Self-doubt was an emotion Ron Weasley was intimately familiar with. He could count the moments in his life where everything was clear as day on the fingers of one hand. And usually those moments had been spurred on by Harry's unyielding determination. When he followed Harry to save Hermione from the troll in first year. When he again followed to the Ministry when they thought Sirius was in danger (he still cringed every time at how pitifully he had gone down in that fight). And finally when he stood against Voldemort when he thought Harry had died.
Today Ron was heavily weighed down by doubt. He had so ardently been trying to slow down the train that was Harry and Hermione's candidacy, and yet he felt no closer to an answer than before. Andromeda had been patient but dismissive, and he had the impression that his talk with McGonagall hadn't been taken as seriously as he hoped, despite having the portrait of Dumbledore intervene. He'd been wanting to talk to Robards, knowing he had never felt comfortable with Harry in his department, but it would be bad if Harry suspected him further.
Hermione had been less cold than usual, in a very bad way. The words she'd spoken at the Burrow still rang through his head. She flinched when he moved too quickly, made sure to never turn her back to him. Was there any truth in what she said? Did she really believe he could go off on her? He felt incredibly hurt by her changed behaviour, and this was the greatest source of his self-doubt. His talk with Harry too, sometimes seemed as if he himself had been the guilty party.
He rubbed his forehead at the coming headache, feeling tired and high strung. A bright eyed five year old was jumping excitedly next to her mother as he returned change for her custom birthday fireworks.
"You look a bit peaky, Ronniekins," George said as the customers left.
"I'm just tired," Ron replied.
"If there's something bothering you –"
"I said I'm fine!" he snapped.
"All right little brother, no need to bite my head off!"
Ron knew he meant well, but he just wasn't in the mood for an intervention. He had enough problems at home. "You okay if I take a break?"
"Yeah, I'll get Alex to cover the register."
"Thanks," he mumbled and went to the back.
They had a nice break room, which doubled as George's parlour. He took a large glass of pumpkin juice and sat down in the recliner, his eyes drifting over the giant Harpies poster featuring the whole team doing a flyby. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the point of view, the sex-appeal of the all-female team was lost on him, having his sister middle of the pack with a smug smile. He would always be a Cannons fan. "Until the day I die," he whispered.
He dozed off momentarily, waking up to footsteps coming from the store. It was Alex.
"Oh, hey Ronald. Mail for you," he said extending a letter.
"Thanks."
It was unmarked, a simple envelope.
"Did you see what owl it was?"
Alex turned back, already on his way back. "Oh! No, it was delivered in the inbox. But it must've come not long ago, I keep an eye on it."
Ron nodded. Their enchanted mailbox would destroy anything dangerous anyway. He opened it and immediately recognized Hermione's careful cursive handwriting.
Ronald,
I wish I could write more but I'm not in the right frame of mind to do so right now. I think our marriage has more than run it's course. I just don't feel safe with you any more. So I'll be staying with Harry for the time being. Maybe I could finally try out that affair you've been accusing me of having?
Don't come. I don't want to talk to you right now, if ever.
Hermione.
Ron stared, feeling the anger boil up in him. No. No, this wasn't happening. What? Was she going to throw away three years of marriage because of some stupid reason? And what the hell did she mean by trying out an affair? He didn't cheat, Ginny did!
He stood up with a start, tossing the letter on the chair. "She thinks she can run away from me like that!"
"Ronald?"
Ron turned to Alex, who had a worried expression. Shite, he didn't have time for this. He had to stop Hermione from making a dumb mistake!
"I'm leaving, I'll floo George when… Just tell George okay!"
"Right," Alex said. "Where are you going?"
Ron stepped into the fireplace and took a large handful of powder. "12, Grimmauld Place!"
The green flames enveloped him. Alex was left standing there in confusion as his employer left in a hurry. Too curious for his own good, he picked up the discarded letter.
Dear Ron,
I'm afraid I'll be working late again today. I took the afternoon off so I could do some preparation at Grimmauld Place. I promise I'll make it up another time, but you know how busy things are. I hope you can understand.
