Ch. 1 Fresh Sheets

For disclaimer: Sure I share a name with JK Rowling, but I am certainly not her, don't have her bank account, nor her poise in public speaking. Anything I write in her world is for fun, practice, and to get my own story telling skills back up to personal par. Plot lines might be mine, but the characters are hers for a really long time.

Hermione stood in the laundry closet of their home, reading a tome on the Goblin rebellion of 1607. It wasn't as comfortable as her study, with overstuffed leather chair, compendium of books, or the muggle computer that helps her research.

This was a Sunday morning, and she was washing linens for the beds in the house. She had time, since she had been up since half Five, doing chores before the family was up demanding her attention. They wouldn't be up for another two hours, knowing them. Sunday morning was the only time she let the household sleep, and so she could do more without balancing the demands of her kids and her husband. That would come soon enough. She relished her quiet time as much as anyone else.

The dryer chimed, and she gently placed the wood bound volume on the table, ready to switch out the fresh load of sheets for their bed and put the next set in. She finished the first load already – school uniforms for the kids, who were in a mixed pre-Hogwarts school. After this load of linens for their bed, the next set would be the kid's beds.

She opened the dryer door, catching the first whiff of jasmine, and cinnamon, and vanilla. The spice smells were for her husband, who loved the subtle reminder of his wife. She knew he was reminded of her – spicy, subtle, comforting, just her – and she indulged his whim. It's not like anyone else would notice the inconsequential touches that made her husband happy. She could have used magic on them, but as crisp and comfortable as they usually were, there was something about fresh sheets from the dryer.

One stasis charm later, and a flick of the wand to fold them perfectly, and she was ready for another cup of coffee and another two chapters in her book.

Half Seven rolled around, and the dryer chimed again. This time, the kid's bedclothes were ready for folding and changing. Cinnamon and vanilla permeated once again, since the kids were like their daddy, and loved sweets as much as he does. She knew that it was a losing battle, but she never was one to acquiesce in a fight, whether it was discussing Life, sweets, or anything else of trifling to monumental importance. Needless to say, they saw Grampa Granger often.

A swish and a flick, and the last of the linens were finished. All that was left now were the duvet set for their bed. Her husband suspected that she had three matching sets of decorator bedcovers, but he never said such. She realized early on in their relationship – less than a week after Ron had moved into Grimmauld Place with Harry that first summer after the world changed, that having fresh bedclothes were necessary. Molly gave her the idea, but she didn't realize it until Molly wasn't doing laundry for them daily.

She insisted on it, for one primary reason.

Ron was constantly randy, and if she was around, and not up against a wall or anywhere not their bedroom, they were in bed. She could have sworn that she washed those linens at least three times that first week she stayed there. Once she had that realization, it became necessary to have a whole linen closet filled with extras – from duvet to sheets to pillows. Even with Kreacher in their service, she refused to ask him to have any additional burden since they shagged so much that first Summer. Thinking back, she wondered how they even got out of bed the entire time.

'Luna was right. He did help me cope and heal.'

Kreacher would hem and haw about her trying to take his job, and on occasion, she would surrender and let him wash the additional bedclothes for them, but it didn't allay her concerns. She even confronted Ron about it one day after he got home from the Wheezes, before she had gone back to school. It started as petty bickering, but it turned into a row which turned into another night of mind-blowing sex.

It only took her three days for him to understand her viewpoint, and consent to going shopping in Muggle London for a huge purchase of matching bed linens for both bedrooms. Once the purchase was back in their shared home, she transfigured the hideous pattered items of what they purchased – she couldn't deign to spend that much on bedclothes that the boys wouldn't give an arse about – into the Gryffindor colors they both loved. The only thing that she spent the extra pounds on – much to the chagrin of the three of them, including Ginny – was that the sheets were ritzy high quality sheets – none of the threadbare cotton that Molly used. Oh no. She made Harry spend the extra 10 galleons each (at least according to exchange rates) on 800 thread count sheets. Sure, they were hideous brown, like her eyes, but once they were home, she changed two sets each into Gold, and Maroon. Once that was completed, there were squeals of delight.

Needless to say, the sheets on both beds needed changing the next day. Poor Kreacher. At least she insisted the guys lug them down to the laundry, while she and Ginny changed them out, laughing at how silly it really was. When they returned, a battle royal pillow fight ensued.

She perked up from her reverie to realize that it was a little after eight, and her family would be up shortly. These mornings, she felt like Molly, feeding an army of hungry people. Even now, years later, she was amazed at how the woman did it for so long. It was hard enough making plates of eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, scones, fresh fruit, and oatmeal for the four of them. Sure, Ron still ate enough for three people, but Rosie was in the middle of a growth spurt, and Hugo was too, so they needed a good breakfast too. Thank goodness they were frugal in the early years of their marriage and could afford two very hungry kids.

She settled into her bowl of oatmeal with berries and crème, drinking another cup of coffee. When they tucked into breakfast, she would change the sheets on all three beds. The kids never said anything. She didn't think Hugo noticed, but she also didn't think Rosie cared one way or another. Ron did, but he made a point of trying to sully them within a day. By now, it was a game for them, mostly to have another something to have a petty argument about, followed by another blissful night of crumpled sheets. They hadn't had a "run to Harry and Ginny's and stay the night" row in months, if not years. Domesticity certainly agreed with both of them.

