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Of Teacups and Teapots by TheDirigiblePlum

Format: Short story
Chapters: 5
Word Count: 11,556

Rating: 12+
Warnings: Mild Language, Scenes of a Mild Sexual Nature

Genres: Fluff, Humor, Romance
Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny
Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny

First Published: 09/05/2009
Last Chapter: 10/18/2009
Last Updated: 10/18/2009


Delightful banner made by Ayesha @tda!

Ronald descends on Harry and Ginny Potter's home, declaring that he cannot possibly live with his dear wife, Hermione anymore. 
Harry has had enough of these visits, so he and Ginny form a clever plan, to make Ron and Hermione get back together, and stay together. 
Naturally it involves a rather nice tea set.

Chapter 1: Ronald Drinks Harry's Tea... Again
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“It’s over!” stormed Ron, thundering into Harry’s hallway as soon as he’d opened the door, “I can’t live with her anymore!”

            Harry sighed, and closed his front door before turning to face the very angry man who had just barged into his home; it was lucky they were such close friends, otherwise Harry would’ve been – what’s the phrase they used in the Auror office? – “forcibly evicting” him by now. And Harry was not a pleasant person to be “forcibly evicted” by, as Ronald knew full well. However, Ronald’s unpleasant shove back into Harry’s bedroom fireplace served as a lasting reminder to Ron that it wasn’t good to call at night upon young married couples, directly into their bedrooms. It was only too much to hope that the couple in question were either asleep, or awake reading. Naturally all that had been involved had been scarred – and Harry felt he had quite enough scars - but at least Ron never did it again. This was one of the reasons why Harry despised the Floo network; there was no privacy, none at all.

            “Why, what’s she done now?” Harry asked wearily, knowing full well that Ron and Hermione would be best friends again by the next day. More than best friends, they’d be soul mates, destined to be, and inseparable. They’d be wondering how they ever could’ve spent that fateful day apart, and they’d vow never to do it again. At least not until they next argued that is… 

            “She just drives me mental Harry!” Ron implored, clenching his fists dramatically and throwing his eyes up the ceiling, “The way she acts… it’s like we’re married or something!”

            “You are married,” Harry reminded him, talking slowly and loudly as he tried to cut through Ron’s hysteria.

            Ron looked at him in shock.

            “I know that, I was at the wedding wasn’t I?” Ron asked Harry, as though he were being stupid, “It’s just I’m not an - an old married man! I am young! I have needs.”

            Harry ran a hand through his hair; now wasn’t a good time to be hearing about Ron’s “needs.”

            “I don’t want to hear about your needs,” Harry said, hiding his eyes with his hands and striding briskly around Ron into his kitchen, determined to find sanity in there, preferably in the form of some strong Firewhisky. Ron followed him, still in a full on rant about the terrible treatment he’d recently received from Hermione.

            The reason Harry was being so intolerant, was because he’d had this scenario appear at his doorstep one time too many. He was also tired, and when people are tired, they invariably become grumpy. Harry hoped they’d have realised by now that one argument did not mean divorce, and he was tired of Ron turning up at his house, often staying for at least two nights. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy Ron’s company, but he’d only married Ginny a month ago, and they were quite enjoying having an empty house to themselves. Ron somehow took some of that joy away… being Ginny’s older brother and all that. 

            “I can’t help it that I went out with Lavender,” Ron said, sitting in one of the chairs around the kitchen table, “If she doesn’t like it then she shouldn’t have gone out with Viktor Krum.”

            Harry had to suppress a sigh; they seriously weren’t still going on about Lavender Brown and Viktor Krum were they? Harry had to admit that the only way that this would probably ever be settled, would be if Viktor and Lavender married each other. That way, there was no possibility that Ron, nor Hermione could ever get back together with either of them. Not if they didn’t want to become involved in a very vicious and messy love – square?

            “So… that’s why you and Hermione argued is it?” Harry asked, trying valiantly to sound interested.

            “No,” said Ron, frowning at Harry and looking confused, “Who said anything about an argument?”

            “Then – they why are you here?” Harry asked, equally bemused and quite exasperated.

            “Because Hermione’s reading,” Ron said grumpily, “It’s all she ever bloody does, and I’m tired of it. Like I said, I have needs.”

            “So – so you haven’t actually argued?” Harry asked, desperately trying to get some sort of grasp on the situation.

            “No, Harry!” Ron laughed, “You should listen more, mate!”

            Harry bristled at this; since when had Ron ever accused someone of not listening? After all, Ron had had his fair share of gormless inattentive moments during class, probably more than Harry had. And infinite times more than his poor wife, who was probably at home somewhere, storming around the house and piling all of Ron’s things into a pile so she could burn them later. 

            “I do listen! It’s just that your relationship with Hermione is just so complicated!”

            “It’s not really,” Ron said simply, “And we don’t even have a relationship anymore anyway. I think she’s barking… can’t live with her anymore.”

            Ron rose from the table and stretched his arms above his head.   

            “Please may I make a cup of tea?” Ron asked, walking over to the kitchen counter where Harry was stood, still half numb with disbelief. He started opening cupboards and pulling out teabags and the like, until Harry stopped him.

            “No,” Harry said.

            “Why not?” asked Ron in surprise, still mid-removal of all the tea-making implements in Harry’s cupboard.

            “Because you make so much tea, and then you never drink it!” Harry told him, “Remember I’m the one who has to supply the office tea bags, and you keep nicking them all!”

            This was a long-standing woe of Harry’s; everyone at work was assigned something to keep in stock. It was nothing official - their boss certainly didn’t know about it, otherwise he would’ve tried to get in on it, and no one liked him… no one wanted to buy him tea or biscuits – but it still was a very important part of the office life. For example, Ron would invest in some biscuits, to dunk in the tea that Harry supplied, which was then drunk by Wendal, who would then flirt shamelessly with Ron. In short, everybody wins! Except Harry, who never seemed to get anything in return… though, he had to admit, watching Wendal flirt with Ron was quite a good show. Especially if Hermione walked in half way through it. 

            Naturally, visitors to the Ministry were somewhat disturbed by the fact that the supposedly most severe law enforcers in the country would rather spend their time drinking tea and biscuits, as opposed to fighting terrible criminals… but there you go. Harry had had a busy life up till now… if he wanted to sit around and drink tea, that that’s exactly what he planned to do!

            “I do not!” Ron retorted, “I always drink my tea.”

            “Do not!”

            “Do too.”

            “Oh my Merlin it’s you Ron,” Ginny had appeared, “Why are you back?”

            Ron looked at Ginny, then to Harry, then to Ginny.

            “Blimey… neither of you are in good moods at all,” Ron observed shrewdly – he could be a shrewd fellow when he wanted,  “It’s because of me isn’t it?”

            “No, it isn’t because of you Ron,” Harry said wearily. He then took a deep breath, and got a grip on himself.  “Of course you can stay. You’re my best mate.”

            Ron gave him a grin, and then started to boil a kettle, much to Harry’s annoyance… had Ron not heard what Harry had just said about the teabags? Or was he just not listening…

            Harry and Ginny watched Ron make his tea, prodding the kettle with his wand, and happily charming his spoon to stir and twirl around… mixing his sugar, and he then sit at the table with the finished result, looking comfortably up at them both. This was another terrible thing; the milk and sugar also disappeared in direct proportion to the teabag consumption. But Harry was more protective over the teabags… he didn’t know why, he just was.

