The tiny stars glittering peacefully in the deep blue of the night sky, somewhat distracted the sea of mostly red heads currently chattering and making their way back towards the Burrow, from the humid air of the mid-October Saturday evening. Thankful for the light breeze atop the grassy hill, Ron wasn't in much of a rush to leave and gladly fell behind.

In what became a monthly occurrence, the innumerable members of the Weasley family, blood-related or not, have agreed to meet up for a little campfire goodness, to catch up, tell stories and simply spend time all together; a task that has been becoming increasingly more difficult over the past three years with everyone so busy doing their own thing. Nothing like some toasted marshmallows and inside jokes to truly appreciate the peace achieved after the end of the War.

It was, in fact, an idea that came about between Ron and George, as they sat reminiscing about their brother on the first of April of last year, and was wholeheartedly supported by an overexcited Molly. Ever since then, everyone's been getting together by the fire to chat about this and that. Even Mr and Mrs Granger have become frequent attendants of the little soirée (that's what Hermione calls it anyway), particularly now that Helen and Molly were flying about like two squirrels who overdosed on pepper-up potion, planning all the details for the wedding months in advance.

Ron's thoughts were momentarily interrupted by a wheezy little sigh from his right shoulder, where Hermione's head was lying comfortably in the crook of his neck, as she remained in that dozing half-asleep state. Her tiny frame (especially in comparison with his own giant stature), was perched piggy back style against his back as he had one long scarred forearm supporting her under her left knee, extending enough over his waist to gently hold the other leg, whilst his right hand was raised to hold together the dainty hands hanging loosely from the arms thrown around his neck. Planting a light kiss on her exposed temple, Ron continued on in amicable silence in the company of his best friend and sister, who were leaning against each other as they trudged down the hill.

Were she awake, Hermione would likely insist on being simply a bit tired, lulled into a relaxing nap by the warmth of the fire, Ron's lap, and the incessant conversations. But Ron knew better. And though she would never admit it, stubbornly brilliant as she is, she was completely and utterly knackered. It was all the expected outcome of the strain of three months of background research and another two of direct work on a particularly important law, or more specifically, a new amendment of the Wizarding Rights Act of 1976, that provided equal rights for employment of typically ostracised magical creatures with the necessary benefits and working conditions appropriate for each category. Being such a big change to the prejudiced tendencies of the Wizarding World, it required not only the vote of the Wizengamot, but also the public, meaning many more presentations and speeches to carry out and pureblood backlash to prevent.

As a result, all the stress that was building up gradually over the past months had reached its crescendo with this week's events, culminating on Friday with the law's approval. Though always confident in her own abilities, just like she used to be back at Hogwarts before her final exams, the imminent nerves deep down always lead Hermione to neglect the necessities of her own body and mind, focusing all her efforts on the cause. Thankfully, Ron considered himself well-versed in this subject, having perfected the skill of taking care of his fiancée during weeks like that in a subtle and not patronising way, cause that's a whole other set of Wildfire Whiz-bangs he wasn't keen on setting off. It resembled to him the process of petting a hedgehog; not an inherently hostile creature but one that can definitely prick if handled the wrong way. He wasn't ever planning on voicing that comparison to Hermione though.

So last week has been filled with sleepless nights, lunches shared in Hermione's office rather than the cafe across the Ministry (her usual salad accompanied by a blueberry muffin or a few macaroons from the bakery two blocks away as a special treat), tense shoulders, bags under eyes, as well as a particularly fiery temper. And judging by the tampon he noticed in the bathroom bin last Saturday, even her own body was hell-bent on making this an incredibly tiring and stressful week. Thank Merlin the campaign was successful and finally over with.

Adrenaline mostly, prevented Hermione from getting any proper sleep last night, and resulted in a very satisfying celebration that Ron in no way, shape or form was complaining about, but seeing her finally succumb to the inevitable exhaustion after all her hard work, was somehow just as gratifying of a feeling.

By the time they've finally reached the Burrow in their leisurely stroll across the fields, most of the Weasley clan was already disappearing one by one through the fireplace.

"Well," Harry spoke at last, right outside the front door of the still bustling Burrow, "I think we'll be heading home now. Ginny's looking kind of tired too and the little one's been a bit restless."

Ginny's loud harrumph caused the body draped across Ron to stir, but rubbing her belly protectively and completely oblivious to her brother's murderous glare, she smirked, "If you feel like going home, Harry, you don't have to blame it on the baby".

Before the boy-who-lived got to protect his challenged honour, Hermione was mumbling incoherently as her eyes fluttered open. Ron turned his head in her direction, smiling gently as he murmured almost inaudibly, "Hello there".

Finally having won the battle against drowsiness, her eyes opened completely to look right into his azure ones, and she couldn't resist smiling sleepily in return, "Hi".

They remained gazing at each other for several blissful seconds until they were once again interrupted by the boy-who-blocks, "I wish I had a big strong Ron to carry me around, my calves are getting rather sore walking through all these fields," he grinned amusedly. The lovers snapped their heads to their raven-haired friend, and as if only now realising that they indeed had company, Hermione blushed crimson, lightly tapping Ron on his other shoulder, signaling for him to reluctantly set her down.

