Nowhere to Run
The world outside their flat moved on as if nothing was wrong. People laughed in the streets, lights from Diagon Alley flickered in the distance, and somewhere, far from here, life was normal.
Not for her.
Hermione moved carefully around the kitchen, wiping up the mess Ron had made the night before. Her hands trembled slightly, but she ignored it, pressing her lips together as she bent down to pick up the broken pieces of china.
She used to love this flat. It had been hers before it was theirs—small but cozy, lined with bookshelves, a place where she could breathe. Now it felt like a cage.
A door creaked behind her, and she stiffened.
“Cleaning up your mess, are you?” Ron’s voice was groggy, thick with leftover firewhisky.
Hermione didn’t look at him. “I’m cleaning up your mess,” she corrected quietly, tossing a shattered plate into the bin.
A mistake. She should have let it go.
Ron moved closer, and she could feel his presence like a storm building behind her. “What did you just say?”
She swallowed, forcing herself to stay calm. “Nothing.”
A beat of silence. Then—
“You know,” Ron murmured, voice dangerously smooth, “it’s funny how you’re always playing the victim. I bet that’s what you want, isn’t it? Everyone feeling sorry for poor, little Hermione Granger, stuck with the awful husband who doesn’t worship the ground she walks on.”
She forced herself to keep wiping the counter. “I don’t think that.”
“But they do.”
Hermione bit her tongue. She knew where this was going. She knew the game.
“You think people don’t talk?” Ron continued, circling her like a predator. “You think they don’t wonder why I’m still with you? Why I even bother?”
Her grip tightened on the rag. “Ron—”
“Harry gets it, you know.” His voice turned smug, cruel. “Even Ginny. Everyone’s sick of your shit. They just don’t say it to your face.”
Hermione stilled.
That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
Ron saw the hesitation flicker across her face and pounced. “You think they still like you? After everything? I mean, look at you, Hermione. You’re pathetic. You sit here playing housewife, clinging to the idea that you matter. That anyone cares.”
Her chest tightened. “Ginny’s my best friend—”
“Was,” Ron corrected with a smirk. “When’s the last time she reached out? Harry either? What about the Weasleys? You’re just an obligation to them now. A burden.”
Hermione knew this was manipulation. She knew Ron wanted to break her down. But the seed of doubt had already planted itself in her chest, curling its way around her heart.
Had Ginny been distant? Had Harry pulled away? She’d been so caught up in surviving Ron’s moods that she hadn’t noticed.
“Face it,” Ron said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. That was the worst part. “I’m all you have left.”
Hermione’s breath hitched.
No. No, that wasn’t true. She had herself.
She had—
The thought shattered as Ron grabbed her wrist.
“Ron,” she gasped, instinctively trying to pull away. “Let go—”
His grip tightened, and in a flash, he had her pinned against the wall. Hermione’s breath came short and fast. Her wand was out of reach. She couldn’t move.
Ron leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You don’t get to walk away from me.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
He had never done this before—never truly crossed this line.
“Ron,” she tried again, more desperate now. “You’re hurting me.”
He didn’t let go. His fingers dug into her skin, his nails biting deep.
“You think you can just leave?” he snarled. “You think I’ll let you?”
Fear wrapped around her throat like a noose. This was it. This was the moment.
She wasn’t safe. She never had been.
A sharp, sudden impact across her cheek. The sound of skin against skin echoed through the room, and Hermione’s head snapped to the side. The world blurred.
She barely registered the fact that she had slumped to the floor until she felt the cool wood beneath her palms. Her breath hitched. Her cheek burned.
Ron stared down at her, chest rising and falling, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, just like that, he scoffed and turned away. “Pathetic,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Hermione didn’t move.
She couldn’t. The weight of everything settled on her chest like lead. She was alone. Ron had taken everything. And now, she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to take it back.