Revenge is Sweet

Chapter Six

The Card

Unfortunately, neither Ron nor I got any vacation from work, so two days after our wedding we both had to return to our respective offices. Mr. Perkins had retired from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office the previous year, so Ron was working as his father's assistant.

I no longer minded my job as booking secretary. It was an easy job, so I'd be able to last until the end of the season despite being pregnant. Also, it was close to home, which meant that I didn't have to apparate every day. I know they say apparition is perfectly safe when you're pregnant, but I'm a bit paranoid.

Dad returned home a week later. He'd been staying at the Burrow (in Ron's old room, no less) to give us a little time to adjust to each other. Now we had to adjust to having him around as part of the dynamic. Actually, it ended up not being too hard; he and Ron got along just fine.

By Wednesday of the first week it became clear that, despite his position, Ron had no idea what Muggles were like. He hadn't taken Muggle Studies; he hadn't even interacted with Muggles on a regular basis. I was determined to teach him.

If you look for Puddlemere on a modern map, you won't find it. That's because it's not really a town any more. It used to be a wizard settlement, almost big enough to rival Hogsmeade. Unfortunately, it was more or less decimated during the Goblin Rebellions during the late 1600s. Even though most of the survivors moved to other areas, the Quidditch stadium remained. As far as I know, Dad and I are the only wizards living in the immediate area now; his teammates Apparate in from other parts of Britain.

The reason I tell you this is so you will understand how surrounded we are with Muggles here. We do most of our shopping in Muggle stores. (I own Muggle clothes for those expeditions, something I never admitted to my Slytherin compatriots.)

Puddlemere stadium is about halfway between Banbury and Chipping Norton in Oxfordshire, but our cottage was closer to Banbury, so that's where we bought our food. Every time I went to town, I took my husband with me.

Ron was entranced by everything. He found Muggle culture almost as fun as Quidditch. We had several "dates" a week--nothing romantic, just me showing him the grocer's, the druggist, or the baker's. I sincerely hoped that he'd end up being somewhat more knowledgeable about his job than his father was.

A few weeks passed, and I couldn't have been happier with my new husband. He certainly seemed entranced with me.

Then I found it--a small card, in a plain envelope, stuffed between the mattress and the box spring on Ron's side of the bed. I opened it, puzzled, and read the message scrawled within.

***

Dear Ron,

I was pleased to hear about your recent engagement.

I know as well as anyone that you probably are feeling a little upset by the circumstances. It seems like only a few years ago I was in the same situation. Forced to marry--for me, a Muggle, of all people. Someone who didn't know anything about "our world". And yet it worked out quite well, as you very well know.

Let me give you some advice that has worked well in our household.

The secret to a happy marriage doesn't lie in finding the magic person to marry; it's all about being the magic person for your spouse.

Love,

Uncle Herb

***

It took me a while to digest the contents of the note. The implications hit me all of a sudden. All those things he'd said to me--all those sweet, loving things--he didn't really mean them. He was just saying them to keep me happy. Just like Crabbe.

When Ron returned from work that day, he found me curled up in bed, sobbing.

"What's wrong, Millie?" he asked, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

"You didn't really mean those things, did you?" I asked viciously.

"What things?" he asked, puzzled.

"You know, about how I have a nice body and how you like my cooking and all that!" I spat, throwing the crumpled note at his chest.

He glanced down at the paper in his hand and comprehension dawned in his eyes. "You think I was lying, don't you?"

I nodded.

"But I wasn't. It was just a matter of choices, you see. Given a choice between complaining about my day at the office or complimenting your dinner, I chose the compliment. Given a choice between nagging you to clean the bathroom and admiring your body, I chose to admire your body."

I glared at him. Since I obviously hadn't been won over yet, Ron switched to logic. "If I didn't like your cooking, would I eat so much of it?" My scowl didn't soften, so he continued, "If I wasn't attracted to you, would we be having sex two or three times a day?"

Finally convinced, I burst into tears. Ron sat down on the bed wrapped his arms around me. I was surprised to see a tear running down his cheek.

"Ron, I hurt you, didn't I? I...I should have trusted you."

"Never mind that. It's just--I was scared. When I came in and saw you lying here crying, I thought that--that something had happened to the baby. I wouldn't have said this on Valentine's Day; I wouldn't have believed it then. I'll say it now, though. I want you to have my baby."

We didn't get around to eating dinner until eight o'clock that night.

I wish I could say that we never fought again. Of course you know that wasn't the case: Ron and I are both rather bull-headed at times. But after that day I never felt even the smallest smidgen of hatred towards him. Frustration and annoyance, yes. But never hatred or fear.