A/N: StarTrek10 brought up a really good question in a review asking "Why in both of [my] stories [does] Hermione think so little of Ron?" And I want to answer it here.

I won't talk about 'Closer' here because that's a completely different story, but as for 'Apart'…well she doesn't. Hermione wouldn't like someone she didn't think much of, she wouldn't be friends with this person and certainly wouldn't marry this person.

However, I noticed that while both Ron and Hermione suffer from insecurities, Ron is more prone to internalize these problems in the last three books (blaming himself, even when he takes his anger or frustration out on others), while Hermione externalizes her problems, trying to find fault elsewhere. This is my opinion and is based on my reading of the books and in no-way fact. But it definitely colors the writing of this fic.

Think: when things go wrong in their marriage, Ron will more often than not blame himself. Hermione on the other hand, looks to someone or something else to blame, so terrified of not being perfect (or even disbelieving that she can make a mistake). Now these are scripts and so of course they don't ALWAYS hold true. But it is the source of why, when Hermione is ticked or feeling down, she often channels that anger at Ron. Ron is an easy target: he's around Hermione all the time, he is hard on himself, and as much as I love the guy, has a limited skill set. Even in this story where he's a pro-Quidditch player, there's the question of whether it's really his own skills or his previous fame from the war that's bringing him attention.

As for the second part of the question, at times I imagine Hermione does think it's illogical that she's with Ron. I am sure he doesn't come close to her girlish notion of 'dream-husband' (that would be Lockhart if he wasn't a smarmy liar), and I have no doubt some of the things he does would make her want to pull her hair out (I'm sure Molly and Lily think/thought the same of Arthur and James at times too, for the record). Hermione is a person who prefers to think rationally, but there's nothing rational about love or emotions. And while they have some deep-set similarities, on the surface they are very different people who enjoy very different things.

I know this often puts Hermione in a bad light (in both my stories). But it's my understanding that Hermione IS crueler than Ron in canon. The worst insults Ron throws at her in the books are calling her a nightmare (before they're friends), a know-it-all (which PoA tells us EVERYONE does, Ron simply does it with more frequency), and insinuating that she couldn't get a date in GoF. Compare this to Hermione who calls him an idiot, thick, and pathetic, tells him to shut up, says wracking his brains will only take a few seconds, implies that he isn't good at Quidditch (when she's trying to make him jealous with Cormac), calls him an insensitive wart and says he has no emotional depth. And she actually physically abuses him twice. Not only that, but look at the number of positive comments Ron makes to Hermione's face versus the number of times Hermione compliments Ron when he's around to hear. I guarantee you Ron wins by a landslide. Ron might tease her more often, but his words are never as harsh as Hermione's and he does a better job in giving her positive feedback to counterbalance the negative.

Again, I think Hermione cares deeply for Ron when she says these things in the books, and she loves him in this fic. But as this fic is meant to explore how Ron and Hermione would end up if their 'issues' never went away, her harsh treatment of Ron is going to be part of this story.

Just to reiterate, I don't own Harry Potter. And superfan24 is awesome. That is all.

Chapter 3: Monday (Ron)

"You've packed your trainers?"

"Yup."

"And some nice shirts in case you go out?"

"Hermione, these guys are Quidditch players. If we go out, it'll just be for some manky pup grub."

"The Cannons were like that, Ron. This is the Tornados. They have nice flats and elegant dinner parties. And all their real teeth. Besides, you might need to talk to the press. You don't want to look like a slob when everyone's taking your picture."

He wants to be upset with her for talking about his old teammates like that, but she's right. They were a bunch of slobs, which was part of the reason he'd felt so at home with them. Before I turned traitor and left. Besides, he's a bit pleased that she thinks people would even want to take his picture.

"Yes Mum," Ron teases, and goes to the closet to grab a few shirts. At the very least it'll make her happy that he took them.

"Ron, you're getting them all wet." She grabs the shits from him and starts folding them far more neatly than he would've. "Honestly, you'd think a grown man would know how to dry himself off after a shower." He wags his head, splattering with water from his hair and she fakes outrage. He wraps his arms around her, dampening her nightgown and kisses her. She shoves him off after a moment. "Alright," she says, laughing. "I've fixed you some breakfast. Why don't you get something to eat while I finish packing for you?"

