Hermione scowled as Ron walked in the front door.

"Hi, love," he said tiredly. He took off his cloak and threw it on the nearest surface, which just happened to the table she had polished not even half an hour ago. And the floor; there were wet leaves and mud on the floor that he tracked in from the rain outside.

"Guess what I did today?" She said crossly, placing her hands on her hips.

"Probably something amazing compared to my day," he said sarcastically. He plopped on the couch and let out a sigh. "Do you know how many reports I had to fill today? Too many."

Hermione wanted to scold him, but it was fighting with the urge to go over and comfort him. It seemed as if he had an exhausting day at work. Still, she did spend the whole day cleaning…

"Daddy? You're home!"

Their little girl, three year old Libby, came running into the room threw herself onto Ron, hugging him.

"That's right," he said, ruffling her hair. It was a image Hermione loved to see.

"Will you read me a bedtime story?"

Hermione could see the fatigue on his face, in the way his body slumped. She could tell all he wanted to do was eat a good meal and go to bed.

"Of course," Ron said, picking her up. "But first—" And he tickled her until she was squealing in his arms. He winked at Hermione as he headed for Libby's bedroom.

Hermione shook her head and smiled as she waved the mess away from the floor. Somehow she knew she would.