11.
THE YEAR SHE WALKED AWAY
October 25th, 2011.
"You're what?!" demanded Ginny, her voice almost faint with unconcealed disbelief.
"Separated," Hermione confirmed in a weary voice, ready for what she knew was coming.
"Please tell me this is some sort of sick joke, Hermione, really…"
"It's not."
"Whose decision was this, yours or his?" asked Ginny, barely keeping the anger in her voice at bay.
Hermione hesitated. "Mine."
The younger woman's indignation was evident on her face as she sat back in her armchair with a shocked huff. "Then why, of all the people you could have gotten to feel sorry for you Hermione, why did you come to me?"
That remark stung a little, but Hermione endeavoured not to let it show on her face. "Because Ron needs someone right now and he's too proud to ask for it. You're his sister."
"Too fucking right, I'm his sister! And you're breaking my brother's heart! I should throw you out into the street!"
Hermione sighed in tired defeat. "Feel free. I wouldn't blame you…"
Ginny closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a moment in order to compose herself before looking back at Hermione.
"Just… explain to me why you've done this. Your reason better be good. Did he cheat on you? Has he hit you?"
"No… neither," Hermione responded honestly.
Where could she possibly start? Her reasons changed every single second just like her feelings. She'd never been so unsure of something in her entire life. She'd never been so scared that she was doing the wrong thing. And that's what had led her to walking out ultimately, because she'd been just as scared of doing the wrong thing by staying with him.
If she was honest with herself, deep down, Hermione didn't like the person she'd become. She didn't like the things she said to Ron when they fought, didn't like how angry she got, didn't like how ruthless she could be with him. She didn't like that after Hugo was born and how horrible that ordeal had been for their family, Ron had appeared to devote himself, heart and soul, into trying to make things better between them, into being the best husband and father he could be and all Hermione had done was sweep it all under the rug. She'd ignored it all. She'd just let it go, she'd wanted to forget about it.
She hated how much suffering Ron had gone through at her expense, because of her outbursts and her mood swings and her tears and her pain and her feelings.
She was sick of being the bad guy. She was sick of hating him for being perfect, sick of feeling like she was always wrong and he was always right. It had left her bitter and battle weary.
But how could she explain all that to Ginny?
"I have my reasons," she said carefully after a while, "But I don't know that I can articulate them to you right now. And… well… if I can't make Ron understand, I don't see how you could."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well what about your children, your son and your daughter, what about them?"
"They're too young to understand…" Hermione answered, feeling her stomach clench painfully at the thought of them.
"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Hermione, if it helps," said Ginny cruelly.
"I'm not walking out on them… I… Ron will have them during the week and I'll… I'll take them for the weekend."
"This is pathetic. This is really pathetic. You are pathetic, Hermione. My brother is better off without you," Ginny snarled.
Hermione nodded, willing the tears in her eyes to wait only a minute before they fell. She got to her feet and picked up her beaded bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
"Just… just help him, will you? Please… I'm sorry," she said thickly before she walked out of the room, down the hallway, and left number 12, Grimauld Place.
It was raining in Diagon Alley. The street was near deserted. Hermione pulled her hood over her head as she walked, but it was no real use against the slanting rain.
Visiting Ginny had been hard, and it had been a hard decision to make in the first place. But she hadn't been able to stand the thought of Ron being left all alone. Her guilt and shame was already potent enough in her body. She wanted to try and do at least one good thing.
Hermione knew that if she'd said that to Ron or Ginny both of them would have told her that the one good thing she could do would be to go back to her husband. But she wasn't so sure that it would be good, and it seemed like the sort of thing she ought to be sure about.
Being unsure about leaving him was one thing, but being unsure about staying in their marriage at all was something else entirely.
So she had to get out. She just had to, at least for a while. And that knowledge is what led her to Diagon Alley.
When Hermione finally stopped in front of that old, familiar shop, she looked up, despite the down pour, and there it was. Her old balcony. Unchanged despite the eleven years that had passed since she'd lived there.
Hermione sighed and pushed the door of Flourish and Blotts open, feeling the familiar scent of parchment and ink wash over her as she entered.
She approached the counter where she could just see the top of Graham Flourish's balding head poking over the edge from behind it.
"Mr Flourish?"
His lined visage appeared, took in her face, and broke into a wide, friendly smile. "Hermione Granger. Well I'll be damned."
She returned his smile feebly.
He emerged fully from behind the counter, the look of joy on his face never faltering, and grasped one of her hands in both of his enthusiastically.
"It's been far too long! I haven't seen you in here once since I got the mail order service up and running!"
"I know, Graham, I'm sorry. Life's been pretty busy."
"Well never mind, never mind, you're here now. What can I do for you? How can I help?"
"I was… I was actually wondering if the flat upstairs was empty or not?"
Graham frowned, a look of concern crossing his face. "Empty since the day you left, Hermione, why do you ask?"
"Well… I was wondering if I could… If I could stay there for a while. And I'll pay you full rent this time, you can't stop me," she told him, smiling shakily.
He looked confused. "But don't you have a big house up north? With your husband?"
She nodded, her lower lip quivering despite her efforts to stop it. "Yes, but… It's…"
Broken. We broke it.
She couldn't finish her sentence aloud. Her breathing hitched and her voice broke. She pressed a hand to her mouth, wishing that she weren't so damned weak.
Graham moved quickly around the counter and rested a hand on her back. "Oh love… Of course you can stay here, you know I'm always happy to have you. You stay as long as you need to… to sort yourself out."
"Thank you," Hermione sniffed, wiping at her eyes.
"When can I expect you?"
"Actually, I have everything I need now, right here…" she patted the old, tattered beaded bag slung over her shoulder.
"Alright, come on then, let's get the tea on, let the light in," said Graham, moving over to the front doors of the shop, flipping the sign and locking them, before gesturing for her to follow him into the back room. "I've had a stasis charm on the place for over a decade now. So it shouldn't be too bad in there."
Hermione didn't really mind what state it was in. She just wanted to be there. She wasn't even sure why when, just as Ginny had pointed out, there were so many people in her life she'd be able to make feel sorry for her and take her in. Perhaps it was for that reason alone. She couldn't handle the idea of any of the tovarasi taking sides, whether it be hers or Ron's. She couldn't stand the idea of hearing their opinions. And that flat in Diagon Alley was the only place she'd ever been able to find solitude in all her life. That's what she wanted. She wanted to be alone. At least for now.
Graham led her up the winding spiral staircase with the peeling red paint and onto the landing with the large, heavy door that had to be pushed roughly in order to force it to open. He produced that great set of keys from inside his robes, fiddled with them for a moment, before pushing the appropriate key into the lock and heaving.
And there it was. Her flat.
Her flat.