Her feet didn't even have time to hit the ground before Ginny smacked her husband on the back of the head with a blunt, "Deserved that." Ron was eternally grateful for not having to act out his own violent imaginings, as well as not at all sorry for coming up with the infamous nickname that had really taken off among the rest of the Weasleys. Instead, he entwined his larger hand with Hermione's smaller one as she steadied herself.

"And should I be worried about our marriage? It almost sounded like you chose the wrong red-head," his sister grinned mischievously and threw an incredulous glance at Hermione who rolled her eyes but chuckled nonetheless, prompting Ron to think this was a topic they've already discussed.

"Sorry", Harry uttered though Ron noted with annoyance that he didn't look sorry at all, "it just really looked like you were setting up for another violent snog session, and it's impossible to stop you once you get into it," he scrunched up his nose in disgust.

"Pfft, says the bloke who knocked up my sister." Hermione smacked him in the shoulder, but her heart wasn't really in it considering she herself was still quite disgruntled by the unnecessary interruption. "What?", Ron continued accusingly, "all these years I could just live peacefully pretending you were sharing nothing more than chaste pecks on the cheek, and now I have to look at the evidence of your-your... copulation," he finally stammered out, as if even the thought of it made him queasy, pointing with an outstretched hand at the swelling of his sister's abdomen, "every single day."

His own fiancée was too stunned at his proficient display of scientific vocabulary to say anything, but his sister had no such qualms. "Thank you, dear brother, for that demonstration of 15th century customs in the life and courtship of a young woman," she rolled her eyes again. "Honestly, we've been married for almost a year and you're still assuming we actually go picking apples when we disappear into the garden," she raised her eyebrows pointedly as Ron released an indignant gasp.

"Yuck, now the image is going to be stuck in my head," he groaned petulantly.

"I'm glad," Ginny retorted with a triumphantly smug smile. Harry, though silent throughout the usual siblings' spat, couldn't choose between acting slightly abashed for his friend's sake or stifling his laughter. "Now, if you'll excuse us," she continued, grabbing Harry roughly by the hand, "we're going home, to do or not do," she gave her brother a significant glare, "whatever we want." Then, in a complete change of tone, she smiled sweetly, "Dinner at Grimmauld on Monday, don't forget." And with a wave, the couple disappeared into the house.

Ron turned back to Hermione slowly, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Can you believe her?", he muttered exasperately as Hermione let go of his hand to wind her arms around his neck, and in a move as natural as breathing, his own fell to hug her waist softly. She grinned playfully at him.

"What?", he enquired, all anger gone now in the wake of his curiosity.

"Copulation, huh?" The teasing glint in her hazel eyes belied any composure she was trying to keep. It was Ron's turn to blush to the roots of his already flaming hair.

"I was looking for something less off-putting to use," he tried to justify.

"Don't worry," she continued as she stroked some of his fringe off his face, "I found it rather sexy", the last word was spoken in more of a whisper, as they were still in the Burrow's front yard.

All sense of embarrassment now gone, his blush was replaced by an equally playful lopsided grin, " 'Course you would. Should I start listing off complicated words when I want to set the mood now?" Their faces were gradually leaning closer to each other, and his next word was spoken extremely softly, "Gestation".

Knowing Hermione as well as he did, he recognized the fire that momentarily lit up in her eyes as undoubtedly desire. His own eyes widened in surprise, "Wow, I didn't expect it to actually work..." Their faces were inching closer and closer now and they were a hair away when Ron breathed, "fallopian tubes..." Their lips were brushing each other's already and they were still inching closer when...

"Oh, there you are dears!", his mother exclaimed excitedly, absolutely oblivious to the moment she ruined, as they were forced to pull apart for propriety's sake, though it seemed like it physically pained Hermione by the look on her face. "Harry told me you were outside. Of course he bloody did, Ron thought bitterly. "Come on in then, it's rather chilly don't you think?" And she was off, moving swiftly back into the house, undoubtedly expecting them to follow.

"I want to get out of here," Ron stated frankly, their hands wounding together once more as they ambled towards the door.

"Couldn't agree more," Hermione sighed, reaching out her thumb to stroke Ron's hand soothingly. "By the way," she looked up at him suddenly, remembering the thought that occurred to her before she got swept away in the lust of the moment, "where on earth did you learn all that muggle medical jargon?"

Ron shrugged nonchalantly, yet his ears tinged a telltale pink, "You know those pregnancy magazines you got for Ginny?", she nodded, "well... you left them on the coffee table and while I was waiting for you to get ready for the presentation on Friday, I don't know... got bored," he shrugged again.

She smiled fondly at him, "If only I knew that clearing up the table and then forgetting to put your Quidditch magazines back in place could have such astounding results."

"So that's where they went! Now don't go getting any ideas and start sabotaging my reading material, it won't work. This was just a lucky coincidence," he warned her with a dramatically raised finger, "besides, most of them could bore a sloth to death, it's just one of them had many pictures and diagrams, y'know, almost like a comic book".

