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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After	By : ElizabethStump Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 90306 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
- 23
"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"

Chapter Twenty-Two
"Catch Me If I Fall" or "In Vino Veritas"
Disclaimer: See Jo K. Rowling write about Harry Potter. Write Jo, write. See the bevy of lawyers protect Jo's intellectual property. Protect lawyers, protect. See Betz write Harry Potter fan fiction based on Jo's characters and concepts. Write Betz, write. See Betz disclaim any ownership over Jo's intellectual property. Disclaim Betz, disclaim. See Betz hope the lawyers are satisfied by her disclaimers. Hope Betz, hope.

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Severus stepped into the lobby of Lovely Lavender's headquarters, robes billowing. With a sneer set firmly upon his face and seething hot rage bubbling beneath his icy exterior, he strode through the building.

The few house-elves that served as receptionists at the front desk squeaked and ducked for cover upon seeing the Potions master in an exceptionally foul mood.

Instead of taking the lift up the four flights to Miss Brown's office, he took the stairs, two and three steps at a time with his long legs; the exercise giving him the chance to consume a small amount of the adrenaline fueled anger that coursed through his body. By the time Severus entered her office without so much as a knock, he did feel a bit more collected.

Draco was already there, having just finished his recounting of his forced interrogation.

"Did they find anything out?" Severus asked Draco with no preamble.

The younger wizard shook his head; his mouth was set in a thin line.

"Good," Severus said sharply. "They didn't find anything of interest with me, though I did have to lose some snot nosed Auror who tailed me on the way out of the building."

Draco growled. "Same here."

"I think, gentlemen, that it would be best if you kept all your business work here from now on. I don't need to get dragged into a Ministry inquiry as to why I have two ex-Death Eaters working for me in a non-sanctioned capacity," Lavender warned them with apparent irritation.

"Severus," Lavender continued, "all your work and materials that Marf brought here from your study are in a new room I had the house-elves set up for you. I ask that all owls for Sebastian Delgado are sent here from now on as well."

The older wizard nodded in agreement. "Well, let's get to work," Severus barked.

"I think you'll want to see the Daily Prophet first," Draco said carefully, edging a copy of the newspaper along Lavender's desk towards his colleague.

Severus scanned the newspaper reading the account of the attack, he face growing grimmer with each paragraph. "Oh, bloody fucking hell!" he exclaimed.

"Tell me," Lavender said through gritted teeth.

"Is there going to be a problem with Mrs. Weasley?" Draco asked, keeping his question as vague as possible.

His face scrunched up in aggravation, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. With the death of Hermione's co-worker, on top of the fact she was in such fragile shape over the state of her miserable marriage, he wondered what sort of condition she could be in at the moment.

Severus bit down on the inside corner of mouth. It was a nervous habit that no one could notice. "Well, it's not like I can just pop up on her doorstep and say, 'Hey, it's your gigolo, mind if I come in and make you a spot of tea for your troubles?' I think not!"

"No… but you could send her an owl," Lavender sing-songed sweetly, her mood suddenly lifted.

She began smiling for the first time that morning before tipping back in her chair, setting it to spin round and round, her arms waving in the air as if conducting an invisible orchestra. "Dear Hermione… I am so very sorry to hear about the loss of your co-worker. I read the paper this morning and thought of you, remembering you telling me about your work. I do hope you are all right, even though your name was not mentioned in the Daily Prophet as one of the many injured. I do hope this letter finds you well. I look forward with anticipation to our next meeting… No, scratch that… Next Thursday evening. Kindest regards…” Lavender stopped her chair to look at older wizard. "What was the name she gave you again?"

"She let me pick the name," Severus replied with his arms folded in front of his chest looking petulant, but slightly relieved by Miss Brown's idea.

"And?"

"Calleo."

Draco snorted.

"Think that name's funny, do you?" Severus bristled at Draco's reaction. "My mother almost named me that." He frowned, daring the blond wizard to laugh at his mother.

"Sorry," Draco said with no remorse, "You'll always be Severus to me. Anything else would just not be… you."

