Hermione gets a crinkle right above her nose when she�s deep in concentration over something.

It�s just a little crinkle, hardly one that anyone other than those who know her best would notice. But I�ve memorized every detail of that face: I know the way her button nose twitches when a lock of hair escapes the loosely twisted knot at the nape of her neck and falls into her eyes, or the way she presses her lips together when she comes across a particularly thought-provoking line in whatever text she�s reading. I know every variation of sighs she lets out when she stumbles upon something especially puzzling, and the repertoire of smiles she calls upon when she�s solved that particular something.

She�s sitting at her desk near the window, in what is serving as her study for the moment, at least until I�ve finally finished putting up proper walls for the one I�m building for her downstairs. I hear the scratching sound of her quill moving across parchment; she�s scribbling furiously, as if determined to spill all of her thoughts on paper before they escape her. I watch her from over here on the bed, trying to concentrate on the morning edition of the Prophet, but unable to process any of the previous days� Quidditch scores, with the sight of that crinkle above her nose distracting me.

�Hermione?�

�Hmm?�

She doesn�t look up, doesn�t even pause to dip her quill in ink as she attacks a brand-new, blank piece of parchment.

�Why don�t you take a break for a bit?�

�Oh,� she says hurriedly, �can�t, Ron... Got to get this done before Monday...�

�It�s only Saturday.�

�I know! Only two more days!�

I know somewhere there has to be some kind of rule about not laughing at your wife�s zealousness in things. So instead, I say nothing, only tucking away a smile and turning my attention back to the news story about yesterday�s trade between Puddlemere and Wimbourne.

But my attention can only be held for so long, and soon, I can�t help but notice that the crinkle above her nose has got even deeper in the last few seconds. Now she is even moving her lips as her eyes scan the parchment, mouthing ghost words and moving her fingers across the page, as if to trace the sentences.

To hell with the sports news.

I get up and stand just behind her, placing my hands gently on her shoulders, so as not to startle her, then begin to knead them to let her become aware of my presence.

�Oh, that feels nice,� she says, leaning her head back slightly, a dazed smile forming on her lips.

�You like that?�

�Very much so.�

I lean down to whisper right into her ear. �Well, there�s more of that over there,� I say, gesturing towards the bed. �And I might even be persuaded to move on to other things.�

She laughs softly, a response I wasn�t exactly expecting, nor remotely hoping for, although the look she gives me--part amusement, part apology--soothes my ego, if only a little bit.

�As much as I�m tempted by the offer,� she says, �I�ve really got to get this done...�

�Right,� I say. �I s�pose I�ll just finish reading the paper then.�

She smiles one of those smiles that makes my breath catch in my throat. Now that just isn�t playing fair at all.

�So much to go over... Did you know our office is submitting a new proposal to the Minister of Magic next week?�

�Oh?�

I�m really not interested in any of this. Not a single bit. But I enjoy having a conversation with my wife, and quite honestly, I�d be willing to talk about bloody house-elves and their nonexistent civil rights as long as she was talking to me.

�Yes, we�re seeking approval on three new Muggle items that can be charmed into Portkeys.�

�You don�t say?�

�It�s really important, you know. We mustn�t make Portkeys out of just anything, but-�

She turns to me and narrows her eyes.

�Wait a minute,� she says, �are you making fun of me?�

�What?�

�You�re using that tone on me.�

�What tone?�

�The tone you use when Percy�s talking to you and he�s explaining something from work.�

I laugh. �Oh, that tone.�

�You are! You are making fun of me, Ron Weasley!�

�I�m not.�

�I know my work isn�t nearly as exciting as yours,� she says, �but that doesn�t mean it�s not as important...�

Hmm, this is starting to call for drastic measures. As she�s still talking, I get up from bed and in one fluid motion, sweep her up into my arms and dip her for a long, deep, earth-shattering kiss.

�What are you doing?� she asks breathlessly, in a manner that says she knows exactly what I�m doing.

�What does it look like?�

�I-�

Before she can answer, I kiss her again, then fumble behind her for the small wireless she�s got on her desk, atop the mile-high pile of papers. I switch it on and music suddenly fills the room, some song by a new band that Charlie was telling me about just the other day.

�Ron, I really shouldn�t-�

�Shh,� I say. �I�m trying to sweep my wife off her feet.�

She laughs, shaking her head at me. For a moment I think she�s going to scold me for taking her away from her work, but instead she surprises me by hooking one arm behind my neck and raising up on her toes to kiss me.

�Well,� she says, �it worked.�

I smile against her mouth as we spin in time to the music.

�Glad to hear it.�

Sometime later, our clothes lie forgotten on the floor, and I�m cradling her in my arms as she once again tells me the details of this proposal for the Ministry. This time, I�m listening quietly, inhaling the lavender scent of her hair and savoring the feel of her bare skin against my own.

After a while, she turns over so that we�re facing each other, and she props herself up on one elbow to look at me.

�You�re awfully quiet,� she says.

�I know better than to interrupt.�

She rolls her eyes but lets out a laugh anyway.

�You�re awful.�

�I know.�

She lays her head back down on my chest, her hand lazily tracing a path up my arm. And suddenly I decide it�s the right time to tell her what�s been on my mind for a while now, but haven�t really had the chance to bring up before now.

�Hermione?�

�Mmm hmm?�

�What do you think of having another baby?�

She doesn�t answer straight away, and I can feel my heart sinking at the silence. Then I feel her raise her head, and I look down to meet her gaze.

�Really?�

�Yeah.�

�I mean... you mean it?�

��Course I do.�

�Because... because, Ron, I�ve been thinking about it too,� she says. �A lot, in fact. I just wasn�t sure if... well, I didn�t know how you felt about us trying again so soon. I mean, Jack�s only a year old...�

I couldn�t help but laugh.

�You�ve seen my family,� I say. �D�you think Mum and Dad waited long between each child?�

�I suppose not,� she says, smiling.

�So is this a yes, then?� I say. �Are we officially going to try for another one?�

She sighs and looks over at her desk, with her forgotten pieces of parchment, and the quill whose ink has probably dried up by now. Then she turns back to look at me again, and her eyes light up with one of her brilliant smiles.

�Oh well,� she says. �It�s not due until Monday, anyway.�

She leans forward and kisses me, and we pull the covers over our heads, determined to put off the report for another day.