Sorry! Was intending to upload this last night, but I was having major computer problems (again!) and had to spend the night refreshing the laptop...again! But, it's here now, so...enjoy!

Usual disclaimers apply...I'm just a fan!

BTW...Idina Menzel live the other night was bloody incredible! I love her!

Chapter Nine

We reappeared directly in front of the house, standing in the dirt and gravel lane that ran by our dwelling. Ron let go of my hand as I caught him looking over his shoulders anxiously.

"Don't worry," I smiled. "We're very secluded here, no one uses this old track anymore. It's one of the reasons we chose this house."

He nodded and then wobbled slightly on his feet, catching himself quickly.

"You okay?" I asked, worried. Maybe this was too much for him.

"Yeah, just a bit light headed," he muttered, trying to shake it off.

"Sorry. You probably haven't apparated very far for a long time, I forget how disorientating it can be. Come on, we'll go inside and I'll get you a glass of water." I patted his shoulder and led us through the little wooden gate, down the path and up to the front door. I turned back to find Ron still standing beside the gate, just gazing up at the house. I looked at it too, with new eyes. I still loved this house as much as I had the day we found it.

It had once been an old farm house and it had a very cottage-y, chocolate box look to it, even though it was fairly large. Built from red brick and brown roof tiles, with a large front door right in the middle and four windows set into each corner of the front of the house. The kind of symmetrical house you drew as a child, or at least the kind I had drawn.

"Okay?" I asked him again. Perhaps our journey had upset his stomach more than I thought.

"So, this is it then?" He looked up at the house, finally stepping through the white wooden gate.

"This is our home, yes." I smiled at him, taking a few steps back. "We bought it together just before we were married, and moved in after our honeymoon. I fell in love with it instantly, and it helps that it's only about half an hour away from my parents so they can easily drive over to visit. You know, since they obviously can't floo or disapparate anywhere." I added.

Ron nodded and finally followed me down the little cobbled path to the front door. I took out my wand and tapped the lock in a well rehearsed pattern – twice above, once each side, once below and then twice on the doorknob. "I'll teach you the code once you're settled," I told him, putting my wand away. "You have got your wand, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, in my bag," he indicated the backpack on his shoulder. I nodded, another sign he wasn't quite the same. The Ron from before always had his wand in a pocket, close to hand – something Auror training and the battles we'd fought through had drummed into him.

"We can always floo in or apparate directly into the house of course," I added, whilst opening the door and moving into the hallway. "As can other family members and a few close friends. But, we're protected by wards and charms from anyone else." I continued whilst slipping off my jacket and hanging it up. "Here, give me your bag and we'll put it down here, we can take it upstairs later. And you can hang your coat here." I kicked off my shoes, I preferred being barefoot inside. "I actually nipped home yesterday and tidied things up a but, it looked rather a mess. The morning before we came to your village, it had been a mad rush of getting the kids off to Ginny's and getting myself to work…we'd just left things as they were. Anyway, let go through here to the kitchen and I'll put the kettle on, or…I might have some butterbeer in, and…Ron?" I finally stopped jabbering and turned to look at him. He was just stood in the foyer, gazing through the open door into the lounge.

He looked a little…well, awestruck would be the best word to describe it. He was just quietly gazing around at everything, trying to take it all in. I wouldn't say our home was lavish at all, nor was it a mansion by any means, but it was perhaps a little grand looking. It had taken us years of hard work and a lot of savings to get it looking this way though. The lounge took up almost one half of the bottom floor, dominated by the huge fire place. A large, squishy coffee coloured sofa and armchairs sat before it, with side tables and a coffee table in front. Over in the back corner was my little nook; an oversized chair full of cushions with a matching large footstool and all surrounded by bookshelves overflowing with books. The children's toys sat in two wooden chests under the front window and various knick-knacks collected over the years and dozens and dozens of photos covered the walls and every available shelf.

"It didn't look so impressive yesterday with toys strewn everywhere and dirty breakfast dishes on the coffee table," I joked, leading him inside.

"Wow," he gasped, turning in a circle to take it all in.

"Took us the first couple of years of marriage to get this room looking halfway decent. You built me these bookshelves our first Christmas in this house, made it my cosy little corner." I added, touching them reverently. "I think you hated that I'd disappear to read elsewhere, so this way we could both do what we wanted, but still be together. I still spend a lot of time here, lost in books or just thinking," I told him whilst straightening the cushions in the chair.

