Chapter Two: Secrets and Lies
Whose bed have your boots been under?
And whose heart did you steal I wonder?
This time did it feel like thunder, baby?
And who did you run to?
And whose lips have you been kissin?
And whose well did you make a wish in?
Is she the one that you've been missing', baby?
Well whose bed have your boots been under?
(Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?-written by Twain/Lange)
The sun rose over the quiet New England suburb, waking the residents inside the quaint homes that lined its streets. Sprinklers turned on to water the perfectly manicured lawns. Dogs barked and chased the paper boy who was riding his bike, making his rounds delivering the morning news. It was the ideal American suburb for the ideal American families that dwelled there.
Well, almost ideal.
One house on the block had a most unusual couple who lived there. Oh yes, to the neighbors they were the newlyweds who just moved here from London. Active in the neighborhood, friendly with the neighbors. He was a handsome young man, she was a stunning young woman, no children (the neighbors were hoping it would happen soon) but they had an over large sized cat. What made them different from the others was that they were magical. As in witches, wizards, wands and spells magical. This was the home of Oliver and Hermione Wood, and where our story begins.
"Honey, where's the coffee?" Oliver yelled.
"Cabinet to the right of the sink," Hermione yelled back as she stood before the bathroom mirror fixing her hair. "I'm going to the store later today. The list is on the fridge, so add what you want," she yelled down to her husband.
She had taken great care with her hair and makeup today. She even spent an hour that morning putting together the perfect outfit. She looked great, smart and professional. Even Crookshanks gave a meow of approval.
"Thank you, Crookshanks. I'm going to need all the luck I can get."
She walked into the kitchen to find her husband fixing a cup of coffee to go. She picked up the grocery list and scanned it.
"Lucky Charms?" she asked raising an eyebrow.
"Good stuff," Oliver replied, taste testing his coffee.
"You'll rot your teeth," she playfully scolded.
"That's why I married you. My in-laws are dentists."
"You're incorrigible."
"No, I'm running late," he said as he began to gather his things.
"What time will you be home tonight?"
"I'm not sure. We have another late meeting tonight after practice."
"Another one? But that's the second one this week."
"Well, you know, playoffs are coming," he said as he zipped up his bag slowly.
"Well, try not to come home too late."
"Of course not," he said as he opened the door. "I'll see you later."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"This magazine is the number one selling magazine among witches in America," said the venerable looking blond witch.
She was an older witch, though you couldn't tell from the anti-aging spells she put herself through. Her bottle blond hair was impeccably done, her manicured nails neat and trim, and her makeup expertly done. This woman intimidated Hermione, though she didn't show it.
"I realize that I haven't much experience writing for magazines and that my secondary education is incomplete…" Hermione offered.
"You only had a year left of auror training?" the woman raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at Hermione.
"Well, yes, but I graduated at the top of my class at Hogwarts."
The woman politely closed the folder that held Hermione's resume and smiled sweetly at her.
"Mrs. Wood, with your social status and the connections that you could bring to this magazine, I am
sure that we could overlook a tiny thing like experience."
Hermione nodded politely but inside her heart sank. The woman stood up and Hermione followed suit.
"We'll be sending our formal offer by owl later today," she said politely shaking Hermione's hand.
Hermione pushed the button, summoning the elevator. She couldn't believe it. It was always the same for every interview she went to. Her "social status" just meant that she was married to a famous Quidditch player. Her "connections" meant her association with an even more famous wizard named Harry Potter. Never mind the fact that she hadn't spoken to him in over two years. She jabbed the elevator button again and sighed. Still, maybe this job could be a foot in the door to bigger and better things, like National Wizard, a journal that discussed intelligent social and political issues. Yes, she could start here and write about everyday injustices of witches. Her eyes fell on a poster in the elevator lobby. It was a blow up of the front cover of the current issue of the magazine. The pretty blond witch with sparkling blue eyes smiled down at her. Below her in large black print was the heading: "The Calorie Content of Potions: What they don't tell you." The one next to that read: "How to Turn Your Wizard into a Dragon in Bed."
The elevator doors opened. Well, she would try to make a difference here.
The muggle cab she took smelled a little funny but she would tolerate it until it took her to a safe apparition point.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, startled out of her thoughts.
"Your accent. England, right?" the driver asked.
"Yes, yes that's right."
"I knew it! I consider myself a sort of expert on these things. I can tell…"
Hermione tuned the driver out as something else caught her eye. Oliver was standing on a street corner, leaning against
a building. Perhaps she could surprise him and they could have a late lunch together. She opened her mouth to tell the
driver to let her off here, since they had stopped at a light but she hesitated. A blond woman walked up to him.
Hermione watched as her husband greeted the woman with a deep kiss.
The ground fell beneath her and all the air left her lungs.
"You alright, miss?" The driver asked as the light turned green. "You look a little pale."
"New England Rebels," announced the perky witch on the other end of the floo network.
"Oliver Wood, please," Hermione said.
"One moment, I'll connect you to his floo."
She still couldn't believe it. Maybe it was a mistake, just someone who looked like him.
"I'm sorry," the witch reappeared in front of her. "He's out all day for meetings."
