Molly glanced up from her knitting, as a movement on the clock caught her eyes. And indeed, the hand with Ron's image bounces from work to home. With a flick of her wand disappeared the unfinished sweater in the knitting basket. She got up and checked the biscuits in the oven.

„As commanded, here I'm!" Ron's grumpy voice rang out from behind her back.

To prepare for the encounter with her son, she wiped her hand on her apron and closed her eyes briefly. Her husband had warned her; it will not be easy. She turned around and greeted him – despite his apparent unyielding attitude – lovingly: "Hello Ronnie!"

"Mum!" was his short reply, accompanied with a nod.

Molly cleared her throat and smiled: „The biscuits take a few more minutes." She pointed toward the living room: "Shall we?"

While he went ahead, she could not help but notice, how tall her youngest son was, and since when he had so broad shoulders?

Silently Ron sank down on the sofa, and Molly took the opportunity to sit next to him: „The weekend away seems to have you done well! "She reached over to brush some of his hair away from his face, with the result, that his body went rigid. She acted, as if she did not notice it and poured tea into their cup.

"I hope I'm not here to talk more about niceties! " Ron muttered.

Just as she opened her mouth to answer him, the fireplace came to life and a voice called: „Mum! "

Molly patted apologetically Ron's knee and stood up.

"Mum!" Her daughter repeated impatiently.

„Merlin, Ginevra, I'm already there!" Molly placed herself before the fireplace, in which the head of her daughter appears to be floating in the flames.

"Thank god, that you are here, Mum, I need to ask for…. Oh, hi Ron…"

"Ginny!", replied her son curtly, who - thanks to his size – could look over her shoulder into the fireplace.

Molly crossed her arms over her chest and asked impatiently: "Ginny, what do you want?"

"Oh yes. I wanted to ask you if you could watch James for an hour or two."

"Right now?"

"Yes, Joanne Carlson – you know, the American seeker – is ready to give an interview…" She sighed happily: "Of all journalists, she has chosen me, a complete newbie! "

Unlike Ron, who whistled through his teeth, Molly had no idea who this was Joanne Carlson.

Enthusiastic added Ginny: "She granted me 30 minutes, but only if I appear immediately in her hotel room!".

Molly glanced sideways to her son, who was looking into the flames in silence, before she answered: "That really makes me happy for you, Ginny, but unfortunately, I have no time, to watch Jamie."

She could properly feel the look of surprise of her son.

"What? Why?", stammered Ginny.

"For one thing, your brother took the afternoon off, so that we can chat!"

"But Mum, James does not bother you," winced her daughter," and I'm sure, that Ron doesn't mind!" She turned to her brother and pleaded: "Right, Ron?"

Before he could reply, Molly replied forcefully: "But I do mind. I would like to talk in all peace to your brother, and that does not work if I have to throw an eye on my grandson!"

Ginny exchanged a glance with Ron, who shrugged his shoulders.

"If that was all, then I would be grateful if you let us alone!"

Ron's eyebrows disappeared under his fringe, while Ginny for her part looked dumbfounded.

If it was not so sad, Molly could laugh. How often in the past, her son had to back off.

Offended, Ginny turned away and snapped: „Don`t worry, I know when I'm undesirable!"

Undeterred, Molly sat down again, lifted her cup to her mouth and sipped her tea.

Sighing, Ron ran a hand through his hair: „Look, mum, such an opportunity does not get you all the days, moreover at the beginning of a career!"

"No, we postponed this talk for too long, do not you think." She patted invitingly on the free space next to her: "Besides, we both know your sister will get over it!"

He leaned against the wall and raised his hand: "Okay, go ahead and say what you have to say!"

"I do not know how to begin…"

"That would indeed something completely new!", he said in a low voice,

which earned him a glare. He waved: "Sorry, go on!"

"Ronnie, your father believes…, uh, more precisely, you seem to believe,

that Harry is closer to me than you…"

He turned his head around half-way so she could see only his profile, which was grim and tight-lipped: "You can hardly say, that I'm one of your favourites. Well, somewhat the opposite, actually."

To say Molly was flabbergasted would be an understatement: "I love you just like Harry and your siblings…"

Her son quirked an eyebrow and looked her straight in the eye: "Is that so?"

Molly nodded: " Of course, I…"

He interrupted her: "Because you could have fooled me!"

Stunned, his mother replied a little shocked: "You do not believe me?"

He gave a rough bark of a laugh and pushed his body from the wall: "You really want to know, what I think? I think, since the day 1, I am a disappointment!"

"That is not true!"

He snorted: "Come on, Mum, you are not going to say, that you were happy about another boy?!"

Guiltily Molly had to admit, that he was right, after all, back then she had hoped for a girl.

"Not to forget, a boy, whose second first name is hobbledehoy, and let's face it, is nothing special."

"Rubbish, Ronnie!", she strongly contested.

He snorted: "Rubbish? Come on, Mum, we both know, that I am not like my brothers or Harry!" He took a deep breath before continuing: "Granted, in the past, I would have given everything to be the Captain of the Quidditch team or a hero, just that you could proud of me!"

Molly closed her eyes for a moment, to gather herself: "Please, believe me, Ronnie, I love you with all my heart and I'm proud of you!"

"Then tell me, why you don't show the slightest interest in me or respect my work? Or why did you think, I can count myself lucky, that a woman like Hermione chose me and not the other way around?"

His mother gave him a puzzled look: "When have I ever..."

"It might be more to the point to ask, when you didn't, Mum."

Shocked, Molly brought her hands up to her mouth: "It was never my intention, that you feel that way!"

"Probably not, and then again you might." He scrubbed a hand over his face: "And honestly, for a long time, I kind of wondering the same thing, that Hermione will be better off without me, after all, we are not like Harry and Ginny, who just fit together without having to work at it."

Shaking his head, he admitted: "Sure, our characters could not have been more different and maybe we are an unlikely combination, but I don't give a crap, not anymore, what people say or think."

