III.
You are not a piece
of toilet paper.
So why are you
letting other people
use and dispose of you?
The whole room was abuzz as the cocktail reception for the 2001 European Grand Potions Conference got underway. Potions masters, suppliers, sellers, and business partners had all gathered at the Italian Ministry of Magic. Hermione Granger, fresh from her recently-completed potions apprenticeship, leaned on a standing table in the corner of the atrium, glass of white wine in hand. She had been a little nervous to attend her first potions event as a master. How could she compare to all the brilliant minds she had read about in Potion Press? The thought had almost given her nausea.
But then, through the sea of faces, she had seen a familiar one: Anthony Goldstein.
The friendly Ravenclaw was attending this conference as a potential business partner and marketer; from the brief conversation they had shared in passing between panel discussions, she learned that he had officially taken over his father's marketing business this previous year. This was also his first conference. They had parted ways after a few moments, promising to catch up during the cocktail reception that evening.
After grabbing her glass of wine, she ended up waiting no more than a couple of minutes before Anthony's honey-coloured head floated into view. She waved him over, a grin on her face.
"So what brings you to this specific conference, Anthony?" she asked, taking a sip of her Pinot Noir.
"I'm looking for a new potions star on the rise to work with me," he answered, nursing a firewhisky. "My family's company isn't big enough yet to acquire an established master, so I've come to chat up a bunch of newcomers like yourself. See if one of them would like to get on board."
He ended the last sentence with a questioning tone, an expectant, closed-mouth smile on his lips and raised eyebrows.
Hermione quirked her head to the side. "Did… did you mean me? Work with you?"
Anthony chuckled, setting his tumbler on the table. "Yes, Hermione. You're brilliant and there's no one I'd rather have brewing for me. If you'll allow it, I'd love to take you on as my star client."
She downed the rest of her glass before setting it down beside the tumbler. A little liquid courage couldn't hurt this conversation. "I hadn't expected to come to my very first conference and walk away with a brewing arrangement. I'm just here to learn and shake hands."
"Well if you don't mind me saying, I came to this conference specifically to get you on board. I read your name in the most recent edition of Potion Press as a promising up-and-coming master and just knew I had to talk to you. I remember the way you were at Hogwarts. If there's anyone who's going to make my name big in the potion business world, it's you."
Hermione felt her face heat up at the compliment. She wasn't used to much praise after her relationship with Ron. Or Cormac. And Anthony Goldstein wasn't a bad person to receive a compliment from; he had always had guts and brains back at Hogwarts, much like her. One of the first students to speak out against Professor Umbridge and a two-time member of the D.A., Anthony was known by her to be both determined and smart.
Perhaps, having an ally like him would help her potions reach those who needed them most.
"Just had to talk to me, huh?" Hermione laughed, leaning on her elbow. "Well here I am. Make your pitch, Mr. Goldstein." She grabbed another glass of wine from a waiter walking by with a tray.
Anthony described his vision: she would brew, and he would advertise to apothecaries and hospitals, among other places. With his expertise for market trends, he would be able to point her in the right direction for potions that were needed in the world. They would split the profits, and both be a smash success before they she could scrub her cauldron spotless.
When he finished talking, he flashed a winning smile at her, his eyes expectant.
His enthusiasm was contagious. It all seemed to make sense to her, because she responded quickly, "Yeah. All right."
Anthony stood stock still for a moment before finishing his own drink. "Hot damn. I get to work with Hermione Granger!"
Back in England, they set up an office together. Anthony's large desk was up front, while Hermione's brand-new potions lab sat just through a door to the back. Though he spent most of his time replying to owls, making Floo calls, and writing up negotiations, Anthony still found time throughout the day to check in with Hermione on her work. Sometimes, he helped her prep ingredients; other times, they just chatted about whatever. Work. Hogwarts. Crazy potions theories.
It all felt nice with Anthony. Smooth. It felt as though they were on the same level.
She found she even enjoyed the way he flirted with her in the office. He often winked at her when the conversed and stood a little closer than necessary: touches of the hand or brushes of the feet when they sat. Sometimes, he even brought her little treats to keep her energy up while brewing. Biscuits. Fruit. Sandwiches. Once, she even returned to her lab after her a short break to find a single gardenia sitting on her work station.
