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One thing Ron knows about Hermione is that his fiancée only ever knits when she's stressed or anxious these days. Now, as she sits in the comfortable chair in the corner of the knitting room, her fingers work like mad, manipulating the cream yarn with her needles. Ron wonders if she's knitting a sock or a hat, but he's pretty sure it isn't a good time to ask.

"Hermione?"

She pauses and looks up at him. For a moment, their eyes lock, and he thinks that maybe she'll allow herself to be vulnerable. Ron doesn't know how she does it. Hermione walks around with this calm and collected persona, never letting anyone see even the smallest glimpse of what's behind the mask. Even Ron and Harry rarely get to see her break.

Then she just sighs and shakes her head, offering him a smile. "I'm fine, Ronald."

"How did you know I was going to ask?" He folds his arms over his chest, brows raised and a hint of a smirk on his lips as if to say checkmate.

"Because that's what you do," she says with a laugh that's too tense to be genuine. "You fret and worry. You know, you're a bit like your mum."

"Don't even think about it!" Ron sighs and shakes his head, moving closer. "Don't deflect, Hermione. Something is obviously bothering you."

She laughs again, the sound lighter, softer. This is closer to his Hermione. "Remember when I said you had the emotional range of a teaspoon?" she asks, flashing him a small smile. "When did you grow up?"

"Had no choice. You're a good influence."

Her smile solidifies at that, her posture relaxing. Ron takes pride in being one of the few people who can make Hermione Granger melt. "I don't understand what I did wrong," she groans, returning her yarn and needles to her basket. "We had our final exams, and I just… I know I failed."

Now Ron understands. Hermione had rejected the offer to become an Auror, opting instead to take her final year at Hogwarts. In the end, she still ended up going into law enforcement, though she chose to focus on the lawmaking aspect of things. It's a competitive field, but how could Hermione do anything but prosper?

He wants to tell her she's being silly. After all, she has recommendations from the Minister of Magic. Of course she's going to make it and be selected to join the department.

But he knows her fear and anxiety are real. Though it happened years and years ago, he still remembers Hermione panicking because her boggart involved failing everything.

"You're brilliant," he tells her. "And I'm not just saying that because you're the brightest witch of your age."

She makes a face. That title has followed her into adulthood, and she seems a little more hesitant to take pride in it now. Sometimes Ron wonders what changed.

"You are. You're talented and brilliant, and you're going to do great things because that's just what you do," he says. "Got it?"

"Got it,' she says, and she climbs to her feet, moving closer and resting her head on his chest. She lets out a content sigh. "I love you so much, Ronald. I don't think anyone believes in me like you do."

Ron snorts. "Everyone believes in you," he points out.

"Maybe, but not like you. I'm lucky to have you."

He wraps his arms around her, smiling at the way she snuggles a little closer into his embrace. "Tell you what," he says. "Why don't we go to that little sushi place you've been wanting to try? An early celebration to welcome you to the department."

"I haven't even been accepted!"

"Not yet, but you will be." Ron shrugs. "And if you aren't, you can take me out to dinner to make up for it."

She pulls away, pursing her lips and rolling her eyes. "You're impossible."

"But you love me."

"Don't tell anyone," she teases.

He really is glad to see her smiling again.