He was distracted then by some photos on the shelf and I suddenly realised just how long this was going to take – it was obvious he was going to want to look at things and ask questions. I again counted myself lucky I had decided to put having the kids home on hold for a couple of days.

"Is this us?" he asked, picking it up.

I glanced over his shoulder at the photo in question. "Yes," I laughed. "That's you, Harry and myself, taken at the end of our first year at Hogwarts."

"We look so small," he chuckled and set it back down. "And this one?" he took another off the shelf - a shot of Ron and I dancing together.

"That was taken at your brother Bill's wedding. We were…erm…17 then, the summer before what would have been our seventh year at school."

"What would have been?" He questioned. Damn! He'd caught that slip up.

"Erm, yeah. We never went back to school …well, I did later, but you and Harry didn't. It's a really long story…can I tell you another time?" I asked, hopeful. I couldn't quite deal with telling him about Voldemort's reign nor our year on the run and the battle we fought in. The second wizarding war was full of painful old wounds I wasn't ready to go through just yet.

"Yeah, sure," he shrugged and set the photo back down.

"I'll go get us a drink," I decided and darted through to the kitchen. Maybe this was going to be much harder than I thought. It wasn't just getting him home and hopefully have him remember us and our life together. There was a lot of painfully bad stuff he'd have to find out about too, and I didn't know how I was going to deal with the fallout of that. How did I tell him his own brother had died?

"Here you go," I handed him a butterbeer from the fridge. He took it gratefully.

"Wow, not had one of these in…well, I guess since I went missing."He eagerly took a large swig of the drink. "Oh My God," he gasped and gazed at the bottle as though it was the most amazing thing he'd ever set his eyes on. "Now, this…this I can remember…and damn I missed it." He gulped some more down.

Great, I sighed inwardly. Sure, butterbeer he remembers, Quidditch he remembers. His own wife he'd shared every intimacy with? Not a bloody clue! I tried not to get upset or jealous about it, but it was hard. When was he going to remember something about me, something special to us?

He was off again, wandering around the room, picking up random photos and asking about them. Occasionally he would recognise a brother or Ginny on them, easily picking them out with the family trait of red hair. But, mostly he didn't know anyone in the photos. Not even those of us holding our newborn children, kissing on our wedding day, standing in front of our home the day we bought it or engulfed in one another's arms the night he proposed seemed to affect him.

It took us almost two hours just to go through things downstairs. He seemed keen to look at everything, study every photo he came across and handle every knick-knack. I noticed him staring at things occasionally, really concentrating on them as though willing himself to remember something about it, where it was taken, where it had come from – anything. I understood that, I felt the same way. I kept waiting and hoping that something would stir his memory. He'd suddenly recall what had happened when a photo was taken or join in a story I told about something…just anything that would suddenly click with him. But, nothing did.

I showed him around the kitchen, letting him know he was to help himself to anything, it was his home after all and everything belonged to both of us. And then I took him through to our study. The study consisted of nothing much more than a desk, a chair, an old two seater sofa in the corner and all surrounded by even more shelves upon shelves of books.

"Figured as much that you'd have a library at home." He smirked, gazing around the room, tilting his head to read a few titles.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I put my hands on hips in a mock indignation.

He shrugged. "Just, you seem to like reading and…well, a library seems very you," he grinned at me.

I sighed. "You and Harry used to tease me mercilessly for always being in the library at school."

"We did?" he asked, looking up from the shelves. "Maybe that's where my observation came from them. You just seem very…at home, surrounded by books." He continued his perusal. "Hey, is that that book you were on about once, 'Hogwarts: A History'?" He pulled the heavy tomb from the shelf and flicked through it. "Maybe I could read it," he decided.

I couldn't help it, I started to laugh. "Now I know you've lost your mind! You avoided that book like spattergroit for years, refused to even look at it. You always said there was no point in you reading it when I already knew it by heart."

"Sounds like I was kinda mean," he frowned. "Still…maybe it might help me remember something." He set the book on the desk, as though intending to come back for it later. "Erm…where's the bathroom?" he suddenly asked.

"Oh…upstairs. Come on, we'll go up there now anyway." I led him from the study and back into the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs, he picked up his bag and followed me up.

"Bathroom's there," I pointed to the family bathroom, rather than our own en-suite.

He found me a few minutes later in Hugo's room, tidying his bed and putting a few toys back on the shelf. "Wow, the kid really likes his dragons." he commented, gazing around at the vast display in his room – the stuffed toys on his bed, dragon models on the shelf, and more dangling magically over his bed and then another one that had been charmed to fly around his room. The charm was beginning to wear off now though and every so often the little dragon would stop flapping it's wings, drop an inch or two and then flap away again.