"You're too good to me," he says and goes to the kitchen and wolves down the soggy eggs and toast—only slightly burned.

"Do you want me to come see you off?" she asks, joining him a moment later.

"Mnff," he says through a mouthful of eggs, before choking it down. "No. Don't want to keep you from your work. Thanks though."

"I don't mind," she says, sounding hopeful.

What's the point of it, of her having to get dressed and ready just to come say goodbye? Besides, he'd rather tell her here, where it's just the two of them, rather. "I don't think there's time for me to wait for you to get ready, love." She nods slowly. He cups her chin and raises her lips to his and kisses her tenderly, the way his mum still kisses his dad after thirty-six years of marriage. It's how he knows they'll be together forever.

They lean their foreheads together, both their eyes closed, soaking in these last moments. "Did you remember your wand?" she asks.

He smacks his head. "Knew there was something," He says running to the bedroom to grab it. "What would I do without you?" he says, smiling as he comes back and finds her waiting at the door to the flat.

"Well you're the one who told me where I'd be without you. What was it? I'd be married to some poof or something?"

"Right," he says, kissing her again, trying to burn an imprint of her lips onto his. "Guess you owe me one, huh?"

She smiles wickedly. "I'll try and think of some way to repay you for when you get back."

He groans with longing, already missing her. "Maybe I should stay…"

"And then what would happen?" She laughs. "They need you."

"And I need you," he says, speaking the truth. He sees her eyes fill with tears. "Hey," he says consolingly, pulling her into a tight embrace. "It's only a couple of days. I'll be back before you even start to miss me."

"But I miss you already," she says, her words muffled into his chest.

"I'll come back," he tells her, stepping back to look into her eyes, still glistening in the soft morning light. "I always do. It's one of the things I'm good at remember?"

She nods. "The best."

"Well you're always so…welcoming, it'd be hard not to." Her laugh is wet and she wipes her eyes. "I left you a present on the bed. But no peeking before Thursday," he tells her, trying to sound serious. As if she'd ever peek.

"I can't believe you'll be gone for my birthday."

"Well, we'll just have to celebrate when I get back, yeah?"

They kiss again. And again. And again; their lips trying to stay connected each time even as their bodies pull them apart as Ron backs out of the door.

"Wish me luck?" Ron says finally, knowing he needs to hurry to catch the Portkey.

"I love you," she tells him and they both smile. It's all the luck he will ever need.

"D'you think coach forgot we have a match tomorrow?" Jude asks Ron as they leave the locker room and head toward the barracks the team is staying in.

"What're you complaining about?" Ron complains. "You're not the one who spent two hours getting pummeled by Quaffles and Bludgers."

"Yeah but my arm feels like it's about to fall off. Besides, you've faced worse than Bludgers, haven't you?" Ron shoots him a look. "In the war, all that stuff in Hermione's book."

Right. Her book. "That was a long time ago."

"Well you and her were the smart ones, getting out as soon as it was over. I can't believe your mate Potter went into the Aurors."

"What're you sayin'?" Ron asks, a slight edge to his voice.

"Easy there, Weasley. I'm just surprised he went back for more."

"Harry wanted to make a difference. Kingsley needed help and Harry was the most qualified."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Just would've thought he'd be done sticking his neck out for everyone else. I mean he did more than his fair share, didn't he?"

Ron nods absentmindedly. Most days he's happy for Harry, proud of him for continuing to fight the good fight. But the times when he comes back from a mission with a new scar or a freshly-mended ribcage, a small part of Ron felt guilty, knowing he should've been there to cover Harry's back, wishing he was there fighting alongside his best mate.

Jude pulls out a fag and offers one to Ron. "Come on, wifey ain't here to catch you."

"She'll still smell it on me a week later," Ron declines. "Nose like a niffler, that woman."

Jude lights up. "So why didn't you go in with Potter anyway?"

Ron had known the question was coming. "Had to help my brother George out with his shop. My brother Fred—his twin—died in the war. Thought I owed it to him to give him a hand for a while. By the time he didn't need me anymore it just seemed too late, you know?"

