Hermione glanced out the window of the small wooden cabin, the snow was coming down fast, in big blobs that could no longer be described as being snowflakes. This had been a good idea when it was in their thoughts, but now, in reality, they really should not have come to the Highlands when a weather warning had been issued by the Muggles.
Of course, the ability to apparate made things a lot easier for them than for any others in their situation but within the muggle world apparition was always difficult due to the risk of appearing and disappearing in plain view. No, the point of this weekend away had been for them to enjoy themselves in a world with no need for magic, in the same way, her parents often went to the same cabin for time away from the internet and constant phone calls.
They had planned to drive here and drive home at the end of the weekend. A weekend without children and without responsibilities. For Hermione's own birthday - being a big one – they had planned a proper holiday with the children so it felt only fair that for Ron's birthday they would have a break for themselves.
The last time the had a holiday on their own Hermione had been expecting Rose, it had been during the summer and she had been unable to tolerate the heat, living off a mixture of lemonade with ice cubes and ice lollies. This time, well the opposite had happened. The snow was at least three feet deep around the cottage and where the wind had caused it to drift another foot could be added to the estimate.
The car they had brought, Hermione's Polo, was totally stuck wheels deep in the snow. The door to the cabin was likely just as stuck although Ron had tried to venture out the back to get more firewood. Thank Merlin the firewood and coal was kept in a little shed so it wasn't soaking wet.
With that thought, there was a loud bang and Hermione was brought back to the present. Ron stood just behind her wearing a wet woolly hat and with his jeans stuffed into the top of a pair of wellies. He clutched a pile of firewood.
"Got the door open on the way out, couldn't get it open on the way in." He explained, trudging over to the bucket by the fire, leaving little clumps of snow in his wake.
"Any sign of it letting up?" He called over his shoulder, as he stocked the fire.
Hermione shook her head, coming away from the window and wrapping the throw she had taken from their bed further around her shoulders.
"No, and according to the weather forecast on the radio, it isn't going to get better for a while. I've sent Harry a message, let him know we will be home when we can."
Ron, now warming his hands, turned to look at his wife. He smiled in that way Hermione rarely saw these days. It wasn't as though he loved her any less, just that there were rarely enough opportunities to show it.
"What?" She asked, hearing a girlish tone in her own voice.
Ron stood up from the fireplace, he moved towards her and quickly grabbed her around the waist lifting her up so she quickly had to grab his shoulders and try to lift her feet up to his hips – something she knew she would never manage these days.
They collapsed into a heap on the Sofa, laughing. Ron winced and Hermione laughed louder,
"You'll make your back worse, old man."
"Oi!" He complained, but there was a smile on his face.
She took in his appearance, his jaw more spotted with flecks of ginger stubble, his eyes more lined and his hair a little on the thinner side. Oh, how he had grown, how they both had grown. The young man she had fallen in love with had been a little less broad, a little less stubbly and a lot thinner, but he was still the same idiot she had always cared about.
Ron, the soppy lump that he was, began to plant kisses anywhere he could reach on her face.
"Well," he paused to plant another peck, "We might as well," kiss, "make the best of it."
She laughed, her eyes focused on the ceiling but her hands searching for his shaggy hair.
His lips found her neck and despite how long she had been aware of this trick her eyes fluttered. She could feel his mouth grow into a smile against her skin.
He sucked, she groaned.
"Ronald Weasley I am too old for this."
He laughed, but reached a hand up and ran it deliberately down her chest.
"So we're a bit older, there are no kids, no one to walk past, I think I'm entitled to have some time with my wife to myself now and-,"
Hermione took his wrist, stopping him long enough to let their eyes meet,
"The last time this happened we ended up with Hugo." She warned. He shook his head,
"No, I know, no more babies." He took his hand back and toyed with the collar of her blouse.
"But isn't that the best bit."
Ron shuffled, moving his weight to lean less on Hermione's body. He drew his wand from his pocket, pointing at the shutters and closing them all before his cold fingers began popping open the buttons on Hermione's top.
He sighed, looking down at her slightly heaving chest,
"God, I love snow days."