Author's note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the canon, world, and characters portrayed below and you can tell I'm not J.K. Rowling because #transrights

Hogwarts: Assignment 11, Charms Task #1: Write about trying to make something clear to someone else.

Warnings: NA

Absolutely Guiltless

Hermione rang her fingertips against the spines of the books, even if she was slightly afraid to touch them. The leather on those tomes was aged, some of the lettering was beginning to fade, and what she could see of the pages was yellowed with time. She worried about the oil on her fingertips damaging them, and the more she thought about it, the more touching the books felt wrong. She pulled her hand back and slipped it in the pocket of her dress—a midnight blue dress with a midi skirt, long satin sleeves, and an elegant line. It had been somewhat unconventional to wear a Muggle dress to her swearing in ceremony, but it had felt right. It sent the right message for the first Muggleborn Minister of Magic since the war.

"There's a phone in here," Ron said, pointing to the object in question. "I can't believe there's a phone in the bloody Minister for Magic's office."

"It's probably only used to reach the Muggle Prime Minister," Hermione said. Her stomach tightened as she realized that she would be the one doing that now. She'd have to introduce herself sooner rather than later, actually. The image of her pureblood predecessors like Cornelius Fudge or Rufus Scrimgeour trying to use a Muggle telephone made her smile to herself.

"Huh," Ron said. "Well, that's one part of the job you already know how to do. What are you looking at?"

"Tomes on magical law and treaties," Hermione said. "I think some of them might even be first editions. There are definitely some in Ancient Runes."

"Huh," Ron said. He looked around at the office, with its sturdy furniture and the wide windows, each enchanted to show a different place in Great Britain. "It's a cool place."

"You've seen it before," Hermione said. "You must have, when you were an Auror."

"Yeah, but I never paid much attention to the view," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his dress robes. "It wasn't much of a view before you became Minister, anyways."

"Oh, stop," Hermione said, shooting him a look. Still, she felt her cheeks flush which made Ron smile victoriously in turn.

She smoothed down her skirt, and crossed from the bookshelf to the desk. Her hand hovered over the drawer knob.

"It feels like snooping around Kingsley's office," she said.

"It's not," Ron said. "Believe me, the second Kingsley convinces himself that you won't be needing him, he's going to run away somewhere where nobody can bother him, and we won't see him for at least six months."

Hermione smiled and bit her lip, hesitating just one extra second before pulling the drawer open.

"I don't know why I was expecting something more exciting than quills to be there," Hermione confessed.

Ron laughed and perched on the edge of the desk.

"Can you feel the ghost of Kingsley Shacklebolt trying to shove you off?" Hermione said.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt isn't the Minister for Magic anymore, so he can't tell me whether or not I'm allowed to sit on my wife's desk," Ron said.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Do you really need to hear me say it?"

"Can I show you what I brought you first?" Ron offered.

"You didn't bring anything."

"There's an extension charm on my coat pocket, yes I did."

"Clever."

"I learned from the best," Ron said.

"Alright, show me," Hermione said, leaning on the desk, fully conscious that curiosity was getting the best of her.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a bottle of wine and two matching stemless glasses.

"What's this?" Hermione asked.

"A celebration drink," Ron said.

"There's a whole party downstairs specifically and exclusively there for celebrating," Hermione said.

"Yes, I know," Ron said as he poured the wine. "But if we're downstairs at a party, you'll be busy thinking of how it's going and whether there's enough food—even if you're not the one in charge of it—and you'll be focusing too much on whether people are having a good time, whether you've talked to everybody and shaken enough hands… There's too much traffic down there, too much temptation. Merlin, you might even try to talk to someone in the Department of International Cooperation to get some work done."

Hermione wanted to say no of course not, but Ron was one of the people who had known her the longest and… well, he was right.

"You're like that," Ron said once he realized that she wasn't fighting him on this. "You've always worked so hard, sometimes you don't stop to breathe when the work is done, to look at what you accomplished."

"Sometimes I do," Hermione said.

"Sure," Ron said. "But after Rose was born, when I came back from getting you tea at St. Mungo's cafeteria, I caught you reading a book about how to handle the terrible twos. Two years ahead of time. When you had just given birth. I didn't want you to do that tonight; I wanted to make sure you stopped and celebrated. Because you're the Minister of Magic, now. And you're going to be brilliant, even if you take a second to just… have a glass. Even if I have to be the one sneaking in the wine to do it."

Hermione smiled and took the glass he handed her.

"I hope you feel guilty!" Hermione said.

"Not at all," Ron said gleefully. "So cheers."

"Cheers," Hermione said, raising her glass to click it against his. She perched on the corner of the desk—her desk— as well, and brought the glass to her lips to take a sip. The wine was good, and so was the kiss Ron leaned across the desk to give her.

WC: 949