Ignoring Draco's non-apology, Severus thought out loud. "Yes, the idea does have some merit. It will make her think I actually care for her and will help gain her trust."

He silently realized that it would be another way of dropping a subtle hint about his identity. The young witch would probably remember the handwriting of her old Potions teacher.

"Good. I think it's time we get to work now," Lavender said firmly. "Severus, I'll show you were your new office is."

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

The first thing Hermione saw when her eyes suddenly snapped open was a bright ray of sunshine streaming into the bedroom. It lit up the dust motes as they lazily swirled in the air, finding convection currents in which to ride and dance their random paths across her field of vision. Hypnotized by the inanimate ballet performed for her alone, she didn't notice the far off sounds of someone in the kitchen.

The sound of a glass shattering on the tile floor in said kitchen rousted the witch from her trance.

"Bloody hell." She could hear Ron swear in the distance.

Hermione closed her eyes and winced. 'Just get it done and over with,' she tried to convince herself.

Summoning some of that famous Gryffindor courage that she was beginning to think she was no longer in possession of, Mrs. Weasley rose from the bed. A quick glance in the mirror reminded her that she had fallen asleep in her clothes and she looked quite pitifully rumpled and bedraggled. A major case of bed-head added to her woeful look.

A trip to the loo confirmed that her monthly cycle had begun while she was asleep. Hermione gave a quick and silent prayer of thanks that she was not pregnant, as contraceptive potions had a very small margin of failure, slightly less than women who used The Pill correctly. Grabbing one of her weekly Potion vials, she downed it like all good witches did on the first day of their cycle and did so once a week, every week. Looking at her bathroom cabinet supplies, she added contraceptive potions to her mental list of things to pick up at the apothecary that weekend.

Reaching for her jar of Lovely Lavender's Puffy Poof Eye Crème, she noted there was only enough left for one more application. Once the jar was empty, she placed it in the glass-recycling basket. The basket was beginning to look quite full and would need to be brought in to the apothecary for recycling.

It amazed Hermione when she thought about it, but most of the jar and vials used for potions were routinely recycled as the prospect of having new glass containers blown and manufactured would eventually make the price of potions fairly costly. The wizarding world also tended to frown on waste. Wizarding glass manufacturers kept making new vials, jars and bottles, but most everyone reused the containers for other things or their own homemade potions and concoctions. There were standard sizes, colors and shapes, but for the most part, people looked at the label more than the container itself when making purchases.

'Aunt Christina would have a cow if she had to live in my world,' she thought briefly. Hermione's aunt was a vice president of a large international advertising and marketing agency. During Christmas dinners the woman would go on at length about some big launch of a product she was in charge of and how much work was done in the product design and customer research phase.

Hermione flushed the toilet knowing the sound would alert her husband that she was awake.

Walking through the flat, she found Ron in the kitchen casting a Reparo on the glass she heard shatter earlier. She studied his profile for a moment and noticed the slightly grim set of his mouth and the way his clothes hung on his frame.

'At least he looks like he's been eating.' Leaning against the door jam, she finally said, "Hi."

Ron's head snapped to look at her once he realized she was there. His expression turned from surprise to uncomfortable acknowledgment. "Hi."

Both of them looked at each other awkwardly before averting their gazes to other parts of the kitchen. Neither could look at the other at the moment. Hermione studied the crown molding, finally noticing it was in need of a good cleaning, as a thick layer of grime had begun to form, giving the glossy painted strip of wood a dull and yellowish cast.

After shifting from one foot to the other, Hermione finally walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of juice to quench her parched throat that had begun to constrict once she had laid eyes on Ron.

She seated herself at the table, silently waiting for Ron to make the first move. In chess Ron always preferred to play black so he could see which move his opponent made first. The nervous witch wondered if he was using the same tactic, waiting to see what she said first before opening his mouth for once.

The silence stretched between them like a thread of spider's silk. At some point the tension would be too great and it would break.

Despite how much she had dreaded this moment for the past week, Hermione felt rather calm. She wondered if it was just the fact she had decided that morning to no longer feel anything and this numbness allowed her to approach the situation with an eerie remoteness she didn’t think possible. No matter the reason and however much she felt emotionally disconnected, Hermione blinked first.

