AN: Thank you for all the support! It is very deeply appreciated!
Hermione hadn't intended to open her best bottle of scotch until her birthday. This kind of fine, expensive scotch should be sipped in a glass over the span of a few hours with Severus by her side, not gulped while alone as if it was the only thing tethering her to sanity. Drinking it should be an experience to remember, not done in the name of forgetting why nobody would want her.
She poured her snifter half full before hanging her head and allowing a tear to fall. Ron's pregnancy announcement wasn't unexpected. He and Lavender had been together for quite some time. At some point it made sense for them to have a child, especially given how badly Molly wanted a grand baby. Hermione had moved on from them, and was comfortable in who she was. The birth announcement shouldn't be a blow to her.
Yet it hit her hard. It hit her harder than she thought it would. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt so badly if she wasn't dreaming of having her own child, despite having no hope of bringing one into the world. Yet she could not help herself. Almost every night, she envisioned Severus holding their child, an expression of pure joy and peace on his face. No matter how she tried to expel the dream of a child, it remained lodged in her heart.
Why could she never accept the reality that Severus would never want her as his lover and the mother of his child?
"What do you mean you're ending your leg treatments?"
Hermione tightened her grip on her wheelchair armrests, her body shaking along with her left leg. As intimidating as Ron could be drunk, his anger was more terrifying when he was sober. When sober, there was nothing he could hide behind to say he didn't mean the words which spilled from his mouth. No, every word he would speak to her was one he meant with every fiber of his being.
"I can't take the treatments anymore," Her voice was strong. "They're too painful, and I'm in agony for days afterwards. I've spent almost all my savings from the war on them, and I'm no closer to being rid of my disability than the day I first saw a healer about my leg. No cure is worth so much pain and so much money. I'm going to live my life with my disability and learn to accept myself."
"Damnit Hermione!" He shouted.
She shrunk further into her chair, her neck aching from craning it to see him. For a moment she wondered if undergoing one more treatment would be worth avoiding this eruption. Perhaps he was right she wasn't trying hard enough. Yet how could she try harder? With every treatment she'd given her best to follow the healer's advice. None of it worked. She'd had enough. It was time to accept her disability before she lost her dignity.
"Do you have any idea how much money I've spent on your experimental treatments?" He shouted. "Have you seen what your medical bills look like?"
"Yes, I helped paid them too."
"Now you're telling me all that money was all a waste!"
"It wasn't a waste, but they still didn't bear fruit. It's time to cut our losses so I can begin to live my life."
"Those treatments were expensive!"
"I know the experimental treatments were expensive, and I know the specialists weren't free. You've helped when I've been low on funds, which I appreciate. Still," she trembled. "Don't you think our money is better spent allowing me to live my life, finding a way to live with this disability?"
"Not if it means I have an invalid wife"
She recoiled at the words as her body ran cold.
"I agreed to stay with you because you said you'd be cured, that there would be an end to this stupid leg shaking thing. Every treatment it was always, 'this will be the one. This is the one, I can feel it.' Then you just give up midway through and stop cooperating with the healers."
"I did the best I could," boiling tears filled her eyes. "I can't do this anymore. I can't live this way anymore! I'm done chasing a cure that won't happen!"
"What about me and how I've lived?" Ron's eyes clouded with tears. "You won't sleep with me when I want intimacy, you won't do chores the way you used to, and you won't even walk when I ask you to come. How am I supposed to marry an invalid who can't walk down the aisle?"
"Please stop calling me an invalid," she began in a soft voice. "I don't like that word. I prefer to be called disabled."
"Disabled, invalid, what's the difference?"
"The former has a neutral connotation, but the latter does not."
"Oh for the love of Merlin!" He shook his head and put his hand into it. "You can't even call yourself what you are."
"I'm a disabled woman and I'm proud of it," she argued in a stronger voice. "I am going to live out my new reality, something we both need to accept. I want to be accepted for who I am. Can you do that?"