"Sure, sure," she responded unconvinced, "you were definitely not simply intrigued by the idea of knowledge... no, Merlin forbid," she turned to grin at him briefly before pulling him through the door. And though Ron was slightly flustered at being caught out on his fib, those feelings were overshadowed by the glee of bringing out the carefree, jokey side of Hermione, that no one really, besides him, got to experience. After the week they've had, they could finally engage in some of the light-hearted, and often flirtatious, banter.

That is, if we ever get out of this bloody house, Ron thought, trying to not get properly hacked off when Mrs Granger pulled Hermione away from him for a 'second'. He'd never known how long a 'second' could be - or that it could be longer than an actual 'second' in fact - before he got to have daily interactions with a pair of wedding-crazed women. Thankfully, his severe displeasure was only spotted by Hermione, who disappeared into the kitchen with an apologetic smile.

"Well, come on Ronnie, help your mother out, these blankets aren't going to put themselves away you know." The living room furniture was in fact strewn with a sea of colourful woolen blankets, woven by his mother and carelessly thrown aside by the lucky bastards who actually got to go home. He did have half a mind to tell her she had a wand of her own and it would only take her a second to clear everything up since she was a fully capable witch, but decided against it. That would result in one very sour woman and an uncomfortable talk on discipline, courtesy and respect. So there he went, picking it all up manually, because that's how they've always been encouraged to do their chores. 'It needs hard work and shows the actual effort you put in', he could hear his mother's voice rambling on in his head.

"I'm very happy we got to agree on the final guest list this morning," Molly broke into his train of thoughts, reminding him that they had actually spent the entire day here, a crucial factor in his eagerness to leave. "And the flowers you chose, those peonies, simply wonderful..." she exhaled dreamily, putting some final touches into arranging her living room after the influx of people. "Though I did personally think the burgundy hydrangeas would've been a beautiful addition, but it's your wedding after all..."

Ron made sure she couldn't see his face when he rolled his eyes. They were, in reality, a ghastly suggestion. And when Hermione turned to him with well-disguised horror that morning, he didn't even have to lie to get them out of that one.

"Are you mad? That's one shade away from maroon and I wouldn't quite fancy having that disgrace of a color at my wedding," he replied, shamelessly scandalised, earning a scolding from his mother who told him to voice his opinions with a little more calm and grace, particularly in the presence of guests. By the looks of it however, Mrs Granger was finding the entire exchange highly amusing.

They had went on to look at the other carefully compiled examples of flowers and arrangements. Despite never having given a rat's fart about any types of flowery plants, something called a peony had caught his eye, which is what he had confidently stated when his opinion was asked. Feeling unnerved under the scrutinising gazes of three women in front of neither of whom he was too keen on making a blubbering fool of himself, he decided to focus on the face that always provided him with comfort when explaining, "I don't know, it has quite some volume to it…and it reminds me a bit of your hair with all the layers, y'know", he gestured vaguely to the moving picture of the flower and gave Hermione, whose eyebrows rose in surprise, a sheepish smile, "And I love your hair, it's one of my favorite things about you."

He spoke honestly but wasn't entirely sure how she would take the comparison as her hair was always a sore point for her. Yet when he finally lifted his gaze to meet hers again, he was rewarded with a brilliant smile and a pretty blush tingeing her cheeks, as she tucked one of the aforementioned unruly locks behind her ear. Somehow, he realised, he had said the right thing, which filled him with an inexplicably strong sense of pride but more importantly, it finally ended the two-hour flower discussion.

They had a few minutes to agree on some colours the previous night while lounging comfortably in their giant bed. Hermione was never one for bright, flamboyant displays of anything, and usually preferred more subtle colors and shades. Pastel yellows, pinks or blues was then, not at all surprising of a preference for her wedding. Ron said he didn't really mind, but after she insisted she wanted this to be a joint decision, he confessed that the only color that ever stood out to him was orange, immediately cringing at the thought, since even he wasn't mental enough to have a garish, Cannons-themed ceremony. Hermione too was slightly sickened by the image, but after a few minutes of deep thought, evident in the endearing little crease between her eyebrows, she proposed the color peach. Visibly nervous about Ron liking the idea, she twittered on, explaining her reasoning behind the compromise, adding that it would also look great with some yellow accents here and there and wouldn't be too gaudy. Ron was quick to show his agreement with a sweet kiss and gentle strokes of her cheek, consequently leading to a more slow-paced yet equally as passionate repeat of the night's previous boisterous events.

Acknowledging that getting a hard-on three feet away from his mother was not very wise at all, he stored the memory away for a later time, and picked up the remaining blankets. "I still don't understand why we have to invite the entire bloody family, especially the likes of Aunt Muriel", he grumbled in reply.

"Watch your language young man," his mother chided immediately, picking up a recently folded blanket, apparently not quite at a satisfactory level, and refolding it herself. "You are well aware that it's tradition to invite everyone, otherwise people get upset, and petty disagreements turn into resentment. It's important to keep strong, loving ties amongst family."

