Hey, hey hello, Romione lovers! Welcome to this fluffy thing that is a mash of rom-coms and sitcoms with our fav couple as the portagonists. I hope you enjoy these dum-dums as they steer from odd friends to something more, and if you love Ron and Harry's bromance as much as I do, then you will hopefully enjoy their banter too.

I'd love to hear your thoughts too, thanks! :)

CHAPTER 1: You look oddly familiar

Alright. Relax. You can do this - no big deal. Seriously - no big deal, it's one-tenth the size of Magic International! Cobbleton specifically called you for this position. The Prophet was your dream job. It was the right choice. You made the right choice. You'll be fine.

You'll be fine.

Hermione Granger was good at inner pep talks. She had been giving herself one each day since she was eleven years old and she liked to think they had brought her far in life. At twenty-nine she had crossed most things off her list of intended accomplishments - from meeting the right people to working the highest position a witch ever held at Magic International in Washington. Her father would have been over the moon if he were still alive, her mother was harder to please, but she was set on making it better between them - it was high on the list now that she was back home.

Barely avoiding two heavy looking floating boxes, Hermione adjusted her necktie while walking a very hectic corridor in the middle of wizarding London. The first floor was buzzing with wizards and witches who were stacking, moving, and refurbishing desks, chairs, and other office equipment in the old Daily Prophet building. There was a sense of accomplishment filling her chest as she walked up to the second floor and strode past the familiar purple wallpaper that led into the place where the Prophet's magic happened.

The hangar-like space with its semicircular glass roof was divided by quirky desks and mismatched chairs where only the knick-knacks on said desks could make you differentiate between the newspaper's departments. The zooming memos were loud, and the people sending them were even louder. It was such organized chaos in contrast to the pristine and almost clinical way things worked in the States that it made her walk towards the publisher's office with even more confidence. It was the only closed-off office there, located in the far right corner, so she kept following the purple wallpaper.

Despite being a painfully organized and practical witch, something about the inner workings of the Prophet always made sense to her - it was that little slice of madness that made it more magical than muggle.

"Miss Granger?" came a voice from behind a mountain of folders. A white spark erupted from a wand and the papers within began their neat descent into the many drawers stacked against the wall to Hermione's left.

A witch dressed in a long yellow jumper and brown tights appeared before her. She had kind eyes and a genuine smile, but seemed exhausted.

"Yes, that's me," Hermione replied with a smile, extending her hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said, taking her hand," My name is Avery Bennet, Mr. Cobbleton's assistant. I'm terribly sorry, but he's running late. As you've noticed on your way up - Witch Weekly is settling in and it's a bit chaotic."

"No problem," Hermione said, looking around, "Where can I wait?"

"You can wait in Mr. Cobbleton's office. I can bring you tea or coffee," Avery suggested, sending another row of folders packing.

"I can tell that you have your hands full, Miss Bennet. I wouldn't mind getting coffee myself. Is there a kitchen of sorts?"

"I think I like you already, and please call me Avery," she smiled even wider, "There is a kitchenette ahead, between weather and muggle news - you can't miss it - you need to pass a large orange bucket at the side of the weather desks."

"Let me guess, a permanent rain cloud?"

"Worse. Benji has miniature tornados and is keeping them here because his wife hates the noise," Avery laughed,"I will come find you as soon as Mr. Cobbleton gets here."

Hermione nodded and was soon wandering through a labyrinth of departments. Witches and wizards raised their heads and quirked a brow or two, some murmured a greeting, others nodded as Hermione passed them with a timid smile.

Hermione couldn't help but glance into the bright orange bucket as she approached the kitchenette. The tiny swirling tornadoes made far too much noise compared to their size and Hermione understood why Benji's wife didn't want them in their home.

She had already set one foot on the lime green tiles when she did a double take. An odd item caught her eye and Hermione took a step back.

It was a water cooler. A plain old muggle water cooler.

Hermione chuckled. Around eight years ago such a thing would have been unheard of in the Prophet's headquarters. However, Cobbleton was muggle-born and determined to make positive changes when he bought the Prophet from the Burkes family. She imagined he put the water cooler here for laughs.

Well, kudos Mr. Cobbleton.

Hermione decided she would take her coffee with one sugar. Today, she deserved it.

"I've heard the new editor-in-chief is coming in today," Harry said, crumpling a piece of parchment and tossing it at Ron's hunched-over form.

"What?" Ron lowered his pen and pulled his headphones down, heavy rock music merging with the cacophony of voices from the nearby politics desk. Their constant debating made it difficult to concentrate.

"I said it's way past lunch time," Harry rolled his eyes and walked around his desk to sit atop Ron's, "Working on this week's chess moves?"

"Yup," Ron replied, stretching his arms, "I want to make it extra hard for the nit that wrote to me two weeks ago and said I was losing my touch."

"You show that one nit that reads the chess page, Ron," Harry poked and received a gut punch.

"I'll go get the pasta from the fridge. Where do you wanna eat?"

"Wanna go watch Witch Weekly moving in from the stairs?" Harry asked with a smirk.

"Feeling extra cocky today, Potter?" Ron hit him in the shoulder playfully and took his usual way through the work maze with pasta bolognese on his mind.

