Burning Down the House

'So what do you want for Christmas?'

Hermione glanced up in the mirror. Ron stood next to her, putting toothpaste on his toothbrush. She spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. 'I dunno,' she said, shrugging. 'I hadn't really thought about it.'

Ron stared at her via the reflection. 'Mione, you have to want something! New book at Flourish and Blotts? They just got a new shipment today,' he wheedled.

Hermione nudged him. 'If I get any more books, we'll have to move.'

'Anything else?'

'Nope.'

Ron sighed. He was rubbish normally at picking gifts. Hermione usually took care of Molly and Arthur, and she would 'casually' leave a list or a picture of something torn from a catalog on the kitchen table for him to find. 'Seriously? There's nothing you want? You usually leave the catalog page out by now.'

'Not that I can think of right now.' She left Ron in the bathroom, and slid into bed. The last two months had been somewhat peaceful. No fights beyond the normal bickering about whose turn it was to do the laundry, or who was supposed to pick up more toothpaste on the way home.

They studiously avoided talking about babies or pregnancy. Even when Hermione bought a new calendar two weeks after she had burned the old one. She couldn't stand to not have one in the kitchen. But she wasn't keeping track of dates anymore. Even when she found herself wanting to pick up a pencil and scrawl an 'X' on the day her period began. She wanted to keep track so badly.

Ron knew.

She knew he knew.

What was worse, Ron knew Hermione knew he knew.

Gahhh! she thought, sticking out her tongue at the book cover on her lap, opening it forcefully. It was, for once, nothing work-related. Ron told her last week she couldn't read any more magical law books in bed. It made her talk in her sleep. This one was strictly fluff. She'd borrowed it from Ginny, who had a whole stash of them. It wasn't too bad, if one could get past the predictable plot. Its main advantage lay in her being able to read it without needing to really focus on anything.

The bathroom light clicked off, and Ron came into the bedroom, pulling his t-shirt off as he walked. He got hot in his sleep and if he didn't take the t-shirt off before he got into bed, he usually yanked it off at some point during the night, and threw it across the room. Hermione once told him he could put a tray of unbaked biscuits under his pillow, and in the morning, they'd be done.

She watched the dim light play on the muscles of his back, unconsciously licking her lips. It had been a couple of weeks since the last time they had done anything in their bed, besides sleep. In fact, they hadn't done much of anything on the sofa, hearth rug, or anywhere else for that matter.

The last time they had done anything was the night Ron made pie.

Hermione walked into the kitchen sniffing hopefully. 'Apple pie?'

Ron grinned and pointed to the counter. 'Just took it out. Needs to cool a bit.'

'Don't suppose you used a Cooling charm?'

'Do I look like an idiot? Wait,' he said, holding up a hand. 'Don't answer that. Of course I used a Cooling charm.'

'Well, can I have some?' she asked, turning the puppy eyed look on him.

Ron's heart melted. The puppy eyes from his baby sister he could resist. From his wife... That was a different story. 'All right. Fine,' he mock-grumbled, as he cut them each a slice and slid them carefully on plates. Ron pulled a carton of ice cream from the freezer, holding it up in question.

'Do you have to ask?' she scoffed. 'And you've known me for over fourteen years.' She smirked.

Ron deftly put a scoop of ice cream on her pie and handed it to her. Hermione Summoned a fork for them both, and began to eat her pie with gusto. Ron watched her eat, absently eating his own pie. Watching her eat was almost like foreplay. He nearly came unglued when she ran a finger through a puddle of melted ice cream and cinnamon-hued apple and licked it off.

She was completely unaware of how erotic it was.

Hermione heard a soft whimper and looked up. Ron was watching her intently, his eyes dark. 'What?' she asked innocently.

'Please...' he breathed, not knowing if he was begging for her to continue the torture or for mercy. Ron lunged and grasped Hermione by the arms, hoisting her to the surface of the table, grateful she had worn a skirt to work that day. 'Just please,' he repeated, his hands inching the skirt up.

She raised her eyebrow, but said nothing, pulling him closer to kiss him. He tasted of apples and cinnamon, with a hint of vanilla.

