I love you, but I hate you. I miss you, but I'm better off without you. I want you out of my life, but I never want to let you go. – Harry Potter

As the morning sun broke through the clouds, she gazed at the empty place beside her. It had been empty for months with no end in sight. Her anger, her tears, her begging and pleading, fell on deaf ears.

Of course, it didn't stop him from shagging her when his little bit of arse on the side wasn't available. Yes, she knew he had strayed. She would have forgiven him that; she would have forgiven him anything. She loved him and while she had ensnared him under somewhat false pretences, it was merely her own insecurities that had led her down such a path.

"Did you lie to me?" He asked, his face pinched as he studied her eyes.

She swallowed with difficulty and closed her eyes. She hadn't lied, not really. She had been foolish and had easily believed her friends rather than seeking facts. Her mother had instructed her to demand matrimony immediately as the last thing she wished was to have shame heaped on their family. She hadn't pressed him and even now, she regretted her haste.

"No, but I should have waited. I shouldn't have contacted you. I should have spoken with St Mungo's and waited for the results. I still would have spoken with you and perhaps our relationship would have ended there. I've tried to make it up to you. I've tried to be a good wife. I know I'm insecure. I know I'm insanely jealous. I know I'm many things, but Harry, I'm trying."

"The Minister has rejected my application for Dissolution of Marriage. He claims there isn't sufficient cause, despite my admitted infidelity. The Ministry has suggested Marriage Therapies just like you said."

Lavender Brown Potter refrained from gloating and it was difficult. She'd won half the battle without doing anything at all. She'd remained quiet and downright demure. She'd created elaborate meals and ate them alone while Harry shagged Luna Lovegood.

"I'm sorry," she offered.

"Are you though? Are you really? I feel like you're not."

Lavender sighed. It seemed she was constantly sighing, which was better than beating her husband with the kettle. She buttered her toast and formulated her thoughts. She was angry but also so very bloody tired of his shit attitude.

"I used to be sorry. In fact, I used to hate myself and you definitely didn't help things. I was young but we were both stupid. I tried too hard, you didn't try at all, and now you're shagging someone else." She shrugged and nibbled her toast.

"How did you know that?" Harry sputtered.

It wasn't a denial, at least he gave her that much. He didn't posture and tell her that she was imagining things, and she appreciated it. She had earned the right to the truth even if it would be heartbreaking to listen to it fall from lips.

"Oh, Harry. Did you honestly take me for a fool? Did you think I wouldn't notice the only time you warm my bed is after a hurried, whispered Floo Call? Your powers of observation leave much to be desired as far as your wife is concerned."

Harry blinked as if noticing her for the first time. She was pretty. She was always pretty but something was different. Her face was devoid of makeup. Her nightwear could only be called demure. She was different, and he hadn't even noticed in his quest for freedom.

"I've been preoccupied with work," Harry justified. "We've got a bloody maniac on the loose for Merlin's sake. You can't expect me to notice everything at home when Diagon Alley is on fire."

Lavender pursed her lips, arched an eyebrow, and tented her fingers over her plate. She waited until Harry ceased his bitter Auror fuelled tirade, slightly amused by his antics. Harry had always been the sort of man to deflect. Nothing was ever truly his fault.

"Did you know I'm seeing a new Healer? No, I imagine not. I left you a note about it. I wasn't particularly thrilled to discover my Healer is sleeping with my husband. It sort of made my imagination run wild, as I'm sure you can imagine. I mean, I've shared intimate details with her, even before we were married. Did I ever tell you that she gave me some strange Potion after I told her I was pregnant?" Lavender placed her empty plate in the sink basin and glared at her husband with hard eyes. "She said it would strengthen my body, but that wasn't true, Harry."

"What are you saying?"

Lavender shook her head, dark blonde curls bouncing across her shoulders, and sniffed. She didn't want to tell him. She didn't mean to share secrets she'd held close for years. He deserved the truth and yet, it seemed her idiocy would be highlighted more than the actions of his lover.

"Hannah Abbott is a Healer now; did you know that? She's taken over my care as it seems Healer Lovegood has been derelict in her duties due to her naughty shop." Lavender grimaced as the name tasted bitter on her tongue.

