Hermione was vexed.
"What do you mean we can't date anymore because work won't allow it?" she demanded, putting her fork down next to her plate and dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Ron. Since when can the Ministry decide such a thing?"
Being both single and still somewhat attracted to each other despite the years, she and her ex had decided to give it another go after she'd returned to England last month, having resigned from her post as key aide to the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards after thirteen years of long, hard service. Since coming back to London from Geneva, they'd hooked back up, and Hermione had really been hoping that their timing was finally, finally right. After all, it had only taken them three starts and stops to get to this point.
And now Ron was breaking it off with her – again.
This time, though, it had nothing to do with another woman, or his mother's constant interference in their relationship, or even his want to have children when she wasn't ready. This time, it was because of the one thing that she'd finally decided shouldn't hold as prominent and overruling a place in her life as it previously had: her work.
"It's like I said," he explained in that apologetic whine for which he was famous, "Vice-Minister Zabini came to me and said that the rules of fraternization didn't allow two people to date or be married who worked in the same Department. If you went back to Magical Creatures –"
"I'm not going back there ever again," she firmly stated, picking up her wine glass and twirling the stem between her fingers. The dark cherry-colour of the Montepulciano d'Abruzzo that she'd splurged on reflected the candlelight as if it were made of glittering rubies. "You know how ineffectual that position was the first time I tried it. The law is the only part of government where real progress is made for establishing fundamental rights. Everything else is just a lot of paper-pushing."
He sighed. "I know, but… 'Mione, we can't work together. They're gonna fire one of us for breaking the rules - and we both know you're a stickler for the rules. So, either one of us leaves M.L.E., or…"
He left the thought hanging, clearly expecting her to make the big sacrifice - as if he could manipulate her by playing such a card. She'd spent the last dozen-plus years swimming through the international political sphere, dodging much better sharks than Ron Weasley.
She glanced at him over the rim of her wine glass as she brought it to her mouth. "So, why don't you change careers? You've been going on for the last couple of weeks that you were getting too tired for fieldwork, especially now that Harry's accepted the position of Head Auror. Why not try for that job in International Games that just opened up? At least then you'd get to go to every Quidditch match you wanted without having to buy a ticket."
Ron shuffled his ravioli around on his plate, clearly not enthused by that idea… or interested in eating the food she'd prepared for their quiet dinner at her flat.
Didn't that just figure! She'd spent hours in the kitchen yesterday – her whole Saturday – making the pasta dough from scratch from a recipe book she'd found in this cute, little Muggle bookstore just the other week. She'd made the filling, too, using the finest ground organic chicken, the freshest chopped spinach and garlic, ground black pepper imported by the specialty Indian market around the corner from her flat, and the sharpest Asiago cheese in all of London. She'd hand-cooked the marinara sauce, too – no jars or cans involved! She'd done it all because she wanted them to start over right. She'd hoped to impress upon him that she could be just as domestic as he seemed to want the woman he finally took as a wife to be.
She should have known he wouldn't appreciate it. Ron always took everything for granted, especially where she was concerned. Besides, cooking may be a new hobby of hers, but she shouldn't have to coax affection from a loved one through her skills in the kitchen. She also should have known she should never have attempted to change herself for a man – especially this man, who had a known track record for taking much more from a relationship than what he put into it. What had she been thinking?
She'd been thinking that the idea of building a life together with someone of merit – rather than focusing all her energies on a dried-up career and living in a perpetually cold, solo-flying bed - was attractive. And, honestly, she'd been hoping for the passion of romance to balance out the loss of her previous career's excitement in her life. As an adrenaline junkie, she missed the fire of debate and the thrill of chasing down votes, even if such things were dangerous to her health, according to her Healer. Coming home to someone who loved her with an equal enthusiasm, instead - someone with whom she could talk to about important things and share her love of new hobbies, rather than living in an empty, quiet house now that Crooks was gone - had serious appeal.
That dream still appealed.
Maybe there was some way to salvage this mess with Ron. Sighing, she took a compromising route. "I'll take a look at this law Zabini's pulled out of his pocket –"
"His arse, more like," Ron grumbled.
She hated to be interrupted. It was one of her biggest peeves, and he knew it.
Taking a calming breath, she tried again. "I'll look at the law. There has to be a way around it. Nothing that ridiculous could possibly still be on the books, if it ever was."
Through the fringe of his stunted, crimson-black lashes, Ron stared at her with those baby blues she'd once fallen head-over-heels for. "Yeah, good idea."
He didn't sound very stirred by the fact that she was willing to overlook his misogynistic assumption that she – the female - should be the one giving up the important things for a relationship to work. But then, he'd been raised with that kind of backwater thinking, and his mum was no hard-core feminist role model, was she?
Maybe the fourth time wasn't the charm either, she resignedly thought. Perhaps this was the final straw – her big neon sign in the sky, as it were. She and Ron were incompatible on too many levels to make a long-term commitment work. They simply looked at the world through different lenses.
Still, she intended on researching that law he'd mentioned, as it seemed highly improbable to her that such a ludicrous rule should exist. Blaise Zabini had never been the honest type back in school, and his elevation to a position of great importance in the wizarding realm when Draco had named him as Vice-Minister hadn't seemed to change that fact.
"Eat your supper, Ron," she directed, putting her glass down, and picking up her fork and knife. "It wouldn't do for us to waste such a splendid meal." Their last one together as a couple, she knew, though it would do no good to voice such a thing, as it would only spoil both of their appetites.
She'd let them enjoy their meal together in this manner, and give it a bit to digest. Then, she'd let him down easy. It seemed that's what he really wanted anyway.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Note:
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Chapter 3 preview:
"You can relax. I've found you a wife."
"Oh, no. That is so inconvenient."
"I think it's brilliant. It's stellar, really. Uh, that is, apart from the one obvious, tiny, little, baby hiccup. You see…"