Jaw set, he continued in a determined voice: "Because I have friends, work colleagues and a wife, who appreciate and love me the way I'm!" He looked her straight in the eye: "And if you don't feel the same way about me, well, then that will be your loss!"

Molly's eyes filled with tears.

Her son glanced down at his watch: "Now you'll have to excuse me, Mum, but I have a babysitter service to do."

"Ronnie!"

He stopped with his back to her.

"What can I do, so that you finally believe me?"

Without turning around, his answer was calm and simple: "I just want to be treated like the others, not more, not less!"

Usually, when Hermione read one of her novels, she is so absorbed in the

story, that she sees or hears nothing. But today, her heart just wasn`t in and after she read the same line for the umpteenth time, she admits to herself: "It's no use, Hermione, as long as you are distracted and somewhere else with your thoughts!" Closing the book, she laid it on the side table. At this very moment, her husband stepped out of their fireplace. Suppressing a sigh of relief, she teased him: "Still alive, I see!"

Pushing off his shoes, while at the same time unfastened his cloak, he grumbled: "Barely!"

"So bad?"

Ron dropped into the nearest chair and stretched his legs out: "Worse!"

His hair was a frizzy mess, his clothes are crumpled, and he looked rather exhausted, in one word: "You look like death on your feet!"

He gave her a faint hint of his lopsided grin: "Makes me look the way I feel, eh?"

She opened her mouth, but he pooh-poohed her with a wave of his hand: "I'm sorry, but right now, I don't want to talk about it." Crestfallen, she bit her lip. He pleaded: "Maybe later, okay?"

Nodding, Hermione holds up the blanket: "Get under, darling!" He did not hesitate for long and slipped under the cover. Turning to the side, she made room for him. A sigh escaped his lips, as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply.

She waits for a moment, before she finally asked, what's on the tip of her tongue: "I was already worried, that you would not come home!" - not at all, she added in her mind.

"Huh?"

"You were gone for over three hours!"

"Hmm, I went to…", he stifled a yawn, "the Potters and took care of their little rascal!" Entwining their fingers, he kissed softly the spot behind her ear. Humming, Hermione stared at their joined hands, her thumb drawing circles on his knuckle.

"Ron?" - "Hmm?"

"Do you want to hear my plans for the rest of the day?" She stopped speaking, but after her husband was silent, she went on: "What do you say, if we travel to Hogsmeade, to get a butterbeer or eat some food?" She chuckled: "Although, that's kind of a stupid question, right?"

She took a deep breath, swallowed and said hesitantly": "Once we're there, we can get your remaining stuff right away!" Since he did not react, she considered it a good sign: "Well, and it wouldn't be the worst way to end the day, if we stay the rest of the evening in our bed, would it?" She gave him a dig with the elbow in his rips: "Feel free to answer, if you like!"

Startled, Ron grunted: "Ouch!" Judging by his hoarse voice, she woke him up.

Turning in his arms, she asked, clearly frustrated: "You haven't heard a word I've said, right?"

He blinked sleepily and admitted sheepishly: "I passed out, after 'do you'."

She nudged his shoulder and cried: "Ron!"

To avoid her blow, he leaned back, with the result that he almost fell off the sofa: "Oi!"

Moving quickly, his wife rescued him from the plunge by grabbing him at his sleeves. She draped the slipped blanket over both and chided playfully: "See what you get if you don't listen to your lovely wife, Mr. Weasley!"

Poking her on her side, he grinned: "Lovely? Don't be modest, Ms. Weasley!"

"Stop it, that tickles!"

His eyes gleamed mischievously: "Yeah?"

"Don't get any ideas, darling!" She pushed his fingers away, "Now, that you're awake, I would appreciate your undivided attention."

"I'm all ears!"

"I was wondering…"

He stroked his fingers up and down her arms, sending soft waves of bliss running up and down her skin, "You were wondering…"

"…since the evening is still young."

He gathered her to him: "Hmm."

Hermione stifled a moan, as he nibbled on her collarbone: "Let's jump to Hogsmeade!"

He froze and stopped his naughty intentions, much to his wife's regret.

"So, what do you say?"

Groaning, her husband rolled onto his back, pulling her along: "You mean right now?"

"Not right now, first you need a wash and brush-up!" She stopped short to pull something out of his hair: "It's squash?"

"Harry was not kidding, when he said, James is a very messy eater."

With a grin, Hermione padded his chest: "Yes, I wonder who he gets it from, my love. I hope something has also landed in his mouth."

"Maybe!" Suddenly, his playful voice became serious: "Look, Hermione, I'm really knackered and have to be up early tomorrow, so I was kind of hoping, how's about calling it an early night?", he asked hopefully.

She tucked her head under his chin, to cover her disappointment: "You don't want to go?"

"To tell the truth, I would rather stay here than go out.", he admitted.

Immediately, a terrible thought crept like a snake into her brain, what is only an excuse?

He caressed her back: "Please, don't be upset with me!"

"That's fine!", swallowing her disappointment, she laughed: "It's not like, as if my plans carved in stone!" She doubted he'd believe the lie because even to her own ears it sounded forced.

"I am so sorry baby, I'll make it up to you, I promise!" He seemed really contrite and ashamed, that Hermione pushed the nagging question to the back of her mind.

Snapping his finger, he exclaimed: "I've got it! Why don't we all go out …"

"Stop!" She said, cutting him off and lifting herself up, propping up on her elbow so she could really look at him: "You don't have to apologize at all. You've had a stressful day, emotionally and it seems physical."

"It was not a walk in the park.", he confessed.

"More like a ride in a roller coaster, I bet! ", she muttered and sat up, with the result that the blanket slipped to her waist and she was now sitting astride him: "Okay, new plan, since our fridge is empty, you order pizza by owl."

"Consider it done, ma'am."

She pinched his nose: "Don't get cheeky, Ronald, or you have to order by phone!"

His eyes widened, and he raised his hands defensively: "Bloo…, uh, I mean, no, anything but that, my lovely wife!"

"That's more like it. So, while you take care of the physical well-being, I'm in charge of the emotional well-being, starting with a relaxing bath for you!"

