Week Two – Part Three

The moment Rod's lips touched Hermione's, she didn't know what to do. It wasn't as if it was a shock that he was kissing her. No, he'd been staring at her lips for the previous half an hour while they brought up parts of their respective pasts that were perhaps better left undisturbed. It had been exciting to know that the quiet man who lived next door was no longer looking at her in a completely innocent manner. More than once while they discussed the painful parts of their histories her gaze dipped below his eyes. She tried to imagine what it would be like if he forgot to be the perfect Pureblood gentleman.

It had been a long time since anyone had shown the slightest amount of interest in her mouth at all. Even when all she did was speak, she got the impression that no one cared much for that part of her face. Hermione couldn't remember the last time anyone kissed her beyond the perfunctory pecks that were required to pass between married couples as they greeted each other or rushed off to work.

Her relationship with Ron fizzled out a long time before she caught him in bed with the tarty blonde. There had been very little physical contact of any kind between the former best friends who just happened to share a last name and a lumpy mattress. If she couldn't remember the last time her husband kissed her, she certainly couldn't remember the last time she had had sex. It was depressing really.

In the midst of her primal urges taking control of her body over her mind, she gave in to the act. For the first time in bloody years she actually felt desirable. Rod's impassioned kisses and the manner in which one hand was still playing with her hair and the other was slowly and deliberately sliding down her back made her forget everything beyond the fact that his lips were softer than she expected and it felt amazing to have someone touch her again.

When the fog of pheromones began to lift from her brain, Hermione realized that there was a very real possibility that she and Rod could end up having sex at some point. Maybe even quite soon. Was she ready for that? Would she even remember what she was supposed to do? She had always heard that just like riding a broomstick, one never really forgot how to have sex, but she had never been a particularly good flier and what if she embarrassed herself and he never wanted to see her again? Oh, Merlin, what if she couldn't remember where her hands were supposed to go? And it wasn't as if she had had a lot of experience outside of Ron. They got together so quickly and so young. Beyond a couple of awkward times with Viktor and one horrible, horrible night with Cormac she wished she could obliviate from her mind, Ron had been it. What if what made Ron excited and pleased was completely weird? She didn't want to terrify the man she still had to live next door to for a few more weeks.

There was clearly a great deal of passion between the two of them. She might have been extremely lonely and hungry for a tender touch of any kind, but Hermione still could not deny there was something there. Even a simple kiss was enough to ignite a fire in her belly that had lain dormant for a very long time. As her thoughts began to drift to ever more terrifying possibilities of how she could mortify herself in front of the handsome man on her couch, she tried to calm herself down. She knew she shouldn't worry about what could happen. Wasn't it enough to simply just enjoy the moment?

Rod was an incredible kisser. She worried that she was drooling all over him like some sort of inexperienced third year kissing a boy underneath the stands at the Quidditch pitch for the first time. If she was, he was the type of man that would be too polite to tell her so. They seemed to be well-matched. As their kiss stretched on, Rod's confidence seemed to grow. His hand moved from her hair to meet the other one on her back. Not once did he dip down below her waist. Hermione kept hoping he would forget himself, but even in heat of the moment, he was still being respectful. She began to wonder what it would take for him to stop treating her like a lady.

She nervously ran her hands over his chest for the first time. How many times had she accidentally sneaked a peek of it through his kitchen window? She would be absolutely mortified if he ever figured out that she spied on him as often as she did. Rod was encouraged by the feel of her hands on him. Perhaps he had been wanting to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him. He must have been every bit as lonely as she was. The thought made her sad and threatened to ruin the moment.

Determined to not let her overactive mind and her melancholy ruin her evening, Hermione slid her hands around his neck and pressed her entire body closer to his. The sudden change in position meant his hands landed on her arse without meaning to. Once he realized, Rod groaned and tightened his grip. Both poor souls were so wrapped up in the feel of their hands and their lips on the other that they forgot about the puppy lying on the couch between them.

Millie's sharp bark of warning startled them enough that they pried their lips off of the other's. The puppy wasn't upset. Just merely a little annoyed by being crushed between them. From the moment Rod stared down at his dog and then back up into Hermione's eyes, she could tell nothing further was going to happen that night. Maybe not ever. The flush of his cheeks proved he was embarrassed. Was it truly that awful? Hermione could only think the absolute worst.

"I'm… I don't know… what… I'm," Rod stuttered, unsure how to put his feelings into a complete sentence.

Hermione wished she was alone for the first time since he knocked on her front door. She worried that he thought he made a mistake by kissing her at all. Maybe he only kissed her because he felt sorry for her after their serious discussion. Her thoughts coupled with the way that Rod could no longer meet her eyes made her feel self-conscious. She didn't want to be anyone's pity snog. Millie's interruption may have been for the best. What if they'd gone too far? His grip on her arse seemed to promise more than just a few awkward fumblings on the sofa. He likely would've regretted it. She just wanted her privacy again.

