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The Weasley Affair by SitPretty
Chapter 1 : Cause
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 11


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A/N: The idea is to make every alluring male figure within the Harry Potter novels (besides Ronald Weasley) readily available while not actually being readily available. Make sense? No, I rather thought not myself.
The key is tension, people. Tension.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You can't buy love, but you can pay heavily for it." - Henny Youngman 

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She knew she was done with Ron the moment she caught him draws down, on top of Hannah Abbot in Harry’s office. 

It had been abrupt, she would admit that at least, but not so unexpected. She’d been suspicious for weeks. Ever since she’d found that lipstick mark on his work shirt in a shade of vibrant purple she knew she didn’t own, Hermione had been operating under the assumption that her boyfriend was having an affair. For the first time ever, she really wished she wasn’t right. 

As always, she was. 

She’d just been delivering papers at the time, the simple part of her job, and was making rounds of all the Auror offices to procure the signatures of a select few who had been involved in the capture of one Walden McNair. She’d already seen Neville, and Zambini was out, so she made her way over to Harry’s tiny corner office, taking her time. He had been offered one as big as hers and right by the lift, but declined, not wanting the administration to show any favoritism. 

Ron had laughed at that. Favoritism? Harry could have taken the top position if he’d wanted. Hell, he could have run for minister. A world so enamored and grateful wasn’t about to say no to their only savior, were they? Even with the years that had passed, people still stopped in the streets when faced with the awe inspiring hero that was Harry Potter. 

Or so Ron liked to tell him. Hermione figured it was more of a tease than a compliment; Harry always went beet red and refused to talk about it. 

She’d arrived at his door balancing a heavy stack of folders against her hip with one arm, pencil tucked behind her ear, and her fingers smudged with ink. She’d been sorting through the paperwork for them since morning and it had taken more time than she’d liked. Impatient, she knocked on the door loudly enough, and when no one answered, she let herself in as she always did. 

Hannah Abbot, Harry’s secretary, was not in her chair and the door to Harry’s inner office was open only the slightest bit, a slice of light from the crack illuminating the darkened waiting room. Hermione, not hesitant at all, strode through to the other door and didn’t even bother knocking, seeing as it was already open. That would have been her first mistake. 

Her second had been ignoring the sounds that were coming from Harry’s office, or just not realizing them for what they were. Had she stopped at the first sound of a grunt, she might of spared herself the sight of Ron, back to her, pants and drawers around his ankles, thrusting hips at a furiously pink Hannah Abbot atop Harry’s desk, who, legs around Hermione’s boyfriend and hands fisted in his hair, caught Hermione’s eye over Ron’s shoulder and had the audacity -the sheer flippancy- to wink. 

Hermione, thinking back later, was so grateful she didn’t have her wand on her in that moment, because doubtlessly, she would have killed them both. 

Instead, she gaped for mere seconds, quiet and still, and then backed up and shut the door. Hermione was very tempted to scream her frustration out then, standing just outside the room in which her boyfriend was making love to another woman. But she was nothing if not rational, and knew the best course of action was to leave, silently and unseen, until she could decide what to do. 

The moment she made it out of Harry’s waiting room, she already knew. The betrayal and hurt that swelled in her chest was almost pushed back at the thought, so clear in her mind- she was going to dump Ronald Weasley. Hermione Granger was going to cut off all ties with the deceitful little rat and never see him again. 

Though her head swam with the new revelation and decision, she managed to make her way back to her office, passing through her own sitting room with a disoriented nod to her secretary and stumbling to her desk to drop the papers she’d taken so long to organize. Her secretary, Marlis Todd, an auror-in-training who reminded Hermione of Tonks with her boy short, bright pink coif, poked her head into Hermione’s office after her, eyes sharp with curiosity. “Somebody hit you with a confundus?” she quipped, and it was only when Hermione didn’t answer her that she became concerned. 

“Oi, Granger,” she called out, too uncomfortable to use Hermione’s first name in the office as Hermione had asked, but wanting to compensate, “You alright?” 

“Fine,” Hermione rasped and turned to see that Marlis now stood in her doorway, hands braced against the frame and watching her. “I’m fine,” she repeated in a firmer tone, and turned back to shuffle her papers. 

“You just look a bit peaky, is all,” Marlis replied and walked into the office to stand beside her, grabbing at some of the sheets. “Here, I can do this.” 

“Don’t,” Hermione snapped without intending to, and Marlis flinched back. She forced herself to be softer when she said, “Please, don’t. I’ll clean them up.” 

