Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money.

A Thin Grey Line

Pansy took a deep breath to settle herself momentarily before the car door she was sitting next to open. As the door opened, the lights of the multitude of cameras started flashing; momentarily blinding her.

Once the door was completely open, her eyes now accustomed to the flashing lights, she saw her consort's hand extended, offering polite assistance. Placing her own gloved palm against his, she gracefully pivoted her body and with poise exited the car; almost entirely on her own though the illusion of her exit suggested otherwise.

"Lovely as always," Henri whispered in her ear, before adjusting their arms and escorting her down the long red carpet that would take them into the annual Halloween Masquerade and St. Mungo's fundraiser, one of the premier events of the Wizarding world.

"Merci beaucoup," she softly whispered in his ear with the slightest hint of the Parisian accent she had been working on to please Henri as she turned her body into his. Though he was just another one of her clients these days, he had claimed a special place in her heart.

"Very good ma poupée," he said with the robust laugh she had come to associate with him. "Pretty soon, I will be unable to keep you under my thumb when we are in Paris."

"And your accounts in Gringotts will be worse because of it," she teased back softly before stepping aside to have her picture taken by the gaggle of photographers lining both sides.

It was well known in the Wizarding world just what exactly Pansy Parkinson did for a living. She had never made it a secret; she was just discrete in her most intimate of activities which led to rumors about exactly what she did and did not provide her clients.

In the beginning, when the war had left her without much more than a figure and face and the clothes on her back. Henri had found her late one November evening on a bridge overlooking the River Seine in Paris: hungry, tired and thinking about ending it all. He had brought her to his pied-à-terre and slowly changed her life for the better: first she became his lover; then his consort when his wife was unable to attend functions due to illness; then allowing her to provide the same services to his friends; and eventually to where she was today – a lady of the night who brought a level of glamour and mysteriousness with her; a woman that husbands adored and wives loathed.

Turning to pose again, she found it amusing that she had come into a very glamorous life with press hounding her for what she was wearing and following her on her daily events even with her infamous reputation. Especially since even in her own mind she was nothing but a well-paid whore behind closed doors. She called out the name of the designer of the dress as she was asked, flashing her smile; posing in such a way that the press could capture the entire line and look of the dress – the daring back that led to ruffles rolling down the center of the train; the large print containing roses that on the black fabric stood out against her alabaster skin; the high neckline suggesting some modesty and the flouncy cap sleeves giving the 1930's Hollywood-inspired gown a youthful feel while still being appropriate for the evening ahead.

Henri approached her, wrapping his arm around her waist, she leaned into him. They allowed a few more pictures to be captured before he led her inside. They were at the doorway when she heard her best friend's name called out. Discretely, so she wouldn't be noticed, she looked to see him standing by his wife.

The Muggle tuxedo he had on was a work of art on him: showcasing his broad shoulders, firm frame and incredible height. It had taken him several years to actually become comfortable on the red carpet and Pansy had enjoyed watching it every step of the way. At first enjoying his impersonation of a puppy on the red carpet and now marveling at his ease, comfort, and decisive behaviour.

In fact, that was how they actually became friends, she had approached him at another event and teased him about his ears not turning quite so red anymore the moment he stepped into the spotlight. The easy going, no pressure friendship she found with him only deepened over time as he expected nothing from her but for her to be herself – whatever that was most days – and she expected nothing out of him then for him to be himself – instead of what Hermione and the rest of the world wanted him to be.

Briefly, their eyes met unnoticed to the hundreds of people around them. They shared their secret smile, their signal to the other, before he turned his attention back to his wife and she to Henri who she noticed had a sad and worried look in his typically jolly face.

"Is everything okay love?" she whispered moments before they were to go through the receiving line.

"Everything is just fine, ma poupée. Please do not fret as I believe you are the belle of the ball yet again."

Hermione felt her smile fall from her face when she saw her husband being approached by Pansy Parkinson at the bar.

Parkinson looked perfect as always. Her luscious black hair looked perfect piled on top of her hair with tendrils hanging down. Her gown probably cost more than she and Ron brought home with their paychecks in the last two weeks. The material looked sumptuous as the line of the dress made it appear the dress had been sewn around her perfect body that was long and lean while still having a curve to it. If Parkinson had been a Muggle, Hermione knew that she would have been a world class model.

Watching Parkinson touch her husband and say something that caused him to laugh, broke her heart. She couldn't remember the last time he laughed like that at something she said. He would either just roll her eyes or give her more a polite laugh like it was expected. But seeing him interact with Parkinson right now, made her long for the young man she had fallen in love with and who appeared to have fallen for the 'It' woman of the Wizarding world.

"Hermione," Harry smiled, kissing her gently on the cheek. "You look beautiful tonight."

"I wish Ron felt that way," she sighed, turning to look away from where Ron and Parkinson were standing, laughing, touching, joking – without her. "But I guess I can't really expect to complete with her."

"Do you want me to speak to him Hermione?" Harry asked, the concern not only evident in his voice but also his eyes. Hermione felt relief at knowing that someone cared for her well-being when it was obvious Ron didn't; because if he did, he would stay away from Parkinson like she asked countless of times.

Hermione wiped at her eyes, hoping there wasn't any evidence of how she really felt at the moment, and said, "I don't want to drag you into this. It's between us. But thanks for offering."

"Here you go beautiful," Ron remarked cheerfully as he handed her champagne. "Harry. How's it going?"

"Fine, look I need to get back to Ginny and rescue her from Oliver Wood. Hermione," he added, kissing her on the cheek and leaving.

Taking a sip of his drink, Ron looked at Hermione and asked, "What's gotten into him? I didn't expect him to run away the moment I showed up."

"He saw you Ron," Hermione replied, fiercely and quietly. "It's bad enough I have to watch you fawn all over Parkinson but he saw you too."

"I wasn't fawning over Pansy," Ron said taken aback. "She was telling me about something funny that happened at Churchill's after I left Thursday."

"Don't lie to me Ron. I know what I just saw with my eyes."

"Yes, Hermione. You saw Pansy tell me a story that I thought was funny and so I laughed. That's it."

"It didn't look like that was just it."

"Well Hermione, it's all it was. This coming from the woman who kisses her male best friend."

"He's your best friend too."

"Hermione, Ron," Kinglsey's booming voice said as the Minister drew near them.

"We will talk about this later," she hissed at him before jovially responding to Kingsley, "Minister, how lovely to see you."

"Mistress, you have a visitor."

Pansy moaned at the sound of Mrs. Allen's voice. Who in their right mind would be calling on her at, looking at the clock through hooded eyes, two in the afternoon? Didn't anyone remember that Pansy did not do five PM especially when she was in residence at the Malfoy Manor?

Wait.

Who the bloody hell knew she was in residence at the Manor?

Sitting up carefully, her body aching and sore from last night's activities, she demanded, "Who the bloody hell is it?"

"She says her name is Mrs. Weasley, Mistress," the housekeeper responded, handing Pansy her short black silk robe. "I tried to dismiss her saying you were unavailable but she wouldn't be denied. She insisted that you meet with her now."

"Did she at least specify to which Mrs. Weasley it is?" Pansy asked, taking the robe and wrapping it around her naked body. "The way that family reproduces, it could be only one of a half a dozen wives."

"No she refused, but I can tell you it is Hermione Granger-Weasley. Her hair gives her away, Mistress."

Pansy smirked and stopped applying the glamours she was going to use for propriety's sake. Leaving the ones that insinuated just what she had been up to in place: the bruises on her ankles, wrists, neck and collarbone.

"And did you escort her to the drawing room?" she cruelly asked, pining up her long black curls, knowing that the gesture would unnerve Granger and put Pansy back in the seat of power of this little inquisition; she knew she would hear about it from Ron later but it was a risk she was willing to take for being dragged out of bed so early.

"No, Mistress," Mrs. Allen replied, with a snide grin that used to bother Pansy until she learned just how best to handle the uptight, rigid, and cruel housekeeper; playing to the woman's own cruel sensibilities. "I tried but Master Draco had me escort her to the music room before sending me to fetch you."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you Mrs. Allen."

Smiling, Pansy graciously thanked the housekeeper before strolling out of her lover's room and toward the music room. She was about to descend the staircase, when she saw Draco coming up the stairs.