He snarled.
"Our lives are going to be different, but we can still create something special." She wheeled closer to him. "I'm still the same woman you fell in love with."
"No you aren't," he backed away from her as if she had dragon pox. "The woman I loved could walk and had two functioning legs. You," he pointed to her shaking leg, "you aren't her at all."
"I am her," tears fell from Hermione's eyes. "I am her, I promise you."
"The woman I fell in love with could sleep with me whenever I wanted her to. She could walk, run, cook, clean, and would make love to me in the rain. She," Ron glared at her, "she wasn't at risk of having invalid babies."
"What?" A chill ran up Hermione's spine as her leg spasmed harder.
"I don't want an invalid baby," he hissed.
"Ron, don't talk about our children like that," she pleaded.
"The healers said you have a one third chance of having an invalid baby unless you cure your leg and remove all the dark magic from your body. Unless you're cured, your babies will be a bunch of mutated invalids…"
"Stop calling my children such horrid names!" She yelled. "They may have disabilities, but they'll be loved. You'll love them. I know you will!"
"How can I love them if they aren't mine?"
"You'll see them," her heart raced faster. "We'll see our baby for the first time and you'll love them. I know you will."
"No," he growled. "I want healthy, happy babies, not a family of invalids."
"My children will be happy," Hermione's muscles tightened. "With or without you, my children will be happy."
"Who the hell wants an invalid baby?"
"You will," she pleaded. "When you see them, you'll love them, I promise you will!."
"No, no I won't," he took off towards the bedroom. "I don't even love you!"
"What?" She whispered.
She heard shuffling around in the bedroom. In haste, she wheeled over, only to see Ron packing her things.
"What are you doing?" She shouted.
"I'm done," he grumbled. "I'm done with your lack of cooperation, your whining, and your weakness. Most of all, I'm done with you."
"You can't be done. We can't be over. I…I love you."
"Well, I don't love you."
"No," she gasped for air as her throat constricted. "You don't mean that."
He stood over her. His eyes were hardened and his jaw was clenched. "I have never been so certain of anything in my life. I do not love you. As far as I'm concerned, the woman I loved died when her leg started shaking. You are someone I have pitied and wasted my time with for the last few years. Nothing about you is worth having by my side."
She wept and covered her face. How long she wailed was unknown. All she knew was that Ron thrust a suitcase into her arms and growled, "get out of my fucking house."
"Where am I supposed to go?" She squeaked.
"I don't care. Just get out of here."
There was no more love in his eyes, no more of the boy who had kissed her, the man who had attended those first few healer appointments, supporting her through her treatments. Instead, this man cared little for her. He didn't care if she lived or died, was alone or loved, or if she was happy or suffering. This man cared nothing for her. Perhaps he never did.
Was everything else in her life a lie?
That question would haunt her as she lay awake in Luna and Harry's house, knowing that without them, she would be shivering on the streets in the cold snow.
Before Hermione could meditate on the memories for too long, someone banged upon her door. She coughed, cleared her throat, wiped the tears away and choked out, "Who are you and what do you want?"
"I'm Severus, and I want to see you."
Hermione sat up straighter in the sofa, her mind less fuzzy from the alcohol. Why would Severus want to see her? He was supposed to be at the Malfoys' party, dancing the night away with rich purebloods like Judith Turner. No, he was the last person who should be on her doorstep. Granted, he was the person she most wanted to see, but why would he interrupt an evening with Lucius to see her?
"May I enter?"
She took a deep breath. "Fine."
He stepped into the room before noticing the three quarters empty glass of scotch. Then, he turned his attention to her, calculating how intoxicated she was.
"I didn't expect to see you tonight," she began.
"I did not expect to be here tonight," he replied in a soft voice.
"I'd imagine you were having a pleasant time at the Malfoys."
"Oh yes, listening to out of tune violins botching Mozart and sitting in a corner alone is the height of pleasantry."