She trailed a finger down the side of his face and traced his jaw: "Would you like that, Ronald?"

His eyes were sparkling with excitement and anticipation: "With your expensive bath essence for special occasions!" - His wife nodded in agreement. – "and my special bath ingredient."

Patting his chest, she keeps a straight face: "Of course, darling, you get your rubber duck!"

"Har, har!" Moving quickly, he ran his finger under her jumper and tickled her tummy.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth: "Pshaw, tickle as punishment, such a sad attempt!"

"Oh yeah?", he tickled her side and she erupted with laughter: "Stop it! No fair!"

"Do you give up?"

She nodded her head 'no' and he tickled her other side.

Tears of laughter streamed down her cheeks and she gasped. "Plea…se, ha…ve mercy!"

He snorted: "Rubber duck, as if. "

She wiped her tears from the corner of her eye, "I don't even know why you are horrified by the thought, a lot of men don't bath without their rubber ducks!" And added with a twinkle in her eyes: "I should add, that Wizards prefer figures of famous Quidditch players!"

"You're joking, right!" He gave her a look with a mix of horror and disbelief.

"Nope!"

"First, I would never bath with Krum's figure, second, I am not like most men…" He stretched out his chest: "I'm a manly man!"

Hermione could not suppress a snort: "A man, who smells like roses and vanilla after his bath!"

Spreading out of his hand on her back, he winked: "Quite true, but don't you want to know, what I am talking about. It's not a secret..." – She quirked an eyebrow quizzically. – "It's A.S.N.H., or as I would say, absolutely-stark-naked-Hermione!" – Laughing, she pushed his shoulder: "Feisty git!"

"Guilty as charged, my witch!"

She leaned forward until only an inch separated them: "Hmm, now I have to come up with a suitable punishment." She felt him smile as her lips came down on him. Her fingers curled into his hair and he pulled her roughly against his chest. A moan escaped her, and the air crackled with tension.

He struggled into a sitting position and lowered his head to her neck, suckling at the base, which sent shivers down her skin. Hermione's hands drifted down his shoulders, glided over his torso to settle at his waist.

Her husband growled deep in his throat, as she reached between their bodies to pull off his jumper and undoing his pants all at once. Unfortunately, his garment fought back as she tried to yank it loose from his waistband.

He broke away, gasping for breath, and hauled his sweater over his head, while she fumbled with the metal snap of his jeans. His fingers, which caressing her back, stopped, and he whispered with husky voice: "Need help?"

"Don't you dare!", she growled, "My punishment, my rules.", and with a little effort, she manages to unbutton them. She looked up in triumph.

They stared at each other, breathing heavily, suddenly his eyebrow twitched: "This punishment is something I like!"

Crushing her lips onto his, she kissed him with passion, his lips firm, like the rest of him. Her tongue glided over his lips, to gain entrance, while her hand slid into his jeans. He inhaled sharply and broke away, to curse softly. Humming with desire, she gazed at him with wide-eyed innocence: "Not too knackered, I see!"

His ear tips turned red and he looked like a schoolboy being caught for doing something wrong. – Stroking him, she whispered mischievously: "I'm glad!" Closing his eyes, breath heavy, he rasped: "'Ugh, you know, ohhh, I take your punishment like a mannnn!" After that he was only capable to letting loose a whole string of curse words.

When Ron had thrown out Hermione's tentative proposal to end their day with a meal in the Tavern Three Broomsticks, her disappointment was visible. Even her puppy eyes, could not change his mind, fortunately, because, now she was obviously impressed about his choice.

He told her, that in 1828, the grand cigar divan opened as a chess club and coffee house. Chess has been woven into the fabric of the Simpsons story ever since.

Impressed by his knowledge about the history of Simpson's, she squeezed his hand and looked at him with a mix of proud and tenderness.

Ron could give himself a pat on the back, that he had chosen this restaurant.

Beaming, Hermione glanced around: "Small and cosy – it's so wonderful here."

"Wait till you try their food. I'm pretty sure you will love it!"

Leaning forward, a smile curled her lips, she whispered: "I very much look forward to the dessert at home!"

Ron acted as if he wanted to get up: "On second thought, let's go straight…"

His wife laughed and held him by the sleeve: "Oh no, mister, you promised me a romantic meal."

He gave a long, dramatic sigh: "What don't we do for the love?"

She lifted her wine glass: "Let's drink to that." Nodding, Ron clinked his glass with hers: "Cheers!" She took a small sip, watching him over the rim of her wine glass.

Ron stared into his glass, wrinkling his nose, and shut his eyes. Stifling a laugh, his wife teased: "It makes more sense if you hold the nose!" He quaffed off the wine and grimaced: "Ugh!"

"You wanted wine!", Hermione reminded him in a singsong voice.

He confessed sheepishly: "I did it as a romantic gesture, like the blokes in these boring French Films, that your mother and you like so much."

She patted his hand: "Sorry, love, but we Granger-Women like big and strong men, someone who can grow a beard and drink beer."

"Dammit!"

Both burst into laughter until someone from the next table cleared his throat.

Ducking her head, Hermione blushed, and whispered: "How embarrassing!", but her husband only chuckled – "Think it's funny?"

"Actually, on second thought…" he scratched his hairy chin reflectively, "as a matter of fact it was! "

Shaking her head, she opened the card and studied the menu. After a short time, she asked curiously: "You didn't tell me, how did you know about this place?"

Without long thinking, her husband replied: "Carol told me about this."

Hermione stiffened: "Carol?"

"Yeah, Carol Turner." Ron could really feel, how his ears turned red, "You know, uh, my real estate agent!"

„I see!" She nodded, but did not look up from the menu card, "So, you been here before – how many times did you say?"

He shrugged his shoulders: "Once or twice in the past."

"Always alone?" She asked with apparent indifference.

He lowered his eyes to his own menu card and cleared his throat: "Not always!"

Ron winced, as Hermione closed the card with a slam. Risking a glance, he found her brown eyes shining with anger, nope, it was more like.. exactly… prissiness.