"Yeah, yeah", he conceded reluctantly, knowing he was just beating a dead horse.

"Speaking of family, don't forget about Sunday lunch, that's tomorrow."

"About that…", and she was staring; it was difficult enough to find the courage to confront her without her suddenly giving him her full attention.

"Don't tell me you're about to skip out on your own family! Harry and Ginny are going to be there, Fred and Angelina too. Bill and Fleur are bringing Victoire along on a play date with Teddy and even Percy said he'll try to pop in," she was listing people off on her fingers though he failed to see the appeal of the massive crowd for him.

"I know, I know…" Despite everything, he did feel a bit guilty when missing these events, knowing how people were trying to make time to see each other after the War, and his mother was always the first in line. "It's just, Hermione's had a pretty tough week with all the Ministry stuff going on, with the new law and all, and we've been spending a lot of time here already and didn't really have much time to relax, just the two of us that is…" he trailed off. There really wasn't a less awkward way to explain it.

"It's okay dear, I understand," Molly said, surprising him with how fast she had given in. He had at least three more minutes of back and forth in mind. She patted his shoulder, "I've been engaged once too, and young couples need time for themselves…"

And, there it is. His face reached an alarming shade of ripe tomato as she proceeded.

"…your father and I were just like that, we'd take advantage of any free moment and-"

"I don't want to hear that, mum!" He plugged his ears with his fingers to further demonstrate his discomfort. He thought about correcting her, saying they really did want to get some sleep and just lay back together, but thought better of it. He had her blessing; that was the goal wasn't it? But at what cost…

At that moment, Hermione and her mother reappeared from the kitchen, and she seemed about as ready to bolt as him. "Oh, I almost forgot," and in a flash Molly disappeared through the archway before just as swiftly running back, thrusting two glass containers of what looked like leftover treacle tart and brownies right into his arms. "Put these under a cooling charm as soon as you get home," she ordered and Ron nodded complaisantly with a, "Yes, mum".

With hugs exchanged, one-armed in Ron's case, they miraculously made it to the fireplace, where hastily grabbing some floo powder, they were gone in a billowing blaze of green flames.

As soon as Ron's feet hit the sooty surface of their apartment's fireplace, he could breathe out a deep sigh of relief, and then proceed to immediately choke on the cloud of ashes formed by their arrival.

"Are you alright?", Hermione asked, slightly amused, patting Ron's arm as he climbed out whilst simultaneously locking the floo network for the night. Somewhere in the background, he could feel the ginger beast, otherwise known as Crookshanks, rubbing through their legs in a snobbishly disdainful manner before traipsing out of the room.

"Yeah, I don't really care. I could choke on a tornado right now as long as we'd be out of there," he retorted, trying to balance the food containers and wipe himself off in the process.

"Ron!", she admonished, before taking out her wand and levitating the desserts through the archway of the kitchen and into the fridge, "that's not very nice, you know. But I agree," she added quietly, blushing at the look of surprise on his face.

"What? I love our family as much as the next person, but they've been a little too much recently," she stated defiantly, as if urging him to try and prove her wrong.

"Then I guess you will be thrilled to know that I told mum we won't be coming tomorrow," he grinned smugly at the look of conflicted joy written on her face as she scanned his face for the truth.

"Really?", came a tiny voice filled with unhidden hope.

"Yep, which means an entire day doing whatever your heart desires. Oof!" She flung herself into his arms with surprising force. "Wow, if that's the reaction I get then I'll ditch my family more often", he chuckled and she joined in with a little laugh of her own.

Pulling pack she slid her arms up his chest, smoothing out some of the wrinkles in the process. "I love going to the Burrow, you know that. I just... I'm really excited to have some time to ourselves just... doing nothing I guess," she peered up at him timidly and he couldn't resist planting a small peck on her lips.

"I know, and I agree," he slid his palms down her arms, stroking softly, "but right now, I think it's time we head to bed".

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, maybe because you're tired and your eyes have been drooping all evening and it's midnight?", he raised his eyebrows incredulously, but she just huffed rather childishly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I am not tired! I had a little nap, yes, and it rejuvenated me, and now I'm fresh as a pickle!"

He rolled his eyes at her at which her glare intensified, "A very stale, several-days-old, pickle." He got an admittedly deserved punch in the arm for that, but nothing was quite as entertaining as riling her up.

"You take that back!", she narrowed her eyes and poked her ink-stained finger at his chest.

Raising his hands in surrender, he conceded, "Alright, alright, I believe you. And judging by the strength of that punch, you've got the energy to apparate to Cardiff and back." He arranged his features in exaggerated pain and rubbed his arm pouting. Her previously tense stance softened and she chuckled.

"Wine, then?", he offered, already making his way to the kitchen, Hermione following closely behind him.

"Yes, please."

She plopped herself on the kitchen counter as Ron glided around the room, taking out the glasses and rummaging through the drinks cupboard with a triumphant, "Ah ha!", when he located the bottle.