"Really Parkinson? Couldn't you invest in some cloths? Or have Father invest in some for you?"

"And watch him tear them apart? No, thank you."

"You do realize I have a six-year-old son who runs around here?"

"Yes," she replied with a wave of her hand continuing down the stairs. "But if you are so bothered by it, then please encourage your mother to return from Paris, so that I may return to my own residence. Your father's bed is much too firm for my taste with the games he likes to play."

"I did not need to know that."

"To tell you the truth, they aren't so different from the same games you play," she continued. Stepping off the last stair, she turned back to Draco. "I've been meaning to ask, did he teach you? The games are too similar to be just a coincidence."

Her smirk grew as she watched his pale face flush pink and then almost turned red. Gods, there was nothing better in the world to Pansy then watching her first lover become unglued when she compared him to his father. One of these days she figured, he would get over his whole "I'm not my father" phase – it was becoming a bit old after thirteen years. He was his father, whether he liked it or not and she should know as both had warmed her bed.

Swirling her short robe when she turned, she moved barefoot into the music room. Regally, she swung open the towering double doors in the same manner that she had watched Lucius do a thousand times. Closing them behind her, she waited for Granger to turn and acknowledge her entrance.

She never quite understood what men had found so attractive in the Muggle-born witch but she could appreciate the potential in her. Granger did have a nice figure when it wasn't hidden behind cloths that hung and aged her; and she did have hair that screamed "I've just been fucked six ways from Sunday" but why did she had to pull it up in such a hideous manner was beyond her. Pansy wondered if these tempestuous bi-weekly meetings with Mrs. Weasley would finally come to an end, if she would just for two minutes embrace her own sexuality and stop worrying about Pansy's.

"You'd think you could afford some clothes especially in the winter," Granger sneered, as she looked Pansy up and down.

Pansy just smiled as she moved towards the bench in front of her beloved Schimmel to sit as she sweetly replied, "I find clothes to be cumbersome and a waste in my line of work – unless I'm being restrained with them. So to what do I owe this displeasure?"

"Stay away from my husband."

Pansy couldn't help herself. She threw her head back as she let out her trademark laugh that was husky and vivacious – Marlene Dietrich had nothing on her – before continuing, "Granger, even if I didn't know damn well your husband wasn't straying, I wouldn't be it if he was."

"Then what about Thursday's at Churchill's?"

"Last time I checked my Thursday visits to Churchill's detailed drinks and smokes with my best friend."

"Who happens to be my husband."

"And your point is?"

"He's my husband."

"I'm quite aware of that Granger."

"Then stay away from him."

"Why should I stay away from my best friend? Are you going to extend him the same courtesy?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Sorry if I was too subtle Granger, I was under the assumption that you were the brightest witch of our generation. If you expect him to stay away from his female best friend, then shouldn't you stay away from your male best friend?"

To Pansy's displeasure Granger didn't respond. She just stood there, her eyes narrowed, her hands curling into fists as Pansy watched her struggle with her control.

Smiling pitifully at Granger, she asked shaking her head, "How many times are we going to have this same conversation with the same result? I know I'm quite bored with it. How about you?"

"Well if you would just stay away from my husband then we wouldn't keep having these conversations?"

"To quote the Muggles Granger, you do sound a bit like a broken record today."

"Why won't you stay away from him?"

"Why won't you stay away from Harry?"

"What does Harry have to do with this?"

"Evidently your listening skills are crap Granger. Really, how did you become the brightest witch of our generation?"

Pansy couldn't help but enjoy watching Granger stand there and try to collect herself.

"Well at least I'm not the whore of our generation."

"Whore implies cheap Granger. There is nothing cheap about me. Ask any of my lovers."

"Then why my husband?"

"How many times do I have to tell you Granger? Or for that matter how many times does your husband have to tell you – we are nothing more than friends, best friends at that," Pansy said with a sigh. "So are we done for this fortnight? Or should I expect an earlier visit to go over this yet again."

"Have you any self respect?"

"Loads Granger and that is why I allow my lovers to bring me to edges of pleasure over and over again. Hours of enjoyment at the hands of my lover who breaks my body over and over again before carefully reviving it with the most purposeful of caresses and movements from his hands and his tongue and his cock buried deep inside me...only those with self-respect would expect that from a lover. What, do I need to talk to Ron about how to please you in bed? I will be more than happy to give him instruction."

"Just stay away from my husband," Granger huffed, her face now a shocking colour of red, as she picked up her bag and head to the door.

Pansy waited, her eyes narrowing and her smirk growing with every passing second cruelly. She knew she shouldn't bait her best friend's wife but her now bi-weekly accusations were wearing a bit thin on Pansy's patience. She waited until Granger's hand was on the door handle before she called out to Granger, "If you are so worried about your husband crawling into my bed, which he has no intention of doing by the way, then let me give you a piece of advice – men always want Juliette, never Justine. Be a whore in bed Hermione and he won't ever leave it."

New Year's Eve and mess that came with it the next day always made it a long day in the office. Ron was definitely ready to get home and relax. These fourteen hour days were going to have to end soon. He couldn't take much more, no matter how nice the extra money was. He was tired of not being able to see his wife, his kids, or even hang out with his friends.

Opening the back door that led into the kitchen, he sighed when he saw Hermione sitting at the kitchen table. Her face was red and swollen, it was obvious something was wrong. Ron had a sickening feeling that he had done something again, though he wasn't quite sure what he had done now. He hadn't had the energy to do anything outside of work or sleep these past few weeks.

"Who is she?"

Ron just sighed. Six, fourteen hour days in a row and he gets to come home to his wife accusing him of cheating, iagain/i. He didn't have time to relax these days and she thought he was cheating. Sometimes his wife's over-analytical mine aggravated him. When she got an idea, she clung to it until she either found the right answer or the wrong answer – just as long as it was an answer, she was good to go.

"Please just tell me, so we can move on from this."

"I have no idea what you are talking about Hermione," he sighed, moving towards the icebox to grab himself a beer because Merlin knows he was going to need it to get through this conversation again.

"Don't Ronald. Just don't. Please just say her name. Out loud to me."

Ron just rolled his eyes as he took a seat across from his brilliant yet delusional wife these days.

"Hermione, please explain to me why you have come to this conclusion yet again? I barely have time to see you..."

"See, there is someone," she interrupted, her voice starting to take on the shrieking tone she had when she was about ready to lose it and really let into him. "Just tell me her name Ronald."

"If you would let me finish, I would appreciate it. I barely have time to see you between work and sleep. I only go to Churchill's but once a month these days and that helped with our last two promotions. How do you expect me to have an affair on top of that?"

"Just say her name out loud to me."

"And whose name am I supposed to say?"

"You know her name. Anyway, Harry says you aren't at work when you say you are, so what am I suppose to think, Ronald?"

"Wow," Ron sighed, leaning back. "Instead of asking me your husband, you go to Harry first. I feel so special. But to answer your question, just because I'm not in the office doesn't mean I'm not at work Hermione. You do the finances, you should have noticed all the overtime pay that has been in my paychecks as of late."

He watched Hermione fall silent as she processed what he told her. Thinking it had sunk in this time, Ron stood to make himself a plate of dinner. He wanted to get something into his stomach before crawling into bed to start the day all over again tomorrow.

"Then why don't we make love anymore?"

Ron stopped making himself a plate. Resting his hands on the counter top, he hung his head. He struggled to collect his thoughts and to reign in his seething temper. Turning around, he leaned against the counter top.

"Hermione, do you want me to stop taking the overtime or not?" he asked, unable to hide his anger or his frustration about having to continue this argument that was grounded in Hermione's insecurities.

"Ronald, that's not an answer."

His appetite gone, he packed up the food and put the food and the dinner service away. Sighing, he said, "Actually it is. I've been working fourteen hour days, six or seven days a week for the past four months. I'm tired. I started taking all the extra overtime, because you said we could use the money to try and pay this house off early and I agreed. So do you want me to stop taking the overtime?"

"I'm not asking about the overtime Ronald, I'm asking about why we don't make love anymore?"