            “This is nice,” said Ron, smiling cheerfully “I feel like I hardly see you anymore…”

            “You see us everyday!” Ginny said crossly, folding her arms, looking down at him in a most Mrs Weasley-ish way. 

            “Mm…” agreed Ron, before clapping his hands together and standing up briskly “Right! I’m going to take a bath. You don’t mind do you?”

            He left the kitchen, leaving his undrunk tea on the table, still steaming away. Harry picked it up, and tried to gulp it down, hoping for some of the caffeine to ease his tension – but the tea was hot, and he burnt his tongue.

            “Gah!” Harry said, sticking out his tongue, hoping that the air would cool and sooth it, “Damn, blasted tea…”

            “What are we going to do?!” Ginny wailed dramatically, collapsing into a chair at the table, whilst Harry poured the offending cup of tea down the sink, “He can’t keep cropping up like this… he can’t! I want a baby, and we can’t make one whilst he’s here!”

            Harry choked – on what he didn’t know, his own spit probably – and stared at Ginny in horror.

            “What?” he demanded.

            “Oh for God’s sake Harry,” Ginny snapped, annoyed at Harry’s slow uptake “I am your wife, you will give me what I want.”

            Harry felt seriously hard done by. Not only was he now in the middle of a baby process, but he was also being prevented from even starting it – the fun bit – by two members of the same family. Damn all the Weasleys thought Harry. He wished he’d never made friends with Ron, he wished he gone off with Draco Malfoy, taken the blond swine’s offer… then none of this would be happening. Despite Draco’s many flaws, Harry was certain that the Malfoys always announced their arrival at least one day before they turned up at one’s home. Or – even better – they’d wait for an invitation. Death Eaters or no Death Eaters, at least they didn’t turn up at one’s home unannounced.

            “And he keeps making tea and then not drinking it,” Harry moaned, “I spend a fortune on teabags… and Ron uses about half of them, but then he doesn’t drink it!”

            “Oh shut up Harry!” Ginny scolded him, “I’ve heard this story at least three times now.”

            She held up four of her fingers, which just showed how desperate she was to get rid of Ron; her maths had flown out the window, probably to join a peck – no pack – of owls somewhere.

            “Why can’t he and Hermione just – just once, act like they’re married,” Harry said, joining Ginny at the table, and grabbing her hand, trying to find some form of wisdom there, “All these arguments and – and divorce threats! It’s doing my head in – we should …”

            Harry thought hard, his brain working furiously…

            “… we should move away! Somewhere else, and not tell him where we’ve gone!”

            “You’re acting stupidly, Harry,” Ginny told him – she could be so cranky sometimes, “No… what we need is something to make them see that they belong together... and that they don’t need to “split up” every time they argue.”

            “And then find a way to stop Ron using up all my teabags,” Harry added, nodding along to Ginny’s plan.

            “Hermione’s just as bad!” Ginny said, “Every time I see her she drinks about half a gallon of tea, which means she’s then always going to the loo, and then she goes and makes more…”

            “At least she doesn’t waste teabags!” Harry shot back, “At least she drinks it!”

            “Maybe she drinks all the tea that Ron makes,” Ginny reasoned. And then – and then a very dangerous look came upon her face… one that suggested that an idea for a great plan was in the making – a great, great plan!

            “Harry…” Ginny said, her eyes widening, and a smile spreading. She grabbed his wrist and looked directly into his eyes. He looked back warily.


            “We buy Ron a teapot!” Ginny squealed, standing up and giving a little clap, “Oh it’s perfect! Something for him to make lots of tea in, so that Hermione will drink it. She of course, will have the teacup, so she can drink all the tea.”

            “Right…” Harry said, frowning slightly, still not really understanding what Ginny was getting at.

            “They will be part of a set, though they’ll be useless without the other one,” Ginny said, now pacing and breathing hard, “Ron will live here with his teapot, and Hermione will live there with her teacup! So the tea-set will be incomplete!”

            Harry rose too, understanding the plan.

            “So they’ll look stupid without each other!” Harry said, punching his fist into his opposite hand, “IT’S GENIUS!”



            They ran up to each other and jumped around in a giant hug, rejoicing in their cleverness, celebrating their intelligence, and cheering on their intellect.

Any fellow teacup fans out there? Teapot fans? I love tea. :)

Chapter 2: Charming Pottery
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“After this amazing plan, Harry,” Ginny said the next day, as she tied a green ribbon around a oddly shaped package covered in brown paper, “We should fight crime!”

            “I do fight crime, Ginny,” Harry reminded her, as he wrote a small note on a little card, “I’m an Auror.”

            The “amazing plan” consisted of leaving the teapot package outside Harry and Ginny’s front door (addressed to Ron) and the teacup package outside Hermione’s door (addressed to Hermione). They believed this to be genius, as they suspected that Ron would believe his present was from Hermione and vice-versa. Unfortunately, Ron and Hermione were people who both had their fair share of intelligence (Hermione actually had quite a few people’s shares) which meant that possibly, just possibly, they might figure out this was all just a big plan to get them back together again. But Harry and Ginny were enjoying themselves, and for the moment, that’s all they cared about. Harry held his little card in front of himself and Ginny, and admired his handiwork:


            Dear Ronald Weasley,

                        This teapot is especially for you. I hope you enjoy it.

                        You have to guess who this is from. Tee Hee Hee.


            “Very sneaky Harry!” Ginny complimented him with a chuckle, “But I’d knock off the “tee hee hee”; Hermione would never say that.”

            Harry removed the offending “tee hee hee” and that won Ginny’s approval. Harry didn’t have to work hard to win Ginny’s approval; she really quite loved him. They soon began to laugh together at the pure brilliance of their plan, whilst secretly stowing away the teapot package in a place where Ron would never find it: behind the bananas.

            And they continued to laugh, basking in each other’s cleverness until Ron came down the stairs to see what all the hilarity was about. Harry and Ginny’s laughter doubled when they saw him, and they couldn’t think of an excuse to give him to explain their laughter… even if they did have one, they wouldn’t have been able to talk. So Ron, having no idea what they were laughing about, joined in, even though he had no idea what was so funny, and had no idea that the centre of the joke was himself. But laughter’s infectious like that, even if it comes at your expense.

            “Haha!” said Ron.

            “PAHAHAHHA!” said Harry.

            “Heehee!” said Ginny.

            They continued in this vein for a while, until Ron eventually wiped a tear from his cheek and asked again: “What were you laughing about?”

            “Harry sat on a pin at work today,” Ginny said immediately, still giving sparse little laughs in the aftermaths of the hilarity, “You know me… my childish sense of humour and all that.”

            This was news to Harry, but he tried to wince at Ron, just to show that it may have been possible that he did sit on a pin. His strange lopsided grimace seemed to convince Ron, who then asked Harry if the pin was still in there. Harry told him that it wasn’t. Ron seemed disappointed.




The sun rose the next day, beautifully yellow and bright. It shone through the curtains in a very pleasant way, illuminating a happily sleeping couple, and also a half of a couple who was spending his third night in the wrong bed: it was Ron. However, he seemed quite happy too, even though he believed he was going to get a divorce any day now.

            This red haired man stretched his arms above his head as the sun woke him; usually Ron was an angry fellow in the morning, but not today! He felt curiously upbeat, ready to face the world. To celebrate this wondrous occasion, he decided to take the day off work.