Hermione was intently observing him as he went about pouring the wine; top button of his long-sleeved Henley shirt unbuttoned (she had forgotten that she was the one sporting his dark blue woven sweater), sleeves pushed up until the elbows to reveal breathtakingly lean and muscly forearms, culminating in large strong hands with long yet nimble fingers, curiously delicate as they worked the seal of the wine bottle. She bit her lip to prevent herself from pouncing on him as he glanced at her with a cheeky little grin.

Neither of them had been naturally gifted in the area of the kitchen, but Ron's been really improving over the past two years, taking most of the cooking duties upon himself and attempting to replicate some of his mother's simpler dishes, ones that he's been eagerly watching her cook as a kid. Hermione didn't mind, both because she could feast her eyes on him in the process, as well as the fact that she burned about 40 percent of the eggs she fried.

Nevertheless, they're both relatively busy ministry workers, so muggle take-out remained a constant except that one desperate time they had instant noodles at two in the morning on a work night; she still cringes at the memory. And then again, Mrs Weasley would never let them starve, so Ron has taken it upon himself to strategically pop into the kitchen after meals at the Burrow, only to be smothered and offered a large variety of delectable leftovers.

Judging by the last bottle of wine, it's about time they visit the shops. It's usually a several-hour-long affair, since Ron insists on stopping by the supermarket despite preferring buying the meats and the vegetables at the Farmer's Market. Hermione is quite sure it's mostly for the muggle candy and the drinks, but the childlike wonder in his eyes as he searches the brand-stacked shelves is undeniably adorable so she indulges him and herself really. The tight muggle jeans really accentuate his assets, and though back at school the obvious gawking of some of the girls (and surprisingly boys) at the cash register would've peeved her off out of jealousy, the feeling has transformed into a possessive type of pride and smugness, as Ron, oblivious as ever, happily appeases her infrequent indulgences in PDA.

"D'you want some of those brownies with the wine?", he glanced at her once again, as she appeared to be waking up from some sort of daze. Ron knew she was obviously exhausted but there wasn't really much he could do against her stubborn ways.

Realising he'd asked her a question, she shook her head slightly in response, "No, this is Lambrusco, it's a little too sweet to be paired with them."

Ron chortled, picking up the glasses as she jumped off the counter, making their way to the couch. "Tell that to the box of jaffa cakes you absolutely ravaged the other day." When the glasses of wine were safely placed on the coffee table, he risked a look up at her face, red with a mixture of embarrassment at being caught and indignance, likely already coming up with a suitable justification.

She settled on, "That was different," before adding, "besides, I was just trying to prove a point." In answer to his questioning look she elaborated, "that your hiding places are extremely unoriginal. Really? On top of the cupboard? As if I couldn't just pull up a chair," she huffed.

Ron sunk down into the plush cushions of their coffee-coloured sofa, raising his arms automatically in invitation. Without hesitation, she too climbed on, though she seated herself on his knees, facing him with a smile and perching her hands loosely at his nape.

"You don't honestly think that's my only secret hiding place, do you?" He continued cheekily.

"And how much junk food is hidden all over our apartment exactly?", she scolded but the severity was lost in the soft stroking of her fingers in his hair.

"Plenty. But if it makes you feel any better, it's all hidden the muggle way," he smiled proudly, whilst pushing pack gently into her hands, basking in her caresses.

"It does actually. It's quite fun sometimes despite being absolutely infuriating, looking for candy or randomly stumbling upon some."

"Oh? Well, then I know what I'm doing for Christmas..." he trailed off, shutting his eyes slightly as her fingers moved higher up his scalp.

"What's that?" she stopped her ministrations with a perplexed expression.

He opened his eyes reluctantly to answer, "A scavenger hunt, of course".

Then, in a criminally hyperenergetic flurry of motion, she sucked in her breath sharply, eyes opening wide with unadulterated excitement as she practically jumped in his lap, straddling him further and landing her palms roughly on his chest, causing him to exhale forcefully.

"You'd do that!?" She squeaked, but didn't wait for his reply before proceeding with her outpouring, "Oh! You could do clues...and-and little notes with riddles and small gifts at every step..." as she was talking she was incessantly battering her palms against his pectorals, and Ron stared at her wide-eyed, wondering silently if she somehow consumed some Essence of Insanity, a Euphoria Elixir and a Babbling Beverage all in one go, "...they could be all over the apartment! Or-or... even better, anywhere! Like at work, or... at the Burrow, or... just any significant location! You could let people on and give them instructions and-"

"Woah!", Ron finally came out of his stupor, seizing her wrists gently to stop the incoming strike, "Calm your thestrals there, Indian Jonas."

She stopped the blabbering and calmed down somewhat but was still breathing heavily. "It's 'Indiana Jones', but it's close enough", she couldn't resist correcting with a shy grin. "Sorry", she added, noticing her hands and smoothing them softly around his chest as he released them.

"It's alright," he smiled back, "and what kind of name is that anyway? I don't go around by 'Devon Ron', do I?"