"Are you still playing first string Keeper?" It was a safe question to break the ice that spanned between them.

"Yeah," Ron answered, his voice tight and stilted.

Out of the corner of her eye Hermione saw him stand stiffly with his back to her, his hands braced against the edge of the chipped tile counter. She sat with her back to him as she sipped her juice once more, staring out the kitchen window.

Curious as to how long Ron would be first string, Hermione asked, "How much longer will Randall be on leave?"

"Dunno."

She could tell Ron was still really upset, now that the harrowing events of last night had faded and he was certain his wife was safe. The memories of last Saturday night rose between them and choked the air they breathed. Hermione was still upset too, but no longer seemed to care. Her newfound dispassionate nature forged ahead, apathetic and indifferent to the consequences of whatever might be said.

'Alright, let's get this over with.' She inhaled before speaking. "Well?"

"Well what?" Ron shot back tersely.

"Well, you still sound upset." Hermione glanced over her shoulder and saw Pigwidgeon back on his perch. "Have you come back to apologize, expect me to apologize, or are we going to talk about this and try and decide who's at fault for this argument? Or we could do what we always do and say we're both at fault, then kiss and make-up while pretending that we can fuck away the problem and try to forget the real reason why we fight so much."

If Hermione had not been so devoid of emotion at that moment, she would have been stunned by her own words. Even to herself, she sounded cold and callous, almost calculating.

Hermione turned her head to look at her husband. Ron stood there, his mouth agape, ogling at her like some bizarre and grotesque creature. For some strange reason, it gave her peace to not feel any shame from her words.

Tired of tiptoeing around the growing discord between them and pretending it didn't exist, Hermione blithely stated, "I can see our marriage going one of two ways, Ron. Either we can get a divorce or we can go into counseling. Which is it going to be?"

"Wait! What? Divorce? You must be in shock to even suggest a thing like that, 'Mione!" Ron could be right, she could be in shock, which was why she couldn't feel a thing, either emotionally or physically. "I think you're tired and you're talking nonsense. Sure we have a few rocky spots, but nothing that we couldn't work out ourselves."

"So you think this marriage is salvageable?" Normally by this point she would be screaming at Ron, but she just couldn't find the energy to get upset.

Ron sputtered, "Wh–, well YES! Don't you?"

Hermione wasn't sure. Yes, the idea of being alone earlier in the week frightened her, but now she could not think of any reason why she should be scared. There were lots of divorced young women in the Muggle world making it on their own with crappy dead-end jobs all the time. Why couldn't she? She was a Muggle-born after all. It didn’t seem like such an adverse idea, really. But one thought came back to her time and time again. Did she really want to divorce Ron? Maybe their relationship just had to come to a point like this before both parties were willing to change in order to make it work.

The part of Hermione that was raised to never quit or give up demanded she earnestly try and make her marriage work. The voice of her mother reminding her that marriage is not all roses came to the forefront of her mind along with a myriad of other issues. Divorce was a final step to take when all avenues had been exhausted and so far neither of them had really tried to work things out.

As she contemplated silently, Ron began to get nervous. He worried that his wife might disagree and refute him claiming there was nothing left between them worth saving. Kneeling next to Hermione, Ron took her hands in his and looked up into her eyes while searching for some glimmer of emotion on her stoically blank face, studying her face for an answer before she gave it.

Hermione sat there, looking into his eyes. She could feel no passion for him. But didn't most marriages after a while lose that elusive and fleeting sizzle and spark between two people before settling into a warm glow of contentment? Could she be content with Ron? She wasn't sure any more, but was willing at that moment to try and learn if she could be satisfied with the well-worn friendship she had developed with her husband, despite its periodic disappointments.

"I guess so, Ron."

Gathering his wife into his arms, Ron hugged her fiercely. "Oh 'Mione. I shouldn't have been away for so long. I should never have made you doubt us," Ron began rambling into her hair.

She could only sit there limply, feeling his arms crushing her to his chest. She did nothing but surrender to the suffocating feeling that came with resignation and acceptance.