            Ten minutes later, Harry found Ron fully dressed downstairs, drinking – yes – a cup of tea. Yes, he was drinking a cup of tea.

            “Morning Ron,” Harry said, feeling incredibly happy that Ron was actually drinking tea, “You’re drinking tea! You’re drinking it.”

            “What?” Ron laughed as he took a sip, “No, this is coffee!”

            Harry wasn’t really surprised; he should’ve known it was too good to be true.

            “I made you one, and Ginny,” Ron said, sliding a mug towards Harry.

            “Ginny’s gone to work,” Harry said, taking his mug and thinking in reality as to where Ginny had actually gone: to deliver the teacup to Hermione. She’d had to do it very early in order to catch Hermione before she woke up; Hermione was one of those indecently early risers who nobody really understands, apart from those of similar ilk. Ginny had then gone straight to work, due to some issue involving broomsticks and trolls flying them or something like that.

            “Blimey,” said Ron, “The only person I know who gets up this early to get to work is - ”

            He broke off, a mutinous look coming over his face… that was somehow ruined by the fact that his eyes were soppy with adoration. It was a strange juxtaposition, but one that Harry had seen many times… because he saw it every time Ron and Hermione fell out, and “hated each other.”

            “Anyway!” Harry said briskly, “I should get dressed!”

            “Yeah you should,” Ron agreed, laughing, “I don’t remember people ever being allowed to arrive at work without a top on before.”

            “What?” asked Harry, confused, “I am wearing a top!”

            “No you’re not…” Ron said, “Look…”

            Harry looked down, and saw that it was true. Then the memory of how he had lost it came back to him. Unfortunately, the pleasant memory was interrupted by the fact that Ron had woken up to go to the loo in the middle of it, meaning that all endeavours had to cease until it was certain that Ron was asleep again, by which time Ginny had fallen asleep. This was the final straw: Ron and Hermione had to get back together, and stay there.

            “I’m surprised you weren’t cold last night,” Ron said fervently, “I was. I had to get out of bed to put a pair of socks on.”

            “Were they maroon by any chance?” Harry had to ask.

            “All my bloody socks are maroon!” Ron implored, looking quite annoyed, “Apart from a violet pair I had… but I gave them away – anyway, you know my all socks are maroon you Flobberworm!”

            Harry did know that; Ron’s socks had started to appear in the washing cycle in his house. In short, he stayed here too much.

            It wasn’t at all like Harry didn’t like spending time with Ron. He was his best friend, and he had more fun with Ron than he did with anyone else, not to mention he trusted him beyond belief and had a great time teasing Hermione with him, but… enough’s enough. He was married, and actually so was Ron, so Harry saw absolutely no logic in the fact that they were practically living together. The only way he would accept Ron moving in with him was if he and Hermione seriously actually really properly split up. And to be honest, Harry knew that would never happen. Because the only person who could tolerate the other one, was the one that they were married to. It sounds confusing, but it’s not really.

            “May I have a banana?” Ron asked nicely, after his outburst about his socks.

            “Yeah, sure,” said Harry, yawning and making to leave the kitchen so he could get dressed in his red Auror robes; they didn’t half clash with his eyes. That’s what Ginny said anyway, “But I thought you didn’t like bananas?”

            “Only because of that time George bought that book about Muggle tricks, and I slipped up on one when I was about three… down stairs and everything,” Ron explained, “But the enmity is gone now; I think they taste nice. Hermione put me up to it... says they’re good for me.”

            Harry could just see Hermione bullying Ron into eating a banana, yelling, “THEY’RE GOOD FOR YOU RON! GOOD FOR YOU!”

            “Wait!” Harry said loudly, just remembering why Ron couldn’t eat bananas… but Ron had spotted it.

            “Hey!” Ron said, delving around behind the bananas, which were hanging on a little hook, “There’s a parcel here…”

            “It’s not for you,” Harry said hastily, “See look… it has – ” he took the parcel from Ron, and squinted at the label on it, “ – it has Roonil Wazlib on it…”

            Harry groaned inwardly as he remembered the quill he had used: "SELF -SPELLING SELF - INSULTING - TWO USELESS PROPERTIES YOU WANT FROM QUILL FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!"… he cursed himself. Why did he continue to buy quills from George? The new label now read:


            Dear Roonil Wazlib,

            This tebwet is not  especially for you. I hope it kills you.

                        You won’t be able to guess who this is from; you are stupid.


            “What the hell…?” Ron said slowly, as he peered at it, “Roonil? Tebwet?”

            “Well I have no idea who it’s from,” Harry said, shoving the parcel at Ron, “But it’s for you. It’s obviously from someone who has been in our kitchen before. Who could it be?”

            Harry hurriedly left the room, before he wrecked the plan even more, leaving Ron to his thoughts as he ripped the paper off.




“Ginny!” Hermione said happily, as she walked up to Ginny’s desk in the Ministry later that day, “You’ll never guess what’s happened!”

            “I probably won’t, no,” Ginny said, smiling vacantly up at Hermione, “Spill.”

            “Ron left me a present outside our house today!” she said, “He obviously wants to say sorry for going on at me reading too much!”

            “That’s what you fell out about?” Ginny asked, shocked, “Because you read too much?”

            Only Ron and Hermione could design an argument about reading. It was ridiculous. And Hermione was supposed to be clever… you could go as far as to call her mature -          

            “I know,” Hermione said, shaking her head and laughing in a disbelieving manner “As if anyone could read too much!”

            Ginny looked down, avoiding Hermione’s eye. Hermione then perched on the edge of Ginny’s desk.

            “He got me a gorgeous teacup!” she said, her eyes clouding over as she went into the section of her brain that was only reserved for Ron; the mushier side, in other words, “It’s powder blue with a little white rim, made in such fragile china…”

            “It sounds lovely!” Ginny said, smiling at Hermione, trying not to giggle; she had remembered entering “Tessie’s Teacups” with a slightly nauseated expression (Umbridge’s office anyone? Doilies everywhere) but had secretly had quite a nice time looking at all the different types. Some would bite your nose, some would tell you when their contents was at a suitable drinking temperature, and some would spill tea at random intervals, preferably to be used on unpleasant guests who deserved such a fate. For example, people who insulted your net curtains.


            Ginny had other teacup charms in mind though… Hermione would find it out soon enough. As would Ronald, when he used his teapot. Oh the glories of manipulation!

            “I’m going to christen it when I get home!” said Hermione, sliding off Ginny’s desk and standing in front of it, “I’ll have to tell Ron that I want him home!”

            And it was with a very cheerful heart that Ginny watched Hermione bounce away.




“This bloody teapot doesn’t work!” Ron complained to his little sister that evening, “I have boiled tea, I have put it in the pot, and when I try to pour it out – it – it doesn’t!”

            “Ridiculous!” said Ginny, sat at the table reading the Daily Prophet and trying to prevent amusement from entering her voice, “How funny!”

            “Look – ” said Ron, tilting the teapot over a mug patterned with owls, “It doesn’t pour!”

            He continued to tilt it, even holding it above his own head, but for some reason… the tea would not exit it. It was as though the spout had been blocked.

            “I think teapots on their own look strange,” Ginny mused, engrossed in her paper, “I reckon they look better in a set.”

            “Yeah… I’ve seen Muggles with them,” Ron agreed, now holding the spout above his eye, “Tea sets I think they’re called.”

            “Wizards have them too Ron,” Ginny reminded him, “It’s not just Muggles.”

