A/N: You know the drill. Harry Potter is not mine.

It was Christmas Eve, almost two years after the battle, and Ron and Hermione were in Ron's room enjoying the small amount of 'private time' alotted to them by Molly Weasley. It was hardly 'private time' in Hermione's opinion. They were required to keep the door open at all times, but it was Molly's house so it was Molly's rules. Anyway, Ron and Harry were moving into Grimauld Place soon, and unless Harry had any objections, 'private time' would be a lot easier to come by.

Hermione loved Ron's bedroom. It was cluttered, and Orange and so very Ron. Squished beside Ron in his single bed Hermione felt almost giddy. This was a feeling Hermione Granger rarely felt. Giddiness was usually reseverved for the lavender Brown's and Pavarti Patil's of the world. Yet at this particular moment she couldn't help herself. Things were going well. People were recovering. Her and Ron were moving forward, and things between them were just the right amount of awkward. She turned to look at Ron, who was trying as best as he could not to move due to the overly large dinner he was currently trying to digest. She was fairly certain she would do anything for him. She wanted him to be as happy as she was.

"What do you want?" She asked him.

"Bit late with the christmas shopping are we?" He asked with a grin.

"No, I mean in life, in general." She replied.

"I don't know." He said.

Apparently thinking also disrupted the digestion process, but she wasn't giving up. "Sure you do." she said.

"Maybe I don't. Maybe you know what I want, seeing as you know everything." He said.

He still hadn't stopped jibing her about being a know-it-all, and she was sure he never would. "Ron, be serious. You must have some idea." she persisted.

"I guess I just want to happy. You know, eat sandwhiches that aren't corned beef and spend time with my family and snog you whenever I want." Finally, a solid answer.

"Done." she said simply.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"I'll make you sandwhiches that aren't corned beef, and I love your family, and I suppose we can make that last bit work as well." She responded, and her favourite grin spread across his face.

"You're amazing, you know that?" And with that he exerted himself just enough to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"You've told me once or twice." She replied, trying to keep a straight face but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

"What do you want?" He asked her.

"Huh?" said Hermione.

"What do you want?" He repeated.

"Oh, just to be happy as well I guess. To be normal. I never really understood Harry when he told us how much all the attention bothered him, but now I think I get it. I just want to be Hermione. Not the brightest witch of her age, or the girl who broke into Gringotts disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange, or one third of the golden trio. Just Hermione." Yes, she thought, that just about summed it up.

"Yeah, I was always kind of jealous of it, all the attention he got, but I know what you mean. Being average is underrated. What else do you want?" He asked.

She had to think a little while on this one, not sure if her answer would make things between them awkward. But she decided honestly was the best policy, and continued. "I want a good job," she said "one where I can make a difference. And you know, I suppose one day I'd like to get married, and have children and do all of that." She held her breath waiting for his reponse.

It didn't take him too long to anwer, but when he did he simply stated "Less than seven."

"What?" She asked, fairly confused.

"Kids. I want less that seven." He said.

"Okay, but more than one." She said, realising this topic was safe.

"Deal." He said. They were quite good at compromise these days.

"And a cat," she added, "I miss Crookshanks."

"Must we?" He asked, looking somewhat pained by the idea.

"If there is a 'we' then there is a cat." She said.

"Well then I suppose there is a cat."

Yes, they were very good at compromise.