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Hermione Granger could be the brightest witch of her generation, a war heroine, someone who had achieved professional success at an insultingly young age and accomplished every goal she set for herself… but she wasn’t perfect.
She was jealous.
Not in an irrational way—or so she liked to tell herself—but in a logical one. Methodical. Completely justified when it came to her husband, Ronald Weasley.
Because Hermione + Ron + emotions had always been an explosive combination. It had been that way at Hogwarts, and apparently marriage hadn’t eliminated that little detail.
They loved each other; of that she had no doubt. Their life was good: a cozy house, years of living together, plans for children, and the recurring image of a red-haired baby with impossible-to-tame hair.
The problem was Ron.
He was unintentionally funny.
He had that disarming smile.
He was very attractive.
And, to make matters worse, Ron was Head Auror. Even before Harry, thanks to strategic skills developed between wizard chess games and questionable decisions.
All of that had caught the attention of many women.
Ron insisted that people were just being nice.
That they respected them as war heroes.
That Hermione was exaggerating.
Ron was the only one who didn’t notice.
Hermione went excitedly to Ron’s office; she wanted to surprise him. She had recently returned from a mission of more than two weeks with her team and, since then, she felt more “affectionate” than usual.
She decided to take the afternoon off that day. Ron had always fantasized about doing things at work, and she had always refused, claiming someone might see them.
Today, for the first time, she felt willing to try a little.
And, if things went well, finish it at home.
When she reached his office door, she took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt. Feeling a bit daring, she unbuttoned one button of her blouse; she had chosen a bra that enhanced her bust. A small, insignificant detail… or so she wanted to believe.
She opened the door.
And everything stopped.
Ron was not alone.
A beautiful blonde woman, with perfectly straight hair down to her waist and curves that seemed unreal, was smiling at Ron. It wasn’t a casual smile. It was slow, confident… intimate.
Hermione couldn’t help it; she immediately thought of Lavender. But this woman was different. More polished. More self-aware.
Even more beautiful.
Her blood ran cold instantly.
Her hand went instinctively to her chest and she buttoned her shirt back up. The gesture was automatic, defensive. This was a battle she had already lost before even starting it.
As soon as Ron turned his head, he gave her that smile that always turned Hermione’s legs to jelly. He walked toward her immediately, stopping whatever he had been explaining to the woman.
“Hi, Mione. I thought we weren’t having lunch until three,” he said, leaning in to give her a sweet kiss on the lips.
She returned the kiss, but her attention was no longer on Ron.
“I was on my way to see Roberts and stopped by to see how you were doing,” she lied, blushing as she remembered what she had actually planned. “But I see you’re busy.”
“Oh, right, I forgot,” Ron said, turning around. “This is Sophie, she’s from France. She’s part of the Auror exchange program. She arrived while I was on a mission, and Harry asked if I could train her.”
Sophie stepped closer, with a studied posture and a look of self-assurance Hermione recognized all too well.
“Hello, Sophie, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hermione said, with barely perceptible stiffness. “I’m Hermione Weasley, Ron’s wife.”
There was no need to clarify. Everyone knew. Ron had at least a dozen photos of the two of them all over his office, including one from their wedding.
Still, she said it.
She saw Ron blush slightly. She never used her married name. Never.
And today, curiously, she had decided to do it.
It had nothing to do with Sophie.
Of course not.
“Oh yes, Ronnie was just telling me about you, Hermione,” Sophie said, looping her arm through Ron’s and leaning against him naturally. “It’s really charming the way he talks about you.”
Charming.
Hermione smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Do you want to go to lunch, Mione? I’m starving,” Ron asked, letting go of Sophie and taking Hermione’s hand. “I made reservations at that Chinese restaurant you mentioned before I left.”
Hermione nodded.
Her hand was in Ron’s,
but her attention was still fixed on Sophie.
And something small and irritating began to grow in her chest.
“Oh, I love Chinese food,” Sophie said, eyes sparkling as she looked at Ron.
Ron scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable.
“I guess you could come… what do you think, Mione?” he asked.
She knew he was only being polite, but it still annoyed her.
“Of course,” Hermione said through clenched teeth. “I’ll tell Harry to join us,” she continued, thinking it was for the best; she’d sic that idiot on that Sophie girl.
Hermione burst into Harry’s office, slamming the door. He jumped—something that would have amused her in another situation, but not today.
“What the hell were you thinking assigning that Sophie girl to Ron?” she snapped, as Harry recovered from the scare.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that with everything at work and Ginny’s pregnancy, I didn’t have time for a trainee,” Harry replied, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t think it would bother you.”
“I’m not bothered, just a bit unsettled,” Hermione lied. “It doesn’t matter, you’re coming to lunch with the three of us. Get ready.”
“What? Why me?” Harry asked, surprised.
“Because you assigned that girl to Ron,” Hermione said sharply. “And now you’re going to help me get rid of her.”
Hermione was fairly sure she heard, “I hope she doesn’t throw birds at Ron again,” as she left Harry’s office, which seemed unfair.
It had only happened once.
The four of them walked toward the restaurant, but Sophie was so focused on talking to Ron that it was as if Hermione and Harry weren’t even there. Hermione’s patience with that girl was wearing thin, but she didn’t want to look like a crazy person making a scene.
When they finally sat down, Hermione sat next to Ron and across from Sophie; Harry sat next to Sophie and across from Ron. That way, Hermione knew it would be harder for Sophie to talk to Ron.
Under the table, Hermione squeezed Ron’s leg. When he looked at her, she gave him a mischievous smile; he immediately blushed.
