he was about to tell me something. He looked pained and we sat there staring at each other. Ron came in at that exact time. I jumped up from the couch and a millisecond later I wished I hadn't because now it looked like something suspicious had been going on. Ron looked between Harry and me. Harry tilted his head back on the couch and shut his eyes, oblivious. I downed the rest of his drink and asked Ron when would be the interview for the Daily Prophet job.

That was over six months ago.

I come out of the bathroom, dry myself and throw on some clothes – underpants, jeans, blue sweater and black boots. The steam from the shower has made my hair frizzier and I could care less. My thoughts are on Ron. I had no idea that Ron would turn out to be a good writer. Well, as he says, he is not a good writer. He's a good story-teller and the readers like his style. He writes and it's really Padma, his editor that makes the chicken-scratch Pidgin English he writes, readable for the world.

I sit on the edge of the bed and zip up my boots as I try to remember the last time that Ron and I had a proper conversation. I don't even know where he is right now. Is he on a case? Or is he discussing his next column with Padma; if he really is discussing anything at all. The bed's unmade so I guess that he took a nap too. 'By himself?' My traitorous mind questions. I dismiss the thought, stand up and swish my wand to make up the bed. I head back into the bathroom and take out my birth control pill. Witches had been using these for centuries before the clever idea ever came to Muggles. The miscarriage I had six months ago makes me reconsider. Maybe I'm not meant to have any more children. And with the way my sex life has been going lately – that is, not going at all – I might as well face the facts, I won't be having any more children. I think about whether to pop a pill or not. It's not like I'll be having sex with my husband tonight or anything so farfetched. I still take the pill.

I wonder if I'll see Ron at Harry's later. I can't believe that this is what it's reached to. He couldn't even be bothered to show up to pick up his children from the station. A sudden flare of anger rises within me and dies instantly. Ron could be on a mission. He could be hurt, lying in a ditch somewhere. It happened to him about nine months ago. He was laid up for a month at the hospital. I'm a horrible wife. I head downstairs.

"Hurry up, Hugo! I'm ready to leave!" I shout as I head to the door.

Xxx

"James saw it all," Ginny says as soon as I step through the kitchen. Hugo and Rose see Teddy and completely forget about everything and anyone else. Everyone loves Teddy. It'd be easy for him if he ever decided to run for Minister for Magic.

"Saw what?" I ask her as she mixes me a drink and a tray of Pigs in a Blanket float from the oven and rests on the counter. I take the drink gratefully – vodka and cranberry juice. It's so noisy out there.

"Rose inviting Malfoy to lunch on Boxing Day," She says after she takes up her drink; her wand making the hors d'œurves transfer enchantingly into a warm basket. She separates the vegetarian ones for Ron since he's no longer eating meat now. Strange, I know. Blame Padma.

I groan. "I don't know what that girl was thinking. I looked at her like she was Confounded."

"From what James said maybe it was you who looked that way. He said you looked like you swallowed an umbrella and Malfoy looked like he sat on one."

"Hmm, well I always suspected that he had something up his arse." I mutter into my drink and Ginny nearly chokes on hers laughing.

"Well maybe he's changed." She says after she mops up the drink that fell on her bosom. I can barely believe that Ginny has a bosom now. I suppose that's what three children will get you. I snort at her comment.

"Who's changed?" It's Harry who says that as he walks into the kitchen and snatches a cheese puff off the rack on the stove. Ginny slaps his hand away but is too slow; Harry's mouth is already stuffed.

"Malfoy and Hermione at the station today." She answers him.

"Oho. I just got that story."

"What? Already?"

"James?" Ginny asks and Harry nods.

"Yeah. He and Rose are acting out the parts with Al playing Scorpius. He's really learned to perfect his scowl; he sounds just like Scorpius too. Rose has this look on her face like she just swallowed an umbrella or something. She's playing you, by the way." He turns to me and Ginny bursts out laughing. I roll my eyes and take another sip of my drink.

"But maybe he has changed. I mean, I haven't heard anything about him in quite a bit of time. The last thing we heard was that his wife committed suicide." Ginny, of all people, says.

What I want to say is on the tip of my tongue – his wife must have been desperate to get away from him. Everyone's saying it, but that's uncharitable. He really hasn't done anything recently to warrant such a comment and that's the part I'm having trouble with.

"He looked absolutely wrecked when the press took that picture of him at the funeral." Ginny says.

"I can't believe they went to the funeral. They have no respect, whatsoever." I say and mean it.

"How did he look today?"

"Oh he looked good. The hairline's starting to recede, but he was dressed impeccably, as usual, except for that scruff of beard he's sporting. He's probably working out or something because he hasn't put on an ounce of fa –"

"No, I meant how did he look emotionally? Was he going to break down or anything?"

I'm sure my cheeks are flamed and Ginny is giving me this sly and suspicious look. I take a big gulp of my drink to mask my shame. "Um, he probably wanted to break Scorpius' neck. Scorpius has been acting out lately. Surprisingly, Malfoy seemed patient. I expected more of a meltdown."

