"But I go to the world cup with you every year, Ron," she tried to level with him in their kitchen one afternoon, but he wasn't having any of it. "I went with you even before you were playing there."
"And this time only players are going." He threw his hands up in frustration, walking from the kitchen to the living room. "No wives or partners are going this year, Hermione," he called from the living room, trying to keep his voice as level as he could, but she could hear the frustration edging into his tone.
"But why is this year any different?" Hermione shouted from the kitchen casually.
"I don't know, it just is," he shouted back, not sounding in the least bit convincing.
"So if I ask Ginny, she will tell me she isn't going?" She padded softly into the living room, arms folded tightly across her chest.
"I. Well. No," he stumbled over his words, trying to think of something to say. "She won't be going, anyway; she wouldn't lug the baby that far at such a young age."
"Look. If you don't want me to go, just say?"
"I never said that," he bit back, getting up off of the couch he was perched upon.
"You are."
"Whatever," he harrumphed, turning his back on her.
She knew that was the end of the discussion and there was no point in pressing the issue because she would only shut down further.
o-o-o-o-o-o
She slid into bed beside her husband, shimmying as far across the bed as she could closing the large gap between them, and draping her arm over his bare hip, her lips kissed the bare flesh of his shoulders, the muscles quivering beneath her lips she felt the man tense in her embrace before trying to wiggle from her arms and the assault from her lips.
"Ron?" she whispered sadly as the man slid from her embrace without a second thought. Gone were the days when he was clambering towards her. Instead, now, it was as if she repulsed him.
He left the bed, and she watched him standing stock still, the silver moonlight bathing him in its eerie glow. The man she once loved and called her husband now felt little more than a stranger standing before her. Gone was the man she had fallen in love with, now replaced with a stone-hearted man that cared little for her and the vows he took on their wedding day.
The muscles beneath his skin rippled in the low light, his abs tensed as he turned to look at her. "I think it's best if I go sleep in the spare room, Hermione."
Deadpanning before quirking a brow at him, her mouth went dry as she tried to form the words in her head before trying to force them to fall from her lips. "Do you still love me?" her voice shook as she spoke, not worried about asking him but worried about the answer. Deep down she knew the answer, deeper down, she knew he would lie.
"Yes," he spoke hastily, breaking any eye contact they had. He couldn't look into her eyes and lie to her. He didn't want to break her heart, and somewhere, deep inside that blackened heart, he did feel something for her, but it was no longer the love he felt for her through the years gone by.
The thick silence that hung in the air stung her tenfold. She could tell by the quiver in his voice and the way he looked down to the ground that he was lying, but to save any arguments, she merely nodded and watched him leave the room.
A knot sat deep in her throat as she willed herself to hold back the tears, bottom lip quivered with sadness as the reality hit home that her husband not only held his wedding vowels in such low regard but cared so little for her he couldn't even tell her the truth.
Swiping open palms over wet cheeks, she took in a deep, shaky breath trying to calm herself. She had to get out of this house for the night. Needing to clear her head, she wondered where she could go at this hour. Wanting to talk to someone, anyone, it became apparent that any friendships she held would be of no use right now as she shared them with Ron.
Sighing heavily, she felt her way around the room in the dark and dressed hastily, smoothing her hands over her skirt she stopped for a minute straining to hear if there were any noises in the otherwise silent house hoping perhaps he had a change of heart and would sheepishly be coming back to the bed they shared. Nothing. She shrugged her shoulders high. If he didn't care about their marriage, then why should she?
Opening the bedroom door with both haste and stealth, she padded down the hallway and out of the front door in complete silence. Standing in her shadowed front yard, she stood there for a moment thinking hard about where she could go. Eventually, she apparated to the only place she could think of- The Leaky Cauldron.
o-o-o-o-o-o
She'd been in the pub nigh on five minutes when she heard the distinct drawl of Lucius Malfoy, "What are you doing in here this late at night, Miss Granger? Peddling your illegal wares to the scoundrels of the underworld? I can't see why else someone such as yourself would be here in the wee hours of the morning." His hot breath hit her ear. Jumping slightly in fright, a small smile crept to her lips.
Turning just so on the stool to face him, she noticed something deep in his grey eyes. Annoyance, perhaps?
"Yeah," she said sarcastically. "I've got untraceable wands and illegal potions ingredients galore; can I interest you in some?"
She noticed the smile tug at the corner of his lips before he rounded on her and dropped onto the stool beside her. Holding two fingers up to the barkeep, he turned to face her.
"What brings you here on a night like this, Miss Granger?" His voice was almost a whisper as he spoke, the bartender placing a fire whiskey in front of each of them without even a second glance.
She eyed it hesitantly for a moment before grasping the glass and downing the contents in one motion.
"That bad of a night, eh?" he asked with a curious upward inflection, not even side-eyeing her for downing the hard liquor in one motion.
"My husband just lied straight to my face and then moved himself to the spare room." She motioned for another serving of whiskey. "He's been avoiding me for months and tonight drove the nail in the coffin of our relationship. He claims to love me, but I can see right through the charade." Letting out a sad sigh, she grasped the glass the barkeep had placed in front of her once more and downed that one even faster than the one before.
"You know, I've been married for longer than I care to remember. We have one child and many assets and ventures between us, and you know what? I think I've spent as many nights in her bed as I have fingers on my hands."
"You and your wife rarely share a bed?" She asked, confused.
"Why would I share a bed with a woman I can barely tolerate? I only married her because it was a contractual obligation burdened upon us by our parents. If I didn't marry her, the Malfoy fortune was never to be bequeathed to me. If she didn't marry me, her parents would have thrown her out of the family and cut all ties."
She gasped slightly upon hearing this. It never really crossed her mind that anyone in this day and age would marry off their children, let alone threaten to throw them onto the streets.
