Ron knew he was in for it the instant his brain settled after Appareling outside his and Hermione's flat. He hadn't even gotten his key in the lock, but something was clearly up. His nose caught the smell of Muggle cleaning products—a mix of chemicals and some scent Hermione insisted was "pine." Ron knew his fiancée only ever cleaned the Muggle way when something was weighing heavily on her mind or irritating her. He immediately ran through the list of everything he was supposed to have done. The dress robes were pressed; the rings sitting in a box on his nightstand, ready to go; his ruddy toast was written and he'd even practiced it three times—well, two and a half. But honestly, there were only so many times a man could be expected to go over wishing his best mate wedded bliss. Particularly when said best mate was marrying a man's only sister. No, he'd met all of his responsibilities. . .

When he opened the door, his ears were immediately assaulted by a series of caterwauls. Ron bobbled his keys as he eased the front door shut. Shaking his head, Ron dropped his bags in the hall and walked slowly to the kitchen. The sight that awaited him was simultaneously hilarious and pitiful.

Hermione's hair had escaped the kerchief she used to hold it off her face while cleaning, and the buildup of static caused it to frizz wildly. Her shirt was soaked, bits of cat hair clinging to it. In her arms, twisting violently despite Hermione's cajoling noises was a sopping wet Crookshanks. The ginger half-kneazle appeared to be less than half his usual size, his outraged mewls echoing through the flat. The kitchen counters were a disaster, covered in soap suds, upset dishes and buckets of water. Crookshanks had clearly made several desperate bids for freedom. Ron turned a fit of laughter into a cough; unsure which of his two flat mates would be more cross if he appeared to find any of this funny.

Crookshanks noticed him first. Hope appeared in the oversized eyes and the half-kneazle seemed to twist in a physically impossible fashion. He successfully leapt from Hermione's arms and propelled himself directly at Ron. Auror reflexes kicked in, and Ron cast a cleaning and drying charm without thinking of it. When Crookshanks landed in his outstretched arms, he turned to give Hermione a truly ferocious glare. Knowing Hermione was watching, Crookshanks than gave Ron an unusually long nuzzle while purring very loudly. Ron couldn't help but chuckle at the look of pure frustration on Hermione's face as her cat leapt to the floor and stalked out of the room—his dignity restored.

"Honestly, Ronald, did you have to do that? I was almost finished!" Ron knew the wild gleam in Hermione's eyes. He had long since labeled it the "fighting stare." It meant she wanted a row, and ordinarily there was nothing for it. He loved this look. True, when they were younger it had terrified him, causing him to immediately go on an offensive attack. But once they had become lovers, Ron had realized this look meant she usually needed to be distracted from something that was bothering her. There were all kinds of fun ways to do that now.

A few lazy flicks of his wand started several cleaning spells that his Mum had developed. With that done, he crossed to Hermione, pulled her against him and kissed her. It was his favorite kind of kiss: slow, lingering gentle movements of his lips and tongue encouraged Hermione to reciprocate. He grinned against her mouth when he felt the tension begin to release from her body as she finally gave in. He lazily looped on arm around her waist before kissing her into a dip.

Once he heard the quiet, breathy moan he had been waiting for, he pulled away from the kiss and kissed his way to her ear. After spending a moment nuzzling her hair, he whispered roughly in her ear. "Mione, breathe. You go into the bathroom and start a nice hot tub. I'll fix you a nice, cold drink, get dinner started and then come join you. On my honor, no funny business. We'll just talk about whatever has been bothering you so much lately."

"But I still have so much—"

He nipped the lobe of her ear gently, "Love, there is nothing waiting for you that won't keep. Ho on, I'll even bring you some shortbread," Ron grinned as Hermione slowly nodded and pulled them both up.

"You realize that was cheating, correct?" Hermione muttered as she attempted to smooth her hair.

"S'not cheating, love, it's strategy," he responded as he gently steered her out of the kitchen, "Now go on. I'll be there shortly." As soon as he heard the tub begin to fill, Ron started to look around the cupboards to weigh his options. The weather outside was cold and wet, which meant any idea involving something "light" and full of the leafy veggies Hermione kept pressuring him to eat was right out. He was craving something that would both serve Hermione's frazzled nerves and invigorate him after an exhausting day. Inspiration struck, and he began gathering the ingredients for his latest favorite food: steak and ale pie. He had stolen the recipe from Hannah Abbott after trying it one day at the Leaky, and now seemed as good a time as any to attempt it.