Jude nods and slaps Ron on the back. "Smart man. Much better compensation for Quidditch. And a helluva lot more fun than dodging curses, I expect."

Ron opens his mouth, unsure whether to agree or not.

"Hey there, stranger." Both men look up to see a leggy blonde approaching them.

"Hi Clarissa," Jude says, sounding eager.

"Hey," Ron tells her. "I thought you said you weren't coming 'till tomorrow."

"Have to interview all the other teams and their coaches. These international tourneys are always big deals. Boss wants to make sure I'm extra thorough with my coverage." She said this while looking directly into Ron's eyes, causing him to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. "You boys coming from practice?"

"Yup," says Ron."

"Thank Merlin," Jude sighs. "I swear coach was trying to make sure we're exhausted for the match tomorrow."

"Oh it's just the Sabres. You'll be fine," Clarissa tells them, waving dismissively.

"Yeah?" Ron asks, curious. "You see them? How do they look?"

"Well I just came from their practice. Should be total pushovers for you. Everyone knows the Portuguese League is a total joke."

"Well that makes me feel better," says Jude.

"So what've you two got planned for the rest of the evening?"

"Trying to shake off the post-Portkey hangover I've got," Ron tells her. "And Jude's going to give his arm a good workout in his bedroom. Apparently it's a little weak." He sniggers and Clarissa laughs.

"Well your arms look good and fit. You must work them out all the time," she says mischievously and Jude guffaws with laughter.

"Hey! I'm married, remember? My wanking days are behind me."

"I reckon you'll go through a bit of a relapse this week," says Jude, still chuckling. "Careful not to overdo it. Don't want you to strain something." He cracks up again over his own joke and Ron growls at him.

"Well I was going to ask if you wanted to do the interview," says Clarissa, fixing a pointed look at Ron, "but if you're going to be busy…"

"No!" Ron assures her. "I'm not planning on-I wasn't…that sounds good," he says finally.

"Great. Well I was going out for a bite to eat. Care to join me?"

Oh. "Actually, I'm not really hungry." Jude fixes him with a look of disbelief.

"Well we can just do it when I get back? I'll just swing by your room," she tells him.

"Sure," says Ron, suddenly wondering if this is worse than having dinner with her. "Think I'll go kip for a bit, rest up for the interview," he says.

"Alright. I'll see you later then," she tells him, rubbing his arm before walking off, both men watching her.

"Since when are you not hungry?" Jude asks the moment she's out of earshot.

"Since my wife became paranoid," Ron mumbles quietly, heading to his room, ignoring Jude's look of confusion.

"So what got you interested in Quidditch in the first place?" Clarissa asks him from her spot on his bed. They've been talking for hours, but he hasn't seen her take down a single note. It's late and they're alone and she's sitting on his fucking bed and he can't stop wondering what Hermione would think if she could see them right now.

"My brother, Charlie-well, actually my uncles, Fabian and Gideon played when they were in school before they went to fight in the last war. They died when I was little so I don't remember them, but I grew up hearing my Mum tell stories about them. Think she liked remembering them that way, and not…" not how they died. Actually, hearing all those stories used to bother him. They'd just been two more people in his family that he would never measure up to no matter what he achieved. They'd been top of their class, Quidditch stars, and had died bloody heroes.

But now he understood why his mum had always talked about them. They all did the same thing with Fred now.

"Would you stop that?" Clarissa asks.

"What?"

"That." She points and he sees that he's wearing a path in the shag carpet. "You're pacing is making me antsy."

"Sorry," Ron says abashedly. "Must've picked it up from Hermione. She can't ever seem to sit still unless she's got her nose buried in a book. Always has to be doing something, even if it's just walking."

"Well come over here before you drive me insane." She pats the bed and Ron takes a seat on the edge, as far from her as possible. She scoots a bit closer. "So, what were you saying about your brother?"

Is she deliberately changing the subject every time Hermione's name comes up? he wonders, before laughing to himself. Of course not. She's a professional. She isn't interested in me like that. Bloody woman's got ME paranoid now too.

"Well Charlie…he was a natural. Took to a broom like it was an extension of his body. And I always looked up to him—well him and my brother Bill. They're the oldest, so I think the rest of us wanted to follow in their footsteps. Only Bill is sort of a genius, and I'm, well…not." He laughs. "So I guess I thought it'd be easier to try and be like Charlie."

