It had been a hard day, Hermione sighed. Scratch that, actually, it had been a hard few months… or years really. Not that she didn't love her job. It was just draining. Starting a new department, fighting the Ministry to accept - let alone value! - that department, and balancing the aftermath of the war was just so constant. There was never a break, never a day off.

She tripped walking up the steps to her flat, dropping her keys but saving her armload of papers, and her mind instantly flashed back to when she'd first started Hogwarts and she'd had buck teeth and bushy hair. Said hair blew into her face with the wind as she bent to retrieve her keys, and she amended her thought. She sighed again. She knew her hair was tameable, but she was too tired most days to even bother.

Fighting the armload of papers that wanted to fall, her hair that wanted let loose, and her keys that stuck in their old bolt, Hermione let herself in. "Ron? I'm home! Can you come help me?" She listened for a moment before deciding that he wasn't coming. He was home. He had to be as it was a Sunday night and no one - save her, and least of all him - worked until 8 on a Sunday, not during Quidditch season.

Hermione gave a silent prayer that her key would come out easy for once, then yanked, ripping the key from the lock and upending her files in one clean motion. Tears pricked her eyes. No one else's week had even begun but she could already tell hers would be terrible. She bit her tears back.

"That's not true," she murmured, bending to pick up her fallen items. She ignored the wind catching the door and slamming it against the wall. "Stay positive. You have a good life so live it instead of complaining."

"Where the hell have you been?" Ron came around the corner. His face instantly went red as he spied the door. "Fuck, Hermione! How many times have I told you! I haven't had a chance to put the spring behind the door yet so you can't just fling it open. Now I have to fix the hole in the wall. Again!"

They'd been married for two years now so Hermione judged she knew Ron well enough to know - not just guess - that he was at least three beers in, and his team was probably losing. She knew better than to ask but she did anyway, "When you fix the hole, will you put the spring on at the same time?"

"You're kidding me, right? Did you do that on purpose?" He shouted, pointing at the wall.

"I called for help. You couldn't be arsed to care!"

"Merlin, Hermione. You are so frustrating! You always have to be right, and you always have to get your way. I'm so sick of-" He would have continued, but there was cheering coming from the telly in the other room. Ron froze, then bounded after the noise, not bothering to help her with the mess.

"MOTHERFUCK!"

Hermione frowned. That must mean Zimbabwe's Five Points had beaten the South African Hissing Ducks, and Ron's Cannons would have to play them for a spot in the playoffs. They had a much better offense, and she wondered vaguely if Ron could stand up to their chasers this year. It was bad enough that the Cannons had lost the Cup to them a few years back, starting up a harsh losing streak that they'd only just recovered from this season. She shook off the intruding thoughts. She wouldn't allow herself to be so easily distracted like Ron was.

Righting herself and dropping back to the floor all the papers she'd managed to gather, Hermione took a centering breath, gripped the door, and slammed it shut just as hard as she could.

There was silence from the other room, then a small metallic noise as Ron shut the telly off. She waited, not moving so as not to disturb the hush, knowing it would just piss Ron off even more. Finally, she heard even, unhurried footsteps. It sounded calm, but she knew her winning the battle of wills had just lit the fuse to an explosion.

"What. The actual. Fuck." Ron's shoulders were raised and his head was dropped forward in low like an animal stalking its prey as he came back around the corner.

"Say it." Hermione's tone was demanding, but she wasn't in the mood. She could see dishes piled in the sink from where she stood, the laundry basket was next to the basement doorway where she'd placed it this morning while asking Ron to put in at least one load today while she was gone, and she could tell that the house hadn't been vacuumed. This wasn't the time. They'd both had bad days. But it seemed there was never the time anymore.

"Excuse me."

"What are you so sick of? We were in the middle of a conversation, and you just walked away to watch a silly game. Are you saying-"

He cut her off, "We weren't in the middle of a conversation; we were in the middle of a fight! A game? A game? This is my career! You'd recognize it if you had one!"

"That a game is more important than me? That waiting an extra two seconds would dramatically change the course of your life? How dare you say I don't have a career when I'm trying to do something worthwhile while you just play-" They were talking over each other as Hermione refused to be railroaded into silence.

"I never said it was more important, but it's my job to know these things! Don't demean my job when last I checked, I was the one bringing home the money. You don't even have to work! If you'd just-"

"With a broom for fun! Your job is entertainment not progress. How dare you bring salary into this when you know -"

"Quit you could stay home and do all the things you're too lazy - oh, I'm sorry, "tired" -" She growled as he used his fingers to put air quotes around the word.

"I'll be making just as much per year as you if not-"

"And you know what I'm sick of! I'm sick of YOU."

"More…" Hermione trailed off, her voice having lost all of its power as she registered what Ron had said. He'd fallen silent too as if he hadn't known what was going to come out of his mouth until he'd heard it.

"'Mione."

"Don't." She held up a hand as Ron took a step forward. "Don't talk to me. I'll give you the space you need since my being here is obviously such a burden on you." Hermione said it all in monotone as she walked past him to their bedroom door, only turning to look at him when she reached it. "And I hate that nickname."

A/N: I'm using a really common trope, 10 points to whoever guesses it first. Name will probably change, as will rating. Leave me a little something to inspire me to actually finish this one. Gosh guys, this does not have a happy beginning, but I promise the end will be cute. Probably.