This is mildly nsfw, but there's nothing graphic here if that's not your cup of tea :)

"Bloody kids," Ron sighed, dumping three Skiving Snackboxes on the counter.

"What've they done now?" George asked, emerging from the storeroom.

"Just caught two of the little buggers trying to shoplift," his brother replied, pointing to the items. "I got our stock back, and gave 'em a good talking to so I don't think they'll do it again, but it's still a pain in the arse."

"I know," nodded George with feeling. "I swear we're getting more and more of it these days."

"Well, the summer holidays have just started," Ron pointed out.

"Yes, but even without that, I still think there's more of it going on than there used to be," said George. "After all, when I was a child, I was—"

"A total angel, yeah, we all know," Ron said, then sighed. "Sadly, I don't think there's anything we can do—though at least running after the little darlings keeps me fit."

"Au contraire, dear brother, I have just the solution!"

"You're not allowed to wallop them, tempting as it is," said Ron.

"No, no," George said, taking a seat on the chair and putting his feet up on the counter. "We're getting more and more kids in here these days, and even when they're not nicking stuff, they're messing things around and putting things on the wrong shelf, it's a nightmare to keep on top of. So, what we need to do is entice their parents in, too, so they can keep an eye on them—or more of an eye than they are at the moment, at any rate."

"And how'd you propose doing that?"

"It's simple," George said smugly. "Adult products."

Ron's eyebrows rose. "We'll get shut down under the terms of the Obscenities Act of 1381," he said knowledgably.

"It'll be great—wait, the what now?" George asked.

"The Obscenities Act of 1381," Ron repeated. "Percy," he expanded. "When James put one of those new whoopee cushions under his seat, he said he'd have him charged with the Obscenities Act of 1381 and parcelled off to Azkaban if he did it again. So, of course, he did. I don't know if the Act really exists, he could've been joking but—"

"That does sound like our Perce," George agreed.

"Exactly," said Ron. "But whether or not that Act is real, we can't really go around putting sex toys in the shop, unless you do it under the counter, which is a bit...grubby. Besides, people go to specialist shops for that sort of thing."

"I'm sure you'd know," George said, "but I'm not thinking anything like that. Just a few fairly tame things, but designed to appeal to a slightly older audience than, say, the Snackboxes. We put 'em on a slightly higher shelf than the other stuff, maybe, make sure they're not stocked next to the baby and toddler Wheezes, but I think it could work."

"What sort of products do you have in mind?" asked Ron.

"Nothing too...graphic, like I say. Family friendly stuff, but a bit risqué," he replied. "What I've come up with so far is: pants."

"Pants?"

"Pants. Knickers. Unmentionables. Funny ones, you know? Ones that say things at inopportune moments—we could do a sexy version, but also just a silly version, you know, the sort of gag gift you'd buy your mate. Pants that change colour, maybe, when things get...ahem, hotter. Pants where parts of them vanish under certain circumstances...it's all very up in the air at the moment, so any ideas you have, chuck 'em my way," George replied.

"It doesn't sound too bad," Ron nodded. "If it was successful, we could maybe expand into bras, do matching bra and knicker sets. Maybe, on the novelty side of things, go for something like knickers with the Hogwarts house emblems on, where the lion roars and the snake hisses and the badger...well, whatever it is badgers do. I'm sure it's terrifying. And, if you wanted something more adulty, we could do vibrating knickers!"

"Who'd buy vibrating knickers?!"

"Hermione would, if—"

"Woah, okay, enough," George said, holding up his hands. "That's probably a bit much, even for me. We might need to work out a few things, but you're on board with the general idea?" Ron nodded. "Great. I'll start working on a few designs, see what we can come up with practically, and then I was thinking we might do a trial run over Christmas, and if it's successful, do a load for Valentine's Day next year?"

"Sounds pretty good," Ron nodded. "Do you have a name for them yet?"

George pulled a face. "The only thing I've got so far is 'Magic Knickers'. Not awful, but not great either. But I'm thinking we can work on that nearer the time."

"Yeah, you're right," Ron nodded. Behind the counter, the clock chimed half past five, and, looking round at the now empty shop, he suggested they close.

"Good idea," George said, as he went to change the sign on the door to 'CLOSED'. "By the way, how did you get the snackboxes back from those kids?"

Ron, cashing up the till, grinned. "I told them I was a close personal friend of Harry Potter."

George laughed. "I know he killed Voldemort and everything, but I don't get why everyone thinks he's the scary one when he's married to Ginny!"


Three weeks later...

Ron unzipped her dress in one fluid motion, and she stepped out of it. They surveyed each other for one long moment, then crashed into each other at the same time, limbs tangling, teeth pulling and biting on lips. He picked her up and carried her over to the bed, placing her on it and she wriggled underneath him, kissing his lips, his chin, his neck—anywhere she could reach.

A thought, more sobering than an ice cold shower, stopped her.

"What is it?" he asked at once, instantly sensing her reluctance.

"Silencing charm," she said.

He groaned. "My wand's on the dresser."

"Mine's downstairs—but do it. Unless you want Rosie and Hugo bursting in here?!"

"Definitely not," he agreed, and sat up.

Hermione laughed. Definitely not, indeed. She loved her children, but...well, she had needs. And last time they'd forgotten the silencing charm, they'd had Rose bursting in because she'd been upset by the 'scary sounds' she'd heard. That was not going to happen tonight.

