A/N For Greenpluff whose birthday is today and reviewed me within 15 minutes of posting the intro to my very first fic.

Ron downed his forth glass of Late Harvest, Hermione's favourite Chilean white wine, and tried to remember what exactly he had done to upset her this time.

It was the eleventh of January, their anniversary, and Ron had remembered and everything. What was her problem?

There was no more wine left and he'd eaten his portion of the dinner for two he'd cooked for her. With a sign and a shake of the head he reached across the table and pulled Hermione's full plate of food towards him.

"Bloody mental that one," he muttered before picking up his fork and shovelling food into his mouth.

He always forgot and had gone to incredible lengths this year so he didn't bollix it up and go without sex for another month. February was going to be a hell of a month to endure with no sweet Hermione loving.

As Ron swallowed his mouthful without really taking the time to chew it he frowned. He'd had lots of sex on Valentines Day last year. How had he managed to wriggle out of trouble by the fourteenth he wondered?

But it hadn't been just Valentines Day; the whole week leading up to the fourteenth was a shag fest. He'd taken her to Madrid, she'd got all sexually charged about the barbarism of bullfighting and he'd watched Spain play Wales in the Quidditch World Cup Qualifiers, which was the only reason he remembered the date to be honest!

So had she forgiven him for forgetting their anniversary because he took her to Spain and danced with her every night? He thought she hadn't been angry with him at all. In fact she'd said he was really thoughtful and romantic and spontaneous to spring something on her like that. That doesn't sound like the reaction of a woman who was withholding sex and furious with him.

He wolfed down some more mouthfuls of the Spanish fare he'd produced to remind her of their holiday and bemoaned that his wine charms didn't produce Late Harvest; he had the taste for it now.

Soon he grew annoyed at Hermione and her temper. He'd gone crazy making sure he remembered, he even bought a Muggle alarm clock organiser thingy and learned how to recharge it and set it and everything. He'd asked Harry to pick it up when he was visiting Hagrid in America.

Hagrid in America, that made Ron snort through his nose, it was funny how things turn out. Hagrid could go out in public over there; they even had places for him to buy clothes in his size. If there was one thing Hagrid was it was 'Big and Tall'!

Ron shoved Hermione's clean plate away from himself and huffed before pulling a very grumpy face and plunging his hand into his back pocket and withdrawing it again, the eklectrik organiser between his thumb and fingers.

He jabbed at it with his sauce covered fingers and scowled at the screen.

Anniversary – 01/11/2007

Ron read the date aloud as his anger melted into confusion.

"The first of November Two thousand and seven."

He blinked and shook his head before looking at the screen again.

"The first of November two thousand and seven."

He said again before shaking the organiser and trying to make this right again.

"Why the fuck did you go off if it's not 'till November? No wonder she was pissed off with me you useless git of a thing!" he growled before throwing the organiser down onto the table.

The screen flashed back to the time and the date.

01/11/2007 – 8:45 PM

The drink was always a mellowing thing with Ron...unless of course something like this happened, then it made him quite 'shouty'.

This was the kind of drunk Ron that Hermione rushed down the stairs to discover jumping up and down on what appeared to be a broken Muggle calculator.

"Piece of American shit! Can't tell the bloody date right! Who the fuck writes dates that way round anyway? makes sense! Why do they have to be so sodding difficult?"

"Ahhhh," Hermione said as she understood at last.

Ron's head snapped up to see her watching him and waved a shaking finger before him.

"This was NOT my fault!"

"No Ron, I understand now, of course it wasn't. Come to bed love and we'll write a very stern letter to America tomorrow morning alright?"

"Bloody right!" he huffed, kicking the broken pieces away from himself and wobbling towards Hermione, "I ate your dinner, sorry."

"That's okay Ron," she said as she guided him towards the staircase, rubbing his back soothingly, "I'll serve you dessert in the bedroom."