            “It’s a nice teapot though…” Ron said to himself quietly, turning it in his hands, and examining the bottom, “I like that colour blue…Not that I ever buy teapots or anything.”

            “Sure you don’t,” Ginny said lightly, admiring how the light blue shade of the teapot reminded her of the spring sky… the dainty white rim really looking quite pretty. Oh the romance of the teapot. The mind boggles, it really does…

            “I just wish I could use it!” Ron said, frustrated, now tipping the whole thing above his head, drenching him in hot tea.

            “ARGGHHH OW - IT’S HOT - MY EYE!”

            Ginny had only jinxed the spout. Not the lid.

            Ron now looked like an old painting. He was a bit brown.




“Here’s the report you wanted,” Harry handed a thick document to Hermione, prior to their Disapparation home, “Egbert told me it should everything you want to know… about the breach of the Statute of Secrecy and all that fascinating stuff.”  

            “That’s great Harry,” Hermione said, taking it, “That’s a great help, thanks. Mr Bagnold should be very happy with this.”

            “No problem,” Harry said, “You’re worth the effort I went through to get it.”

            Hermione gave him a little “aw shucks” punch on the arm, and then slipped the file inside her robes.

            “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?” she asked him, her eyes suddenly alight, “I have a new teacup you see, and I want to use it! It’s from Ron.”

            She smiled proudly. Harry smiled back, unable to stop himself. This was exactly what he and Ginny had wanted them to think. Thus, the plan was going well… if you ignore the quill blunder, which had potentially insulted Ron, as the note on his parcel had said it wanted to kill him. But, even the best of plans (which this was) had their flaws, so it was natural that flaws should arise. It was about working around these flaws, and coming up with feasible solutions…

            “Yeah, sure!” Harry agreed.

            He and Hermione then both span on the spot, and after the initial near suffocation, they both arrived in a cramped cottage kitchen, with a little blue teacup set in the middle of the table.

            “Tea?” Hermione offered, pointing her wand over her shoulder towards a cupboard, so that a little sugar dish, teabags and a spare mug for Harry hopped out. Milk clattered from the fridge in its glass bottle, and the kettle on the hob steamed into life. Sometimes little pleasing bits of magic like this still amazed Harry, even though he’d seen and encountered far bigger feats of magic, it was the little things like this that he liked most.

            “Did you hear that Veronica Plumpton has written a new book?” Hermione asked Harry brightly from over her shoulder, as she spooned sugar and put teabags into a teapot.

            “Erm… no?” Harry said, as he sat at the table, and looking at Hermione questioningly; since when did he ever keep up with the releases of new books? There was no point, he had Hermione to do it for him.         

            Even though Hermione’s back was to him, Harry could tell she’d rolled her eyes.

            “It’s about Quidditch!” Hermione said, pouring hot water into the rather plain white teapot, and then stirring it with her wand, “I thought you liked Quidditch!”

            “I do like Quidditch!” Harry retorted, “It’s the love of my life!”

            Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, stirring her teapot menacingly.

            “After you of course!” he said hastily, “Ron? No…?”

            “Your wife Harry!” Hermione snapped, abandoning her stirring so she could whack him round the head, “Your wife is the love of your life.”

            “Yes,” agreed Harry, “Definitely. But I don’t like reading about Quidditch. I like playing it! Or watching it.”

             “You’ve read that stupid Flying with the Cannons book even more times that Ron!” Hermione scolded him, “Neither of you ever read!”

            “You’ve just said what we read!” Harry said back, “You’ve just proved yourself that we read! We just don’t read as clever books that you do.”

            Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment, and then started pouring a stream of goldeny brown tea into a mug with a paw print (Crookshanks had made it himself). Harry gave his thanks, and then Hermione started to brace herself: it was time… to use her new teacup.

            She tilted the pot, and the tea streamed out, but then something curious happened.

            “It’s – it’s disappearing!” Hermione said, retracted the spout and looking into the depths of her cup, shocked.

            Harry was vividly reminded of a Dumbledore gasping for water, and Harry could not give him any. For any water he magicked into the goblet promptly vanished… unless he plunged it into the lake –

            “That’s strange,” Harry said, also peering into it, “Very funny.”

            Hermione continued to try and pour tea into this stubborn little cup, but her efforts were in vain. The cup was simply not accepting the tea. And nothing Hermione did could make him change his mind.

Chapter 3: Mistakes
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“I miss her,” Ron said plaintively to Harry, as they strode along the beach on a blustery Sunday afternoon, “I didn’t think I would, but I truly and honestly do.”

            Harry pushed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, for the breeze was making them quite cold. Despite it being May, it was incredibly windy and the result of this meant that the area was rather chilly. It was always cool in Tinworth (where Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all lived) as it was sat right in front of the English Channel, and the cold sea air was always being blown over the village. Harry found this refreshing, and the cold air whipping against his face served as a constant reminder of what it was to be alive. It also served the equally useful purpose of waking him up on those disgusting days where you have to go into work but you don’t want to, and your body seems to be walking around but your brain is still somewhere near your bed. Usually unconscious somewhere.

            “Then get back together with her!” Harry said, trying and failing to not sound frustrated. Ron was unbelievable sometimes. He was a clever bloke – when it came to chess and witty inappropriate comments – but for the most part… he just was so incredibly blind when it came to common sense regarding other people. It was mainly because Ron had issues talking about his emotions. After all, it did take him upwards of three years to finally admit he liked Hermione. And instead of pleasantly asking her out, he had to endure practically being bitten as she leapt at him with a giant kiss, unable to bear his procrastinating any more. She knew they’d end up together, and she was tired of his dilly-dallying. Harry didn’t blame her really.

            “I don’t mean Hermione!” Ron scoffed, “I mean Wendal!”

            Harry refrained from rolling his eyes with difficulty. Wendal had been transferred to another department in the Ministry a mere two days ago. To Hermione’s department in fact. Harry wondered how any Ministry based department could cope with two such fervent admirers of Ron as Wendal and Hermione were. It was certainly going to be interesting, especially as Hermione despised Wendal for showing such a blatant interest in Ron, even though Wendal knew perfectly well that Ron had a wife who worked in the same building. As far as Hermione was concerned, it was terribly wrong to go dipping your quill in the office ink. Terribly wrong. She knew that she was sort of doing that crime, but her and Ron had been together prior to their working at the Ministry. Therefore, it was not the same thing. Definitely not.

            “You can always visit,” Harry reminded him, “Wendal works in the same department as Hermione after all.”

            “That’s true…” Ron mused, “Good way to make Hermione jealous.”

            Harry suspected that Ron hadn’t meant to say this out loud. Harry also had to remind himself that Ron was twenty-two, and married, rather than fifteen, with an unobtainable crush. His schemes and attitude reminded Harry forcibly of their Sixth year, where Ron and Hermione had spent most of it trying to make the other one so jealous that they could end up so green that they may have been sick. It was all coming back to bite them in the bum, and Harry, to be honest, had had quite enough.

            “Yeah Ron,” Harry forced himself to agree, “Great way to make Hermione jealous.”




“It came on Friday,” Hermione was telling Ginny as they strode across the crowded Atrium on Monday morning, “It’s gorgeous. I know I don’t usually tolerate adjectives like “gorgeous” but this teacup is gorgeous. It really is…”

            “And it’s from Ron you say?” Ginny asked Hermione with a wide smile, “That’s so sweet. I never knew he had such romance in him.”

