WARNING: DOMESTIC ABUSE.

"Come on 'mione, it's really not that big of a deal." he sighed, shaking his head as he turned around to finish making his tea.

"No! Stop it Ron, please, you always do this when I try to solve something -" she said with frustration thick in her voice, but was cut short when she felt the wind blowing at the side of her face, and ducked at the sudden crash behind her.

"Will you just shut up already! I've told you times and times again, but it seems you're too stupid to understand! I'm not some problem you can just solve! I'm not the issue here!" He shouted at her, his arm straight out to each side like he was welcoming a return-blow from her, but then calmly said; "You are." He might as well have hit her, as she lost all the air in her lungs in the same way. He had whispered the two words at her with such disgust that it made the hairs on the back of her neck raise. Sure, they had fought before. Shouted, made love till the break of dawn and then started yelling again, he had even put his hands around her neck once or twice, but he had always apologized - always.

But this was not her husband. This man was not Ron. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen her Ron in a long, long time.

"Wha- what are you saying?" She asked. She felt like she was already dead. Whatever he was going to say couldn't possibly be worse than anything he had already told her.

Whore.

Slut.

Stupid bitch.

Fucking Groupie.

Disgusting cunt.

The list went on and on. He knew it just as well as she did. But they would make up again! They always did! And he was always so sweet towards her after one of their episodes, it was like it had never happened. But then she would wear the wrong-colored underwear at a ministry-event where no one would see her underwear, or buy a new perfume, or- or - bloody hell, what had she gotten herself into this time?

"See, that's the problem. You're either too stupid to understand what I'm telling you, or too blind to realize what's right in front of you." He pointed an accusing finger at her and spat directly at her face.

"What are you talking about, Ron? Why won't you tell me what's going on?!" She sobbed confused, reaching out a hand towards his cheek that he was quick to slap out of the way. All she could do was look from the floor one second and to his neck in the next. Looking to that horrible part of his neck, trying to reassure herself that there definitely wasn't a dark-red hickey hiding at the edge of his collar. It was sitting there mocking her - letting her know that she had lost him, once again.

She realized months ago that every time he went out the door, every time he received an owl and then scurried out the door with a lame excuse, that he was on his way to another one of his "exclusive whores". "You know I love you, 'Mione. It's not my fault that you look like shit and act like a territorial bitch in heat." Would be his normal response, with different variations from time to time, of course.

On the first day of her new job at the daily prophet about 2 months ago, she had come home all smiles and bright eyes, with ingredients for roast, potatoes and toffee-pudding. Over dinner she had told him all about her day, about how friendly and welcoming everyone had been and how she couldn't wait to introduce him to her boss who was a huge fan of Ron and his thriving Quidditch-career.

She told him about her first client-meeting, with the healer that claimed to have made a cure for the side effects of being under the cruciatus-curse for too long. She had been so fascinated and spellbound by their conversation and the importance of his research, that their meeting had lasted not one hour, but two.
Ron had thrown his barely-touched plate of food against the wall and slapped her for being a "fucking tramp", before leaving their apartment.

The next day Ron had come home with blood on his collar and a split lip, had fucked her against the wall, broken a few of her ribs and then left for "Pub-Wednesday with the guys".

Pub-Wednesdays usually lasted two or three days.

The next week the healer missed out on their follow-up-meeting, and never responded to her owls. Needless to say, she never released the article.

"Don't you use that tone against me! Don't you think I know what you're doing when I'm not around? Huh?! Don't you think I know about you screwing every dick that you can get your filthy little hands on?" She was backing away from him, but was halted when she felt the brickwall against her back and the palms of her hands. The space between them was decreasing rapidly. Too rapidly.

"I-I haven't done anything, Ron! Please - Please tell me what's going on," She hiccupped, tears welling up in her eyes against her control, "We can fix this! I swear, we can make it all better! I-I'll cook your favorites, a-and I'll... I'll work from home! Yes, that's it! I'll owl the office right now!" A hand crashed against the wall right beside her head as she reached out towards the dresser to her right, reaching for parchment and quill, "Please Ron, I can fix this if you just tell me what's wrong!" By now her hands were wrapped around her torso in a protective manner, her body slightly turned to the right, preparing to protect against a blow that might come towards her lower body. Her eyes were shut closed while a lonely, treacherous tear escaped its confinement.