Love,
Hermione
PS: There's some take-out left from the other day if you want it when you come home.
Alex wondered what he should do. He knew Ron Weasley had been having marriage problems, but to get worked up over something this small? His throat felt dry. If he had to take a guess, George would probably want to know. Family is family, right?
On the other end of the floo connection, Ron entered the old manor, now looking clean and well-furnished. Candles burned on the crystal chandelier, casting eerie shadows on the red carpet under his feet. He didn't know why, but he expected Hermione to stand at the floo, waiting for him. His blood was pumping hard in his veins, his fists clenched at his side. How could she be doing this to him after all that had happened?
He stepped forward, ready to convince her to come back with him to their apartment, no matter what happened. He startled when she stepped out of a side room, smiling. Her hair was bound into a pony-tail and she was wearing…
"What the hell is that?" he said, pointing to her purple sweater, marked number '7'.
Ron cringed when she brought a handful of the shirt to her face and breathed in heavily.
"It's Harry's, from the Ministry inter-departmental league?" She laughed, putting a hand to her mouth. "Sorry."
"What the hell are you playing at! The shirt, the letter!" Ron swallowed a shaky breath. "What the hell happened to you?"
She crossed her arms and cocked her head, her eyes moving to look behind him. "I bet you were pretty angry coming here, weren't you? Look at how red you are. That should make it easier."
"Make it eas – Ah!"
Something hit him in the back. He couldn't move, frozen on the spot. Hearing the footsteps behind him, his blood froze solid. He didn't want to believe it, when he saw Harry step around him next to Hermione.
"Finally decide to come visit, mate?" he said with a disturbing grin. "Why'd you have to be such a traitorous little shit?"
"Harry!" Hermione admonished. "I thought we agreed I was going to do the talking!"
Harry's eyes softened as he turned to Hermione, looking almost apologetic. "Sorry. Go ahead."
"Thank you!" she said, looking quite pleased with herself. She turned to Ron and stepped towards him, inspecting him like one would inspect a menu written in a particularly unseemly typeface.
Ron found he could still move his lips, and only his lips. "Hermione, what in the bloody hell are you doing!" he grunted.
She took a deep breath. "Ronald, I'm going to tell you a few things and you're going to listen. I think speaking my mind, finally, might be rather therapeutic. Well, I don't know that for certain, but it doesn't hurt to try does it?"
"You hexed me to give me a bloody lecture!" he cried through gritted teeth.
"No Ronald!" she responded with exasperation. "That's a curse, actually. And if you don't shut up Harry will freeze that part of your anatomy too. First, do you know how annoying it is to have to do the dishes all the time? Three years of marriage and I can count the times you help with that on the fingers of my hand. Cleaning charms! They're very easy to learn, but you seem to continually fail at them! How many times did I show you how to do them? Hm? Dozens of times, that's how much.
"And your breath stinks, of pumpkin juice! All the time! Do you know how important oral hygiene is to a dentist's daughter? Also you've gotten fat, and…" She took another deep breath. "You're losing your hair. That's not attractive, and yet you always seem to repeat the same vapid compliments. Just like you did when we first started dating? Harry told me about the book: 'Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches'?
"I can't believe I fell for that for so long. Just so you know, that hasn't worked on me for years. 'Your clothes look nice.' I know they're nice I picked them out! Because you won't even go shopping for clothes with me. Harry did that, and it was fun! So there! Oh and this might be a low blow, but you really are a bad kisser. I blame your nose, it gets in the way. I thought I was doing something wrong but as it turns out, I'm a perfectly good kisser!" She giggled and looked at Harry.
"It's true," Harry said with a shrug.
Ron's rage was tempered by the deathly cold he felt running through his spine. The curse was binding his mind as well as his body. In his torturous taunting he found the clarity of mind to realize he had been very very wrong. Those two people had nothing to do with the friends he had known and learned to love over the years, through thick and thin. And yet Hermione's words cut to the bone. Having all his minute flaws exposed was like a thousand needles poking at his brain. He could only get out the few words.
