A/N: This one-shot doesn't serve any literary purpose other than Ron and Hermione making sly digs in light of recent events. But don't worry, it's definitely not just wish-fulfillment.

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine but at the moment I really, really wish they were.

"Hermione?" The hand that had been trailing lightly across her bare back came to a halt.

It was a tentative pause rather than an abrupt stop, but she found she couldn't muster up the presence of mind to address it in her blissfully drowsy state. Eventually, she managed a disgruntled "Mmph?"

"You asleep?" Ron murmured. She could just feel the feather-light touch of his lips against her ear, a privilege afforded only to him. She had never been able to stand anyone breathing down her neck, but her husband's touch had always been the exception, an intimacy rather than an intrusion.

That was why she rolled over to face him, blinking her eyes open to meet his. When she saw the sincerity there, she suppressed the flicker of annoyance his interruption of her rest had caused her. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

Ron shifted to prop his head up with one hand, his lean muscles moving beneath his skin with a sort of grace his lanky form did not ordinarily permit - although, Hermione had to admit, she had always been fond of the way he moved, in a way that was so uniquely his own that she could recognize his figure from miles away. But there was a hesitance in his actions now, the kind that told her whatever he had to say deserved her full attention.

"It's just…" he began, trailing his hand to her stomach as he spoke. She had put on a little weight since giving birth to their children, but Ron didn't seem to mind in the slightest; in fact, the love in his eyes that she had first recognized in the days after the Battle of Hogwarts had only gotten brighter during the interceding years.

It went both ways, too. Hermione had thought that they were the best of friends when they were fifteen. On the day he proposed, she had believed that she loved him more than it was even possible to love somebody. Yet they still continued to grow closer, more deeply connected with each passing day. Which, she supposed, was why she nearly fell out of bed when he finally said what was on his mind.

"Are you happy?" he blurted, pushing the words out of his mouth as quickly as he could, reminiscent of the way he tended to rip off bandages before he was quite ready.

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Are you happy?" Ron repeated, a hint of desperation seeping through the forced evenness of his voice. The tips of his ears were burning red, and his eyes were trained on the spot where the edge of their duvet met her left shoulder.

"Well, I've just been thoroughly shagged by my wonderful husband, so I suppose I am." Hermione smirked, but Ron simply frowned at her attempt to lighten the mood. "Oh, Ron, don't be ridiculous," she groaned.

"I'm serious," Ron insisted, the rosy glow of his ears spreading to his cheeks and chest as his forehead creased even further.

"Is this about earlier?" she interrupted, recalling the brief argument they'd had early in the evening. It hadn't been a bad one, really; neither one of them had shouted - they had a better outlet for their passion now. "Are you still upset?"

"Can't even remember what it was about," Ron mumbled. "I just want to make sure, you know."

"Ron…" Hermione sighed and blew the air out of her lungs in frustration. She'd been so close to falling asleep, secure and content in his arms. "What is this about, really?"

"I like to check every now and then," he said defensively, still refusing to meet her eyes. "That we're on the same page, I mean."

"Seven years," Hermione said pointedly.


"Seven years. That's how long we've been married, and I wouldn't trade a single second of it," she clarified, gently tilting his chin so that he would look at her properly. His gaze was sheepish, and it reminded her all too well of the boy who had thought he was worthless, who had hardly seemed to believe it the first time she'd told him she loved him, who hadn't thought he deserved it. Hermione wanted to scream, but time had given her patience, and she waited for him to explain.

"I know," Ron said earnestly. "I do, I know."

"Then why are you asking?" Hermione asked, unable to keep a frustrated groan from escaping her lips.

Ron hesitated a moment, choosing his words with the sort of care he reserved only for her and for their children. "Because I never want it to change."

"It won't," Hermione reminded him. "I love you, Ron Weasley."

"And I love you, Hermione Weasley," he responded in kind, the corners of his mouth softening into a smile. "Which is why I don't wanna end up like those couples that you see lined up in the divorce lawyer's corner of your department."

"We won't," she reasoned, sliding her hand to caress his stubbly jaw. "We care about each other and our marriage too much to let that happen."

Ron nodded, then chuckled humorlessly. "I didn't ever tell you 'bout Mum, did I?"

"What about her?"

"I told her 'bout the counseling sessions we went to after Hugo was born," Ron admitted, ducking his head a bit. "She was convinced we were headed for a split. She started bloody crying, for Merlin's sake. I can't believe you haven't noticed, honestly; she's been watching us like a hawk for weeks."

Hermione was torn between frowning and laughing. "We went to all of six sessions, and they were nearly two years ago!"

"I'm aware," Ron said, yawning and lying on his back. Hermione immediately settled into his side, resting her head in the crook of his arm. He traced small circles on her waist as he continued, "I told her we were never gonna split up."

"There's nothing wrong with making an effort in our relationship," Hermione insisted, the irritation that had been lying dormant since he'd interrupted her rest flaring up tenfold, as it tended to when anyone dared to question or threaten that which she held dear. "We were working proactively, trying to get ahead of the stress we knew was building."

