Chapter Text
When it happened, it’d been an accident; but in the weeks afterwards, she couldn’t find herself feeling anything but relieved at how it’d turned out.
Ron had been going on, and on as he had been recently about how Malfoy had been promoted once again, this time to an inspector, while he’d stayed a constable.
He’d been beating the topic for almost the past two months.
And tonight was Hermione’s birthday - specifically her thirty-first.
Ron started complaining as she’d gotten through the door at six-thirty after she’d walked from the apparition point.
He’d been saying he’d get someone in to fix their floo and had gone absolutely off the handle bars when she’d tried to make the appointment herself, so she still had to walk the 2K to their slim townhouse.
He’d continued as she’d showered, standing at the door barely looking at her through the fog.
He’d recited the same speech of Malfoy’s actions during the war affecting his ability to be a trustworthy partner in the DMLE as Hermione pulled on her favourite burgundy red dress.
Even as she’d finished the final touches of her makeup and had applied her jewellery, he’d continued.
It wasn’t until she’d done up the final clasp of her gold heels (of which Ginny had bought her last year for her birthday) that he really seemed to notice that she wasn’t cooking dinner as usual and was instead dressed in one of the outfits he’d hated most.
He stood upright from the door frame that led into her bedroom and grew visually confused before his face scrunched into that of distaste.
“Where are you going?”
Hermione smiled at him, for the first time that month, and accio’d her briefcase to her waiting hand.
“Mione, you know I don’t like that dress.”
He’d sighed and took a step towards her but stopped as she’d handed him a small stack of papers.
She’d grabbed the small black clutch and her cardigan as she stepped around Ron, who was still stuck on the first page.
Hermione had filled in her section of the divorce petition form less than six hours prior and Merlin, she felt better for it.
Ron’s stuttering fury echoed out of her bedroom and into the hallway as she walked down the stairs, careful not to snag her heels on the fraying carpet.
Hermione made it most of the way down, when Ron’s yell of anger preceded an invisible force that launched her off her feet and at least six feet across the main entry.
For a moment she was flying.
Then she was falling.
In such a brief moment she was reminded of her fear of brooms; it was nothing to do with a stick and some straw, and entirely to do with the possibility of falling.
Her head hit the leg of a small table they’d been gifted at their wedding, and the vase she’d received from her parents fell to the tiles and shattered.
Her ears rang in the silence.
Hermione placed one hand carefully on the floor beside her and turned herself from lying face flat on the floor.
Ron was standing at the bottom of the stairs, with no feeling in his eyes.
It was like there was no recognition.
Though that wasn’t unusual when he did things like this.
Hermione slouched against the wall, sitting with her legs in front of her.
Staring back at him.
She’d never dared to do that before - not when he was like this.
She felt a sharp throbbing where she’d hit her head and moved herself to her knees before standing, facing Ron as he stalked towards her.
He stopped.
Then her head whipped to the side at the force of his slap.
“You don’t get to leave me like this Hermione,” he snarled, spittle hitting the corner of her mouth.
“You don’t get to prance around in your fancy outfits as I work my ass off-”
Hermione planted a hand on his chest and one on his face as she pushed him away from her, sending him staggering.
“You don’t get to control me anymore Ron.”
Hermione repaired the vase, cast a small glamour across the growing egg on her forehead and grabbed her bag and cardigan off of the floor from beside her.
“Maybe that’s why you’ve not been promoted after 3 years.”
Hermione stepped past him and had one foot out the door when Ron’s hand tangled into the ends of her hair and yanked her back into the threshold.
God the pain coupled with the throbbing from her forehead combined into what she could only describe as acute agony.
Ron’s sour breath blew against the curve of her cheek as he pulled her head back so she leant against his body, barely obstructed by both of her hands grasping at the base of the hair he held.
“You know better than to fucking talk to me like that.”
Hermione’s head flew forward and slammed into the door frame. The crunch of her nose indicated that it’d broken straight away and her hands flew from her hair to protect her face as he slammed her face forward again.
White flashed behind her closed eyelids as the impact crushed her nose once more - Ron let go of her hair and let her crumble to the floor.
Hermione cried - choked sobs that tore their way through her chest in their haste to make it out.
Blood dripped from her nose and onto the ground in front of her, missing the dress as she tried to calm down to assess the damage.
Broken nose - Definitely.
Concussion - More than likely.
Broken ribs - Probably just heavily sprained.
Any permanent damage? Likely not as long as she fixed it ASAP.
Furious.
Morgana, yes.
Hermione summoned her wand wordlessly, grabbed her skirt and stood. She felt so dizzy, but not bothered by it as she carefully walked towards the kitchen where he’d disappeared.
She rounded the corner to see Ron closing a tea towel with ice enclosed and turned to her.
His eyes seemed to shine with genuine concern as he saw what was to be the disaster that was her face.
He walked towards her with open arms, one hand holding the ice.
Hermione’s fingers tightened around her wand as his arms encased her in what used to be such a comforting hug the first couple of times this had happened.
‘It was an accident, I’m so sorry Mione’, he’d parroted to her so many times.
His arms were firmer this time, squeezing painfully around her throbbing ribs.
“I’m sorry Mione, but I won’t let you leave.”
Hermione felt herself pause in her fury.
Then she laughed, shaking in his arms.
She laughed through the pain of the ribs.
Through the feeling of drawing as her bloody nose flowed down her throat.
She even laughed as Ron unwrapped his arms from around her and stepped away.
Ron looked… scared.
“Hermione stop it.”
She stopped. Immediately.
Though her smile remained.
Her nose freely bled.
Her dark eyes bloodshot.
Bruising already blooming across her face.
Her hair wild and knotted.
Blood had seeped between the gaps in her teeth, Ron noticed.
She almost looked like Bellatrix.
Hermione smiled at him until his face turned from fear to anger.
He fell as she whispered one word that had him falling to the file of their floor.
His back bowed in pain, breathlessly, as she crouched down in the same spot, skirt flowing outwards gracefully.
“You don’t get to control me anymore Ron.”
She stood, almost stumbling, walked to the mirror in the entrance and fixed her appearance. Nose set, makeup re-applied and hair tamed, she walked out the door and ended the crucio; he wouldn’t recover from that quite so easily.
She locked the door and made her way down the street towards the apparition point, pocketing her key.
She made a note to call the floo maintenance on Monday morning.