The old wooden double doors that led from the lounge room to the balcony, obscured by a heavy set of curtains. The high ceiling with spider webs scattered across the corners. The faded wooden floor boards, covering in a thick layer of dust. The large, lazy looking couch. The weather beaten coffee table. The vast, empty bookshelf that obscured the opposite wall. And even, to her amazement, the impossibly huge, threadbare Persian rug covered in patterns that seemed to dance when she was looking at it out of the corner of her eye.
Hermione walked quietly into the kitchen, her heart filling at those same brilliant, azul blue tiles, at the window with a chipped frame that looked out over London.
Once again, she was on the cusp between the wizarding world and the muggle one.
Where she belonged.
Even that faint, humming buzz was still there, pulsing slightly as if the Dividing Line was welcoming her home.
She wandered then, down the tiny hallway leading off the living area to the only other room in her flat. Her bedroom where the ceiling was also high, but slanted with exposed beams, where the large picture window gazed down at Diagon Alley. There was the door, next to her nightstand, that led into the quaint little bathroom with tiles as blue as the kitchen's. There was the ornate wooden armoire in the corner. And there was the huge, luxurious looking four poster bed it matched.
Hermione returned to the lounge room to find Graham opening the curtains and the balcony door, despite the rain, to let out some of the musty air.
She was glad for the stasis charm he'd placed on the flat all those years ago, glad that it had been preserved just as she remembered it. It certainly felt abandoned, as if it hadn't seen life in a decade, but she still felt at home, deep in her heart.
The landlord did not linger long. He seemed to sense that she wanted to be left alone and so, after only a few minutes, he announced his departure.
"I'll be downstairs if you need anything, love. And don't hesitate to ask if you do!" he told her as he handed over the key.
"Actually," she said, almost as an afterthought, "There was one more thing. I've taken some time off work… Rather a lot of time actually. So if you like, I could come down and work in the shop. I'd… I'd really like that."
Graham smiled widely, "I could think of nothing better."
And with that, he left, heaving the door closed behind him, leaving Hermione alone.
Alone.
That first night in the flat was so startlingly familiar to her first night over a decade ago that it was painful. She spent an hour or two keeping busy, cleaning the place up and distributing her belongings around it, but when she was done, she just fell. She fell so fast and so hard she was surprised she was surviving it.
The worst thing about all that sadness though, was that she wasn't the wilful, destructive and impulsive teenager she once was. She couldn't hurt herself, as much as she might have wanted to, she couldn't throw things or yell or have a tantrum. She couldn't refuse to eat or shower or sleep in defiance of her own life.
She just wasn't that stubborn anymore and because of that, she felt powerless. She couldn't do anything with the feeling aside from feel it.
She could only lay on the lounge room floor, on the threadbare Persian rug, and sob ceaselessly, without pause, until midnight rolled around and she went to bed.
Ginny was right.
Hermione was pathetic.
October 28th, 2011.
Three days later and there was nothing easier about living on her own. Her only solace had been working in the shop, neck deep in the books and their scent. Every now and then, someone recognised her and demanded to know why, in their own words of course, a rich, powerful woman such as her was working a bookshop. She'd only smile politely and ask them if they required a bag in which to put their purchases.
The only upside to her relocation was that we was getting exactly what she wanted, time on her own. There was something so freeing about being in that flat, knowing that no one was going to write to her, no demands were going to be made of her, she wasn't going to be interrupted in any way shape or form.
She'd heard from no one, none of the tovarasi since she'd left Ron. Whether that was because no one had looked for her, or because they'd chosen not to she didn't know. And that idea hurt more than she thought it should have. She had wanted time alone, that was her goal. But it still ached that no one was trying to find out why.
They need only to have asked Ron. He was the only person she'd told after all.
But even he'd let her be, which she supposed wasn't surprising in the least. How he must hate her now. How much everyone must hate her. She felt sure that if it wasn't for Rose and Hugo, all her friends would probably understand quite well why she'd walked out. But as it was, all they could see was her abandoning her children.
Hermione was both longing for and dreading the weekend. Her first visit with them.
Yes, she was the kind of mother who had visits now.
She didn't think she'd be able to handle it. The guilt she felt over leaving them behind was the most potent, most terrifying shame she'd ever felt in her life. She didn't need anyone else telling her she was a horrible human being because she felt it already.
But, the fact that she still stayed away despite that, that she was still intent on severing her relationship with Ron despite the soul destroying shame, only went to show just how unhappy she'd really been. If what awaited her if she took him back was worse than what she felt right then, she'd rather die.
That afternoon, Hermione wrote Ron a short note to confirm her taking Rose and Hugo for the weekend before walking down to the owl office to post it. She didn't expect him to reply, in fact, she half expected him to refuse point blank in his anger. But the courtesies had to be observed.
It was sort of nice being outside, just as the sun was setting, bathing Diagon Alley in that sweetly refreshing, cool air that came with dusk, spiced that day with the lingering moisture of the rain. As she walked, feeling the breeze kiss at her skin, she began to feel something close to normal, something close to assuredness that she was actually doing the right thing.
It was such a pity that just then, when she was feeling something that might have been close to contentedness, she was to have her first taste of what life looked like outside the tovarasi.
"Hermione?"
She'd been distracted by a collection of potions ingredients stacked in the window of a nearby shop but her head snapped around at the sound of her name to find George approaching her, a carry bag full of what looked to be groceries slung under one arm.
"George," she said in surprise, shocked that he'd spoken to her at all.
"How are you?" he asked, and she was shocked again that he sounded so concerned.
"I'm… uh… Fine… yeah…" she stuttered.
"I heard you were back living above the bookshop."
"For the time being, yes," Hermione replied, knowing that there was only one person he could have possibly heard that from.
George seemed about to speak again but Juliet suddenly appeared beside him.
"What are you doing, babe? I thought we were going…" she trailed off once she'd spotted Hermione, "Oh. It's you."
There was no mistaking the disdain in her voice but the sound of it, the cold, cruelty in it was so shocking coming from someone as naturally sweet and understanding as Juliet, that Hermione took an involuntary step backward in alarm.
Juliet met her gaze head on, as if daring Hermione to say something in her own defence. But she couldn't. All she could do was stare at the younger woman in pain. Part of her wanted to scream at Juliet, to hit her for being so cold, for placing her loyalty in someone other than Hermione, but the other part of her understood. It understood entirely why Hermione didn't get the loyalty, didn't get the love and understanding that Ron got. It was because there was something inherently wrong with her. Between her and Ron, she was the crazy one. Who was going to sympathise with a mad woman?
"Well," said Juliet unfeelingly after a silence that had lasted far too long, "Don't let us keep you."
And with that, she seized George's arm and dragged him away to walk with her back towards Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He flashed Hermione an apologetic look over his shoulder as they went.
All previous contentedness or peace of mind that Hermione had attained was unceremoniously dashed as she rushed to the owl office, posted the letter to Ron, and went home again to sit on the faded brown couch, staring blindly around her in shock and fear.