"Is it just me or is it really that hot here!" He ran his fingers under his shirt collar.

"I find the temperature comfortable!" replied his wife icy.

"You are right, the temperature's dropping right now.", grumbled Ron under his breath and focused on the card, which was not easy, there his wife drummed her finger on the table: "Can we finally order?"

"Hmm, let me see."

"Merlin, Ronald!"

He glanced up: "What?"

Rolling her eyes, she pointed at the card: "If you are constantly here, don't you know the card by heart?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but gritted his teeth and counted to five instead. After that, he reached across the table and grabbed her hand: "Ok, love, spit it out!"

She pursed her lips tightly and said nothing.

Squeezing her hand, he tried to joke: "Just because I've got the emotional range of a teaspoon, I couldn't help but notice that something is bugging you!"

She withdrew her hand from his and her voice was dripping with sarcasm: "No, really, what makes you think that?"

His patience snapped, and he replied with suppressed anger: "Maybe because your mood is at the bottom of your socks!" A sigh escaped his lips: "I guess there goes our romantic evening" He waved the waiter over, who staying discreetly in the background.

Narrowing her eyes, she hissed: "What are you doing?"

"Either settle it here and now or go home and do it there."

She rubbed her forehead and grumbled: "Meaning my place or yours?"

Shaking his head, Ron turned to the waiter: "May I have the bill, please."

"Something wrong, Sir?", the waiter asked worriedly, his gaze wandered from him to Hermione.

Ron smiled apologizing: "No, no, everything is alright, but unfortunately, my wife does not feel!"

Hermione moved her chair backwards, got up with a murmured: "Idiot!" and left the restaurant without looking back

Her husband could do nothing but watch her go with his mouth open and a gobsmacked expression. "Uh, mood swings, one of the many side effects of pregnancy, you know!" He stammered a quickly constructed lie. Pulling on his earlobe, he added, joking: "I hope, I survive the next months!"

The waiter gave him a pitiful look and Ron gave him a generous tip.

Walking out the fireplace, Ron made a beeline straight to his wife: "Just so you know, we cannot go to Simpson's for the next months…", his expression became sorrowful, "maybe years."

Crossing her arms, her eyes were smouldering with anger: "I don't give a damn if we are banned from entering their restaurant!"

He stopped to brush the soot off his clothes and stuttered, speechless: "Who are you… wait a minute, you are not really pregnant? On the other hand, this would explain your strange behaviour!"

"Strange behaviour? Don't make me laugh!"

"Come on, even me, recognize the mood swings, when I see it! One minute you were laughing with me, one minute later you were ready to rip my head off. Blimey, Hermione, you cursed right now!"

"That's the solution for everything, right, it's her time of the month or she is pregnant!" She poked her finger in his chest: "Well, let me tell you something. I'm not pregnant and it's not my time of the month!" Narrowing her eyes, she asked a dangerously quiet tone: "Hold on, who said, that I am pregnant?"

Blushing, Ron avoided her gaze: "No one!"

"You're lying, aren't you?"

"Okay, it might be, that the waiter from the Simpsons now suspects….."

She threw her arms up: "Ronald Billius Weasley!

"But the good news, we are not banned!"

She plumped down on the sofa and grabbed a pillow: "You don't even... argh!" Plunging her face into the pillow, she screamed at the top of her lungs. It took a few moments before she calmed down enough to let the pillow sink.

Ron grabbed a chair and sat astride down on it: "Are you feeling any better?"

Hugging the pillow to her chest, she let only a "Humph!" out.

"Okay, be honest with me, Hermione, what the hell's been going on?" His voice went up at the end. As she threw a disapproving glance at him, he corrected himself in a much gentler tone: "Please tell me, what happened at the restaurant."

"I just found out, that you went out with another woman!"

Puzzled, he asked: "I don't really get why you're so mad at me. I thought, there is no reason, to ask for your permission and you were fine with it."

"You took me out into the same restaurant, as she!"

"Well, it is the best and she deserved it for her great help!"

"HA! I bet!"

He became more confused by the minute: "It did not affect her work, didn't it?"

She sneered: "How should I know that!"

He frowned: "Okay, now I'm very confused by what's going on here?"

She draws a deep breath: "I just want to know one thing, how long has this been going on between you and Miss Beauty is her middle name?"

He looked at her with a bewildered expression: "Miss what?"

His wife rolled her eyes: "I speak of your real estate agent!"

His eyebrow his shot up: "Carol Turner? Do you talk about her? Merlin, I thought you meant Mrs. Graham!"

She seems to be taken by complete surprise, and stuttered: "You… you were with my secretary there?"

"Sure, with whom else?"

"And Carol Turner never accompanied you to the restaurant?"

Flabbergasted, he asked: "I hired her to look for a place to live, also why would…" He stopped short before he whistled: "Aha, now I see therefore the wind blows. You think I dated her, during our break up? You're not serious, are you?"

She nodded miserably: "Ginny told me about her, she looks like as if she had just stepped out of the pages of a Beauty Magazine. And you…", she gave him a demonstrative reproachful look, "were blushing when you mention her name and I just…"

"Thought one and one makes four!"

"Your sister had the impression the two of you like each other..."

"Merlin, Hermione, even if I think she's pretty and very nice, it has always been strictly professional between us!" He hastened to add: "Not that I wanted to start something with her!"

"God, I'm so pathetic!" She brought the palm of her hand to her face, to hide her embarrassment.

Her husband, who, of course, couldn't let the matter rest, repeated teasing: "Miss Beauty is her middle name - who comes up with that." Before his wife could come with an answer, he continued with a boyish grin: "Stupid question, huh, I bet, it was Miss-gossip-queen in person!"

Flushing, Hermione threw the pillow at him: "That's not funny!" and stood up and walked, followed by her husband, with head held high into the kitchen.

While she filled the teapot with water, he opened the fridge, looked inside and noted disappointed, that there was nothing edible, except for Hermione's natural yoghurt and other healthy stuff, in it. He grabbed a bottle of butterbeer and bumped the door with his hip. As the door shut with a clunk, he already had uncapped the bottle with the aid of his wand.