"You can try to enjoy yourself at those parties. It wouldn't kill you to smile. You have a beautiful smile when you are truly happy."
"I only smile when the situation warrants one."
"Surely being amongst friends at an upscale party qualifies. It would be for me anyway."
"Yes, but I'm not at the party with my closest friend, the one with whom I want to spend most of my time."
"Has it ever occurred to you that you need a better social life? Perhaps hanging around with an invalid isn't as socially advantageous as you'd think."
"First of all, you are not an invalid."
She snorted before taking another sip.
"Second of all, there's nothing at those parties for me. Aside from the Malfoys I care for no one there. I'd rather be in the castle with you."
"It's only too bad I'm not better company."
"You're adequate enough."
"I'm only adequate, I'll always only be adequate."
"You're right, that was phrased poorly," his eyes softened. "Your outstanding company. I would rather spend time with you than anyone else. No matter how terrible my day is, you have a way of making me laugh. I would be lost without you, and appreciate every moment we spend together."
"You're the only person who feels that way."
"I doubt that. Still," Severus cleared his throat. "I propose we do something more productive than wallow in self-pity."
"Sure," she sighed before pointing to the bottle on her counter. "The scotch is right there. I just opened it. Go ahead and pour yourself a glass."
Although she took a sip of her drink, Severus didn't move. After taking another sip and watching him remain still, she frowned. "What more do you want? I'm offering you scotch. Minerva gave it to me for Christmas. It's rather high end. Don't you want any or not?"
"I want to know how you intend to spend the evening."
"I'm spending it getting pissed out of my mind."
"And that's all you hope to accomplish tonight?"
"Why not? Ringing in the New Year drunk or sober makes no difference. I'm still alone and miserable." She raised her glass. "Happy New Year Severus! You can date a skin care specialist and I'm still alone."
"You aren't alone," he argued. "You have Neville, Minerva, the rest of the Hogwarts staff, Harry, Ginevra, and me."
"Ginny? I haven't seen her in ages." Hermione took another sip of her scotch.
"She's the one who sent me over here. She thought you may need someone with you after receiving your less than welcome news, which appears to be the case."
"Huh." Hermione twirled her scotch in the snifter. "She cares for me more than I thought she did."
"She cares a great deal for you, even if Scorpius keeps her too busy to socialize most days."
"Between Scorpius and her often frequenting Malfoy Manor, I haven't spent as much time with her as I could." She looked into her scotch snifter. "Kind of makes me a bad friend."
"The good thing about New Year's resolutions is that you have a goal to strive towards. Perhaps socializing with Ginevra more often can be your newest resolution."
"There are worse resolutions to have." Hermione took another sip.
"Indeed." Severus coughed. "The way I see it, we are at a crossroads."
"Oh?"
"We can spend all evening getting pissed out of our minds, feeling sorry for ourselves with only a hangover to show for our efforts, or we can do something more productive which will get us closer to achieving our goals."
"What would that be?"
"Come outside with me and find out."
"Outside?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed, there is something we can do outside which is far more productive than sitting here and drinking until we can no longer see straight," he argued.
"What would that be?"
He gave a half smile which melted her heart as he extended his hand. "Put on your coat, grab your cane, follow me and find out."
She glanced at her snifter of scotch, then at him. Part of her wanted to remain and continue drinking. Yet what good was it doing her? Nothing could undo the damage Ron's words had done to her self-esteem. No amount of alcohol was going to change the fact her dark magic could affect any future children she carried. To be blunt, she was tired of crying over Ron. She'd spent so many tears on that piece of shit, more than anyone should've spent on him. Wasn't it time to do something for herself, something more productive than weeping over a man she didn't even want anymore anyway? Wasn't it time to focus on her future, which included Severus? Wasn't it time to prove she was stronger than any Weasley?
She took hold of her cane and stood. "Lead the way."
Severus grinned as he led the way outside.