Ron glanced at Harry over piles of documents. “I’ve decided to go with birthdays.”
”Yeah, I’m bloody useless remembering dates.” He handed a couple of papers to Harry. “Though, for some reason, I never forget yours.”
“Seems Doomsday Prophecies make birthdays more memorable.”
Ron half-smiled. “So my resolution is that I’m going to remember everyone’s birthday this year.”
Harry looked skeptical.
“I can do it,” Ron said, insulted.
“Whatever you say.”
“Delicious,” Hermione said of the soup.
Hannah leaned on the bar and beamed. “My own recipe. Hey—you should learn to cook for your resolution!”
“Are you mad? That’s much too difficult. I’ve already decided: I’m going to stop nagging Ron.”
“I thought you wanted something less
“Please. I’m not that bad,” Hermione insisted.
Hannah gave her a look.
“All right, then, but that’s why I’m doing it.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, seeing right through Hannah’s false enthusiasm. “You don’t think I can do it.”
“Rubbish.” Hannah couldn’t resist a small grin. “But if you decide to go with cooking instead, you know where to find me.”
a month later
“Aren’t you ready to go?”
“Go?” Ron pushed himself up from the sofa and eyed his wife, who was obviously dressed for an outing. “Go where?”
! Have you broken your resolution already? It’s only February.”
Ron appeared briefly confused, then rose with an easy grin. “’Course not. It’s Dad’s birthday party.” He brushed past her, tidying himself magically.
Hermione was on his heels. “You forgot! You broke your resolution!”
Ron saw reproach and amusement on her face. “Fine then, but I’m not the only one, am I?”
She grew an inch taller. “I’m managing brilliantly.” But she couldn’t seem to meet his eyes.
Ron laughed loudly. “I've heard you grumbling… socks on the floor, the bathroom sink… You stare holes into my head half the day! That’s nagging.”
She couldn’t deny it: only last night, she’d laid awake thinking of throttling him over the muddy prints he’d tracked through the kitchen after Quidditch. “Can you blame me? Your clothes are everywhere
! And if I step on that wet bathroom floor in my socked feet one more time, I swear I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” he asked, trying to hide a grin.
She pursed her lips, thinking. “I don’t know!”
He chuckled. “We never had a chance.”
She sighed, defeated. “We could start over,” she offered feebly.
“What’s wrong with how we are? What’s the point of having a brilliant wife if she isn’t in charge of remembering birthdays?” He rested his arms on her shoulders. “How can I become a better husband if you don’t nag me?”
She fingered his jumper. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I am.” He kissed her. “And we’re late.”
She went for the gift and met him outside.
“You know what this means for later, right?” he asked suggestively.
“It wasn’t much of a fight.”
“Even so,” he said happily. Then he grabbed her hand and turned on the spot.