"Hermione, you are a smart girl, figure it out. I'm going to sleep in the guest room tonight," he replied, before heading off to kiss his children goodnight. He really did love his wife, but sometimes he didn't understand just how her brilliant mind could result in her being so stupid.

Hermione just watched as Ron walked away from her. His shoulders slumped over as he dragged his feet.

She couldn't believe he just wouldn't admit to the affair she knew he was having with Pansy Parkinson. Why wouldn't he admit it?

She wanted desperately to hear him confess his affair, for them to work out what exactly went wrong, to move past this, to get on with their lives. To get back to where they had been – best friends and lovers. Not just two people who happened to live together and have two children together.

Why couldn't he just see she would forgive him if he just admitted that he had done wrong?

Pansy loved Churchill's – no ifs, thens or buts about it.

It was this great cigar bar hidden in the depths of Diagon Alley. Open only to its members, it was the elite of the clubs throughout the Wizarding world. One actually had to be somebody to gain admittance to the membership ranks; money didn't matter here, power and class did. At one point, it had catered only to men but Pansy had been able to convince the owner that a few select women wouldn't kill the establishment if they were the right women.

Evidently though Pansy was the only right woman who had been admitted so far which probably had more to do with several of her clients being on the selection committee. She had found it entertaining when the selection committee stuttered through their normal welcoming lecture with that she would also have to adhere to the dress code. She had done so without question and had come to love her exquisitely tailored three piece suits and four inch stiletto heels. The whole outfit was masculine enough to meet the dress code but no one in the right mind would mistake her for anything but a female.

On this Thursday evening, she was waiting for her weekly 'date'. It wasn't really a 'date' but no one in the club would actually believe that they were nothing more than just friends; so they just let everyone call their regular Thursday get together a date. They had enough problems with his wife without having to fight every other fool who wouldn't listen.

Most of her consorts had even taken to making disparaging remarks about how she spent her free time. Several of them even had the audacity to ask her to stop meeting the person who had become her best friend but she refused, always pointing out happily that the contract they signed had a very firm clause regarding jealously: if they should act even on a single moment of jealousy towards any of her other clients or friends, then their relationship would cease immediately.

The darkness of Churchill's suddenly brightened for Pansy. Smiling, she stood up from her wingback chair in their normal quite corner as soon as she saw her favorite red head enter the room.

"You look like you need a drink," she called out to him as he moved towards her. "Anabelle, get Weasley his usual and put it on my tab."

"You didn't have to do that Pansy," he replied, kissing her on the cheek before taking a seat in the chair next to hers.

Pansy sat back down and laughed, "Given what your wife put me through the other day, I can imagine that she put you through a lot worse."

"She came to see you?"

"Again. One of these days, you'd think she would actually listen when you tell her we are not sleeping together, or I tell her for that matter," Pansy replied sipping her bourbon. "Anyway your little woman made me get up before noon this time and ruined a perfectly good day."

"Heaven forbid, you should actually get up at a decent time like the rest of us."

"Well if you made your money on your back like I do then you'd keep odd hours too," she teased as Anabelle handed Weasley his vodka. Pansy found herself fighting the temptation to drop Anabelle a few rungs with the way she was failing to get Weasley's attention but decided against it. Instead, she figured she would keep it in her back pocket if she need to entertain Weasley later to break him out of the funk, he seemed to be hovering around. It was times like these she wished she could take away his misery but she simply didn't know how to make his wife's unfounded accusations go away.

"And here I was thinking you didn't mind the position as long as you got paid," Weasley teased.

Laughing, she responded, "Not bad Weasley. You might actually get the hang of the quick comeback yet. It's only taken you what? A good twelve months of hanging out with me to do so."

"Hermione has always said I was a bit on the slow side."

"Good thing I have a lot of patience," she replied. "Oh, I have an early birthday present for you," she reached under her chair and pulled out a carefully wrapped box before handing it to him. "It's something you better keep here. If I hear one whisper of her getting her hands on them, I will hex you so bad that you will be begging for Ginny before I'm through."

Ron laughed throwing his head back before replying, "Wow, it's not every day one gets a birthday present and a threat on their life in the same breath."

"And that's why you love me," she teased making a kissing sound with her lips. "Now open it."

Pansy watched as he carefully undid the wrapping paper to reveal a masculine cherry humidor with a glass top; his hands gracefully run along the box, taking in every smooth surface and burned line.

"Wow, Pansy," he muttered, still staring at the gift.

"So you like it?"

"I love it," he replied, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. "And you are right, it will definitely have to stay here. Hermione would probably just chuck all these cigars into the fire when I wasn't at home."

"One of these days you will learn never to doubt me," she laughed, stealing a cigar out of the now open box.

"Hey, I thought these were mine," he joked, taking one for himself before setting the humidor on the side table that sat between them.

"They are, but why should I have to ask for one when I bought them?"

"To be polite?"

"Weasley, we are talking about me here," she laughed, lighting the cigar by passing a burning match carefully under the front of the cigar with a skilled and practiced hand. Finally lit, she tossed her matches to Weasley and watched him do the same.

"Mr. Weasley, Pansy," a familiar cool voice broke her attention from watching Ron light his with the same practiced hand that she had cultivated since he had joined the club. She smiled at the thought that she might make him a gentleman yet. Unfortunately, she had to force her smile to stay when the thought crossed her mind of what would Granger do if Pansy succeeded?

"Mr. Malfoy," Ron said standing and shaking his hand.

"Lucius," Pansy replied, shaking off the lingering thoughts about all the trouble that could come her way if Ron truly became a gentleman. Standing up, she dropped a small curtsy.

"Mr. Weasley, do you mind if I borrow Pansy for a moment?"

"No sir." Ron answered, though he knew that neither he nor Pansy had a choice in the matter. If Lucius or Henri ever wanted her attention, then they got it immediately.

"Pansy," Lucius offered her his arm. She turned her head to wink at Ron in a manner that Lucius wouldn't see before leaving her drink and cigar with Ron. Taking his arm, she allowed him to escort her to his private area.

"What can I do for you this evening Lucius?" she asked, sitting in the seat he was directing her too.

Taking the seat next to her on the couch, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to ask you again and I want a straight answer from you. What is going on between you and Weasley?"

"And I'm going to remind you once again," she smiled sweetly as she spoke softly, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation she was having at that moment.

"Clause 37. Ask me again Lucius," she whispered, her fingers caressing down his jaw, "and you will never see me tied up in your bed again. No matter how much you beg, or galleons you throw at me."

"Clause 37 refers to jealousy," he whispered, planting a soft kiss behind her ear. "I'm asking, as a friend, out of concern for you. He is a married man with a wife who is asking more and more questions as of late. And in a manner that is not discrete, I might add."

"I know Lucius. She's taken to stopping by my residence at least every couple of days now," she smiled, trying to hid her annoyance from Lucius. "He's just my best friend and I'm one of his, nothing more. No matter what that daft woman might think."

"Be careful," he whispered, his gloved hand caressing her jaw line; causing her to melt purposefully. "She can be a vengeful woman I believe."

"Aren't I always?" she purred. "Should I make arrangements for you to join me this evening after you are finished here?"

"No," he replied softly. She pulled her head away from him in surprise. Normally he didn't approach her so publicly – and this was public for him – without wanting her to share her bed later. "Just please be careful; there is only so much that Henri and I can protect you from."

To Hermione Granger, one of the two worst events of the year that she and Ron were required to attend was the Summer Solstice Ball at Malfoy Manor; the other being the Yule Ball there at Christmas. For years, it had been the simple fact of having to be in the Manor again was enough reason to detest the ball but now she had one more reason to hate it – Pansy Parkinson was serving as hostess this year because Narcissa was too unwell to fulfill her hostess' duties.

She didn't think there were enough words in the English language to describe how much she loathed the woman who was standing just feet away from her. She hated how beautiful she looked standing next to Lucius Malfoy. Her black hair perfectly curled in thick curls that tumbled down to her waist. Her silver and white gossamer empire waist gown shimmered in the light of the hallway. Her light colored eyes noticeable and striking as always. She looked otherworldly as she sipped on champagne, laughing and glowing in the night's light.

How the hell was she suppose to compete with that? A woman who didn't have stretch marks from two children; who didn't have perpetual bags under her eyes from long days of the office; who didn't have to come home after a long day at the office to cook and clean and take care of two small highly energetic children.