The butterflies in her stomach returned right then, full stop.
They fell into an affectionate, productive rhythm at work, and the more time passed, the more overt their flirtations grew. A touch on the shoulder became a hand on the waist; a lingering smile became a peck on the cheek; a brush of their lips became a heated snog.
All their touches, smiles, and kisses built up a frenzy within Hermione. He made her feel alive again. And not just alive. She felt appreciated – truly appreciated for the first time. Being around Anthony was intoxicating, and their chemistry both in and out of the lab was electric.
And she didn't just mean that because he had fucked her until she screamed on her lab table.
After, Anthony did the gentlemanly thing and asked her on a proper date. Sitting together at the fondue restaurant, his thigh brushing up against hers, Hermione couldn't help but feel as though she had finally met someone who could be with as her intellectual partner – someone who would treat her as an equal.
Working together with Anthony and then turning right around and going on a date together felt easy. They spent practically all of their time side by side, just the two of them. None of the struggles she had faced before in relationships seemed to be an issue. Anthony liked her intellectual side; each time she went off on a tangent about a potion she was creating, he listened intently, nodding his head at all the right parts.
Hermione's heart grew in love faster than she thought possible. After her break-up with Ron, she had promised herself to be cautious with her heart. Logically, she knew that she shouldn't be in love with Anthony Goldstein yet; she knew that their relationship was based on business, and that could sour quickly should their romance peter out. And yet.
Being with Anthony made her feel appreciated and loved, and that wasn't a feeling she wanted to give up any time soon. They worked together all day and went home together at night. They almost never saw other friends. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had gone out for drinks with Harry and Ginny or had gone to the Burrow for dinner. He was quickly becoming her entire world.
Perhaps that should have been the first red flag. But how could she have known?
When he proposed only a few months into their relationship, maybe she should have counted that as another flag.
Instead, she accepted.
The two of them had been basking in their recent success from Hermione's new child-safe version of dreamless sleep potion. Interview requests kept pouring in one after another, requesting to speak to the pair of them. Anthony had used one of their press conferences to get down on one knee and ask Hermione to be his wife.
In that moment, the world around her stopped. Though cameras continued flashing and reporters began to scream with delight, all Hermione could see was Anthony's charming smile as he looked up at her, ring in hand.
A little voice at the back of her head told her to stop and think about this – that it was far too soon to be thinking about marriage. A wiser Hermione might have heeded this advice, but the combination of Anthony's hopeful face and the presence of the crowd made her push those thoughts away.
The reporters continued to hold their breaths as she raised both hands to her face to cover her mouth in surprise.
It was through a teary-eyed smile that she responded with an enthusiastic, "Yes!"
Their picture was splashed across the cover of the next month's edition of Potion Press; the article within proclaimed them the "power-couple of potioneering."
Anthony framed both the cover and article and hung them over his desk.
Continuing with the whirlwind nature of their relationship, they decided not to delay marriage. During the six months it took to plan their wedding, business boomed more than ever. Several of Hermione's potion creations were now being regularly stocked at Slug and Jiggers and at St. Mungo's, to the point where she had thoughts of hiring her own apprentice or assistant. On top of mounting numbers of orders, she had also taken wedding planning under her wing; though Hermione had wanted a quiet ceremony, Anthony practically insisted on a large affair.
"For the business," he had asserted. "You shouldn't worry that gorgeous head of yours about something like a big wedding. It'll take us to the next level."
Hermione soon found herself buried between cake samples and potion samples. She dreamed in seating charts and ingredient lists. Anthony always seemed to be corresponding with someone, whether it was a distributor or a caterer.
By the time her wedding weekend arrived, Hermione was almost too exhausted to enjoy it. Even as she zipped up the the sparkly white ballgown Anthony had admired in one of her bridal magazines, she felt a bit light-headed, as though she was watching someone else in her wedding dress. The whole wedding felt like a blur, honestly; she blinked, and it was over. All that work and stress, and it was done in an instant. Perhaps it had been a good idea to make the wedding so public after all – with all the journalists and photographers present, there would be plenty of documentation of the whole thing. That would likely be her only way to truly remember the wedding. It was rather odd, but the one moment from the short ceremony that she saw crystal clear in her memory was Ron's forced smile as he watched her walk down the aisle.
