Ron stood in front of the door to his flat, having just Disapparated in front of it moments previously. He sighed as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. It had been a long day in the Auror office and he had only just returned from helping George out at the shop for three hours right after work.

Ron immediately hurried into his bedroom to strip off his work robes and change into a pair of jeans and a Chudley Cannons T-shirt. He strolled back into the kitchen, thinking now of making himself a small dinner, when something in the living room stopped him in his tracks.

The rose that he had charmed to match Hermione's mood lay on a small table next to the couch, where Ron could always see it. Hermione had a matching dozen of the same type of flower in her flat. The roses were usually violet or red, depending if Hermione was happy or angry (usually with him, Ron). But at the moment, Ron noticed the rose was an ocean blue. Blue meant sad, upset.

Why was Hermione upset? Without hesitating, Ron immediately Apparated in front of her flat and knocked on the door. There was no answer, but he could hear a faint scuffling within the flat, which informed him that it was not empty. He dug through his pockets and removed the key that Hermione had given him. He unlocked the door and forced it open.

He was met by a mess of pots and pans in her small kitchen. The counters were covered with a layer of different seasonings and flour, along with parts of the stone floor. The whole place smelled of burned food, and there seemed to be the smell of smoke lingering, though it appeared to have cleared. In the middle of this catastrophe of a kitchen sat Hermione on the floor, tears pouring down her face, which was splotched with patches of flour. She wore an apron over her clothes (though they were as stained as the rest of her) and a thoroughly miserable expression as she looked up at him, clearly surprised.

Ron instantaneously knelt beside her, taking her face in his hands and wiping it clear of tears with his thumbs. "What happened, Hermione?"

Hermione sniffed, wiped a hand across her face, and pulled them both to their feet. She led him over to the oven, where a dish of a very green, mushy substance of who-knows-what was sitting on the stove.

"Taste it," ordered Hermione, dipping a spoon into the stuff and placing it promptly in front of Ron's closed mouth. He looked into her pleading eyes, and he knew he shouldn't refuse, no matter how disgusting the gunk was. Hermione's feelings seemed to be very highly at risk, and he wasn't about to get into a row because he refused to eat her cooking.

Reluctantly, Ron opened his mouth and allowed Hermione to feed him the stuff. However, the moment the substance touched his tongue, Ron couldn't help but grimace. It was disgusting, whatever it was. Ron could hardly identify what was in it with his taste buds; he knew there was some sort of meat in the blend. Nevertheless, Ron had stomached much worse things than Hermione's cooking; vomit-flavored Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans, for instance. He was determined to avoid a row and swallow the stuff.

Ron did, and regretted it instantly. He wouldn't be keeping that down for long. Many claimed he had a stomach of iron (mostly Hermione and his mother), but there came a limit, even with a stomach of iron.

"It's good," he lied, when he saw Hermione looking at him expectantly. "Very good."

But from his facial expression and his unconvincing lie, Hermione seemed to have gathered the worst. She burst into fresh tears and turned her back on Ron. She turned again with her face in her hands and spoke:

"I thought you would be able to eat it! I thought 'Oh, Ron eats anything, he'll like it'! But if you can't even stomach it, then I must be a horrible cook!" Hermione burst into more tears and sank to the ground again.

Ron knelt down next to her again and hugged her tightly before holding her by the shoulders at arms' length, looking at her straight in the eyes. "Why," he said, "do you think you have to be the best at everything?"

Hermione glared at him. "I don't –"

"Yes, you do," interrupted Ron easily. "You think you have to be good at everything you try, so when something you're not so good at comes along, you go mad trying to perfect it.

"So you're not a very good cook. So what? It's not going to change anything. I'm still going to love you. Harry will still love you. Just because you find something you're not brilliant at, it's not going to change how anyone else feels about you."

Hermione was now staring at Ron with an expression torn between annoyance and curiosity. "I know that, Ron," she said softly, looking away from him. "I'm not trying to impress anyone else; I just want to prove to myself that I'm more than a walking library."

Ron chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her with a one-armed hug. "You're more than just book smart, love. I know that you're capable of so much more. Blimey, you've saved my arse more than a few times in the last seven years; you definitely have to be more than a walking library to do that. I think that counts for something, don't you?"

Hermione gave a shaky laugh and gently kissed his jaw line. "I suppose," she said, hugging his waist.

