Separate Worlds

Chapter Two

"Bloody...doesn't ever listen to me..." Ron muttered random fragments of angry sentences as he strode up the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade. "Always accusing me...never trusts me with anything..." He could see the old, familiar buildings looming in the distance and he exhaled slowly. Fred and George might be there, as they had some meetings concerning Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He could just picture them: "Oh, has ickle Ronniekins pissed off his wifey?" He fumed silently. He didn't cheat on her. He didn't. He replayed the scenes of the night over and over in his head, wondering why on Earth he had let Fleur Delacour into their flat.

They had kept in touch over the years; she had been in town and called on him with the intention of congratulating the newlyweds (he and Hermione had only been married for six months and she had been unable to attend the wedding). He had ended up telling her of his problems, as she was quite a sympathetic person once one got to know her, and she had guessed his feelings of incompetence surrounding his marriage. He guessed that bruised ego due to an argument with Hermione over the phone had made him susceptible to Fleur. He guessed that his self-esteem was now at an all-time low. She's always cutting me down, he thought.

He had really done everything for her. He had even joined the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry (which was unfortunately lorded over by Percy) when all he wanted to do was work with Fred and George at their shop. They even lived in Muggle London, in a flat complete with television and cordless phone. He came to a stop in the vicinity of a moneyed country community, built mostly for rich city people and vacationers to live in during the summer. He scanned the numbers of the cottages slowly, ringing the doorbell at number 612. He hoped someone was home; it was getting dark. The door opened, and a figure with sweeping blonde hair smiled at him.

"Bonjour, Ron." He smiled back half-heartedly,

"Hello." She guessed his problem immediately, saying,

"Would you like to stay here for the night?"

"Yeah, thanks." He stepped in and closed the door behind him, not noticing the pair of redheads who were gawking at him from the doorway of the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione closed her textbook with a dull thud. Cracking her knuckles, she carefully rolled up the bit of parchment she had been working on. She was studying to be a mediwitch, and had been accepted into the most prestigious wizarding college in England. She had a "study abroad" offer from an American wizarding college, and she didn't doubt that it would be immensely educational, culturally and medically. Some of the freshest new spells and charms came from American hospitals. But...she sighed. She didn't want to leave Ron. She shook her head impatiently, not wanting to think of that problem right now. He'd come back, she rationalised, and they'd reconcile somehow. She didn't want to overlook Ron's shenanigans, but when it came down to it they really did love each other. She was sure that he would apologize and that, sooner or later, everything would get back to normal. It happened every time they argued.

Satisfied with her logic, she put her books away and turned on the television, ready and waiting for a subdued Ron Weasley to burst through the door. But nine o'clock turned to ten, and ten turned to eleven with no trace of her husband. Damn him, she thought. If he thinks he can show up this late and expect me to be waiting for him...she stomped over to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. Despite her best efforts, she lay awake most of the night worried about Ron. Tossing and turning, Hermione managed to get a few hours' rest before an owl pelted her with a copy of the Daily Prophet, which was her signal to get up.

She changed into her robes and tossed the paper carelessly onto the nightstand. She was just about to leave when a smart knocking resounded throughout the tiny flat. Finally, she thought. Rushing to the door, she yanked it open only to discover not Ron, but two other Weasleys she'd gotten to know and love. "Oh! Hello Fred, George. What brings you around here?" They smiled back at her, yet their tones were subdued as they answered,

"We need to talk to you." Curious, she led them into the kitchen.

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks." Fred shifted uncomfortably in his seat as George asked, "Don't mean to be nosy, Hermione, but did you and Ron have a row last night?"

"Yes," she answered. Instantly she was on the defensive. "Did he tell you why, though? I came in and saw him passionately kissing Fleur, and I-"

"Wait," George stopped her mid-sentence. "He was kissing Fleur?"

"Yes," she answered moodily, toying with her cup. "Why?"

"Well, erm..." Fred avoided her gaze carefully. "We sort of...saw him at some girl's flat yesterday...and...he didn't come back, did he?" His voice held a slim note of hope, but it was soon quenched by her furious gaze.

"No, he didn't." she eyed them both searchingly. They were serious. "Did you happen to get the apartment number?" She asked casually. The twins looked at each other worriedly.

"Yes, but-"

"But what? Haven't I a right to know where and-" her voice shook with suppressed anger "with whom my own husband is staying with?" George dug a corner of parchment out of his pocket and handed it to her, saying,

"Here then. But-don't hurt anyone, Hermione." Fred smirked,

"Besides Ron." She glanced from the parchment up to them and said,

"Thanks. I mean it." Giving them a very forced smile, she let them out. Then she went out to the garden and dissaparated.