            “Oh he does Ginny,” Hermione gushed, “He really does. Of course you wouldn’t notice, as he’s your brother and all that, but seriously… it’s times like this when I remember why I married him.”

            Ginny was still baffled; she still could not understand why anyone would want to marry Ron. Over-protective buffoon he was.

            “I guess Ron’s all right,” Ginny said, still fighting with her unanswerable question: Why Hermione Married Ron, “And you reckon he’ll come and talk to you today then, and it’ll all be sorted out.”

            “I hope so,” Hermione said fervently, pressing the button for a lift that came clanging into view, holding a wizard with a head of grey hair that resembled a small rain cloud; they joined him in the lift, “He knows how much I love tea, so I’m sure the cup is from him.”

            Hermione and Ginny exited at their corresponding floors, promising to meet each other at their tea break.


Hermione arrived in her office in relatively good spirits, and swung into the chair behind her incredibly tidy desk with an air of happiness. Naturally, this was spotted by Wendal. Wendal hated Hermione, because she was married to Ron. Wendal wanted to be married to Ron.

            “Good Morning, Hermione,” Wendal said stiffly, tapping away at a typewriter so old that it could’ve had arthritis.

            “Miss Jenkins,” Hermione acknowledged, with a stiff nod of the head. Hermione wasn’t about to be on first name terms with someone she did not like.

            Hermione then tweaked things on her desk so that they were to her liking. Her photo of Ron was still present, but that was only because she didn’t want Wendal knowing they’d fallen out. She had a few neatly stacked books that served as her current reading material, a little wooden cup full of spare quills, a matching wooden holder for her ink pot (this had been a set bought for her from Ron) and a beautifully stacked pile of parchment. The edges of the parchment were all perfectly lined up, a task that only herself was allowed to complete. When Harry had tried, he had gotten it disastrously wrong, and in revenge Hermione had given him a paper cut. A small cut to be fair, but is there anything quite more painful?

            Following this “desk arranging”, they then engaged in the highly competitive game of “Who is busier than who?” More important people always seem to be busier than less important people, so the busiest person naturally becomes the more important person. Maturity does not really have a place in this game at all, so Hermione was allowed to forget about it. Just this once.

            Hermione started by pulling out the report that Harry had given her on Friday, and started reading it so fast her eyes nearly merged into one, her quill held poised above it, should she need to make potential alterations.

            Wendal fought back by dictating an incredibly dull letter to the Minister, her own pink quill skating across the parchment frantically (this was also another reason why Hermione didn’t like Wendal; who on earth had time for pink quills??).

            Hermione upped her game by making a very shouty Floo call to who she said was the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but was in fact, Harry. Poor Harry had to endure Hermione’s shouts about “FOREIGN LAW USURPERS” and “MAGICAL BOUNDARIES BEING BREACHED”, which were delivered to his entire office, and left Harry rather hard of hearing once they were done. He was also quite confused. As were his fellow Aurors.

            Wendal then really went to town and started to file her desk. As Hermione’s desk was already filed to the point where there was nothing actually in it, she was left to watch Wendal through narrowed brown eyes, as she watched Wendal being busy, and Hermione was left with nothing to do. In all honesty, she didn’t know what “filing a desk” meant, but she always heard people talking about it, and therefore the phrase had also slipped into her everyday conversation. It was a phrase that sounded busy and important, and therefore demanded respect. Hermione liked respect.

            This continued until ten-thirty, when they were finally allowed to engage in their own personal activity of choice for fifteen minutes.

            Ron arrived so promptly at ten-thirty that Hermione suspected he had taken the liberty of taking an early break for himself. This made her heart swell in adoration. The thought that someone had abandoned their work early to come and see her - far from making her cross as she thought of those rule-breaking take-a-break-early people wondering around – actually made her soul glow… she stood up from her desk –

            “Ron,” she started warmly, making her way towards him, with her arms outstretched, a smile coming onto her face as her heart filled with love for him.

            “I’m here to see Wendal,” Ron said shortly, dodging her arms and walking over to Wendal, whose blue eyes widened in surprise.

            Hermione’s smile slipped off her face as quickly as rain does down a window, painfully slowly. Her arms were still held out in front of her, and it took her a while to notice that they weren’t being filled with Ron. This is what she had expected to happen.

            “Hello Wendal,” said Ron, turning his back to his stunned wife, “Do you want to grab a cup of tea with me?”

            This pierced Hermione’s heart like a small shard of glass. Tea drinking was their thing. They always had tea at break together at work. It was the glue of their marriage, it was their – their thing! They were known for it – this was heartbreaking. How she hated that Wendal… with her beautiful face, and her – her busy schedule!

            “Sure, that would be great Ron, it really would,” Wendal said with a smirk, pulling a small purple bag onto her shoulder “But – um – don’t you want to spend break with your wife? She talks about you a lot you know.”

            Hermione could’ve hit her. She didn’t talk about Ron a lot. Especially not to Wendal. Horrible Wendal.

            “Erm, she’ll be fine,” Ron said, not looking at Hermione, but she could see that his ears had turned red from behind, “I’ll see her another day.”

            With that they briskly left the office, not looking at Hermione at all. So neither of them noticed the fact that her brown eyes were glistening with tears.




“I hate him!” stormed Hermione that night, as she had demanded Ginny to come over to give her sympathy, “He’s horrible! He took Wendal for a cup of tea – ”

            “No!” Ginny gasped disbelievingly, “But that’s your thing!”

            “I know it is!” Hermione said loudly, stopping her frantic pacing up and down her living room floor to face Ginny with a face of stone, “He’s doing this deliberately to hurt me!”         

            Ginny was now gob smacked. This Ron/Hermione situation had almost spun out of control now. Usually when they fell out if was for a few hours, and at most, maybe a day along with a night apart. But this had been going on for almost a week, and both the teacup and the teapot had been left forgotten, undoubtedly because both of their owners had deemed them useless.

            “You – you must’ve had an argument or something,” Ginny tried desperately, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to see how they had both fallen out, “You can’t have just both fallen out like this!”

            “I don’t know what I’ve done,” Hermione said, sitting down in an armchair and running her hands through her hair, “That’s what’s so frustrating.”

            “Think back, anything you could’ve said,” Ginny said, leaning forward from her perch on the arm of the sofa, “You know how sensitive Ron is… it’s hard to know sometimes what’ll offend him and what won’t!”

            “I know that,” Hermione said with a hollow laugh, her face now in her hands, “All I remember is that we were fine, and then he vanished into the bedroom for a bit… when he came out again he looked very grumpy and had a huge go at me because I was reading. Then he left.”

            Hermione removed her face from her hands, and Ginny saw that her eyes were slightly wet. It seemed to her that Ron was the only person that Hermione would ever cry over. He was the only person who could every properly hurt her, which was odd, because you wouldn’t think your husband would have the potential to do that. Especially not one that loved his wife as much as Ron did.

            “Could he have found anything in there?” Ginny asked, “Any posters of – of Gilderoy Lockhart or something? Something that could’ve made him jealous?”

            “Gilderoy Lockhart?” Hermione said, trying to sound scandalized but just sounded nervous and went pink instead, “No…”

            She lapsed into a patch of thought, her eyes glazed over and her hand over her mouth. Then her eyes slipped back into focus and she slowly withdrew her hand from her face, her mouth slightly open.

            “Viktor,” she said hoarsely.


