Prologue: Birth Control, Veela, and A Forbidden Word
"Hermione. Let's take you off the birth control."
This sentence, Hermione Granger mulled, was probably the sentence that pushed hers and Ron's marriage over the edge.
The now-single, ringless Hermione Granger sat on a park bench, wondering where her life had gone wrong. She was only twenty-five. Eight years had passed since the dreadful battle at Hogwarts, and she had gone on to become the Head of the Liberation of Magical Creatures. Through much hard work (after all, she was the most brilliant witch of her year), and admittedly some help from her fame as being part of The Three Who Had Defeated Voldemort And Had Done Countless Other Impossible Crap, she had finally become a very notable figure in the Ministry of Magic. Although Ron protested that this job overtaxed her and left no time for him, Hermione felt happy like this. She'd always liked work, and she knew how much she could handle. (She still remembered her stress from her third year at Hogwarts with the time-turner and strove to never take that much work up ever again).
Hermione considered herself at her prime—with a wonderful job but still young in a peaceful world that she, Harry, and Ron had created. Apparently, Ron didn't think so, though. It seemed that he was desperate to have kids. Though never being someone who liked children, he somehow felt the need to live up to his parents' legacy of having seven children. And to Hermione's horror, they had to start now.
"But Ron, I can't possibly take off the birth control!" She'd squeaked.
"Hermione, it's just a wave of your wand, a simple incantation! I don't see what's wrong!" He'd argued.
"That's not the point, Ron; I have a job! I can't possibly just leave my place at the Ministry! Having children would…well, stop me from working!" It wasn't that Hermione disliked kids. On the contrary, she loved them. But she was willing to wait for a few more years; and besides, if she had kids, she knew Ron would never take care of them.
"So? Mum's a great witch and she stopped working too…come on, Hermione, don't you want kids too? If we wait until you're past thirty, then it'll be too late! How will we have seven children like Mum and Dad?"
Hermione had opened her mouth, thunderstruck. "How dare you, Ronald! If you'd like to give seven births and stop working forever, I'd be happy to research male pregnancies!" This particular last statement by Ron had really made Hermione mad. She'd never wanted seven kids (two was fine) and the fact that Ron had always assumed that she would give birth to seven infuriated her.
This had led to the worst fight with Ron in Hermione's whole life. For six whole months, they'd ignored each other. The wedding was postponed.
And then…
Ron left one night after yet another month of silence. Hermione knew that Harry had invited Ron to a drink at the Three Broomsticks in what was equivalent to a Muggle bachelor party. Harry was getting married in a week, and Hermione couldn't have been happier for him and Ginny. About the party, Hermione wasn't worried, either; she knew Harry would never invite any less-than-dignified witches. He had very strong values when it came to marriage, probably influenced by his parents.
That was why Hermione only started to worry when Ron didn't come back the next day. Hermione left for work, still wondering where he was. When she didn't him in the Auror office, or having a quick fly with Harry above the Ministry, she was perplexed. Hermione decided to Apparate to Harry's office late mid-morning.
Harry looked up from where he was outlining a training handout, his hair looking a little messier than usual. "Hello, Hermione," he greeted, idly flicking his wand and making a few sparks shoot out from the end. Hermione knew that Harry often got bored sitting at his desk, but he also flew on his Silver Firebolt Arrow on the British International Quidditch Team and went to practices daily, so it balanced out.
"Hello, Harry!" She said, smiling. "D'you know where Ron is?"
A suddenly guilty expression flashed over Harry's face. "He'll be home in a while, don't worry about it, Hermione."
Hermione knew he was keeping something from her, and she bit her lip. And why had he said, 'don't worry about it'?
"Harry, if it's about Ron, don't keep anything from me."
"No, no, I'll handle it." His voice was firm. "Why don't you go visit Ginny? I think she's dying to get Mrs. Weasley off her as for the wedding preparations."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. Harry was deliberately trying to get her away. Why? But in any case, she was due for a visit. "Alright. I expect Ron will be back tonight, anyways." She left, closing the door with a click.