"Are you trying to tell me that Luna did something to you?" Harry's voice cracked, and she was unsure if his concern was for her or the subtle accusations against his mistress.

"I honestly can't say for certain. I can say that while I convalesced at St Mungo's after the Final Battle, it was discovered I have an acute allergy to salamander blood. The Healers were forced to administer numerous Potions to keep me alive after I ingested large quantities of Strengthening Solution on their orders. It's in my chart. Perhaps you can tell me why Healer Lovegood would offer a Potion with just enough salamander blood to end my—"

"Stop it!" Harry shouted. "She didn't, she wouldn't do that."

"I don't know if she did or she didn't, honestly," Lavender sighed. "I do know there were traces in my system. Hannah told me. She asked me if I'd taken any Potions regularly."

"Did you?" Harry snapped, yet his fire was waning.

"I have tea every week with Luna. I-I thought we were friends."

Harry pushed away from the table and stepped toward her, only to frown as she retreated. Her fingers trembled and her eyes were filled to the brim with tears. He watched them cascade down her cheeks and it was only then that the truth struck him. She was just as miserable as he.

"Lav—"

"Don't call me that. I hate that." Her dressing gown gaped between her breasts and Harry was distracted by creamy mounds. "I've written letters of apology. I sent them off last night when you were off doing Auror things. I owed it to Ron. I owed it to Hermione. I've left one for you on the bureau. I know it's over between us. I know it was silly to hope that one day you'd truly love me. I thought there was a chance, especially since you never once commented on the scars Greyback left behind. I'm sorry the Minister denied your request. I've uhm, well I've packed my things and I sent for Luna. I just, I just want you to be happy."

Harry watched his wife rush from the kitchen. He cringed as the sound of harsh sobs pierced through the air. He couldn't let her go, not like this. She had tried to be a good wife and he hadn't done much in the ways of husbandry. He'd ignored her, scoffed at her ambitions, and lamented marrying her, but he hadn't ever tried to make it work.

He caught her wrist just before she closed her bedchamber door. He'd thought of the room as hers for ages now and felt guilty about it. He tugged her into his arms and held her still. She clung to him but it wasn't stifling; it wasn't overbearing. It made him feel wanted and important.

She was soft in his arms, curves pressed against him, and he liked it. She didn't wrench his shirt free from his trousers and yank on his cock. She didn't sink to her knees and gobble his cock with a finger in his bum. She didn't tie him to the bedpost or fasten a collar around his neck either. She merely stood there and drew comfort from him.

"I forgot how soft you are," Harry sighed into her hair.

Lavender snuggled into his chest, her arms loosely clasped around his waist. The soothing beat of his heart eased the ache in her chest and the firm hands on her arse didn't hurt either. She kissed his neck, just beneath his jaw, the way he'd always liked and felt him shudder against her.

This wasn't part of the plan. She had packed her things. She had sent her mother an owl. She had cried until she was certain there weren't any bloody tears left. She was prepared to leave her husband for the sake of his happiness.

Lavender bit back a moan when Harry kissed the side of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His hips rocked against her and she felt the proof of his arousal against her soft belly. He held her face in his hands, fingers firm, and kissed her.

He'd never kissed her like that before, slow and gentle, as though she mattered. Her feet stumbled over themselves, her fingers fisted in his grey plaid shirt, as he nudged her toward the bed. She stared at him while he concentrated on the tie of her dressing gown, shivering when he pushed it from her shoulders.

Lavender had never seen that look in his eye, not directed at her. He looked downright hungry, especially when her unbound breasts swayed gently beneath her form-fitting nightie. Harry looked at her, silently asking permission, his hands hovering in the air between them.

She nodded, expecting him to maul her breasts, but he didn't. He gripped the hem of her short pink nightie and dragged it over her body, achingly slow, and dropped it to the floor. She squirmed beneath his undivided attention, finally sighing, and crossing her arms over her chest.

"What are you doing?"

Lavender's right hand absently brushed the remnants of Greyback's attack. She hated them. She hated him, beast that he was. She'd once felt beautiful and now she was marred with a daily reminder of her near-death experience. The slashes, gouges that they were, stretched from her shoulder to her left breast.