Leaning at the fridge, he shoots the sixty-four-thousand-dollar-question at her: "Why did you not ask me straightforward? I would have told you, there was nothing between us!"

Taking her time to answer, Hermine took her mug out of the cupboard and gave him a questioning glance, whereupon he wordlessly raised his bottle.

Wrapping the string of the tea bag it around the mug handle, she poured the boiling water directly onto the bag and stirred the water with the teaspoon - observed the whole time from her husband, who would under normal circumstances scoff, that she brews her tea in Muggle way (but let's be honest, he secretly loved her Muggle rituals). Sighing, she confessed: "Maybe I was afraid of your response!"

Ron snorted: "I can assure you, to jump into a new relationship was at the bottom of my list."

Hermione paused a moment to let his words sink in: "Well, that's... That's good to know!" She fished out the bag with the spoon, to throw in the trash can, unaware, that her husband, meanwhile hesitated, debating whether he should keep his secret. In the end, he decided against it.

'Come on, Ron, grit your teeth and get to it!': "There's something I haven't told you!"

"Yeah?" A mug of hot tea in her hand, she looked at him with a combination of curiosity and worry.

He glanced out of the kitchen window: "After our meeting with Elaine, ", he paused, to take a sip of his beer: "you know, when I learned that you let him kiss you…"

Although he did not look directly at her, Hermione was aware, that he observed her reaction out of the corner of his eyes. Clutching the steaming mug with both hands, she tried to remain calm and composed.

Sighing, he pinched his nose: "I got this picture in my head, about you two, arms around each other, kissing…."

Hermione felt the irresistible urge, to cover her ears with her hands, to block his words out, which evoke immediately the unpleasant memory of the incident in Stockholm. Unfortunately, it doesn't work, as she knew from her early childhood.

Unconsciously, she closed her eyes, and, in her mind, she was back in the hotel room. Some details from the evening were blurred, while she remembered at others clearly, regrettably, the memory of his bony fingers on her spine was one of the latter. A wave of nausea and dizziness swept over her, causing her to put the mug down.

Though it was obvious, that it was painful to talk about it, her husband keeps on talking: "The mere thought of his tongue down at your throat..." He shook his head as if he could to erase the images from the mind.

Gripping the edge of the worktop, to get over her dizziness, she recalls, that she brushed her teeth not once, but three times. Afterwards, she stood under the stream of water for several minutes – in hope that a hot shower would wash off the smell of his aftershave, which seemed to attach to her body, and maybe the guilty conscience.

That night, sleeping was the last thing on her mind, since, she keeps asking herself, what the hell she was thinking, when she, a married wife, let another man as her husband into the room. Not only that, she let him kiss her. Sure, he caught her by surprise and the champagne certainly not helped, but, in the end, she had to admit to herself, she alone was responsible for the mess.

He paused for a moment and then continued with a voice, which contains a hint of betrayal: "And I could almost hear moans with pleasure."

Massaging her temples, Hermione wished, she could tell him, it didn't come to that, after all, she was too shocked to utter a peep. But the memory of the kiss itself seemed strangely fragmentary – probably a kind of repressive mechanism. She had only a faint recollection at David's heavy breathing, and there was something else, right, his shriek of pain, when she pushed him away against the door handle.

"You know, it made me want to puke - no wonder, then, that my first instinct was, to storm into the dumbass's office and punch his light out." Glancing at her, Ron managed to crack a smile: "So much for being pathetic, eh?"

She replied with a slight tremble in her voice: "We've already done stupid things for less." One of these costs her almost her marriage with the man of her life and her reputation.

"Actually – I thought, when you get older, you get better and tougher."

"But, you didn't do it, did you?"

"Huh?"

She punched the air with her fist.

"Something in me kept saying that he's not worth it, so no, I didn't do that!

Luna would say, my inner voice spoke to me." He pulled a face that left no doubt about his self-deprecating. "Of course, it doesn't change the fact that I felt hurt, humiliated, even jealous." He broke into a weary smile: "Which proves again, one person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode.":

Her ears pricked up at the remorseful tone in his voice: "What do you mean?"

All trace of any humour vanished: "I kind of needed to blow off some steam." He took a deep breath before he went on: "After some glasses of whiskey in the first available pub, I came up with the glorious idea, to give you a taste of your own medicine."

His cheeks went red and the colour rose in his neck: "As I said, I was completely shattered, and my alcohol fogged brain certainly not helped….", he coughed, to hide his embarrassment, "and there was a blonde woman, who practically threw herself at me!"

The image of an attractive, frivolous young woman, looking remarkably like an older version of Lavender, who flung her arms around her husband, her Ron, flashed before her eyes. She felt the bile rise in her throat and spluttered: "I think, I have to throw up!" Covering her mouth, she made a dash to their bathroom.

Just as Ron raised his hand to knock on the door, he heard the unmistakable sounds of vomiting. Torn between pity and anger, he leaned his forehead against the door. If anyone has the right to be upset, it's me, not her, he thought. After all, his wife, his Hermione, broke his heart, by hooking up with that jerk.

Feeling a sense of shame for his satisfaction over her discomfort, he took the opportunity for a reality check.

He knew, that he was not a prince charming in a cape, the red-haired, bIue-eyed, handsome, with ripped-abs, man, who you feel safe with and can fly you to every place in the world. Hell – is own mother thought until recently, that he was far from being an ideal husband.

If he was honest, he couldn't stand that arrogant David-fucking-asshole and his smug smirk from the beginning, because he was the complete opposite of him: book-smart, ambitious to the bone, always dressed up to the nines (whose clothes are colour coordinated?) and three billion witches are slobbering at his feet.

Naive as he was, he thought, Hermione doesn't care a fig about that's the kind of guy, but about a normal person, who also had rough edges, like him.

First, there was Vicky, you can say everything about him, however not, that he was a pansy. Wait – before Vicky there was her hero Gilderoy Lockhart, the walking popinjay - holy shit, it was as if scales fell from his eyes.