Hermione's hands slid down to the button of Ron's jeans while he pushed her back against the table, sweeping everything to the floor.

It was a good thing they could use magic to clean the mess later.

It wasn't gentle, by any stretch of the imagination.

Afterwards, Ron sat in one of the chairs, panting, while he held Hermione on his lap. 'When we have kids, we'll have to remember this,' he said into her neck, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down her spine.

'Remember what?'

'The pie,' he murmured. 'It can be a code word. You know, when we don't want the midgets to ask questions. I can ask you if you want to have some pie later.'

Hermione laughed softly. 'But Daddy,' she mimicked, 'I want pie!' She let her lips close on Ron's earlobe.

'You're too young for pie,' Ron groaned, playing along. 'Yeah... That might get awkward around them. Good for when we're out and about, though.'

'You want more?' she asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

'I always want more,' he replied, shrugging the shirt off his shoulders, to join the rest of the mess on the floor.

She blinked. 'I'm sorry?' she said blankly to Ron.

'I said, you were looking at me like I was a sandwich and you were starving. Not that I mind.' He grinned at her. 'Are you sleepy yet?'

'Oh. Sorry,' Hermione said sheepishly. She tossed her book back to the night table. 'Not really.'

Ron slid out of bed, and flicked his wand at the Muggle CD player on top of the wardrobe. The familiar guitar strains fell like drops of rain into the room. 'Dance with me?' he asked, holding out a hand, as the plaintive voices drifted over them.

'What? Now?'

'Why not?' Ron came around to Hermione's side of the bed and pulled her to her feet.

Hermione wrapped one arm around his waist, and he held her other hand against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat against the palm of her hand as they swayed with the rhythm of the music. 'I don't think I could ever have dreamed this,' she mused, resting her head on his chest. Here they were, he in only a pair of boxers, and she in one of his Cannons shirts, dancing in their bedroom.

'Is it a bad thing?'

'No.'

Hermione spread her hand over the warm skin of Ron's back. They danced in silence until the song faded. 'I want pie.'

Ron's brow wrinkled in bemusement. 'But we don't have any pie.'

Hermione began to laugh. 'I mean pie,' she said, putting emphasis on the word, leering at him suggestively.

'Oh!' Ron's face cleared. 'You mean pie.' A slow smile spread across his face. 'I think I can manage that.' He cupped her face in his hands. 'I love it when you laugh,' he said, gasping as she turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand. 'You should do it more often.' Ron guided Hermione back to the bed, and he slid to the middle of the bed, Hermione's hands in his. He pulled her down, so she straddled him. Hermione's hands grasped the hem of the shirt, and she pulled it over her head, dropping it off the side of the bed. 'Hey, wait for me,' Ron protested.

'Keep up, then,' she teased, shifting so she could help him wriggle out of the boxers.

******

Ron's fingertips stroked the curve of Hermione's hip. She lay spooned against him; her back nestled into his chest. 'We should do that more often,' she said.

Ron snorted softly. 'This time of year? We can barely keep up with the owl orders from Hogwarts. I'm surprised I'm still awake.' Ron's fingers traced back up the side of her body. The silver daisy lay against the curve of her breast.

'I can come help pack some of those on Saturday,' she offered, turning over. She nuzzled Ron's chest. 'Amortentia,' she whispered.

'Huh?'

'I smell you in Amortentia.'

'I didn't know that.'

'Learn something new every day, don't you?'

'Yeah. You're full of surprises.' He brushed the hair away from her face. 'Did you think of something you want for Christmas yet?'

'Don't give up, do you?' Hermione laced her fingers through Ron's. 'Nope. I don't need anything,' she murmured, her eyes closing. 'Just you.' In a few minutes, Ron heard her deep, even breathing.

He managed to pick up his wand without jarring her too much, and used it to draw the bedding over them.

******

A few days later, Ron went up to the old flat above the shop for lunch. Harry was already there with George. 'What are you getting Ginny for Christmas?' Ron asked without preamble.