Their honeymoon in Santorini ended up being far more memorable. With a beach to themselves and no potions between them for once, Hermione lost count of the number of times they had sex that week. Seeing Anthony glowing in the Mediterranean sun made him practically irresistible in her eyes, and she had a hard time keeping her hands off of him. When they weren't making love, they discussed potion ideas and new markets they could tap into.
Hermione Goldstein returned from her honeymoon refreshed and ready to get to work. Anthony insisted that she take as much time as she needed in the lab; he would take care of all the post-marriage "bureaucratic nonsense."
Nearly a month after Anthony declared their paperwork finished, it came as quite a shock when she was informed by the Gringotts goblins that her individual account had been suspended, its funds transferred to the Goldstein vault.
"And when exactly did this happen?" she insisted with a huff, her shoe tapping on the marble floor.
"Our records indicate that your husband visited us on the second of November to follow-up on a marital merger of vaults," the goblin at the counter informed her as he pushed a piece of parchment toward her. There, at the bottom, was Anthony's signature, tight, but loopy.
She marched home that night, fire in her belly about making such huge decisions without consulting her. I mean, honestly? Suspending her personal bank account? Of all the unnecessary things to do…
Anthony had a different explanation.
When she had turned up at home all up in arms, he reassured her of the normality of the procedure. He insisted that by consolidating funds, she could spend more time brewing and less time worrying about other things.
"Besides," he had said as he aligned a stack of parchment, "we're not splitting profits fifty-fifty any more. What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine. Just let me know if you ever need to get money out and I'll give you the key." He flashed that same charming grin again before returning to work. When she raised her voice to protest, he quickly cut her off. "You don't need to go and get upset over a dumb little thing like a shared bank account, would you? We share a life anyway, right?"
Anthony's smile remained on his face, though his eyes were communicating something quite different.
Hermione got the message. Conversation over.
Married life as Mrs. Goldstein was much like it had been before. Hermione brewed in her lab while Anthony worked up front. With demand for their new potions higher than ever, there often wasn't enough energy leftover at the end of the day for much else other than sleep. After several frustrating, sexless weeks, lunch hour at the office began to include quick indiscretions. On her work table. Against the wall. On the floor. In his office chair.
When Hermione received a birth notice by owl for James Sirius Potter one afternoon, she decided to close up shop early to visit her friends and their new arrival. Excitement bubbled in her stomach at the thought of seeing Harry and Ginny. Surely, they were over the moon with joy. Just as she slid the key into the lock of their office door, Anthony rounded the street corner.
"What on earth are you doing? It's three o'clock."
Hermione waved the birth notice in her hand. "I thought I'd go visit Harry and Ginny. Baby James arrived yesterday and I'd like to–"
"We just got a huge order in for more of your dreamless sleep. You can't just leave without checking with me first. It's going to be a long night."
Hermione sighed. She could visit the baby tomorrow.
When one long night turned into several, all under Anthony's watchful eye, she put off visiting her friends indefinitely.
Once a month, Anthony spent the entire day pouring over a special insider's report he received from various apothecaries and medical facilities. Those were the days Hermione knew not to disturb him at his desk. On one such particular Thursday in September, her husband burst into the lab ten minutes before they were supposed to leave, chest heaving, a long parchment in hand.
"I've got it!" he cried, a gleam in his eye.
"What exactly is it that you've got?" Hermione responded as she stirred her newest batch of an experimental balm for snake bites.
"The key to our success, my wife." He whisked her away from her cauldron, planting a kiss on her cheek. She wiped her hands on her apron before wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Oh, and what's that?"
"Cosmetic potions." He spoke those two words as though they were the best words he had ever heard – as though they had been preceded by some dramatic drumroll.
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "Cosmetic potions? Honey, we agreed that I was going to be brewing new healing potions – potions that would be helpful to people. That's how we're marketing our brand, isn't it?"
