London

October 2008

Hermione dropped her briefcase and laptop bag down beside the coffee table as she huffed loudly, dropping into the Laura Ashley armchair in her lounge. Ron looked up from the carton of chinese takeaway he was currently devouring while leant over the reports he had spread out over the surface.

"What's up with you?" he asked, stabbing his fork into his chow mein noodles.

"Nothing," she huffed, leaning forward and taking the carton from him, skewering the pieces of chicken moodily.

"Uh-oh, I know this mood. What's he done now?" Ron grinned, "and by the way, I got you fried beef with ginger and spring onion," he told her as she proceeded to finish his chow mein.

"I don't want beef," Hermione fumed pointedly ignoring Ron's question.

"But you always have the beef," Ron frowned, unpacking the containers.

"Well tonight I don't want beef," Hermione retorted, shrugging off her coat as Ron handed her a bottle of peach iced tea. "I don't want tea," she told him, kicking off her kitten heels, not caring that she was leaving them under the coffee table or the fact that she wasn't about to hang up her coat. She carried the carton over to the wine rack, pulling out a bottle of sauvignon blanc.

"Okay," Ron muttered, placing the bottle on the coffee table and opening the container of beef as Hermione uncorked the wine. "Are you going to tell me what you two are fighting about this time?" he asked distractedly as he skewered a piece of beef.

"Who says we are fighting?" Hermione frowned as she poured herself a large glass of wine, holding the bottle up as Ron glanced over at her.

"No thanks," Ron replied, shaking his head. "Your mood tells me you are fighting," Ron informed her, turning over a page of the report he was currently reading.

Hermione took a long sip of her wine, mulling over his words. "It's just…" she began, not really knowing where to begin. "Since Paris, everything has been off with him," she continued, padding into the lounge area.

"What do you mean by off?" Ron asked, chewing on a piece of beef as he read.

"Well like today, in the briefing, he was in such a mood," she explained, pausing to roll her eyes as Ron threw her an amused look.

"It's Malfoy, what do you expect?" he chuckled as she frowned at him.

"So I tried to calm him down and he snatched his arm away from me," she complained, narrowing her eyes as she remembered the way he had pulled away from her. Like her touch burnt him.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, love. It's Malfoy," he repeated.

Hermione glared at him. "How observant of you," she snarked, "care to enlighten me as to what your point is?"

Ron glanced up at her, shocked by the way she snapped sarcastically at him, Hermione instantly regretting the way the words had flown out of her mouth unchecked.

"My point being," he explained slowly, trying to keep his temper in check. "That he isn't like you or me or Harry. He doesn't show affection easily," Ron went back to his report. "The guys like a robot from one of your muggle shows."

Hermione's jaw slacked at his words. "He is not a robot. He has feelings Ron, just like you and me. How could you say something like that?" Hermione cried, unsure as to why exactly she appeared to be picking a fight with her husband over her partner.

Ron frowned at Hermione confused. "Okay, so he's not a robot. But the first part you have to admit is true," he insisted as Hermione started pacing, the grip on her wine glass increasing.

"You don't understand," she lamented. "Things between us have always been easy. Until Paris and now everything is screwed up and I don't know why," she complained, taking another sip of her wine.

Ron sat back, watching his wife rant. "What does it matter anyway? So Draco is being an arse. You knew he was when Kingsley made Harry partner you two up," Ron concluded.

"But that was then!" Hermione cried, frustrated. "Things have been different since then," she insisted, stopping herself before she explained why. How could she tell her husband that she shared a bed with her partner on missions? Ron of all people would never understand that there was nothing in it, that Draco only did it because she felt safer with him there; that the nightmares didn't come so frequently if he was there. Vaguely she was aware that wasn't necessarily healthy but she buried it deep down, choosing to ignore it. There was a reason why they had never actually discussed the fact that they shared a bed, it just sort of happened.

"I don't know what you want me to say Hermione, because I don't really understand what the problem is," Ron huffed returning his attention to his work.

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not. Like you didn't really understand what the issue was when Harry gave you my case," she muttered, padding over to where the wine bottle sat on the kitchen island.

Ron chucked his quill down on the coffee table. "Is that what this is really about? Because Susan and I were given your case? Is that why you have been in a bitchy mood for the last month?" Ron shouted, his temper getting the better of him.

Hermione slammed the bottle of wine down on the counter. "No: This is about the fact that you don't understand me or who I am, Ronald."

