By Enola Jones

He walked into their flat, his steps heavy. What he had to do – what he knew he had to do to ease his bad dreams – weighed heavily on him.

The sight of her in the kitchen – beautifully disheveled as always, take-away food kept warm by a charm while she indulged her passion for reading —stole his breath.

She looked up and smiled at him, but whatever greeting was in her throat died away at the sight of him. “…what….Ron, what’s the matter?”

“I…have something to tell you.”

A hand shot to her throat. “Oh, no….Harry?”

He shook his head. “No, Harry’s fine. He’s distracted as ever by Luna’s flightiness. Pregnancy makes it worse.”

She crossed her arms. “For the last time, Ronald, Luna isn’t flighty! She just sees the world differently.”

He sighed and sat down.

“So what’s the matter?”

“Hermione…I need to tell you something.” He lowered his eyes, unable to look at her. “Last month, at the stag party for Percy…I…I got drunk. One thing led to another…and I…”

“You what, Ronald?”

He took a deep breath. “…I slept with one of the strippers.” At her prolonged silence, he looked up.

Her face was shuttered in. Her fists clenched and unclenched.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’d never done it before and I won’t do it again.”

She just stared at him.

“Say something – please.”


“Y-yes, Hermione?”

“This marriage is over.”


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