She giggled, playing with the hem of his t-shirt. "I think it's after his puppy that was called 'Indiana'," she looked up to meet the playful twinkle in his cerulean blue eyes.

"Ha! That's even worse. Can you imagine, 'Pigwidgeon Ron', say goodbye to my dignity." She was shaking with joyful giggles now as she placed her forehead on his shoulder to stabilise herself. "I didn't know you'd be that excited about it."

She lifted her head off again to look at him, relishing the level-eyed connection this position provided, "It sounded fun."

"I figured that much," he chuckled, twisting one of her soft curls around his finger. "We used to have Easter Egg hunts at the Burrow when we were little, y'know."

"Really? That sounds amazing."

"It does, and it was, for the most part. But if I ever had the most eggs, the twins would shout something like, 'Oi, Ron! D'you see that spider?', then point vaguely in no particular direction, and that would... uhm, set me back a little," he smiled sheepishly.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek as she always did when he was being cute, "Well, at least you had siblings to play with. A solo egg hunt was kind of sad, and though I enjoyed the ones at elementary school, I think my competitiveness intimidated some of the other children."

Ron was always quite fascinated by Hermione's childhood stories, knowing they were so different from his own and imagining her in all her adorable, grumpy, bushy-haired glory. Their noses rubbed against each other as they leaned in for a slow, sensual kiss, that was way too short in Ron's opinion. As they pulled back, Hermione reached behind her for the wine glasses, handing one to him, as they rearranged themselves on the sofa; Ron half-lying down lengthwise, settled in the corner between the big cushion and the armrest, and Hermione leaning back snugly against his chest, nestled comfortably in his warm limbs.

They sat like that for several minutes in the pleasantly relaxing silence, sipping on their wine. Ron finished his own glass first and placed it back on the table, to wrap his now free arms more securely around his fiancée. He could just see Crookshanks meandering about the floor, occasionally attempting to open the clasp of his rucksack. He'd have to hang it up by the entrance next time, he mused, trying to purposefully glare daggers at the kneazle to persuade it to leave.

"Ron?", Hermione spoke up softly, interrupting his telepathic battle.

"Yes, love?", he buried his face in her curls which she had down today, just the way he liked it best, making his way through until he could press his lips momentarily against her cheek.

"I must've been a real pain this past week," she mumbled miserably, turning her head sideways to send a contrite gaze his way. "Anything besides work was a bit of a haze, frankly, but I'm sure I rowed with you for no good reason, and probably said something nasty, and generally been a real cow, and I'm really sorry," she finished quietly looking down.

Ron lifted her chin back up to meet his eyes, "For one, you're definitely not a cow," he chuckled, easing the tension, "and I know how hard you've been working for this and how much you wanted it. You'd never settle on a half-arsed job. You'd plow on and on, despite what some of those supremacist cranks at the Wizengamot say, and do it perfectly anyway. And that obviously needs time and effort, so I'll easily take a couple of meaningless insults if it means you get to make the world a better place."

He smiled his sweet smile at her, tucking away another stray curl and barely had time to notice her glazed eyes before he had an armful of Hermione thrown at him, distantly registering the sound of smashed glass. She was sloppily snogging him into oblivion, almost trying to swallow his entire mouth in her eagerness and Ron was quick to match her fervor, as his tongue battled back to balance out the assault. By the time they pulled apart for lack of oxygen, their lips were swollen red and breaths came out heavily.

Hermione still bore a serious expression when she half-breathed, "You're wonderful, do you know that?"

He flashed her another winning smile, "Yes, this one clever witch keeps telling me that." Though he played it off as he always did, he couldn't ignore the butterflies he got even now at getting compliments from the brilliant witch in his arms, and he was pretty sure she was aware of the effect it had.

"But I'm serious, Ron. You've been amazing. It really means a lot to me, even if it doesn't seem like it in the moment," she paused, gleaming hazel gazing at him lovingly, with a hint of the vulnerability and passion that no one else but him gets to see. "I love my parents very much... ," she murmured softly, and he focused every ounce of his attention on her, knowing this kind of openness was still relatively new for her, "... but they've always been busy people. I've already told you how I couldn't really connect with any of the children my age, and even before knowing I was a witch, I felt different and a little lonely. But then I came to Hogwarts, and despite a few hurdles," they smiled fondly at the memories, "I found you and Harry, and suddenly I wasn't alone anymore, not really. However, I was always closer to you. We talked more, laughed more, argued more... and it was all very new and fun but also a bit scary, you know?", her hands played with the cotton of his t-shirt as she spoke, a nervous habit he knew all too well.

"I do. I was quite terrified myself. I don't think anyone's ever paid me as much attention as you ever had, and Harry, bless his scrawny soul, was a bit of a mood-killer half the time, understandably," his own hands were drawing light circles on her lower back.

"Yeah...", she sighed, chuckling slightly, "but what I mean to say is, now in retrospect I can see how big of a role you played in my life, and Harry's too, and I know you don't like talking much about the... locket", she glanced up apprehensively, almost afraid of his reaction.

