You Are The Reason

"I'd climb every mountain and swim every ocean, just to be with you." - Calum Scott

There was a time when Hermione thought she had found the perfect man in Ronald Weasley. She can still remember the day she first met him, not that she thought he would become the man she would marry at the time, and even though they got off to a rocky start it had become one of her fondest memories. Then as the years passed, and the darkness of the war descended upon them, something changed. Hermione couldn't put her finger on what it was, but the love she and Ron shared started to shift; it began to become as tainted as her once treasured memories. At first she put it down to the stress of being wrapped up in constant danger, but after the war ended and nothing changed, she started to grasp that the problem had nothing to do with the war.

Hermione longed for a simple life, one where she could raise awareness for those less fortunate and at some point start a family, but as her relationship with Ron progressed, she began to understand she wouldn't have that sort of life. Ron seemed to thrive on conflict. It started slow, as most of these types of things do. Hermione came to understand that's how people become trapped; they are eased into submission.

Ron was always a jealous person. Whether it was due to her academics or Harry's fame, he always felt like he got the short end of the stick. Charlie was a renowned Dragon Tamer, Bill was a famous curse breaker, even the twins had a very successful business that was brilliant in its design. Ron, however, only shared their last name. He was an average student, of average intelligence, and a wild temper. All of that combined got worse when he started drinking to cope.

The first night that he hit her she swore it would be the last, but when she floo'd to Harry and Ginny's for comfort, she was quickly reminded of her place in the grand scheme of things. It had been years since she had felt like Hermione Granger: muggleborn. After the war she had become Hermione Granger war heroine, or Hermione Granger soon-to-be Weasley, as the tiny ruby on her left finger promised. Standing in the newly remodeled kitchen of Grimmauld Place, she was hastily reminded that without Ronald Weasley, she had no place among the red-headed family. She could still feel the heat coming off of the emerald eyes of her best friend as he scolded her for her part in the fight.

"You forget Mione, I know how demanding you can be. You can only push someone so far before they push back!"

The continued belittling from her two friends birthed a new thought, and it ravaged her already scattered mind like a virus. Slowly, she began to turn in on herself. Maybe she had antagonized him? She was a bit much after all, hadn't all of her former teachers and schoolmates told her as much? With her tail between her legs, she asked to use Harry's floo, missing the smug grin plastered on Ginny's face. After that night, their fights turned more and more brutal. It was not something Hermione would have imagined for herself. She was a smart woman, it was still hard for her to believe this was what her life had become. Yet a disease had settled, and soon it consumed what was left of the bond between her and Ron.

The worst of it started with late nights at the pub, where he would come home with wrinkled clothes, smelling of cheap perfume. Then it became nights where he would simply not come home at all. After a while Hermione preferred those nights; she wasn't forced to heal herself in the morning. The heavy oak clock above the fireplace chimed the awakening of the new hour, causing Hermione to sigh. Her pacing slowed to a near stop as she looked down at the steady scarlet flames. No matter the distance that had grown between her and her fiance, she couldn't prevent the worry that grew in her nightly. The moment he withdrew his cloak from the metal rack beside the door, donning it without a care in the world, a pit of anxiety would grow inside Hermione's stomach until the moment of his return. She wasn't sure if it was because of what he carried with him upon his return; an anger that would leave her bruised and bloodied on the bathroom floor. Or maybe it was because of the conditioning left behind from years of worrying about him and Harry during the war that she chose not to fight back.