"No, but you see – that's still true!" Anthony grinned as he explained the market research. The numbers were there, it seemed, but something about the sudden switch in directions left Hermione cold. Nothing about the list of ideas her husband had handed her left her with any excitement.
"You just don't remember what we talked about, do you?" Anthony said after she stood in silence for several long seconds. "We agreed when we started this partnership that I would tell you what the market needs. And this is it."
Hermione shook her head. "But does the world really need them? Potions for adjusting your ears or your eye color? Or breast size? I'm sure it's a necessity for a small percentage of people, but it just seems so… superficial. Wouldn't we lose our customer base?"
Something about her words seemed to trigger Anthony's temper. He crumpled the parchment in his hands and held the counter behind him in a vice grip. "You know?" he began, his eyes narrowed at her, venom in his voice, "I've been sitting at my desk for hours doing this research. Hours! All this work that I'm doing – I'm doing it all for you. To get your work and your name out there. Just do what I tell you to do, Hermione. It'll work out. I swear it will."
Hermione stood frozen beside her lab table, unable to move. Anthony hadn't moved a muscle, either; he wasn't nearly as big as Ron or Cormac, but somehow, his presence in that moment loomed far larger than either of her previous boyfriends.
Licking her lips, she steeled herself, a mask forming on her face. "Of course. Let's do that, then."
His demeanor changed in an instant, his usual grin returning. It felt slightly less charming, somehow.
Over the course of the next several months, Hermione got to work developing the potions Anthony had suggested. Appearance-altering solutions. Anti-aging draughts. None of it was terribly complicated from a theoretical standpoint, so she was able to devote more of her time to the actual brewing and less to the part she loved: research and experimentation.
As her husband had predicted, these products distributed and sold faster than anything she had created before. It was a bit disheartening, but frankly, Hermione didn't have the time to feel disappointed. She brewed in her lab from sun up to sun down, but she still found a mountain of orders waiting for her anew each morning.
Several months ago, she would have asked Anthony to pop in the back and prep ingredients for her. Perhaps they might have fooled around a bit when they finished. But he wasn't around half the time any longer. They hadn't had much sex recently, either. He had begun traveling the European potions conference circuit to promote their products shortly after Christmas, leaving her to complete all the orders by herself.
When Hermione brought this up to him at the end of January, hovering in the doorframe that separated their workspaces, she spoke in a trembling voice. She suggested that perhaps they could hire an assistant for her.
He had scoffed at the notion.
"Are you a potions master or not?" he spat as he sorted through papers on his desk. "If you can't keep up with demand, that doesn't you make you a very good one."
When Hermione opened her mouth to speak, he continued over her. "No one besides me would want to have a potions master in their employ who can't keep up with a demanding work schedule. You're lucky we made that partnership and you have a secure job here."
For the second time in her marriage, Hermione felt her insides turn to ice as her husband's presence became menacing, if only for a split second.
Time passed, and while Hermione still felt loved and appreciated by her husband, something continuously felt… off. There was no other way she could describe it. Frankly, she didn't have the energy to. Though she constantly refined and streamlined her brewing practices, she still arrived at the lab before dawn each day and left after sundown. She spent so much time in her lab that she began to neglect her appearance – a fact that didn't go unnoticed by Anthony.
"You'd be more attractive if you just tamed that hair of yours. It's always extra wild when you've been brewing all day," he complained whenever she came home in this state. That was most days.
His new nickname for her was 'Frizzy'. He claimed it was affectionate, and she tried to take it that way. But every time the word fell from his lips, it chipped away at her heart just a little.
She wanted desperately to reconnect with Anthony – to feel the solid connection they had once shared. Though she briefly considered the notion of taking a holiday together for their second wedding anniversary, his voice crept into her thoughts:
No one besides me would want to have a potions master in their employ who can't keep up with a demanding work schedule.
His voice had begun entering her thoughts more and more as the months trickled by. Though she knew he considered her brilliant, it always seemed there were conditions to that brilliance.
You're smart, love, and I'm the only one who truly sees that.
No one else even comes close to appreciating just how brilliant you are.
Without the time or permission to see friends, no one was there to contradict him.