"You kissed her," he said, looking towards Harry, who had been studying Hermione as if she might disappear before his eyes. He didn't turn for a few seconds. But when he did his voice was measured and his features looked dangerously handsome.
"Yes. And to be honest, it took me way too long to do so."
"You said she was like a… sister."
"I was seventeen, Ron," Harry said with a chuckle. "I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Besides, that was mostly a lie. I just didn't want to get between you two." Harry caressed Hermione's cheek. "Biggest mistake I ever made."
Harry's declaration made Hermione's eyes shimmer, and she pushed into his arm affectionately. The cold of the spell slipped down his throat and into his stomach. If he could move at all he would be shivering, and if his mind wasn't paralysed he would probably be crying either in anger or sadness. The churning core of his emotions fought hard to muster the strength to talk back.
"I'm… disposable now? You can c – can stop right now. Don't do s – s – s – something you'll regret!"
Hermione frowned at him. "What do you think we're going to do to you, Ronald?"
What indeed. He tried hard to deny the coldness in them, the utter disdain that told him they did not care – did not even care if he lived or died. Demons. It must be Demons that had taken the guise of his friends, eaten up their corpses as they died from the curse, like in the horror stories his nana told him. Something otherworldly that had to be fought with magic and sword.
"You'll kill me," he said darkly.
They shared a curious glance, then started laughing as if he'd told the joke of the century.
"We don't need to kill you Ronald," Hermione said. "We just need you to keep your overly large nose out of our business." She huffed and nodded towards Harry.
"Defensive wounds first, remember?" he said.
Hermione stalked up to him and lifted his sleeves. She pressed her nails into his flesh and suddenly scraped them across. He let out a grunt of pain as he watched tiny droplets of blood form in the grooves she had left. "Why!"
"Because I would defend myself. I can't just end up at St. Mungo's and not have it look like I put up a fight."
His eyes went wide like saucers as he realized what she implied, and for just a short moment he felt his thoughts focus.
"Going to put me under the Imperius? I'll fight it! I won't hurt you even if you try to force me! You hear me!"
She looked at him disgustedly. "You really think I'd ever let you lay your hands on me? My God, Ron!" Her eyes darkened and a breath of air came out her lungs like an orgasmic sigh. "Harry on the other hand."
Impotently, he watched her take a few steps away, and her disgraceful partner in human baseness cradled her in his arms like a porcelain doll. The contradiction of what Ron could only rationalize as love between them and the promised act that was to take place broke something vital inside of him. The frigid despair threatened to envelop him completely. The muscles of his face relaxed limply.
With a last kiss to her nose – a gesture chaste as the first snowflake on a winter day – Harry stepped back from her and took up a fighting stance.
"No..." Ron's voice was reduced to a whisper.
"Try to relax, Hermione. Just like we said, otherwise it could be worse than it needs to be."
Her mouth was open just a seam and she nodded, never looking away. He'd expected something restrained, a tap – but no, Harry's fist came in contact with full force against her brow. Through his cringing groan he heard a cry of pain – or was it pleasure? She ran a finger over the bruising skin of her face, before dropping her hands at her side again.
Harry came down with his left and right, wet thuds sounding through the room and beyond to the halls. Ron whimpered, feeling more helpless by the second. How could he? How could he do that and still pretend to – no. The curtain fell from the spectacle of violence before him and all became clear: to them this was no different than a profession of love. His eyes honed in on them and saw: lust, insanity, and complete dependency.
A droplet of blood dribbled down from her cut lip to her chin, and down her throat.
"Please stop this," he tried, one last time before the strength faded away.
The response was a vicious cross landing on her nose, a dull crunch sounding the breaking of cartilage against his knuckles. Hermione doubled over in pain, pressing her eyelids together.
"All ge way," she said. "De gibs doo."
Harry hesitated for a moment, but ultimately smiled at her. She lifted her sweater, now stained with her own blood, and he put all his weight into a punch against her lower ribs. She toppled over against the wall. It took a long few seconds for her to be able to talk again. "Goog," she panted. "Id hurdz do." She rested on her knees, clutching her side.