To see firsthand like that, so obviously and openly, that she was no longer a member of the tovarasi, it was painful. She'd thought they could get through anything together. Because everyone understood how crazy everyone else was. But perhaps Hermione had gone just that little bit too far. She'd gone over board and none of them were interested in being dragged down with her.
October 29th, 2011.
Hermione apparated directly onto the front porch of her and Ron's home late in the afternoon, feeling like she was just about ready to vomit. Just as she'd predicted, Ron hadn't responded to her letter and she was readying herself for a confrontation, as much as she might have wished she could avoid it.
She approached the front door, her hand reaching out for the knob but she withdrew it quickly, as if she'd been burned. She lifted her fist and knocked instead. It felt more appropriate.
There were a few moments of silence before she heard the thump, thump, thump of his footsteps.
The door swung open.
Never had she seen him wear a face of such open hatred and contempt.
"Hi," she said wearily, knowing that it was far too much to expect for this to be easy.
"What do you want?" he snarled.
"You know what I want, Ron, I'm here to pick up Rose and Hugo."
"You think I'm going to let you take them, after everything you've done?! You think I'll let you take them to that dingy little flat?! Do you even have anything for them to eat?! Do you even know where they'll sleep?!"
"I wouldn't be any kind of mother if I didn't."
"Well that's funny because I don't see any kind of fucking mother here!" he said viciously.
Hermione visibly flinched, trying to keep calm, trying to keep it together, but she couldn't stop her eyes filling with tears. She ducked her head and let her hair swing forward in an effort to hide it.
"Oh please tell me you're not fucking crying now…" said Ron, rolling his eyes. He leant down so that he could see her eyes and said, "Doesn't work on me anymore, love, I'm immune to this bullshit."
Hermione wiped her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. She refused to fight, she refuse to get hysterical or angry. She just wouldn't do it.
"Are the kids ready?" she asked thickly.
Ron laughed sarcastically, "Haven't you cottoned on yet? You're not having them!"
Hermione felt her blood boil then. He could say whatever he liked to her, attack any number of her faults, and she would remain calm. But he wasn't going to stand between her and her children.
"Did you imagine you could stop me having them, Ron?"
He laughed again, "Yeah! I do!"
Then, he slammed the door in her face.
Hermione sighed and turned onto the spot, materialising metres away, right in front of Ron as he swept back down the long hallway. He jumped at her sudden appearance.
"My house too, Ron, I can apparate and disapparate anywhere I like within its boundaries. Now the way I see it, we can do this one of two ways. Either you and I can go upstairs, collect Rose and Hugo and their overnight bags, you can smile and say goodbye to them for a few days, then I will bring them back on Monday. Or I can apparate upstairs, magically block the stairs behind me, and rush them to getting their stuff together before apparating them both away, absolutely terrified. Which would you prefer Ron? Because I'm crazy, remember? I'm willing to go either way…"
Ron gave her a look of deepest loathing but she knew she'd gotten through to him. He was well aware that she'd meant what she'd said. There really was nothing that would stop her seeing Rose and Hugo. Nothing at all. He could comply or he couldn't, either way she'd be leaving the house with both of them.
After a moment, he pushed past her with a stiff nod and they ascended the stairs together. She could hear Rose chatting away with Hugo in her room, behind a closed door and Hermione's heart clenched and unclenched painfully at the sound.
Ron reached out his hand and laid it on the doorknob. But he didn't turn it. He just looked at her, and for a second she couldn't see his hatred and his anger. She could just see how scared and hurt he was.
"Please don't make them hate me," he said quietly, honestly.
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing could inspire me to inflict that kind of damage upon them, Ron. I promise."
He nodded tightly and she could see his jaw working backwards and forwards for a second, as if he was trying to hold back his own tears. She wanted to reach out a hand and comfort him, because in that moment, where he wasn't trying to hurt her, and he was just being honest, she missed him. She missed him. Ron, her partner, the person who'd always been there, for years and years and years. He was her home.
If only he could have stayed there, in that moment, if only he could have cultivated that honesty and kept it, she'd have taken him back in a second. But it was only a moment before his face was hard again and he opened the door of Rose's room.
Hermione walked inside and immediately had the wind knocked out of her as Rose catapulted into her body.
"Mummy!" the girl cried in barely inhibited joy.
Hermione allowed herself to be hugged by Rose for a second, her other arm opening to accept Hugo who waddled over to join them, grinning from ear to ear.
"You're going to come and stay with me for a few days, how would you like that?" Hermione asked, feeling like she was about to lose her mind entirely to the hurt she was experiencing in her chest.
"Yeah!" cried Hugo enthusiastically.
"And Daddy too?" asked Rose.
Hermione shook her head, trying to keep her smile firmly planted on her face. "No, darling, daddy's going to stay here."
To Hermione's surprise, Rose suddenly backed away from her, looking hurt and angry.
"Why?!" she demanded.
Hermione turned her head to look at Ron, who was staring hard at Rose.
"Well," said Hermione, hating every moment of this, "Your dad and I are… We don't want to be friends right now, Rosie. Remember when James pinched you and pulled your hair last Christmas and you didn't want to be his friend anymore?"
Rose nodded.
"Well, it's like that."
Rose's bottom lip began to tremble as her anger seemed to dissipate. "You and daddy don't wanna be friends?" she asked, sounding heartbroken at the idea.
Hermione's head dipped forward into her hands in relief when Ron finally stepped forward and crouched down in front of Rose.
"We just don't want to be friends right now, Rosie. Ok? But it doesn't mean never. We'll be friends again soon," he told her in a soothing, kind voice, a voice that Hermione missed hearing directed at her.
"But why not now?" asked Rose.
"Because that's just not how things work, love," Ron replied.
Hermione got to her feet, taking Hugo with her and resting him on her hip. Rose glared up at her mother, her eyes full of blame and resentment.
"You don't have to come if you don't want to, love," Hermione told her, "I'll understand if you don't want to, if you want to stay with Daddy…"
"I want to stay with Daddy," said Rose defiantly.
Hermione's heart broke and her eyes flashed to Ron, ready to see his face full of smugness. But it was just the opposite. He looked just as hurt, just as confused and heartbroken as her. She tried and succeeded to stop herself crying before she shuffled forward, gave Rose a kiss on the top of the head, patted Ron on the back, picked up Hugo's bag and slung it over her shoulder.
"Alright," she said, smiling, "I'll see you two on Monday!"
And she walked out. Hermione walked down the stairs with Hugo on her hip and allowed the tears to spill down her face in one, ceaseless flow. Hugo put out his tiny hand and rested it on her cheek. She turned her head and kissed his palm, wet with her grief.
Just when she'd almost reached the fire place, Ron came pounding down the stairs after her.
