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Ron flicked his wand and the door of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes slammed shut. He muttered a Colloportus as he sat down heavily in his chair and sighed in irritation. The day was finally over and five o’clock couldn’t have come fast enough.
Late summer was always a busy time in the joke business. The shop was awash with younger teenagers desperate for a final batch of Skiving Snackboxes and older youths on the look out for Love Potions and Ten-Second Pimple Vanishers. Once September rolled around the shop and the new Hogwarts term began trade always quietened down until Christmas arrived. George would be chuffed with the takings, Ron thought distractedly. Maybe even talk about opening a second branch up in Hogsmeade.
Despite the positive thoughts, Ron simply couldn’t shake his blue funk.
Days that began with an argument with Hermione always ran to the same pattern. Even the biggest haul of Galleons in the till weren’t enough to detract his wandering thoughts which repeated their cross words over and over again. Ron would think back to Hermi’s furrowed brow and tight, angry lips and unhappiness would flare in his stomach. Contention between the two of them simply wasn’t the natural order of things.
Hermione and Ron. They belonged together like butter and beer or bacon and bread, or two other delicious, perfectly-matched items.
Their morning had started innocuously enough.
Hugo had been busily deciding which Nimbus he wanted for Christmas, the broom catalogue spread wide open on the breakfast table in front of him. Rose had been chastising Ron for purchasing enchanted honey: “witching bees are getting rarer by the day, Dad! They’re critical for the magical ecosystem!”
Hermione had looked stunning of course, her thick locks falling in a cascade over her shoulders, and her light brown eyes shining brilliantly. She was frowning slightly at her legal parchment, a quill scratching over the surface as she dictated her notes aloud.
“Ronald,” Hermione had said suddenly, turning to look in his direction. “My legal robes? You did collect them from Madam Malkin? I didn’t see them in the hall?...”
Ron’s stomach had dropped. Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions was a neighbouring shop to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and he’d faithfully promised to collect those robes the previous day. Of course, it had slipped his mind as soon as he’d arrived at work. Gossiping about the Cannons with George. Meeting Harry for a cheeky fry-up at the Leaky. The day had been over before he’d realised and ‘Mione’s robes hadn’t ever entered his consciousness.
The robes had never been collected.
“Merlin’s sake, Ron!” Hermione had hissed. Her face had been livid with fury, and her fingers had twitched around her wand. Luckily for her husband any muttered Hexes had stayed locked in her throat. “I’m meeting the Wizengamot this bloody morning. I needed those robes! I’ll have to send Ethel to collect them and that’s not her job. You can’t do one simple thing for me-”
“Hermione,” Ron had tried, in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone, “I’ll get them before work. Owl them over-”
“No! Too late!” Hermione’s parchment had rolled up with a snap and his wife had Accio’d her coat and bag. “You’re thoughtless, Ron! Never think about what would make my life easier. Never give me the support I desperately need.”
Ron had tried so speak, terribly hurt by Hermione’s accusation.
He loved his wife more than the world but with the best will in wizarding England these things often slipped his mind. He should do more to support his glorious wife: as the Deputy Minister for Magic her life was busy. Ron had tried to explain himself but she’d apparated away.
Even the sparkling residual magic soon disappeared, and when Ron reached out to touch her, Hermione was gone.
~@~
Ron pulled out all the receipts and started to go through them, coordinating each one and adding them to the ledger but his mind still relentlessly replayed their morning’s row.
Hermione’s words ran through his head like the flickering images in a Pensieve. He knew he needed to do better and he swore a solemn promise to himself to be better.
If he’d been able to, Ron would have flooed to the Ministry there and then. Ethel wouldn’t have let him even close to Hermione though. That secretary was like a Hungarian Horntail in the defence of her Minister. Ron had been on the sharp end of her tongue more than once. Still he’d talk to Hermione tonight. A day like this was one that didn’t bear repeating.
Behind Ron, the door clicked open, and he bit his lip in annoyance. Who was the bloody wizard cheeky enough to break his locking spell?
