Hermione gripped her wand with steadily whitening knuckles as she glared at the scene before her: upended chairs, blankets and pillows strewn across the floor, breakfast bowls piled up on the side of the tattered green sofa, and a lump of…porridge? stuck to poor Crookshanks’ head! In the center of it all, laughing and panting: Ronald Weasley, her husband. Hermione’s teeth sent a slight buzz through her head as the enamel surfaces ground together behind pencil thin lips, also whitened. Father would be mortified to know how she was abusing the work of years to keep his daughter’s teeth perfect. Worse than Dad’s ire would be the headache that would follow within the next few hours if Hermione didn’t relax her jaw.

“Ronald!� she growled, and he glanced up from where four-year-old Hugo and six-year-old Rose had him pinned. At first his gaze was the typical one of surprised cluelessness: eyebrows raised expectantly, innocent grin, and flushed cheeks. The bastard had not a care in the world. Hermione gripped her wand tighter.

It had been nearly a decade that they’d been married, and a stone’s toss from three decades that he’d been tormenting her, day in and day out, after that first day on the Hogwarts Express. Why in the name of Merlin’s manky, lice-infested beard can he still not do the simplest of things? she wondered. A spark shot from the tip of Hermione’s wand drawing both her and Ron’s gazes.

The smirk skittered off his face in an instant, but the eyebrows held, now paralyzed by fear. Ron’s mouth should have taken a clue from the others, but as usual, it could not contain itself. “What’s wrong, love? You look upset. That time of month?� Of course, it was probably a statement meant in an innocent, offhand way, but there was truth in it, and that made it only a touch less confrontational than a declaration of war this spring morning.

Hermione watched, detached, as her arm pulled back and then hurled the wand at Ron’s head. His reflexes were hampered by the children, and her aim was as true as ever.

“Ouch! What was that for?� he shouted, rubbing his left eye.

“What was that for?� The growl crescendoed to a roar. “First of all, Ronald Weasley, just because you make me angry does not mean it is ‘that time of month!’ I’ve asked you at least five times this morning to clear out the fireplace and get the children dressed, but instead this place looks like Piccadilly Circus! They’re riled up even more than they were before!� She’d had to fix the same upended chair that Hugo had knocked over and broken by jumping from it to the couch three times so far today. Rose had been slightly calmer – she hadn’t destroyed any furniture…yet. “A little help so I can have some breakfast would be just grand!�

As Hermione yelled, the children in question had, very wisely, slunk upstairs, leaving their brave and heroic father to bear their mother’s rage alone. She hadn’t raised any fools.

“But look, Hermione – � Ron attempted to gesture toward his playmates, but realized that he’d been abandoned like a decrepit old pirate ship, his arm the black flag flapping in the breeze. Hermione thought that while she hadn’t raised any fools, she’d certainly married one. “They have clothes on!� Ron tried for a triumphant smile, but cowed under Hermione’s bug-eyed, blazing stare. A basilisk would have run screaming for its mother, but Ron was brave…or stupid…or most likely a bit of both.

“Those are their pajamas, you half-witted troll! I have a presentation in two hours, Crookshanks still has not had his medicine…A – little – help – PLEASE!�

Ron held up his hands in surrender, or maybe to ward off any more projectiles. “All right, you don’t have to shout.� He grabbed a brush and pan, and began sweeping out the hearth.

Hermione stomped over to her fallen wand (Ron cringed when she got within striking range) and then marched upstairs to dress. She thought she heard him mutter, “…needs medication more’n the damned cat…� before she slammed the bedroom door causing the wedding portrait on the wall to rattle.

She scowled before the framed picture of herself and Ron. “What are you smiling about?�

The Hermione in the picture, glowing in a white cap-sleeved gown, fixed her mouth in an ‘O’, covered her face and ran out of the frame in tears. Picture-Ron glanced at his photo wife and shuffled after her, leaving only the vista from the Burrow’s garden of verdant green hills and blue, cloudless sky. Hermione turned away from the image, tossed her wand onto the ivory-colored chest of drawers and prepared herself for work.

Fifteen minutes later, a crash from downstairs told her that the children had come out of hiding. And just like that, a decision popped into Hermione’s head. With a last check of her hair and makeup, she went down to inspect the living room. She was now dressed, but still unfed.

A quick glance around told her that the crash had been Hugo once again breaking the chair. The poor boy looked frightened enough to wet himself when he realized his mother had come into the room. Ron was at the kitchen entrance a moment later, a bowl of cat food in one hand, a jar of white powder in the other. A smudge of soot ran down the left side of his nose.

“Hermione, I swear, I only left the room for a minute to feed Crookshanks! I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy! He just doesn’t listen!� Hermione ignored Ron, thinking, Oh the great coward, blaming the child.

The rest of the room had been tidied except for –

“What are you doing, young lady?�

Rose was standing near the bookshelf that was at least twice her height with a dripping rag in her hand and a pail of water at her bare feet. A large puddle surrounded the pail, and drops fell from the wood shelves closest to the little girl. Oddly, Rose was grinning. “Look, Mummy! I cleaned the books for you!�

Half of Hermione’s brain flashed to an image of dumping the pail of water over her daughter’s head, but the other half was slightly touched by the good-heartedness of the gesture. So, instead of dousing Rose, she calmly walked to the fireplace and picked up a handful of Floo powder.

“Where are you going?� Ron shouted, sounding panicked for the first time.

“To breakfast and then to work.�

“But what about the children? Who’s going to take them to Mum’s?�

“You are. Have a lovely day,� she said, her teeth trying to grind together again.

“But – �

“Ministry of Magic!� Hermione shouted, throwing down the powder. In a whoosh of green flame, she left the tiny chaotic cottage behind for the peaceful morning rush of the Ministry.