For Ash via the Drabble Game Challenge (Romione, butterflies in your stomach) and the Daily Prompt challenge on The Golden Snitch ("Happy birthday.")

"Happy birthday!" Hermione beams.

Ron stares at the scene before him. Stacks of pancakes, covered in melted butter and golden syrup, mountains of bacon, piles of eggs, toast with sweet, fruity jam. It's nothing like the ordinary breakfasts they share, even for a special occasion.

"Two sugars in your coffee," she adds, setting a cup before him.

"Thanks. Hermione, what is this?" he asks.

"It's breakfast, Ronald. We have it every morning."

"Yeah. But not like this."

This is the sort of thing his mum would do on days whenever she or his dad had great news. Even a birthday didn't warrant such an elaborate feast.

"I just wanted to do something nice for your birthday," his wife says, and Ron almost laughs at how evasive she is, how she won't quite look at him and her words come out in something only slightly clearer than a mumble.

Ron sits at the table, studying her. They've never made a big deal out of birthdays. Maybe a Quidditch match for his, a night at an art gallery for hers. Little things, no fanfare.

"Come on, Hermione. What's going on?" he asks. "You haven't even given me a book to add to the collection of things I'm not going to read."

"You hate the books I give you."

"Yes, well, it's a tradition," he mutters, cutting into a pancake and inhaling the sweet aroma. "You can't just break traditions."

Hermione places a small, chaste kiss on his forehead before sitting next to him, preparing her plate. "I got you something different this year," she says. "Something I think you'll like more."

Ron looks around. There's nothing to suggest that she's gotten him anything. Ordinarily, there would be a book sitting to the side on some obscure subject like magical dentistry. It's absent this year, and he doesn't see anything new that she could be talking about.

He doesn't push. Hermione always gets around to things in her own time. He shovels eggs into his mouth, waiting.

When breakfast is done, his wife waves her wand, sending the dishes to wash. "We've been talking about this," she says, stepping out of the kitchen. "You said it would be nice."

Ron frowns, thinking back to the many conversations he and Hermione have had over the past few months. He can't recall mentioning anything he would want. "Yeah? What is it? Because I was kidding when I said we should get a unicorn, you know."

Hermione reappears with a small, thin box. Ron is baffled. He can only guess that it's definitely not a unicorn. She hands him the box, grinning at him.

Ron takes it, removing the top. A thin strip of plastic rests in the bottom, and the pink lines across the top makes his head spin. The kitchen seems to fade away, and all he's aware of is the fluttering sensation in his stomach, like he's swallowed a thousand butterflies.

"You're…"

"Happy birthday," Hermione says, kissing him. "Next year, we'll be celebrating it with our son or daughter."

He climbs to his feet, pulling his wife close, laughing. His hand rests on her stomach, a grin tugging at his lips. "Much better than a book."

"Don't worry. We'll go back to the books next year. This isn't going to be our new tradition."