"It's late," Rod stated. "I think we should go home."

He jumped up to his feet and pulled his puppy into his arms. Every second that he stood in front of Hermione and didn't look at her, the more she feared that she would cry. She was so embarrassed how it all ended. Rod probably didn't even want to kiss her. Hermione began to think that maybe she should leave the cottage. She could find somewhere else to stay for the remainder of her suspension. Maybe somewhere warmer.

Rod thanked her for the wine and wished her a good night. He rushed out the door with still reddened cheeks. Hermione was utterly humiliated. When the door shut behind her fleeing companion, she wanted to run away too. What was she thinking allowing the man to kiss her? Clearly neither one of them were thinking straight.

She picked up the bottle of wine they hadn't yet finished deciding she would finish it in the bath. A glass wasn't even necessary. In the initial few minutes following the abrupt end to her evening, she tried to busy her mind with meaningless tasks. Turning the taps on. Checking the water. Measuring out the appropriate amount of bubble bath. Throwing in some lavender oil for added relaxation.

When the bath was full, she undressed quickly and slipped underneath the water. The more time passed and the more she thought about how her evening had gone, the more embarrassed she became all over again. She worried that at twenty-five she might never be able to have a successful relationship again. No matter how hard his family might pressure her or how often he apologized, Hermione was never going to go back to Ron. Life was entirely too short to spend it miserable and ignored.

The tears were rolling out of her eyes before she could make herself stop acting so silly. She had been alone before. It was nothing new. Hell, over five years of marriage and she was still alone during that time. Hadn't she had a lifetime to prepare herself for being strong and soldiering on? But even for just a few minutes she was able to forget what it was like to have no one.

Remembering the way it seemed to feel so right with Rod's lips against hers only made her sadder and the tears flow faster. She knew she would feel better after a good cry. She always did. Someone once told her that strong, independent women never cried. They thought it was a sign of weakness and in a wizard's world, she had to prove that she was every bit as tough as there were. Truthfully, it was complete and utter shite. Years of her life were spent trying to follow that ridiculous bit of unwanted and unasked for advice. Every time she cried while she was at Hogwarts, which she was embarrassed to say was quite a lot, she used to think about how she was failing at being strong and independent. During the war when she huddled freezing in the tent worried about whether or not she and her boys would make it through the next day, she cried.

She wasn't exactly sure when she decided there was absolutely nothing wrong with expressing her emotions through tears when she felt overwhelmed, but it had been a revelation. Perhaps there were some ignorant souls who thought crying made a woman weak and somehow less valuable as a human being. Hermione pitied them. While she did her best to keep her tears as private as possible, they were a cathartic release. Bottling up her emotions didn't make a person strong or independent. It made them a ticking time bomb.

Hermione gave in to the emotion of feeling desperately sad about how her evening and likely all other evenings with a potential mate would go. Knowing that it would be too awkward living next door to Rod, she made the decision to start looking for somewhere else to stay in the morning. Thinking about running away from the first place she'd felt any measure of peace in literal years only made her cry harder.

A sudden sound of scratching at her bathroom window made her jump. She turned to see the wet nose of a curious Orville pressed up against the glass. It made her laugh, her tears temporarily forgotten. Hermione picked her wand off the side of the tub and pointed it at her front door. Orville's face disappeared from the glass and only a short time later, the massive dog bounced into the bathroom.

Rodolphus wasn't completely sure that Hell was real or not, but he was fairly certain he would end up there when he died. Not necessarily for all of the innocent people he helped to torture and kill when he was terrified out of his wits and serving the Dark Lord. Though he was certain those instances would hurt any chance he ever had at an appeal. No, the main reason why he was going to go to Hell was because he was a disgusting, dirty, old man who wasn't worthy to know an angel like Hermione.

As he laid down on the bathroom rug and tried not to stare at the beautiful, naked woman drinking wine straight from the bottle, he couldn't do anything other than hate himself. Naturally, it was extremely difficult not to stare. She was every bit as beautiful as he imagined she would be. Coming to her in his animagus form was a complete violation of her privacy, but he would worry about that later.

He had been able to hear her crying when he was outside of her cottage. Sometimes his extremely sensitive ears picked up more than he wished to hear. It made him sick to know that he was the reason she was crying. Why did he kiss her and run away? He had been so embarrassed when he came to his senses. He didn't have any right to force himself on the girl. Now that she'd rid herself of her worthless husband, she had all the opportunities in the world to have a bright future. Why would he think for a second that a fugitive ex-Death Eater whose late wife once tortured her would ever be able to touch the witch? She deserved much better than he could ever offer.