"Yeah…he's pretty obsessed with them," I sighed, picking up the last one from the floor. "Of course, it doesn't help having an Uncle who encourages him far too much." I rolled my eyes.

"His uncle?" Ron enquired, stepping into the room and sitting down on his son's bed.

"Yeah, your brother, Charlie. He works with dragons in Romania and often sends Hugo little models and photos and things. Hugo obviously hero worships him – he thinks he has the most amazing job in the world and badgers him for all the stories whenever Charlie comes home to visit. You know, our son not only told me he wants to be a dragon when he grows up...he wants to marry one."

Ron laughed hysterically. "That kid is amazing, he sounds like a great kid to have around."

"Yeah, he is. They both are. When they're getting on, anyway. Which they mostly do." I had to admit.

"So, erm…where are they today?" he wondered, studying the poster of dragons on the wall. "I kinda thought that they might be here."

"They're still at your Mum's, at The Burrow. I just thought…well, I didn't want to overwhelm you with everything all at once and they are a handful. So, I thought I'd let you settle in for a day or two before I bring them home. I'm going to have to try and explain things to them as well and I haven't a clue how to go about it."

"Yeah…that's going to be weird for them." I caught him gazing at the framed photo he'd suddenly noticed on Hugo's beside table. It was of himself, holding a baby Hugo, the pair of them almost nodding off together. He picked it up, smiled at it and then set it carefully back down quietly, looking sombre for a moment. "Hey, is that a real dragon egg?" He suddenly spotted it displayed reverently on it's own little plinth. And managed to detract from the attention of the photograph at the same time.

"Oh, yeah…well, kind of. It's a dragon eggshell, put back together with magic." Ron got up to study it.

"Did my brother send him that as well?"

"Erm no. Hagrid sent him it. You remember we told you about Hagrid?" I asked, he nodded. "Well, he's fond of the kids…we keep in touch a lot. He comes to parties and stuff even though he's getting on a bit now. But, he loves that Hugo is so much into dragons, they're a soft spot with him as well, you see. So, I don't know how and I don't think I want to know how he got it, but he gave this to Hugo last Christmas. As you can see from the display, he's rather proud of it."

"It's wicked," Ron grinned. "I like that my son is a bit of an oddball," he laughed.

I smiled, that was the first time Ron had referred to either of the children as being his. "So, want to see Rose's room? It's very different from this mess." I sighed, knowing no matter what I did, our sons room would never be tidy.

"Sure," he got up and followed me down the hall.

Rose's bedroom in comparison was immaculate. Her bed was neatly made, well as neat as a four year old could make it. Her dolls lines up perfectly on the shelf and her collection of stuffed animals sat tidily at the bottom of the bed. Her walls, still painted in the gold and crimson from when she was a baby, now held posters of her favourite characters from the current young witch magazine that was all the rage - 'The Tales of Belle Bobbins, the reluctant fairy and her friends'. Even her clothes were put away.

"She likes to be tidy," I explained, picking up the stuffed bear she'd had since she was born and sitting on the bed. Ron came in and leant against her dresser.

"So I see. A bit…unusual for a four year old?"

"She takes after me. At least in that way."

"In other ways too," he muttered and I caught him giving me a long sideways glance. "Interesting décor," he commented, looking at the walls and then noticed the charmed ceiling, gazing up at it, mystified. Fluffy white clouds set against a blue sky during the day, at night twinkling stars in the dark sky shone down.

"You painted this actually, before she was even born. We couldn't decide on the colour for the nursery, we didn't know then if she would be a boy or a girl. You wanted orange, like your beloved Quidditch team, but I put my foot down. In the end, we came up with this," I waved my arm around the room. "The Gryffindor house colours. You even charmed the ceiling, which was all your idea. She loves it."

"I did a good job." He gazed around at the room smugly.

"You did," I agreed. "Took you long enough though," I teased him. "Began to think she'd arrive before you finished her room."

Ron pulled a face at me and tossed a teddy bear from atop of her dresser at me.

"I feel kinda weird being in here," he then confessed.

"You do? But…it's your daughter's room. You spent many an hour in here putting her to bed, comforting her after nightmares or if she was sick. Playing tea parties. And a lot of snuggling with her as you read to her, she loves stories. And, even now she says you were the best at doing the special voices. I tried, but, I can't compete with daddy."

