Chapter Text
Hermione leaned back against the bathtub, Ministry robes rumpled, and her curls a wild mess atop her head. Her breaths were shallow and sharp, as if even her body knew the life they had built was crumbling around her. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to relieve the pressure building behind them.
How did she get here? She wondered…
“HERMIONE, OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!” Ron was bellowing from the hallway, stomping his way through the flat.
Her mind drifted elsewhere; on the tinkling giggle she heard from her bedroom upon arriving home, and Ron’s accompanying groans. On his sour expression when she’d said his name, as if she had ruined a prize moment for him and not stumbled upon him shagging another woman in their marital bed.
“What do you bloody expect!?” He’d roared, “You’re never home, all you care about is The Ministry and the fucking beasts you’re always defending. What about me, yeah? WHAT ABOUT ME!?”
She’d fled then, locking herself in the bathroom to regroup and formulate a plan. Plans were soothing to her; plans led to results. Solutions. Only now, she found herself slumped on the floor and unable to think of a single useful thought, let alone a plan.
The door rattled hard as he pounded on it, his voice still radiating with anger.
“Ron, please!” She screeched, “Stop yelling. I can’t do this right now.”
“You’re the one who came home, acting like the victim—”
“I AM the victim, Ronald. I am the one who came home to my HUSBAND shagging another woman. Me!”
“Like you bloody care, I’m surprised you even noticed, what, with your nose in the air all the time. You think you’re so much better than everyone. So much smarter. When really, all you are is a selfish bitch.”
She winced; her nerves were beginning to fray. Her legs pushed her to stand, as her hands gripped the sink to steady herself. “Ron, I need ten minutes to pack my things. You can keep the flat, I just… I need ten minutes.”
His voice dropped so low she almost didn’t catch his next words. “’Mione, be reasonable. You can’t leave. What will my mum think if you take off? After everything she’s done for you.”
Merlin, his mum. His entire family. Would any of them understand? Who would take her side in this? Did they all see her as the frigid wife, who prioritized her career instead of producing the next generation of Weasleys? More likely, would they believe the web of lies Ron would inevitably feed them?
“If you leave this house, Hermione, that’s it. You have no one. There’s no one left to love you, because you’ve pushed everyone away, including your own parents.” His words sliced directly into her chest, leaving no room for air. She gasped a sob, her heart threatening to implode if she had to endure another barb from this man.
She fished the mobile from her pocket and let her thumb hover over the screen for the briefest of moments before firing off a text message to the one person who would always take her side without question or judgment.
Hermione: I found Ron in bed with another woman.
Hermione: You said if I ever needed you, that you’d come.
Three dots instantly began blinking on the screen. And then, a sudden onslaught of messages.
Draco: Are you at your flat?
Draco: 10 minutes. Don’t move.
Draco: I’ve waited so long for that tosser to slip up. Pack that bloody beaded bag of yours.
Draco: I’m coming for you, Granger.
Draco: Open your floo, or I’ll go to your front door and kick it down the Muggle way.
Tingles shot up Hermione’s neck as she drank in every word. She had a plan. Pack the bag, he was coming for her. She was getting the fuck out of this bathroom, and then her marriage.
She stood up and pressed her ear to the door. Faintly, she could hear Ron smashing about in the kitchen, no doubt getting a refill on Firewhiskey. With her wand at the ready, she quietly cracked the door open. Ron was nowhere to be seen, but she had to move quickly. She cast a hasty silencing charm on the room, accioed her beaded bag, and began summoning clothes and books into her waiting hands. One by one, she shrank her belongings and stuffed them into the bag that had once carried their entire life. Her movements were focused, almost mechanical.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ron’s words were whispered venom, and his cheeks were aflame. He was not a small wizard by any standard, but standing in the doorway, blocking her path to freedom, he seemed even larger.
Hermione cinched the bag shut and straightened to look at him. “I’m leaving, Ronald. It’s over, we both know it. Let me pass.”
His face grew redder still.
“No.”
Hermione raised her chin, suddenly unafraid, and aimed her wand straight at his chest.
“Oh-ho, what are you going to do, Hermione? Hex me?” And he laughed.
The bastard actually laughed.
“If I must. I’ll give you to the count of three to get out of my way and leave me be.”
Ron took a step towards her.
“One…”
And another.
“Two…”
He was so close now, too close. She braced herself to fight her way out. Gripping her wand tighter in an instant, with a spell ready to fall from her lips.
“Three.” Barked a voice from behind Ron, whose head whipped around just as his wand was magically flung from him and into the outstretched hand of Draco Malfoy. The temperature of the room seemed to drop under the mercurial stare of the blonde wizard; anger was radiating from him like a living, breathing thing. He stalked into the room and positioned himself between husband and wife.
Without warning, the chair from the corner of the room rushed Weasley, who fell backwards into it unceremoniously. Ropes shot out from the upholstery, binding Ron instantly.
Draco’s eyes darted to Hermione, softening for the briefest moment, while he assessed her for damage. “Are you alright?” He asked her.
