Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable. J.K. Rowling made all the money off these characters, and she's probably be appalled at the things I do to them! ;)

A/N: This is my new story! I was inspired, so I decided to start a new one before all my old ones are finished being beta'd. This should be fully beta'd as it's updated though! YAY! Thanks so much to the amazing, talented, wonderful Rusty Weasley for the kick-ass beta skills. Also, thank you to onecelestialbeing for being my sounding board! Hope you enjoy this one. It's a new pairing for me (Hermione/Scorpius) and it will be a fun ride, I think. Just to clarify, the story is Epilogue compliant, but I moved it up 5 years, making it 14 years after the last chapter of DH instead of 19. So, all the adults are 5 years younger than cannon and all the kids are about 5 years older. Now on with the story.

COUGAR

Brisket on the Floor

January 2019

She stared at the clock one last time before sighing in frustration and pushing the contents of the gourmet dinner she'd prepared onto the floor with a resounding crash. Twenty Years. She'd been Mrs. Ronald Weasley for twenty fucking years and this is all she had to show for it. What a fucking arsehole!

Things had moved fast after Harry killed Voldemort and saved the Wizarding World from his evil influence. The Death Eaters had been rounded up. Trials were held. Diagon Alley rebuilt itself. Hermione got the boy she'd wanted since she was thirteen years old. It was like a fairy tale.

They'd married in January of 1999, only eight months after they had their first kiss. It was completely out of character for her to rush into something so permanent, but she'd loved him and he was all she'd ever wanted. Harry and Ginny were married only months before and it was as if all their dreams were coming true. She was a Weasley, and no matter how many irritations came with that, it was her truest dream for seven years.

The horrors of the war were not completely lost. They all suffered nightmares and constant reminders of the people they'd lost. Harry had it the worst, but after years of Voldemort-induced nightmares, he was grateful that at least these were his own. More than twenty years after the war, Hermione and her friends had seemed to hit their stride in life. Their kids were already off at Hogwarts and living a relatively stress-free existence, what more could she have asked for?

Certainly, she hadn't asked for this. At forty, she could pass for thirty, but she felt fifty. She saw her husband on rare occasions, and they didn't even share a room any longer. When he was around, he gave her the perfunctory kiss on the head and then retreated to the living room to watch the television. She could probably count the number of times they'd spoken outside of the presence of others in the last year on one hand.

She tried to talk to him about it on several occasions but he just grinned at her and told her she was being silly. It was normal to grow 'comfortable' with each other. She hated how much 'comfortable' seemed to sound like 'bored'. She didn't want to be bored. She wanted to be seduced. She wanted romance. She wanted to be inspired and intellectually stimulated. Harry and Ginny seemed to have no trouble on any of those counts.

The worst of it, was when Ron had gone off to Romania to help Charlie with a crisis and hadn't even bothered to tell her. She'd been frantic for hours before getting a hold of Harry who'd informed her where her husband was. When he returned, she laid into him about how irresponsible he'd been and how much he'd scared her. He just shrugged and said, "He's family."

That was his excuse for everything. If Molly needed him to cast a ward on the house, he'd be there in a second. Oh, if it was his precious family he'd come running. Hermione could be on fire and he'd just tell her he was 'busy'. Wasn't she his family now? He didn't seem to see it that way.

She remembered, clear as day, the moment she realized she'd never have the life she wanted with Ron. After a session of the world's most uninspiring sex, he rolled over and got out of bed.

"Ron?" she asked, wondering where he was going.

"I think I'm just going to sleep in the spare," he said with a shrug as if it was the most normal behavior ever.

"W-Why?" Hermione asked, still overcome with the annoyance of being unsatisfied by his quick performance.

"Well, the truth is, I don't get much sleep in here. Not good at sharing a bed and all that," he said, smirking as if to lighten the blow.

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Ron, we've been sharing a bed for nearly fifteen years."

"For the kid's sake," Ron reminded her as if I were obvious. "But Hugo's off to Hogwarts now. There's no reason I have to be uncomfortable," his nonchalance about the whole thing angered her. Uncomfortable? Wasn't it more uncomfortable to admit that you have no desire to share a bed with your wife? Was she that undesirable?