After a while, Ron released Hermione from his embrace.

Checking the clock, Hermione casually mentioned that Harry and Ginny were coming over at six and his sister offered to cook.

Ron's face instantly brightened. "That'll be great. Just the four of us for dinner. Why don't you go take a shower and I'll get everything ready."

Hermione was grateful for his sweet and thoughtful gesture. Then she thought about how long it would be before they both slipped into old habits and he took her for granted once more while she became even more bitter and cynical about their relationship.

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

The conversation she had with Ron before Harry and Ginny showed up played over and over in her mind.

'We don’t need counseling, 'Mione. That's for nutters and hopeless cases.' His voice droned in her head like a broken record. 'I will not go and have my private thoughts analyzed for faults by someone who doesn’t even know us.' Hermione poked at her steak with her fork while his voice kept coming unbidden in her mind. 'Counselors are for Muggles, not for people like us. Besides, what would my family say if they found out? I don't want my mother going on about how she has failed as a parent if her son has to go see some Muggle mind healer to fix his marriage. You know how most other wizards think about things like that.'

Finally sick of stewing over the argument they’d had earlier, Hermione lifted her head and announced to Harry and Ginny, "I want to go into marriage counseling, but Ron seems to think it's not a good idea. What do you two think about it?" Lifting her glass up to her lips, Hermione took a long sip and imagined the critique Calleo would give towards this light and fruity red wine Ginny had brought over.

The air was thick with tension and uncertainty. Hermione had never made mention to Ron or anyone else that Harry and Ginny were both going to a Muggle marriage counselor. The Potters knew she would keep their confidence, as all three were aware of what the wizarding world thought of psychiatrists, especially Muggle ones, on a whole. It was this attitude that had prevented Ginny from getting the proper help she needed after the Chamber of Secrets and caused her deep emotional scar years later.

Harry spoke first. "If you two are having problems, then I think it's a great idea."

"But–" Ron protested.

"Yes," Ginny agreed, interrupting her brother. "If you both are having problems, then it can definitely help to have an objective third person to look at what's wrong and help you both solve your issues."

Ron was turning a deep red from embarrassment that Hermione mentioned the seemingly taboo subject in front of Harry and his sister, and from indignation that they would agree with Hermione so quickly.

"But, but, but...” Ron stammered trying to find a cohesive thought. "It's no one's business what happens between us, but 'Mione and me! Besides, what do these Muggle counselors know about marriage? Hermione and I are doing just fine! We don't need counseling."

"Which is why she's been sitting alone in this apartment for most the week after you took off after that fight!" Harry thundered at his friend. He stood suddenly, throwing down his napkin in disgust. "What's so wrong with seeing a Muggle over something like this?"

"You just don't know if they know what they are doing or not!" Ron bellowed back.

"What? Like being a wizard makes you an instant expert? Case and point, Gilderoy Lockhart," Harry shot back. "Muggles do have some clue as to what they are doing, even though you may not understand the process."

"Has Hermione told you about her idea to go to a marriage counselor so you could talk me into it?" the redheaded wizard asked in accusatory tones.

"No! Harry and I are in marriage counseling," Ginny replied hotly.

There. It was out there now, and Hermione had kept her mouth shut about it leaving it to Harry and Ginny to divulge that little bit of information.

"What?!?" Ron shrieked. "What's so wrong between you two that you need someone else to tell you how to run your marriage?"

"Harry and I have been having problems for a while," the younger witch admitted reluctantly. "We didn’t want to tell you because you would either accuse Harry of being a bad husband to your little sister and threaten him with bodily harm, then go on and tell all of our brothers, who would then take turns hexing him. Not to mention the lecture Mum would give Harry and me, as she and the rest of them seem to share your opinion on Muggle mental health treatment. Or you would have blamed me for being a bad wife to your best friend and then I'd still get the lecture from Mum. No thank you! So now that you know, I want you to promise not to tell."

"So you go off and have some, some, some stranger tell you that Harry is a bad husband and you’re a bad wife?"