"If you can barely tolerate her, why are you with her?" She asked with a curious, upward inflection.
"Convenience I suppose. We've been married so long that it just seems logical to stay together. There is no love there, not even a small scrap. Once upon a time when we first married, there was affection and maybe a small inkling of something beyond friendship, but it soon fizzled out. We both upheld our ends of the contract and can go our separate ways at any time, but if I do that, even with the pre-nuptials in place, they have long expired and not worth the parchment it's written on, she may try to take half of the Malfoy fortune."
"And what is half of everything in the grand scheme of things when you can come out the other end happier and with more freedom than before?" She tapped her fingers gently on the wooden bar, staring so long at the man her vision had gone out of focus.
"Half of everything I have is a lot, Miss Granger. Think of the galleons in your husband's bank and then times that by about ten thousand and you will be scraping the surface of the Malfoy fortune." Lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips, he sipped it slowly, watching her over the rim of the glass. She just sat, eyes glassy, and he could tell she was in deep thought.
She took a deep breath, snapping back to reality and straitening herself up on the stool. "So I guess you will be fine to pick up the bar tab, then?" She smiled sheepishly, motioning for another drink.
He guffawed for a second, placing his nearly empty glass back on the bar. "I would never dream of letting a lady pay Miss Granger. Order to your heart's desire, a Malfoy never expects company to pay when in their presence."
"So, if you rarely spent a night in your wife's bed, how did you deal with…" She stopped for a moment, looking him up and down before raising an eyebrow, "take care of your… urges."
"Just because I didn't stay the night in her bed didn't mean there weren't brief visits, Hermione. When we were trying to conceive Draco, there were plenty of encounters… on the bed, on my desk, in the kitchen, by the pool, you get the idea. Then there were others… flings, brief romances, but I always went back to her. I Always went back to her."
He laid a hand on her bare knee, a gesture she was now used to coming from him. She never flinched when he touched her, and he had no qualms about doing so. If she was honest, she liked it. For some reason unknown, deep down, she felt a sense of calm when he touched her and with no prompting.
"She knows of these… these relationships?" She asked, quirking a brow.
"Indeed. She's had her fair share, too. Our marriage is that of pure convenience, Hermione. There are no bitter feelings or jealousy. It is what it is, and it keeps us both happy."
The silence between them hung thick. The only sound was her nail gently tapping the half-empty glass she clutched in her hand.
"And what about you and your husband, Hermione? I'm assuming as you have zero offspring and you are married to a Weasley that there is either something wrong with one of you, or there is little to no lovemaking in your relationship."
She snorted before taking a sip of the neat whiskey before her and placing the glass back on the bar. "It was great. At the start," she added hastily. "We decided we would wait to have any children for a few years so Ron could focus on his quidditch, and I could build a career. Eventually, push came to shove, Harry and Ginny started having kids, our other friends had seriously started considering it and that is when he started pushing me away." A heavy, sad sigh passed her lips as she gained her composure. "He kept pushing me further and further away. Each time I would ask him to discuss it, he would shut me down and refuse to talk. Now, here we are, me sitting in a bar drinking my sorrows away wondering why he doesn't want a baby with me, and why, suddenly, I am unable to attend the world cup this year."
"No love lost there," he snorted derisively, his fingers tracing light circles on her bare skin. "If it's any consolation, I'm not going either."
"Is that so, Mister Malfoy?" her voice lowered seductively, eyes darting to her thigh as fingers moved meticulously.
"It is so, Miss Granger," his tone matched her own. Willing his fingers to slide further beneath her skirt, he felt her jolt beneath his touch as he did so. His hand now rested closer to her hot centre than it did to her knee, and it caught her in a predicament. Did she want him to go any higher, or did her morals want to come out to play?
He walked his fingers another inch up her thigh, feeling the soft, warm skin beneath them, and he bit the side of his cheek to stop himself from getting a raging erection.
Leaning in, hot breath hitting her ear, lips grazing the flesh ever so softly, he spoke, "I am sure we can find something to do while they are away."
Shuddering against him as his breath hit her hot skin, she tried to keep herself from melting into a puddle on the floor. It had been many a month since she had been touched, let alone in such proximity to a man that desired her that she wanted nothing more than to jump him right then and there.
She watched as he stood, pulling away from her as if she were on fire. Extending a hand to her, she looked up and took it without a second thought. He led her outside of the pub. She stood blinking into the inky sky, the darkness out here almost consuming them. She'd never been to Diagon Alley at this late hour in many a year and she had forgotten how dark and uninviting it looked at this time.
Pushing her back against a cobblestone wall, he could feel her heart hammering against her chest. The breath in her throat hitched as he held her even closer to himself. Her body heat radiated through to his skin, his lips ghosted over her own for a fleeting moment, and his lips crashed hotly onto her own as he gave her what she desired, just enough to keep her waiting more, but not enough to sate her before pulled away.
Eyes wide, she'd never felt this alive in a year or more. To be embraced in the arms of another that wanted you was titillating and she didn't want this night to end. When his lips were on her own, all the trouble in her world melted away. To feel the warm caress of the man that was constantly playing on her mind was awe-inspiring.
He stepped away from her, watching the warmth in her eyes as she looked up at him. And he knew this one would be different from the rest. He'd never anyone look at him like that before and it made him curious… is that what it was like to be truly desired?
"We should part ways, Hermione," his voice a ghostly whisper. Reaching out, he tucked an errant curl gently behind her ear and watched as her expression dropped.
"I promise, I will send an owl for you when they leave for the world cup." He offered with a small smile.
"I'd like that," her voice soft as she watched him turn away, running her fingers over her lips that tingled from the kiss and she wondered if she would miss Ron all that much