It wasn't as if Ron had aged well over the years? He had a profound belly even at thirty-five. He made no effort to even appear 'put together' in public anymore. It was rare they even went out somewhere other than the Burrow anyway.

When he left the room she moved out of the bed and stared at her naked reflection in the full length mirror on the door of her closet. Things had begun to sag a bit, she had to admit. After giving birth two two children and taking care of the family, she'd let her self go, just the slightest bit.

She frowned to herself. She hated to think her husband shallow enough to care that she was just fifteen pounds heavier than when they married, but she wondered if, perhaps, she just needed to inspire him again. Besides, it would make her feel better to get into shape.

So, she did. For the next six-months after that, Hermione worked very hard to eat right and exercise, losing all the weight she'd gained from her two pregnancies and toning up. When she took her clothes off before the mirror, she felt sexy and attractive. She felt young and desirable. Ron didn't so much as say a word about it. That stung.

She'd done all the right things. She got married. She had children. She worked to keep a tidy and functioning home all while bringing in a hefty portion of the bacon at her Ministry job. She'd patiently muddled through Molly Weasley's lectures about being a good mother and wife. She'd read the Kama Sutra cover to spark even the slightest interest from her husband, sexually. She'd bent over backward to make him find her attractive again. She was a giver, damnit. But she got little in return.

She was sick of being taken for granted. She was tired of being tired. She wanted something, anything to inspire a reaction out of her husband. As it was, she couldn't even get him to remember their Twentieth Anniversary. He was likely out with one of the men from the office.

He'd found himself a safe job within the Auror Department, collecting money for doing as little as possible. She sighed, wondering if she was being unfair to him out of her own frustration. No. That was pretty much the gist. He was a lazy, self-centered, Mummy's boy. He cared about nothing more than Quidditch and food. After twenty years he still had the emotional and intellectual range of a teaspoon. Maybe that was the worst part - twenty years of little to no mental stimulation. Perhaps if the sex was even mildly inspiring, she could have overlooked that. Perhaps.

It wasn't as if he was abusive or anything. He just wasn't there. She'd even contemplated the notion that he was having an affair. The sad thing was, she began not to care if it was true. She'd take a mistress on if it meant she could have him, completely, at least part of the time. As time went on, she wondered if she wanted him at all. His every act grated her nerves, even if he was gone the vast majority of the time.

What had started as a passionate 'dream come true' turned into a boring and awkward mess in a matter of a few years. Why had she stayed this long? The only thing she could come up with was her children. She loved Rose and Hugo. They were the very best of her and Ron. Rose being smart and caring while Hugo was curious and passionate. Ron loved them very much, and it just might have been his only redeeming quality.

Looking down at the gravy dripping on the floor from the brisket she'd painstakingly prepared for him (it was his favorite), she growled in frustration. Stalking into the hall, she removed Ron's favorite racing broom and, raising it above her head, snapped it in two. It felt so food, she stalked into the kitchen and dumped all the dishes out of the cabinets.

The breaking glass was her catharsis as she moved onto the stemware they'd received for their wedding. It was a 'Weasley family heirloom'. She just wished Molly could hear them breaking. She certainly wasn't exhibiting the behavior of a 'proper wife'. Sod being proper; she'd done everything right and ended up alone, hopelessly lonely and agitated. Being married wasn't the same as having a marriage. They had nothing to show for twenty years but two wonderful children. And for the first time, it all clicked into place. Her children were not reason enough to stay. They were mostly out of the house as it was, and besides, better they have two happy parents than two miserable ones. Ron could not possibly be happy in this nightmare either.

With renewed sense of purpose, she stalked out of the kitchen, avoiding the colossal mess she'd made, and up to the room she no longer shared with her absentee husband. Packing her old trunk from Hogwarts, she took what she needed, as well as half of the emergency money in the tin by the bed. Let Ron deal with the mess himself, assuming of course he'd even notice the shambles she'd left the house in, or the fact that she was no longer there.