Suddenly an unwelcome warmth touched her cheek, removing the single tear, and a calm and controlled voice responded; "You want to know what's wrong, babygirl?"

"Please… Please tell me - I'll do anything you want." She whispered.

He leaned into her, cradling her cheek and pulling her body flush with his. His other hand went around her waist, holding her like an overgrown child in need of comfort. He ducked down and rested his chin on her shoulder and sniffed loudly as his nose found her hair. He must have liked what he found because he started licking and nibbling at the pulse point on her neck, kissing his way towards the soft and sensitive point right beneath her ear. "You're mine," he whispered, sending sweet chills down her spine.

"Yours." She moaned back at him, exposing her entire neck as her back arched in a mixture of built-up tension and pleasure.

"Then why, pray tell, is it so hard for you," He whispered and paused, breathing hard, "To do - as I fucking tell you to?!" He yelled abruptly, and all of a sudden, she was lying on the floor in front of the dresser. The parchment and quill that she had been reaching for on the floor by her head, in a pool of ink from the now broken inkwell. She felt a searing pain in the back of her head and the left side of her head was burning from the slap and her ear was ringing violently. She felt something sticky run down her cheek and neck. But she couldn't focus on that right now. She had to calm him down. She had to get her Ron back.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She yelled, rolling herself into a ball to protect her vital organs. She had dealt with too much war and training in her lifetime to not know something about self-defense, even in situations where the mind seemed to switch into survival-mode by itself. Right now, though, everything was driving on autopilot due to overuse. How has it developed into this?

"I was always too good for you 'Mione." He yelled at her, and kicked her over the shin. She screamed in agony.

No, no, you were perfect for me... Was her only thought, "I'm sorry… Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I promise, I won't do it again!"

"Like hell you won't. Do you even hear what I'm saying, you little bitch?! You're not good enough for me!" He yelled, and kicked her again, this time in the stomach. All of the air left her body in an instant and she was left gasping for oxygen. She felt the world turning black at the edge of her vision and she fought to keep her conscience. This was no time to faint. What would he do to her if she did?

"You always talk so highly of yourself... It's always; Hermione-this, Hermione-that, greatest witch of her age, blah-blah-blah..." He spat at her and she felt the wet substance on her neck slowly running down her throat towards her shoulder, mixed in with what was supposedly blood from a torn eardrum "You were never smart or useful, just stupid, convenient and lucky. So fucking lucky." He bent down on one knee in front of her, grabbing hold of her face and forcing it up to look him in the eye. "You're mine. Don't you ever forget that. If I want to fuck you, I'm gonna fuck you. If I want to beat the living shit out of you, I'm gonna do it. I own you." He punctuated each of the last words by crushing his fingers harder into her jaw and pushing it back, hard into the hardwood floor below her, before retreating.

"Tomorrow you will tell your boss that you will either work from home, or not work at all. Is that understood?" He asked. His voice was so sweet, he might as well have been asking her to take an extra sick day to regain her full strength after having been on bedrest for a week.

"Yes. Of course, love." She choked out.

"Brilliant! You won't be needing this, then!" He said. Even with closed eyes, she could see the malicious smile that he was currently sprouting. She heard the snap and knew that her wand had lost its life. An involuntary sob escaped her and she quickly thrust a hand in front of her mouth to cover it. Did he hear?

She stayed in her rolled-up position for a couple of minutes, while she heard him moving away from her and rummaging around their apartment. When she heard the shower being turned on, she finally opened her eyes.

Right in front of her on the ground was her wand, broken in two. If one looked close enough, magic could still be seen weeping from the parts where they used to be connected - now separated like her body and heart. She reached out for it but couldn't reach, and when she tried to move herself closer to it she felt a sharp pain in her head - the part of her head that was touching the ground underneath her. She moved her hand up and pushed at the inkwell on the way, splattering more ink on the wooden floors. She touched her head thinking that perhaps the sticky thing under her head could just be ink.

It seemed she was mistaken, as her hand came back both black and crimson. Fuck.