Hermione paused, then retched for the third time, her entire body convulsing as she let out the last remains of her breakfast on the toilet. After she was done, she flushed the toilet one last time and slid down onto the floor. Sighing, she drew her knees up against her chest. The door opened a tiny crack and Ron peered into the room: "Is everything okay in there?"

She nodded and rested her cheek on her knees.

He came into the room and sat down next to her on the floor. She tilted her head a little, to look at him with red-rimmed eyes.

Holding a thumb and forefinger an inch apart, he confessed: "I was so close, to make the wrong choice for the wrong reason! But, In the end, I could not do it!"

Relieved, she closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder.

"And it has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the fact, that she looked like the Fat Lady!"

She raised her head and snorted in disbelief: "You're making that up."

He grinned, the expression created little lines around his sparkling blue eyes, and put a hand on his heart: "I swear I'm telling the truth. Okay, her hair was blond, but otherwise, to be as alike as two peas in a pod." The corners of his mouth twitched before he started laughing.

She couldn't help joining in.

He brushed his fingers against her cheek: "Did I ever tell you, that I love the way, your eyes lit up when you laugh!"

She leaned in toward him, but he ducked his head away and wrinkled his nose: "No offence, but before we get to it, we should do something about your, uh, smelly breath."

Blushing, Hermione covered her mouth: "Sorry!"

Suddenly a bottle zoomed from their bathroom cabinet into Ron's waiting hand. With a grin, he handed her the Dentifricium Mouthwash, a wizarding brand of mouthwash, made from 100% pure African red pepper.

She pulled out the cork, put the bottle to her lips, took a long sip, gargled and spit out the water in the toilet. Shuddering, she murmured: "Awful stuff!"

Ron grinned: "That's how I feel about wine!"

"That's hard to compare, my dear!" She pulled him by the collar of his shirt to her and breathed on him: "Better?"

"Much better!" he whispered and pressed his lips against hers, wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back with enthusiasm.

Afterwards, both lapsed into a pleasant silence, absorbed in thought, until Ron bumped her shoulder: "You know, muffin, I realized something today!"

"That we are both stupid idiots?"

"That too, but…" He stroked his beard: "How shall I put it delicately?"

She rolled her eyes: "Maybe by getting straight to the point!"

"Okay, okay, I'm just going to go out and say it unabashedly!" Poking him with her finger in his rips, he burst out: "You got a weird thing for men!"

"A weird thing….excuse me!" she freed herself from his arm and looked up at him.'

He shrugged his shoulders: "It's true. Guys, how act like a pon.., uhh, dandy. Take your crush on Gilderoy Lockhart, for example."

The blood surged to her face: "First of all, I didn't have a crush on that liar and I found his pompous affected behaviour disgusting."

He raised an eyebrow, which said clearly: And pigs might fly.

"It was more a….."

"Hero-worship?"

"Veneration!"

A glint in his eyes, he shrugged: "You want to lie to yourself, you go ahead!"

"But how do you explain my supposed..." She made an air quote: "Crush on Viktor, who don't fit into that category!"

"Vicki was an exception, which proves the rule".

"Ronald Billius Weasley?"

"Sorry, old habits die hard, I meant, of course, Viktor Krum!"

"Idiot! I talk about my husband, called Ronald Billius Weasley!"

"I am the notable exception!"

"You are barking up the wrong tree, Mister! My only weakness, with an emphasis on weakness, are redheaded men - one redheaded man to be precise..."

Without hesitation, he replied deadpan: "Perce!" followed by an and-do-not deny it-look.

"And as I said, when you interrupted me so rudely, my weakness is a redheaded man, how cannot tie the knot of his tie, even if his life depended on it, and he could do it with the right spell."

"Ok, that rules out Percy!"

"Whose Canon-Shirt, by the way, how do you manage to always come home untucked, it's still a mystery for me, clashed with his hair. He does not mind if his pants are full of grass stains after romping with his numerous nieces and nephews. "

Framing his face with both her hands: "It's always been you, Ron!" She paused, to blink back tears: "I know, I hurt you, but all I know is I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

A grin spread across his face: "See, you have a weird thing..."

She gave him a kiss, which showed her feelings, and murmured against his lips: "Shut up and kiss me!"

For a few seconds he didn't respond, then a groan escaped his throat and he thrust his fingers into her hair, pulling her mouth back to his with a fierce hunger.

"Love me..", she whispered, "and don't stop."

He tugged her closer so that she sat on his lap. The next few minutes passed with a blissful exchange of caresses. As she finally buried her head against his chest, he sniggered: "At least, that bastard got a dressing-down!"

"You heard about it!" she asked sheepishly.

Snorting, he replied: "George cannot stop talking about it. – Merlin, I didn't think Percy had it in him. It's always the quiet ones that snap, right!"

Thankfully, he expected no answer, so Hermione could follow the motto 'A shut mouth catches no flies'!" and remained silent.

As her husband moved his legs, she grunted in protest: "Sorry, but I think, my legs have gone dead!" Unimpressed, she didn't move. Pinching her bottom playful, he laughed: "Come on, I'm famished, let's grab a bite." When she stiffened, he groaned: "Merlin socks, I'm an idiot. You just puked and I'm talking about food. If you are still sick, we could, ahem…", he stuttered, "stay in, eat all night long crackers and watch movies.."

She put her finger to his lips to stop his flood of words: "Hush! I'm feeling much better!" Strangely enough, that's true. Taking a deep breath, she burst out with a question, which bothering her for a while: "Why do you have still a room in 'The Three Broomsticks'?"

Ron was flabbergasted, to say the least.: "Sorry, what?"

"Although we are for over 2 months back-together, you didn't quit the room yet. I just wondered why that is."

"Most of the time I'm here!", he defended himself.

"Exactly, most of the time. But most of the time is not all the time!"

He lifted her off his lap and stood up. Paced up and down the bathroom, he ran his fingers through his hair: "Why didn't you mention it before?"