"Hermione! Wait. She does want to come, she just wanted to be sure I wasn't going to be lonely if she did. She's just getting some things together," he told her and Hermione felt some of the weight on her shoulders lift slightly.
Ron moved towards her and Hugo and placed his hands over his son's ears, kissing him on the top of the head as he said quietly, "This is fucked."
"I know," Hermione responded tightly, "Trust me, I know."
"So come back…"
"I wish it were that easy."
Ron nodded and stepped back as Rose careened into the room, her bag bounding along beside her. Hermione threw a handful of floo powder into the empty grate before she took Rose's hand.
"I miss you," said Ron.
"Miss you too," Hermione replied before she stepped into the fire, called out for the Leaky Cauldron and Ron was lost in a swirl of colour.
That night found Rose and Hermione sitting across from each other over the coffee table with Hugo on Hermione's lap. She'd put a pile of pillows on the floor for Rose to sit on and the little girl kept bouncing herself up and down on them, sending flecks of spaghetti flying off her fork all over the table and floor. Hermione didn't have the heart to tell her to stop.
"You don't have a dinner table, mummy," said Rose.
"I know sweetie, my flat isn't big enough."
Rose smiled happily, her face covered in bolognaise. "I like this better."
Hermione laughed, "Well, I'm glad!"
She helped Hugo twirl a bit of spaghetti on his fork before guiding it to his mouth. He hummed happily at her.
The flat felt safer with them in it. Hermione felt more together. She had a purpose.
After that, the rest of the evening passed favourably for the three of them. They listened to music on the old record player that Hermione had brought with her and danced until their legs were sore. Then, she'd taken both of them to bed and read Pride and Prejudice aloud until Rose and Hugo were fast asleep.
October 29th, 2011.
On Saturday, they went down to Diagon Alley to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, because Rose couldn't bare being so close to the shop without buying anything. Hermione was glad when she entered, that Juliet wasn't there though she doubted the younger witch would dare make a scene in front of Rose and Hugo. George greeted them all warmly and as he and Hermione led the two children through the shelves, she couldn't help noticing the pained looks he kept flashing her. Like he felt sorry for her. He gave away half the things that Rose and Hugo picked up, even though he knew full well that Hermione could afford them, and even slipped Hermione herself a packet of specialty flavoured cigarettes.
This only served to make her resentful with him. She knew that all this was supposed to communicate to her that he was on her side but he was clearly too worried about what Juliet would think and so didn't want to say anything out right. Hermione felt her respect for him dropping with every passing minute she spent around him. She'd thought better of George, really, she'd always known him to be the sort of man that said what he thought no matter what. But clearly, he'd changed.
The remainder of the day Hermione, Rose and Hugo whiled away the time exploring and playing with all their new possessions back at the flat until, by the time night fell, her lounge room was full of colourful bubbles, disco like lighting and an array of tiny dinosaurs that really moved and kept sneaking away to hide under cupboards and behind furniture.
All in all, by the time Rose and Hugo were ready for their bedtime story, Hermione realised she'd actually had fun, real fun, laughing, playful fun, for what felt like the first time years.
October 30th, 2011
On Sunday, Hermione decided to take her children to Hogwarts to see Teodora. She sent an owl ahead on Sunday morning, slightly fearful that the tovarasi's shunning of her might have extended to their old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher too, and was overjoyed when she received a fast reply by lunchtime saying that her, Rose and Hugo would be more than welcome.
So they'd had lunch, gotten dressed in warm clothes, and set off for Hogwarts, Rose and Hugo bursting with excitement to see the place their parents so often spoke about.
Teodora met them at the front doors and did not wait to envelope Hermione in a tight, warm hug, before she greeted both the children. They began to walk towards the lake, Rose and Hugo skipping off ahead but always staying in Hermione's eye line.
"You have wonderful children, Hermione, have I told you that before?" said Teodora, watching them with a wide smile on her face.
Hermione smiled, "Thank you. I think they're pretty neat too," she chuckled.
"How are they handling all of this?"
Hermione balked. "How did you know?"
"I hear things, love," Teodora responded, smiling.
"Oh… Well… I think they're handling it ok. I mean, I suppose I don't really know. I guess they're probably confused. Especially Rose. I'm terrified that I'm doing something that's going to damage them for the rest of their lives, Teodora. I can't stand the idea of causing them pain but…"
"But the one thing more impossible that leaving was staying. I understand."
Hermione nodded but made no move to reply. She didn't really know what else to say. Teodora had essentially hit the nail on the head.
"You know," said Teodora seriously after some time, "I think that every parent has a duty to damage their child in some way. Otherwise they would be no kind of parent. I'm not saying that any child deserves pain, but the pain that they will feel, and pain is inevitable, builds the resilience in them. No parent can expect to raise a child without hurting them. We're only human. You're not the first person to walk out of a bad marriage to save your own happiness. Some might see it as selfish but at least we can say that it is not self-destructive."
"But what if it isn't a bad marriage, Teodora? What if it's just me?"
"I don't see that the two things are different. Perhaps it is just you. But in my experience no one is ever entirely at fault. You both have an equal part to play," Teodora told her, "And if it was not bad in some way, you would not have left."
They fell silent and watched as Rose brought Hugo a tiny blue flower, which she tucked behind his ear. Hermione smiled.
October 31st, 2011.
On Monday afternoon, Hermione took Rose and Hugo back home. Ron was back to treating her with barely veiled contempt and so she stayed only long enough to give both her children long, tight hugs, and assure them she'd be back on Friday to pick them up again before she left to go back to her flat in Diagon Alley alone.
It was too quiet without them there, too still. As she sat on her couch, nursing a cup of tea, she watched as one of Hugo's little dinosaurs stuck its head out from behind the book shelf and sniffed the air. That's when she began to cry again.
How did people do it? How did anyone manage to go through a separation when there were children involved with any level of sanity at all? Hermione was half ready to take Ron back just so that all the pain and drama would end. She was beginning to feel desperate, after only a week of living alone and couldn't imagine how she'd deal with a month or more. Logic told her that it would get better, get easier, but it didn't feel like that was happening at all. It wasn't getting worse or better. It was just staying exactly the same. And being the same was exhausting.
At seven o'clock, Hermione dragged herself off the couch and heated up a bowl of last night's chicken satay for herself, weeping the whole time, before she forced herself to eat it.
When she was done, she settled in for another bout of sobbing, ready to push on like that until midnight when she would go to bed, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Hermione hurriedly brushed the tears from her face, hoping that she didn't look as bad as she felt because she knew it would no doubt worry Graham, the only guest she could expect.
But it wasn't Graham.
"Fucking hell," said Isobel when Hermione opened the door, "You look like you should be on suicide watch."
"Oh yeah," said Astoria from beside her, "Because we totally expected her to look any different…"
"What… what are you two doing here?" asked Hermione, her voice faint with disbelief.