Why the hell did she have to have her husband too? She could have any husband in the world but why Ron? Why couldn't she just stay out of their life?

"May I have this dance, beautiful?"

She turned stunned at the sound of her husband's voice.

"What?" Ron asked. He looked completely befuddled.

"You want to dance?"

"I did ask," he responded, sounding put out. "So may I have this dance?"

"Why?"

She watched Ron shake his head. Grabbing her arm, she allowed him to pull her outside into the warm summer night.

Free of prying eyes on the balcony, Ron finally asked, "I guess we are going to do this here too. So do I need a reason to want to dance with my wife at a ball?"

"Wouldn't you rather dance with her?" she hissed. "You've been looking at her all evening."

"The only woman I have been looking at all evening is you, Hermione. So yes, I would like to dance with you."

"Don't play me for a fool."

"I'm not," he retorted. "But if you keep this up, I just might. I'm quite tired of telling you the truth and you calling me a liar."

"Isn't that what you are already doing? Playing me for a fool. Denying what I can see with my own two eyes?" she yelled. "You know its bad enough I have to hear the whispers everyday but for you to look at her so...so...blatantly while you are standing by my side..."

"Merlin, are you ever going to listen to me, your husband?" Ron yelled exasperated, throwing his hands up in the air. "How many times do I have to tell you, that she is just a good friend? There is nothing going on between her and me, anymore than there is something going on between you and Harry. You are the only woman I look at! You are the woman I married and the one I love."

"Is everything okay?" came the husky voice that Hermione hated. Spinning around, there stood her enemy looking too perfect, calmly sipping on champagne while Hermione just knew she looked like a mess. Breaking down in tears, she ran from the balcony before she could absolutely loose her mind.

How could she compete with such perfection?

"What just happened?" Pansy asked stunned, staring after a running Hermione.

Ron shook his head and responded, "I have no idea. I asked her to dance and then she started on again about something going on between the two of us and then you approached and then, that. I don't know what to do anymore than to tell her a lie and let her hear what she wants to hear."

"That won't solve anything Ron. We both know that. Anyway, I never understood her to begin with," Pansy sighed taking a sip of her drink, realizing what she had to do. But even more she knew how much she didn't want to do it at all. She just couldn't understand why life couldn't be fair to her at least once in this lifetime. "One of these days someone will explain to me why it seems to be okay for her to have a male best mate but you can't have a female one."

"You aren't the only one, the worse thing is - is said male best mate doesn't see the hypocrisy of the situation either," Ron said, looking in the direction of where his wife ran too. "I'm sorry but I need to go fix this – though I'm not really sure how too."

"I understand. Go take care of your wife," Pansy said with a nod as she watched him walk away.

Taking a deep breath, she waited until he was almost at the door and called out, "Ron?"

"Yes."

"I know we've talked about this before but maybe it would be best. I mean, if our friendship is going to ruin your marriage, I would rather us walk away from it now before it gets any worse. I shouldn't come between you and her and nor do I really want to."

Ron just stared at her. Pansy knew it was the right thing to do; there were only so many battles to be fought and she and Ron hadn't won a single one yet since becoming friends. She just didn't understand why doing the right thing had to be so hard and cost her the best thing that had happened to her since the end of the war – Henri aside. Doing her best to hide what she was feeling, an unexpected rush of sadness and heartbreak rising up in her, as well as using the darkness to hide her unexpected tears, she continued, "Go take care of your wife. Thursdays at Churchill's are yours."

"Pansy, wait."

"Ron, I'm not going to cost you your marriage. Go after her and tell her that you won't be seeing me again outside of shared social obligations. I promise to keep my distance. I haven't spent hardly any time in Paris these days. Just please let her know that I won't be around London much."

"Pansy, you shouldn't have to do this," he replied moving closer to her but with every step closer he took, she took another one back, maintaining the distance. "Please don't do this."

"You are right, we shouldn't have to do this but we should," she sadly replied, trying to hide the tears that she was fighting. "Even though she has a male best mate. I'm not going to cost my best mate his marriage, no matter what. I refuse to, Ron. I'm not that selfish, though most women would beg to differ."

She watched him finally give up in trying to get back to her.

Sadly smiling, hiding the fact that it felt like her heart had finally been ripped out of her chest, she told him, "Go take care of your wife. Fix your marriage. Forget about me. I'm not worth a second thought."

Then she turned away from the first true friend she had ever had. Someone that, at that moment, she realized she did feel something for. She just wasn't sure what it was – only that her heart had seemingly vanished from her chest, leaving an empty place where it had once beat regularly. In that hollowness, she let the tears she had been fighting fall unabashedly. Opening one of the French doors that would lead to the music room, she slipped inside and locked it back so he couldn't follow her into the room.

Collapsing onto the piano bench, she let her body be overcome with her sobs. Her arms cradling her head as she laid them down gently on the keys of the Schimmel – so no sound from the instrument would be made, giving away her location or her state or worse yet, that Pansy Parkinson did know how to cry.

Once she was spent of tears, she freshened her appearance before returning to Lucius' side. She was glad to see he had stepped to the side of the ballroom as she wasn't sure if she was really up to being pleasant or polite to anyone at the moment. In fact, if given the chance, she would prefer for Lucius to tie her up and push her body to its limits to make her forget the ache she was feeling in her chest.

Grabbing another glass of champagne from the passing waiter, she glided over to where Lucius was standing. Hooking her arm within his, she purred, "Do you think we can leave Draco in charge for an hour and I can have you all to myself?"

"Does this have anything to do with Mrs. Weasley running into my ballroom ten minutes ago, sending Potter to chase after her and finally her husband?"

"I can't just want to steal you away from your guests at an inappropriate time?" she teased, she didn't want him to know just how right he was.

Lucius' cool grey eyes looked her up and down, before he whispered, "She caught the two of you, didn't she?"

Pansy took a quick step away from Lucius. She didn't care how it looked to the casual observer.

Hissing softly, she told him, "I'll leave through your Floo in the library so no one notices. Please make my excuses. I'll have my solicitor speak to yours in the morning."

Turning away from him, she started to move away until his hand on her arm stopped her. His body quickly was pressed against her back as he whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry love. Just wanted to make sure."

"Sure about what?" she whispered back, trying to be as casual as possible so that no one who saw them would think anything was out of the ordinary.

"I wanted to make sure he hadn't hurt you."

Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "Lucius, do you mind if I head off to Henri and Paris tomorrow for a few weeks?"

"Make it a few months, and I won't say another word," he whispered into her ear, his hand stroking the exposed skin on her arm. "Now what were you saying about making me forget my duties as a host to our guests."

"Put Draco in charge and I'll show you," she purred, thankful he was willing to help her forget.

"Hermione would you listen to me?" Ron yelled, following his wife into their home. The evening of the Summer Solstice Ball had managed to go from worse to 'are you kidding me?' in less than two hours.

"Why?" she screamed back. "You've already made your decision! Why don't you go running back to your little whore? If she would even have you?"

"What?" Ron yelled at his wife incredulous. "You know I did make a choice and it was you, Hermione. I chose you."

Hermione stopped in her tracks in their living room, spinning around, she whispered, "What?"

"I chose you," Ron repeated, unable to hide his frustration at having to tell his wife that, again as he ran his fingers through his hair. However, this was the first time, he actually wondered if he had made the right decision; knowing he would never have drinks or share cigars with Pansy again. "Pansy saw us arguing and wanted to know if everything is okay. That is all she asked or inquired about. After you ran away, it was decided that we would end our friendship. We are tired of fighting you about us being friends. She said she would not go to Churchill's on Thursdays and the only time we would be in the same room, from now on, is at shared social obligations."

"Whose idea was this? Hers or yours?"

"Does it actually matter? You won. Though it was hardly a contest when you think about it."

"Whose idea was it, Ronald?"

"What does it matter, Hermione? I choose you!"

"It does matter! I want to know if you chose me because she dumped your arse! I want to know if you are here because you are settling for your second choice."

"Merlin Hermione! What do you want from me? I can't seem to win with you."

"I want you to tell me the truth! I want you to tell me the truth about you and Parkinson. I want you to do the one thing you haven't been able to do when it comes to that bitch since you became 'friends'."