"Maybe he has changed."

"Everyone keeps saying that. It's as if you all forgot that Malfoy was a petty, racist, smug, spoiled brat. Look, I know that it's a possibility that he changed, but the last time I spoke to him was in the Room of Requirement when he tried to sell out you, Ron and me to Voldemort. Those are the kind of things that stay with people. After that Fiendfyre episode do you know how long it took me to light the stove at my parents' house and not get nightmares?"

Harry wryly smirks because he went through the same post-War shock. Ginny absently rubs a hand on his shoulder. He squeezes her hand and then moves away from her to go sit down at the round kitchen table.

"Well I doubt that Malfoy would come to your house on Boxing Day." He says. "He might've changed but he's not insane. I'm sure that he hasn't changed to the point that he's a completely different person."

"True. It's just that I was expecting him to say something along the lines of 'don't be daft, Granger. I wouldn't step foot in your house even if someone was paying me to do it.'"

"That sounded really Malfoyish." Ginny commended me.

"Rose mimics Scorpius all the time. Apparently he sounds just like his father."

"I still can't get over that the two of them are friends. Even Al talks to him."

"Al is tolerated by Scorpius," Harry corrects. "They don't seem to get along that well. Al is secretly terrified of him. "

I personally think that Al is terrified of his shadow, but I don't say that. I don't know how he made it into Gryffindor and how he managed to end up running in the same circles as Scorpius Malfoy – Slytherin and son of a former Death Eater. "Stranger things have happened, I suppose." I mumble but Harry hears me.

"Yeah. Like Malfoy could show up."

"Poor Ronikins would have a heart attack." George says as he walks in. "His daughter is already head over heels in love with a Malfoy –"

"Blasphemy, George!" I cry and Harry and Ginny laugh.

"– so I have no doubt that he would keel over to see Malfoy sprawled all over the settee."

"Did Ron come with you?" I ask.

"Why would he come with me?"

"He's not at the shop?"

"No. I thought he was on a case." We both turn to Harry. Harry shakes his head and the room turns a bit quiet when Harry answers, "He's probably at the Prophet."

"I figured. The kids really wanted to see him tonight."

"He'll show up." Harry says and rises to take the glass out of my hands. It's empty, but he doesn't refill it. I look at him and he gives me a look. I know what the look means. It means he doesn't want me to say anything and blame it on the alcohol later. I give him a raised eyebrow to let him know that that's what he usually does. Ginny clears her throat and says,

"Ron's here."

We all look through the kitchen door and see Rose and Hugo plastering themselves onto their father. Harry passes me on his way out to the living room and gives me another look. "Be nice," the look says.

I'm always nice; I'm the good guy.

As soon as I enter I see him in the middle of telling Rose and Hugo and the rest of the children about some ridiculous Quidditch story. The children are enraptured. I decide to go set the table manually. A little bit later he comes into the dining room, beaming like an idiot. I look up at him.

"Look," he says and holds out his hand to show me a small pebble in the middle of his right palm.

"What is it?"

"Barry Donneridge made a swooping dive last week, kicking up dust everywhere when the tail of his broom swept the ground. This little pebble got lodged in the broom and would you believe that every time he tried to turn right he'd end up forty degrees further than he wanted to be. And it was all because of this pebble. It's the size of a pea and it caused that. It reminded me of that Muggle story you used to tell the kids; The Princess and the Pea I think it was?" He looks to me for confirmation. I stare at him blankly. "Anyway, I based my whole column on this pebble."

"It reminds you of a pea? It didn't remind you that you were supposed to meet your children today at the station? Rose and Hugo were looking out for you. I had to lie and say that you're on a case because you couldn't be bothered to tell me where you were. I suppose that pebble didn't remind you to Floo?"

"'Mione –"

I take the pebble from his hand and look at it more closely. "It reminds you of a pea. Well this reminds me of your brain!" I hurl the pebble at him and he ducks. It hits a vase on the sideboard and causes the vase to wobble.

He looks at me hurt for a moment and then snuffs out a laugh. I can't believe he finds this funny! I get so angry that I reach for my wand, but he stops my hand.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. I'm sorry, but that was really funny. Did you just call me pea-brained?"

I stare at him in confusion for a moment. He's standing there trying his best not to laugh and failing miserably. Against my will, the corners of my lips curl up into a smile and I shake my head in annoyance. He inches closer when he realizes that I've lowered my wand.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I should have been there. I should have called. I'm sorry."

And it's those two words that bring me back to my senses. I sigh deeply, or dramatically, as he would say.

"You use those words so much Ron…they're starting to lose their meaning." I shove my way past him and leave him standing there holding his head in frustration. The vase topples over and shatters loudly.

A/N: So what do you think about Ron? Am I bashing him too hard? Is he still lovable? Hermione… she still thinks Malfoy's a twat. Will there be hope? Your thoughts? Review please!