Hermione pulled her head out of the fireplace and sat on the living room floor. Maybe he really is in meetings all day. Maybe she had imagined what she saw. Crookshanks crawled into her lap and she obliged him with a scratch behind his ears. She would just ask him when he got home tonight.
"Funny thing happened today. I could've sworn I saw you snogging some blond."
But it nagged at her all day and evening. The thought just wouldn't go away. Curiosity finally got the best of her and she began to rummage through his things. After finding nothing in his clothes, she moved onto his bills and papers. Nothing. She didn't know if she was relieved or frustrated that she couldn't find anything. She laughed at herself and the over-active imagination of the housewife.
Then it caught her eye.
Oliver's bag still on the table. He was rushing out the door and probably forgot it. And she was too preoccupied with her upcoming interview that she didn't see it either. Heart pounding, she unzipped the bag. Slowly she emptied its contents. Nothing…nothing…nothing. She took out a small bag that held his hygiene products. Razor, cream, deodorant…condoms. Why did he have these? They didn't use them. They were trying to conceive. She looked back into the bag. A small crumpled piece of paper lay in the corner. Heart pounding, she picked it up and slowly began to straighten it. It was a muggle credit card receipt, dated two days ago, to an expensive muggle hotel.
Rain poured down as she hailed a cab. She had apparated into the city only five minutes ago but she was drenched. She didn't bother bringing a jacket or umbrella.
"Oliver Wood's room number please," she asked the man behind the front desk when she arrived at the hotel.
The man looked over Hermione's appearance with disdain on his face. "I'm afraid I can't give you that information. We protect our guests and respect their privacy from…people who just wander off the streets."
Hermione slammed her hands loudly on the counter, making the man jump, and leaned into him.
"My husband is upstairs somewhere…fucking the brains out of some blond bimbo. You are going to give me his room number. NOW!"
The man quickly began to type away.
She walked down the hallway, room key in hand, heart pounding. Did she want to do this? Did she really want to know? Room 1667. She stopped outside of the door. She brought her hand up to insert the key card but noticed her hands were trembling badly. She paused and took a deep breath. Gryffindor bravery, summon it now. The lock gave a soft click and unlocked. She opened the door cautiously and stepped into a suite. Standing in the living room, her heart broke a little when she heard the moans of pleasure and the creaking of bedsprings coming from the next room. As she walked over to the door, part of her still wanted to believe that it wasn't her husband who was in the next room. Maybe one of his teammates is using his name. She quietly opened the door.
Her long smooth legs were wrapped around his waist as he moved back and forth on top of her, once in awhile causing the headboard to bang against the wall. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy as they both moaned in pleasure. She opened her eyes and gasped.
"Ollie! Oliver! Stop! Stop!" she told him.
Oliver slowly stopped his thrusting and dazed asked her, "What? What's the matter?" He noticed that her eyes weren't on him and followed her line of sight. "OH SHIT!" He scrambled off her, covering himself with a sheet. "This isn't what it looks like," he told his wife who was standing in the doorway.
"You. Fucking. Bastard," Hermione said quietly then stormed out of the room.
"Hermione wait!" Oliver called out.
He threw on some clothes and ran out after her. He caught up with her in the lobby of the hotel. He reached out to stop her.
"Hermione, stop," he pleaded but she yanked her arm away.
"Don't touch me!" she hissed and kept walking.
He ran ahead of her and stopped her in her tracks.
"Would you please just listen to me? Let me explain--."
"Explain? EXPLAIN?! What you were doing upstairs with that woman needs no explanation!"
She continued on her path but her grabbed her arm.
"Let me go!"
"Hermione…"
"Don't touch me!"
"Let's just go somewhere and have a little chat…"
"Fuck off!"
"Stop it, Hermione. You're making a scene!"
Indeed, hotel guests had stopped to watch the spectacle before them before continuing on with what they were doing.
Hermione just stared at him, disbelieving. Suddenly, her fist flew out making contact with his face.
"Fuck. You. Oliver!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ron Weasley couldn't get comfortable in bed. His wife Luna had earlier that day decided she didn't like their pillows and bought new ones. He liked his old pillow, it had the indentation in it that perfectly fit his head. The new pillow was nice (he wasn't going to admit that to her) but breaking it in would take a couple of days of a sore neck.
He rolled on his back and sighed. Thank god tomorrow was Saturday. They would be having a large family get together at the burrow. Ron and Luna Weasley lived in a small cottage next to the burrow. It wasn't anything special, but he built it, with help from a few friends, but he and Luna loved it. It was home.
The sound of gravel and headlights brought him out of his thoughts of the food that was to be served later that day. Curious, he got out of the bed and peered out the window. Luna shortly joined him as the noise woke her.
"Is that Ginny's car?" Luna asked sleepily.
"Yeah, I wonder what--," he was cut off when the passenger side door opened.
Ron squinted his eyes then shook his head. It was Hermione, a very awful looking Hermione that looked like she'd been run over by a herd of hippogriffs. What the hell was she doing here at this time of night? Shouldn't she be in America? He had just spoken to her a couple of days ago and she hadn't mentioned anything about coming here, unless…
"Oh, Merlin," Luna sighed wearily.
"I'm going to see what's going on," Ron said and turned from the window.
Luna put out a hand to stop him.
"Not now, Ron. Talk to her in the morning."
-->