"Hermione, I have told you the truth. Over and over again but you have chosen not to believe me. You have chosen not to trust me. So here I am standing here after throwing away a friendship for you, trying to tell you that you and our marriage is what I chose. Do you hear me? You and our marriage. You can have your male best mate and I've just tossed my female best mate to the trash for you. I've learned my lesson about having a best mate that isn't someone that you are friends with – are you happy now?"

"She dumped your arse, didn't she?"

Fed up, Ron stalked upstairs. Grabbing some clothes, he started to head out of their bedroom and towards the guest one when he found himself in front of his wife.

"Do us both a favor," he growled. "Get over yourself and your new found insecurities. When you do, I'll be in the guest bedroom. I refuse to share a bed with you as long as you keep calling me a liar, when I've done nothing but told you the truth from the beginning."

"Ronald.."

"Enough, Hermione. I'm done arguing with you about this. Let me know when you chose me and our marriage."

Pansy kept checking her watch as the minutes seemed to tick by hourly as she waited for her Portkey that would take her away from London. Tapping her shoe as she waited wondering why in her right mind did she agree to a three PM Portkey instead of going with her instincts and had Lucius pay for the first one that morning.

Until she remembered that Lucius had refused to release her from her bonds or the exquisite torture he was ravishing on her body until she swore that she would not return to London until the Halloween Masquerade Ball.

She couldn't believe that she was actually going to let him close up her house for her and not only that, employ her servants at the Manor until she returned. As well as have his solicitor help hers as several of her clients were not going to be happy about this abrupt change in her plans.

Pansy had spent the better part of the last hour trying to figure out what he was up to because Lucius was never this nice and thoughtful unless he wanted something. And somehow she couldn't understand what her going to Paris for the next three months would get him, with his wife in the hospital on a regular basis these days; unless he and Henri had come to an arrangement on how to share her when they both were in Paris. Every time that idea came to mind, she was quickly reminded that this abrupt change in plans had only happened in the last twenty-four hours.

"Coffee?" an unfamiliar voice asked. She turned around ready to bite the head off of some ill-mannered chit who had dared to interrupt her when she was clearly put out, until she realized that the person extending the coffee to her was Harry Potter.

"What do you want Potter? Did Granger send you to make sure I took the bloody Portkey?" she snapped. Pansy knew she should keep her anger at bay and react with indifference but unfortunately she wasn't above that this morning. She didn't think she would be anytime soon, in fact.

"No, heard about you taking a Portkey as soon as I got into the office this morning. It's the talk of the Ministry in fact. I'm here on my own accord," he remarked, taking an unwelcome seat beside her. Trying to hand her the coffee again, he continued, "Take it. It's black. Rumor is that's how you take it."

Grudgingly, Pansy took the cup out of his hand. Shaking her head in irritation, she asked, "So what do you want Potter?"

"Rumor is you are going to Paris?"

"Not really a bloody rumor as several of my clients are probably unhappy with me at the moment from and are probably giving my solicitor quite the little headache," she responded, sipping on the coffee. "But yes, I'm off to Paris for the next few months."

"Anything to do with what happened last night?"

"Depends on what you think happened last night?" she coolly replied not sure whose side Potter was on: Ron's or Granger's. And if it was Granger's, she wanted to control every bit of information that came out of her mouth, if it was going to be reported second hand to the little insecure, jealous bitch who made her give up her best friend.

Pansy found it interesting that Potter didn't say anything. Figuring that their conversation was over, she continued to sip on the coffee he gave her while she kept nervously checking her watch – really how long could thirty minutes take?

Potter broke the awkward silence finally with a thinly disguised amount of anger in his voice, "So you are just going to run away now?"

"Who said I was running away Potter?" Pansy said with a hollow laugh. "It's well known that I enjoy the company of Henri Beauregard who resides in Paris."

"But you spend the fall in Paris, except of the two weeks surrounding the Halloween Masquerade, not the summer," he responded quickly. Pansy couldn't help but turn her head and stare at him wondering just how the bloody hell Potter could know her schedule so accurately.

Gathering her wits finally, Pansy asked shaking her head as her frozen smile transformed into a smirk worthy of Lucius' own acknowledgment, "So are you going to tell me what you want Potter? Because right at this very moment, I'm concerned as to why you might know my schedule so intimately and I haven't heard from my solicitor."

"Are you really going to leave him here to clean up the mess that you made?"

"Again, I have no idea what you are talking about Potter," she sneered, refusing to look at the pain in her arse any longer.

"Let's see," he started, his voice taking on an angry tone. "You start an affair with my best mate. You leave him. And now he's having to pick up the pieces to a marriage that you destroyed while you are gallivanting over Paris."

Pansy just shook her head laughing trying to collect her thoughts and decide just which ones she wanted Potter to actually know.

"You know what Potter," she said standing up. She wanted to get away from him as soon as possible before she hexed the chosen one into little pieces because she didn't think that Lucius or Henri could clean up that mess for her. "You should really take a good look at your best mates. If you would, you will see that your best mate Granger did just fine with destroying her marriage all by her little self without mine or Ron's assistance. If you haven't noticed her jealousy and insecurities issues that have cropped up, then you are blinder than those glasses make you out to be."

"But..."

Leaning over, Pansy got into his face, she hissed, "Why don't you do yourself a favor Potter – ask around. See if you can't find out what exactly it costs my clients to have me when they have a wife at home; then get Granger to let you look at their finances. I think the answer may surprise you."

"I'm not asking you about your clients," he growled back, standing up still nose to nose with Pansy due to the height of her heels. She had always loved that very few men were taller than her in her heels. "I'm talking about my best mate, Ron."

"That's surprising," Pansy replied with a cruel manner. "You were sitting there acting like Granger's best mate and not Ron's. Because if you were Ron's you'd be at home trying to do what Ron and I have been doing for the past few months – get it through her thick skull that we are nothing more than friends. Then again I really shouldn't expect anything, let alone that from the likes of you. You haven't been his best friend since Granger went and lost her mind, the moment Ron told her about our friendship."

Pansy's face showed her smugness when she knew she had worked Potter into the proverbial corner. She was actually surprised that his tongue was able to work when he said, "See that's where you are wrong. I'm Ron's best mate too. I'm here looking out for him to make you stay to clean up the mess you created. To make you take responsibility for what you caused."

"Potter, I have a news flash for you. I'm not like you. I don't have sex for love, affections, enjoyment or any other emotion that might motivate you or any of the other blasted Gryffindors you hang around with to have sex. I only have sex when I get something out of it and ruining my best mate's marriage is not a reason for me to have sex, ever. You know I'm beginning to wonder if you have truly ever been his; at least from what I have seen from you, I find that hard to believe."

Pansy smirked as the color fell from Potter's face.

"London to Paris..."

"And that's me Potter," she smiled sweetly to a still silent Potter. "I would say, look forward to seeing you at the Halloween Masquerade but what's the point in lying to ourselves. We have no reason to be polite and civil to one another anymore, do we?"

Picking up her purse, she swung it over her shoulder with a parting, "Please don't owl me" before heading off to her Portkey.

Ron found himself studying the last of the cigars Pansy had given him for his birthday on the back porch. It had been six weeks since she high-tailed it to Paris without another word to him; or an owl for that matter. He thought they were better friends than that – that he at least deserved an owl.

Sitting on the porch, he tried to push the feeling of abandonment by Pansy out of his mind as he waited for Hermione to come home from work with the kids, so he could enjoy another dinner talking to the children about what they did today with their grandparents. Because it wasn't like him and Hermione had much to say to each other about anything at the moment except for the children – well outside of him trying to tell her the truth, and she would just sit there and accuse him of lying.

He was so tired of being called a liar, he wondered what would happen if he just told her what she wanted to hear. However, the only thing that stopped him from doing that was that he knew he couldn't live with himself, if he lied just so she would hear him. It just kept him wondering, if he did, could he at least have a real conversation with Hermione?

Unfortunately that also meant, he couldn't remember the last time he had actually had a conversation with Hermione. Every time they tried to have a conversation over the past several weeks, it had quickly broken down into either an argument or one of them belittling the other. Ron found himself so tired of even trying to have a civil conversation with his wife that he had taken to not even talking to her unless she initiated the conversation just to prevent half of the arguments he knew that were just floating beneath the surface.