"What did you think we were going to do?" asked Isobel, "Let you deal with this shit all on your own?"
The two of them pushed past Hermione into the flat as Hermione said, "Well… yeah. That's exactly what I thought."
Astoria rolled her eyes. "Come on Hermione, get your mind out of the gutter. Not everyone was going to be on his side."
Isobel wore a look of joy and excitement on her face as she stared around at the flat, wandering into the kitchen, then the bedroom, breathing deep that familiar musky scent.
"Why didn't you come before, then?" asked Hermione after a moment.
"Probably because you disappeared off the face of the planet!" Isobel exclaimed, slumping down on the couch and staring around herself happily. "Oh, I missed this place…"
"But, Ron…" Hermione began but Astoria cut her off.
"Ron wouldn't tell us where you were, Hermione. We tried going to your office but Dawn told us you'd quit your job…"
"What the fuck, by the way," added Isobel.
"In the end it took both of us threatening him before Ron was willing to tell us anything at all. He kept saying that if you wanted to be found, you'd have contacted us."
"I think he was just deliberately being a stubborn cock," added Isobel bitterly.
Hermione could do nothing but stare between the two of them in open mouthed shock. She'd so thoroughly convinced herself that they'd all thrown her over, thinking she was behaving horribly, it seemed like a blissful dream that Astoria and Isobel were even there when only minutes before she'd believed herself to be totally without friends, totally without allies.
Quietly, because she needed a moment to process it all, Hermione made her way into the kitchen to make the three of them tea, listening with a detached and disbelieving sort of contentedness as Isobel began telling Astoria of all the times and experiences the tovarasi had shared in that flat, how her and Hermione had spent so many nights, lying together in the four poster bed talking; how all the girls in the tovarasi had begun to be friends that Saturday years ago when they'd heard a particularly special song that made them think of all that they'd lost and all that they could share.
Hermione found herself sighing at the memory of it all as she listened to Isobel speak.
Back then was a different world.
After a few moments of melancholic nostalgia, Hermione returned to the lounge room with three mugs which she set down on the coffee table. Astoria and Isobel's died as they regarded her seriously from the couch as Hermione took her seat opposite them on the floor. She felt like a child about to get chastised by her parents.
"Why didn't you talk to us?" asked Isobel after a lengthy silence.
"I thought you'd be angry at me," Hermione answered honestly.
"Why?"
"Because Ginny was… And Juliet…"
"And they're really the only people who know, Hermione. I don't think you realise… Ron didn't exactly announce it from the rooftops. And Ginny didn't either. The only reason Juliet was aware is, I'm assuming, because George told her. The Weasleys seem pretty intent on keeping a very tight lid on this," Isobel explained.
"What about Harry?"
Astoria grimaced as her and Isobel exchanged a look. "I get the feeling he just doesn't want to get involved."
That hurt. Hermione had hoped that Harry might take that approach, but not that it would mean he wouldn't speak to her. But it seemed logical really, when she thought about it. Harry had to work with Ron every day and he wasn't the sort of person who could interact on a purely professional level, it would be too hard. So she could see why he'd chosen to avoid her, but it didn't stop it setting off an ache in her chest.
"So you quit your job?" asked Isobel, snapped Hermione to attention.
Hermione nodded.
"Why?" asked Astoria.
"Because… after last year… I don't know. I guess I didn't feel like I was doing any good for the world anymore."
"Is that why he asked you to leave then? Because of the money? Did he have a problem with it?" asked Astoria.
"No," Hermione answered, surprised that they thought the separation had been his choice and not hers. "No, I quit after we separated. And… I left him, not the other way around."
Isobel and Astoria did not look in the least surprised.
"Aren't you going to ask me why?" said Hermione with a weary chuckle.
Isobel shrugged. "I don't know that I have to. I mean, I'm well aware of how much of a toxic bitch you can be sometimes, Hermione, trust me. But Ron's not perfect either."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean if Bo shamed me the way he shames you, I'd probably have walked out too."
Astoria nodded her agreement to this statement.
"You think he shames me?" Hermione asked quietly.
Isobel and Astoria exchanged another look before Astoria leant forward, her elbows on her knees, and looked at Hermione intently. "More than I think you realise. And I'm not calling you stupid, Hermione, you're capable of being an extremely perceptive woman, but I think you're so used to it now that you don't realise when he's doing it."
"The way he rolls his eyes when you get passionate about something and go on one of your rants," Isobel explained, "That's shaming. As if he's humouring you. As if what you're saying doesn't really mean anything. The way he tells you to calm down when you're upset, or says you're over-reacting. The way he feels free to offer harsh advice about your choices like it's nothing, but if you try to pull him up on anything, he loses his head. It's these little things, stuff that no one notices unless they look hard enough, that tell you that he's trying, probably without realising it, to keep you in your position as the crazy one."
Hermione was utterly speechless. The idea that someone was even willing to not only ladle out some of the blame to Ron, but also to offer a valid reason as to why was beyond her comprehension. She'd really thought that the world outside of their home perceived her as the one that caused all the problems. It felt like a huge weight off her chest to find out that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't.
After some time, she said, "You know, it just baffles me sometimes that of all people, you Slytherins seem to be the most understanding."
Astoria laughed. "That's because we know about self-preservation. The rest of you always just assume, by default, that being noble and being brave is the right thing to do in any situation. We disagree. Why do you think the houses have always clashed so much? Aside from the blood purity thing of course…"
"If you want to go into all that house politics stuff," Isobel added, "You can pretty accurately judge how every member of the tovarasi is going to react. I mean, the Gryffindors will get all uppity and self-righteous with all that think-of-the-children bullshit, the Hufflepuffs will follow the majority, the Ravenclaws will see the logic of both arguments and the Slytherins will see your quest for self-preservation as something to be admired," she gave Hermione a long look. "You were never going to be alone, Hermione. Not all of us are as sanctimonious as Ginny."
"But what about my children, Isobel? None of this is fair to them."
"No it isn't, and I won't pretend otherwise. Not even to save your feelings. But feeling guilty about it won't change what is. You've left him. That's it."
Hermione's gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. She felt the weight of her own decisions, her own actions resting heavily on her shoulders.
"Are you really sure about this, Hermione?" asked Astoria quietly, "I mean, are you sure you're ready to leave him? Are you really ready for your life to be turned upside down? Is this what you want?"
Hermione shook her head as a tear slid down her nose. "I don't know. I honestly don't know."
"Are you still in love with him?"
"Yes, yes I think I am. If I weren't, then I feel like this would be easy."
Neither Isobel nor Astoria said anything to this. There was nothing to say.
Hermione was right of course, if she'd not been in love with Ron, leaving him would have been a simple decision. But it was her love for him that made it all so painful, because deep down, she felt betrayed by him for more reasons than she could count, and she felt like she let herself down with her behaviour around him. Really, she did blame both of them. Her and Ron were equally broken and equally at fault for the disintegration of their marriage. He was just much better at hiding it.