Marlis placed the papers back down gently, giving her boss some space but remaining in the room. She looked on as Hermione collected the mess up into a pile, only to have it slip from shaky hands again to the tiled floor. She cussed then, something Marlis had never heard from her before, and instantly Marlis was on her knees before her, scrounging them up and soothing things over with a, “It’s fine, it’s fine; just let me do it, will you? Morgana’s tits, you can take a bloody break once in a while.” 

Hermione slumped back against her desk with a sigh and crossed her arms, and Marlis finished scooping the last of her mess. Arms full of Hermione’s work, she dumped everything atop her desk and instantly her free hands went to her hips. “So what’s this about?” 

Hermione eyed her with some reservation. As flamboyant as Marlis appeared, she knew being an Auror meant keeping her mouth shut, and for the five months Hermione had been working with the girl, she’d grown to trust her a great deal. With a grimace and a flourish of her wand, Hermione shut the door of her office and locked it. Marlis watched with interest but didn’t comment and waited patiently until Hermione said with all the authority she could muster, “This doesn’t leave my office.” 

“Of course,” Marlis said quickly. 

“I’m breaking up with my boyfriend,” Hermione blurted out, and for some reason it felt like a relief to say. She took in a deep breath as something washed over her- was that calm? And Marlis merely stared, uncomprehending. 

Of course, Marlis wouldn’t know how long they’d been together. Years, she wasted years on him. Marlis wouldn’t know how connected Hermione had become to Ron’s family after her own had died. And there was no way she could have known Ron had been talking about engagement to Harry for the past few weeks. So to Marlis, perhaps Hermione’s broken relationship wasn’t something all that doomy. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t told someone like Ginny or Harry about this first- they most definitely would have tried to talk her out of it. 

“Oh,” Marlis said after a beat, “Is that all?” 

Hermione was so relieved to find someone who would treat the situation with some normalcy. “Yes,” she confirmed, bracing her hands back on her desk and then continuing, “Except I haven’t told him yet.” 

And then there was a knowing, “Oooh. So what’s keeping you?” 

Hermione’s smile was bitter and she practically spat out, “He’s a bit busy at the moment, shagging that Abbott bint.” 

There was silence and Hermione was suddenly afraid she’d said too much. She glanced at Marlis to find her gaping. “No,” she said in hushed disbelief. 

Encouraged, Hermione gave a brief nod and then said venomously, “On top of Harry Potter’s desk.” 

Laughter was the last thing she expected. Marlis let out a whoop and, not even bothering to disguise it in a coughing fit, clenched at her stomach and leaned back against the door as the wind left her. Hermione glared, embarrassed, and Marlis at least made an attempt to stop when she met her eyes. “Sorry,” she managed, “I’m so sorry, I know it’s not funny.” 

Peals escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth until it slowed enough for her to exclaim, “Sorry, it’s just… you know that Richardson bloke in Magical Cooperation?” She didn’t wait for Hermione to reply and rushed on, “He’s a mate of mine; had a go with Abbott about last week, and if what he says is true, your ex is gonna have quite the rash when he’s good and done with her.” Marlis’s grin just about covered her whole entire face, and Hermione found it was catching. 

There was a sick satisfaction in knowing exactly what lay in wait for Ron Weasley and his traitorous ways. 

“Damn,” Marlis said, catching her breath, “Feel a little better?” 

She most certainly did. The malicious glee that rose in Hermione startled her, and turned her head from Marlis, lest her smirk show. Marlis simply beamed at her reaction and reached out to clasp Hermione’s hands, tugging them from her. “How about grabbing a bevvy after work? Celebrate the freeness of Hermione Granger.” 

“I really shouldn’t,” Hermione tried to placate her with logic, “I haven’t even- I mean, I should tell him before…” She bit her lip and cast a fleeting look of hope at her secretary-turned-ally. “I don’t suppose it really matters, does it?” 

“Not at all,” Marlis agreed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, Ronald Weasley walked into his formerly cushioned and well-furnished flat to discover that half of what he considered his belongings were missing and Hermione was no where to be found. Instead of reaching the obvious conclusion, Ronald panicked and flooed Harry Potter in order to track down his girlfriend’s whereabouts, certain she had been kidnapped and restrained elsewhere, if not worse. 

After a quick search of the apartment, Harry came upon a note –not long enough to be deemed a letter- that simply said, 

Dear Ronald, 

You were caught. Consider us done. 

Marlis sends her regards and hopes the rash stays for a good, long time. 

Yours No Longer, 

Hermione Granger 

Ps, At least tell Harry to clean his desk, would you? 


Harry, who was confused by the hastily scrawled, incoherent letter, could get nothing out of Ron, who for at least ten minutes afterwards could do nothing but gape at the parchment. Fed up, he left Ronald to figure it out for himself, as Harry had work early the desk day, and apparently there was something wrong with his desk.


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