"I'm studying you. I've never really taken the time before now. You deserve that. You deserve my attention and I've been a right shit about it." Harry's thumb grazed one of the four scarred claw marks on her breast and bent to kiss them.

Lavender's eyes fluttered shut and her nipples hardened, which spurred him on further. His hand slipped between her thighs and she gasped from the gentleness of his prod. His teeth and lips paid homage to her breasts, sucking and pulling on them until her knees weakened.

Harry fisted the curls at her nape, forcing her head back as his lips covered hers. His tongue mimicked the strokes of his fingers until she was gasping in his mouth. Her knees struck the side of the bed and she sat with him wedged between her thighs.

"Harry, wait Harry, please."

"Yeah, I don't think I want to do that," he mumbled and sunk to his knees.

"Wait, you can't! That's obscene!" Lavender squealed while Harry kissed his way up her pale thighs.

"Is it?" He asked, his breath hot against her core, his fingers tugging on her painfully erect peaks.

Lavender moaned at the first swipe of his tongue and fell back onto rumpled sheets. She'd never felt anything like it. Her body tingled as her hips undulated, despite Harry's firm grip pinning her to the bed.

"Oh my gods," she gasped. "H-Harry, you've got to stop. I don't—"

Harry revelled in the sound of his wife's fractured moan. In fact, he realised he liked everything about her reactions. He'd never heard them, not like that and as her back arched off the bed, the truth settled heavy in his chest. He'd never brought her pleasure, not once.

"Is it still obscene?"

Lavender blushed and covered her face with her hands in embarrassment. She rolled onto her side and attempted to crawl away from him, only for his hands to dig into her hips and tug. She whimpered, confused and titillated all at once.

Harry wasn't the least bit adventurous in bed. At least that had been true before his infidelity. He'd always been sort of disinterested in her pleasure and thrust lazily with his eyes tightly screwed shut. He'd barely paid her any mind, even when he crawled into her bed after his Luna's rejections.

This was new. This was exciting. This was Harry's firm hand slapping against her ample backside. This was Harry's hand twisted in her damp curls and yanking until her back was a perfect arch. This was Harry sliding through her sodden sex and slamming home. It was everything she'd always wanted.

Later, sweaty limbs entwined, Lavender waited for Harry to tell her to go. She had enjoyed their coupling immensely but in the afterglow, she believed it was his version of goodbye. Instead, he kissed her, his knee between her thighs, his arms braced on either side of her chest. He rocked into her and sighed when her arms encircled his neck.

"You finished…in me," Lavender breathed. "You haven't done that since—"

"I'm sorry," he interrupted. "Did you, did you not want me to do that?"

Lavender held him tight, smashing her breasts. She buried her face in the side of his neck and bit his shoulder to keep the sob from filling the air between them. She was completely overwhelmed and incapable of formulating proper thought.

"Yes, do tell, Harry."

Harry yanked the rumpled pink, flowered sheet over his bum and assured Lavender's modesty was intact before he squinted toward the door. His wife handed him his spectacles, daggers in her eyes. Harry blinked and blinked again, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"Luna? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I thought it was quite obvious," Luna spat. "I've come for you."

Harry gulped guiltily and was strangely saddened to see Lavender gathering the sheet around her form. His eyes followed her as she swung her legs to the floor and moved toward the bureau. He couldn't see her face but he knew it must have been twisted in despair.

"It's alright, Harry." Lavender shimmied into a pretty little frock he'd never seen before as she refused to allow the other witch see her cry.

"No, it's not alright. None of this is alright." Harry leapt from the bed, completely unmindful of his nudity, and slipped into his underpants angrily. "Luna, I need you to go. We absolutely need to have an exceptionally important conversation but I'd rather that happened in front of some witnesses. I'll send you an owl. Lavender, stop shoving your belongings into your trunk. You're not going anywhere and neither am I."

Harry the Auror was decidedly different from Harry, Luna's lover and Harry, Lavender's husband. He was strong. He was forceful. He was the man they had fallen in love with and he was intimidating.

"You're staying?" Luna squeaked, her voice breaking. "You're staying with her?"

"She's my wife," Harry sighed, "how could I not?"