It wasn't until after over two years of marriage that Hermione began to connect the dots. Months of brewing the same handful of potions allowed her to mentally check out as she worked, and she made this particular connection as she finished the final orders of the 2004 Christmas rush. With her mind free to wander, memories popped up in waves. His immediate gravitation toward her. All the promises he made about their partnership. Their incredibly public relationship. As she remembered each one, the image of her entire marriage came crashing around her.
It was all a sham, wasn't it? Each time Anthony Goldstein grew closer to her, his marketing business gained more publicity and the gold in his vault grew exponentially. The thought of being used to such a degree filled her veins with disgust, and she almost threw off her apron right then and there to storm over to him.
Almost.
But what if she was wrong?
You're smart, love, and I'm the only one who truly sees that.
She shivered, but it certainly wasn't from the December chill seeping through the windows.
As the clock ticked closer to midnight that New Years, Hermione toasted the year 2005 with her husband from their sofa at home.
"What's your resolution, love?" he asked, downing his champagne. "It's something about me, isn't it? Something good."
"Yes, dear. It is." She offered a tight smile in return.
He gave that charming smile again. "Good."
What he didn't realize was that she had resolved to get out.
Hermione thought briefly about contacting Harry or even Ron to help her, but every time she thought about facing them, her heart seemed to leap out of her chest and bile climbed in her throat. She hadn't seen them in almost two years. Anthony had kept her from them – from everyone. She could see it clearly now. He had deliberately put space between her and the others in her life who cared about her, all to manipulate her for the success of his business.
If she reached out to her friends, would they even recognize the person she had become? So unsure of herself and dependent on her husband…
Her stomach rocked with nausea as the new year began.
No, she was in this alone.
The very next day, after Anthony left for another potions conference in Brussels, Hermione began to arrange for private potion sales out of the office. She placed an ad in a back page of Witch Weekly, a publication she knew her husband never touched. Bruise salves. Pepper-up potion. Sleeping draughts of various strengths. These were the items she sold to begin her Fresh-Start Fund.
Within months, every nook and cranny of her lab was crammed with hidden galleons, sickles, and knuts. For the first time in a long time, she felt a ray of confidence. It was like having a safety net. She allowed herself to start looking at descriptions of one-room flats for rent listed in the Daily Prophet. When Anthony was away, she started experimenting with her potions once more.
Yes, she had a vision, all right. Get enough money to get out. Find a new job brewing potions. Any job. She'd take it. Never see Anthony again.
Live her own damn life.
That was the plan. At least until Anthony discovered her money stash just weeks before their third anniversary.
The day had been normal until the moment he had kissed her. As of late, she hadn't been giving into her husband's attempts at affection. How could she, not when she knew what kind of awful person he was? But something about the way his lips pressed feather-light on her neck and his hands traced her curves must have tripped her baser instincts, and she gave in.
They had fucked on her work table, like old times. As they lay in the aftermath of their deed, Hermione almost felt that same warmth and connection she had once associated with moments like these.
Almost.
Anthony had been about to finish zipping up his trousers when he saw it: a stray galleon in a corner of the room. Hermione watched his eyes dart to the coin. She stood helpless as he blazed toward it.
"What the fuck is this?" he demanded, shoving the galleon in her face.
"It's a coin," she answered bluntly, trying to keep her tone steady.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" he spat.
She shook her head, trying to look innocent.
"Are there more?"
He spoke in quietly in a low tone that felt dangerous.
"I said: Are. There. More." he threw the coin across the room.
When she didn't respond, he began to tear her lab apart. He opened cabinets and threw the contents on the floor, smashing them to bits. He swept through bookshelves and tipped over cauldrons.
In the end, he found all of it. Fifty galleons, fourteen sickles, and two knuts.
Hemione pushed her fear and disappointment deep inside as Anthony looked her up and down.
"We have a shared bank account, Hermione. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask. But I give you everything you need, don't I? I brought us this level of success. You want for nothing, right?"
Hermione found herself nodding, trying to keep it together. All those months of gathering her means of escape bit by bit, gone in an instant.
She wanted to scream but knew better. Anthony still held all the cards.
"It was for an anniversary dinner for us and a present for you," she lied easily. "I wanted to surprise you and take you to a special place for our third anniversary."