He gave me an awkward little smile then, as though he might cry. He avoided looking at me and fiddled with a ribbon Rose had tied to her drawer handle. "Even still," he whispered and then coughed, "I feel like I'm invading her privacy, these are all her things, her secrets and…"

"She's only four Ron, she doesn't have too many of those yet. Even though sometimes you'd think she was four going on 14, I dread to think what she'll be like as a teenager. Then we'll need to worry about the secrets she's keeping," I laughed and Ron chuckled.

"Yeah…no boy will be good enough for our little girl, right?"

"Right," I agreed.

He nodded quietly to himself then and gazed around her room some more, before his gaze dropped to the collage of photos she had in a frame by her bed. They were all of her with her daddy, one when she was still a small baby and a copy of the last family portrait he had borrowed from me. There were also shots of her first birthday, playing in the garden and the pair of them snuggled up, reading together. He picked the frame up, almost reverently touched the glass and then set it down again. "They both have photos in their rooms…I mean, of me," he swallowed. "Right by their beds."

"I know…it was something I encouraged and Rose requested. She made that herself, choosing her favourite photos. I didn't want them to ever forget you or for your name to become taboo in the house. We still talk about you a lot and I often hear Rose telling Hugo about you, they sit in her room whispering because they think it upsets me. But, I never wanted to sweep away your things or the memories, as though you never existed. I just wanted them to know you were always with them, even though you weren't here." I gave him a watery smile, knowing that sounded a little sappy, but at the same time grateful I had done it.

"I wish they didn't have to rely on just photos of me," he muttered. "I hate that I missed all this…that I feel awkward being in my daughter's room and that I don't know them. I love hearing you talk about them, but…it's almost as if they're just stories about some characters. I suppose," he sniffed, "being in their room, surrounded by their things…I can even smell them, it makes it real to me. They're not just children in a photo or a story, they're real."

"Yes, they are." I got up and touched his shoulder. "And…we'll get your memories back and make up for lost time. We will." I promised him, hoping it was a promise I could keep. "We'll be a family again soon, you'll see."

"I hope so," he whispered, barely audibly. "I can't wait to see them, even though I'm so scared about it," he admitted with a little embarrassed laugh.

"You'll be fine. They'll love you. Children are much more accepting than adults. You'll see," I offered him a reassuring smile.

"I hope you're right. They both seem very different."

I shrugged. "Not all that much. They just have different tastes. I mean, they're pretty good kids most of the time and very loving. But they can both be as stroppy as one another when they want to be, both know how to throw the perfect tantrum and be little horrors. But…I'm sure you'll love them just as much as I do."

"I feel like I already do," he whispered.

Across the hall from Rose's room was another door. "That's just a spare room," I waved my hand towards it. "My Mum usually stays there if she sleeps over." I added, opening the door briefly to show him the simple guest bedroom which only consisted of a small double bed, tiny wardrobe and a chest of drawers. But it was clean and fresh.

"Oh…right," he nodded, poking his head into the room. And then he dropped the backpack he'd been carting around with him onto the chair just inside the door. I frowned before it struck me that he was staking his claim, making it very clear that this was where he intended to sleep. This was his room now. It really shouldn't have upset me as much as it did. I mean, it was ludicrous to expect him to come home and share our room again straight away or for him to sleep in the same bed as me. As far as he was aware, we'd known each other less than two weeks. I couldn't expect him to come home and just fall back into our old routines as though the last two years had never happened. Of course I couldn't.

Even though, I found my eyes filling with tears. The thought of him sleeping in the room next to our master room was painful. I repeated in my head that this was just going to take time. That's all it was, a matter of time. He was home now, I had him back. And the rest of it, the closeness, the intimacy…we'd get that back too eventually. Oh God I hoped so, because I really missed that side of our marriage.

"Right," I swallowed and avoided his eyes as I blinked the tears away. "Well, you've seen the bathroom, so that just leaves….our room," I opened the last door on the landing.

"Our room," he repeated, blushing slightly.

"Erm…yeah." I was suddenly nervous in my own bedroom for the first time. Well, maybe not the first time ever…there had been another time, the time we lost our virginity with each other. But, now as a married woman with two children I was nervous standing here and I wasn't sure what to do. Ron was looking around the room, he seemed nervous as well.