"You seem plenty clever to me. Good marks in school, prefect, an offer to join the Aurors right after the war."

Ron's ears turn pink. "You've done your homework on me."

She smiles and shifts closer to him. "I told you; I'm very thorough in my work. I like to know my targets inside and out, what makes them tick, what fuels their…passion."

She puts a hand on his knee and Ron's eyes widen to the size of crystal balls. Is she making a pass at me? "So I'm a target then?" he asks, his throat suddenly quite dry.

She grins wickedly and nods. "And you should know I always get what I aim for."

Ron gulps, and then gives a fake yawn. "Aah. Sorry. Must still be bushed from practice earlier."

"I thought you laid down for a kip earlier?"

"I did," he backtracks nervously. "I just have trouble sleeping whenever I'm away from home." And Hermione.

She takes her hand off his leg and presses down on the bed while Ron breathes a sigh of relief. "I don't doubt it. The rooms they sticky you with are complete shite. You think the team could afford better rooms for you."

"They probably can," Ron tells her, able to think again now that she isn't touching him. "Guess they'd rather spend the money on better broomsticks than bedding. Can't say I disagree with them, even if they do give me a crick in the neck." He rubs it for emphasis.

"The room the magazine set me up with is much nicer. Almost nicer than my flat." She giggles and despite himself Ron enjoys the sound of it. "You should come by and see it when we finish up the interview."

"You mean we'll have to do this again?"

She scoffs and places a hand to her chest, drawing Ron's eyes to her tits. Her large, soft, magnificent tits. "I'm hurt Ron. If I didn't know better I'd say you didn't like me."

"I like you," Ron says eagerly, before catching his admission. "I mean…I like you just fine," he says awkwardly. Yeah, that was much better, he chides himself.

"I thought so," she tells him, smiling. They're so close, too close, he realizes.

"Can you excuse me? I need to make a call."

"No problem," she tells him, lying back onto the bed, her tits even more noticeable now. He goes out into the hall and pulls out the mobile Hermione bought him years ago, shutting the door behind him. He still doesn't understand how to work the blasted thing, but Hermione programmed it for him so he only needed to press one number to ring the flat, and not even he could mess up something so simple.

It rings and rings and rings for what seems like forever.

"Hi—"

"Hey love!" Ron says quickly. "Just thought I'd call and—"

"—you've reached Hermione and Ron. We're not in right now, but if you leave us a message, we'll be sure to get back to you. Ta."

"Bloody recording," Ron says, hanging up. Where could she be anyway? At Harry and Ginny's? With her parents? He checks his watch. He hadn't realized it was that late. Probably in bed.

He fumbles with the thing for a few minutes, trying to see if he can figure out how to call Hermione's mobile, but can't seem to remember her number. He hears a door open and turns to see Clarissa leaving his room.

"Hey, you've been out here a while so I thought I'd come check on you."

"Right," Ron says, suddenly glad he failed to reach Hermione. If he'd been talking to her and she heard Clarissa's voice… "You don't know how to work these things, do you?"

She frowns. "Sorry. Never understood Muggle teckonogy myself."

Ron sighs. "You and me both. Guess I'll try and Floo her tomorrow."

"Think it's no good. I'll have to try tomorrow."

"You can come by mine, if you want. If you can't find a fireplace in the barracks I mean."

"That's really…uh…nice of you."

"I can be very nice when I want to be." Her eyes flash, or maybe it's just the light. "Well I think we'll leave off for the night. Don't want you exhausted for the game tomorrow."

"Thanks," Ron says, not caring how relieved he must sound, knowing that he doesn't have to go back into that room with her.

She steps closer. He goes for a handshake but she gives him a hug instead, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck tomorrow," she tells him. Ron smiles and goes back into his room, collapsing on the hard mattress, ready for a wank and a long night of cold feet.

A/N: Sad note, I'm off on holiday next week so there won't be a new chapter. But in two weeks, we'll get Hermione's take on Ron leaving and what keeps her from answering Ron's. Also no offense to my 20ish Portuguese readers :)