'Two straight nights of uninterrupted sleep,' Harry promptly replied. 'I asked Molly and Arthur to take James for a weekend after the holiday.'

'Really?' Ron asked, surprised. 'Has it been that bad?'

'Nah, but since Ginny's the only one feeding him for the most part, she's the one that gets up at three in the morning if he wakes up. Won't take a bottle for that one. Any other time, and he's fine, but three in the morning? Oh, no, he's all about Mummy.'

'How is that going to work? Letting Mum and Dad watch him if he won't let anyone but Ginny feed him like that?' asked George skeptically.

'That's why it's after the holidays,' explained Harry patiently. 'Hopefully in another few weeks, he'll sleep all the way through the night. It's just that one feeding he's adamant about wanting Ginny.'

'Where are you going?' Ron asked.

'Nowhere. Staying home, maybe going out on a date. Have Thai food. Sleep past six on a Saturday.' Harry pointed a fork with chicken casserole on it at Ron. 'When you have a kid, believe me, being able to sleep past six is a luxury.'

'Have you gotten anything for Katie?' Ron asked, turning to George.

'Telescope.'

'A telescope?'

'Yeah. She likes astronomy. And the telescope she has is all right, but I got her a really nice one.' George eyed Ron. 'What's with the third degree, Ronnikins?'

'I can't figure out what Hermione wants. She said she didn't want anything,' he moaned.

'Not even a book?' Harry asked, shocked.

'No.'

'Wow,' Harry breathed. 'I've never known Hermione to not want a book.'

'Me, either.' Ron drooped dejectedly. He had hoped Harry, at least, would have been able to give him some insights. Back to square one, he thought.

******

Hermione absently nibbled her thumbnail, while Shacklebolt bent over the map of the Forest of Dean in front of them. 'They can't have the entire forest,' he muttered.

'I know that. Firenze knows that, too. But the herd thinks they should have the whole damn thing,' she retorted, massaging her temples. The whole process had given her a headache. 'And nothing either of us can say will change their minds right now.'

'Centaurs are more stubborn than a room full of three-year olds,' Shacklebolt sighed. He tapped the map with his wand, re-drawing the boundaries set for the centaur herd. 'That's as far as I'm willing to go, but you're the one dealing with them. If you have to shift any of the boundaries, I trust your judgment. But remind them that there are a lot of Muggles in the area. We can't just put Muggle-Repelling charms on the whole area. It would devastate the area economically.'

'How's this?' Hermione asked. She tapped the map, and the glowing boundaries shifted to include the western part of the Wye Valley and eastern Monmouthshire. 'Centaurs practically have Muggle-Repelling charms on themselves, and it's large enough for the size of the herd we're relocating.' Hermione leaned back in her chair. 'It's not like the entire herd is going, just a few of them.'

'Works for me.' Shacklebolt stood up and stretched. 'What time is it?'

Hermione looked at her watch. 'Almost eight.' She slumped in her chair wearily.

'When's your meeting with Firenze tomorrow?'

'One.'

'I don't want to see you in here tomorrow until eleven. Understood?'

'Absolutely.' Hermione put the map into her bag, and followed Shacklebolt to the lifts.

They rode to the Atrium in silence, Hermione leaning against the wall. She left through the street entrance and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, wavering between Apparating home or taking the Underground. Deciding she didn't have the energy to deal with Apparition or Flooing, she trudged to the nearest Underground station.

Ron always thought she rode the Tube to think. In reality, she took the Tube home sometimes to remind herself what people could do without magic, lest she take it for granted.

Plus, she liked taking it this late in the day. It wasn't deserted, but it was quiet. Save for the random teenager singing with his iPod. Hermione tilted her head in his direction, trying to figure out what he was singing. It sounded familiar. She smothered a laugh when she realized the poor kid was doing his best Johnny Cash impersonation. 'Ring of Fire' did not sound very good out of the mouth of a Cambridge-bound schoolboy. Ron liked Johnny Cash and hated to hear badly done renditions of anything he sang. He would have mercilessly ripped this poor boy to shreds.