Diagon Alley smelled of burning embers and rot, literal rot. It was unpleasant, to say the least, but Cormac McLaggen was more than halfway into his cups, therefore it was barely a nuisance.

The vigilant Aurors had demanded the shopkeeps evacuate and yet, they'd conveniently left the Leaky alone. It was natural to congregate and lament their sorrows over pints of bitter ales and tumblers of Ogden's. It was safer inside at any rate, as the air was heavy with plumbs of lingering black smoke.

"If you're here, who's watching the girls?"

Cormac's bleary eyes barely registered the smarmy wizard beside him. His vision swam as his stomach rolled and he was only absolutely certain there was one wizard rather than the two swaying before him. He hiccupped and smiled seductively, offering a saucy wink.

"Well, they've got eyes, they could watch each other." Cormac preened, particularly proud of himself.

"Did you hear Williamson is missing?"

Cormac shrugged, his addled brain unable to recall the other man's name. He didn't give two shits about Williamson. The bloke was a disgraced Auror as it was and had barely managed to salvage his reputation by opening that derelict Apothecary that was now nothing but burnt embers. Frankly, he didn't understand all the fuss.

"Who cares? Williamson stopped being relevant years ago." Cormac grunted when he was jostled from behind and snorted. "I need to get out of here, too many fucking wankers."

It was easy, as well as necessary, to lean on the helpful wizard. It was easy to nod along to his continuously murmured words, despite the lack of comprehension. It was easy to stumble on the pavements as well.

Cormac snickered as the slightly smaller man held him aloft. He couldn't feel his feet. He couldn't much feel his face either. He really, really wished he couldn't feel his ears as the strong blond bastard never seemed to shut up. His incessant chattering echoed in Cormac's head until black spots danced before his eyes.

"Hey, I know this place!" Cormac smiled widely, pleased with himself. "I own this building! Why are we here?"

"I don't know where you live."

"Not here, don't live here. D'ya know what's here? Whining witches, that's what's here. They complain loads and and they've always got clothes on when they do it. Could listen to 'em fine if they were starkers, but I've shagged some so there's that."

Cormac guffawed loudly and slapped his new best mate on the back. He didn't see the man's grimace in his inebriated state and happily pushed through the door. He smiled at the ridiculously large Squib seated near the fire and plopped onto the tatty sofa without preamble.

"Why's he here?" Mathias Byrnes sneered.

"Because he owns the building, because he's piss drunk, because I couldn't fucking leave him in the pub like that."

"I would have," Mathias mumbled as he coveted his firewhiskey.

He might not have a lick of magic but he had quite the affinity for Wizarding spirits. He'd attempted to return to the droll Muggle drink, only to feel disappointment. He might have bullied his younger brother into providing endless quantities of firewhiskey, but it was the least the bloke could do.

"Where are the witches?!" Cormac shouted, greedily eying Byrne's bottle.

"Astoria Greengrass has been secretly wed to Neville Longbottom, therefore she's not here."

"When the fuck did that happen?" Cormac's eyes widened and he leant forward.

"The day after Malfoy and Granger eloped. His mother was less than pleased and apparently, we were all supposed to pretend it never happened and dutifully attend their nuptials."

Cormac frowned, his thoughts fuzzy. He hadn't received a bloody invitation to Hermione Granger's wedding. He thought they were friends and she had snubbed him, which didn't sit well. He definitely required another drink to wash away the painful humiliation.

"Is Parkinson here? She's always up for a good shag."

"Parkinson told my brother here to fuck right off. She packed her things and if memory serves, she's quite busy shagging Weasley."

He wrenched the firewhiskey from Byrnes' hand and thrust it toward McLaggen. The faster the arrogant arse descended into drooling slumber, the better. He didn't want to make small talk, not with him. He wanted to discuss his plans for Williamson and their next strategic move.

"Weasley?" Cormac shuddered and gagged. "Makes sense. She always charmed my hair red; can't say I enjoyed it, but she's a tigress in bed."

"I always preferred the older Greengrass myself. She was demure and sexy. Her tits were fantastic and she never cried. I hate it when they cry." He tossed back a glass of firewhiskey and hissed as it burned down his throat.

"I like it when they cry," Mathias interjected. He rubbed the thick blond hair on his arms, closed his eyes, and recalled the begging laced with bogies that made his heart sing.