He could parade around all he liked, acting like the perfect husband and the perfect father. Ron played that role well to the outside world. But what they didn't see was how he could be in private. When it came to the hard times, he'd lose his cool as easily as she did and fall straight back onto his old behaviour.
Astoria and Isobel did not stay long after that, having children and partners of their own to get back to.
Hermione was grateful though, beyond expression, that they'd come at all. It soothed her heart to know that she still had allies out there, people willing to support her, willing to fight for her.
November 3rd, 2011.
Hermione's life felt a little bit like consistently banging her head against a brick wall. Pointless, painful and annoying. She'd spent of the past three days sort of drifting through her existence, feeling like she was only really living for the weekend and hoping that the rest of her life wouldn't look like that.
Isobel and Astoria hadn't been back to see her in the intervening days, but they'd written, letting her know they loved her and that she wasn't alone.
It wasn't until late Thursday night that Hermione's melancholic solitude was interrupted yet again, by another completely unexpected knock at the door.
When she heaved herself off the couch, turning the record that had been playing off, and wiping her eyes, the last person she expected to show up at her flat was the one she found on the other side of the door when she opened it.
Draco.
Her mouth fell open in shock but just as she was about to offer him a rather surprised greeting, he planted his hands on her shoulders, pushed her back into the flat, slammed the door behind him and rounded on her.
"You fucking left him?!" he yelled in pure indignation as if she'd done him a great injustice.
"Um…" said Hermione.
"Of all the things, Hermione! After all that time! You choose now to fucking finally come to your fucking senses for fucks sake!"
"Draco… what…?" she stammered.
He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "This is just perfect, just fucking perfect. I mean honestly," he began to laugh, sounding slightly crazy, "You don't know the half of this. Really. Wow."
"Ok…" she said carefully, beginning to think that maybe he'd lost his mind.
"Here's the thing, alright? Here's the fucking thing. Astoria and I eloped last weekend. I, Hermione, am a married man!"
He held up his hand to show her the thin band of silver around his wedding finger.
"But that's…" she began, about to congratulate him, but he cut her off.
"No! No! You don't get to do that! You don't get to tell me how fucking happy for me you are! Alright?!"
"Draco…"
He kicked the coffee table in his apparent fury. "I really can't fucking believe this!"
"Draco!"
"And I can't fucking do anything about it now can I?!"
"DRACO FOR FUCKS SAKE, WILL YOU STOP YELLING AT ME!" Hermione bellowed over the top of him.
He stopped and turned to her and she was surprised to see that his face wasn't filled with fury or anger. It was sad. He was sad.
"Please," she said calmly, "Just explain to me what the problem is, Draco."
He sat down heavily on the couch and his head fell into his hands. When he looked up at her again, he wore an expression of fierce determination, as if he knew what he was about to do and didn't give a damn about the consequences.
Then he began speaking, saying things that Hermione did not want to hear, that changed her whole world.
"I love Astoria. I really do. She's… she's perfect. But to be honest…" Draco took a deep, long breath before he looked directly into her eyes, "I was waiting, Hermione, for you. I've always been waiting for you. For those first few years after you and Ron got back together I tried to pretend I wasn't, I tried to pretend that you were nothing to me, that you were annoying. But really, I was praying, wishing that you'd wake up. That you'd see that you're too good for him, even though you're fucking crazy, even though you think you're so flawed that it surprises you when anyone sees beauty in you. I thought you'd see that you could be great, that you are great. And that he didn't bring out that greatness in you, he just squashed it because it outshone the greatness in him. Even when you had Rose, and then Hugo… I still hoped. You seemed so flat and lonely… And then, a couple of months ago Astoria starts talking about marriage, and I'd known that it had always bothered my mother that we'd never tied the knot, that Scorpius is technically an illegitimate child… So I thought about it. And I thought it was about time I gave up, because you seemed to be happy again. I thought you were happy…"
Hermione sat down on the floor across from him, barely aware of her own body. She wanted to hear more, but at the same time, she wished she'd not heard any of it at all.
"I agreed, in the end," continued Draco, quietly, "I agreed because I love her and I want to make her happy. And because I thought that waiting for you was a waste of my life. And just when I do that, just when I finally give in to her and give up on you, you wake up. And I can't do a thing about it now, Hermione. I made a commitment."
It was too big to think about, too big to even comprehend. Eleven years they'd spent waiting for each other, thinking that the other person did not feel the same, trying to convince themselves that they were already happy in their own, separate lives. And it was all ending in this.
"I understand now," said Hermione heavily, "I get it, Draco."
"And that's it, I guess," he said before he stood up, "I should go now."
He adjusted his cloak and made towards the door but just as his hand reached out to open it, Hermione jumped to her feet.
"Wait. No… Don't go. Just… just stay, Draco. Please," she said quietly.
"If you mean that I should… that we should…"
"No, I don't mean that. I really don't mean that," she said firmly, shaking her head. "Does Astoria know you're here?"
"Yes."
"Does she know why you're here?"
"No. I told her I was coming to see if you were alright. She only just told me tonight that you and Ron had separated."
"Ok… well… Maybe we should talk then, Draco. Maybe we should just… talk."
They looked at each other for a long time, each waiting for the other to crumble. It almost would have been better if she'd suggested they sleep together, because having a conversation about their relationship and their history was so much bigger and so much more confronting than sex. It was something they'd never done, not once, since the night they had discovered the memory about Voldemort's final Horcrux.
Hermione realised then that the one thing she'd been really craving over the last decade had been that conversation. And Draco probably had too, but they'd kept their mouths shut against all the things they'd wanted to say to each other for fear of what it would do to their lives.
Now, it felt like none of that really mattered. It felt like it just had to happen, for better or worse.
Draco was the first to move. He lifted his hand and unfastened his cloak. Hermione watched as he shrugged it off and laid it over the arm of the couch before he walked towards her and took her hand. He led her into the bedroom and they climbed onto the bed together, coming to rest on their sides, not touching but close enough to feel each other's breath.
"Sometimes I think it's funny," said Hermione after a few long minutes, "You and I were only really together for four months, weren't we? It seems like such an insignificant amount of time and yet… After eleven years…"
"I think we were together from the moment you saw me in Diagon Alley that day before term started," Draco responded.
Hermione laughed. "Really? But I loathed you then! I was unshakeable in my opinion that you should have been in prison!"
"Yes, but think about it, we were entangled from that moment. Even if our feelings were less than favourable, they were still there. They were still powerful emotions."
"By that logic you could say that we never really broke up."
"I don't think we ever did," said Draco.
Hermione sighed and they fell silent.
After some time he spoke again. "What's something you've always wanted to ask me?"
She didn't need to think about the question, it came unbidden to her mind. "Was I right to interpret that record as a story?"