He did tense up momentarily but let the feeling go just as quickly. "It's okay, I told you everything that happened, and you've forgiven me," at that she nodded firmly, "and as much as I hate myself for simply giving in to it that easily-", he lifted a hand to stop her protests, "yes, I know there were other factors but it's the fact of the matter and you can't really change the way I feel about it," he shrugged. "But, despite all that, it's taught me quite a lot, that whole shit show of an experience, so...go on..." he waved a hand for her to proceed.

"Oh, yes… uhm… right, as I was saying, I don't think any of us, that includes you, me or Harry, understood how essential your presence always was, not until you weren't there…", she stroked his cheek with a weak smile, "and that's when I think it really struck me, how much I need you in my life. And the reason for this long-winded speech is to say that, there really isn't a single thing I appreciate more than knowing you're always there, ready to catch me if I fall, provide comfort or simply listen to me vent about some of my pig-headed co-workers."

He grinned at her shyly, and would never admit the slight moisture in his eyes. "I didn't expect you to slip on that pop-up stage in North London either, so I was glad to be there to catch you," he laughed mightily as she smacked him properly on the shoulder with a whiny, "Ron!"

"Here I am trying to have a heartfelt conversation and you're bringing up this absolutely mortifying experience," she continued to chastise him, but he calmed down significantly, squeezing her petite frame tightly against him, noticing she was straddling him once again.

"I love you so much, 'Mione, more than I could ever describe with my limited vocabulary. And when I came back, I promised myself that if you ever forgave me, I'd do everything in my power to show you just how much. And now I asked you to marry me, and you said yes for some reason," he lifted up her palm, planting a gentle kiss on the finger doning the elegant silver band crowned with a dazzling sapphire, "And now I'll have all eternity to care for you, and do everything to make you happy."

She wiped a stray tear with the backside of her other hand, "You don't even have to do anything, because you make me happy," she pulled him in for another deep kiss, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "And I love you too," she beamed, once she pulled away.

"I love hearing you say it," he whispered huskily against her lips, barely an inch separating them from his own.

"Mmmm…", she hummed as he started planting kisses along the right side of her face, from her jaw to her temple. "And I love saying it…" she breathed out, and momentarily opened her eyes that had fluttered shut mere seconds ago. That proved to be a mistake, as now having a clear view over Ron's shoulder, she became aware of pieces of glass scattered on the hardwood floor, and a tiny red puddle, just beginning to seep into their grey carpet.

"Oh m-my…", she stammered out, breathless from their activities.

"You like that?", he whispered against the shell of her ear, grazing the earlobe softly with his teeth, and though she did shiver automatically at the sensation, she dropped her hands on his shoulders and pushed them carefully. "N-no, I mean… look…"

Stopping immediately, he first glanced up at her face, then followed the direction of her gaze, twisting his neck at an irregular angle.

"Huh?", he chuckled as he witnessed the sight of the messy floor. "Someone was too excited," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"Prat", she murmured fondly, attempting to get up, but Ron's large hands on her hips pushed her back down.

"And what exactly are you doing, Miss Granger?"

She looked at him incredulously, "Trying to clean up the mess? This is wine, Ron, that's a bit more complicated than leaving dishes in the sink for a few hours."

Ron rolled his eyes, not answering and instead making a show of reaching out for the wand in his pocket, spinning it around in his fingers demonstratively, before sending a silent Reparo, followed by a Scourgify towards the floor.

"Oh," she blushed as he put it away.

"Forgot you were a witch again, did you?", he grinned smugly. She gave him a small smile as he nuzzled her nose with his. "And by the way," he suddenly added, pulling back and startling her out of the calm trance, "You don't like it when I underestimate myself and I don't want you talking like you're some type of burden, alright? This is a mutual thing, caring that is. Wasn't it just last week that you had to sit there and apply dittany to the second-degree burns on my bum?"

She looked up at him adoringly, pouting. "But I like your bum…", she whined mockingly, "it wasn't much of a problem staring at it for 20 minutes straight."

"Ok, well how about this. I wouldn't say this to anyone but you, 'Mione, but since we're getting married you should know what you're signing up for," he took an exaggerated deep breath, "I'm a slob."

She threw her head back in laughter, "Believe it or not, I somehow already figured that out," Ron made to look affronted, "And just so you know, I'm a control freak. Then there's that we can both be stubborn as a mule, but I love you anyway."

"Really? Even when I accidentally forget to do the dishes, or-or when I throw my dirty boots in the hallway and never pick them up, or would choose dinner with Aunt Muriel over playing Scrabble ever again?"

"Yes, Ron, even then," she affirmed, still recovering from her fit of giggles. "Besides, it was very sweet of you to try make me take a break from work with a game of Scrabble, considering we don't even have it," she smirked, brushing his fringe out of his eyes again.

"I borrowed your mum's," he mumbled sheepishly. "But I'm sorry, I'm never touching that-that…urgh…can't even come up with a word now! I think I got performance anxiety when we were playing."