Harry was quickly beside her, rubbing her shoulders. "You did well, Hermione. Didn't even flinch once."
She took out a vial from her back pocket and uncorked it. "Your hangz." Applying the liquid with utmost care, the chafed skin on his knuckles healed cleanly.
"Thanks," he said, handing her his wand. "Now for the last part."
Hermione looked at him, the physical damage seeming like an illusion. She looked as happy as if she had just graduated top of her class. She lifted Harry's wand up and spun it in a recognizable motion. "Oblibiade!"
He finally saw the full picture of their plan just as his memory was wrested from him. Bit by bit he felt the events of the moment fade to something else, to his fists inflicting terrible pain upon Hermione, to his anger being responsible for her bruised, broken state. Despair and coldness was replace by revulsion and self-hate. The freezing curse left. As his brain processed the post-obliviation haze, Harry took back his wand and donned his cloak, disapearing from view, and then from the manor with a crack.
– "Sday away brob be!"
Hermione was crying. Ron's heavy breath became panicky as he realized what he'd done. He hurt her, hit her – fuck! Why, why had he done this? He'd been angry before, he'd been furious even, but never did he think about raising his hand to her. Like a muggle – only the lowest wizards ever hit their wives even in the worst of circumstances. "Oh Merlin," he whimpered. "I – I didn't mean –"
"No!" She shuffled away, bumping into a wall and raising her arms in protection. "Blease sdob Ron."
He shakily moved forward, hoping by some miracle she'd forgive him. God, please God, someone save me from this. "Hermione?" he said weakly.
She crawled quickly into the hallway, tears and blood spreading on her – Harry's sweater. He pushed down the flash of anger that ate through him like Fiendfyre. She balled her fists as he came closer, his hands held up to somehow comfort… somehow.
"Step away now! Hands in the air!" He hadn't heard the floo activate. "I SAID NOW!"
Hesitantly, feeling like the whole world was coming down on him he stepped back – and was pushed against a wall almost instantly, feeling the telltale pressure of a binding hex around his wrists and ankles. A hand went into his robes and fished out his wand. That voice. Alfred Baxter, the new Auror. He was completely and utterly finished.
"Hey, hey. Hermione? It's me Alfred, you remember?"
"Yes."
Ron turned, feeling guilty for even looking and seeing Hermione fight muffled sobs on the Auror's shoulder. What had he done?
-M-
Harry waited in the Ministry locker room under his invisibility cloak. It was all part of it, him having an alibi, but he would much rather be by her side now. At least Alfred was there, that was a good thing. By now Mathilda would be returning, having been called back with news of the incident. He heard the footsteps coming closer and let out a sigh of relief seeing her.
"Over here," he said, sticking an arm out of the cloak.
"Right!"
Mathilda looked identical to him, except she was squinting, the polyjuiced green eyes still having his sight problems.
"I have to tell you it was hell running around with your eyesight, almost bumped into half of Knockturn. Everything go according to plan? How is she?"
Harry looked one last time behind Mathilda and tossed off his cloak. "Alfred took her to St. Mungo's. Ron won't be a problem again."
Mathilda drunk the polyjuice antidote and turned back into herself. They switched badges and Harry transfigured her wand back.
"Really, thanks for helping," he said.
She nodded and flashed him a boyish grin. "Semper Vi, brother," she said with a V-sign over her heart.
He returned the gesture. 'Semper Vigilans', always ready, always watching. But beyond the call of the Auror brotherhood, Harry knew that Mathilda would always be loyal to him. How far she'd come from the haggard young woman he first saw locked up in the bowels of Azkaban. He was but a boy back then, a boy who had defeated Voldemort, but a boy nonetheless.
"I'll see you at the interview?" he asked. "Robards won't want me taking the report."
"Yeah," she nodded.
"All right," he said, turning to leave. "Captain," he snapped back, taken by a burst of glee and honesty he now rarely experienced, "I think you would look rather impressive in the boss' gold trim."
He heard her chuckle as he left, in a hurry, to apparate to St. Mungo's. Truly now his heart raced in his chest, knowing full well that the apotheosis was at hand. A witch directed him to a private ward and he rushed there and saw Alfred standing outside, looking tired.
