"Ron! Would you please stop it?!"

Hissing through her teeth and snatching yet another item of infant paraphernalia from her grabby husband's grip, Hermione put it back on the shelf with just a tad more than necessary force, at her wit's end. Not looking the least bit chagrined, the infuriating man turned away with a huff, lumbering down the aisle towards the soft toys.

Hermione had learned pretty quickly that shopping for baby things with Ron was an exercise in patience. He wanted to touch everything, asked a million questions, and put things on his head in attempt to make his so-called "grumpy" wife laugh. It was driving her spare.

All she wanted out of this trip was to find a few things to make her life easier once their little bean was born. Maybe get a cute pair of baby footie pajamas and then get home where she could rest her feet and have a cherry coke. It was the only thing she'd been able to drink in the second trimester—save for water—and Ron was often having to apparate to the alley by the nearest corner store to replenish her stash.

With a death-grip on the trolley and a quick prayer to the goddess of wisdom for the strength to keep from hurling a teapot decorated with pink butterflies at her husband's head, Hermione was perusing the little, plastic bathtubs when she heard a crash, and then "Oh, shite."

There he was, at the display of rattles, making wild gestures with his arms in an attempt to scoop them up before they fell to the floor, managing to knock over 5 more in the process.

She was ready to scream. Couldn't he keep his blasted hands to himself?!

"Ronald! You cannot swear in a shop meant for BABIES!"

At her outburst, the entire population of Daisies and Duckies who hadn't already turned in startled alarm at Ron's best bull-in-a-china-shop impression swiveled their heads in her direction. The shop got so silent that, for a second, she thought she heard an echo.

Thankfully, the proprietress—no stranger to the occasional mother-to-be outbursts—reacted immediately. With a wave of her hand, she had the assistant clerk scurrying to tidy the chaos. The owner shot Hermione a kind smile before turning to the gaping customers with a look that said "These are not the droids you're looking for," and resuming ringing up an order at the till.

Before she truly blew her top, Hermione abandoned the trolley and quick-stepped out the door into the rare London sunshine. Leaning against the storefront, she closed her eyes and attempted the yoga breaths her mum had taught her, trying to calm down.

It's not that Ron was a bad husband, he wasn't. He was the best.

But she was sweaty and tired, and after a long day of dealing with in-laws, the kerfuffle in the shop was the proverbial last straw on the back of one hungry, irritable, pregnant camel.

With a soft "ding", the bell on the shop's door opened.

Without having to open her eyes, Hermione knew her husband was now red-cheeked and skulking at her side.

"'Mione?"

Cracking open a lid, she turned to see Ron with a guilty look on his face, like the one he used to give his mother when he stole cookies off the windowsill.

"I'm sorry, love. I really didn't mean to, everything looked so tiny and strange and I just had to touch it and—"

In her best even-keeled voice, she said "You are your father's son, aren't you? Ever curious."

Side-eyeing her to see if the coast was clear, and apparently finding it safe, Ron moved behind her, pulling her against him as he rubbed her shoulders.

"Hermione?"

No longer able to hold onto her anger as he soothed the knots in her neck, she said "Yes, Ronald?" on the same breath as a contented sigh.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven? Can we go back inside now? Swear I won't lay a finger on anything."

She rolled her eyes with a grin, twisting in his hold to plant a playful kiss on his mouth. Taking his proffered hand, she let him lead her into the shop, straight to the shelves in the back where she picked out the perfect set of ABC books, and a copy of "Baby's First Encyclopedia".