Ron's jaw slacked as shock set in with her words. "What the actual fuck?"

Hermione bit her lip, chastising herself inwardly that it was a bit too late to try and stop angry the words that now hung in the air between them from spilling from her mouth.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ron bellowed, his cheeks flushing.

Before Hermione could stop herself, the words poured forth breaking their dam. "Like tonight, with the dinner. You never think to ask what I actually want, you just go ahead and order it. And yes, you took my case, a case Draco and I had been working on for months. We could have brought you in on the investigation but no, Harry just gives you the case and you don't think about how I would feel having my own husband take a case like that from me. You don't think about how that might impact me or my desire for promotion. You never stop to consider me in anything you do. And then I come home and you push me to tell you what's going on with my partner and then you defend him, despite the fact that what he did hurt me: that it made me feel like this is all he sees, even now," Hermione shouted, tearing up her sleeve.

Ron staggered back as though every word had hit him like a bludger to the head. "That is just so…" Ron stuttered at a loss for words as Hermione angrily poured herself another glass of wine. "I can't even…" he started dropping back down into the couch. "I don't even know where to begin with all of that, Hermione. But as for the last part? That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," Ron told her, his eyes meeting hers across the room.

Hermione opened her mouth but Ron cut her off. "No, I'm sorry, Hermione, you can take out on me whatever the hell is going on between you, because I am your husband and that's part of what being your husband means. But that? No. That man has come into my home, Hermione. He has been here for dinner with his wife, he gets on with my sister so well she wants to name him Godfather to her child, and even though he pisses Harry off, he is quite fond of him too," Ron revealed, his words stunning Hermione into silence. "Do you honestly believe I would allow that man to come into my home, to come any where near my wife, if he still thought of you that way? Because I am telling you now Hermione, if that is the case, turn on that television and check the forecast for hell, because Satan himself would be giving ice skating lessons before I let him within a mile of my home never mind my wife."

Ron sat back, the colour and energy drained from him as Hermione put her glass down on the counter top. "Look, I get that, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he made me feel like that today, Ron, despite the fact that deep down I think you are probably right," she admitted quietly.

"I'm definitely right about this one," Ron told her, the intensity of the look he gave her making her uncomfortable.

"I cannot help how I feel," she blurted, her cheeks staining as Ron frowned at her, sensing her words were more about him than Draco.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked curtly as Hermione lifted her glass to her lips. She ignored the question as she took a sip. "You drift in and out of here like we are co-existing in the same space. You are gone for six months on a mission I know very little about, for a case I know only the highlights of…" she began.

"It's the nature of the job," Ron retorted, angered by words.

"You come home and expect me to be exactly how I was when you left, still wanting beef and ice tea on a Friday night and to be okay with the fact that the first thing you do is take my case," she complained.

"And we are back to that again," Ron sneered sarcastically. "Look, just tell me what the real issue is: did I bruise your ego? Hurt your pride? I wouldn't say I went as far as to sabotage your career but who knows what's going on in that head of yours?" he continued, angrily.

"Just stop it," Hermione told him, her anger boiling over.

"Why? You started this," he challenged, glaring at her across the room.

"How grown up of you," Hermione retorted scornfully. "I'm going to have a bath and then I think I will sleep in the spare room tonight," she snapped, striding out of the room before Ron could answer.

Hermione tossed and turned in the bed, trying to switch her mind off from the roaring white noise as she replayed the events of the day over and over in her mind. Finally she threw the covers off with a huff, dropping her legs over the edge of the bed, her toes curling into the plush carpet.

She padded out to the kitchen, standing on tip toes as she reached up into the cupboard to take out a glass. Turning on the tap, she let the water run for a moment before filling the glass as she pressed the back of her free hand to her mouth, yawning. Shutting off the tap, she lifted the glass to her parched lips, relishing in the way the cool libation quenched her thirst.

Rinsing out the glass before upending it on the drainer, she felt a hand on her shoulder, making her jump.

"Fucking hell, Ron, you scared the shit out of me," she hissed, looking up into his tired eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking the glass from the drainer and refilling it. Hermione watched his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped down the water, his eyes watching her. She lifted her gaze, meeting his, as he returned the glass to the drainer.

"I don't want to fight," she told him, her voice faltering slightly.

Ron sighed wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, resting his chin on her head. "I don't want to fight either," he mumbled, dropping a kiss to her hair before rubbing his chin against her head once more.