She watched as the tension in Anthony's frame eased, his anger fading to affection, though she wasn't sure anymore if she believed he could actually feel the latter emotion.
Regardless, he was certainly proficient at pretending to feel it.
Potion Press asked them to do a special photoshoot for the cover of their October 2005 issue, and Anthony had accepted on their behalf without hesitation. As she gazed into her husband's eyes for the camera, her heart stuttered to life for just a moment. The look he gave her in this very public setting told a story of love and devotion; it was a look she remembered from the early days of their relationship.
But he hadn't looked at her like that in a long time. Not when the cameras weren't watching. What, she wondered, did he see when he looked at her most days? Did he even see her as human? Or was she just a brain to use and abuse for personal gain?
Looking into his eyes now, she had never felt more unloved.
Anthony was away on business when the proofs of their shoot arrived by owl several weeks later. Hermione opened them with little interest at first. She had just woken up for her usual twelve hours straight of brewing and was in desperate need of a shower and a cup of strong coffee.
She slid the prints out of the envelope as she padded toward the kitchen. Just as she waved her wand to start the stove, the photograph on the top of the stack caught her eye.
She and Anthony both wore violet robes emblazoned with the Goldstein Brand logo. While her husband gazed at her with adoration, Hermione had been instructed to look straight at the camera. She now found herself looking directly into her own eyes.
What she saw shook her to her core.
Her brown eyes, which Ron had once described as full of life, looked dull and practically dead.
Who was this person staring back at her? Who was this woman she no longer recognized? This woman who had lived in near-isolation for three years and had churned out meaningless potion after potion – who was she? Was that her? Was that truly who she had become?
The thought made her sick.
No, she was actually sick, it seemed.
A wave of nausea crashed over her in that moment, and she dropped the photos on the table before rushing to the nearest loo and vomiting into the toilet.
Hermione leaned on the toilet seat, trying to catch her breath. She wanted to cry. What sort of mess had she gotten herself into? Time after time, she kept ending up in shitty relationships.
Cormac had only wanted her for sex, but had been too immature to communicate that.
Ron had loved her but had treated her poorly because of his own insecurities.
And Anthony? Anthony was the worst of all. He had manipulated her for years until she was powerless in order to use her for her brain. Three years of marriage had left her more unloved, ignored, and unappreciated than she ever had felt before.
She threw up again. And again. And continued to throw up sporadically for several days until she ended up vomiting spectacularly in front of an elderly woman customer at the office.
"Must be all the strong smells in here, dearie," the woman had suggested after Hermione merely rolled her eyes and vanished the sick. "This certainly would have made me ill when I was pregnant."
"P-pregnant?" Hermione stuttered, wiping her mouth.
"You seemed so unconcerned that you vomited that I guessed it was a regular occurrence."
She assured the woman she would check for pregnancy and ran back to her lab to do just that the moment she was alone. She really hoped she wasn't pregnant. How could she have been stupid enough to sleep with her husband? After she knew what he truly was? Plain stupid.
The pregnancy check charm was a familiar one; she had learned about it years ago along with every other fifth year Hogwarts girl. Waving her wand above her abdomen, a soft, swirling light emitted from the end of her wand.
Pregnant.
A baby. She was going to have a baby. That was that. The realization hit her in an instant, and she crumpled into a nearby chair.
She breathed in and out, trying to focus on the sensation of air filling and emptying her lungs. Her brain was playing catch up. As the minutes ticked by, though she expected panic to set in, the moment she placed her hands on her stomach, an odd sense of calm washed over her. Where there had been doubt and fear, determination and courage now took their place. Her heart felt as though it was beating stronger than it had in years. She sat up straighter, breathed deeper.
It was in that exact moment that she decided she was done.
No more shame. No more secrecy or isolation. No more Anthony.
Hermione didn't bother to wait until Anthony returned to end things with him. After an efficient trip to the Ministry, she was assured that her husband would receive the divorce papers in a timely manner at his hotel in Munich. She didn't wait for a response. She didn't need to.
She was done waiting around for the man – any man – who treated her like garbage.
Sending love as always.
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