Hermione pulled a calendar out of her bag. She willed herself not to count the days until her next period, instead turning to the list of Christmas gifts she still needed to buy. Arthur was easy. Anything that had to do with Muggles. Especially toy model kids. New gardening tools for Richard. Earrings for Jane and Molly.

And for Ron?

She didn't know.

Nothing felt 'right' this year.

******

Ron was sitting on the sofa, an open box on the coffee table. 'I know that bloody photograph's in here,' he muttered. He was looking for one photograph in particular. The one Ginny took of Hermione and him dancing at their wedding. He wanted to have it framed. 'Ah-ha!' he exclaimed triumphantly. 'There you are.' He pulled the photograph from the box and tucked it into his old book about the Cannons. She'd never look for it there.

As he tucked the other photographs back into the box, he wished Hermione was a bit easier to shop for. She didn't wear jewelry, except for her wedding ring, watch, and the daisy. She wasn't into perfume, something for which Ron silently thanked her for on a daily basis. He didn't even consider trying to buy clothes for her. Before his wedding, Charlie told him not to even think about it. Books had always been his fallback gift.

Ron went to put the box of photographs back into the hall cupboard before he stopped. We have been meaning to put these in a scrapbook, he thought. They had fully intended to do that after the honeymoon, but things got so busy, they never had a chance to do it. Ron took the box back to the sofa, and began to sort through the photographs. The wedding had been in late September, when the leaves were changing colors. The weather cooperated, and it had been a crisp, sun-drenched day.

Going through the photographs, Ron realized he didn't remember much about that day. Except for Hermione, and how beautiful she looked in her dress. After Ron had put them in some semblance of order, he vowed to go to Flourish and Blotts in the morning to find a scrapbook.

******

Hermione sat on the floor of James' nursery, while Ginny nursed the baby. 'Why is your bloody brother so difficult to shop for?' she huffed. 'I've been wracking my brain and can't think of anything.'

'Think about what he likes,' suggested Ginny.

'Chess, cooking, American Muggle singers, and Quidditch,' replied Hermione. 'There are only so many cookbooks I can buy him. He's got a collection to rival Molly's now.'

'He could use some new shirts,' offered Ginny.

'I don't want to get him clothes,' Hermione half-whined. 'And trust me; I've tried to convince your mum to not make his jumper maroon.'

Ginny shifted James to her shoulder, and began to pat his back. 'What about something that's special to the both of you?' James burped with more power than Hermione thought could come from a baby.

'He sounds like Charlie,' she said.

'I know.' Ginny shifted James to the other breast, guiding his mouth to the nipple. 'Keep George away from my child, or he'll be the new 'bell' on the shop door.' She rocked for a few moments. 'Something Muggle, maybe?'

'Like what?'

'Oh, like all those singers he likes.'

'Who knew Ron would be such a music freak?'

Ginny looked up at Hermione. 'You can add to his music collection.'

'I tried that. He's pretty picky about what goes into it.'

'When did Ron get so damn picky?'

'Ugh. I give up, then.' Hermione pushed herself to her feet. 'I'd better head home. Maybe I'll think of something soon.'

'Don't get discouraged. You'll find something.'

'I hope so. Otherwise it's Quidditch teams of Britain boxers.'

'I really didn't need to know that.' Ginny wrinkled her nose.

'Yeah, like Harry doesn't have them, either,' Hermione scoffed.

'Uh...' Ginny flushed a bright red.

'That's what I thought. Thanks, Gin.'

Hermione went downstairs to Floo back to Bloomsbury when a thought struck. She ran back upstairs, shouting, 'I've got it!'

'Got what?'

'Ron's Christmas present. I swear motherhood has made you forgetful. Ron and my dad really get on with each other. It's a little scary, really,' Hermione mused.

'So you're getting them a weekend trip?' teased Ginny.

'No. Ron likes helping Dad with the roses. I thought maybe we could start our own garden. There's a bit of land behind our flat that's ours to plant, if we want. We could have flowerboxes on the balcony, too.'

'Wow. Who knew Ronnikins would be so domesticated...'

'Hmmm. I think maybe I'll throw in the boxers, too...'