Her day hadn't started well—she'd been working on a particularly complicated case for weeks, and it was due to be finally heard by the Wizengamot that morning. For one reason or another, the start time had got more and more delayed, and it was after two in the afternoon when they began, but when they did begin, her day had perked up considerably: she had won inside three hours, a new personal record. Hearing this, Ron had organised a babysitter for the evening and taken her out to dinner at her favourite restaurant, where she'd had far too much to drink for a work night—at least, that was what she was saying was her excuse for jumping on him the moment they'd set foot across the threshold.

"Now, where were we?" Ron asked now, returning to the bed.

"Here, I think," she said, undoing the top button of his shirt and kissing him there. "Or maybe here," she continued, undoing the next button and planting a kiss there, too. "Or here..." She continued until she reached the final button, which lay over the line of his jeans, and he groaned as she kissed him there.

She all but cackled as she sat up again, reaching up to take his shirt off and not holding back her stares. "You still look good," she said, smiling.

He winked at her. "You're not too bad yourself," he said, tracing a finger down her stomach and making her shiver. "Although," he said, hooking one finger inside the elastic of her underwear, but not moving any further, "d'you know what you'd look better in?"

She shook her head and he leaned in close. "Magic knickers," he whispered sultrily in her ear.

It was as if he'd suddenly informed her he was leaving her for Draco Malfoy; she could not have been more offended. She stiffened instantly, pulling away from him and fighting the urge to cover her midsection with a pillow.

"What?" he asked, suddenly turning pale and sitting upright, all thoughts of intimacy forgotten. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?!" she repeated, incredulous. "How dare you! I know my figure's not like it once was after having had two children, but I didn't see you on the delivery table, pushing nine pound infants out of your nethers! I think I'm allowed a bit of slack after that."

"What's that got to do with...Hermione, don't...we were having a lovely evening, and now—"

"Oh yes, a lovely evening!" she said, gesticulating wildly. "A lovely evening. Oh, here, love eat this, eat that, eat the other! Have the chocolate pudding for dessert, you deserve it! And you may as well finish this bottle of wine, too—but for God's sake, whatever you do, don't get fat."

"Fat?" Ron spluttered. "You're not—I didn't—"

"Well I'm sorry I'm not as skinny as I once was, but just because I don't look like I did when I was sixteen doesn't mean I'm not—"

"Hermione!" he cried, so loudly that even in her anger she took a moment to feel grateful for the silencing charm. "I don't think you're fat!"

"Maybe not, but you've no problem telling me I'm a bit flabby around the stomach, which I think is pot calling the kettle—"

"And I never said anything about your stomach, either! You've got a lovely tummy. I love it."

"Then why," she said sharply, raising an eyebrow, "do you think I need magic knickers?"

"It's not just me," Ron said quickly. "George thinks—"

"You've been discussing my fat stomach with George?" she shrieked.

"No, nonononono," he said, clearly having realised that this was the wrong answer. "It's just—magic knickers could be sexy!"

Hermione's expression changed from one of outrage to one of deep concern.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"You know," he said, seeming encouraged by the fact that she appeared less likely to kill him and more likely to take his temperature and enquire after his general health, "they've got lace and...fancy things, I dunno what they're called on them. And they can change colour and—"

"Lace?" she demanded. "What magic knickers have you seen that have lace on them?"

"Well the ones that—wait, what magic knickers have you seen? They're only prototypes at the moment, and George says—"

"George?!"

"Yes, George, about yea high, can be a bit of a git sometimes but is generally alright—"

"I know who George is," Hermione snapped. "Are you...are you telling me that magic knickers are a new Wheezes product?"

"What else would they be?" Ron asked, genuinely bemused.

Hermione slumped back against the pillows and bit her lip. "Then I think," she said carefully, "that you may need to give serious consideration to changing the name."

"Why?"

"Well," she said, breathing deeply, "in the muggle world, you can buy control underwear, which is made of super strong elastic and more steel than the entirety of the rail network, and it does things like suck in your tummy or squeeze down your thighs—like a modern day corset, really. Muggle women wear them to look slimmer and more toned."

"Why?"

"Usually for some reason that falls between 'I want to look good in this skin-tight dress but also eat pasta' and 'patriarchal beauty standards'," she explained.

"Naturally."

"But they're the most hideous things," Hermione continued. "Like a cross between something your Auntie Muriel would wear and what a sausage would look like if you too all the meat out of it."

"Ah," Ron said. "And so when I said that you would look better in magic knickers, you thought I meant something as hideous as that."

"That would also make me look slimmer," Hermione nodded.

"Well, I didn't mean that at all," Ron said, sounding horrified. "You might look a bit...different now, but you're still just as beautiful to me as the day we met. Well, maybe not the day we met—I wasn't as good as appreciating that when I was eleven but...well, you get what I mean."

"I do," Hermione said, laughing. "I'm sorry I shouted at you. I was just a bit offended."

"As you would be!" Ron said seriously. "And you're right, I think we do need to change the name. George wants to do pants that like...change colour, or bits of them vanish and so on. More novelty gifts than sexy, but we're definitely going to need a better name if we want to market to anyone who knows anything about the muggle world."

"You really, really do," Hermione said. "If only to avoid the near-divorce situation that occurred here when I didn't know what you meant." Her tone was light and jokey, but Ron looked serious.

"You know I would love you no matter what you looked like, right?" he asked, and he looked so concerned that she leaned over and kissed him.

"Of course," she said, and then he kissed her, and she could feel him smiling. "Wait," she said, pulling back after a moment. She blinked up at him flirtatiously and asked, "would you still love me if I looked like a troll?"

"Absolutely!" Ron said. "As long as you were a troll in lacy underpants, of course," he added seriously.