Ron was already at the Leaky when Hermione arrived. Her hair, despite now being threaded through with strands of grey, was as wild as ever, and she was dressed in an emerald robe that made him reminiscent of their Hogwarts days, back when McGonagall would stare at them in disapprovement while clad in her green velvet dressing gown. Hermione often had a similar sort of stern air about her. The look she used to give them when he and Harry had failed to do their homework could still send a chill up his spine.

Those days were long past, though. Now she glared Ministry employees and her fellow teachers more than any unruly child or friend.

"Hello, Headmistress," he said with a grin, standing to greet her.

Hermione beamed and threw herself into a hug. Ron caught her, staggering a little.

"Easy, I'm not as young as I used to be," he joked. He ushered her into the corner booth he'd reserved, a Firewhisky waiting for her on the table. His Butterbeer was already a third gone.

"Oh, Ron, it's so nice to see you," Hermione said. She tucked her wand up her sleeve and made an attempt at calming her curls. "I'm sorry I'm late! Peeves was causing mischief and ever since the Bloody Baron moved on he's much harder to corral."

Try as he might, Ron couldn't hide his amusement. He snorted loudly enough that the neighbouring tables glanced over with momentary interest. Hermione smacked him on the arm, but her eyes were glimmering with mirth.

"Nice to see you too, I suppose." He nursed his stinging arm, but his face was split wide with a grin.

"Don't you laugh, Ron Weasley," Hermione scolded.

"I'll laugh if I like," he replied, ever contrary. "What's Peeves up to now? The usual?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sadly. It was dung bombs, today."

"A classic," Ron said, nodding sagely.

"Hah — a classic? You try telling that to the poor Ravenclaws in their Common Room. The usual spells to disperse the smell didn't work, either."

Hermione sighed and sipped her Firewhisky.

"Instead, we had to Vanish the air particles themselves. It was a nightmare."

"You Vanished the air particles," Ron murmured. "That's a good idea."

"It created a vacuum! Rowena's tapestry nearly tore in half. Luckily, we caught it just in time and isolated the effects within a Shield Charm."

Ron tilted his head to one side and wondered whether George would be able to make head or tails of what Hermione had just said. After all, they'd been searching for a way to clear the smell of dung bombs from the basement of the shop for weeks…

He rummaged around for a piece of parchment in his robes and quickly jotted the note down. When he looked up, Hermione was watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Why do you need to know how to get rid of the smell?" she asked. Then she huffed, her mind putting the pieces together faster than Ron could say 'Whomping Willow'. "Of course, of course… the bloody Wheezes will be the end of me!"

Ron offered her a sheepish smile. "Guilty," he said. He waved at the bartender, gesturing for another round. "More whisky?"

Hermione grumbled but accepted his peace offering. "Don't Vanish all the air at once," she warned him. "Or the entire room will implode."

Ron wasn't entirely sure what that would entail, but he noted her advice down all the same. George was responsible for the magic of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes; Ron ran the day to day handling of the business.

"So, how's Harry?" Hermione asked. "He's not been up to the castle to visit in weeks."

Ron bit back a wince. "He's great. Just… peachy!"

"Peachy," Hermione echoed. "Oh, what sort of reform is that nitwit going to attempt to push onto Hogwarts now? I swear, the day that Harry became Minister was the day that he took after Dumbledore in more than just his kindly nature."

"By which you mean…"

"He's always interfering! And manipulative! And even worse, he holds the moral high ground. It's infuriating!"

Ron arched a brow, aware that to stop Hermione mid-rant was to risk a swift and painful death.

"Responsibilities to the children this, responsibilities to the Muggles that — he's full of wonderful ideas, but he doesn't want to implement them himself, oh no. I'm the one that has to plan out how to introduce Muggle history into the syllabus and I'm the one that has to inform the parents that we're teaching their children sex ed. Arg! And I bet he's now got another wonderful idea he's going to fob off on me."

She turned and fixed him with a steely glare. "Well?"

Ron swallowed. Luckily, he was saved by Tom, who chose that moment to bring over their drinks.

"On the house," he said, as he always did, with a wink. "We all owe you a debt, we all do."

Ron beamed up at him. "Thank you, Tom," he said and took a large swig of Butterbeer. He'd leave a few Galleons on the table as they left. It was easier than arguing.

Hermione's hair had frizzed around her face as it did when she was angry, creating a wild halo that she was trying to tuck behind her ears.

"He has got a few new ideas…" Ron admitted. He'd never tell Hermione that some of them were even his own. He and Harry would lay abed at night, plotting how to improve the wizarding world. It was a habit they'd started when they'd moved in together after the war and continued through the years.

Hermione tutted. "Typical," she muttered. "Still, he's got no excuse! I'm his oldest friend. He should be visiting me every week, not hiding away behind whoever the newest Hogwarts-Ministry Liaison is."

"Victoire," Ron reminded her. "My niece. Besides, I'm his oldest friend."

Hermione waved a dismissive hand at him, the fervour of righteousness bright in her eyes.

"You've got dozens of nieces, I can't remember them all," she said, although her grin told him that she knew each and every one of his extended family members, especially the younger ones, as she'd taught them all. "And you're shagging him, you don't count as a 'friend' anymore. So, you tell that husband of yours to get his arse into my office, and if he doesn't do it soon I'll treat him to a lecture that will make Snape proud."

"Yes, professor," Ron said. He exchanged a long look with Hermione, before they both burst into giggles.

"Oh, Morgana, Harry just can't help but get himself into some sort of trouble, can he?" Hermione said. She leaned back against the wooden booth and shook her head.

"It's always been that way," Ron said wisely. He felt that he'd lived long enough, and was grey enough, that he could describe himself as wise and get away with it, for the most part. Silence fell between them, comfortable and companionable. The rest of the bar seemed muffled, the soft sounds of revelry distant. He stared at the fire and imagined he could see a phoenix dancing in the flames.

His attention was brought back to their table when the clink of glass against wood signalled that Hermione had finished her whisky. She extended her hand and Ron clasped it in his own. Her skin was soft and his liver spots were beginning to show. They were getting old.

"Time's passed us right by," he said. He was nostalgic, but not regretful.

"It has," Hermione agreed. She smiled at him. "It really is good to see you, Ron."

"And you," he agreed. "I'll bring Harry along next time, I promise."

Hermione's eyes twinkled. She looked exactly as if she deserved to be the Headmistress of Hogwarts; the most respected witch of their age, and the cleverest woman he'd ever known.

"I'll hold you to that," she said. She gathered up her purse and wand. "I must go. I'm up early tomorrow for a meeting with the Board of Governors."

"Until next time. And Harry does send his love," Ron said. Hermione kissed his cheek and hugged him fiercely, before hurrying off, busy as usual, even on a Friday evening.

Ron smiled and sipped his Butterbeer, and promised himself that he'd get the three of them together as soon as he could.

Word Count: 1396

QLFC Round 12 Keeper Prompt: Write about Ron's relationship with Hermione.

Hogwarts Assignment #8 Defence Against the Dark Arts Task 1: Write a fic with the genre of Friendship