Here are the first two chapters, I'll upload the rest over the duration of the week :) I really hope you enjoy my work.
No copyright infringement intended whatsoever :)
Review if you like, and also if you dislike.

Hermione woke to an empty bed, and upon inspection she noted, an equally empty house. After a brief glace around the kitchen she deduced he had left no note or indication to his whereabouts whatsoever, and though his complete lack of thought or care cut into her like an icy knife - she wasn't surprised. Sighing, she sat down at the table, lazily summoning herself a bowl which she filled with her favourite cereal and milk. She cussed quietly as she realised she had forgotten a spoon, lately she hadn't been as precise with her spells, and though she was loathed to admit it, she knew exactly the reason behind this sudden change of character.

It was a Saturday; she wouldn't be expected at work for a whole three more hours. Sinking further down into the wooden kitchen chair, she proceeded to slowly chew her cereal, thoroughly demolishing each and every mouth full before finally swallowing. By the time she had ploughed her way through the entire bowl and set the dishes to clean in the sink, she was left with two hours and thirty minutes. She briefly contemplated sending Ron an owl, asking him his plans for the day, but shot down that idea remembering suddenly she had no idea where the hell he was.

By the time she was finally walking through her office door, the entire house was spotless, including the garden which she scarcely even set foot in. She would freely admit; cleaning was the only way she had found to manage stress, though it hadn't managed it all that well this time, merely subdued it slightly. Grimly she thought back to the days when a brief trip to the library would calm and soothe her, when her only necessary companions were made of parchment and binding.

She was eternally grateful at times like these of her position in the Ministry - being the head of the Office of Magical Creature Liaison meant she was continually distracted by the trivial matters of her employees ("The paper is jammed in the photo-what-sitter Miss Granger, I've been summoning it for hours now – it won't budge") and the severely more serious matters of her peers ("There have now been eighteen raids upon Gringotts, You-Know-Who's ever faithful servants I'd wager. Not much good it'll do them now I suppose, but the Goblins simply won't stand for it any longer"). She thoroughly enjoyed her job; it gave her the assurance that she was doing some good in the world, while at the same time letting her work amongst people with the same ideas and beliefs as herself. She desperately wished that Ron shared her views on magical creatures, but she had given up preaching to him, it only enraged him.

When Ron pushed open her office door, she was busy compiling a paper on The Importance of The Fair Treatment of Our Goblin Equals. She quickly glanced up in surprise, but instantly returned to her work, pretending not to have noticed his presence. She noted with a hint of displeasure that he was certainly dressed to impress, even if the only person he succeeded in impressing was her. He had on a pair of dark blue shorts, which came to just above his knee; they showed off the muscles in his legs perfectly. He'd teamed the shorts with a white rugby jumper; it was casual yet somehow irresistible.

"Babe," his voice sounded pleasant enough, she however didn't look up from her parchment as she replied.

"Hello Ronald, how're you?" She tried her hardest to keep her tone level, but worried slightly that she may have lost her nerve towards the end.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the parchment in front of her, she only just caught sight of him striding into her office to hover over her. "I'm fine, thank you. What's this you're doing?"

Bitterly she snapped at him. "Oh don't pretend to care, you'll only show yourself up." She was still incredibly sore at being left in bed alone, with no explanation. For him to simply waltz in on her at work was in her opinion cocky, and essentially rude.

Ignoring her quip he bent lower to examine the paper, muttering the title quietly under his breath. The scent of her favourite aftershave on his neck made her quiver. Turning his face sideways towards hers, he leant towards her further still, and kissed her lightly on her cheek. Her eyes closed in delight, perhaps he was feeling recovered and better still, was perhaps even up to divulging just what had plagued him over the past weeks. Her eyes shot open.

"Where were you this morning?" Her tone demanding, "I wake up and you're gone! No note, no owl sent to me at work, no phone call, though I daresay that's slightly beyond your limited ability…"

Feigning deafness, or perhaps simply ignoring her, he smiled "could we go for a walk later 'Mione?" He outstretched his hand and placed it on hers "Meet me on The White Lane," his smile faltered. "We need to talk."

*

He didn't return home with her, instead opting to call to The Burrow to "collect some things" – she could always tell when he was lying.

She changed without taking the time to check the clothes she was putting on. Perhaps they didn't match, perhaps they were even unclean – she needed to leave the house.

Hurriedly inspecting the time on her watch as she hurried down the front path and out of the gate she broke into a small jog – she shouldn't keep him waiting too long.

She was a girl and therefore knew the words "we need to talk" were never followed by pleasantries.

*

It was times like these, she wished for a few female friends. Colleagues were fine for the day to day occasions: they were someone to accompany you out for drinks or something to eat; when your birthday came around they bought you pleasant gifts and wished you many happy returns, colleagues however, didn't do for times such as these. She mentally cursed herself for all of the occasions where she'd turned down shopping trips with Ginny, or chosen to get ahead with the following days work than to see Angelina for a catch up, as much as she dreaded the thought of a "catch up" with anybody, a friend like that would certainly come in handy around now.

On the short journey from the small cottage she had shared with Ron for the past year to The White Lane – a track that joined all the surrounding fields in the area and a common haunt for people wishing to enjoy a romantic afternoon picnic - Hermione had mulled over every eventuality of their upcoming conversation. She had broken into a cold sweat at the very thought of the worst possible outcome (which she resolutely avoided admitting to herself) and her hair was sticking to her forehead in what felt like an incredibly unattractive fashion, she brushed it away and hurried on. Her stomach bubbled and squirmed in anticipation, to the extent that she almost felt sick. For a girl like her, who relied solely on fact and certainties, a situation like this which left so much up to chance was almost unbearable. She was out of her depth.

She stopped jogging the second she caught sight of him, instead struggling for a steadily paced stroll. He was stood with his hands jammed roughly into his pockets, one foot kicking the dust on the ground and forming little clouds around his ankles.

"Cheers for meeting me here 'Mione," she noted the false affection as he reached out to grasp her hand, she was certainly sceptical. "It's just that we need to talk, and I'd rather do it out here, it's loads nicer than being stuck up in the house."

She merely nodded. For a moment she considered mentioning the fact that Ron had in fact been "stuck up in the house" for almost three weeks now, but bit her lip. He squeezed her hand; it took all her remaining strength to return the gesture.