Ron started the meat browning as he cut up a selection of carrots, celery, mushrooms and tomatoes. The task was sooth and allowed him to focus his thoughts on what could be bothering Hermione. Ever since Ginny's hen party she had seemed distracted, her ordinarily tidy work desk at home was cluttered, projects left on hold while her mind focused elsewhere.

The other day he had come home to find her surrounded by boxes. He had recognized them as the ones that ordinarily stayed neatly stacked in the linen closet—they contained things Hermione had brought from her parent's house. Treasures from her childhood filled their spaces: awards from primary school, a well worn collection of Roald Dhal books, her collection of miniature houses and the odd stuffed animal. Hermione sat in the middle of the sprawl, flipping through a scrap book labeled "Christmas First Year," a box containing one of her houses in held gingerly in her lap. Ron had watched silently, taking in the wistful expression on her face that seemed mingled with hope. What, he wondered, could cause Hermione to smile so fondly as she smoothed a loose page before sliding it back into the book with an uncharacteristically girlish giggle? Of course, ruddy Crookshanks had chosen that moment to come streaking into the room, breaking both Hermione's concentration and his cover. She had hurriedly whisked everything back into its proper place before pouncing on him. Never one to object to a snog, Ron had picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, but not before noting what box everything had been so put into so neatly.

And now, Ron thought as he added the vegetables and a dark stout ale to the pot, he had the perfect opportunity to snoop. He dashed over to the closet, and eased the box in question out of the stack before heading back to the kitchen table. He set a spell on the pot to stir constantly and reduce the normal 2 hours simmering time to an hour. Grabbing a bottle of the ale for himself, he pulled out the scrapbook he had seen.

Labeled throughout in Hermione's tidy writing, the scrapbook contained Muggle photographs and bits of paper that appeared to be from during their first winter holiday from Hogwarts. While he and Harry had discovered the joys of the invisibility cloak, Hermione had been closer than they imagined. The pictures showed a vacation in the Scottish Highlands, with cards from places they had stopped to visit. Here was a tavern just outside of Inverness, and there was Hermione and her parents standing in the middle of what had been the battlefield for Culloden. One picture showed her standing triumphant at the top of a ruined castle, which she had neatly labeled as "Urquhart Castle" and given a brief history of the structure. It all screamed Hermione. She had carefully labeled every entry, and he couldn't help but smile at the her choice in phrasing. "Loch Ness: home of the 'mythical' Loch Ness Monster." Next to that had been a doodle of a face winking cheekily. Of course Hermione knew the monster was no myth, Ron recalled she had been delighted to discover the truth of Nessie's existence during a terribly dully day in History of Magic.

He took a break to arrange a plate of shortbread with a bit of Nutella in a small glass bowl. As soon as it was to his satisfaction he returned to the book, flipping through pages and falling more in love with Hermione by the second. One page caught his eye, as it had only three pictures, each of a tiny bit of open land. Hermione had labeled the page "Where I want to live when I grow up." Tall trees surrounded a cleared spot of land. Their branches sparkled in the photograph, encased in a winter frost. Another picture showed a small stream running along the edge of the property, which according to the label eventually joined the Nairn River. The final photograph on the page showed a young Hermione beaming as she perched in the branches of a truly enormous tree. Its caption read "Future site of my writing tree house." Ron felt is heart swell, and he brushed his hand across the photograph, but felt a lump underneath it.

Taking a moment to check that Hermione was still running he water, Ron lifted an edge of the photo to find a piece of parchment stored behind it. Easing it out, he recognized as the one he had caught Hermione gazing at so fondly. On it were drawings of a house sketched out, labeled "just like my Christmas and Hogmany in Scotland cottage" with another design for the all important tree house. This creativity was a side of Hermione he hadn't even known existed, and it would have been enough of a discovery has his eyes not drifted to the bottom of the page.