The worst part of it all was that he had noticed his humidor missing about a week ago which meant he needed to talk to Hermione and find out what happened to it. Ron had a sneaking suspicion to where the missing humidor was and that was the reason he had put off the conversation in its entirety. The whole conversation was going to lead him down one of two roads: him telling her what she wanted to hear or him giving up on his marriage entirely.

Merlin only knows how many times he had come to that conclusion recently. It hurt that he wasn't sure what he was fighting for anymore. It was clear that she wasn't the same woman he had fallen in love with years ago and he accepted he wasn't the same person as he had been years ago; but he couldn't quite figure out how the divide had become so deep between them. He didn't think his friendship with Pansy was the underlying cause though he did feel guilty at the thought it may have been the catalyst.

Ron had spent the last six weeks trying to get accustomed to his new routine of getting up earlier than the children so they wouldn't know he was sleeping in the guest bedroom; going to work; skipping Churchill's – it just wasn't the same without Pansy there to make him laugh and make sure he talked to or met the right people; coming home; having a silent dinner with Hermione; he'd put the children to bed; they'd sit in the living room not saying a word; and then as soon as he knew the children were asleep, he crawl into the guest bed and go to sleep.

This wasn't the life he wanted. He wanted a wife who would talk to him, a wife who would listen, a wife he could crawl into bed with and know that she would be there in the morning. He wanted a partner and a friend – everything Hermione had once been to him, though it was clear that they had stopped being friends some time ago.

"I was wondering where you were," Hermione's voice sounded from behind him. Handing him a letter, she continued, "This came for you."

Taking the folded letter, he could tell it was from Churchill's. Deciding it could wait, he sat it to his side as he continued to fiddle with the cigar he had in his hand.

"I hope you aren't going to smoke that."

Sighing, he responded, "No Hermione. I'm not going to smoke it."

"Good. I hate the smell."

"You know one of these days you can speak to me like your husband and not a small child," he snapped, knowing he was starting to pick a fight with her but the cigar only reminded him of the missing humidor.

"That would require you to actually speak to me in return," she snapped in return. He knew she had a valid point but he was finding himself not caring anymore.

"Fair assessment," he conceded still studying the cigar, wondering what Pansy was up to in Paris. Probably spending her way through Henri's coffers, he thought before he actually let himself wonder the one thing that he tried desperately not to think about – did she miss him as much as he was missing her?

"Aren't you going to see what that letter is about?"

"I will later, it's just from Churchill's."

"Don't you think it's important?"

"Probably something about an upcoming event that I won't be attending," he muttered the last part, knowing there was no way he was going to be attending because it just would lead to more fights and he was tired of fighting Hermione. Desperate to change the topic, he picked the safest one, asking, "Where are Rose and Hugo?"

"Still at your parents'. I was thinking that maybe we could go out to dinner, just the two of us. Maybe just get a chance to talk away from here," Hermione responded quietly. "I made reservations for Giacomo's for eight if you are interested."

"What time is it?"

"Six-thirty."

"Let me get showered, and I'll be ready to go," Ron said with a shrug, grabbing the letter and standing up.

Turning around he saw the shocked look on Hermione's face before she stuttered, "Really?"

"Yes," Ron sighed, moving towards the doorway. "It's been awhile since we have gone anywhere without the children. I know we could use the time to try and talk to one another."

"Ron..."

"Yes," he responded, turning to face her.

"Thank you," she whispered and for that split second, he could see the young women he had fallen in love with years ago; suddenly, he wasn't sure if he could or did love her anymore. At least love her the way he felt he was supposed to.

He returned her smile and headed inside. Looking at the cigar in his hand, he turned back to Hermione and handed to her, saying, "Go ahead and burn it."

"But..."

"I know you will anyway the minute I'm not here," he responded, heading up the stairs. "I'm tired of fighting you regarding my pleasures and possessions."

"But we don't fight about..."

"Sorry, let me correct my statement – I'm tired of fighting you about anything you associate with Pansy that I enjoy."

"You know Ron," she huffed. "I don't get you. I don't understand why you would want to constantly remind me of the tart that you cheated on with me with?"

"Since obviously we aren't going to be able to stay civilized long enough to go to Giacomo's together, can I at least have the items back that were in the humidor?"

"Why would want cigars in this house when you can't smoke them?"

Ron hung his head and started up the stairs, "You burnt it didn't you? Contents and all?"

"Ron, I can't believe..."

"You burned it all didn't you?" he repeated staring at her.

"Yes."

"You didn't look inside did you?"

"No I didn't. I don't see why that mat..."

"Just so you know, you burned: the flask Fred gave me, the watch Mum and Dad gave me on my 17th birthday, the cuff links you gave me as a wedding present, a drawing from each of our children, the snitch from my first Quidditch game at Hogwarts and the deilluminator."

He didn't hear Hermione's response if she even had one as he reached the second floor.

"You were so worried about a random birthday present from a friend you didn't think to look inside did you? Do us both a favor and give me my space for now. I'm really not sure how we got to this point and I'm not really sure we can fix what is broken anymore."

He knew what he had just done was beyond a low blow. It was a cheap shot. But frankly he didn't care anymore as he trudged up the stairs.

He just wished that someone could explain to him where his beloved wife disappeared too.

"Henri," Pansy called out playfully as she stepped away from the Portkey point in the Ministry of Magic in Paris.

The robust and jolly man who she adored embraced her tightly. Holding her against his full body as she wrapped her arms around him. Clinging to her lifeline.

"Do not worry ma chère. You are safe here," he whispered in her ear before setting her down. Seeing the tears she couldn't hide, he continued softly, "Chin up. Lucius explained everything. Nothing that some shopping excursions and wonderful food won't fix."

"That's what I'm hoping for," she muttered, leaning into his warm body for shelter and comfort. "But don't forget your company. That's the best part about Paris."

She wished that she could love the man who had been the center of her world since that cold, November day in Paris all those years ago. Even if she didn't, she wished that he would give her a chance to fool both of them satisfactory.

But Henri was a man of his word and it was the first thing he taught her: establish your own code of rules and stick to them no matter what. Number one on her list is that there was no such thing as a meaningful relationship with someone she had sex with for money. If they paid her for sex, then they forgo any chance of her being an honest to god girlfriend, lover, fiancée, or even wife. After Henri's wife died, she thought that their relationship may change and secretly had hoped it would until he reminded her of her own code.

Since then she never again offered, he never asked. They simply maintained their mutual affection though the sexual favors and requests had dwindled over the past two years. They often shared a bed but nothing more intimate then a sweet kiss goodnight and falling asleep wrapped up together. She often teased him that they evidently got married without realizing it and he would tease her back – that if they were married, she really should work on her culinary skills.

Henri was assisting her into his Rolls, when he leaned over. Pansy thought he wanted a kiss and leaned in to meet his lips, however he spoke instead, "Do you love him?"

Pansy was so shocked at the question she sat back in her seat her eyes wide. It took a moment for her to collect herself before replying in her best teasing tone, "I have no idea..."

Henri laughed at her before closing the door.

She sat in the seat bewildered about how he could have known. She hadn't confessed to anyone what she had only just realized last evening.

"You use to be a better liar, ma petite poupée," he said still with a happy and laughing tone to his voice as he took a seat next to her. After giving the driver instructions, he continued, "But never mind, I do admit it is hard to keep your feelings of love tight to the chest. We Frenchmen are notorious for wearing our hearts on our sleeves."

"Henri," Pansy started turning her body to him. "I have no idea..."

His hands clasped to her cheeks and bowed her head so he could kiss her forehead, before forcing her to look straight at him. Very carefully he said, "You love him there is nothing to be ashamed about."

"But..."

"I've seen the way he looks at you too," Henri continued, evidently set on not allowing her to finish a sentence in this conversation. "I do have to admit it was painful for me and Lucius to see it happen but you have this smile that is only his. Lucius and I are happy that you have found someone who could make you feel like that. After everything you have been through, you deserve this. You are no longer the little urchin I rescued off that bridge that night. You are a beautiful, wonderful woman who would do right by him and he would do right by you."