            “Viktor,” Hermione repeated, still in that strange hoarse voice, “I wrote to him a while back… he’d just sent me a little card saying he’d had a son… so I wrote back, and Ron must’ve thought – ”

            “That you were still writing to him,” Ginny finished for her, “So he found this letter?”

            “He must’ve done,” Hermione said, “I hadn’t finished it, so I left it on my bedside table for me to do later.”

            “Have you sent it?” Ginny asked.

            “No,” Hermione said forlornly, “I felt so guilty that I didn’t have the heart to finish it. It’s in my drawer upstairs… you can go fetch it if you want.” She added, correctly interpreting Ginny’s curious expression.

            A minute later Ginny had bounded back, and was looking at Hermione with an incredulous expression.

            “How can you wonder why Ron’s mad with you?” she demanded of Hermione, “Read that! Go on, read it!”     

            She stabbed her finger at the last line of Hermione’s letter:


- I bet he’ll be an incredible Quidditch player. Not as good as you though, you’re the best Quidditch player I know!





            Hermione still looked confused.

            “Is it the “love Hermione” part?” she asked Ginny, “Because I don’t love Viktor, it’s just a natural way to end a letter – ”

            “No, no, no!” Ginny said impatiently, “You called Viktor the best Quidditch player you know!”

            “But he is!”

            “But – but saying that is like Ron – like Ron calling another girl the cleverest woman he knew…”

            “He wouldn’t dare!” gasped Hermione, shocked.

            “Exactly! You’ve made Viktor sound like you respect him more than Ron, because he’s a lot better at Quidditch than him,” Ginny explained, “And also he’s obviously still smarting that you write to the bloke that snogged you before he did!”

            “That’s mad!” Hermione said, looking at Ginny as though she were the mad one, “I ended up marrying Ron! Not Viktor! Surely that shows him that I love and respect him far more than I ever did Viktor…”        

            “Yeah I know,” Ginny agreed, sighing at the immaturity of her brother “But you know how insecure Ron is about his Quidditch skills.”

            “So this whole stupid thing all boils down to Quidditch…” Hermione seethed, feeling quite resentful towards the game that she’d never truly understood.

            “And besides,” Ginny started, “Harry is better than Krum at Quidditch!”

            “Sure,” Hermione said, not really listening, but sitting there in despair. How could this whole ridiculous thing be about Quidditch?? It was ridiculous. Stupid beyond belief.

            “I want a cup of tea,” Hermione eventually said, getting up and making towards the kitchen.

            In the whole Ron-Quidditch issue she had forgotten that her newest teacup didn’t work, which consequently meant that she became so disheartened that she didn’t have a cup of tea after all.




Ron stared at the powder blue teapot, wondering why on earth he had done what he did to Hermione today. He couldn’t believe it of himself… and he wasn’t the usual person to go doubting his actions… perhaps he was growing up?

            Anyway, he continued to stare at it, thinking how lovely it would look with a pair. It looked somewhat lonely, what with its little spout and handle. It was a sweet little thing, perfectly made and seemed to sit there in front of him so innocently. It was a pity the wretched thing didn’t work.

            Speaking of loneliness, it was only now that Ron understood the awful mistake he had made, and began to wonder if Hermione would ever want him back. Because one thing was certain… he wasn’t coping very well without her. 

Long live the teapot!!!

Chapter 4: Being A Married Person
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Ginny was nervous; she had a little problem that she had been dwelling on for about a week and had only really just started contemplating about what it could mean. It wasn’t as though she was nervous in a negative sense, more apprehensive. The little problem could potentially be quite disruptive to her and Harry’s current attempts to get decent footholds on their respective career ladders, and she didn’t really want that. On the other hand…

            Logistics and logic and common sense and convenience aside, she was relatively pleased about her potential little problem. The only thing remained was to get it confirmed before she went and told Harry about it. This thought then led her onto musing about how he would react… which heightened her nerves just a little bit. Not much. Well, that’s a lie. It made her downright terrified. But was she thinking straight? Harry would never ever walk out on her. He’d be pleased wouldn’t he? Yes, she thought. He’d be pleased.

            Which made her very confused when she started to cry. 




 “Ron, even I know that maroon doesn’t go with orange,” Harry tried to reason. Needless to say, his reasoning was in vain; maroon didn’t go with anything.

            “Maroon doesn’t go with anything though!” said Ron, voicing Harry’s thought in despairing tones, “She’ll laugh at me.”

            “She won’t laugh at you,” Harry said calmly, “She saw you at the Yule Ball remember? The dress robes… lace… maroon again?”

            Ron’s face screwed up a little in humiliation. Oh yes… those dress robes. He knew they were still alive somewhere, collecting dust in his attic most likely, still maroon and still nastily embarrassing and still awaiting their well-deserved fate of being subjected to the CRUCIATUS CURSE!!! Yes, Ron knew that submitting a pair of robes to this curse was unlikely to cause any real damage, but it’s sometimes nice to have an outlet for your vindictive fury against someone (or something, as the case may be).

            “Long time no see… best thing for those robes I reckon,” Ron grimaced darkly, “Still, I can’t see why I can’t wear these orange trousers with my maroon jumper.”

            Harry was still at a loss as to why Ron even owned a pair of orange trousers. He was prepared to bet that Hermione had had no input on their purchase. He was even prepared to bet that she didn’t know they existed, otherwise her and Ginny may have had to have started some small sort of rebellion/ vendetta that called for their immediate disposal. They made Harry’s eyes hurt, and he was convinced the glass in his glasses was magnifying and concentrating their colour so that the orange burnt into his pupils with a terrifying ferocity.

            To test his theory, he took his glasses off, and rubbed the bridge of his nose to try and removed the red marks that were permanently engraved there. No, the trousers may be blurry, but they were still just as orange.

            “You look odd without glasses Harry,” Ron mused, “I know I’ve seen you without them, but you don’t look right somehow…”

            Harry sighed; the taunts people who wore glasses were subjected to. He may as well surgically attach them to his face, seeing as he looked so “odd” without them. Also, as he wore glasses, people also expected him to be very clever. To contradict this very unfair assumption, he once took the liberty of rearranging his facial features into what he hoped was a gormless expression. Needless to say, it hadn’t worked, and caused Ron to ask him why he was trying to willingly look like Goyle.

            “But it’s just my regular face!” he retorted, “I bet if I walked around without glasses all day, you wouldn’t notice the difference by the end of it.”

            “If you don’t have to wear your glasses, does that mean I can wear my orange trousers?” Ron asked hopefully.

            “Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed.

            This little scenario involving a partially blind Harry and a terribly dressed Ron wasn’t the way to go about finding good fortune on a marital problem.




Harry had a bruise on his forehead, shin and elbow. He had walked into a low lying table, a branch and had then tried to elbow Ron because he was laughing at him and accidentally elbowed a bus-stop sign instead.

            They were meant to be visiting Hermione, so Ron could finally make amends, but he kept chickening out at the last minute and therefore kept suggesting (very casually) that he and Harry should take a detour, to admire the beautiful countryside and scenery of the area. These many detours had taken them right into the Muggle high street that sat further inland than Tinworth. Ron’s trousers drew many curious – and some downright offended – stares, but Harry in his visually impaired state did not notice these. Ron did however, and he was getting edgy about it, causing him to yell at innocent bystanders and pedestrians. 