“Tell me, Ron, have you always been a Quidditch fan?” Sophie asked.
“Yes, I’ve loved playing it for as long as I can remember,” Ron replied, smiling. “But I was never the best at school—that title belongs to Harry.”
“You were very good too; you were crucial to winning the Cup,” Harry said. “Do you play, Sophie?”
“Oh, do I play? I was the best player for three consecutive years at Beauxbatons,” Sophie replied smugly, looking at Hermione. “In fact, my record still hasn’t been beaten.”
“Record?” Harry and Ron asked in unison.
“Oh yes. I’ve been the highest scorer in a single match in over 250 years. Four hundred and fifty goals,” Sophie said. “Do you play, Hermione?”
Hermione mentally listed four hundred and fifty logical reasons why she shouldn’t throw hot tea at Sophie’s head.
The fact that the tea hadn’t arrived yet helped.
“Oh, no, I don’t like flying,” she replied, then looked at Ron. “I only went to matches because of Ron.”
Ron leaned over and kissed her.
“I love you,” he said softly.
Hermione felt like she might burst with happiness; she didn’t know whether it was because of what Ron said or because Sophie was sitting right across from her.
When she looked back at Sophie, it was now Hermione who wore the smug smile.
Sophie merely held a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
When they finally returned to the Ministry, Sophie said goodbye; she only had half-day training sessions with Ron.
Hermione, unwilling to leave until Sophie was gone, stayed with them.
She watched Sophie say goodbye with a kiss on Ron’s cheek, while she only gave Hermione and Harry a brief nod.
Hermione’s insides burned. She excused herself and went to the bathroom in Ron’s office.
She smiled.
The smile she used when she was about to lose her patience.
She counted to ten.
Then to twenty.
It didn’t help, but at least she tried.
She was on her way out when she heard Seamus Finnegan say:
“Bloody hell, mate, that girl is smoking hot,” he said, looking toward the exit. “If I were you, I don’t know if I could stay loyal to Hermione. Harry, you were an idiot—”
He suddenly fell silent when he saw Hermione.
“Oh… right, anyway, these are the case files you asked for, Ron. Well, I have to go. See you later, Hermione,” he said quickly, before she could hex him.
“You’re an idiot, Seamus Finnegan!” Hermione shouted after him.
“Easy, Mione, you know how Seamus is—he exaggerates. Besides, you’re hotter,” Ron said, moving closer and leaning in to kiss her.
Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.
But at that moment, Hermione was furious.
“I have to go. See you at home,” she said to Ron and Harry, who were left stunned.
She left without another word. Ron called after her, but she ignored him.
At that moment, Ginny was walking into Ron’s office; he greeted her cheerfully, but Hermione didn’t even notice.
Hermione was a mess; she had to pack her things before Ron got home.
But the tears and sobbing slowed her down.
It was absurd, she knew.
Ron hadn’t shown any interest at any point.
But Hermione knew it was only a matter of time.
She packed her things more aggressively—until she heard a voice.
Hermione didn’t respond. She kept stacking books. Of course she was packing books. She wasn’t leaving without them.
Ron approached slowly, as if afraid that a sudden movement might shatter her completely. He sat beside her on the bed and, after a few seconds of hesitation, wrapped his arms around her.
Hermione didn’t push him away.
That was what finally made her cry.
“You’re not going to leave me,” she said suddenly, her voice breaking. “But I’m afraid that one day it’ll just… happen.”
Ron went still.
“What are you talking about?”
Hermione swallowed.
“Sophie. I’m afraid of her,” she finally confessed, hating how vulnerable she sounded. “I see how she looks at you, she loves Quidditch as much as you do, she isn’t afraid of flying, she’s beautiful, she could give you beautiful babies with perfect red hair.”
“Wait here,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
Ron was already pulling out his wand.
“Trust me, okay?”
Before she could protest, a silver Patronus shot from the tip of his wand and passed through the wall.
“I asked Neville for a favor,” Ron explained, scratching the back of his neck. “He works at Hogwarts, so… Pensieve.”
Hermione frowned.
“What?”
“I’m not very good at explaining how I feel,” he admitted. “But I can show you.”
Minutes later, Hermione stood before the Pensieve, her eyes still red, watching memories that weren’t hers.
She saw Sophie leaning in too close.
She saw Ron step back.
She saw Sophie touch his arm… and Ron grow uncomfortable.
She saw how, the moment Hermione entered his office, he brightened.
She saw how, the entire time he was with Sophie, he was thinking of her.
In every memory, even when Sophie smiled, Hermione was there. In his mind. In his inner voice. In the way Ron felt awkward, out of place.
When she stepped out of the Pensieve, Hermione didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry again.
“You could have told me all this,” she murmured.
“I was going to,” Ron said. “But you left before I could.”
Hermione snorted.
“I’m sorry, I acted like an idiot,” she said as Ron leaned in and kissed her.
Just then, a knock in the fireplace startled them.
“Hi!” Neville said, poking his head out. “I’m just here to get the Pensieve. And to say Ginny is betting five Galleons that this was jealousy-related.”
Hermione groaned.
“Tell her to piss off,” Ron said.
“She’ll kill me,” Neville replied, smiling.
Ron hugged her, and this time Hermione let herself sink into his chest.
Not everything was resolved.
The fear hadn’t disappeared completely.
But as Ron held her, Hermione thought that maybe loving someone didn’t mean never being afraid.
Maybe it just meant staying… even when you were.
And mentally, she decided to unpack the suitcase.
Later.
She still felt “affectionate.”
The End