A/N: It is with a lot of shame that I have to say I didn't manage to write anything for Hermione's birthday this year; however, last year I wrote two stories and only posted one of them here (Amongst the wildflowers). Here's the other one! This is set for her birthday last year, just in case, that's why it says 36 instead of 37.

Happy birthday, Hermione Granger!

Ron bounded into the room and sat on his side of the bed, giving Hermione's shoulder a small shake.

'Hermione, are you awake?'

She didn't move, her face turned to the other side and buried under the blankets.

'You didn't hear your alarm go off?' he asked, almost shocked. Even though it was a Saturday, she was always up and about early, indulging in Ron-induced lie-ins almost exclusively on Sunday mornings.

Today was not an exception, however, and Hermione had in fact heard her alarm. She simply didn't feel like getting up and facing the truth yet, some force more powerful than her guilty conscience anchoring her to the mattress.

'Hermione?' Ron insisted, now sounding almost concerned. She groaned in response, sinking lower into her warm cocoon.

He chuckled and bent over her, pulling the blankets down an inch to peer at her face.

'You alive, then? Happy birthday, love!'

Hermione winced and groaned again.

'What's got into you today?' he asked, amused. 'I'm usually the one who needs to be dragged out of bed. You don't want to open your presents?'

'No,' she said, her voice muffled and her eyes still closed. 'I don't want it to be my birthday.'

Ron looked puzzled at her for a while, as if that was a concept unheard of.

'Why?'

She opened her eyes and sighed, finally looking at him.

'Why? Because I'm 36. I'm getting old; my hair is turning white; my body is sagging; my children are growing…'

'What about me?' Ron asked.

'You're here to see it all,' she said in a small, sad voice.

'Would you rather I wasn't?'

'No, of course not,' she assured him, looking slightly ashamed. 'I'd rather we'd stop growing old, that's all. It's silly, I know, but it's just hit me… we're reaching middle age. I don't know why it feels different than last year, but it's like… 35 feels like a round number; 36 is closer to 40.'

Hermione stared at Ron, studying his face for a moment.

'And sometimes,' she said quietly, 'it feels like you're doing a much better job at aging than I am.'

Ron passed one leg over her waist, straddling her, and pulled the covers further down before he leaned down to kiss her, cupping her face between his large hands.

'You're mental,' he whispered, breaking apart just enough to be able to look her in the eye. 'Has it ever occurred to you that I count myself lucky to be growing old with you?'

'Sometimes,' she said, smiling.

'Yeah? How about the fact that I think you're the most beautiful, most brilliant woman I've ever met and that I'll always see you the exact same way?'

Her eyes watering, Hermione pulled him down and kissed him again, feeling happier about her birthday than she had been for the past month.

'Thank you,' she managed to mutter against his mouth. He pressed his lips against hers one more time before regretfully moving away.

'No problem,' he said, grinning. He slid off of her and set his feet on the floor, taking his wand out of his pocket. 'Now if you don't mind, there are a couple of people I've left waiting downstairs who are eager to see you.'

He closed his eyes briefly and pointed his wand towards the door: a silvery dog erupted and pranced out of the room. A couple of minutes later, they could hear two sets of feet hammering on the floorboards and the door flew open.

'Happy birthday, Mummy!' Rose and Hugo yelled in unison, and Hermione sat up as they both jumped next to her on the bed, making her bounce.

'Thank you, my loves,' she said, kissing their heads. They handed her the cards they had made themselves: Hugo's, in bright paper and colour-changing ink, featured a drawing of him hugging Hermione, while Rose's had a very thoughtful message written in a carefully decorated card.

Ron, meanwhile, had slipped out of the bedroom and was re-entering it now, holding a loaded breakfast tray.

'We helped Daddy make it!' Hugo told her excitedly, settling himself on her side. Rose followed suit, and Ron charmed the tray to hover safely over their laps before joining them on the bed.

Hermione watched her family talking happily about their breakfast adventures, Ron instructing their kids not to get the bedspread dirty as he inadvertently dropped crumbs from his toast, Hugo and Rose lamenting they had forgotten her presents downstairs…

And she thought she wasn't doing such a bad job at growing old herself, after all.