Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling.

VI.

Ron sighed, sitting down on the couch with a tumbler of Whiskey in his hand.

Hermione stood by the suite's bar, leaning on the window with a cigarette burning thoughtlessly between her fingers, the mouth of her wine glass gripped carelessly in the same hand. She tried her damnedest not to hate him, not to hurt him, but it was much harder than she imagined it would be. Knowing that he'd acted on impulse pained her. It was disgusting to even recall that he'd called it thinking with his heart instead of his head, because he should have had her in his heart. Not Pansy Parkinson.

She took one last puff of her barely touched cigarette and put it out in the ashtray. "I met a guy."

He looked over at her, the surprise on his face so boyish that she almost regretted wanting to hurt him. "When?"

"In January."

"Are you fucking kidding me, Hermione?" He sat up, looking at her with clouded, angry eyes.

"No. It isn't…He doesn't mean anything to me. I've seen him maybe three times since? And only one of those with my fault."

"You fault?"

"I asked him to meet me for drinks. I needed to figure out why his presence plagued me."

"Plagued you?" Ron laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "And you're upset with me for cheating, Hermione? You realize you've done the exact same thing, don't you?"

"Don't fucking compare these two things, Ron. I realized that what I was doing wasn't right and I asked him not to come back to the store."

"Then why admit it? If there isn't any guilt? If you did nothing wrong?"

"Because I want you to hurt as badly as I do." She poured herself another glass of wine, considering what more she could say. "Because I want you to know that someone else desired me, a fellow intellectual, someone interested in the same things I'm interested in. Someone that I…someone that I very well could have cheated on you with. And I didn't, because I respect- excuse me- respected you and what we had. I recognized what I was feeling as less than and not worthy of destroying what I had with my mate. And you….you followed your sodding heart, which, mind you, should have lead you to me. You followed your heart into some other woman's bed –her cunt, really-"

"Hermione," Ron groaned disgustedly.

She threw her wine glass across the room, the red wine staining the smart, pale grey of the wall. "That's how I feel, Ronald. Don't ask me to make my emotions more pleasant for you. I'm already resisting the urge to kill you."

His eyes widened, watching her as though her wasn't quite sure who he was dealing with.

"And for months. You've allowed this to go on for months, Ron, and you haven't been man enough to even tell me. Me: your wife, your mate. If there is no one else you can tell, it should be me."

Ron sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I am so sorry, Hermione. I truly am. I…I don't know what else to say or do. What do you want?"

She tugged her hand through her hair, refusing to cry. "What do you want?"

Ron wiped his eyes. "Honestly? I want a divorce."

"Done. I've already filed a petition."

"I'll have Sherborne ensure it's taken care of quickly and discreetly. We wouldn't want this getting nasty."

"You mean you don't want your mother to know you've been fucking someone else."

Ron cringed, but said nothing.

Hermione looked around the room slowly, wondering if the other woman had already been there; if she was just waiting for her to leave before coming back up to the room. "I hope she's worth it, Ron. I really do."

He stood up, crossing the room and standing directly in front of her. Hermione let him reach for her hand and hold it in his own. "I hope you can find happiness and fulfillment someplace. Be it in your studies or your travel or your store."

She rubbed the tears from her cheeks, ignoring the fact that he didn't mention love. It wasn't an argument she felt like having. "I'll have my stuff out of the house within the week."

"Take your time. I don't…I probably won't come back to the house. It's yours on paper, anyway. Sell it or whatever."

She let go of his hand and grabbed her jacket from where she'd tossed it on a barstool. "Maybe I could meet her sometime? We could go on a double date or something."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I'd like to know what she has that I don't. What…what she could offer you that I couldn't."

He seemed conflicted before saying, "I needed someone here. With me. And I couldn't find it in my heart to ask that of you, because I know how important your freedom is to you."

"Thanks, I guess." His admission was more confusing than helpful, though, because she wasn't sure where his neediness had suddenly come from.

"And she wants children," he said quickly, his face flushing red.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She stared blankly at him before grabbing her purse. "Neither of us are in a place to have children right now, Ron. It wouldn't be fair to either of us, or to them." Shaking her head, she said, "I guess that's why you need someone who can dedicate their life to you. Good. I'm happy for you. I really am. I'm thankful, too. Because I couldn't do it."

