Disclaimer: I don't own it… wish I did… but sadly no.

A/N: This randomly came to me late at night. It was just the first line that popped into my head and I decided I had to write a little ficlet about it. I decided to experiment a little with a different sort of style… if it's horrible I do apologize.

It was initially going to be an original story, not fan fic... but when I was about half way through this struck me… and I just couldn't resist. So I changed it a bit and this is what we have. Rated for some adult themes and a bit of foul language… a bit depressing... you've been warned! Enjoy!


He only hurt me on Tuesdays. I suppose I had it better than most; I knew when it was coming and what to expect. He'd stumble home latter than usual. They always met Tuesday nights. He stunk of liquor and smoke. But he smelled of pain as well. I never said anything. I sat in the same chair and smiled at him as he walked in the door. I knew what was coming; it was no good being afraid. Later I would cry. But I never made a sound; I never yelled and I never begged.

When he went to bed I washed. Took off the makeup that covered the bruising. I cried a little, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.

In the morning I'd wake up beside him. He'd smile and kiss me good morning. He'd hold me and cry a little, and I'd pretend I didn't know. We'd dress silently and go about our lives. And I made excuses for him. My co-workers thought I was clumsy. But it was all right; it was living. We all did what we had to. Sacrifices were made and secrets well kept. No one knew we shared a bed. Not even my best friends.

We covered our tracks well. My friends loathed him, and I pretended to by day. Ron would crack a joke and I would laugh and agree. I became quite the actress over the years. Not even Harry had any idea, too many problems of his own. Harry hated Tuesdays as well. It hurt him the most on Tuesdays.

But Tuesdays got worse with time. I wouldn't smile when he came home anymore. I was already crying silently. Silence was the one thing I had become good at. I didn't bother washing the make up off anymore. I would just add a little extra to what spells wouldn't take care of the next morning.

He still kissed me good morning, but he didn't hold me anymore. We stopped making love; we started fucking. I got clumsy. Harry became suspicious; Ron had always been too dull to notice.

Then Tuesday he came home earlier than usual. He didn't smell of smoke or liquor. He reeked of darkness. It was more potent than usual. I pitied him, and for the first time in my life I feared him. It hurt more than usual. But I made no sound. I wouldn't yell. I never begged. Until…

"Please. Draco Please…"

He stopped. He looked horrified, more frightened than I'd ever seen him. He went to bed and I followed. I pretended not to notice when he cried.

We made love that week for the first time in months.

The next Tuesday he was dead. I fell asleep waiting in my chair, but he didn't come home. They announced it at the meeting that Wednesday. "One of our spies has been killed." Ron's face was impassive, I cried, and Harry watched me.

As we left Harry stopped me. "I knew Hermione."

I just stood there as he hugged me. He told me that day that he loved me. And I do believe he did. But I loved my chair, and I missed those Tuesdays.

I'm not sure he loves me anymore. I still have difficulty falling asleep next to him and he knows. It's always hardest on Tuesdays.

A/N: Well. Let me know what you think. I'm not sure about the end... I may add a little to it and reword it. But for now, there it is. Please do review!