            “I don’t see what their problem is,” he muttered to Harry out the side of his mouth, as a little old lady turned her head right round to see what was attracting so many stares – almost like a magnet – from her fellow shoppers, “It’s not like we’re wearing robes or anything. Then I’d understand the staring, but seriously… orange is a misunderstood colour.”

            Harry assumed that Ron was making some sort of reference to his hair.

            “It’s not as bad as black,” Harry complained, “According to Ginny, it makes me look pale all the time.”

            “There’s nothing wrong with being pale,” Ron said sagely, “Pale and interesting.”

            “Did you get that from your Mum?” Harry asked, his mouth quirking upwards.

            “No!” Ron said defensively, “I got it from Hermione. It’s a Muggle saying.”

            “Right,” said Harry, wondering how he was managing to navigate his way through this unfamiliar and blurry landscape. He was mad to have gone wondering off without his glasses. The reasons for this were twofold: One – he couldn’t see, and Two – Ron was right, he did look funny. He was yet to find a third reason, but he was sure there was another.

            “Those are nice…” Ron said softly, grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him round to face a shop front they’d just passed.

            Oh yes, reason Three – Harry couldn’t spot terrible clothes out in advance and therefore prevent Ron from finding them in shop windows.

            “Those are purple Ron,” Harry said weakly, “God you need Hermione back.”

            “What?” said Ron sharply.





“My behaviour is starting to concern me Harry,” Ron confided, as he and Harry eventually made their way back (to Harry’s home, Ron never did pick up the courage to talk to Hermione that day), “I’m becoming all bachelor like.”

            “Bachelor like?” Harry asked, confused; he didn’t know Ron knew such a word.

            “Yeah… like, I don’t water plants anymore – and I’ve stopped using soap.”

            “Urgh,” said Harry, “That’s just gross on any level Ron! Any self respecting bachelor would use soap!”

            “Not me…” said Ron, suddenly sitting on a rock that was protruding from the cliff top path that they were walking along, “I just stand under the shower for ages… staring out your tiny bathroom window.”

            “It’s not that small Ron,” Harry consoled, even though he had just found out that Ron had been neglecting to water Ginny’s plants when he’d promised he would. He didn’t care much, but Ginny certainly would.

            “I fail at not having a wife!” he said, in an I’m-a-hard-done-by-soul sort of voice, “I thought

it would be fun! No one bossing you around… telling you to go to work… and stuff.”

            Harry crouched down next to Ron, at a complete loss of what to say. This was Hermione’s area, relationship advice. Unfortunately it wasn’t really viable for Ron to go to ask her for help right now.

            “Well, you need to get her back then don’t you,” Harry said, trying to unearth some sort of pearl of wisdom but failing a bit, “Erm – just say sorry and get her some daisies or something.”

            “Daisies?” Ron looked at Harry, “Those grow in our lawn. She won’t want them.”

            “Bluebells, daffodils, snowdrops…” but Harry trailed off at the look on Ron’s face.

            “You know the names of too many flowers Harry!” he said, looking concerned.

            “I know… why am I such a girl?”

            “It’s because you’re married Harry… it’s because you’re married.”

            “So are you!”

            “Hence I know lots of different flowers. Perfume brands too.”

            “I know the release date of Witch Weekly,” Harry sighed sadly.

            “It’s Sunday isn’t it?”

            “No, it’s Friday.”

            Harry and Ron both sighed. Oh the burdens of married life.




Harry and Ron arrived back at the little cottage about ten minutes later. Ron immediately skulked upstairs to go and sit in his room miserably. Ginny momentarily went pale as Ron’s trousers walked past her but she recovered quickly and turned to face Harry. He noticed she had an air of urgency about her, tingled with a mix of nervous hesitancy.

            “What’s up?” he asked.

            Ginny gave him a bright smile, and she took hold of his wrist, dragging him through the hall way, through their living room and out the door that led into their garden. Her eyes were flickering about a bit, but her smile never wavered. Harry assumed she was happy, but something was obviously causing her some worry. Maybe she’d had a really amazing job offer that would require them to move to Russia or something. Harry hoped this wasn’t the case; he’d never been keen on Vodka.

            They were stood in the somewhat overgrown back garden, with somewhat wilted flowers (due to Ron’s newly introduced “bachelor like” behaviour) but the day was bright and the air was pleasant to breathe in. Harry inwardly chastised himself for noticing such trivial things when it was clear that Ginny wanted to tell him something. As it was abundantly clear that it wasn’t something along the lines of “we’ve run out of Floo powder” Harry naturally felt his heart race increase a little, to encompass the little edge of fear that had entered his body.

            “Good day with Ron?” she asked him, still beaming at him in a slightly manic way, and still holding onto his wrist with a grip that was a little tighter than was to be considered normal. Harry’s innate curiosity now joined his fear.

            “Yeah, it was ok,” he said warily, “Are you alright?”

            “I’m fine Harry! Great, never better actually…”

            “You have something you want to tell me don’t you.”

            That was Harry, not only was he the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, but he also understood women. Those men are few and far between, especially ones who also have the added bonus of having conquered evil dark lords.

            “Yeah, I do,” Ginny sighed, and her grip on Harry’s wrist relaxed a little. Some of her manic air vanished, and Harry felt it was now safe to slip his hand into hers. This helped her to calm down, and as she looked up into his anxious green eyes –

            “You’re not wearing glasses!” she observed suddenly.

            “No I’m not, you’re right,” he said pointedly, indicating that she should spill what she wanted to say before she imploded.

- and as she looked up into his anxious green spectacle-less eyes she realised that nothing she could tell him would ever make him leave her.

“I am going – we are going to have a baby,” Ginny told the lawn, before managing to turn her face into the equally green pair of eyes. This pleased the lawn greatly, because it would mean that a certain Mr Potter would soon not have the time to mow it for a long while! The little blades of grass all ruffled in excitement, like they were giggling at the look of shock on Harry’s face.

            “Are you joking?” he asked hoarsely, still gripping Ginny’s hand and looking very hard into her (blurry) eyes.

            Mutely, she shook her head.

            “That’s – that’s really…”

            “Come on!!” thought Ginny.

            “That’s really great,” Harry turned to look into the garden, a very large grin spreading over most of his face. A breeze lifted the wilted flowers and they seemed to burst into colour once more, the vivid green hedgerows shivered and the bright blue sky also seemed pretty happy too.

            “This is great, I can’t believe this!” Harry said, turned back to Ginny, who’s eyes were wet (but Harry couldn’t see this), “You’re amazing you are!”

            Ginny gave a watery giggle as Harry pulled her into an embrace so strong that she feared for her spine’s safety. One of her tears trickled onto his neck, and Harry looked at her again, trying to figure out why she was crying. He didn’t ask her, but instead kissed a falling tear away and then kissed her on the lips, whilst smiling. She started to smile too, but they continued to hold each other, both laughing at each other’s reactions and happiness.

            To complete the scene, Ron poked his out from his bedroom window (that had been open) and yelled: “THIS IS THE BEST NEWS I’VE HEARD SINCE I FOUND OUT THAT HERMIONE SAID “I DO!” AT OUR WEDDING!”




A high pitched squeal emitted from the fireplace as Hermione’s head appeared in it, Harry having just yelled at her to come over straight away! Him and Ginny didn’t want to tell too many people yet, but as Ron had found out, it only seemed fair that Hermione should know too.

            “Oh Harry, I’m so happy!” she cried, tears falling from her eyes. Harry wondered why all these women were crying? He couldn’t remember being happier! Perhaps he didn’t understand women so well after all.