He smiled. "You're too smart for your own good."
Hermione chuckled. "It wasn't really me, to be honest. Ebony was there when I got it. She was the one who pointed out the progression… I still listen to it, you know. Now and then. Sometimes I try not to because it just reminds me of you but other times… I suppose I want to be reminded… But anyway. Your turn, what's something you always wanted to ask me?"
"What were you thinking about when I asked you to dance at Ginny and Harry's wedding?"
She screwed up her face, bringing the memory forth in her mind. "I was thinking about the first time I told you I loved you. I was thinking about how much you'd changed."
"I hadn't changed. I was just hiding."
"I know that now. It just took me a while to figure it out… Did you do it on purpose when you asked me to dance? Did you know how it would affect me?"
He looked guilty and sad. "Yes, I did. It was… it was a really cruel move. I wasn't in the best place right then. But what you did afterwards, when you just forgave me like that… it really shook me. I was so… in awe, I guess. Why did you forgive me at all? No one would have blamed you if you'd been angry."
Hermione smiled. "Because I've always felt that you earn my forgiveness more than you earn my resentment, Draco. The good things you've given to me have far outweighed the bad things you've done to me… But why did you hide from me? Why didn't you just say what you felt?"
Draco shook his head, looking disappointed in himself. "After I found out what Ron did for you, with your parents… I just felt like such a worthless human being. I knew that I had to win your trust back after all that bullshit with Voldemort. I knew how I'd acted and that I'd betrayed you and when I compared myself to him I just felt so small. I felt like you deserved so much better than me. He was the hero and I'd just broken your heart. So I conceded my loss to him I guess."
"But I never wanted to be a prize, Draco. I think I've realised now that the difference between you and Ron, which puts you on different levels, not higher or lower, just different, was that Ron has always done so much for me, and in that, he treats me like a prize. Like he has to win me. That's what our marriage has always been. There's this sense of obligation to him. But you, Draco, I just liked who I was when I was with you. Even when we've spent time together over the years, I've liked who I become when you're around. You bring out the best in me. Ron brings out the worst. That's why I'm here, that's why I left him."
"I feel the same about you. I like who I am with you," he responded quietly.
"What you said before really rang true for me, about how I'm shocked when people see beauty in me because I see myself as so flawed. With you, Draco, I feel flawed but I feel like its ok that I'm like that. And I'm able to look at my flaws with less judgement, less shame. With Ron I feel like I'm always fighting this uphill battle to be something better than I am, because what I am isn't good enough."
Draco nodded in understanding.
After a moment he said, "I've another question."
"Mmm?"
"Why did your patronus come to me when Hugo was born?"
Hermione smiled. "It didn't go to you, Draco, it went to Narcissa. She was the only person who offered me any real compassion and understanding back then. So she was the person my soul cried out to for help. You just happened to be there in the room with her."
He looked slightly disappointed. "Oh."
"But don't feel bad. What you said to me that night, that you weren't going to leave me, I needed to hear that right then. You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that…" she smiled at him gratefully before saying, "I've a question for you, and it's a bit random."
"Hit me."
Hermione grinned mischievously. "Ron said you got a tattoo the day before our wedding. What is it and, more to the point, where is it?"
To her surprise, Draco looked very serious in response to this question. He pulled out his wand and took her arm in his hand, laying it flat on the bed so that the skin of her wrist was facing upward. With a wave of his wand, he dispersed the glamour charm that hid the scar that declared her a mudblood, left there by Bellatrix Lestrange so many years ago so that the words shone up at Hermione, white and ugly.
He then unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve, pushed it up, and lay his arm down beside hers. Right where the dark mark had once been printed on his skin there was now a rose, the vines of which snaked down towards his wrist.
He waved his wand again, dispersing his own glamour charm, and the rose was gone, only to be replaced by words.
Blood traitor.
Hermione stared down at those words in silence, her heart filling and bursting for him, her stomach flipping and clenching for him, her blood pulsing and flowing for him.
There was the proof of all he'd said, the proof of his feelings.
Then, when she looked up again, into his grey eyes, they both leant forward at the same time. And they kissed.
Hours and hours later, at three am, when Hermione's eyes were heavy as iron gates, Draco finally got up to leave.
The conversation had been one of the best of Hermione's life, one of the most freeing, one of the most liberating she'd ever had. They hadn't kissed again, they hadn't even touched. They'd just talked.
When they stood together in her lounge room as Draco pulled his cloak back on, there was no awkwardness, no tension. They both looked and felt younger than they had in years.
"We could do it, you know," said Hermione in a husky, sleepy voice, "We could be together."
Draco gave her a long look and smiled. "You don't really believe that though, do you?"
"No," she answered honestly.
"My head tells me the same thing sometimes. It tells me we could run away together. We could go to Romania or something, pick up the Dividing Line magic again… But then I don't really believe in that either. Our lives have taken us a certain way and I don't think we've finished on those paths just yet."
"Neither do I."
"But I don't know that I'll ever stop waiting for you, Hermione."
"I don't think I'll ever stop waiting for you either, Draco."
"But this is enough for now."
"Yes. It's enough," she said and she believed it.
He took a deep breath and looked around at the flat.
"I never thought I'd come back here. But I'm glad I did."
"Me too."
"We've always got the Line, don't we?"
Hermione smiled and nodded.
Draco left then, but she didn't go to sleep right away, as tired as she was. Instead, she sat on the couch and listened to Nirvana and thought.
Draco would always be there. DracoandHermione would always be happening, she knew that now. But she believed what he'd said. Something told her that right then, on that night, when they were both still so entrenched in the chaos of their own lives, it wasn't right. It wouldn't work.
But perhaps someday, somehow, it would.
December 15th, 2011.
If Hermione Granger's life could get anywhere near normal, then that's where it got over the following two months. The relationships she had with the people she was close to changed over time, some worsened and some got better.
Ron seemed to have eased out of his loathing for her slightly and would generally allow her access to Rose and Hugo without too much sideways abuse. She still found their brief encounters hard. There was no way of getting around that.
Ginny's passionate anger with Hermione had only seemed to grow as the time passed but at least Harry had made a few appearances at her flat, obviously with the assurance that her situation with Ron wasn't to be brought up at all.
Astoria and Isobel were the people she saw the most of, with the occasional visit from Draco and Bo. Even Narcissa had come to tea at Hermione's flat a few times.
She'd come to learn that Blaise's loyalty, which as Isobel had so accurately predicted, laid with Hermione unequivocally, was causing some tension between himself and Ebony, who, while not as obviously angry as Ginny was, still treated Hermione with chilly indifference when they rarely met.
Aside from them, Hermione didn't see much of the rest of the tovarasi. Padma, Eli, Susan and Dean had fairly harsh opinions about her, she'd been informed, but she didn't hear from them.