"So, if you've already proven to me that you're more than a walking library, can't that be counted to proving it to yourself too?" asked Ron, hoping to boost Hermione's confidence level.

Hermione looked at him with slightly less sad eyes. "I suppose," she repeated. He leaned forward and kissed her flour-covered forehead. She smiled at him and he chuckled, for the first time, at how covered she was with various splatters of food.

"You're a mess," he stated, brushing at a patch of flour on her cheek. She giggled somewhat shakily and he stood up, offering a hand to Hermione. "Go clean up. I've got this," he said, gesturing to the messy kitchen.

She nodded, and retreated to her bedroom. Ron heard the shower turn on in the bathroom a few moments later.

With a few sweeps of his wand, Ron was able to remove all traces of usage of Hermione's kitchen; in mere moments, it sparkled and gleamed as if never set foot in.

Ron left the kitchen and looked around the living room, feeling, all of the sudden, spontaneously romantic. He pointed his wand at the group of candles that Hermione kept out on the coffee table and they lit obediently. He then moved each of them to various corners of the living room. Looking around, Ron pushed back the red hair that was hanging in his face and pushed the couch and the coffee table against the wall, out of the way. He then waved his wand lazily at the wireless and changed to a channel that played slow songs, the finishing touch. He switched the lights off just as he heard Hermione turn off the shower.

Moments later, she reemerged from the hall, dressed in jeans and a jumper. It was simple, but Ron always thought she looked her best in simplicity.

Hermione looked around, and shot him a look between suspiciousness and confusion. "What's all this?"

Ron didn't answer directly, but bowed slightly to her and held out a hand. "May I have this dance, madam?" he asked, shooting her a teasing grin.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and placed her hand in his, smiling back at him. He kissed her hand, his eyes never leaving hers, before letting it find his shoulder as he placed both of his on her waist, pulling her in close. They found the feel of the music quickly, and began to relive the last time they had danced at Bill and Fleur's wedding. However, this time, Voldemort and his Death Eaters weren't threatening their lives and they weren't surrounded by dozens of other couples.

They gazed at each other for what felt like forever without exchanging any words at all. Ron thought they must look quite stupid, staring at each other with silly grins on their faces and dancing in the middle of a living room. But to him, it was absolute bliss.

It wasn't long before Ron's lips found Hermione's and he was in their own, safe haven. He knew as long as he was kissing Hermione, nothing could harm either of them. She always tasted of a blend of peaches and cinnamon sugar when they kissed, a rather intoxicating taste that only brought Ron back wanting more.

All too soon, Hermione pulled away, and Ron groaned, feeling as if she was doing this on purpose just to torture him. She laughed and said, "You taste like chocolate."

Was she reading his mind now? Ron only grinned cheekily and said, "Do I? Well, I do eat a lot of Chocolate Frogs –"

"– and it's going to catch up with you!" scolded Hermione, tickling his sides and making him squirm.

"You'll still love me though, right?" asked Ron, grabbing her round her waist again.

"Yes," said Hermione, "but I hope that doesn't happen. I love my thin Ron. He fits into my small bed with me when I'm having a nightmare."

Ron laughed and hugged her, tucking her head under his chin. "What do I taste like?"

He released her as she asked this, and stared at her. Then a wicked thought passed through his head and he said, "Well, let me see –" With that, he gently licked the side of her face, making Hermione jump back and giggle at the same time. "Ron, gross!" she exclaimed, wiping her cheek with her palm, though she was beaming like an idiot.

Ron laughed again and pulled her into him again, kissing her soundly and more passionately than before, savoring her taste and making sure he knew exactly what it was before pulling away and answering her. She looked slightly dizzy, but still looked at him expectantly.

"You taste like peaches and cinnamon sugar. I suppose a bit like strawberries too, but it's all a very Hermione-ish blend." He grinned and leaned in slowly to kiss her again.

They broke apart not long after and Ron looked at his beautiful Hermione, feeling like the luckiest man on earth. Suddenly, an impulsive thought struck him for the second time that night.

"I going to take you out," he said, waving his wand to put out the candles and shut off the wireless. "You deserve a dinner out." He put an arm around her shoulders and grabbed her bag for her. Just as they were walking out of the door, Ron glanced over Hermione's head and looked at the roses on her kitchen table, which had turned to a light violet color. Ron smiled and shut the door to Hermione's flat, holding her more tightly to his side.