Chapter 15: The golden cage

The first weeks of Hermione's apprenticeship at St. Mungo's went off without a hitch. Naturally, she'd been nervous as she hadn't known what to expect from her first day, but everyone had been very kind and Hermione found that she enjoyed the challenges she was suddenly facing. But the best was that she wasn't treated any differently by most of her colleagues or the healers. She was one of them now, there was no time for personalities and fuss… The healers of St Mungos were the unspoken heroes of the last wizarding war and this made them too practical a bunch to care for shiny titles and big names.

Hermione looked up to them; many of her friends and her family had been dependent on their hard work and healing skills during the last few years. She was proud to become a healer herself and she found herself staying longer and longer every day, hoping to learn more or to finish this one thing before she made her way home.

Percy never complained about her long hours. She got the impression they didn't even seem unusual to him. After a few days, he quickly adapted, sending her a quick message if he thought he'd come home late and, concluding this was something he'd appreciate as well, Hermione started doing the same. Four weeks into their marriage it felt like they'd been married for years. Usually, they started their mornings together now, having a cup of tea together that always stood readily prepared for her at the table, when Hermione left the bathroom. After a long day of work, they'd eat dinner, usually take-away that one of them would get while the other one was still at work. Then a glass of wine and a book on the sofa, Sunday lunches at The Burrow followed by Percy taking a shower to approach her for the weekly fulfilment of their matrimonial duties afterwards…

Their marriage functioned like a well-oiled machine; no conflicts, no surprises. Others would have been happy, would have branded it a success, but other than Percy who seemed very pleased by their established routines, Hermione felt more and more unhappy as the days passed.

It wasn't the sex like she'd originally feared; the sex was good or at least not bad. Percy was a considerate lover. Once they'd entered the bedroom with the intention of having sex she found herself his sole focus and, as much as it had unsettled her at the beginning of her relationship, she liked it in these moments. He read her like a book, played her body like an instrument, every touch measured and in its own way enjoyable. Percy almost seemed like a different person in bed, more confident and passionate than she'd ever thought he'd be. But the fire was gone as soon as the deed was done and when Hermione came back from her high, Percy had already rolled over, to his side of the bed, wishing her good night as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And maybe it hadn't. They weren't doing this because they were in love, after all, merely out of necessity and obligation. But it was easy for her to forget it in those passionate moments.

For Percy, all of this probably wasn't more significant than delivering a well-written report to his superiors, his passion during sex only a mask he wore for her benefit. Hermione couldn't know for sure of course, but it was how it felt.

But it was also the little things that made Hermione feel like she was slowly suffocating and after a few weeks had passed, she felt like she couldn't take it any longer. The way he thought he was being helpful by organizing her clothes. Brewing her tea every morning without asking when sometimes she wanted coffee. Finally, one afternoon she tried to take Crooks into the bedroom with her and realised that a carefully placed ward on the door prevented her from doing so. It only was the last straw, the spark that made the pile of complaints light up into an inferno.

sssssssss

When Percy came home from work, he could immediately tell that something was wrong. Hermione was at home, Fridays were always her short days and therefore among his favourites, but there was no food on the table. Instead, his wife was sitting on the sofa, cradling her cat to her chest, as she watched him step out of the floo, a scowl on her face. He hadn't seen that look on her for quite a while, definitely not after the dinner they'd shared at Sparks' Magical Restaurant a few weeks ago. Ever since things had been going well, or so he thought.

"Hello, Hermione. Is something amiss?" It was a stupid question he realised, as the tension in the room broadcasted the answer in three big fat letters.

"Why is there a ward at the door to our bedroom," she asked with narrowed eyes.

Percy couldn't help but frown at her question. "To keep the cat out, obviously."

"That cat has a name," she shot back and got up from the sofa, Crookshanks jumping from her lap with a protesting yowl. He couldn't help but shake his head at the woman's irrational behaviour.

"I know he has a name, I've used it, Hermione. I think you remember…" Sighing, he loosened his cravat and walked towards her. "So what is the point, my dear? Why are you upset? Because I warded our bedroom? We agreed that Crookshanks wasn't allowed in there."

"We agreed? I didn't agree to anything! You said you didn't want him there but I hoped…"

"What?" Another step and he was right in front of her, staring down at her with a calmness that he didn't feel at all. He wanted her to know she had his full attention for this conversation. Luckily, he'd become quite adept at hiding feelings like anger, or fear; living at The Burrow and maneuvering his way through the Ministry had taught him well. In both cases, it had been a necessity.

It wouldn't help if he started shouting at Hermione now. This was only a small misunderstanding, after all, and they'd solve it like civilised people.

"I hoped that you'd eventually grow to like Crooks and allow him into the room."

"I don't know what one thing has to do with the other. I like your cat,"

"Crooks," Hermione interjected, staring up at him stubbornly.

"Crooks," Percy corrected, sighing. He was trying to be patient but he already had a headache from work and his body had grown used to eating at this time and was reminded him of that. "But I don't like having cat hair all over my pillow. It's unhygienic and…"

"Is that why you always head for the shower before we have sex?"

"Wait. What?" He felt his mind going blank, unable to process the sudden change in her arguments. "Why are we suddenly talking about my grooming habits?"

His wife shook her head at him in frustration. "You said this marriage wouldn't be a golden cage, but it is! I can't even take my damned cat into my damned bedroom. I can't even prepare my own damned tea in the morning! Or drink a coffee!" Her voice had risen in volume now, indicating her level of agitation.

"You don't drink coffee," he told her, shaking his head in confusion. "You like tea, with two sugars and a spoon of milk. I was careful to memorize your preferences."

Groaning, Hermione covered her face with her hands, her fingers rubbing her forehead like she was developing a sudden headache. "I once drank tea with sugar and milk. But that's not… I like coffee or other teas as well. You just never had the chance to see me drink it because my morning tea always comes pre-prepared."