“Yes,” she whispered, even though she was decidedly not alright. But he was here; she was no longer alone. “I’ve got my bag,” She added softly.
“Good.” His tone was clipped, “We’re leaving. Ready?”
She was about to nod when a loud thud brought Hermione out of her momentary distraction. She peered around Draco’s shoulder to see Ron trying to kick his way out of his bindings.
Rolling his eyes, Draco followed her line of sight. With a lazy flick of his wand, he removed the silencing charm from the raging – and now purple – man tied to the chair.
“Weasley,” Draco sneered, doing his best impression of Lucius, “I almost forgot you were here.”
“What the fuck did you do!?”
The blonde wizard tsked, “Non-verbal spells, Weasley. Do try to keep up.”
Ignoring the dig, Ron seethed at Hermione, “YOU CALLED MALFOY!?”
“You left me no choice… I –”
“This is really rich. Here you are blaming me for spending time with someone who actually SEES me, when all the while you’ve become a Death Eater’s whore!” The last word was spat from Ron’s lips.
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Oh. He was going to enjoy this.
“What did you just call her?” Draco growled, his voice low and dangerous.
He had to hand it to the Weasel, for a moment, it seemed like he might have the good sense to shut his fucking mouth. But the moment was fleeting, and instead, the red headed twat doubled down.
“I didn’t fucking stutter, Malfoy.”
Draco took a long breath, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. He took an additional moment to rest his hand on Hermione’s arm, who was watching the exchange with a wary expression.
Softly, so softly that only she could hear him, he whispered, “Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” her lack of hesitation only emboldened him.
Sparing one last glance at her, with what he hoped was a trustworthy expression, he dipped his head in thanks and turned to face the weasel.
Wandless magic was a fickle thing. You had to focus, yes, but strong emotions often bolstered the spells altogether. This could work with you or against you, depending on the circumstances, but in this case, the effect was intoxicating. He felt his magic bursting from his fingertips as a swirl of black robes draped themselves against his body, and a silver mask fell neatly into place. His utter hatred of the man before him was only fueling the spell with sharp precision, calling forth all of the darkness that lingered within Draco’s very being.
He heard a squeak of surprise from Granger, clearly not expecting what had just transpired despite their last exchange.
He didn’t turn to her, no, this was for Ron and Ron alone.
For his part, Ron gaped like a fish. His mouth opened and shut, unable to produce words under the stare of the signature silver mask.
Draco cocked his head to the side and took a step towards the now cowering wizard, who suddenly had fuck all to say.
“You continually undervalue her.”
Ron swallowed hard as Draco took another step, just as Ron had done to Granger while trying to make her feel small.
“You’ve spent years slowly siphoning away every scrap of happiness she deserves. Using her over and over again for the press, to get jobs, and all your other pathetic reasons.”
Another step.
“Then, you cheat on her. CHEAT ON HER!” Draco’s voice boomed through the bedroom, making Ron wiggle against the ropes once more.
“And now, instead of understanding that Granger is leaving because she’s finally realized she deserves more, that she is precious and worthy of all the happiness the world has to offer – you insult her. Call her a whore.”
Draco chuckled low with mirth, “A Death Eater’s Whore…”
He drew his wand.
Weasley trembled.
And for a fraction of a second, Draco reached out with a tiny tendril of Legilimancy to brush a reassuring caress against Hermione’s mental barriers. Her mind was fortified, being the brilliant witch that she was, but he felt the small ripple of her magic acknowledging his.
That was all the encouragement he needed.
A yellow light burst from Draco’s wand and morphed into a stream of paper cranes that shot straight to Weasley's head; the sounds of his howls and the flapping wings were a cacophony of chaos. They swarmed, dove, and pecked him in a frenzy.
Almost as quickly as it began, the maelstrom of birds vanished, leaving the pathetic lump of a man quivering and covered in tiny paper cuts.
Good. Let him bleed.
Draco leaned down into his face. “Lucky for you, Weasley, I’m not the boy I once was. But if you ever hurt her again, if you so much as whisper an insult in her direction, I will singlehandedly resurrect that part of myself and show you what this Death Eater is capable of. Have I made myself clear?”
He glanced down then, and a smirk curled up his lips.
“You’ve made a mess of your trousers, chap. Might want to clean that up.”
Ron’s red-rimmed eyes glanced down to the urine blooming across his lap, and he wailed.
“You’ll fucking regret this, Malfoy!” He promised lamely.
Before Draco could respond, Granger’s voice cut in, “It’s over, Ronald. You, me, this… It’s over.” And with that, a small hand slipped into Draco’s. He quickly vanished his mask and robes, and squeezed her hand in response.
“Shall we, Granger?”
She nodded quickly, not sparing a glance at Ron, who was still bound and bleeding before them.
Draco pulled her closer to him to disapparate and used his wand hand to cast one last spell. A white dragon erupted from his wand and hovered to face him. “Potter, come get your tosser of a best friend. He has some explaining to do.” With that, the patronus darted away to find Harry and deliver the message, and Draco and Hermione spun out of sight.