"You erm…you don't mind, if I, you know, use…well, sleep in….the other room? I mean…for now, anyway. I just…"

"Oh no," I cut off his embarrassed mutterings. "I mean…I sort of expected that, you barely know me, it's fine, perfectly fine," I rambled, sounding rather shrill and far too chipper before busying myself with emptying my little bag to avoid looking at him.

He watched for a moment as I began pulling far more clothes out of the bag that it should hold and tossing them into the laundry hamper or laying them on the bed to hang back up if they weren't dirty. "Undetectable extension charm," I answered his unasked question as he frowned at me.

"Oh, right," he nodded, but still looked a little bemused as he looked around our room. His gaze first fell onto the large deep mahogany bed with tall wooden posts that dominated the room. And then drifted to my bedside table, the stack of books there and the obligatory photos of Ron. Some of him on his own and more of us together. The photos in our room were a little more intimate than downstairs. In nearly every one we were holding one another, kissing or laughing together – barely looking at the camera.

And then his eyes drifted to his bedside. I caught him look in surprise when he noticed the Chuddley Cannons pennant that was still on the wall above his bedside table. The well read and battered copy of 'Quidditch Through The Ages', marked with a book mark on the last page he'd read. And on top sat the heavy gold watch his parents had given him for his 17th birthday. Left behind in case it got broken in combat.

He sat down heavily onto the bed and pulled the watch towards him, followed by the book that he flicked though briefly before holding it close to his chest.

"I haven't changed anything in here, not really," I spoke softly as I came to sit beside him. "In those drawers," I nodded towards the drawers in his bedside cabinet, "are all your things, exactly as you left them. I haven't even opened them, figured it was your business." Though I could probably guess what was in there; some loose change, old chocolate frog cards and wrappers. Maybe even some old love letters from my last year at school, amongst other things. "All your belongings are still in the wardrobe as well, your clothes, shoes…everything."

"Everything?" he asked. "You didn't get rid of it all?" He seemed surprised.

I shook my head. "I couldn't bear to part with any of it. I think I felt that throwing all your things out was like throwing you out of my life, and…I just couldn't do that. Oh, loads of people told me I should – my Mum, your sister, Fleur, she's Bills' wife. Your brother Percy and even your Mum thought it was a little odd. They didn't think it was healthy, but they never really understood. Maybe it was silly to cling onto things. But, they were my connection to you, sort of, and I just couldn't do it. See, I had some good advice given to me not long after you….were gone."

"Which was?" he muttered, opening his drawer and I could see I had been correct in my assumption – it was mostly full of old sweet wrappers, loose coins and chocolate frog cards.

"Your brother told me that I should do whatever made things easier for me. Not to listen to other people, because, even if their hearts were in the right place, they couldn't know how I felt. And that I should just do whatever it was that I needed to do to make it bearable for me. So, I did. Wise man your brother sometimes." I smiled, remembering George's little chat with me.

"Sounds it…" he commented, closing the drawer again.

"Well, at least you won't be short on clothes and things," I laughed, trying to make the atmosphere light again.

Hermione." He touched my arm, stopping me from getting up. "I just, well I don't think I have ever told you that I'm, you know, sorry," he shrugged awkwardly.

"Sorry? For what?" I wondered.

"For what happened…for everything you went through. All your pain and grief and the not knowing. For being a single parent to our kids, for my not being here with you. I just…I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

I smiled and resisted the sudden intense urge to kiss him. Instead I pulled him to me in a brief one armed hug and breathed him in. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You're home now," I whispered, squeezing his shoulder before I let him go.

He looked up at me with a sheepish expression and a rather red face.

"Goodness, look at the time," I suddenly gasped. "This little tour has taken us hours…should probably start thinking about what to make for dinner. What do you fancy?" I got up and began bustling about again. Because if I didn't move now, I was going to kiss him. And that was likely to scare the pants off of him!

"Oh, erm, whatever is good. I don't mind."

"Still none too fussy about your food," I smirked and led him back downstairs.

A short while later we sat down to a meal of spaghetti bolognaise. "Sorry," I apologised as I sat down opposite him. "I'm not much of a cook."

Ron shrugged, already digging in. "Looks good to me."

"Well, I doubt it's a patch on Mildred's cooking, or your mothers" I admitted, pouring us both a glass of wine.

"Honestly Hermione, it's good." Ron said through a mouthful, slurping the spaghetti into his mouth. I gave him a grateful smile and began eating my own, it actually wasn't bad.

"What's that?" Ron asked a little later when I got up to take our empty plates to the sink.