"And you don't like that? I am merely trying to be considerate, to make the morning go more smoothly." Percy exhaled tightly. "Fine. I'll start making you coffee. Or whatever drink you'd like. Just tell me which days you want what. Maybe a schedule to-"

"You aren't getting this! It's not about the coffee!" She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I know you are trying Percy. I see that. But to me, it feels like you don't even let me make small decisions like whether I want a cup of coffee or tea in the morning."

"I see," Percy replied, even though he felt nothing but confusion. He didn't even know what exactly they were discussing right now and he felt like this was maybe only the tip of an iceberg of complaints Hermione had about him. It wasn't like he hadn't expected there to be conflict. He had seen his parents argue from time to time, after all. But being in the same situation now he suddenly didn't know what to do, because the things Hermione had listed didn't even feel like mistakes to him. Why was she upset about him making her tea in the mornings? He only wanted to be a good husband to her, nothing more. "Does this mean you don't want me to make you tea in the mornings any longer?"

"I… Yes! No! Maybe!"

Percy wanted to groan in frustration. What was that supposed to mean? Did she even know what she wanted?

"Hermione, you're not making any sense right now," he told her, shaking his head. "Are you maybe pregnant? Because you're being irrational and the books say that such is a clear sign for a woman expecting!"

Hermione's eyes widened, her posture turning even more defensive. "I'm not pregnant," she assured him and he had to take her word for it, even though the books he'd read on the topic suggested otherwise. Maybe it was still early and she had not realised it herself?

"Then why are you feeling trapped? I haven't told you what to do once. I'd never! I cannot believe we're just arguing about morning tea, me taking a damned shower or not wanting to wake up to a face full of cat hair! Why do you get all these preferences and requirements about how you want to live but I have one and suddenly I'm being a bad husband!"

Damn it. Now he'd raised his voice, even though he hadn't intended to. But he couldn't help it, because he felt like she was just not being fair towards him.

"You really don't understand, do you? It's not just about that damned shower or about the tea! Merlin, I don't even know how to explain this to you. You wouldn't understand anyway!"

Her words felt like a slap into the face. "I wouldn't understand? I. wouldn't…understand? Do you think I'm daft? An idiot maybe?"

"What? No! I never said you were an idiot!"

"Then I don't understand why you're acting like it. You're upset about the tea but not the tea. You're upset about the cat-"

"Crookshanks!" Hermione shouted.

"But not the cat. You're telling me I have upset you but won't tell me why, acting like I'm a fool for not knowing! What is it exactly that bothers you? I can fix whatever it is if you just tell me!"

Hermione looked at him, her eyes wild and full of fire. If he hadn't felt so disappointed and betrayed, he'd found her irresistible with her flushed cheeks and pouting red lips. He had the feeling that whatever she'd say wouldn't be rational, or helpful. He was right.

"You want a list? Fine!" She started pacing, the cat watching her from the sofa where it had curled to a ball, its paw hanging from the edge of the cushioning. "I'm bothered that you seem to view this marriage as some project of sorts. I'm bothered that you seem to have a robe, a cravat, hell, even a pair of socks pre-chosen for every day of the week. When I leave my book on the coffee table it wanders back into the shelf, like I am disrupting the order of your flat or something. But you know what? This is now my flat as well! And I want to be able to leave my damned book on the table, or take Crooks into bed if I want to because Merlin knows it gets a little lonely in there. If you're going for husband of the year, you're failing dreadfully at it!"

Failure. Another slap into his face, if only verbally. Yet his ears kept ringing and he involuntarily took a step back, his urge to flee and get out of this situation growing with every minute. He hated conflict, hated being shouted at or having to realise he'd done something wrong, or several things apparently. And worse, he had no idea how to fix them or that they were even wrong in the first place. It was like she was reading from a rulebook he had never even heard of.

Before he knew it he was on his way to the door, not even bothering to take a jacket with him before he fled outside. He heard Hermione's voice from behind, asking where he was going and urging him to stay. But Percy couldn't. He needed out because suddenly he felt like he was the one that was suffocating.

sssssssss

Hermione stared in disbelief at the closed front door of the flat, unable to believe that Percy had simply left without saying anything in his defence. His sudden departure left her flustered, riled up without a chance of getting rid of the anger and frustration she'd built up inside her. Then again, Percy didn't deserve to be shouted at or blamed for things that were never meant as hurtful in the first place. She knew he had only tried to be considerate by making tea and cleaning up her stuff because that was who he was. Percy loved his routines, she'd learned, be it the robes he had pre-chosen for every day of the week, the food and drinks he consumed or those damned showers.

And really, it wasn't any of her business, but it killed every bit of spontaneousness in their relationship—if they even had one; sometimes she wasn't so sure. Sometimes it felt like their marriage had been degraded to something like flatmates with benefits and she knew it was as much her fault as it was his. She'd never tried to kiss her husband outside of their weekly duties and the times one of them had taken the other's hand could be counted on one hand. And it had been fine, until it suddenly was not. Suddenly it was painful and lonely that he was so disinterested in her. Maybe it was not fair considering her own lack of initiative but he was so… particular that she had hardly wanted to interfere with his outfit selection, let alone his emotions.

Hermione had no idea how long she stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the door of the flat, silently hoping that Percy would return. It must have at least been about five minutes until she shook off her stupor and started to move again. She knew she had to talk to Percy, needed to set things right. But first, she needed to sort through the mess that was her feelings and find out what she could even say to try to fix this confusing mess.

Regret was a funny thing. It washed over you so quickly it immediately extinguished the righteous fury she had held and now she was just looking at the ashes with no idea why she had been upset in the first place.