"Definitely," she smiled, "We've already established today that your lexicon is more extensive than, cat, dog, tree, rat, pool-"

"I get it, I get it," he rolled his eyes but couldn't hold in the laugh himself.

Soon enough, Hermione was once again nestled into the cocoon of Ron's warm chest and arms, stroking the skin of the hands clasped on her waist with delicate fingers.

"So… did you have anything planned for tomorrow?," she spoke quietly, tracing his knuckles.

"Besides bathing you in love and affection? No, not really. But I think that's the beauty of it," his deep voice half-whispered against the skin of her neck, where he began planting kisses, "laying in bed till late morning, eggs, grilled sausages and beans for breakfast," he drew out, moving to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, "with cooked tomatoes on the side and some buttered crispy toast, just the way you like it…"

Hermione's head had lolled back against his shoulder, eyes closed in bliss as she pictured the scene, "Mmmm…that sounds wonderful," one of her hands raised up behind Ron's head, fingers drifting through the ginger locks she loves so much.

Ron's right hand slowly stroked its way down her body, climbing under the hem of her sweater – his sweater – to tentalizingly circle her bellybutton. Her breathing was quickening exponentially, as she gulped and slid her own hand down to his, urging him gently to move lower.

He obliged with little hesitation, not wanting to tease her too long, and unbuttoned her jeans, slipping his skillfully graceful hands under her knickers, long fingers moving painstakingly slowly through the short curls on her mound.

Chest rising and falling furiously in anticipation, Hermione clasped her hand around Ron's wrist for something to hold, as a breathy, "please" left her parted lips. He grinned against her ear, with a whispered, "as you wish", as his nimble fingers elegantly parted her folds, and brushed the swollen nub at the top.

"Ah!", her body jolted immediately, hips attempting to push further into his hand and in turn pushing back against his own clothed hardness, a result of this evening's fleeting teases. He groaned against her ear, causing a shiver to run through her once more. The day's interactions have left her a tightly knit mess, ready to come apart under his masterful ministrations.

His familiarly calloused thumb joined his diligently stroking fingers, and started rubbing precise circles around the bundle of nerves, as his fiancée moaned desperately, "More..."

His own breathing had picked up with the sensually arousing sounds and feel of the publicly prim and proper Hermione Granger, causing him to buck his own hips gently up against her lower back, letting him know that there'll be an inevitable creamy surprise later waiting for him to clean up.

Leaving his thumb to continue working on her practically pulsating clit, he slipped one, soon followed by another, finger into her wet heat, pumping slightly into the writhing girl in his arms.

"Yes, yes, Ron... uh...", she whimpered, hips now thrusting frantically in search of more friction. His other hand, previously settled on her waist holding her down, had made its way down and under her still sweater-covered chest, reaching up to stroke her right breast, circling her already taut nipple and adding even more sensations for her fuzzy mind to process. The entire process turned him on about as much as it did her, just seeing her lose control like that... he moaned throatily against her ear as his erection throbbed.

"Fuck, 'Mione, you look so beautiful right now...y'feel so good, so wet, so tight...", he murmured hoarsely. The crass words forced another heady whimper out of her, as she twisted her neck around to capture his lips in a sloppy lust-filled kiss. He probed her mouth with his tongue, and she allowed him full access, before their need for air broke them apart. "Come on", he breathed breathlessly nibbling on her lobe, "you wanna come, love?"

"Yes, please... Ron..." He could tell she was nearing the edge, so he went for the kill, curling his fingers up against that magical spot and reaching even deeper on his next plunges, simultaneously pressing his thumb more firmly onto her clit.

And she was gone.

"RON! YES, right there... t-there... oooh...oh...OH!" And with one final banshee-like screech that was sure to get them a complaint from their neighbors, her whole body convulsed, legs shaking violently, as he continued plunging and caressing to ride her through it, dimly aware of the embarrassing wetness in his own underwear.

As his ministrations slowed to a halt and she slowly came down from her high, her body fell limp against his, a serene smile lifting her blissed out features, as a few joyful giggles escaped her. Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, she mumbled, "Love you", before the air filled with her light snores.

He chuckled lightly, so as not to wake her, murmuring against her forehead, "Fresh as a pickle my arse", kissing softly just below her curls.

Two cleaning spells later, Ron lifted Hermione bridal-style, her arms reflexively draping around his neck as he carried her towards the bedroom and placed her carefully on their king-sized bed. Some maneuvering later, he managed to pull her jeans and sweater off leaving her in a white cotton v-neck, and pull a pair of fluffy knitted socks on her already chilly feet, only causing her to stir but not wake completely. Pulling off his own clothes and slipping on a pair of flannel pyjama pants, with a click of the deluminator, he slipped in behind her curled form, whose hand was immediately reaching back to locate his arm and pull it over her, as soon as he had thrown the comfy duvet across them. Both bodies snuggled in closer, falling into a warm, peaceful sleep.

The ginger beast sauntered over to Ron's side of the bed, and with a graceful leap, settled himself behind his bent legs, fully intent on startling his master awake the next morning.