Based on a prompt sent to me by barmy-owl on tumblr: Hermione is a little constipated so Ron tells her stories about Pigwidgeon in order to take her mind of it. Hermione likes the stories but keeps rubbing her belly and swearing.

"I'm telling you, mum always said it was twilight!"

"Ugh, Ron! You're really not helping at all."

"But-"

"Forget it! I'll just stew in my misery here. Alone. You can get back to your bloody Quidditch report!" cried Hermione, in a strangled voice, as she lay in a fetal position on the giant green sofa.

Ron frowned and tried to pat her back for twelfth time that day. His hand reached out tentatively before Hermione smacked it away. Again.

"Don't touch me, I'm gross!"

"That's shite, Hermi-"

A wail interrupted him.

"-one. You could never be gross," he continued, oblivious and resolute. "In sickness and in health, that's what those muggle vows said, didn't they? I'd be a bloody arsehole if I –"

Another wail, with some swearing thrown in for good measure.

He winced. On second thought, he should probably steer clear of words like "shite" and "arsehole" for the time being. He had learnt the hard way that Hermione swearing spelt trouble for someone, usually him.

"There, there," he said placatingly, patting the air over Hermione's head.

Ron went to open Beedle's book again.

"I can try to distract you with Babbity Rabbity instead. I think it's one of the – uh – less debate-y ones."

He received a glare for his efforts.

"I still don't understand why you won't just take that potion that mom sent over. What's wrong with it?"

The glare intensified.

"The fact that you told your mother is what's wrong with it," Hermione replied with gritted teeth. "Also, it smells like…well, shite."

Ron went to say something but quickly closed his mouth at a warning look from his wife.

"Uhm, so did I ever tell you about the summer after third year? About how mum nearly threw me out of the house because of Pig?"

"What?"

"Yeah, almost sent me packing, she did."

"Why?" Hermione asked, her pain taking a backseat to her curiosity.

"I'll tell you. But you have to take a sip of the potion," he replied, indicating to a bottle containing some murky green liquid kept on the bedside table. "One sip. That's all."

Hermione let out a frustrated growl. She sat up with some difficulty and stretched out her hand.

"Fine! Hand it here."

Ron uncorked the bottle and handed it to her. Holding it like one might hold a dungbomb, Hermione grimaced and screwed her eyes shut before taking a sip.

"Bleh! Ugh, Ron, take it away from me before things start coming out the wrong end," she exclaimed, turning her head away to escape the odour.

Ron quickly snatched the bottle and plugged it with the cork again, all the while holding his breath.

"Feel any better?" he asked hopefully.

"No, but I believe I've earned myself a story."

She reclined back on the pillows, rubbing circles on her belly, making herself as comfortable as she could be, given the situation at hand.

"Well, go on then!" she said, irritably.

"Right. Well, do you remember how, uh….energetic Pig was when Sirius first sent him to me?"

"Uhuh."

"Well, mum got a bit of shock when she first came into my room about two days after I got home. You see, Pig had… he had ripped the sheets and curtains to shreds. Not to mention, my already tattered clothes and mum really couldn't afford another set of robes. Add to that, my bed – well, his talons really brought out the grain of the wood, you know."

"So what did she say?"

"Well, she decided it was my fault. And then "punished" me by taking Pig away. She said she'd keep him in the kitchen where she can keep an eye on him," Ron replied, with a glint of fond remembrance in his eye. "Needless to say, it did not go well for her. That was the year mum lost her prized bone china vase that she always said was a family heirloom. But that wasn't even the worst part."

"The vase that your great grandmother Earline gave to her on her wedding day? You know, the only member of her family who attended the wedding? The one who first accepted your dad into the family?"

Ron winced.

"Yeah."

"So, what was the worst part?" asked Hermione, listening intently.

"The worst part. Right. How about you take another sip of th-"

"Bloody hell, Ron! You said one sip, I had one sip. Now, you go on with that story, or I'll skin you alive!"

"Alright, woman," Ron replied, alarmed at his wife's sudden outburst. "I, uh…where was I? Ah, yes, the worst part. Well, it was the fourth day of my grounding. Mum wanted to go get some shopping done at Diagon Alley and she didn't trust me enough to leave me alone at home, with only the twins for supervision, no less. So, she decided to take me and Gin with her.

And, as you can probably imagine, that did not go well either because…"

"Because?"

Ron looked at her and then at the potion in what he thought was a subtle hint.

Hermione gave him a dirty look.

"As soon as I'm on my feet again, Ron, you're in for a fuckload of pain."

He shrugged.

She grabbed the bottle, pinched her nose and chugged the entire bottle. Ron stared at her incredulously as she downed it all and threw the bottle at him. Thankfully, his keeper reflexes were still in tact and he caught it before it could hit him in the head.

"Uh, I don't think you were supposed to drink quite that much, Hermione."

"At least it'll shut you up about it! Now, because?"

"Oh, uh because-because Pig decided to come with us," he continued the story hesitantly. "Mum had taken Gin with her already, and it was my turn to floo, but Pig flew in and hooted loudly just as I dropped the floo powder into the fireplace. I barely had time to yell out Diagon Alley before I was thrown out of the fireplace at this really posh, really white muggle store. Turns out it was some kind of wedding shop on Oxford Street."

"Oh no."

"Yeah, it was pretty ugly. It was Pig's first time flooing and he panicked and attacked my fucking face! I was getting soot all over those fancy white dresses of theirs. I was running blind, see, Pig was attached to my face, and wouldn't let go. We gave those muggles quite a fright-"

Hermione gasped.

"Don't feel too bad for them," he replied, sounding a bit offended. "They threw me in a little room with bars at the back of their store. And called the muggle polish. The ministry had to-"

"No, no, it's not that! Just get out of the way," she cried and nearly toppled Ron over in her rush to get to the loo. "I think it worked!"

Ron sighed, relieved, making a mental note to give his mother an extra special gift this Christmas.

"Also, it's police, Ron. Not polish!" came a voice from the bathroom, over noises that Ron decided he'd rather not listen to if he wanted to keep his own food down.

"Yes, dear," he called back as he beat a hasty retreat from the room.