He simply wasn’t in the mood to demonstrate another Extendable Ear or rummage in the back for another Nose-Biting Teacup. “Can’t you read the sign?” he said petulantly. “We’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”
“Well, yes. I did see the sign,” replied the visitor, “but I was hoping that I might be an exception.” Hermione’s slight frame filled the doorway, a warm smile filling her face. Hermione actually visiting Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was an event almost unprecedented. Her brown eyes were wide and full of mischief. “Any chance I might be allowed to enter?”
Ron returned his wife’s smile. “I suppose,” he grumbled. “As it’s you. Can’t deny the Deputy Minister.” Hermione moved further into the shop and the door shut and locked behind her.
“I would have been here sooner, Ron. The Wizengamot took longer than I was expecting. Every wizard wants to add his two Sickles to the debate. I have to listen to them all. It’s exhausting.”
Hermione waved her wand and the shop shutters obediently rolled downwards. Ron decided not to ask why ‘Mione had done that. His wife never used magic without some specific good reason- part of being raised by Muggle parents, Ron supposed- and right now he couldn’t divine her motivation.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” said Ron, quickly. “And I'm sorry I didn’t collect the robes. It was a small thing that would have been easy to do and I let you down.”
“You did,” Hermione agreed. “But I shouldn’t have disappeared without saying goodbye. I was peevish and childish.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping down a little. “Sometimes it feels like all I do is talk. Talk and talk. Make pronouncements that people don’t listen to. My home, Ron… My life with you. It’s my safe place. I just need to feel like you’re listening.”
“I’m going to try, Hermione. Try and do better. Today has been awful. I hate it when things aren’t right between us… Nothing feels good when things aren't right between us.”
Surprising Ron, Hermione leaned over and kissed him softly. It was hardly a kiss, just a soft pressing of her full lush lips against his own and yet it sparked a Fyldfyre that crashed though Ron’s body. It made his nerves jangle and his skin goose-pimple. Ron really hadn’t expected that.
“Thank you,” Hermione murmured. “Just listen. That’s all I ask.”
She kissed him once more then, her soft hand sliding over Ron’s flushed cheek. The gesture felt loving, felt tender and Ron’s eyes drifted closed. He was a lucky man, he knew that. Truly blessed. As his hands found purchase in Hermi’s robes he swore that he’d be more thoughtful in the future. Be the husband that Hermione deserved. Ron leaned in further, tilting his head slightly to deepen their kiss. Their tongues met in a heated embrace, a hectic push and pull sparring where each fought the other for dominance. After a long moment Ron pulled back slightly, his hand moving to push Hermione’s bouncing fountain of hair away from her face. He rested his forehead against his wife’s own, enjoying the heat of her skin and the thrum of her pulse.
“Am I forgiven?” Ron asked, hopefully.
“You’re very close,” Hermione said with a smile. “But I think you might have to work a little harder than that. I’m the Deputy Minister after all. My reputation would suffer if I forgave you on the back of one simple kiss…”
“It was more than one kiss,” Ron pressed a warm, open-mouthed kiss against her cheek, his hands caressing her hair. “More than one single kiss...”
“I’m definitely due more compensation than that.” Hermione’s face brokered absolutely no argument. This was the face that she used to win over her critics and allies alike and Ron knew when he was beaten.
He moved imperceptibly closer and ran a finger down the side of her ear. “I’m quite wiling to to perform any penalty you impose. Anything you desire.”
And with that, Hermione gave up her every pretence of resisting. She leaned into the touch, wrapping her arms around her husband, kissing him everywhere she could reach.
Taking hold of her husband she apparated them both home.
~@~
Hermione was still the most perfect creature he’d even lain eyes upon, and Ron thanked the deities each and every day that Hermione had chosen to share her life stood beside him.
Ron knew he had to be a better husband. Knew he had to remember the small things. Make sure that Hermione felt heard and valued. And that was okay, he realised. He could work on those things.
As he lay there, a softly snoring Hermione beside him, Ron knew himself to be a truly lucky man.