Thank you so very much to my beta, RESimon — you're a dream.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hermione spent the next few days at the Burrow, the only other place she had leave to visit since it was now deemed the Order's backup headquarters in the case Grimmauld were to be deemed compromised. Mrs. Malfoy had informed Kingsley that Snape had yet to inform Voldemort of Grimmauld's location, and so he had deemed Grimmauld safe until such a time that they were made aware of Snape having decided otherwise. Precautionary wards had been erected in the meantime, but as of then things had been quiet, and the Order carried on affairs at Grimmauld like normal.

She hid out in Ginny's room under the pretense of research while avoiding Harry, Ron, and her husband alike. After her confrontation with Mrs. Malfoy, the room had descended into a tense silence after which Kingsley and McGonagall had given their apologies to her before departing themselves. She had left to sleep in the library for the night without a word to Malfoy, feeling deeply ashamed yet unwilling to deal with another confrontation with him.

And so she remained stowed away in Ginny's room, poring over books day and night until she was too exhausted to experience the troubling dreams that had followed her since the battle. Even still, during her waking hours, she was constantly reminded of the fact that her husband loomed in her room back at Grimmauld. She returned only to retrieve a change of clothing every now and again, showing her face just enough for him to know that she hadn't run off to do something reckless, risking their lives again before the war had even begun.

He was an inextricable part of her that she knew she could not avoid forever, despite her determination to do just that. Ginny had not questioned the appearance of her new roommate who she knew had her own room only a floo away, instead of welcoming her with open arms. Hermione listened to the other girl's aimless chatter as she returned to the room late at night, allowing herself to drift off to the sound of her friend's chattering as she responded only with small nods or hums of approval.

She knew that Ginny's chattering was her own form of mourning, knowing that it pained the girl deeply to see Harry in and out of the Burrow each day, sneaking off with Ron when he could so that they could make plans for the upcoming war. They had tried fruitlessly on several occasions to bring Hermione into their chats, but she had selfishly made excuses each time, despite the fact that she knew only the three of them were privy to Harry's task of finding and destroying the Horcruxes.

She wanted to make the most of the little time she had left them, but each time she saw the trust reflected in their gazes as they looked at her, her heart broke a little more and she would often find herself mumbling an excuse before stumbling off, forcing herself not to cry. Like Ginny, Hermione too was mourning - preemptively mourning the loss of her friendships as the day she would be leaving them drew closer.

Late one afternoon, Hermione stepped through the floo at the Burrow when Harry materialized beside her, pulling her out into the garden behind him despite her protests.

"What is going on with you, Hermione?" he said when they were alone, casting a quick muffliato.

Hermione sighed. "It's nothing, Harry," she said, shuffling her feet.

"You've been so cold and distant—"

"The battle just took a bigger toll on me than I thought it would, is all—"

"—for months now!" Harry finished.

She opened her mouth then closed it again, feeling exhausted as she tried to search for another excuse. "It's nothing," she repeated, knowing her words would only hurt him further.

"You won't even look at me half the time," he said, his voice sad.

She looked up at him then, her lip trembling as she bit back the words that threatened to spill from her mouth. His bright green eyes shone with equal parts anger and sadness, and she longed to let the words burst forth. I married Malfoy. The Order asked me to. I found out that you were right about the attempted murders when it was already too late. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

"When he died…" Harry said. "You weren't there, Hermione. You were just…gone."

"Harry," she whispered, searching his eyes. He was broken, buckling under the pressure of the burden he had been forced to carry. A lone tear slipped free from her eye then, and she didn't bother to wipe it away, knowing that more were likely to follow.

"Why did you go?" he asked, moving only to swipe a thumb across the tear that had fallen. "Ron— he's been trying to hold it in, but he's hurting, too."

A lump rose in her throat as she thought of the sad longing she'd seen reflected in Ron's eyes each time she'd turned away from him over the months. She bit her lip nervously, averting her eyes from Harry's searching gaze.

"So that's it, then," Harry said. "Are you afraid because we might have to run together?"

"Yes," she whispered, omitting the fact that yes, they would be running together — but not with her.

Harry reached out and squeezed her arm. "If this isn't — if he isn't what you want, you need to try harder make it absolutely clear to him instead of letting him hold out hope," Harry said knowingly. "Not knowing…not knowing is killing him. But…he'll understand. Things will be alright — we need you, Hermione, and we would never leave you behind."

Instead of answering, she drew him into her, allowing her tears to wet his jumper as she let him soothe her gently, all the while completely ignorant of her impending betrayal.