She once again moved her arm, this time trying to put it under her, wanting to use it for leverage to get up off the floor so she could reach her wand. Perhaps she could still get it fixed at Ollivander's if she worked fast.

The sound of a door opening brought her back to reality. How long had she been laying there?

He came walking onto the room like he owned the whole property, shoulder back with a mock attitude and a towel around his waist - looking everywhere else then at her. But she could feel it. she could feel the anger coming off of him in waves, see the insanity in his eyes. Yet... he seemed... calm?

This definitely wasn't her Ron. Her Ron would have been back at her side, lifting her into bed and patting her cheek - reassuring her with love and affection, that he loved her and would be back in a couple of hours. But something was wrong. Very, definitively, wrong.

He went and grabbed his duffel bag by the front door where he had left it earlier and went to the other part of their apartment, where she heard a door closing.

She released a shallow sigh and tried to relax despite the pain moving through every cell of her body. If he would just leave and get out of there, maybe she stood a chance. She just had to do like he told her, and everything would be alright.

It had to be.

It must have been about 30 minutes later - or was it 45? She couldn't tell anymore.

She felt something tapping. Was the faucet dripping again? She would have to fix that, tomorrow. Tomorrow will work for her.

The entirety of her upper body had gone numb from blood loss at this point. She had luckily long passed the stage of the uncomfortable stinging feeling, when one's foot had been in the same position for too long. The bloodpool that her head was resting in, had grown and she might as well have been sitting in the bottom of the showerstall, surrounded by the last water before it went down the drain. How she was still alive was beyond her.

She was falling in and out of consciousness - perhaps it would all be over soon, and she would wake up in her own fluffy bed.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when a door opened and she quickly closed her eyes. If he thought she was sleeping (or maybe dead would be better?), then maybe he would just leave her alone.

"Wake up, whore, I'm not done with you." He said forcefully and kicked her hard to her thigh, shoving it forcefully away from where it had been resting on top of the other.

"NGAAAHHHH!" She screamed as her body lit up in flames, "Please, please don't... Please don't..." She sobbed, forcing her eyes to open, to look at him. "Please don't hurt me..." She instantly regretted her last plea, as he vigorously picked her up from the floor, by the collar of her jumper and threw her across the living room. She heard the shattering of glass, before she felt the pain of a mirror cracking behind her.

"You don't get to tell me what to do - EVER, again." He sneered at her. "Perhaps you didn't hear me clearly before. I own you. I'll do EXACTLY as I please." She whimpered as he picked her up once again, before throwing her hard down on top of the dining table that she knew were placed right next to the now shattered mirror. She felt more than heard the crunching sound beneath her as shards from the mirror, had stuck in her jumper and were now gnawing their way into her back. He went right after her, with one of his hands still clutching the top of her bloodied jumper.

Her legs were hanging off the edge of the table and he put himself in between them, trapping her. "No! Don't you -", She was caught off guard as his hand that had been gripping her jumper was now ripping her hair, forcing her head to the side so swiftly it made her head spin again. He started ripping at her skirt wanting to get it off of her, but it seemed to be too hard with her thrashing around trying to stop him. Instead, he shoved it up to her waist and ripped off her panties.

"I told you already 'Mione. I'm taking what's mine, and you won't stop me. Ever." With one hand he opened his belt buckle and started for the zipper.

With more force than she thought were left in her entire body, she pulled one leg free, and kicked him in the chest - as hard as she could. "Like hell you are!" The pressure from the kick sent her off the side of the table, and as best she could, she scrambled to get as far away from him as possible. But her head was swimming and she was dizzy.

She looked back and saw Ron standing up from the floor and looking around the room. When had it gotten so dark in there?

As he got his breathing under control and regained his orientation of his room, his eyes slowly fell on her. Like a hungry predator eyeing his prey. He went directly for her with hard, angry steps. He grabbed her wounded leg and yanked her closer to him. Just close enough for him to stump his large boot down at the side of her still-healthy knee.

She felt the crackling sound of her bones breaking, and felt her kneecap violently leave its socket, and she screamed. She screamed for the pain, for the hurt, for her lost love. For her lost will to live.