"I know," Ron placated. "I told her. Dunno if she listened, but at least I tried."

"Well, it doesn't matter, anyway," Hermione declared. "I am happy."

"So am I." Ron brought his other arm around to pull her into an embrace, and she shifted so that she was lying half on top of him.

"Then we've got everything we need," she finished, grinning lazily as their bare legs tangled together.

"That's all I wanted to know," Ron murmured. "S'not like I really thought you weren't; I just figured I ought to make sure I'm listening to you and what not."

"Well, you are. Should I ask you as well?"

"Nah, you know I'd tell you if I was really pissed off about anything."

"Well, I'd tell you, too," Hermione said, drumming her fingertips slowly on his chest.

"Mmm," Ron grunted. "By the way, guess what I found out today."

"What's that?"

"You're having an affair," he informed her, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Another one?" Hermione sighed. "Who am I meant to be sneaking around with this time?"

"Harry again," Ron said. "Bit unoriginal, really."

"You'd think I might be a bit tired of him by now," Hermione remarked. "Besides, juggling a full-time job, two kids, a husband, and a lover is a bit much."

"Even for the brightest, most capable witch in Britain," Ron agreed, a deep chuckle rippling through his torso as he spoke.

Hermione laughed too, but she cut herself off abruptly as a worrisome thought snaked its way into her mind. "Ron, that's not why-"

"Oh, no," he assured her, shifting to meet her eyes once again. "No, not at all. Harry and I had a good laugh about it, actually."

"Good," Hermione said, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. "That would have set us back about twelve years, otherwise."

Ron laughed again, running an affectionate hand through her hair. "Oi, I was seventeen then, and the two of you had always got on better. And I do recall you saying he was 'fanciable.'"

Hermione struggled to keep a straight face as she considered it. "Can you imagine how boring he and I would have been together?"

"I'd rather not," Ron admitted. "Your kids would have been ugly little gits."

"I doubt they'd ever have been conceived," Hermione replied primly, grimacing at the very thought. "But that's the press, isn't it? Always looking for something to dramatize. I've never understood why it's always me doing the wandering, though. Why not throw you a bone?"

"'Cause they know I could never do any better," Ron joked.

"Neither could I," Hermione added firmly, fixing him with a fierce gaze. But this time, there was no hint of self-deprecation in his eyes - because they truly had conquered their demons, even if the ghosts made an appearance from time to time.

"Well, now that that's settled," Ron said, sliding one of his hands below her waist and the other between their torsos, "you up for another go?"

"Romantic," Hermione deadpanned, though she responded immediately by draping her leg over his and straddling him, sliding her body upward until she could press her lips against his.

"Yet here we are," Ron murmured, trailing kisses from her mouth to her neck.

"Here we are," Hermione confirmed, reaching between their torsos to trace a path from his chest down to his taut stomach. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"Not even a library?" Ron teased, tangling his fingers in her hair and guiding her face toward his again.

"I've got plenty of books here," she reminded him - the fourth bedroom had been converted to an office space long ago. "That's hardly the point, though. I'm trying to be romantic."

"Sorry, love. You'll have to be more convincing."

"Better than 'oi - you want another go?'"

"Ha, ha." Ron rolled his eyes and captured her lips with his own, kissing her with a passion that remained unbridled and fervent, even after twelve years of doing the same. "Top or bottom?"

"You on top," Hermione requested, rolling off of him unceremoniously. He followed less than a second later, grinning from ear to ear as he hovered above her. Their hands were everywhere, wandering with the sort of practiced touch that could only come from so many years together. Each of them knew exactly what to do to bring the other to the edge, and they simply couldn't get enough. If Hermione was sure of anything, it was that neither she nor Ron would ever be bored, especially not in this aspect of their lives. And as they made love that night, building from a slow intensity to a frantic climax, gasping sweet nothings against each other's skin, they knew that mere words could not describe what they shared. But still, they were sure to say another "I love you" before they fell asleep, because it was the closest they could come.

Ron and Hermione Weasley did not have an idyllic relationship. They were not free from the conflicts and frustrations that cropped up in their day-to-day lives. They were not perfect, but that was why they were indestructible. When they vowed to love each other for better or for worse, they knew that they could do it because they already had, since the age of eleven. Their path had not been without missteps, but they had never completely lost their way. They had taken on the darkest parts of the world, they had taken on the darkest parts of themselves, and they had won. Ron and Hermione Weasley had believed in each other for nineteen years, and they sure as hell weren't about to stop. All was well.

A/N: I'm totally not bitter or anything. Still waiting for the full interview/hoping something was taken out of context. Hopefully y'all enjoyed the sappy, sugary fluff. AKA my giant middle finger to non-Romione shippers. Some bits were probably inspired by other pro-Romione posts I've seen this week - I love this community so much. Thank you for reading! :)