"Each time when I brought up the subject, you basically dodged."

He stopped and frowned: "When did you ever…"

She squirmed: "Not directly!"

"I thought you know me, I don't recognize hints in any manner!", he snapped.

She snapped back: "And I thought, I'm not in a position to ask you for it."

His expression softened as he looked at her: "You are my wife, muffin, of course, you can ask me anything!"

"The same goes for you!", she reminds him.

"Aye!"

"Just think," she exclaimed with a wagging finger, "it would have saved us a lot of suffering."

"Maybe we should put a sign over our door, you know, with Elaine's life motto as inscription 'The speaking, whether arguing or not…"

They looked each other in the eye and completed the sentence in unison: "is the nuts and bolts of a good marriage!"

"Come on, I'll help you up." She took his outstretched hand and he pulled her up from the floor: "Where are we going?"

"You don't go anywhere, you little minx, except to bed, and I'll take care of everything, such as pick up my remaining stuff…"

She interrupted him: "I'm fine, really!"

Eying her critical, Hermione could see that he didn't fancy the idea, to travel with her by Floo Network – a puking woman into the bargain.

She stood up on tiptoes and put her arms around his neck: "So, what you're saying is, you don't want me along."

"You need your rest, so come on, off to bed with you!" He put his hands under her bottom and lifted her effortlessly off the ground. Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist and pouted: "There are innumerable romantic places to relax, like a room in the Three brooms."

Unaffected by her pouting he headed for their bedroom. When he stopped in front of the bed, she clutched him tightly with her legs, to prevent that he threw into it.

He leaned back to look her in the eye: "You are absolutely sure, that you are fine?"

Suppressing her reflex to roll her eyes, she nodded: "At 100%!"

With a sigh, he gave in: "Okay, but be warned, it could become stressful instead of relaxing."

She winked: "Did you know, that I have a few tricks up my sleeve to reduce stress!"

Grinning mischievously, he turned in the direction of their fireplace: "When you come to think of it, I have got a lot of pent-up energy!"

"On top of this, it will be a trip down memory lane!" She looks off into the distance, sighing joyfully: "You and me, alone in a room in the three broomsticks, that awakens nice memories, right?"

He grabbed a handful powder: "To tell the truth... you had me at stress reduction." Just when he wanted to activate the Floo-Network, he stopped in his tracks and asked shyly: "Even if that sounds a bit strange, but do you still have your uniform, you know, for the sake of old times."

She took her time to kiss him chastely before she moved her lips from his mouth to his ear: "I can offer you something better. I am wearing canon-underwear!"

"What are we waiting for – let's go!" Free according to the motto 'no sooner said than done', they arrived in record time at their destination.

Biting her fingernail, Hermione sat cross-leg on the floor. Arranged in a semicircle 6 pregnancy test lay in front of her. As her wand vibrated, she grabbed one of the tests and mumbled: "Here goes nothing!"

Jean formed the word 'Tronage' with her last letter tiles and waited for the inevitable.

Her husband shook his head in disbelief: "Tronage? You're kidding, right?"

Rolling her eyes, she handed him wordless the Official Scrabble Players Dictionary.

A knock on the door frame, let both glances up, where their grinning daughter stood: "Dad, don't you know, that tonnage is a duty paid for weighing wool?"

"Hermione!" cried her mother pleasantly surprised, showing signs of getting up, but Hermione motioned for her to stay seated. Reaching down, she gave her a peck on the cheek.

Her dad shook his head: "Holy cricket, how do you both know something like that!"

His daughter, who sat down on the backrest of his chair, rubbed his shoulder: "Through a lot of reading!"

"I read, too, but a word like..." He pointed at the game board, "Tronage does not occur in my books."

"You should read more Historical books, my dear!", his wife teased him.

"Or I could lend you my Jane Austen-collection, Dad!"

Peter Granger grimaced: "Thank you, but no thanks."

Her mother leaned back in her chair and asked curiously:" So, daughter of mine, what brings you to us?" and added worriedly: "I hope everything is well with you and Ron?"

"Where is he anyway? He owes me another rematch!", Peter Granger looked around searching as if he expected that his son in law would magically show up in the Granger-Kitchen at any moment. Come to think of it, he could just like that appear.

"I am afraid, that you have to wait for the rematch, he helps out in George's business this morning." Turning to her mother, she smiled: "And to answer your question, mum, Ron and l are happier than ever."

Jean looked at her daughter very closely, and indeed, Hermione's eyes were shining with joy. Relieved, she nodded "Good. I'm glad to hear it."

"Well, as a matter of fact, there is a reason, why I' m here. I could use your advice in a… " she gave her mother a meaningful look, "woman thing!"

Immediately her dad got up from the chair, grumbling: "Ahem, your mother is better suited for that, after all, she is a woman and can talk about women's stuff. Hormonal fluctuations and whatnot."

Before leaving the room, he grabbed the dictionary from the table.

"Your Dad!", laughed her mother and rose too.

Hermione chuckled: "The word 'women issue' would hardly have left my mouth, Ron would have disappeared already!"

Jean, who held up the teapot, asked her daughter: "Fancy a cuppa!"

"I wouldn't say no to that." While her mother puts the kettle on the stove, she lowered her eyes on the board. Bemused, she moved the letter titles back and forth on the board.

"Chamomile or fruits?"

Startled, Hermione glance up: "Pardon?"

"Which flavour do you want? Chamomile or fruits?"

Her daughter shuddered with disgust: "Everything, just not Chamolie, I cannot stand it anymore!"

Her mother replied absently: " When I was pregnant with you, the smell of coffee made me feel sick..." She stopped in her tracks and her eyes widened: "Oh, my… are you?"

Hermione, beaming with happiness, nodded teary-eyed.

Tears welled in her eyes, Jean enfolded her daughter in her arms and laughed overjoyed: "A Baby!" Suddenly, she pelted her daughter with questions.

"How long have you known?"

Hermione looked at the kitchen clock: "For 45 minutes!"

"How did you find out? I mean, is there a spell for that?"