When her screaming finally turned to small sobs, she heard the ice-cold sound of Ron, chuckling.

"It's for your own good, you know. If you can't walk, you can't cheat. And you cheat a hell lot more than I ever expected you to." He grinned, but she could see the anger flashing in his eyes like a warning-sign. His normally gorgeous blue eyes were black as the dark side of the moon, and she needed to get back to earth. Right fucking now.

"But as fun as that was. I didn't finish what I came to do." He said maliciously.

Almost in slow motion, she saw him go down on her, reaching to remove her skirt to make his passage easier accessible. She lashed out at him with a small piece of mirror and he forcefully threw himself away from her, now one deep slash on the cheek richer. How or when she had picked up the piece of glass, she couldn't tell. Mainly because she really didn't know.

Her hand hit the wooden floors and the shard fell helplessly from her hand. Her head lulled to the opposite side, exhausted beyond measure, with no more power to hold it up. With no more energy to look at the attacker in the room. To look at Ron, not her Ron but the one who had never really been hers.

She was ready now. She was ready to go and never return. A tear fell from her eye as she realized that she would be dying tonight. But she wasn't afraid anymore. Hell, it seemed, was living on earth - and she had seen the worst of it.

She felt herself being picked up off the floor.

The room was silent. Muted. Like one of those old black-and-white movies with Charlie Chaplin. All she heard was ringing in her ears, and all she saw was the steady stream of blood dripping from her head and onto the hardwood floors, as she was hanging over Ron's shoulder.

Suddenly, she was being moved softly from his shoulder and down into his arms. He hadn't held her bridal-style since that time, he had broken her collarbone and two ribs. He cradled her into his chest and whispered; "Goodbye, Hermione.".

She fell so fast and quietly that she never felt herself hit the ground. Everything just went dark.

When she woke up she was laying on a soft cloud of fluffy pillows and blankets. Through the window at the other end of the room, she saw the sun setting. Or was it dawning? As the minutes ticked by, she figured that it must be setting.

Then it hit her; "I'm not dead." She whispered.

"No, and thank Merlin for that. Though that asshat of a husband did a good job at breaking you in every possible way." a way drawled to her right from the man standing in the doorway. "I never saw you as the submissive person, Granger."

"Weasley." She corrected him.

"Why did you never return any of my owls, Granger?" He asked, ignoring her correction.

"It's still Weasley, Malfoy. And for your information, I never returned any of your owls because I never received any. But now that we're onto the topic, you never returned any of my owls either. I had to drop the article because I didn't have enough substance. So, thank you for that." She finished sarcastically.

"Huh. Well, I guess today explains a lot then." He said slowly, finally moving fully into the room.

"What do you mean by that?"

"It means that someone snatched our letters, and I'm guessing it was your dear husband. The aurors are waiting outside the door, by the way." He finished, with a thumb pointed back at the door.

"Why would they be waiting out there? Did I do anything? and just what makes you think that Ron had anything to do with the letters going missing? It may just have been the owls who were… confused. It has been rather windy lately." She finished with a confident nod.

"Did you - Granger, are you dumb?"

"Weasley. And no, I am most certainly not." She shot at him, positively vibrating with anger and confusion. "Just tell me what's going on already."

"Don't you remember anything from last night?" He asked, taken aback, looking from eye to eye, searching for something. What, she didn't know.

"I remember perfectly what happened, thank you very much. Now tell me what the hell the aurors are here for." She shot back hotly. She was sick and tired of him throwing question after question at her, without answering any of hers. This was not how their previous interview had gone.

"They are here to take your statement, and to make a report for the case against your - husband." He spat the word like it was poison.

"But... Why would I need to do that? He didn't -, He would never -," She stopped herself and looked down. She had to stop lying for him at some point. She felt the bed dip and looked up at Malfoy who had sat down at the bottom of her bed.

"Forgive me for being so frank. But he threw you off the balcony. From the third floor. The only reason you're alive right now, is because you missed your dinner-appointment with Harry, and he happened to go looking for you. Apparently, he saw someone falling and saved them, not knowing that it was you until he got closer."