"No, it's not like that, Ron. You don’t even know how it works, so why are you inventing things? Ginny and I go once a week," the raven-haired wizard explained. "We meet with a very nice Muggle marriage counselor who has had proper training in this field, years of training in fact. He's been helping us deal with some… things. It's not an instant cure, but he is helping us."

"What sort of things," Ron asked menacingly, thinking Harry was treating his little sister poorly, just as Ginny had suspected he would.

"Harry and I have our own set of problems and it's none of your business, anymore than us knowing why you left Hermione last Saturday night and have been gone until… well, I know as of Wednesday you still weren't back!" Ginny matched her brother’s tone.

Ron turned an angry eye on his wife. "So you have been painting me as the villain to Harry and Ginny, have you?"

Hermione sat there with the now familiar hollow feeling inside of her giving her a perception of a protective shell over her. Her husband's angry looks or words could not wound her as he slung them at her, nor could his worsening mood perturb her. It was almost like one of those out of body experiences one has during a dream, watching it unfold like a play and just sitting back and observing it all from a distance. Hermione drained her glass of wine and poured herself another.

"No," Ginny answered for the brunette witch. "I met her for lunch Wednesday. I asked her a question about you and if you were just thrilled at playing first string and she said she didn't know. She mentioned that you had a fight last Saturday and that you took off and she hadn't seen you up to that point. She didn't say you were the one to blame or if it was anyone's fault, just that you fought."

"Well, she's the one who started the fight," Ron pouted, pointing a recriminating finger at his wife.

Normally Hermione would have jumped into the fray, if anything but to defend herself, but at the moment, she couldn't care less if Ron had accused her of a orgiastic gang-bang featuring every Quidditch player on the Falmouth Falcons’ team, including the coach and mascot. She sat there silently and waited to see what would happen next while sipping her wine. As long as everyone was jumping up and shouting, why should she bother to join in? There was more than enough yelling going on for four people.

"I don’t care who started it or how it ended. Look at her! LOOK AT HER!" Harry’s voice hardened as he swept his hand in Hermione's direction. "She looks like hell, Ron. Haven't you noticed how thin she is? Obviously she's not eating! Don't you notice these things? She has dark circles under her eyes, and that was before some Death Eater decided to go on a rampage and kill her co-worker. You're lucky she's not dead too! She's sitting here, obviously still in some state of shock, as she hasn't said hardly one word since you started screaming and accusing her. That's not the Hermione I know. And all you care about is who gets the proper blame on whose fault it was for the fight that caused you to up and leave your wife for… how long? When did you come back? Wednesday night? Last night?" Harry asked, noticing how Ron was now averting his eyes. "Last night?!?"

Ron looked guiltily at Harry and then to Hermione, who continued to sit there glassy eyed while drinking her wine.

"Last night?" Harry asked incredulously. "It took until you found out your wife barely missed getting hexed by some Death Eater madman for you to haul your arse home? And just where were you the whole time you were gone?"

That was the one question Hermione had made a point not to ask, and would not ask it now.

Ron's eyes darted nervously from Harry to Ginny while not looking at his wife. "I was at a friend's."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione drawled lazily with a slight slur. She was feeling even more numb than at the beginning of the fight, due in no small part to the fact that she had skipped breakfast, slept through lunch and had barely touched her dinner, and was finishing her third glass of wine. "We're going into counseling, the matter is closed."

She didn't want to know where Ron had been for the past week. Hermione had promised herself that she would curb her curiosity, as it had brought her much despair recently, and forcing the truth from Ron as to where he had been might wind up shattering even more illusions, illusions that possibly propped up her whole life.

Ron threw her an equally surprised and furious look, tossing his hands into the air. "What?!? I never agreed–"

Hermione fixed him with a quelling glare of her own, finding some of her courage from the wine. "It's either counseling or divorce."

Ginny gasped and Harry fell back into his chair, flummoxed by the casual attitude of Hermione's ultimatum.

"Pick, Ron," his wife challenged him. "What shall it be? Keeping it a secret that we go to counseling from the rest of your family, or your whole family learning that we're getting a divorce because you don't want to make an effort to work things out?"

