Surrender

I can't do this anymore, Hermione thought to herself.

She sat in her library. Hers of course, because he couldn't be bothered to share with her. It would bring a level of intimacy that he would not allow.

She curled up in the leather chair in front of the fireplace. Their home was comfortable enough, she supposed. But she always felt there was more to life than creature comforts.

It wasn't often she descended into a pit of self-pity. When she first accepted Severus' marriage contract, everyone thought the law would be overturned eventually, and she would be allowed to continue her life as she wished.

Fat chance.

There were amusements, certainly. Colin Creevey and Pansy Parkinson for one. His penchant for photography, and hers for constantly needing attention to her looks fit better than anyone would have expected. Of course, many thought that she herself had made a smart match. Severus, of course, was just as intelligent as she.

Fuck intelligence.

She felt so alone in this marriage. It didn't matter that she cared for him anymore, or that he cared for her. I'm twenty-two years old, and I've never felt passion, she sniffed. They fulfilled the codes of the contract. But it was quick, perfunctory and totally lacking. She knew that Severus was a private man, but she thought after five years that she would be able to be close to him in some way.

For all intents and purposes, they were roommates that shagged once a week. She lived in her rooms, and he in his. And she hated it.

She remembered too, about two years ago, when she decided the same thing; that she had had enough. In true Gryffindor style, she set out boldly to seduce her husband. She read up on different techniques, positions. She dressed herself seductively. Her heart still ached at his response.

"Don't make this into more than it is," he bit out. And when she knelt in front of him, attempting one last time to warm his own passion, he snapped at her, "You are not some common whore! Now stop!"

She sniffed and wiped her hands across her eyes. She didn't want to cry. She was supposed to be strong. But for someone who had all the answers, she felt so bloody trapped.

It could have been worse; Severus wasn't cruel, as many of the purebloods had been to their wives. She was allowed to continue her studies. He even allowed her to work out of the home. But it wasn't enough.

She hated the fact that she loved him. There, she admitted it, if only to herself. She wanted to be there for him, wanted to hold him at night, and to ignite what passion she knew was there that he kept hidden from her. But he had been alone for so long, he no longer trusted anyone, much less himself. In a strangely sweet way, she knew that he held back to protect her. She loved him, but she was alone.

I can't do this anymore. The thought kept running through her head like a mantra. She was drinking some of Severus' fine brandy. He'd caught her like this before, muttering something about silly romantic girls, and their fits of the sulks. She choked, knowing there was no escape, no happiness waiting for her.

Her husband was a potions master after all. A simple dreamless sleep draught. An extra added ingredient. She mixed it with the brandy.

The herbal honey flavor nipped at her tongue. She closed her eyes, and sank into oblivion.