What Ron saw caused his jaw to drop as he read over it. This section of parchment was covered in variations of Hermione's name combined with his. Each had some small variance, a change to the lettering, different flourishes, like she had been practicing signatures. She had written "Hermione Granger-Weasley" at one point, but a line was struck through this, with the notation "our names hyphenated would be too much for the children to remember." Ron felt himself grinning like a fool, and he had to stop from doing a victory dance when he noted the one she had circled in red ink: "Hermione J. Weasley" with the tail of the y serving to underline her whole name. His heart felt so full he thought it would surely burst. He went to fold the parchment, turned it over and discovered that it was the back of a page of school notes from Divination! The date read "2 September 1993" and there were a few half hearted attempts at describing what to do with tea leaves. Here he had thought she had been diligently taking notes in a class she so obviously hated, and she had been doodling her name with his! He was on air, damn, but he loved that woman.

Ron carefully folded the parchment, kissed it and slid it back into place. He dug in the cupboards for Hermione's favorite mug, filled it full of milk and balanced the tray on top of it. A flick of his wand sent the box back to its hiding place, and he took a deep breath to settle himself. He was supposed to go be consoling to Hermione, grinning like a loon would likely just disturb her.

"Here we are then, love," he removed a stack of towels off a small table next to the tub so he could balance the tray on it. With an easy grace he lowered himself to a sitting position, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, "Now then, tell me what's wrong."

"For someone trained by the Auror department, you don't make a very quiet snoop, Ronald. Why on earth were you in the linen closet?" Hermione asked as she toweled her hands off with a dry washcloth.

Ron rolled his eyes, "Firstly, I was quiet, you set charms on it, don't lie. Secondly, you knew I'd go looking after seeing you with that box the other day. Thirdly, don't try to evade the question. What's bothering you?"

Hermione nibbled on a bit of short bread, her nose crinkling a bit as it always did when she was nervous. Ron watched her come close to speaking her mind, "I . . . what are you making for dinner?"

"Steak and ale pie, but again, Mione, that's not the point. Come on, love, it can't be anything too awful." Ron leaned closer and delicately kissed Hermione's nose, nuzzling her a bit before looking at her from mere centimeters away, "Something has been eating at you ever since the hen party and I want to know what it is. Even if you think it's bad, you just have to tell me so we can work through it. I love you, now talk."

"Oh, Ron. It's just, the other night at the hen party Luna told me how she had split with Neville but that it was okay because she was going to get out of this corner of the world and go after her dream. And it got me thinking that I'm not really happy where I am now and I want to expand my opportunities and take the risk she's taking and. . . I want to move to Scotland."

Ron felt crushed, as if his world were evaporating before him. She wanted to pursue her dreams and move to Scotland. He forced himself to swallow his fear, "So, do you want me to get my stuff from the flat tonight, then?"

"What? No you great git! I want us to move to Scotland! I know it's probably unfair to ask, but the University of Edinburgh has this fantastic center for Magical Law, and I have wanted to go there for school ever since I was a little girl. And I know I could just Apparate or Floo, but I have always wanted to actually live there and I've done the math and I think I can get us a decently priced flat near Chambers Street-Ron!" Hermione was cut off as she was lifted bodily from the tub and crushed in her fiancée's arms.

A few breathless moments later Hermione found herself laughing low in her throat, "You're sopping wet, and I thought you promised no funny business."

Ron set her down before tearing off his clothing, "Don't you ever bloody scare me like that again. You made it sound as if you thought leaving me was a good idea the way leaving Neville was a good idea for Luna. And as for no funny business, where on earth is the fun in that?"

"And you're all right with the idea of moving?"

"If this is something you truly want, Hermione, then let's go. Daft woman, I'd follow you around the world if that's what your heart wanted. But for now, I believe I won't be following you anywhere. The pie's got a bit of time left to cook, so I think I'll be carrying you to the bedroom. Have to get an early start tonight, after all, what with the wedding of doom tomorrow; we might just be too exhausted when we get home for any other fun."

Hermione giggled in delight as Ron carried her threshold style into their bedroom, "Oh, somehow I think we'll find the energy." Ron's heart melted at the love and joy in her eyes just before she kissed him.

A/N: Aaaah, the story has found a new way to turn! Dun dun dunnn! All kinds of fun adventures await the two of them once I get them into the Great White North, but before that can happen I have to get through Harry and Ginny's wedding. Updates coming soon! Thanks to all for reading, it is good to be back Glomps Hugs and Pygmy Puffs, UD