For that was her life now. At least in the new house she and Ron had separate bedrooms. Their monthly commune - as required by their marriage contract - was now a brief, regimented affair. They would talk about politics and foreign policy for the four or five minutes that Ron was thrusting into her. Then he would grunt, roll off and cast a Contraceptive Charm on her. It wouldn't do to get her pregnant. The shame might cost him his job. After all, he had a harem of Pureblood witches waiting to bear his children, just as soon as they came of age themselves.