"Hmm?" I queried, not having caught what he said. Ron was staring out the window at something when I turned my head. "Oh, it's just Beau," I set the plates down and hurried to open the window.

"Bow?" Ron frowned as an owl hopped onto the table and held out his leg proudly for me to remove a letter.

"Yes, Beauregard, our family owl. You didn't like the name, so we shortened it to Beau," I explained, opening my letter as the little spotted owl hopped across the table, Ron watched him in fascination.

"No bloody wonder," Ron muttered under his breath. "Anything important?" He wondered, watching me reading my letter and keeping a shifty eye on the bird still perched on the table.

"It's from my boss," I sighed and folded the letter back into the envelope.

"Does he want you back at work?" he assumed.

"No, he was just letting me know that Harry had informed him of…well, the current situation. And he told me to take all the time I need." I stuffed my letter in my pocket and went to grab the ice cream from the ice box and a couple of bowls.

"Wow, pretty lenient boss," I heard him mutter.

"Yes, he's very kind and we're old friends, sort of. I'm sorry," I apologised again as I set the ice cream tub down. "I haven't anything else in for dessert. I really need to go shopping."

"No problem, ice cream is fine." He dug in and spooned equal amounts into two bowls.

"Oh, you want a treat don't you," I stroked the owls head and went to grab his jar of owl snacks. "Do you remember your little owl? Pig?" I asked, after Beau flew away to hunt and I closed the window.

"Pig? I had an owl named Pig?" he asked, incredulously.

"Well, it's full name was Pigwidgeon, but…"

"That's even worse! Who the hell named him that? Please don't say it was me."

"Your sister," I chuckled. "You tried to change it, but he'd answer to nothing else after that. So, you shortened it to Pig. He was really quite sweet, a tiny little thing, a Scops owl. Though he was a little hyperactive and did tend to get rather excited about delivering his letters," I remembered fondly. "He died some years ago, poor little guy. Still, he had a good long life for an owl."

We decided to take our dessert through to the lounge and were sat side by side on the sofa. Even though he was a few inches away from me, I could feel the heat from his body against mine and became very aware of him all of a sudden. It had only just dawned on me that for the first time in about two years we were very much alone and my heart fluttered at the thought. I felt myself becoming quite flushed and hurriedly ate more ice cream.

"How about Scabbers?" I blurted out, trying to diffuse the tension I felt in the air.

"Huh?" he asked, his spoon in his mouth.

"Scabbers," I repeated. "Your pet rat. Do you remember him?"

"Oh," He thought about it for a moment, furrowing his brow as though in deep concentration. "Yeah...I think so. Vaguely. I can remember a rat anyway. Was he rather old?"

"Yes, that was him," I nodded. Great, now he remembers a rat more than me!

"What happened to him? I think I remember something, but…."

"He erm…he disappeared," I added vaguely, not wanting to get into that whole sorry mess of a story right now.

Ron nodded. "What was the big ginger thing?" he suddenly asked.

"Big ginger thing?" I thought about it. "Oh, do you mean my cat? Crookshanks?" I looked at him amazed.

"Yeah, I guess so. Kind of an ugly old thing…hey, did he eat my rat?"

"No he did not. And he was not ugly, he was a beautiful cat and highly intelligent. I miss him. I was utterly heartbroken when he, he…died."

"I'm sorry," Ron apologised.

"It's okay, he was very old, he died the year before Rosie was born. So he had a good long life." I nodded, remembering my poor old cat who had been such a companion to me during our school years. He had been much more of a confident in my dorm room than my fellow female Gryffindor's had been. "I've thought about getting another cat sometimes…especially in the last couple of years. The nights get very lonely, you see," I looked at him.

He looked up at the exact same moment and for a few seconds our eyes locked. There was still something there, I knew there was - that same heat and intensity. There was a spark between us and I swore he felt it too, we were connected in every way. He only had to remember. He leant a bit closer to me then as he licked his lips and impulsively I leaned towards him. Then just at the moment when I thought, or perhaps hoped is a better phrase, that we might kiss, he blinked and sat back, crushing the spell.

I sighed, feeling a complete idiot. Of course we weren't going to kiss, how ridiculous was that? I felt like a schoolgirl with silly daydreams about my crush. Ron may be my husband, but he barely knew me. I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid.

Ron stood abruptly whilst I was busy mentally berating myself. "I'll go wash up then, shall I?" He grabbed my empty bowl and was already heading for the kitchen before I even answered him. The moment well and truly over.

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