"…and that's when it all started to fall apart."

So you're saying," the doctor said skeptically, staring straight into Ron's eyes, "that your marriage is falling apart because your wife refuses to wash your clothes?"

Hermione rolls her eyes.

"Ronald, that is the most ridiculous, juvenile thing you have ever said, which means quite a lot considering I have known you for seventeen years!"

"No it's not! This marriage is supposedly based on equality. How does that work when you don't wash my clothes for me!"

"Ronald, give me a single instance in which you have washed anything in our house! Not a dish, sock, or anything at all!"

"Well, I do a hell of a lot more than you do! I'm the one that minds Ella!"

"Oh, of course you mind Ella. For HALF AN HOUR AT A TIME WHILE I'M RUNNING TO THE STORE TO BUY FOOD FOR YOU TO EAT!!!"

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP!!!" The poor marriage counselor, Dr. Barnes, looked rather alarmed, and for quite a good reason. Hermione's voice had risen alarmingly; her voice was as high as that of a soprano opera singer, and as loud as humanly possible.

"Now both of you calm down, and tell me how your marriage actually started to slip. Hermione, talk."

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

"The real reason our marriage is collapsing? We don't spend nearly enough time together. Ron is always at Gringotts, and when I'm not minding Ella or doing housework, I'm at St. Mungo's. Sometimes, the only time we see each other is when we're Flooing to work, and that's in the middle of the Network."

Ron interjected angrily. "That's not true! Yesterday, I came home for dinner!"

"Well, I didn't come home until after you were almost done. I had to bring Ella shopping!"

"That's not my fault!!! I found some quality time to spend with my wife and daughter, and they don't even show up!"

"Quality time? QUALITY TIME!?!?! You call eating dinner with your family quality time? That's expected! Quality time is taking me to see the London Philharmonic, or a picnic in the park! Quality time isn't dashing home to get a bite to eat because all the restaurants are full and you have a bit of time between meetings!"

Poor Dr. Barnes had retreated into a corner. Hermione was standing, arms crossed and face tomato red. Her hair was poofing into a giant mushroom cloud. Ron, however, looked totally unfazed.

Hermione's rant wasn't over. "And while you're at your meetings and conferences? Who's left at home to mind Ella and cook and clean and wash the clothes? All you do when you get home, which is a rarity, is plop down with the Prophet to see who won the Quidditch matches! And all the while, I'm running around making sure that YOU'RE comfortable, that YOU'RE not hungry, that YOU are happy. Why don't you ever raise blisters on your feet doing my every bidding?"

Dr. Barnes decided to take action. After all, he couldn't spend the rest of his life waiting in the corner for this lioness to finally stop roaring, could he?

"Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Granger-Weasley. My prescription is a healthy dose of time together. I advise a leave of absence from your respective jobs. Go to France, bring your daughter. Have picnics in the park. Mr. Weasley, bring your wife to the Philharmonic, the ballet, wherever she wishes. You merely need time to bond, to rediscover yourselves and each other, and to rekindle the flame."