It was the biggest bluff of Hermione's life, but she was largely counting on the looming threat of Molly Weasley making her husband's life hell that made her throw such a choice on the table. Earlier, Ron had displayed such an aversion to the idea of divorce she was certain he would pick counseling over ending their marriage in a heartbeat.

Before Ron answered, Hermione tipped up her glass to finish off the last bit of her wine. As the last of the liquid slid down her throat, she felt even more lightheaded and dizzy.

The next sound she heard was the sound of shattering glass as Hermione felt her body floating with no direction of up or down.

"Hermione!"

She couldn't tell who called out her name, as it sounded very fuzzy and distant. When she finally cracked open one eye, she saw the world had suddenly turned sideways and Ron was kneeling in front of her, regarding her with great concern while Harry kneeled behind him. A flash of long red hair that must have belonged to Ginny flitted about as Hermione tried to focus on her husband's face.

'Oh, I must have passed out,' Hermione calmly surmised, not feeling her legs entangled with the chair's. 'Well, this will certainly make Ron feel so guilty he'll agree to anything that I ask. Harry and Ginny will certainly be in my corner now that they've seen how Ron has been neglecting his wife.'

Just before she blacked out, Hermione amusedly realized: 'My, that was an awfully Slytherin thing of me to think.'

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

Friday nights were rather predictable, and in that regard, it made them a bit tiresome for Severus. Mrs. Nettleton would show up at eight o'clock sharp. The witch would wear a floor length cloak of some dark, rich color and her hood pulled up with nothing on underneath except for some frilly scraps of satiny fabric. Just as she stepped into his flat, Severus would throw her up against the wall and rip off the very expensive silk lingerie her husband paid for, but never saw.

Mrs. Nettleton would pretend to fight him, but would seemingly succumb to his manly forcefulness before hitching her leg up around his waist as he shoved his cock into her. The more he knocked her head against the wall as he savagely thrust into her, the more she liked it.

A few forceful tweaks of her nipples and deep guttural growls from him and she would come, shrilly squeaking and sounding like a rabbit being slaughtered. The sound was so bothersome, Severus once shoved his hand over her mouth to quiet the woman, and it wound up arousing her even more, making her screech louder. There were times he contemplated buying a ball-gag just for her and wondered if he could get it in place with one hand while fumbling with his trousers with the other as he freed himself. She always liked the spontaneous illusion of him wearing trousers as it made her feel like a woman being properly ravished in the heat of the moment. If the Potions master had known of a fabulous Muggle invention called duct tape, he might have bought a roll just for her mouth.

As he grunted and finished spilling the last of his semen into his client, Mrs. Nettleton gave one last high-pitched whinging shriek. Severus was sorely tempted to just drop her right there and let her land arse first.

Severus put himself back together and straightened his mask for a final adjustment. He saw the witch pick up her torn bit of silk, shoving them in a pocket of her cloak. From another pocket, she pulled out a simple dress and trotted off nude to his bathroom to rinse off and get dressed.

By the time she emerged from Severus' bathroom looking well groomed and composed, he had wine, a vial of the usual combination post coitus contraceptive-venereal disease eradicating potion, and a deaf ear ready for her weekly rant.

"You'll never believe the little tart my husband is shagging this week!" the middle aged witch began, her voice filled with umbrage.

Half-listening, Severus replied, "Who?" He was already bored to tears.

"My son's old girlfriend! And she's two years younger than my son to boot. Can you believe that?" she asked, not even bothering to wait for his response before she continued railing. "They were spotted in Le Maison Chaud having a little candlelit dinner while they played footsies under the table. When he came home I asked him about it, as my friend Maude had owled me earlier in the evening that she spotted them there. Well, he claimed he was giving the girl career guidance and that she approached him for dinner so she could ask him for some wisdom on the matter. Wisdom, my arse! More like he banged some advice into her empty little head and between her legs. Honestly!"

Mrs. Nettleton continued on for quite a while as Severus pretended to listen. The woman's problems were of nothing of great importance or great tragedy. Mr. Nettleton was a very rich and powerful wizard who owned a broom manufacturing company that was a major competitor against the company that built the Firebolt. In addition, Mr. Nettleton owned the Biggonville Bombers in Luxembourg and frequently traveled to that country. Being a rich and powerful wizard, plus owning a Quidditch team, made him a very popular man, especially with many society witches, whom he took to his bed in droves.