X

After Harry's confrontation, Hermione decided to throw herself into preparing Harry and Ron the best she could for the time that they would be apart. She spent her days either helping with wedding planning or researching and planning with Harry and Ron. She subtly picked at the holes in their plans, ensuring that their plan to run and any contingency plans wear airtight, foolproof to the point that her missing presence would not be as glaringly obvious as it otherwise would have been. It still pained her each time she heard them refer to the three of them as "us", each day bringing her closer to the sad truth that they were no longer a trio. She maintained a careful distance from Ron, rebuffing even his friendliest gestures. More often than not, she caught him looking at her with a pained longing, and it hurt doubly as much when she would catch Harry's sad, knowing looks as he observed them.

She had begun sleeping at Grimmauld once more, but only returned to their room late at night when she was too exhausted to bother arguing with Malfoy. He ignored her as much as she did him, and she knew not what he did during the day besides perusing the bookshelf that she had kept filled since they had been assigned their room. When she returned to the room, he was often either skimming absently through a book or curled up on the sofa, asleep. She suspected that many of those times he was not actually asleep, especially when she woke early in the mornings to leave. She paid him no mind regardless, and the short amounts of time they spent together were usually shrouded in tense silence.

This night had been no different than the dozen or so that had passed since they'd arrived, and she had just come from the shower, dressed in her nightclothes and preparing to go to bed when there was a soft knock at the door. Her eyes widened as she realized that the knock that had come was not Kingsley's familiar pattern. She looked at Malfoy, who had perked up slightly and was also looking at the door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"It's me, 'Mione," Ron answered. "I won't leave until you talk to me — why is your door warded?"

Bollocks. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. She gestured at Malfoy to go into the loo, and he scowled back at her from where he sat on the sofa.

"Please," she pleaded in a whisper.

He scowled for a moment longer before standing stiffly and going into the loo, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary.

Her heart race as she crossed over to the door, resting her hand on the knob. "It isn't–it just isn't a good time right now," she said.

"It never is with you these days, 'Mione," he said, and the tone of his voice pained her. Her hand tightened on the knob as she debated whether to let him in. In a moment of either desperation or stupidity —she knew not which – she pulled open the door to reveal him standing there, looking lost and sad.

"Ron," she whispered, pulling him inside and letting the door shut behind him. She cupped a hand over his cheek and he leaned into it, closing his eyes as he almost nuzzled into her hand. He lifted a hand to her waist, and she stepped back automatically, eyes downcast.

"Why do you always pull away from me?" he asked.

She bit her lip, still not looking at him. "I don't–"

"You do, 'Mione — every time," he sounded so sad, so helpless, that she could not help looking up at him, only to see the emotions reflected tenfold in his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said truthfully — for once.

"Sorry for what?" he asked. "I understand nothing of what has been going on with you, and when I ask all you have to say is sorry even though I have no idea what is going on."

"For everything," she whispered, knowing he wouldn't understand that either.

"Is it – is it me?" he worried hand through his hair. "Did I muck up that badly with the Lavender thing? If I need to spend the rest of my life begging for your forgiveness, I will," he added sincerely, stepping closer to her.

She forced herself not to step back again but still looked away all the same. "It's not you, it's me," she answered lamely, knowing he would detect the falsity in her voice.

"How could it be you?" he said, stepping closer until he could cup her cheek this time. "You're perfect," he murmured. "You're – everything to me."

She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to let the tears that have gathered there fall. "Don't say that," she whispered.

"I speak nothing but the truth," he said determinedly.

She didn't respond, but still — selfishly – allowed herself to languish in the warmth of his hand on her cheek.

"Please look at me," He begged.

She blinked her eyes open, knowing that he would see the unshed tears that had gathered there.

"'Mione," he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She felt trapped in the warmth of his blue eyes, knowing that she needed to look away, to send him away, but somehow frozen in her spot. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek where a tear had fallen, and she did not stop him. He began a soft trail of kisses down her face, and when his last kiss landed on her lips, she did not stop that one, either.

Instead, she surged forward suddenly, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled him closer. He paused for a moment, startled, before he responded enthusiastically, moaning into the kiss. She could feel a coil of caged heat gathered low in her belly, trying desperately to claw itself free while being suppressed by the magic that bound her in marriage to another. Still, she longed to free it, and she stepped back only to let her dressing gown drop to the floor, pulling Ron's face back down to hers a moment later as she moved them back toward her bed.

"Please," she gasped as they fell back onto the bed in a heap, tugging up her nightgown. She rolled her hips against him, feeling the bulge of his hardness against her core.

"Hermione," Ron moaned, dragging her back into a kiss.

She continued to rut against him, feeling his length rubbing against her quim through the thin layers that separated them. The heat in her belly continued to claw desperately at its cage, aching for release.