"So, I'll see you around, then?"

"Yeah. What should I do with your stuff?"

"Give it to Ginny-"

"No. She's your sister, I get it, but she's my friend and I'm not putting her in the middle of this."

"Okay. I'll send Percy, then."

Hermione laughed. "Ok. Well," she took a deep breath and nodded. "This is so strange."

"I know. Ten years."

"Ten years," she repeated. "Felt like longer."

"You're right," he smiled softly, his eyes shining.

She swore she could see the memories passing through them, and distracted herself by twisting her ring off her finger.

"No, Hermione. That's yours. I can't…I don't want it."

"Neither do I, Ron. What do you expect me to do with it?"

"I don't know. Auction it or something. Hermione…who is it? Is it someone I know?"

"I told you he came into the store, Ronald. Come on-"

"What's his name?" He asked.

"His name is Tom. Tom Riddle."

Rom stepped away from her as though he'd been burned. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, come on, Ron. You don't know him, alright? I…I asked him if you all were friends and he said no."

"Because we weren't fucking friends! Anyone but him, Hermione. I…I know it isn't fair of me to ask. But, he's a fucking freak. Harry and I, we played his school a few times at Eton…he got fucking put out of Eton...Hermione-"

"He's older than us," she told him.

Ron seemed distracted, visibly shaken by the idea of her being with someone else. "By a few years. Love, listen, he's crazy. He probably still thinks he can live forever and that he's a wizard-"

Hermione felt her blood run cold. Ron was still talking, still talking about how much of a freak Tom was because he believed he could do magic. It was as though he didn't even know her.

"-so you can't, you can't, be interested in him. Okay? Nothing good will come from it. I don't want to see you like that."

"Like what?" She questioned, her voice quiet and body tense.

"Like him. Crazy. You're…your little herbs and candles, and even your incense and chants: they're normal. Father Dumbledore and plenty other holy figures do all the same things.

"You're good. You go to mass and confessions and you're…He…he isn't right. He can move things with his mind. He can…he's evil, Hermione. Listen to me, okay? Trust me."

Hermione swallowed heavily. She couldn't believe what Ron was saying, but she wasn't surprised by it. He'd never liked anything he couldn't do for himself. What she couldn't believe was that Tom was a wizard, and that he hadn't mentioned it when she told him she was a witch.

"He can move things?" She asked quietly.

"Like a demon, Hermione. Swear."

Someone knocked at the door, and she thought it was a good time to show him that she could move things, too. Lifting her hand, she magicked the door open, watching the color drain from him his face. "I guess I'm a demon, too, huh?"

"Hermione-"

"Don't, Ron. I'll see you, I guess." Hermione grabbed her duffel bag and left, brushing past the dark haired women in the doorway, doing her best not to cry.

VII.

HW: I need to see you

TR: I could come over

If you need me to.

HW: No. The Botanist in Chelsea

TR: Okay. 40 mins

She ordered a bottle of champagne while she waited.

# # #

"You're pissed," Tom sat down next to Hermione, smiling at the bar tender that offered him a menu. "Should I bother ordering, or do I need to get you home?"

"I walked over- I live right down the street. In Knightsbridge."

"Of course you do," he murmured, leaning closer to her. "Are you alright, Hermione?"

She turned to look at him, finding him only a breath away. When he didn't move away, she rested her forehead against his and felt his hand against her back. His smile was evident in the way air rushed out of his nose, and Hermione distracted herself by pressing her lips to his –quickly and innocently, in a way that was so familiar she felt him start in shock- before pulling away and returning to her glass.

"It's been months since we've seen each other," she commented, mostly to herself.

"I believe we saw each other just two weeks ago."

She rolled her eyes. "That was hardly a meeting."

As she said the words, she remembered the fall out of seeing him at the stadium. It felt like a lifetime ago.

His thumb rubbed circles on her back, eyes heavy on her. "It was everything to me."

She froze, looking at him from under her lashes. His eyes were focused intently, jaw set seriously as he waited for her to acknowledge him. Hermione licked her lips, "You're such a charmer, Mr. Riddle. Honestly."