Hermione started to get up from the tub, sloshing water all over the tile in her clearly inebriated state. Rodolphus felt awful about staring. He rushed over to pick up a towel in his mouth and with his eyes firmly closed shut, carried it over to the tub.

"What a good boy you are! Thank you, Orville. Looks like Rod trained you well."

He didn't open his eyes until he heard her climb out of the bath water and her feet hit the floor. Wrapped in the towel, Hermione headed for the bedroom. Rodolphus stayed put right on the rug. When she returned a couple of minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of warm, flannel pajamas. He decided her liked her best dressed so casually. It made him think of lazy Sunday mornings.

"It's been a weird night, Orville. You missed me make a complete fool of myself with your master."

She stepped up to the washbasin to brush her teeth.

"I should probably kick you out and make you go home to your master…"

He didn't mean to whine. It was a completely involuntary response. Hermione laughed.

"But I'm not going to. I'm feeling a little lonely tonight and could use the company."

Rodolphus crossed the bathroom to rub up against her legs. As soon as she finished brushing her teeth and turned out the light, he ran into the bedroom to jump on the bed. Hermione laughed again before climbing into bed with him.

He didn't waste a moment snuggling up to her just like he did the first time. Trying not to think about how creepy he was being was impossible. If she found out the truth, she would never forgive him and he wouldn't blame her one bit.

Hermione ran her hand over his fur and stopped several times to scratch behind his ear in his favorite spot. Part of him believed staying permanently in his animagus form wouldn't be so bad if he had that to look forward to for the rest of his life. Of course how he could explain that he continued to live well past the age most dogs died would be a problem. She'd be smart enough to figure it out too. No, it was a terrible idea. He seemed to be full of them lately.

"I'm so embarrassed, Orville, that I don't think I can ever speak to Rod again."

Rodolphus licked her hand in encouragement. Hermione giggled and kissed his head.

"Your master is an amazing kisser though. Now don't go tell him I said that. I'll deny it if you do."

She laughed and Rodolphus felt proud. He began to regret running out of her cottage so quickly. Perhaps he should have knocked Millie to the floor before continuing what they started. He had been embarrassed by his actions. Thought she would be horrified by their age differences. Clearly he was wrong.

"I think I should find somewhere else to stay."

He whined again, prompting her to scratch behind his ears.

"This is Rod's home. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable with me living next door. I think he just kissed me because we had too much wine and he felt sorry for me. I must seem like a pathetic fool."

She kissed his head once again and rolled over. Her breathing changed almost instantly as she fell asleep. Rodolphus was unsure what to do next.

Cold air blowing across Hermione's face woke her up the next morning. She was freezing despite all of the heavy blankets she'd been snuggled under all night. There was no dog in her bed either. When she reached out to touch the place Orville had been sleeping the night before, it was as chilly as the rest of the room. A quick glance to the main room of the cottage showed the front door to be wide open.

Reluctantly she got out of bed. Orville was nowhere to be found. Deciding he must have used the open front door to his advantage and returned home, Hermione crossed the cottage to close it. She had had a lot to drink and hadn't exactly been thinking clearly. It wasn't inconceivable to think that she forgot to close it before going to bed.

She lit a fire in an attempt to warm the cottage back up. Deciding that several cups of steaming hot tea were in order, Hermione moved towards the kitchen. As she passed the dining table, a discarded scarf caught her eye. Rod must have left it in his hurry to put as much distance between them as possible.

As much as she was sure it was going to be awkward to see him again so soon, she made herself get dressed. If she left like she planned, the scarf would need to be returned. She took her time walking the short distance between cottages. When she could no longer delay the inevitable moment, she knocked on his front door.

There was no answer. Not even when she knocked a second and a third time much harder. Curious, she walked around to the kitchen window to take a peek inside. It looked empty and dark. A fire wasn't even lit in the fireplace.

Hermione returned to the front door and turned on the doorknob. It wasn't locked. She stood just outside the open door calling for Rod or his two dogs. Still no answer.

She entered his bedroom to find an empty room with a bed made. It felt like no one even lived there. With her curiosity getting the better of her, she pulled open the door to his wardrobe. All of his clothes were missing.

He had been fortunate to find an empty compartment on the train. Though he only had one bag magically expanded to hold all of his worldly possession and a sleeping, silenced and disillusioned puppy on his lap, it was easier that he didn't have to feign any kind of polite or friendly behavior with a stranger. It hadn't taken him long after Hermione had fallen asleep to make his decision. Life in his native country was too dangerous. He'd lingered too long. It was time he moved away even further and made a new life.

But, first, he needed to make a stop in London.