After years of suffering the humiliating and not-so-private dalliances of her husband, Mrs. Nettleton began seeing Severus over a year ago as a way of seeking revenge against her husband. The only reason Severus continued to keep her as a client was the fact that she paid him very, very well. She had told him from the beginning that she was going to compile a Pensieve of their interludes and present it to her husband as a gift for his sixtieth birthday, which would be in another year. Mr. Nettleton had been raised under the old-fashioned upper society morals of the husband playing in greener pastures with younger witches, while the wife stayed dutifully and faithfully at home. Mrs. Nettleton was going to destroy that image with her gift to him for all the pain he had caused her over the years.

Remembering that he needed to continue the attrition of his client list, and furtively thinking upon how he could get this woman off his Friday night schedule, Severus came upon an idea that would serve both him and Mrs. Nettleton.

As she paused mid-rant, Severus interrupted her. "This young chit your husband is seeing. How old is she?"

"About twenty."

"Is she pretty?" Severus asked suggestively.

"Of course she's pretty. My husband wouldn't be shagging her if she wasn't!" Mrs. Nettleton replied brusquely.

Severus let a devious smile spread slowly across the lower part of his face that was showing. "Yes, but do you think she is pretty?"

"Just what are you getting at?" Her curiosity was obviously peaked.

"Are you up for a threesome? Something to add to your Pensieve, perhaps. You, the young girl and another young man in a very… intimate situation." He let the dawning realization of his statement sink in before he added. "I think it's time you began varying you experiences. Your dallying around with just one paramour is nothing to a man like your husband. But if you were to have several dozen or more men to add to your Pensieve for your husband to witness, possibly two or more at a time, that would be something quite memorable. And if you include the fact that you bedded a girl that he himself has had, possibly enjoying herself more in your arms and another younger man's arms, that would be a great injury to his ego."

"Are you the younger man in this little scenario?" she asked coyly.

"No, I have someone else in mind," Severus said, thinking Blaise Zabini one floor up would fit the bill.

Zabini was handsome, in his mid-twenties, and the peak of manly physical perfection. Visions of Mrs. Nettleton banging a wizard like that would surely unsettle her husband. Though Severus was not adverse to a ménage en trois involving a second witch, he was adverse to the idea of having to fuck Mrs. Nettleton for any longer than was necessary, regardless of the hundreds of Galleons he received from each of her visits.

"I will speak with Miss Brown regarding my recommendation for you to see another wizard under her employ to fulfill your needs. He is open to many avenues of pleasure that I am not." 'Namely, being submissive or having a threesome with another wizard.' "I think you will be most pleased."

Mrs. Nettleton's eyes danced with delight at the possibilities at hand. Though she was a rather sheltered creature when Severus first started meeting with her, she soon came out of her sexually repressed shell, though she had seemed reluctant to try new things. She preferred the routine they had been in for the past several months.

"Then I guess I won't be seeing you after this week. If I'm going to give my husband the heart attack that I hope my Pensieve will give him, I suppose I should add a little variety starting as soon as possible." Mrs. Nettleton looked rather smug, and then gave Severus a playful sideways glance. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a Slytherin."

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

Hermione woke up in bed with Ginny pressing a cool face flannel to her forehead.

"You gave us quite a scare," the redhead said with great motherly concern.

"Sorry," Hermione hoarsely whispered.

A glass of water found it's way to Hermione's lips and she drank it.

"Slowly," Ginny warned her.

Hermione sputtered, choking on the water that wetted her parched throat.

"I suppose that wasn't very wise of me to drink when I skipped breakfast and lunch," the prone witch admitted with embarrassment as the room continued to spin.

Ginny sighed deeply. She looked at Hermione with a penetrating stare. "Is there anything else besides problems with Ron you want to tell me about? I promise not to say a word to Ron," the younger witch said with serious intent.

