Disclaimer: I don't claim to know that JKR has never written anything this silly, but she certainly can't be blamed for this.
"You."
The hostility in Hermione Granger-Weasley's voice was unmistakable. She walked slowly into her bedroom, advancing on the object of her disdain with a look on her face under which grown men had been known to quail (and not only those with the surname Weasley or Potter).
The nerve, she thought to herself furiously. Lying right on our bed, bold as brass. She stopped a foot from the bed and glanced around quickly to make sure they were alone in the room.
"We need to get a few things straight, you and I," she began in a menacing tone. She was answered (probably wisely) with silence from the figure currently tangled up in the bed sheets (their bedsheets).
It had all started two weeks ago when Ron had brought her home from some place on Diagon Alley, probably after a few too many at the Leaky with Harry after work. Hermione hadn't been happy, of course, but it was a few weeks after his birthday and he had been feeling a little morose at turning thirty-five, so she bit back her angry words and turned a blind eye.
Pretty soon, she was all he could talk about and he was taking her out nearly every evening. He had offered to include Hermione several times on their little romps, but frankly, she had never been into that. She had let it continue, confidant that it was just an infatuation that Ron would get over quickly enough. But now it seemed like they were spending every minute of his free time together, and enough was enough.
He was acting like a lovesick teenager, and it was getting embarrassing for the whole family.
"Now, I know some wizards are known to get certain... urges when they approach middle age," she stated icily. "They start to desire something newer, more exciting. I love my husband and I want him to be happy. And that is why I have tolerated you. Encouraged you, even."
She glowered at the figure lying prone on the bed before her - sleek, sophisticated and impossibly slender. "And I'm sure you think you've got him all to yourself now, seeing as he can barely keep his hands off you," she gritted out.
"But if you think for one second," she continued in a dangerously soft voice, "that Ron will choose you over me, or over his children, then you will find that you are seriously, painfully mistaken."
"Hermione?"
Hermione started as she heard the sound of her husband's voice just outside. She whirled around just as he poked a tousled, flame-haired head around the door jamb.
"There you are! Wondered where you had got to," he grinned, straightening up. "Who were you talking to?" he asked curiously as he pushed the door fully open and loped easily into the room. He looked beyond her to the bed and Hermione barely kept her eyes from rolling as she saw his light up. "Oh, there she is," he breathed with a satisfied smile.
"Yes, I'm right here," Hermione answered loudly, putting her hands on her hips. Ron's eyes snapped to her's guiltily. "Were you looking for me?"
"Yes, well, I was, ah, thinking of spending some time with her this afternoon," he gestured at the bed. "Take her out for a bit. That is, if you don't mind watching the kids," he stammered, not quite able to meet her eyes.
There was a beat of silence. "No, not at all," Hermione replied finally, in a cool voice. She turned back towards the bed, leaning over to tug a corner of the comforter. "Actually, my parents called this morning and asked to have the children for the afternoon" she added nonchalantly as she straightened the bedding. "An outing they wanted to take them on in London. I guess I'll drop them off, then maybe I'll come back her and take a nice, long bath."
Barely a moment later she felt two long, familiar arms wrap around her middle and draw her close. "I've got a better idea," Ron breathed against her neck, pressing his tall body against hers as he slowly swayed her back and forth. "A brilliant one, actually."
"Oh, really?" she replied archly, suppressing a smile. "And what might that be?"
"I'll drop the little bludgers off at your folks' while you draw that bath, lose all these pointless clothes, and wait for me to join you," he murmured, trailing kisses from the spot behind her ear to her jawline.
"What about your other plans?" she asked innocently, leaning back into him as his hands roamed her torso, slipping under the hem of her shirt to stroke the soft skin of her stomach.
"Pffft," he dismissed, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "Plenty of other time for a fly. This is what I really want."
This time Hermione didn't bother to hide her smile. Like I said, she thought as she looked down in triumph at the brand-new Stormchaser Mark 4 lying forgotten on the bed, there's no contest.