"But..."

"Give him time, ma chère. Let him realize what you have only begun to," Henri said. "Until then, my bank accounts are still yours."

Pansy didn't know what to think as he gave her a chaste kiss before turning the conversation to more mundane matters regarding their social obligations while she was in residence on the Continent.

And if everything that had happened since she arrived in Paris had been a shock to her system, she really didn't know what to make of her new room in his flat. Or that he didn't join her in the bedroom that night.

"Molly, I don't know what to do," Hermione moaned pitifully as she sat in the Burrow's kitchen. "He's living in the guest room."

"Have you tried talking to him," Molly asked sympathetically as she placed a cup of tea in front of her. Molly hated to see Hermione so distraught. She knew that her son's marriage had been on the rocks for some time and thought with that scarlet lady out of the country, everything would return to normal now that Hermione didn't have the source of her fretting always around.

In all honesty though, she realized that her son wasn't the same since that woman had left but she tried not to dwell on it. Simply, she just tried to ignore that fact that Ron had simply become a ghost of himself these days; only ever interacting with his children anymore.

However, she could now see it was worse than she thought, even though her son's ring was securely on his wife's finger.

"All the time but it just leads to us fighting. We never say anything of any merit to each other anymore."

"Maybe there is something in the fights that tells you what you two need to talk about?" Molly prodded, trying her best to get her daughter-in-law to open up to her.

Hermione sipped at the cup of tea, "It's always the same thing – Pansy Parkinson: Lucius Malfoy's whore. He just won't tell me the truth about what happened between him and Parkinson; and it just keeps coming up that I don't trust him and then there was the humidor incident and he talks to me even less now."

"The humidor incident?" Molly asked confused. She wasn't sure what could possibly be significant about a humidor; especially one enough to cause Ron to completely shut out his wife.

"Parkinson gave him a humidor at some point. I found it in my house and so I burned it," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

Molly knew that her daughter-in-law was leaving something important out of the story. There was no way her son would stop talking to his wife about a destroyed possession, especially after having grown up with the twins and their path of destruction. Molly did have to agree that Hermione had the right to ask for it to be removed from her house, but for her to burn it – she thought that might have been a bit extreme. Gently, reaching out to touch Hermione's hand, she asked, "There's more to that story, isn't there?"

Molly felt her heart fall when she saw the defiance in Hermione's face fall away as she hung her head in shame, whispering, "I shouldn't have done it. I assumed that there were cigars in it. And I didn't look."

"What was in the humidor?"

Hermione looked back up at Molly with tears in her eyes, whispering, "I don't want to say. Just know, I shouldn't have done it."

"Have you apologized for what you did?"

"Numerous times, but he won't forgive me," she said, starting to cry. "Well he says he does but I can tell that there is nothing genuine in his words Molly. It's been three weeks Molly. He won't talk to me. He refuses to move back into the bedroom with me. It's like he doesn't trust me anymore."

"Does he have reason to?"

"I just don't understand how he can shut me out so completely when I haven't been able to trust him for months. I don't understand how he can be so hypocritical?"

Molly tried to hide her shock at Hermione's words. She hadn't known or better yet hadn't realized just how deep the divide was between her son and his wife. Gently, she asked, though she wasn't sure if it was her place to ask or if she wanted to hear the answer, "So why do you feel like you can't trust him?"

Hermione pulled her hand away from Molly's. Putting them in her lap, she hung her head and whispered, "Because he had an affair with Parkinson and won't admit to it. I know we can get past it, if he would just admit it to it."

"Excuse me?" Molly asked unable to hide her incredulous tone. She knew her tone was inappropriate but she couldn't do anything about it. Molly knew for a fact that he hadn't cheated on his wife, the proof was still on his wife's hand.

Evidently, Hermione hadn't realized exactly what her mother-in-law's tone was, and said louder, "Because he had an affair with Parkinson and won't admit it."

Molly's jaw fell slack.

She found herself glad that Hermione still had her head down as she tried to collect herself. After a few minutes which felt more like a few hours, she said, "Why do you think he had an affair with Parkinson?"

Hermione's head shot up; anger in her face. Molly waited for whatever answer Hermione was going to say.

Finally, Hermione spat as she got up, "I knew I shouldn't have come to you. That you would..."

"Wait," Molly said interrupting, stopping Hermione in her tracks. "That's still your ring from the bonding ceremony isn't it?"

"Yes. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Don't you remember what I told you?"

"Evidently not."

"Hermione, if he had cheated that ring would have fallen off your hand and you would never have gotten it back on. A physical relationship outside of marriage invalidates the Weasley family bonding ceremony – the same one you had performed the day you two married."

Any spirit that was left in Hermione rushed out of her. Tears started rolling down her face, as Molly realized she now remembered their conversation the day of the ceremony. Her heart went out to the young woman as she fell into the chair, her body heaving with every sob.

Though gasps as the tears streamed down her face, Hermione asked, "I just knew I was right. The way he looked at her. The way she looked at him. But now I've gone and destroyed my marriage, haven't I? I've lost him because I didn't trust him not to want her."

"Mr. Malfoy."

"Mr. Weasley," Lucius Malfoy responded standing up from his seat. "I'm glad you were able to join me this evening."

"I do apologize for appearing like I was putting you off. I had assumed the letter was regarding an event and therefore didn't require my attention."

"I understand. I realize you have a lot on your plate at the moment. Please have a seat, Anabelle, can you fetch Mr. Weasley his usual," Lucius said, joining Ron as they both took a seat in the corner of Churchill's that was designated as Mr. Malfoy's. It was well known that one could only sit back there only at Mr. Malfoy's invitation. "Neville Longbottom has applied for membership and listed you as a reference. So would you recommend Mr. Longbottom for membership?"

"Yes, sir," Ron nodded.

"Good, business taken care of," Lucius responded as Anabelle handed Ron his drink. "Now, how is everything?"

"That's all you needed to ask?" Ron looked at Lucius incredulously. He had been pestering Ron for three weeks about meeting with him. Ron had been putting him off until Lucius had pointed out it was regarding Neville being admitted to Churchill's for membership. As Lucius had been so insistent about meeting in person regarding the manner, Ron assumed it would take some time; having never been a reference for someone before. He couldn't believe it was one simple question that could have been done over an owl, the Floo, in the bloody street even.

"Regarding Mr. Longbottom yes," Lucius said with a nod and a smirk. "I, on the other hand, had noticed that you haven't been around in sometime and wanted to inquire as to how everything is going for you?"

"Fine, Mr. Malfoy," Ron answered, not entirely sure if he wanted to admit to a perfect stranger how bad his marriage and life was at the moment.

Lucius just looked at him with a knowing smile and said, "That's interesting. I was under the impression your wife has been doing a most excellent impersonation of a harpy even with Ms. Parkinson in Paris."

"I don't see how that concerns you. No offense, Mr. Malfoy."

"No offense taken. It's just that several members have noticed that you have not only withdrawn completely from the club but from most people since the summer solstice ball. As I share their concern, I'm here asking you."

"As you implied, Mr. Malfoy there have been some things at home that I have needed my attention and that is the reason for my absence. Now if you excuse me," Ron said standing up, wanting to get out of Churchill's as fast as possible.

He had just turned his back when Mr. Malfoy replied, "When you have decided to stop being a fool about your situation please let me know. I will be more than happy to give you the name of my solicitor."

Ron's back went straight at the implications that Mr. Malfoy was alluding too. He knew that he struggling with the decision to leave Hermione after all they had been through. And with everyday that passed, he found it more and more inevitable that he would; he just didn't want everyone else to know that, not yet at least – since the fallout was going to be so great.

Once he had collected himself, he continued out of Churchill's without a further word or action directed towards Mr. Malfoy.

Ron froze in the doorway as he entered the kitchen. There sitting at the table as she had done many times before was Hermione sitting, the evidence of her crying splashed across her face. This time though there was a glass of white wine sitting in front of her. She looked up at him as he stood there in the doorway.

It didn't take a genius to tell him that everything was different now.

For the first time, there were no accusations in her eyes, only a sad, lost look. He was not only speechless but a bit lost at the moment. He could handle the accusations and the anger, he had become so accustomed to that, however he had no clue as to how to handle lost and defeated.