She vanished her knickers wandlessly, exposing her bare pussy to the chill of the room. She ran desperate hands down his bare chest after vanishing his shirt, too, hurriedly undoing his trousers as she chased even the slightest spark of pleasure. Ron moaned, moving to kiss her neck as he rutted his now-bare length against her core as she let his cock spring free. She was still nearly completely dry, and her eyes flew open as she felt the discomfort of the sensation. She vanished her nightgown altogether then, desperate for even the smallest hint of pleasure as she pressed her bare skin against his.

She dragged him down atop her as he continued to grind himself against her core, trying to ignore the discomfort. She blinked her eyes open for a moment, then widened them as she saw Malfoy glaring darkly at her from where he had inched open the door to the loo, watching them. He met her eyes then, and she gasped at the dark intensity that swirled within them.

She dragged her hands back to tug at Ron's head from where he had latched onto her neck, tearing her eyes away from her husband's glare.

"Ron," she called. "Ron — stop," she pleaded quietly.

He looked up at her as he panted heavily, his pupils still blown with lust. "What is it?"

"I can't," she said.

He pulled back, his features awash with confusion.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I just—"

He stood abruptly, pushing himself off the bed as he stared at her in disbelief.

"You just what, 'Mione?" he snapped down at her, his usually kindly blue eyes blazing with anger. "Tell me so that I can understand! You talk in circles, then contradict yourself with your actions!" His chest was heaving in anger with his words.

She swept her eyes over him, from the hard planes of his muscled chest down to where his hard, leaking cock hung from his trousers, wishing desperately that she could make love to him again.

"I can't," she said finally. "We— we can't."

This time, Ron didn't argue. Instead, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him, plunging the room into silence.

The door to the loo flew open an instant later and her husband stalked out, bearing down on her. His eyes scanned her slowly, and it was then that she recalled her nakedness. She scrambled to cover herself as she summoned her dressing gown from where she'd discarded it on the floor, flushing deeply. Malfoy caught her flush and sneered at her.

"You are a filthy little slut," he spat. "But perhaps this is how you've always been? How many times have you spread your legs for Potter and Weasley over the years? It's no wonder you were so quick to spread them for me as well."

She scrambled into her dressing gown, which barely covered her fully. Since she had taken it off, the belt had been separated from the dressing gown itself and she was left to hold it closed with only her hands.

"Go away, Malfoy," she shot back even as she filled with shame.

"And where exactly do you propose I go?" he snapped. "I've been banished to this bloody room with my whore of a wife for two weeks!"

"And you think that I desire to be here, stuck with you?" she shouted back. "I hate you! The very thought of your presence in my life disgusts me!"

"Do you think that you don't disgust me? You almost got us bloody killed!" he shouted back. "And for what?! Saint fucking Potter?" he spat Harry's name as if it were a curse.

"Don't talk about Harry like that!"

"Oh, shall I talk about your precious lover, then?" he sneered. "The bloody fucking Weasel that you were about to let fu—"

"Shut up!" she screamed. "Shut up! Shut up!" she stood up and shoved him in the chest.

He snatched her wrists, holding them with bruising force as she tried to squirm away. "I told you not to dare hit me, Granger, or I would make you regret it."

"Let go of me!" she snapped, snatching her arms back. "You call me a whore, but you are nothing but a cold-hearted murderer. You did it — I know you did, you tried to kill Dumbledore, too, didn't you? Harry told me you were there, he told me you wanted to do it—"

"You know nothing about me or the things that I've done!" he thundered. He was shaking with rage as he stalked forward, drawing close enough that their chests barely touched. The unbridled rage in his expression caused a spark of fear to rise within her, and she found herself stumbling backward onto the bed, not having realized that he had stalked forward until they were pressed against it.

"You know nothing of me or the things I've done!" he thundered again, leaning forward until his tense, muscled arms were on either side of her like a cage.

He had moved so close that she could feel his warm breath fanning over her face with his words, and she could not help sweeping her eyes over his body as he loomed over her in a fashion not unlike how Ron had been only minutes prior. Her frustration hadn't yet abated since Ron had left, and she now found herself all but arching into Malfoy, the heat that had been building within her having been released from its cage in a sudden inferno, drawing her toward him. She felt betrayed by her body that that had decided to release the torrent of heat that now pooled between her legs, leaving her practically pulsating with want for him alongside her hatred of him. When she looked back up at his eyes, she found them trained on her body, and her eyes widened as she realized that she had once again let her dressing gown come undone during their argument. His eyes slid back up her body until he met hers, and grey eyes met brown for one intense moment.

She broke the moment, scrambling backward and pulling her dressing gown closed, at once both flushing and glaring at him. He said nothing, but turned and went back into the loo, slamming the door shut behind him.

Poor Ron, I know. One more chapter of canon parallels until we deviate. Thank you all for following so far, you're all so wonderful!