"Hey Weasley, how about those tickets?!"

"How about you pay up Rinaldi, then we can talk," Ron jested, and Rinaldi turned out his empty pockets, making a puppy face in the process. His whole department roared with laughter and Ron shook his head.

He passed by the daily news who always looked like they were on the verge of a heart attack and turned left, avoiding the weather department.

"You really ought to cut your hair, dear," an old witch cut off his path, holding a steaming mug to her lips.

"You sound like my mother, Philly," Ron smiled, trying to wiggle past her.

"I was just on the phone with your mother," Philly sighed, "we share the same concerns."

"That's nice," Ron replied, sliding over the desk on his right, knocking over a framed picture.

"Ah, hell," he mumbled, reaching for his wand. He repaired the frame and stumbled into the kitchenette, grateful Philly had already gotten her tea. Maybe he should mark the time for future ventures.

The fridge was a sight for grumbling stomachs and Ron opened it, eager to dig into last night's pasta. He had added extra rosemary and it turned out close to divine.

As he closed the door a woman appeared behind it - similar to that muggle magic trick when the assistant drops out of thin air.

She was focused on a cube of sugar set next to a mug filled to the brim with coffee. Ron tilted his head, unsure if he would derail her train of thought if he said something. His eyes wandered from her straight long hair, combed to perfection, down to her manicured fingers gently tapping the surface of the counter. Her clothes were entirely muggle - a wide blue blouse tucked into black suit pants.

This woman means business.

However, the high heeled boots didn't do much for her, because she seemed at least a head shorter than him. Then again, most people were way shorter than Ron.

"You look oddly familiar," He blurted out, tapping the lid of his container, mimicking her rhythm.

She flinched and turned her head, eyebrows arched at the intruder of deep thoughts.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he smiled and offered his hand, "Ron Weasley."

Weasley. Weasley. Weasley.

Darn it, there were so many Weasleys at Hogwarts. One was even in my year. Wait, was it him?

Hermione shook his hand and took the opportunity for a quick look-over.

Shoulder-length and unkempt red hair, paired with a long nose on a very freckled face, a worn-out Quidditch t-shirt in the middle of a very chilly September, and jeans… with holes.

Ugh.

"Hermione Granger, pleasure. I think we were the same year at Hogwarts. I was in Ravenclaw."

"Gryffindor," he replied simply, "Thought I've seen you before, but something seems -"

"There she is!" Cobbleton's booming voice cut through their introductions and he glided towards them, his arms spread in welcome.

"I'm so glad you could make it," he continued, shaking Hermione's hand vigorously, "And I do apologize for my tardiness, but these past few weeks have been madness!" The publisher's tiny round spectacles almost slid from his thin nose as his whole being quivered with excitement.

"I see you've met our brilliant Mr. Weasley, here," Cobbleton turned his attention to Ron, a proud twinkle in his hazel eyes.

Ron sheepishly rubbed his upper arm, "Alright there, boss. Have I just stumbled upon our new editor-in-chief?"

"You have," Cobbleton smiled even wider and turned to Hermione again, still holding her hand.

"Happy to be here," Hermione finally said, taken aback by the thundering welcome.

"Well, Miss Granger, you will have to excuse me again because Witch Weekly joining us has been a legal nightmare. I will make sure proper introductions are made on both floors tomorrow. What more can I say? Ah yes, have a look around, get a feel of the place, and make sure to check with Avery on your way out."

Ron noticed Hermione's face turn from bewilderment to horror at the suggestion and stepped forward.

"I'll give her a tour, boss," Ron offered, looking at Hermione, "If Miss Granger agrees, of course."

Hermione shrugged and Ron took it as a yes.

"Excellent!" Cobbleton exclaimed at the silent exchange, "See you tomorrow then!" He said and glided out the same way he came in.

"Has the pasta run off, or - ? Oh, hello," Harry slipped across the kitchenette at the sight of Hermione and made an ungraceful recovery at the last moment to Ron's utmost amusement.

"Ah, Harry, nice of you to drop in. First impressions are important," Ron barely contained laughter and Harry shot him a dirty look.

"Miss Granger, this is the ever so elegant Harry Potter," Ron continued and Harry shook Hermione's hand.

"Nice to meet you," they both muttered.

"And welcome to the Prophet," Harry added.

"Actually, Mr. Cobbleton has asked me to oversee the Prophet and Witch Weekly for the time being."

Harry gave a prolonged whistle of surprise and admiration, "Blimey, that's one heck of a job," he said, adjusting his glasses, "Excuse me, but have we met before?"

"Hogwarts class of '98? I was in Ravenclaw."

"Oh! I think I do remember you," Harry nodded in recognition.

"Anyway, you'll be eating lunch alone today, mate," Ron interrupted, shoving the container into Harry's hands, "I'll be showing our new editor-in-chief around."

Harry's eyes darted between Hermione's reluctant smile and Ron's amused grin that usually hinted at trouble.

"More pasta for me then," Harry quipped, "Again, nice to meet you Miss Granger. See you later, mate."

Ron clapped his hands and turned on his heel, meeting her with a lopsided smile.

"Shall we?"