"Why did you stay?" Hermione asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

At least she asked him a question that he knew the answer to. Moving towards her, he replied, "Because I loved you," before taking a seat in front of her.

"And now?"

"I'm not sure," he responded sadly albeit truthfully. He didn't know what had changed his feelings to his wife, he just knew he didn't want to fight for his marriage to Hermione any longer. "And I don't know what changed to make me say that."

"I do," she whispered, looking down at her hands. They were fiddling with the ring he had put there twelve years ago. A ring he didn't necessarily want to come off her fingers, though he knew it needed to – for both of them. That for better or worse, this was the end. An end they both needed, even if it was something they as a couple or either one individually wanted. "You told me the truth and I didn't believe you. I had so little faith and trust in you, that I did everything in my power to force your hand. I made you chose someone other than me."

"It's not your fault," he responded, her head popped up to look at him. "I should have stopped being Parkinson's friend the moment I realized that you were uncomfortable with it. I didn't listen to you like I should have."

"But I shouldn't have had a problem with it. I have Harry, how could I not let you have Parkinson when the proof is here on my hand," she whispered, showing him her hand. "Or even if the proof wasn't on my hand."

Confused, he asked, "I don't understand."

"You don't remember," she sighed. "I didn't either until your mother pointed it out to me earlier today."

"Hermione," Ron whispered, looking at his defeated wife and wanting to offer her comfort as her friend. "I don't understand."

"Your mother reminded me that a physical relationship invalidates the Weasley bonding ceremony. Our rings would fall off, never to fit our hands again if either one of us should stray outside of our marriage."

Ron closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He had forgotten that detail about his family's bonding ceremony. It was one of the reasons his family was so different from the other pure blood families – their bonding ceremony was the only one that would be invalidated for physical infidelity.

"You didn't remember that either," he heard Hermione whisper. Ron barely heard her as she said, "And you still didn't sleep with her."

"No, I didn't," he replied, opening his eyes and looking at her; ignoring the comment about him and Pansy, though it hurt to hear those words out of her mouth.

"What do we do now?"

"I don't know."

"Me either."

They both sat in silence of their once happy kitchen. The clock on the wall providing the only sound as they both intermittently stared at each other, then their rings, then everywhere else but the person they should be talking to.

"I don't want to fight anymore Ron," Hermione whispered, breaking the stifling silence. "I want us to be friends again. I miss my best friend."

"So do I, Hermione," he whispered back reaching out and covering her hand. "So do I. I'll start looking for a new place tomorrow."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Pansy slowly moved through the hallways of her London townhouse. Or more appropriately her former London townhouse. Every shred of evidence she had ever lived here was now packed up and on its way to the small cottage she had found outside of Carlisle.

Those months in Paris hadn't brought her anything but loneliness as Henri kept her out of his bed, and Lucius hadn't visited either. Those lonely days proved that nothing could remove the pain she felt in her chest. The first day she could leave Paris, she did in a flash. Pansy didn't want to be Paris anymore; she couldn't just be in Paris anymore, there was nothing there for her. Henri tried to change her mind several times in the days preceding her hasty departure but his kind words, words of love and adoration, were bitter in her ears in relation to the unwelcome change in their relationship.

But she had to face facts.

Just like after the war, she was alone in this world. No one to love her or cherish her. No one to claim her as their own. To make her feel that she had a place in this world and not only that but she had the right to live in it.

However, unlike last time she had money. She had means to survive, not an extravagant life by any means, but a life of comfort, of quiet solitude. And maybe with that she could find herself a little peace.

Her desire to free herself from existing contracts had caused a bit of financial distress though Lucius and Henri had both offered to take care of the costs for her. She had refused them both on principle. If she no longer kept their beds, or apparently was welcomed in them, then she couldn't expect them to fund her choices.

The London townhouse though, in a fashionable part of Muggle London, provided her with enough money to live out her days outside of London. Far from the world she had grown up in and known. Far from prying eyes that knew what she did after the war, and worse yet, those who remember what she was during the war and what she had done.

Her plans included living as much like a Muggle as possible there; keeping her head down and hidden from the rest of Wizarding England. She wished, in the back of her mind, that she could find someone again like Henri. Someone who would cherish her enough to keep her this time and maybe she could fall in love again with a man who was free to love her, care for her, to be with her.

Slowly she made her way down the entry stairs, her eyes glued to her fingers as she watched them trail down the mahogany banister for the last time.

"Lucius and Henri asked me to come here," the familiar voice stopped her in her tracks on the stairs. She couldn't bring herself to look though, for it would only cause her heart to return to the hole in her chest. She was only just now beginning to live with the constant ache that resided there, months after she let him go.

"They think I can convince you to change your mind. No matter how many times I try to remind them that you are stubborn and hard headed to the core. Probably even more than I am."

"So why are you here?" she asked, her voice quivering. Her eyes firmly planted on her now shaking hand.

"Because I missed you. Churchill's isn't the same without you. And..." she heard his voice trail off. She could tell he said something more but at the distance she couldn't quite make it out what he actually said.

Pansy knew what she needed to do. She needed to look at him, tell him to go fuck himself and walk right past him; moving on to a quiet, simple life outside of Carlisle.

She even knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to look at him and confess that she missed him too and most importantly that she had fallen head over heels in love with him. She wanted to ask him to give her a chance.

But she couldn't, what could he possibly see in her? He was married. She was a whore. He was a part of the Golden Trio. She should have flung herself into the River Seine when she had the chance.

A rough hand touching her face, caused her to jump. Turning in the direction of the movement, she found herself eye to eye, face to face with Ron; her very ability to breathe leaving her as she found herself glued to the bright cobalt blue eyes that she had missed. The ones that she swore time and time again that could see into her soul. The ones that she had fallen in love with.

"And I fell in love with you," Ron whispered firmly as if this wasn't the first time he had said it out loud. His hand moving from her face to her hair. She just stared at him, in those moments, as if he had lost his mind with his announcement.

Ron continued, "I have no idea when it happened or why it happened but it did. I fell in love with the confidant, sometimes arrogant, bitchy woman you are. The one that calls me on my bullshit but will always have my back."

Pansy couldn't breathe let alone speak as Ron wiped the tears that were starting to fall from her glassy eyes.

He continued, "When we decided to end our marriage, Hermione told me that she wanted nothing more for me to have the perfection I deserve. She assumed that you were that perfection. And I laughed, I told her that if I deserved perfection then I deserved her. But I wanted imperfection, I wanted the woman who was my best friend, who cussed more than I did, as well as had the same taste in bourbon and cigars as me. I wanted the woman who made me whole, who made me perfect because they were on my arm. I found myself wanting no one but you Pansy. The one I missed terribly when you weren't around. You are the one I want. The one I wished I had seen years ago."

"But...but...but..." Pansy desperately tried to articulate something. She just couldn't when he was telling her that he felt the same – albeit in his not so flattering manner. She didn't care. They were the most wonderful words a person could say to her because he said them.

Ron shushed her by pressing his finger to his lips as he wrapped the other arm around her. Giving in, she let her body be pulled into his – fitting perfectly, molding to him as if she had done it a million times before or if she had been born to just fit his body. The tears really started to fall from her eyes now.

"Hermione and I are officially divorced. It was quiet. I didn't come sooner because I knew I wouldn't be able to stop myself from telling you how I felt and I was so afraid that you would brush me off until I knew I was single again."

"Lucius...Henri..." she tried to speak again but she found the ability still escaped her.

"They told me that today was my last chance, having cornered me in the ministry earlier after the divorce papers were signed. They told me that if I didn't come here today, then you would be gone. That you refused to even tell them where you were going. So here I am: divorced with two children, a nasty temper, a vulgar mouth, a large obnoxious family who excels in meddling, an ex-wife who is my friend, a best mate who saved the world but is learning how to be my friend again, and a heart that belongs to you, a heart that you stole – if you want it."

"On one condition," Pansy finally said through her tears. Her arms wrapping around his neck.

"Anything," he whispered, his eyes burrowing down deep into her soul. "Just as long as it means I get to keep you."

Finally feeling complete for the first time in her life, she whispered, "Marry me?"

Fin.