Author's Note: Finally updated! Happy holidays! Please review! Much love!

Chapter 3—A Much Needed Break

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

"What did you do this time, mate?"

"I dunno, I swear! Oh hell, she looks like a raging bull…"

"What did you just call me?"

"Ergh, nothing love. A beautiful…petunia?"

"Ronald, didn't I specifically STATE that the pecan pie was to be saved for Christmas dinner?"

"You probably did, 'Mione, the trouble is, ickle Ronniekins here has what we like to call selective hearing. Mayhaps you can beat it out of him?"

"Oh shut up George Weasley, and Percy, you stop that giggling this instant. Both of you go help your wives outside, it's freezing, go cast a useful charm to keep them warm."

"Righto then, I'll just be—"

"NOT SO FAST, Ronald! What kind of an example are you setting for the children?"

"Bloody hell, Hermione! We don't have children! Is this one of those stress-induced hallucination things Dad was talking about the other day? He says the Muggles have quite the cures for things like that,"

"Ron, there's actually steam coming out of her ears. I believe this is when you grovel."

"Gin, please, I can handle my wife, thank you very much."

"HANDLE your wife? HANDLE her? Oh because it's such a chore, is it? Well I'm sorry I volunteered our home for Christmas this year, and I'm sorry this Christmas Eve Victoire and Teddy thought it would be funny to set the chimney ablaze, and I'm SORRY I can't DEAL with your INEPTITUDE at—"

"…everything all right, dears? We just put little Victoire to bed, heard some shouting…"

"Mum, 'Mione's mad at Ron because he's a bloody pig and she was stupid enough to marry him in the first place."

"You shut up Ginevra, I'll tear your stupid braids out. And Potter, you may be married to my sister but I can revoke that permission at any time!"

"Where did Hermione go? And Ron, what will revoking your permission do when we're already married?"

"Shut up Harry. I dunno, d'you think she morphed into a banshee and ran off?"

"Ronald Weasley! How dare you speak about your wife in such a way!"

"Sorry Mum, just teasing. She knows that."

"Does she?"

"Ginny, bloody go away! Why are you in my business?"

"Because she's MY friend, and my sister-in-law, and somehow you COERCED her into loving you—really, quite a crime."

"Ronald. Leave your sister alone—no—no—stop tugging at her hair! Merlin, how old are you? No better than Teddy, you are…"

---

Ron found her upstairs, in their modest bedroom, lying facedown under the sheets.

"Hermione, please…"

"I'm sorry I overreacted, Ron," her voice was small and quiet, muffled by the pillows. "This is just extremely stressful—I suppose I didn't know what to expect when I invited the entire Weasley family over."

"Now you see why Mum's so crazy this time of year," Ron said ruefully, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Come out from under there, love, you'll suffocate."

She sniffled, poking her head out from under the blankets facing away from him. The back of her head was bushy and tangled, with what looked like a caked-on streak of egg running down the side. Ron bit his lip in amusement, running a large hand over her chestnut-coloured mane. Fleur's shrieks suddenly pierced the air and husband and wife jumped simultaneously, Ron rolling his eyes.

"Honestly, that woman…" Hermione scoffed, rustling under the covers. She lay suddenly still and emitted a loud sigh that vibrated through the room. "Does it make me a bad hostess if I just lay here for a few minutes?"

"Well, does it make me a bad host if I join you?"

"Not at all, Mr. Weasley."

"Well then, Mrs. Weasley, I believe we're in the clear." Ron slipped off his brown house shoes, flipping back the comforter on his side of the bed. Hermione lay diagonally across the large space; he flipped her legs up and on top of his own as he scooted under her, her giggles making him smile.
"I really am sorry about the pie, 'Mione. I forgot, truly. I can be a bloody fool,"

"I know that. Both parts," Hermione squealed as her husband tickled her sensitive stomach. "I forgive you. I think everyone believes I'm more insane than I actually am,"

"What's this?" Ron widened his eyes in mock amazement. "Hermione Granger finally admits to insanity? Who would've thought."

"Weasley," Hermione corrected him sharply. "Hermione Weasley. And I admit, I have my quirks—but I wasn't the one who puked up slugs."

"Hey!" Ron poked his wife in the side, wanting to hear her beautiful laughter once again. It worked, as she doubled up, chuckling, her legs coming to rest on his stomach, body nearly parallel to his. He swivelled her around, pushing her legs down and bringing her head level with his own. "I was protecting your honour, remember?"

A look of wonder crossed her face, and she buried her nose into his sweater, inhaling the scent of pine and outdoors. "You know, I hadn't actually thought about that until just now!" She mumbled into his sweater. "You're right! Merlin's pants, what a gentleman!"

It was her turn to tickle him, and he chortled, a deep laughter ringing from his throat. He trapped her small dainty hands in his large clumsy ones, feeling the soft skin around her wrists. An involuntary lump formed in his throat as he looked at the grinning face resting on his chest.

"They're going to think we skipped town, apparated to France to celebrate on our own," he grunted, letting go of her hands and pulling her closer at the same time.

"And yet, Ron, you will not let me get up." She wasn't complaining however, and he knew it. Her hair smelled like honey and yes, faintly like eggs, but he wasn't complaining either. It prickled his chin and made him smile, and reminded him of first year before she learned to tame it.

"Sorry about my hair."

"I love it anyway. Or at least, I try to."

She smacked him gently, not out of anger, and turned on her side, spooning against him. They curled up and faced the window as he nudged her with a sharp elbow. "Look! Look at the snow!"

They gazed together out of their small bedroom window into the Magical London suburban air, where tiny flakes of white whizzed about in merry ecstasy. "Looks like a white Christmas," Hermione proclaimed softly, turning to face her husband. "Guess you boys get your snowball fight after all."

He was drawn to her pink puckered lips, the faint cinnamon and softness drawing him in. He forgot about everything except for her and now, snow and Christmas and the pure love and—

"We really should get back downstairs," Hermione murmured, panting gently onto his neck. She made a move to draw away and he captured her, an arm around her waist.

"Not a chance, Mrs. Weasley."

Her giggles grew in volume as he tickled her, kissing her neck and touching her stomach. She wriggled back and forth, planting a kiss or two of her own on his face. "And to think this all started over pie!" Her flushed face was happy, joyful, and he found himself more in love than ever with this crafty woman.

"Then I should remember to not listen to you more often."

"Oh, Ronald. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, dear,"

Mrs. Weasley stuck her head into the open doorway, ready to call the hosts to the table for supper. She stopped, however, seeing them lying peacefully, facing the window, as her son traced circles on his wife's back.

"Happy Christmas, children," she murmured quietly, backing away. Supper could wait. Hermione deserved a break.

The end.

--

Merry Christmas! I updated Pink Peppermint too. I was in the spirit and wanted to put something out there, I know it's not amazing but oh well! Please review! Love you all!