"He's just so infuriating," Hermione mumbled into Ron's chest. Ron snorted in agreement.

"There are times when he makes it impossible for me to feel normal," she muttered, her forehead creasing into a frown.

Ron hummed his reply, not really sure how they had got back onto the subject of Draco Malfoy, but understanding that it was still weighing heavily on her mind and she needed to let it all out.

"I think I probably owe him an apology," she told Ron, pulling away from his embrace, moving towards the closet.

Ron frowned as he watched her. "What, now?"

"Yes, now!" Hermione told him, pulling her hair out from under the oversized jumper she had thrown on, slipping her trainers on her bed-sock clad feet.

"But it's half two in the morning," Ron replied with shocked confusion, watching her grab her wand from the coffee table.

"And I cannot sleep. I need to talk to him; to apologise," Hermione insisted, coming back to the kitchen area where Ron stood. "I need to do this," she whispered, pressing her palm to his chest and she leaned up to kiss him. He returned the kiss, frowning as she stepped back. "I won't be long," she told him before the crack sounded her departure.

Hermione frowned, her eyes scanning the study, tutting when they fell on the image of a dishevelled Draco asleep in the wingback chair by the fire. A bottle of firewhiskey was wedged between his right thigh and the side of the chair, the last embers of the fire bathing him in a gentle orange glow. His head lulled over to the left, resting on his left hand.

On the side table sat a crystal tumbler, and, Hermione noted, wrinkling her nose up in disgust, a crystal ashtray with several stubbed out cigarettes. Draco was not as a rule a smoker, however she knew from past experience that high levels of stress made him turn to the vice. Her mind tumbled back to a particularly difficult case in Romania last year when they had fought quite badly. Draco had shut himself out on the balcony of their hotel room with a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of muggle whiskey, refusing to talk to her.

Shaking the image from her mind, she leant forward, reaching for his arm. "Draco," she whispered.

"I'm not in the mood, Tori," he mumbled groggily, his face contorting into a scowl as he waved her away moodily, whisky laced breath ghosting across her face.

"Merlin, your drunk," Hermione commented, screwing up her nose at the smell.

Draco opened one eye, staring at her. "Great, now I'm having delusions," he mumbled, "Damned Ogden's," he complained, shifting in his seat. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"Drunk but not delusional," Hermione replied, smirking.

Draco dropped his hands from his face at her words, sniffing as he opened his eyes a little startled by her presence in his study.

"Hermione," he breathed, "What time is it?" Suddenly abstractly concerned he was late for work.

Hermione smiled, pressing her palm to his chest as he tried to stand. She pushed him back into the chair. "It's a little after two thirty," she told him quietly. Draco looked at her, his face awash with concern. "What's wrong, what's happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse, heart rate increasing.

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing's happened. I came here to apologise," she confessed as Draco's forehead creased with confusion.

"What for?" he mumbled as his heart rate slowed to a more steady rate.

Hermione flushed with embarrassment. "For the things I said; for what I accused you of," she whispered. She watched the emotions swim in his eyes unchecked as she felt his fingertips trail slowly up under her sleeve caressing her scar. Neither spoke as he pushed the sleeve up, Hermione's eyes on his as he brought her forearm up to his lips.

Feeling her heartbeat pounding hard in her chest, she held her breathe, transfixed by the moment as he closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to her scar, before turning his head and brushing his cheek over the cool flesh of her forearm. Every nerve in her body tingled as his caresses ignited a fire in her she did not know existed. Time seemed to drag out before finally he pulled her sleeve down, his large hand holding her smaller one as his free hand found its way into her curls.

Instinctively, Hermione closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

"How could you think that of me?" he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

Hermione opened her eyes, now swimming with tears. "You pulled away, like my touch burnt you," she whispered, pain in her voice. "If it's not that, then tell me why you detest my touch so much?"

"I don't detest it, Hermione: I long for it," Draco confessed, his voice so quiet Hermione almost didn't hear it. "I long for it so much that it hurts."

Hermione pulled back, shocked by his sudden revelation. She shook her head. "You're drunk," she told him, watching him shutter away his emotions, his defences coming up.

"I'm drunk, ignore me," he told her averting his eyes. "I'll see you at work."

Hermione nodded, her cheeks flushing once more, their eyes locking briefly before she apparated away.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding in, her hand coming up to her chest feeling her heart pounding from his words. He was just inebriated, she told herself, attempting to calm her mind down. It was just the firewhiskey talking. Right?