Summary: It is Hermione's 29th birthday, and her husband (a certain redhead whose name starts with the letter R), gives her what he thinks is the best birthday gift any woman could ask for—a broomstick. Is he right? Hermione doesn't think so. But it isn't all that it seems…

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This fic is inspired by the Harry Potter Nimbus 2000 toy broomstick being sold in the market. For the life of me, I don't know whose idea it is to make a battery-operated vibrating toy broomstick targeted to children! :D

A Broom Isn't Just a Broom

"Mmmm…mmmm. So good, that feels so good," Hermione murmured as she stirred from her deep slumber. She reached a hand over her head and stroked her husband's hair, loving the way its silkiness felt between her fingers.


Ron's butterfly kisses on her face and neck had woken her up, which was a pleasant surprise. Usually, she was the first to get up from bed, as he'd never been a morning person.

Feeling quite giddy, she turned to face him. Even though she had opened her eyes to this handsome freckled face most mornings for the past five years (the rare times they were not together were the days when one or both of them had business trips, of course), the thrill of seeing it up close and intimate never failed to make a tingle run up and down her spine.

"You're up early. What's the occasion?" she asked, brushing a lock of fiery red hair off his forehead. God, she loved his hair.

"It's your birthday, silly," he answered with an impish grin, gently releasing her as he got up from the mattress. "And I have the best gift for you." He knelt down and looked under the bed.

She sat up. "My God, it is my birthday today. I'm already twenty-nine years old, but I don't feel any older at all!" she exclaimed. "How time flies."

"Where the bloody hell is it?!" Ron said in a muffled irritated voice from halfway under the bed, his boxer-shorted rear sticking out in the air. Hermione suppressed a giggle.

"I can wait. Let's just save it for later," she said, gently tapping him on the back with her foot.

But he would not let up. "I know I put it here—ah, here it is!"

He crawled out, and stood up, his hair all messed up (sexily so, Hermione noticed) and boxer shorts all dangerously lowered a notch or two (any lower and she knew she would jump all over him without hesitation and restraint). On second thought, she would've jumped all over him anyway if he hadn't been thrusting a rather big and long package right under her nose at the very moment.

"Happy birthday," Ron said sheepishly.

"Awww, thank you!" Hermione took the package and placed it on the bed, feeling her heart going a-flutter. "C'mon, sit here," she said invitingly, patting the pillow next to her.

"Open it, open it," he urged as he sat down beside her. Despite of his strong built and manly face, he looked at her with an expression of a child impatiently waiting for Christmas.

"You're more excited than I am," she said with a soft laugh. Nevertheless, she quickly tore the beautiful gift wrapping and found…

A toy broomstick.

Well, she did not expect a toy broomstick, but then again, Hermione knew that Ron's intentions were always good. His heart was always in the right place, even though he could be often clueless when it came to women.

"Um, lovely. Thanks sweetie," she said. She ran her hand down the its length, still wondering why he bought something this like for her. "But why a broomstick? And a toy one at that?" she asked as tactfully as she could, not wanting him to think that she didn't like it.

"You haven't seen what that thing could do," he said. "Stand up, and mount it."

"What?"

"C'mon, give it a try," he wheedled. "Trust me on this one."

Well, she knew what toy broomsticks could do. They fly a feet above the ground, that was all. But she decided that it wouldn't hurt to humor Ron.

She threw the blankets aside and stood up from the bed. As told, she mounted the broom, and feeling a bit silly, kicked off from the ground. Immediately, she hovered a foot from the floor. Hermione waited for a few seconds for anything out of the ordinary to happen, but nothing came.

She looked at her husband expectedly, and she saw that he was watching her with a mischievous smile. Feeling a bit irritated, she said, "Look, if this is your idea of a birthday joke—"

"Rub down the length of the handle," he said, cutting her off.

"What?" she asked, very much puzzled.

"Just rub down the length of the handle, from the tip to the end where the twigs meet," he said. "C'mon, you'll love it, I promise."

Shrugging, Hermione grasped the end of the handle and slowly rubbed down the wood (yes, wood). She felt herself blushing furiously, as the action reminded her of something rated for-adults-only.

A few moments later, she felt it.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" She exclaimed.

"The Vibratus Charm gets the job done, right?" Ron said, looking quite satisfied in a smug way.

Hermione, fearing she would go into transports of delight if she didn't get off (the broomstick), quickly dismounted.

"Ronald Brent Weasley! You bad, bad boy!" she said mock-reprovingly as soon as both of her feet were on the ground. "How do you turn this thing off?" she asked, looking at the still-vibrating broomstick in her hand.

"You rub up, of course."

She shook her head and rubbed up the handle; the broomstick stopped vibrating.

"Who ever thought of making up these things?" she asked as she sat down. "It's a toy broomstick, alright, but it is definitely not a children's toy!"

Ron laughed. "Not all toys are for children. I thought it's really funny, but playful, sexy, and useful too, for, you know…" Then he suddenly looked worried. "Don't you like it?" he asked, concern in his eyes.

It was Hermione's turn to laugh. "Of course I like it!" She flung her arms around his neck and planted a quick kiss on his mouth. "But why would I need it when I have you?" she said in what she hoped was a seductive voice.

"Wow, that's a great thing to hear." Ron smiled his devastatingly sexy reserved-only-for-Hermione smile. "I actually have a rather underlying selfish intention for giving you that," he admitted.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"I wanna watch you while you're using it."

"Well, we can make that work out fine, Mr. Ronald Brent Weasley."

"Naughty girl."

"Dirty boy."

And what happened next was something not suitable for people under seventeen years of age.

The End…

(…of this fic, but Ron and Hermione are still happily picking up where we left off)