"I love Saturdays," Harry says to me.

"I know you do." I roll toward him and press a kiss on the side of his head. I look at the clock. It's going on noon and we're still in bed after a week of missed deadlines for me and nerve wracking cases for him. Now we've got a day off and very little to do with it. "What do you want to do today?"

He stretches his arms over his head and folds his hands beneath his head. "I don't know. Nothing, really. We could take Ali into Hogsmeade for lunch, maybe."

"How soon you forget that Saturdays at Hogwarts have everything to do with Quidditch and nothing to do with anything else."

"That's fair. He probably doesn't miss us yet, anyway."

"Oh, sod off. He writes us more than once a month. Do you have any idea how unusual that is?"

"It is unusual, isn't it?"

"Yes. And he does it just as much as he did his first year. I figured it would drop off after that."

"Our son's a second year at Hogwarts," says Harry.

"I know," I say. "It's surreal and wonderful and I love it. Now, today."

"Yes. Today. Waffles? Want me to make waffles?"

"There are blueberries in the greenhouse."

"Is that at all relevant?"

I roll my eyes. "I want you to put blueberries in the waffles."

"Oh. That does sound good."

"I'm going to shower. Thank you for making breakfast."

"Don't thank me till it's done."

I come downstairs 15 minutes later to a plateful of waffles, a tall glass of orange juice, and Ron Weasley slumped over at the kitchen counter. I sit down next to him after giving Harry, who's putting waffles on a plate of his own, a kiss on the cheek.

"Nice to see you, Ron," I say. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" I look at Harry, whose eyes are wide. He shakes his head. I turn to Ron, who looks pretty worse for the wear—haggard, even, with red-rimmed eyes and rumpled clothes.

"Hermione ... Hermione and I have been fighting a bit, and she—we—we decided we're going to take a break. And I was wondering if, if I could stay here with the two of you for a couple weeks until she's decided ... till things are alright again."

I put my hand on Ron's shoulder. Looking at Harry, I nod. He nods back, and I say, "Of course, Ron. Whatever we can do, we're here for you. I'll just go set up a guest room."

I walk upstairs to one of the extra bedrooms. As I make up the bed, in my mind, I go over the past few visits we've had with Ron and Hermione, searching for clues, trying to determine when and where they might have gone wrong. I can't think of anything, just the two of them smiling and holding hands and fixing dinner and begging us to put the kids to bed so they can watch Graham Norton. I go back to the kitchen, where Ron and Harry are talking quietly, heads bent together, tones hushed.

"It's happened really quickly," says Ron. I start to walk back out of the room, but Harry waves me over. I take him by the elbow and the three of us go out onto the deck, where I hope Ron can find the strength to enjoy the unseasonably warm October day. I resist the urge to pull Harry onto my lap, knowing that we're not 25 anymore and now might not exactly be the best time.

"When'd it start?" Harry asks Ron.

"It was a few weeks ago, I guess. Hermione's just ... her temper's so much shorter. And everything I do seems to bother her."

"And what made you ... why'd you leave?" I ask.

"We were just having a normal conversation," Ron said, running both hands through his hair. "And I said something about how it was too bad I'd had to work so much lately, how it seemed like she maybe wasn't thrilled about that either, and she just kind of snapped. She said I didn't understand how important it was that she stay home with Rhiannon, just as important as my job, and why don't I support her more? Why don't I get more time off for our daughter?

"I said that maybe it would be easier to support her if she were there for me to support, rather than just sniping at me when I want to spend time with her, and she said that was unfair. That's when she said we should take a bit of a break, get some air, see where we're at in a couple weeks or so. She offered to go live with Ginny and Dean, but I knew they wouldn't actually want that, and they don't have enough room for the two of them and Dora as it is. I really hope this isn't an imposition." He looks from Harry to me.

"It's no trouble at all, Ron," I say. Harry nods his agreement. "However long you need to be here, you can be here. I'm really sorry."

"I hope I'm not interrupting any of your plans," says Ron.

"No, nothing going on here today beyond waffles," Harry says, smiling. "Anything you want to do?"

Ron shrugs. "Right now I should probably shower, straighten up and all. Also, could you ... could you Floo over to my house, get me some of my things? If that's not too much to ask."

"Yeah, we'll do that," I say. "Have at anything you want. Eat, drink, whatever."

"Thanks. Really. So much." Ron nods and walks upstairs. When I hear the shower, I turn and look at Harry, then find him in my arms.

"God," he says. "Ron and Hermione."

"I know."

"I was thinking, and I can't, there's just nothing I can think of that was leading up to this."

"I know. I couldn't think of anything, either."

"What do we do?"

"Be their friends, I think. We can't fix it. But we can be there for them. And not just Ron. I know it's easier with him here, and, well, he's Ron, and right now we only know his side. You know what I mean, right?"

"Yeah. Should we go to their place, then?"

"Probably. Is it ill timing to tell you that I love you?"

"Never."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

I kiss him and we step into the fireplace, powder in hand.