Inside the office, Harry sagged with relief. "Damn Ron…" he cursed. Harry looked under his desk to see a still-sleeping Ron snoring, his red hair in disarray. "Wake up!" Harry said, shoving the red-head.
Ron made a grunting sound. "Wha—whassa matter, Harry?"
"Get up, you idiot! Hermione just came over—what am I supposed to say to her?"
Ron's eyes opened. He suddenly looked much more awake. "I dunno." He looked down.
"Don't you think you should tell her?" Harry glared at him.
Ron looked sulky. " 'S not my problem, anyways. Not my fault if she refuses to even be in the same bed with me."
"Not your fault?" Harry stared at him incredulously. "What the hell is wrong with you? If this keeps going the way you're letting it go, then Hermione really will leave!"
Ron scowled. "I told you, it's not my problem!"
"Then I'll tell her." Harry growled, slamming his hand on the desk and knocking over all the papers on his desk.
Cursing, Harry muttered, "Accio papers!" The papers zoomed together in a pile.
"You stay here," he ordered Ron. "I'll tell Hermione." Then with a slam of the door, Harry was out. He knew that he usually kept out of his friends' squabbles, but he couldn't believe how selfish Ron was being. Pity rose in his heart for Hermione.
Hermione was still walking down the corridor, no doubt going outside to Apparate.
"Wait—Hermione!"
Hermione turned around, confusion in her eyes. "Harry? What's the matter?"
"I-I…" Harry swallowed. "I think it's best if we go somewhere private to talk."
A few minutes later, Harry was sitting outside the Ministry on a park bench, Hermione next to him. "What's the matter, Harry?" She asked again.
"Look, Hermione…you know that Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Fred, George, and Percy came last night with me to have a few drinks, right?"
"Right." Hermione nodded.
He looked at her nervously as if expecting her to blow up. "There were some rather…scantily clad witches there last night—of course, I didn't mean to go when they were there, and anyways I didn't anticipate a problem…"
Harry was being overly long-winded. "What is it?" Hermione asked impatiently. "What happened?"
Harry did not meet her eyes. "Last night, those witches—I think they were part-veela—started dancing, and Madame Rosmerta was among them."
A horrible sense of dread started to crawl into Hermione's stomach. "And?"
"Well, you know Ron's hopeless with veela –"
And he likes Rosmerta, Hermione thought bitterly.
"—and he got a little…carried away last night."
Harry faltered, but then plunged on. "Ron said that he'd gone to go get a drink, so we didn't pay much attention to him, but then Ron didn't come back for a while." Harry nervously cleaned his glasses.
"So then," Harry continued, his voice unusually gentle, "I looked for Ron and he was…he was…" Harry's face twisted in an expression of revulsion.
"He was lying in bed with Rosmerta." Hermione whispered. Her heart did not stop. She did not cry. All she felt was empty, empty, empty.
She looked bleakly at Harry, who looked hopelessly back. Hermione imagined what happened—Harry giving an enraged shout, Ron and Rosmerta tumbling out of the bed, Ron naked with another woman…
"I—well, we were drunk, and Ron wasn't the only one who was losing control—Seamus got up and started to dance with those women…and…"
Harry stopped. Those weren't excuses for why Ron had done it, and he knew Hermione didn't think so either.
"I'm so sorry, 'Mione," he whispered. "So, so, sorry."
And Hermione sat there, her head on Harry's shoulder, her face free of tears. She could not bring herself to cry. They sat there for an hour, two hours, but Harry did not complain.
Hermione finally got up, feeling lightheaded. "Why does this happen to me?" She finally sobbed, a hysterical note to her voice. "Always! Harry, why can't I just die?"
Harry gently steadied her. "I'll help you Apparate home." She did not argue, only linked arms with him. In a flourish they were off.
When Hermione got home, she slowly and methodically blasted each and every one of Ron's possessions apart. Harry watched her, and didn't try to stop her.
Two weeks later, Hermione found herself on a park bench, two suitcases at her feet, reminiscing about the end of hers and Ron's marriage. There was no ring on her finger.
To be continued.