Hermione steps out of the fireplace at the Granger-Weasley cottage, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion. It's been a long day, full of extreme highs and some very awful lows, and all she wants is a cuddle from her little family, a large glass of wine and a foot rub.

However, the cottage is strangely tranquil. Hermione's eyes scour the living room. Aside from the usual mess that comes with having two tiny children and a husband who thinks having fun is far more important than keeping a tidy home, there is nobody in the room.

She frowns, following it with a heavy sigh. Why can't things just be where they should be, including her family? Maybe if she throws herself down on the sofa and snaps her fingers, they'll come to her wine in hand?

Hermione debates it as she shrugs off her Ministry official robes. As she walks out of the living room to hang them in their rightful place by the front door, she spots a trail of something red leading towards the back of the cottage.

Her first thought is that something must have gone wrong. A lump forms in her throat as her robes and handbag hit the floor. She pulls her wand from its holster, not even noticing the usually satisfying snap it makes as it flicks through the air.

"Ron?" she croaks, her heart pounding in her ears. "Hugo? Rosie? Mummy's home!"

Nobody replies to her questions. Hermione tries to tell herself that nothing is wrong, that her very well set wards would have alerted her if something sinister had happened, but it does nothing to quell the frantic panic washing over her body.

She feels sick to her stomach.

Facing the inevitable, Hermione gulps then drops to her knees to inspect the red trail. It starts on the beautiful carpet at the hearth in the living room, creeps out into the hallway then disappears behind the door that leads to their big kitchen-come-family room at the back of the house. Tentatively, Hermione prods her wand at the substance, only to discover that it's…

"Glitter?" she questions the empty house. "Why the hell is there glitter everywhere?"

Now she's studying it closer; she can see that particles of gold fleck the red. A smile crosses her face—they're Gryffindor colours and her absolute favourites.

"Hey Weasley-Grangers, where are you hiding?" she calls as she gets back to her feet.

There's still no response, but she's less worried now. Unless some maniacal clown has escaped the local circus and come to murder everyone, she's pretty sure her family are safe. Although given the rest of the news she's heard today, it wouldn't surprise her.

Hermione pushes open the kitchen door, keeping a tight grip on her wand. A cacophony of noise and a wall of light blinds her.

"Congratulations!"

The whole family are there, as well as most of their friends and colleagues. Standing in the middle is her chaotic husband, looking smart in a deep-blue button-down shirt and glitter in his bushy red beard.

"What th—?" For once, words evade her, but a huge smile spreads across her lips.

Ron walks towards her. "Harry owled us earlier. He suspected you'd try and keep the news quiet, and we couldn't have that, could we? Mum intercepted the message, and then, this happened. Congratulations, Senior-Undersecretary Weasley-Granger."

He wraps his arms around Hermione's waist and gives her a solid kiss, ignoring the jeers from their family (who really should be used to their public displays of affection by now).

Eventually pulling away, Hermione beams back at him. She was planning on telling him, just later after she'd let off steam about everything else that had happened to her that day. She didn't expect the big celebration, but now she's here; it might be the best thing to distract her.

"Thank you, love." A firm squeeze of her backside brings her attention back to her husband. "But that still doesn't explain why my house is full of glitter."

"Ah," Ron replies with a guilty grimace. He nods at the kids, who are waiting at their feet. "Rosie wanted to make you a card, and then Hugo joined in, and as per usual, things got a little crazy from there."

Untangling herself from Ron, Hermione scoops up her toddler son, planting a firm kiss on the top of his head before rubbing her nose against Rosie's, who is now firmly in her dad's arms.

"Of course, it did. I wouldn't expect anything less from my mad little family."