He grinned in response. She took another sip of her champagne.

"Ron and I are divorcing."

With his hand still at the small of her back, he leaned even closer and pressed his lips to her bare shoulder before straightening and looking over the menu. "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah."

"I communed with some associates on my way here from Cambridge," Tom told her, reaching into his blazer and pulling out his wallet. "I could use a drink, though."

"I forgot about you being a professor," she mumbled, reaching for her bag and pulling out her pullover and pack of mints. "What are you even doing around here?"

"I was going to met with Bella."

Hermione tried not to frown. She filled her mouth with mints before saying, "I forgot about her, too."

He half laughed, watching her amusedly. "Perhaps we should get you into bed."

"No. Go on about your weekend. It was silly of me to text you."

Tom sighed. "May I have a whiskey?" He asked when the bartender was near enough. He also ordered two steaks and salads to go before sliding over his card and asking for everything on one tab. Knocking back his spirit, he said, "I think, like Ron for you, Bella was just a filler until we were ready for each other."

"You aren't even fated."

"You see how far that got you, though."

Hermione groaned tiredly. "Get away from me. Both Ginny and Ron warned me against you. I don't know why I even contacted you."

He chuckled, voice soft and low as he said, "You changed your mind. There is nothing wrong with that. People grow up, they grew apart. It's a natural part of life."

She felt his fingers against her neck, smoothing into her hair as though he'd done it a thousand times before.

"You should try to sober up, though. If you want this to go the way you planned when you contacted me."

He signed the bill and tucked his card back into his wallet.

"I'm not drunk, Tom. I'm…alone."

"Aren't you used to that, though? Wasn't Weasley usually away?"

"That was different." She unclasped her Mondaine and set it on the bar-top before stretching her arm over to him, showing him her broken clock. His fingers were hot against her cool flesh, thumb brushing her inner wrist. "This is probably what you'd hoped for."

"Prayed," he corrected her, still focused on her broken clock. His thumb continued to brush over it, as though he was willing it to start again.

"Prayed?" Hermione questioned. "You didn't strike me as religious, screwing your friend's mate and all."

The grin he offered her was so indulgent and boyish that she couldn't help but smile back. "She talked about you the entire ride back to her house. She wanted to know if we had the same arrangement as she and I did."

"Did."

Tom licked his lips, eyes falling down to hers. She blushed.

Grabbing the bag of food, he stood up. "I officially broke things off with her before coming inside."

"Officially," she repeated him again, tasting the word in her mouth. It was like hot tea on a cold, rainy day.

"I knew our relationship was over when I felt you at the stadium. I've been in the process of ending it since."

Her eyes widened. "That's bold of you." She pulled her sweater over her head to stop looking at him.

"I don't doubt us."

"Don't you?" She grabbed her purse and laced her fingers through his on the way out. He didn't seem to mind, or even notice; she felt his pulse beating against her wrist. "People grow up, they grow apart."

He tilted his head back and laughed as he led her to his Escalade. "Charming."

"I mean it." She stumbled. "I'll call her and apologize for you. Explain it was all just a misunderstanding."

When they reached his car, he helped her in and leaned on the frame, watching her carefully. "Probably best to keep you all apart for as long as possible."

"What makes you think we'd even meet, Tom?"

He smirked. "Her husband is a close friend of mine. I'm sure you would met sometime."

"Assuming we amount to something more than this weekend."

He nodded, stepping back onto the curb. "We'll grow together, not apart."

"I've done this before," she told him, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "I know how it goes better than you. This could last five minutes for all you know."

"Or forever."

She looked up at him, eyes blank as she observed him. He closed her door and rounded the car to his side.

"Where do you live?"

"Off Brompton. On Cheval."

He laced his fingers through hers again, pulling out and starting toward her house.

"Are you always so confident?" She questioned.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "When you want something, the whole universe conspires to help you."*

She wanted to laugh. To tell him that she knew he was 'freak' like her, and that he should drop the act. Instead, she said "Ok, Paulo. Turn left here."

*A play on Paulo Coelho's famous the Alchemist, "And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."