For a moment, Hermione wondered if Ginny somehow knew about her visits with Calleo. Hoping her cheeks were not flushed, she schooled her features as best she could, considering her inebriated state. Looking Ginny directly in the eye, she said vaguely and believably, "Nothing you don't already know about." Then she added, "Lousy marriage, Marge's death, and a shitty job."

Pursing her lips momentarily, Ginny nodded, accepting her answer. "Listen," Ginny said, her tone a little lighter, "a week from tomorrow, I have a reservation for a day at the spa. Want to join me? My treat. You look like you could use a bit of spoiling and pampering."

"I suppose I could. I'll ask Ron if it's okay if I skip–"

Ginny interrupted her with a wave of her hand. "I've already mentioned it to him. He seems to think a day at the spa might put some pink back in your cheeks. It's not like you skip his games all the time. It's just one game."

Hermione nodded, still feeling a tad guilty for missing one of Ron's games, though if Ron agreed with Ginny, it must have meant something. Every time Ron played within the United Kingdom, Hermione always attended the match just like all the other Quidditch wives.

"Here, drink these," Ginny ordered, putting two vials in Hermione's hand.

"What are they?" Hermione's brow furrowed.

"One is a nutrient rich restorative potion, as it looks like you haven't been eating properly. The other is a combination analgesic, muscle relaxant and very mild sleep sedative. Ron says you didn't sleep last night and I can't imagine you slept much during the day." The look of maternal worry returned to Ginny's face.

Hermione was briefly reminded of Madam Pomfrey hovering over her during her many trips to the Hogwarts infirmary. A long forgotten question came to the forefront of Hermione's mind.

"Ginny?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you stop your studies to become a healer?" Hermione instantly regretted asking the question, though she’d always longed to hear Ginny's answer.

The younger witch's mouth was set in a tight frown. Turning her face away from Hermione, she replied, "Do you really want to know?"

There was a long pause before Hermione whispered, "Yes."

"I lost interest in a lot of things right after your wedding," Ginny said, her voice filled with melancholy. "I guess you could say I was too depressed to focus on schooling and I decided to take a term out before I started my formal studies. When I was going to start back up in the spring, all that wedding nonsense with Harry just got in the way. And by the next fall term, I guess I sort of gave up on a lot of dreams."

"I think I understand." The older witch did know what it was like to make reluctant compromises, especially after Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Vector died during the war and no one else was willing to take her as an apprentice. "I'm sorry." Hermione placed her hand on Ginny's, seeing the edge of the younger woman's cheek glistening with tears.

"So am I," Ginny replied before sniffing and wiping away her tears.

"Please take these and sleep," Ginny urged her. "Ron said he has to leave early tomorrow to catch the Portkey to a game in Italy, so I'll swing by late in the morning after he’s left to check up on you. All right?" Ginny seemed to be back into her nurturing protective mode once more.

Hermione nodded her head and downed the two potions before settling back under the covers for a long, well-deserved rest.

============

A/N: In Vino Veritas: In wine there is truth. This is a double titled chapter, much in the same fashion Gilbert & Sullivan would double title their operettas, such as “Pirates of Penzance – or – Slave to Duty.”
I just had to have a flashback of Ron snickering at Draco's name from PS/SS.

If you want to hear what a rabbit in distress sounds like, like when Mrs. Nettleton is having an orgasm, go to http://www.varmintal.com/ahunt.htm#Calling Scroll down to the Cottontail Distress Call mp3 file section and have a listen. Gee, what kind of author offers sound effects with their fics? One that wants to make you laugh your ass off when hearing that sound and imagining Severus wanting to Spellotape the woman's mouth shut. Go ahead and read that section one more time with the sound effects. Now imagine Mrs. Nettleton screaming just like that and Severus trying to not lose an erection over that noise… you can almost see him gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes. Oh God, just the thought of that makes me laugh.
Please give some thanks to Siren and Horserider, who really do improve the quality of this fic through their wonderful beta efforts.

B/N: All give Betz great thanks for sharing her talent. I’m diggin’ the birthday gift Mr. Nettleton is going to get. At the end of the story, you should give us a closing on that, Betz. :-) Siren
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After