Luna had written a few times, talking like she didn't even know what had taken place. George dropped around to see Rose and Hugo when Hermione had them on weekends and Juliet ignored her.
Hermione's parents were, mercifully, travelling overseas, and had been for quite a while. She was glad of this as, knowing that they'd back her decisions no matter what, she didn't want them to have to live in a perpetual war with Molly and Arthur over whose child was the most hard done by.
Rose and Hugo seemed to have gotten used to their arrangement with their parents. They knew now that weekends meant mum and the week meant Dad. Hermione was happy to see that Molly and Arthur didn't seem to be trying to poison them against her, though she would not have been surprised if Molly had tried a few times, she knew that Ron would not allow it, if only for the good of his children.
What surprised her the most, and what sometimes made her laugh with the ridiculousness of it all, was that the tovarasi were capable of being so totally divided by the problems in her marriage. It was not as if they still had all these merry gatherings without her there, no, Ginny, Juliet, Susan, Dean, Padma, Eli, Ebony and Ron almost outright refused to speak to Draco, Isobel, Astoria and Bo just as much as they refused to speak to Hermione. And the people in between like Luna, Harry, George and Blaise just had to cop that sweet.
She was glad that she didn't have to be exposed to the thick, tense at atmosphere that was no doubt pervading over the Auror offices.
The thing that really bothered her about it all was that Hermione would have expected that sort of behaviour from them ten years ago, but she was thirty one. Weren't they past all that sort of thing?
Her life had become such a topic. The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly had been having a field day. Hermione Granger: Walked Out On Her Husband. Hermione Granger: Leaves Behind Two Young Children. Hermione Granger: Abandons Job to Work in Bookshop.
Despite the way it all must look, Hermione felt genuinely happy, most of the time. She liked not having so much money, didn't mind that her savings were slowly trickling away, didn't care that she no longer had a big house. She liked her life. Sure it was hard with the tovarasi being in such tatters, and with her situation with Rose and Hugo, which still filled her with a huge amount of shame whenever she dwelt on it. But she felt more like herself, more the Hermione Granger that prowled the corridors of Hogwarts with Harry and Ron and stuck her hand in the air in response to every question she was asked than she had for a long, long time.
And it wasn't until that day, December 15th, two days before she was due to pick up Rose and Hugo for another weekend visit and two full months since she'd left her home with Ron, that the chaos that usually dogged her every step finally caught up on her.
And it came in a letter.
Hermione was sitting on her couch, enjoying a book and a cup of tea as she whiled away the hour that was her lunch break, when the owl tapped on her balcony door.
She set aside the book and stood to let the owl in. It flew through the open door, dropped the letter on her coffee table, before it swooped out again.
Hermione sat down. She looked at the front of the envelope. Her name was the one word it bore, in Ron's hand writing.
With a confused frown, she tore it open.
Hermione,
I slept with someone.
I'm sorry, I had to tell you.
I'm sorry.
She could do nothing but stare at it blindly as all her contentedness and self-assuredness disintegrated like sugar in boiling water.
That he could do something like that, write her a letter telling her that he'd cheated, that he'd lacked backbone to tell her something like that face to face, after ten years of marriage, was unthinkable. And yes it was still cheating in her mind, even if they were separated. She might have left him, but they'd not discussed seeing other people at any point. They'd discussed everything but that and she'd thought it was because it didn't need saying. There was no way that she'd even contemplate allowing another man to touch her like that. Her conversation with Draco had been just that, a conversation. She would never have let him touch her sexually. It just felt wrong. Ron had been the only person she'd slept with for a decade, she wasn't about to go and throw that away for a quick fuck.
But clearly Ron felt differently. Clearly it was something she should have brought up. Clearly she should have told him that if he did decide that he needed to get his cock wet, sending her a letter with his confession was absolutely the wrong thing to do.
Hermione stood, barely aware of what she was doing. She pulled on her shoes and her cloak, threw her scarf around her neck and left her flat.
She muttered a hurried excuse to Graham before launching out into Diagon Alley where she immediately turned right towards the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside the bar she moved immediately to the fireplace, threw in a handful of floo powder and ordered it to take her to the Ministry.
The Atrium was crowded and achingly familiar, full of people calling out greetings and vying for her attention, but Hermione ignored all that. She flew towards the lifts, stepped into one, waited until it landed her in the Magical Law Office, and charged down the hallway before the doors were even open properly.
Bo caught sight of her immediately, as soon as she'd burst through the doors of the Auror Department. The older witch made her way over to her.
"Hermione, what…?"
Hermione didn't give Bo a chance to finish. "Where is he?" she demanded.
"Ron? He's at the café down the road that the boys always go to but…"
Again, Hermione didn't allow her to finish. She strode back through the doors, down the hallway, into the lift, waited for it to take her back to the Atrium and left the Ministry through the visitor's entrance.
By the time she'd walked the three blocks between the Ministry and the café, her rage had reached unimaginable heights.
She saw Ron, sitting at a table with Harry, Draco and Blaise, laughing happily, as if the pain he'd just caused her was nothing at all, as if she didn't exist. And it stung that they were all like that. Where had the Slytherin's fierce loyalty gone?
When Ron caught sight of her the laughter died on his face.
She strode towards the table, ignoring Draco, Blaise and Harry's surprised and somewhat guilty greetings.
Hermione threw the now crumpled letter onto Ron's lap before planting her hands on the table and leaning down close to his face.
"I have three questions for you, you adulterous bastard. And you better give me an honest answer to every single one of them or I swear I will make your life a living hell."
Ron managed to give her a gurgled sort of groan in response.
"Question one: who?"
His eyes flicked to his friends as if to ask for help, but the three of them seemed to be quite happy to leave it up to Hermione. They were lucky they did.
"Susan," he answered in a strangled voice after a moment.
Hermione's fists clenched on the tabletop.
"Question two: was this the first time?"
Ron shook his head. "No."
"Question three: were my children in the house?"
"What?!" he spluttered.
Hermione leant a little closer.
"Where my son and daughter in the house while you fucked her?!" she asked again, her voice rising. Heads were beginning to turn in their direction.
"I…"
"ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!" she bellowed and he flinched, his arms rising up to protect his face and his right knee jerking to protect his groin.
"Yes! Alright?! Yes they were!"
Ron continued to cower while Hermione breathed hard in his face.
"Say goodbye to your house, Weasley, and say goodbye to your children," she told him in a low, deadly calm voice.
She turned away. She turned back again. She punched him squarely in the nose. She turned away again.
Draco, Harry and Blaise all wore expressions ranging from rage to outright disbelief.
"He's all yours," said Hermione before she walked away.
A/N - Woo! That's the longest chapter I've ever written at 12020 words! I hope that the length is a good thing and not cumbersome.
But anyway. Things are beginning to get very real. Remember that point in Victim of the Fall where everything just kind of went to shit? Welcome to that point lol.
xx
Desdemona