"Al?"
"Harry!" Alfred walked over. "I got there as soon as I got your message. She's – she's all right, no permanent damage. Bigby took in Weasley."
Harry looked at the closed door. Alfred must have read his intention.
"Just a few minutes. They'll call us when it's done." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "She's a tough woman. She already asked if you were coming."
They sat down on a bench opposite the door. Harry felt nervous about seeing her, knowing how she had planned it so carefully, how this evening and Ron's downfall was her elaborate love letter to him. Only she could make him worried about being enough.
The door clicked open and a witch wearing healer's robes stepped out.
"Mr. Potter," she said as he stood up, "I think it's fine if you would like to see Mrs. Granger."
The nervousness he felt stepping inside and seeing her sitting on the bed reminded him of the day of his wedding to Ginny. Back then the distance to the altar had seemed very long indeed. But as she looked up at him, her bruises now muted like a tasteful rouge and her swollen lip mostly mended, he felt completely at ease. A patch adorned her nose, its white and blue pattern bringing out her pink, bloodshot eyes.
This was Hermione, there was nothing left to fear.
They hugged and put on a nice show for Alfred and the nurses, where she told him how badly Ron had reacted and Alfred had come just in time. Harry apologized for not getting there himself (Mathilda being polyjuiced as him and on duty at the time). It was all quite the nice performance, and there was still the trip back to the Ministry to look forward to.
"I don't want to press charges, I just want him away from me," Hermione said.
Alfred made a protesting noise, turning towards Harry for advice.
"We'll just go to the AD and take a statement, yeah?" Harry said. "You don't have to decide anything right now. Feeling up to it?"
Hermione nodded. "As long as you're with me."
They left for the AD, Hermione choosing to side-along with Harry to the station set in place for victims and emergencies. Harry glanced towards the temporary incarceration wing. Ron would be sitting there now, but not for long.
They settled into the visitor's lounge, where Hermione made the most picture-perfect impression of the strong but rattled victim. Mathilda came in to assist Alfred with the report, and Hermione recounted the dreadful story of how Ron had lost his reason and assaulted her. Unfortunately for her, she had forgotten her wand in the kitchen at the time, and Alfred had recovered it.
"The house gets cold sometimes," she sobbed. "I just took the first sweater I saw. Why didn't he just listen?"
"Do you have somewhere you can stay?" Alfred asked. "Parents, friends?"
"I want to stay with Harry," she said resolutely. Their eyes met and they smiled honestly.
"You… want to go back to Grimmauld Place?" Alfred asked.
Hermione reached out for Harry to take her hand and he did, shuffling closer. It was a romantic gesture even to the young Auror who had asked the question, and he didn't protest further.
"In regards to prosecution – you know this, I know – but you can press charges in the near future. If you don't, we can enforce a protective charm to keep him away. And…" He cleared his throat, the discomfort of the subject clear. "Considering how clear cut this is, the Ministry probably won't object to a request for divorce, if you choose to file it."
Hermione nodded.
"Thanks, Alfred, Mathilda. We're fine to go now, are we?"
"Yeah, of course," Mathilda said. "I'll tell Robards. You probably want to take a day off tomorrow?"
"I will," Harry said looking at Hermione. "And don't worry about security for now, I'll fix the floo access."
Mathilda clapped him on the shoulder and they left the premises, ending up once again at Grimmauld Place. There were still specks of blood on the carpet and walls, the proof of their crime gone unpunished.
"That was an eventful day," Harry sighed, trying to break the ice.
Hermione's eyes gleamed and she hopped a few steps back, running her tongue over her split lip set in a mischievous smile. Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "And… we still have the whole night to look forward to, don't we?"
AN: Big chapter. Well, remember this is only the beginning. Harry and Hermione's own brand of evil is a work in progress. And they're not perfect. They make mistakes, and have their flaws… probably. I hope you like how utterly immoral and reprehensible this has been so far.
Many thanks. Additionally, I want to say I appreciate all kinds of feedback. So don't feel shy about hurting my feelings.