"There is a spell, but I prefer to do things like that in Muggle way, I used a pregnancy test, or to be exact, 6 pregnancy tests!"

Although she had to shake her head, Jean smiled: "How long did you have a suspicion?"

"To be honest, Mum, I blamed the stress for the symptoms, nausea, the absence of my period, the disgust with food!" She laughed: "But it was here all along… right in front of my nose!"

"And not to forget the mood swings!"

"Fortunately, I have been spared from them so far!" Curling her lips, she scolded: "Even if my husband claims the opposite!"

"But now the most important question. How far along are you?"

Blushing, her daughter brushed a strand of hair behind her ear: "I'm not really sure, I haven't a healer appointment until Monday. But we were a little careless, as I'm deeply ashamed to admit, in Scotland." A tender smile played on her lips, as she placed her hand on her still flat stomach: "So I guess, you can call this little one our souvenir!"

Sinking down onto a chair, Jean's lips escaped a "Oh my!"

Her daughter's body sagged slightly as she sighed: "I know, what you think, it's too soon after…" She trailed off.

"I assume, you don't talk about that thing with this….. this caitiff!"

Hermione grimaced as if she had bitten a lemon.

Moving her chair nearer to her daughter, Jean patted her hand, "I was only surprised, that's all."

Her daughter corrected her sadly: "More like shocked! Admit it, Mum, it's too early, Ron broke up with me a few months ago and now I am pregnant!"

"But you patched things up with him!", Jean appeared to be pensive, but still, a consoling confidence seemed to twinkle in her eyes "You will see, everything will turn out all right. On the bright side, our child will be a forever memory on the vacation."

Hermione nodded sheepishly.

"And the main thing is that you're happy!"

Her daughter burst into tears and sobbed: "Beyond all measure!"

Jean had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. From happy to sad in a moment, a textbook example of mood swings.

She waited until her daughter had calmed down a bit. Handing her a tissue, she asked, curious: "How did the soon-to-be father take it? - I bet he's over the moon!"

Hermione sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue. Just as she began to speak, she got the hiccups: "Right, hic, now, he's, hic, blissfully ignorant! And frankly, I, hic, don't really know, how do I tell him, that, hic, he becomes a father." She added thoughtfully: "I bet, there, hic, are books on the, hic, subject at Flourish and Blotts."

"Let me give you a little advice, sweetie, break it to him gently. And very, very careful, and under no circumstances in the car – when parking."

As her daughter gave her a questioning look, she added, smirking: "I blurted out the good news to your father, when he parked our car in front of the garage!"

"I can imagine, what, hic, happened - the bump in the garage, hic door is still visible!"

"Thank heaven, our Thunderbird just had a scratch!"

"You had a nickname, hic, for the car?"

Her mother smiled tenderly: "He was like a family member and your dad found it appropriate!"

"That is apparently a man's thing, Ron also named his broom!"

Jean`s eyes widened: "Err"

Hermione blushed down to the roots of her hair, covered her eyes: "God... that came out wrong!"

"Please promise me one thing..."

Her daughter spread her fingers and peered through the gaps.

"that you never say that in the presence of dad's great-aunt Hazel. I swear, she would drop down dead."

As Mother and daughter collapsed with laughter, David, who became curious, poked his head through the door: "You two seem to be having a good time. Mind letting me in on the joke?"

Jean wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief.

Hermione, fanning herself with one hand, stifled her laughter, to answer: "Mum told me all about your mishap with Thunderbird!"

"Then you know it was your mother's fault."

"Well, do I need to remind you, that you named our Aston Martin Thunderbird?"

Grasping his hands behind his back and sticking his chest out, Peter replied proudly: "I have to tell you, Thunderbird, may God rest his soul, was definitely a better name than Herbie!"

"Is that the best name you could come up with? Then I can be glad, that Mum has chosen my name!" Hermione glanced at her watch and stood up.

Crestfallen, her dad asked: "You're not going home yet, are you, mouse? I could throw something on my new barbecue grill."

"Darling, don't you think, it's the wrong time of year?" laughed his wife.

"That's never stopped me before, sweetheart."

"I wish, I could stay longer, Dad, but my husband will be home soon, and I have to take care of some things before. "

She kissed him on his cheek. Turning to her mother, both communicate without speaking. There was a request in her mother's eyes and Hermione nodded approvingly.

Waving, she left the kitchen, but in the next room, she stopped briefly and listened.

"No reason to be sad, granddad, we will have plenty of opportunities to christen your grill!"

Her dad grumbled insulted: "Pfft, who are you calling granddad? I'm not that old!"

"Honestly, darling, today you are slow on the uptake!" Hermione could literally see, how her mother rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, if…" Her father paused, and it was suddenly so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

After giving the matter considerable thought, Hermione made at first the decision, to tell him during dinner, but in this scenario her husband choked to death, so she decided, the best time would be at the end of the dinner.

So far, everything was on schedule. The pudding was in the fridge, the table was set and the roast in the oven.

Sighing, she stroked her stomach with one hand, now, we got to find some way to…to break it to him gently as possible. Fidgeting with her quill, she looked down at her notes.

The 'Guide for pregnant Witches' recommended to do it without too many words:

'I'm with a child!' That says it in a nutshell, but it was clearly too old-fashioned. Hermione crossed it from her list.

The flyer 'Honey, we are pregnant!' rely on humour:

"Are you ready for sleepless nights and full diapers?" Not bad, but he will probably answer: "Which baby we'll have to babysit this time?"

She glanced into the oven, where the roast sizzle over. "I could be blunt and say I have a bun in the oven!" So much for prim and proper! Chuckling, she pictured his reaction, it would leave him speechless, that's for sure.

"Our Trip had momentous consequences" – to …to clinically.

"Let me say it straight, Ron, I'm, no, we are pregnant!" She looked down at her stomach: "What do you think, little one?" She nodded to herself, you are right, that is it.

Needless to say, as soon as Ron stepped out of their fireplace, she cried: "There is a bun in the oven!"