Right at half Eight, Hugo stumbled in first. He was like his Daddy, a little bear first thing in the morning until he had a glass of juice and a plate of eggs, sausage and scones. He wouldn't deign to eat toast for some reason. Next would be Rosie, who would nibble on bacon and toast until Daddy got there, then she would tear into her cheesy scrambled eggs. Last would be her husband, who would finish off what the kids didn't eat. He would intentionally leave the fruit and berries for her to nibble on once the kids were at the Burrow to play with their cousins on Sunday morning. That was her second breakfast after Ron satisfied her other appetite.

When Ron walked in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, there was a plate of breakfast waiting for him, and a pot of tea also. A morning kiss for her, and she was off to change the linens in the other bedrooms. Routine agreed with her.

First flick of her wand, and the first set was in her hands. Hugo's room wasn't that bad, at least not yet. He was tidy like her, and didn't abide much clutter in his room

She knew when boys hit puberty those raging hormones would turn her little boy into a stinky one. She also knew that she'd have to get another set or two of bedclothes for this room. Ron could handle that discussion. She chuckled, thankful that particular day was considerably far off into the future. She didn't look forward to this room once he was older, and off at school, filled with stale air for months on end. Maybe Molly would have a suggestion.

For the time being, her son was content to have fantastic creatures adorning his bedroom. Luna and Dean painted the walls as a baby gift when Hugo was born. This room was treasure.

Next up was Rosie's room, right next door.

They truly were night and day when it came to the condition of their rooms. Where Hugo's room was tidy and clean, Rosie's room was what she wished she had growing up. The walls were lined with homemade bookshelves – built with Ron's own hands – and they were stuffed to the gills already. Except for the books, all neatly stored on the shelves, the rest of the room was a maelstrom. If she didn't know any better, this would have been Ron's room, with clutter strewn everywhere. Toys were on the floor, chocolate frog wrappers tossed at the trash receptacle, and her clothes in a pile in front of the hamper. She was quickly learning the art of creative incompetence.

She had her mother's appetite for learning, and her father's appetite for eating. She knew, even if she would never admit it, that Rosie couldn't be bothered about keeping her room tidy like her brother. She had too much else going on in her head to care. She sadly understood that one completely.

Merlin help them when she discovered that boys weren't icky.

Another flick, swish, and swoosh, and the room was tidied, the sheets changed to a deep blue that she preferred, and the bronze ones in the laundry. Next time, they might be Forest Green, or Goblin Silver. They didn't keep to one color in her room. The only thing she asked was that her room be vibrant colors, and certainly not pink ever again. That discussion was a fond memory.

Last but not least, their bedroom. She still laughed on occasion how she let him talk them into such a chaotic disaster of a room. It fit them perfectly.

When they bought the home they live in, the master suite was a disaster. It was covered in a hideous purple, with flowers everywhere. One look from them and they both laughed. "Lavender" was all they could muster before their guffaws scared the real estate agent. Once purchased, however, Ron went to work on it, changing out one wall into a stained glass window, so their room would be bathed in the afternoon sun and moonlight nine months out of the year. The walls of the bedroom were as close as she could make to the color of his hair: ginger with flecks of gold and yellow. She even relented, after a rather through rogering on his part, to let him have the wall behind his dressing armoire covered in Cannons posters, and all things Cannon. She still laughed, that this big bad Auror, who made her melt in want, loved his sports team that much. He loved her more, and showed her often.

A flick and swish, and the linens were once again changed out. Gone were the maroon ones, replaced with the gold ones. She knew he wasn't concerned about either color, but he had been spoiled by her foresight years ago in having such high quality sheets. Her one line was that the sheets on the platform king-sized bed they shared would not be orange. She smiled in remembrance when she told him that the only orange thing she wanted in her bed was him. Their lovemaking from that comment was quite passionate. The marks from that day didn't fade for a week.

She stood at the foot of their bed, watching it get remade via magic, thinking back to Last Christmas at the Burrow, and how he tossed and turned in the expanded bed they had in his attic room. He would never admit it, especially to his mother, but he had been spoiled rotten by those densely woven sheets she loved. He also missed his Cannon's bedspread. Even if she was nestled in his arms, he couldn't sleep unless he felt the threadbare felt under his arms.

The delight on his face when she pulled it out of her bloody beaded bag made for a exciting night, which was filled with joy and a most enjoyable shagging – on the new sheets in his expanded childhood bed.

Ron and Hermione, for Christmas that year, got Arthur and Molly three new sets for their bed. Molly tutted them for spending their galleons on such a trivial gift.

A week passed, and they came back to the Burrow for Sunday Brunch. She told her mother in law that she had changed out on the sheets in Ron's old bedroom to the new ones, and politely asked if Molly had a chance to try out the ones they gave them. Molly didn't completely understand her insistence.

Thursday, she received an owl while at work from Molly. It was a thank you owl remarking on how wonderful those muggle sheets were.

Hermione could only smile.

She was pulled out of the memory by strong arms around her middle along with a brush of coarse ginger stubble across her cheek. "Fresh sheets?"

She leaned into his embrace, smelling the apricot marmalade on his breath. "Is it Sunday morning?" she cheeked.

"Kids are at Mum's, so we have about 2 hours to crumple them."

"You read my mind." She muttered as he went to work on her neck while she threaded her hands through his delectably soft ginger locks.

She glanced over to the second charmed set waiting to go into their linen closet – and it still had a Chudley Cannons duvet folded on top of it. As long as he kept her satiated, they would continue to have a Cannon's bedspread. She would rather be shagged than arsed.