She choked on a sob, and he continued mercilessly, realizing that this was the time to get through to her. "You broke your thigh bone, dislocated your knee cap, lacerations in your hand from glass or something like that, a burst liver, internal bleedings all around the stomach-area, a fractured skull - not to mention the burst eardrum, hard bruising on most of your body and deep scratch marks in your… private area. I daresay he didn't give a flying fuck if you came out of that alive, and I sure as hell don't know how you managed to survive until he sent you flying. Granger."

When she was still crying some minutes later, he stood from the bed and moved to stand by her side. He laid his hand on her shoulder in a comforting manner, and she froze. He removed it quickly, so as to not make her more uncomfortable. He took a few steps backwards, giving her the space, she was probably needing.

"I don't know what to do…" She whispered. "I love him."

"Did you know that he came to talk to me? It was the same day that you interviewed me." He asked slowly, trying to help her understand the meaning of everything that had happened.

"I -, I suspected that he had. I had told him about our meeting under dinner, and he got so… so angry. But he never really told me why. He just came home the next day with a split lip and told me that I could never speak with you again."

"He came marching into the staff room that evening and threatened to kill me if I ever laid eyes on you again. He said that he "knew about our wicked affair". Can you believe it? I mean, you're fun and absolutely breathtaking when I'm not trying to save your life, but seriously. I don't exactly go after married women, thank you very much. I'm not that stupid. I tried to tell him as much, but he seemed quite set in his way. When he tried to grab at me, I sent him out with a knuckle to the mouth. Luckily no one was around at the time, or they would have had a show for their money."

"You… you smacked Ron? No wonder he was pissed when he got home. I broke a couple of ribs because of that." she half-laughed, half sighed. It was a broken laugh, though.

"He -, he was right in some of his accusations, though." Malfoy said slowly, looking everywhere else than at her.

"And what could that possibly be? I was there. Remember?" She said.

"That I do like you, and that I do enjoy your company very much. I love how your mind works, how your eyes light up when you find new knowledge, how you slip off your shoes when you're comfortable and relaxed - at least that's what it felt like at our meeting." The room was silent for a moment, both of them taking in what had just been said. "Like I said before, I would never pursue a "taken" women, but I had hoped that you would at the very least be my friend. I must admit," He stood from the bed and went to look out of the window, now with his back turned to her.

I-, I must admit that I was hurt quite badly by the lack of your owls despite my attempts at coming into contact with you. But I had never in my wildest nightmares thought that he could have done this to you. Nor that he could have done it on so many occasions before."

Suddenly she was standing beside him, still in silence.

"Neither did I." She sighted.

"Do you have anywhere to go when you are released, Granger? I bet you could go home with Potter and the nicer Ginger.".

"It's still Weasley, Malfoy." she sighed. "But I don't know. I probably have a mess to clean up at home.

"How can you be thinking about cleaning at a time like this? Granger, He won't be coming home to smack you around anymore." He looked at her pleadingly.

"It's still Granger, damned!" She yelled at him, and stopped short when she realized when she had said, well, yelled. "Fuck. It's Weasley." she whispered brokenly and looked down at her hands, tugging lightly at her hospital gown...

He turned to her and used a finger under her chin, to lift her eyes to his.

"Unless you want me to call you Malfoy from now on, I'm gonna call you "Granger"." He winked and flashed her the warm smile that she knew he was hiding under the serious facade, "You're not going back to that shitface anyway, so what'll it be? Moving on and getting a life for yourself, or ending up dead by going back to Weasley?" He was looking at her with those pleading eyes again.

"I don't -... I mean, being a Malfoy obviously isn't the worst thing that could happen to me. I just never thought that my own husband could ever be." She said crestfallen. Broken in ways that could never resemble broken bones. He let go of her chin when she looked down again, and went to sit at the bottom of the bed.

"Don't date me. You'll probably end up dead - or worse. People around me tend to go the "worse" way. For now, though, I would love to be your friend. Perhaps with time it can evolve into more… Who knows?" She said, slowly gaining more confidence.

"Friends I can definitely do." He smiled at her.

"But speaking of friends; or soon-to-be-ex-husband/friend; I think you can send the aurors in now."

"It would be my utter-most pleasure." He said, and went to open the door.