Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this fanfiction.

Author's Note: I don't usually write R/Hr (or any fic without Ginny in it), but this idea hit me as so very perfectly and completely R/Hr that I couldn't help but write it.

Anything to Declare

The muggle honeymoon had been Hermione's idea. Well, strictly speaking, it had been her parents' idea, after Molly Weasley demanded to host, plan, and finance the wedding (as she had done for Bill, and would do for George, Percy, and of course Ginny). The Grangers insisted on paying for the honeymoon and, given that they had neither familiarity with nor access to wizarding vacation locales, they had chosen simply to contact a muggle travel agent and book the new Mr. and Mrs. Granger-Weasley a trip to Istanbul. Hermione, for perhaps the second time in her not yet long but certainly eventful life, had admitted she was in over her head and allowed someone else to take control without once criticizing. Well, without much criticism.

Of course, getting Ron's papers in order (or rather, getting Ron's papers at all) had been the sort of ridiculous excursion that Hermione would had specifically hoped to avoid had she been planning her own honeymoon, but she had other things to worry about, such as whether Mrs. Weasley was really going to put prudish Great Aunt Irene at the same table as lascivious Uncle Joe. And soon enough, everything was done, and she was married, and she and Ron were sitting on an airplane (Arthur Weasley was just about inconsolable that he had not been able to join them even for a minute) flying east.

"We're really flying!" Ron whispered to her, his awestruck voice not a little reminiscent of his father's. "Without a broom or anything! It's amazing how those Muggles manage without magic!"

Hermione allowed herself to smile. Perhaps this would be an educative trip.

And, sure enough, it was. Although Ron Weasley might have liked to spend the entirety of the two weeks between the hotel room and the hotel restaurant, Hermione managed to get him dressed and outside to see the wonders of once-Constantinople; enough museums and historical landmarks to satisfy even Hermione Granger. Or rather, Hermione Granger-Weasley.

Ron suffered through it bravely, and filled four rolls of film with photos to show his father.

It was their last night in Istanbul, and Hermione was busy packing up their things, when Ron came in from the bathroom with a frown on his face. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Ron just shook his head. "Nothing," he answered quietly, and she knew he was lying when he sat on the bed and kicked off his slippers with a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

She walked over to him. "No, honestly Ron, what's wrong?"

He sighed again and looked up at her dolefully. "We head back tomorrow," he said.

She nodded. "Yes, we do. Aren't you glad to be going back to see your family? To see Harry?" She could tell from the guilty expression on his face that he did miss Harry, and the rest of his family, but that all the same something was keeping him from being happy to be going back. "Is it training? Are you worried about Auror training?" she asked. He shook his head sullenly. She frowned, casting in the dark for a reason for him to be so upset. "Are you feeling ill?"

Ron scowled. "No!" he snapped.

"Well, then, what is it?!" she snapped back. "If you don't tell me, how can I do anything about it?"

"You can't do anything about it anyway," he said, half-yelling, "And you wouldn't even if you could!"

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. This was not how she wanted to end her honeymoon. "Let's not fight, Ron," she said as calmly as she could. "We love each other, and we've just had a lovely honeymoon. Let's not spoil this with another argument."

Ron rolled his eyes, even though he knew she was right (and she knew he knew it). "It's already been spoiled, Hermione!" he said. "It was spoiled when you decided you would rather spend time looking at old muggle buildings than… than with me!"

Hermione's eyes bugged out. "Is that what you think?" she asked softly. He looked away but didn't deny it. "Well," she said with some sense of finality. "Well, I'm sorry to have ruined your honeymoon, Ronald, by dragging you out of the hotel room."

He slept on the couch that night, and in the morning they barely spoke as they made their way to the airport. He fell asleep on the flight back to London, and Hermione was left to her own sullen thoughts.

What a fine way to start a marriage.

She woke Ron up gently as the plane landed, and he looked surprised. She didn't catch the flicker of guilt in his eyes. It wasn't until they reached the Customs desk that he said anything at all.

She should have warned him, she thought back on it. But if she had warned him, he might not have said it. And she was extremely glad he said it.

"Do you have anything to declare?" the officer asked, and as Hermione was about to detail the souvenirs they had brought back, Ron interrupted.

"Yes," he said. "I love this woman more than I can properly understand, and I am so very, very sorry for having snapped at her – ever, and especially yesterday when I was being a right bloody fool."

Hermione had to hold back a shocked laugh as she kissed her husband on the lips (right in front of the Customs officer, too, oh my), but the nonplussed look on the Custom's officer's face allowed her to regain her cool. "I suppose that happens a lot," she said, with a blush, after she gave the sour looking man her carefully enumerated list.

"No," was all he said.