"Wolpert shagged the Weasley witch." He bit his tongue and glared at his brother who only ignored him with a lick of his lips.

"Yeah, who hasn't?" Cormac snorted. "I heard she shagged at Hogwarts for Merlin's sake, in the prefect's bath no less. I always suspected she was a bit of a slag."

"She always screamed when Rye fucked her. It was an alright show I suppose but I prefer the tears," Mathias grinned sadistically. "She was so pretty when she cried. She was pretty when she came but even prettier with her eyes overflowing with tears, begging me to stop."

"I don't know what the fuck he's talking about but it's disturbing. Who the hell is Rye? Where is Ginny? Is she here?" Cormac lurched to his feet, the bile thick in his throat.

Mathias chortled happily, spewing amber liquid down his chin, and staining his undershirt. This was the most fun he'd had in ages. His brother disliked it when he discussed his conquests, but it was his favourite pastime. Well, he enjoyed shagging them, definitely wasn't against murdering them, but talking about them was heaven in the midst of hell.

"Yeah, she was a good shag while she lasted. Isn't that right, Rye?"

"Stupefy!"

Cormac McLaggen crashed into the furthest wall, bookshelves splintered, and his head bounced off his chest before he was finally still. The building seemed to shudder from the force of the spell until finally, the air was only filled with ragged breaths.

Mathias blinked heavily, suddenly afraid. He didn't really like magic. He had always been the sort of man that was afraid of that which he did not understand.

He hated that his parents had given him to Muggles as though he were rubbish set for the bin, but he never could have lived in their world. He would have been powerless. He would have been nothing and he detested that idea.

He'd had an alright life in the Muggle Orphanage and it still felt strange to refer to them as Muggles. He was like them, wasn't he? Except, he wasn't, at least that's what his brother told him. Mathias knew if he had children they could potentially be magical and that would never do.

"Now look what you've done!"

"I didn't mean—"

"No, you never do! You didn't think! What the fuck am I supposed to do now? You've fucked up, Matty."

Mathias vacated the armchair and cautiously approached the unconscious wizard. He glanced between Cormac and his brother, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. He wasn't stupid and if it weren't for his brother's stupid fucking stick, he probably would have snapped Rye's neck by now.

"Don't call me Matty, you know I hate it."

"Aye, I do, but I've expressed the same sentiments about being called Rye, now haven't I?"

"Touché. We'll have to kill him, of course. They're still looking for the bloke, yeah?" Mathias scratched the stubble on his chin, formulating a careful plan.

"Of course they are, you bumbling oaf! Wait, oh, that's brilliant. It could buy us a bit of time. We'd have to keep Williamson under wraps for a bit. We'll refocus our energies in Muggle London. The orphanage still needs to burn, but the tube…"

Mathias hefted Cormac in his burly arms and dumped him on the sofa. He'd heard loads about the irritating bastard. He wouldn't be missed, not really. According to his brother, McLaggen was known for his boasting and passive-aggressive behaviours as far as that scarred boy was concerned.

"He mentioned that wedding. He was ridiculously put out by the lack of invitation, even in his inebriated state. Maybe he fancied the Granger girl. Maybe he decided to wreak havoc because he couldn't have what he coveted the most. Maybe he confesses all his sins and sends a nice letter just before the wedding. They won't expect anything after that, will they?"

"Gods, you're terrifying. I fucking love it."

"Of course you do, you're just as twisted as I am."

Mathias laughed darkly and returned to his firewhiskey. He missed the ginger girl, just a little bit. He really could have used a good shag. Violence and mayhem was his bloody aphrodisiac, but she was dead.

"Don't start moping now! Come on then, we'll dispose of him and I'll find you a pretty little thing to satiate your appetites."

"Can it be a Muggle this time? I've got my eye on one, think she's got a sister." Mathias sounded hopeful, incredibly hopeful, and his brother's harsh glare softened.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you like."

"Wh-what happened?" Cormac mumbled, stirring slightly.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The brothers shared a glance laced with broad smiles and sadism. Everything was coming together beautifully. It was more than they ever hoped and soon, it would be over. Perhaps then they would find peace.