            “So am I!” he agreed, “Come in, please?”

            “Ok, ok I’ll come,” she agreed with a watery laugh.

            A moment later she staggered out of the fireplace onto the rug that was set in front of it. She immediately grabbed Harry round the neck and sobbed into his shoulder, whilst he hugged her straight back, his smile never wavering.

            Finally relinquishing him, she blindly hugged Ginny, both of them crying quite happily. Harry didn’t know that people cried when they found out they were pregnant. He guessed it was because they’d all been through so much together, that having something as wonderful as this happen to them was quite a pleasant surprise.

            “You have your teacup!” Harry pointed out brightly. Indeed, the little powder blue cup was hanging off her finger.

            “Yes, yes I was about to try the reverse-impervious charm on it, you know?” Hermione sniffed, “To see if that’s why it didn’t work… but I never got the time because you appeared in the fireplace – “”

            She broke off, because Ron and his orange trousers had come into the room. However, unlike most people who had set eyes upon him that day, Hermione’s initial reaction was nothing to do with his trousers.

            “I’m off then,” she said, quickly withdrawing her gaze from Ron, new fresh tears entering her eyes. These were not happy ones. “Bye Harry… Ginny, I’m so happy for you.”

            As she pinched a glittering speck of powder from the little flowerpot next to the fire Ron said in a strained voice, “Wait, please.”

            Feeling this was their cue to leave, Harry and Ginny strode briskly from the room to go on a walk, just savouring their blissful happiness and generally being sickeningly cheerful together.

            This left an awkward silence in their wake, the previous happy sounds seemed to have died from the room, leaving a resonating silence behind. Neither knew what to say. Surprisingly though, it was Ron who spoke first.

            “I’m stupid,” he said to the silent room, “I love you! Please don’t leave me, I’m really sorry! I promise I’ll never – ”

            “Shut up Ron,” Hermione interrupted him before he could make any stupid promises like “I’ll never be rude/ horrible to you again, “We argue. It’s what we do. Deal with it, you don’t have to come and live here every time it happens. Harry and Ginny must be sick to death of you.”

            Hermione felt she perfectly entitled to have her say after all Ron had done! She decided not to overdo it however, and also apologised herself.

            “I’m sorry too though,” she sniffed, “You’re the best Quidditch player I know, you’re also my best friend and I love you far, far too much.”

            Ron was baffled; how could she be forgiving him? He’d been awful, the worst husband ever!

            “I’m a terrible husband,” he complained, but Hermione had already strode up to him and kissed him firmly on the lips, so all his little protests came out muffled.

            They just stood there in each other’s arms and savoured their being together once more. Hermione just had one more thing to say though:

            “Your trousers are foul!”

Chapter 5: Symbolism
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The upshot of the whole incident was that Ron and Hermione realised that living without each other caused hardship for not only them, but also for everyone else around them.

            Poor Wendal was left to come to terms with the fact that Ron’s heart has been, and always will be in Hermione’s care but consoled herself by going after the latest addition to the Improper Use of Magic office: a nice chap called Ben. He had enough wand skills to keep Wendal happy but it was somewhat disturbing how much he resembled Ron. In fact, it because a new Ministry joke (amongst the slightly more easily amused folk) to call them Bon and Ren.

            Harry and Ginny were very pleased with their latest news, though Harry was a little nervous about becoming a father - having had no real fatherly figure to gain any inspiration from; he figured taking any inspiration from Sirius was just asking for trouble when it came to raising a child. Ron was delighted about becoming an Uncle again, but bleached to a dangerous shade of white when Hermione let slip that she wanted to see what Ron would be like a Dad. George – who had been present at the incident – said it would a “bloody disaster.”

            The only problem that remained was that Ron and Hermione still couldn’t get their teapot and teacup to work properly. Hermione was more curious about it than Ron was, and he accused her of becoming obsessive. She jinxed his eyebrows together in retaliation. Naturally, they still disagreed about things, but that was simply the Ron-Hermione way. The glue to their marriage relied on bickering and disagreeing over very unimportant things. Like the correct positioning of the kitchen table; Ron thought it would best to stick it against the wall when it wasn’t being used. Hermione thought this was a preposterous idea, and refused to have any part in it.

            “This whole thing has been a bit pointless really,” Ron observed as he sat at the correctly positioned kitchen table one morning (in other words, not propped against the wall), “We shouldn’t ever break up again.”

            “We never broke up,” Hermione said jabbing her wand at a kettle, “We went through a rough patch. It’s called a marriage.”

            Ron nodded in agreement. Marriage. It was a funny business.

            “Harry and Ginny don’t go through rough patches,” he said, pointing a finger at Hermione, “and neither do my parents. Or Bill and Fleur.”

            “I’m sure they do… we’re just more… flamboyant about it, because one of us – usually you – invariably moves out.”

            “Harry and Ginny didn’t argue when I lived with them,” he said, “They’re great together. Don’t you reckon?”

            “I do.” 

            “There’s no other bloke I’d ever trust my sister with,” Ron said, stretching back in his chair and staring out the window, “He’s the best. The cream of the crop.”

            “Maybe you should marry him.”

            “Believe me it’s crossed my mind…” Ron laughed. He then paused to smile at Hermione, and then he got up and enveloped her in a hug. Being so much smaller than Ron Hermione made a little series of muffled “I’m squashed” noises but couldn’t really complain; Ron’s hugs were like books. Always good to have lots of them, and she could find them wherever she went. She also couldn’t cope without them.

            Through a gap in Ron’s arms Hermione’s eyes fell upon the teapot again, and curiosity burned inside her. Ron felt her tense, and rolled his eyes.

            “Would you stop thinking about that bloody teapot!”

            “How do you know I’m thinking about?” Hermione said indignantly into Ron’s t-shirt.

            “Because … I’m clever.”

            “Fine. If you’re so clever, figure out the teapot mystery,” Hermione extracted herself from Ron and picked up the pot, shoving it at him, “And I will love you forever.”

            “You should love me forever anyway!”

            “Try me.”

            Worried, Ron immediately set to work, boiling water, adding teabags and sugar to the pot. So far so good. But the hard bit was yet to come. He grabbed a teacup and tried to pour the tea into it, but as ever the teapot would not relinquish its contents.

            “It won’t do it!” Ron complained, “I can’t think how – “”

            But… in a true lamp-over-head type style, his mouth dropped open and he made a revolutionary suggestion that he couldn’t believe they hadn’t spotted…

            “The teacup! Get your teacup!”

            Hermione pulled it from the cupboard and shoved it next to Ron. The two powder blue pieces of crockery stood there innocently, and then Ron picked up the pot, and waited for a miracle. He started to pour… and – and it did. Golden tea gushed from the spout and landed in the teacup, and it did not disappear.

            “Yes! Yes oh Ron, now I really will love your forever!”

            “Yes, yes you will.”

            Hermione drank the tea, and was pleased. She was very pleased. She smiled up at Ron who smiled back, before both of them came to a terribly cheesy realisation: the teapot couldn’t be with anything apart from the teacup. Nothing else could tolerate or accept the other, and that was completely true of themselves. Nobody else could bear being married to Ron, and no one else could bear being married to Hermione. In short, you couldn’t have one without the other; it simply wouldn’t work.

            And all of that lovely symbolism aside, Ron and Hermione had inherited a lovely teaset. Which was never a bad thing. Never at all.


*hand up!*