Eggs

Butter

Lettuce

Milk

Orange juice

Tea bags

Mayonnaise

Cooking oil

Pie crust

Asparagus

The scratch, scratch, scratch of the quill on the paper had always soothed Hermione. She sighed with delight as she wrote down her grocery list for that week, the most mundane thing that simply helped her relax. Lately, her bid of fancy was to write a novel, but her work at the Ministry was a little too time-consuming to sit down and scratch out things like that. After a quick run to the market, she had to sit down and write a report for the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Looking outside, she saw the beautiful spring sky and desperately wanted to go outside. Since it was a Sunday, Ron would be coming home soon, and that meant he’d probably make himself a snack and then set right down to start playing the tenor saxophone he had purchased at Hermione’s urging to take up something classical and artsy. Admittedly, he was pretty bad at it, and he refused to learn how to read music so he was playing by ear, but he seemed to like it. She imagined that if it weren’t for that saxophone, he probably would bottle himself up and not express himself in any way possible, except if he got angry.

She smiled and leaned back in the desk chair to get a better view out the window. The sky was so inviting, so blue, there was a bare trace of a breeze, and it looked so sunny and warm outside. But she knew that she should get a head start on that report before she made the trip into the Muggle village for groceries. She flopped back down and picked up the quill and a new piece of parchment.

If elves are given new rights to open up the freedoms they should have had in the first place, both species should b able to coexist happily. Tradition dictates that they (elves) should not be allowed clothes or proper living arrangements---

That was enough. It was time to go to the market. She dropped the quill, picked herself up out of the chair (courtesy of a back strained by four months of pregnancy), and left the office room, grabbed her market basket, and left their small cottage.

A deep sigh of satisfaction escaped her throat as she walked down the dirt lane into the village. The breeze caught at her pale blue sundress, and the feel of the soil under her sandals was lovely. She had always loved breezes, silvery little breezes that tickled her face, tossed her hair and lifted her mood.

Silver; that was the color she had always imagined air. Pale enough to be seen through, but solid enough to matter. A light silver to match her engagement ring, but a sort of translucent silver like the diamond on her wedding ring.

It was things like this that made her feel at peace, made her want to write a poem or —could it be—a novel. Something to help express the joy and contentment she felt when she was walking around on days like today. Something that would make her feel special, or powerful, or mysterious, like a chickadee, or a hawk, or an owl.

She smiled, watching as a lark flew by, a few feathers floating down on that silvery little breeze to whisk past her face. Oh, to be a bird, to fly and soar, and sing. I say, that would make a lovely poem.

In the market, she picked up the things on her list, but stared in indecision at herbs. She felt like cleansing the house suddenly, and to start with air would be the best. She eventually ended up picking mint. After paying, she popped a sprig in her mouth and savored the sharp, clean taste.

Within a few hundred feet of the cottage, she heard a raucous, rough sound that could only belong to Ron playing his saxophone. She smiled; he was obviously enjoying himself. She entered, left the basket on the kitchen counter and danced her way into the living room. There, Ron was playing his saxophone, and seemed to be having fun. She swayed over, popped a kiss on his cheek, and continued to dance. After a moment or two, he stopped.

“Are you enjoying making fun of my playing?� he asked heatedly, putting the horn down.

“I’m not making fun of you; I’m enjoying your playing. It’s nice to see you enjoying something.�

“Very funny, Hermione. I’m somewhat offended now.� He picked up his horn and left. She heard the bedroom door slam behind him.

Argh! He still thinks that he’s inferior or something! She went back to the kitchen, put away the groceries, stuck the mint in a glass of water, and went back to the office room to pick up her quill and finish that report.

Tradition dictates that they (elves) should not be allowed clothes or proper living arrangements. If this regulation is to be passed, elves will be allotted proper treatment of a magical creature, considering that most other magical creatures such as merfolk and centaurs have freedoms and rights allotted to them as we continue to abolish the laws given to us by Madame Dolores J. Umbridge---

That was it. She needed to apologize to Ron for making him feel bad about his playing. She didn’t really want to go to bed guilty. Hermione picked up a new piece of parchment.

My dearest Ron,

First and foremost, I really do enjoy your devotion to learning a new skill. I am under the impression that you enjoy playing an instrument and I enjoy it too. I love that you are at least trying something new.

I like to dance. I like music. I’m a woman; therefore I think it’s programmed into my very being. Life isn’t all about work and saving the world to me (I probably wouldn’t have married you if it was), I also like to enjoy myself, and that includes watching you, you know. Even if it includes you expressing yourself through music, just so you know.

I am proud of you for doing something so totally unlike you and so wonderful. I feel that with practice, you’ll become an amazing saxophone player. I love you for doing it, and I’m sorry if I made you feel badly about your playing skills.

Love with all my heart,
Hermione

That had to get the message across to him. Hermione wasn’t very good with apologies, so writing a note would probably do better than her standing up in their bedroom and giving out a huge speech about the virtues she lacked and how she didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. She might like listening to speeches, but Ron didn’t.

She folded up the note and looked at the clock in the corner. Ron’s hand was pointed to asleep by now, since the breezy day had turned to night. She got up and walked to the bedroom, silently changed, stuck the note in his underwear drawer and slowly lowered herself into the bed and tried not to lay down on one of Ron’s limbs.

---

Sun shone out onto Hermione’s face and she rolled over to see a halo of light bouncing off the polished wood of the bed’s headboard, and no Ron. His underwear drawer and been opened and nothing was taken out, strangely enough, but there was a stray sock lying on the floor near the open door. She rubbed her head and got up, picked up the stray sock, and heaved herself out to the kitchen.

A note was taped to the fridge, written in a messy scrawl.

Morning love,

Thanks for the note; it means a lot. I’m glad you think it’s cool.

Had to go to work early, so sorry ‘bout that.

See you tonight,
Ron

She smiled, and poured some orange juice in a glass. She should probably get into that report soon, but maybe not. It was Monday, and she still had time before really needing to turn in that report.

Maybe I should do something else, she thought as she walked to the office.

She picked up her quill and began to write.

It was dawn, and Cecile was woken up from a lovely dream about flying by a crow of the rooster outside. She stretched and looked over at the wonderful man she was married to. He was draped across the bed, hair rumpled from a hectic day. She smiled and got about to waking him up, a Herculean feat in itself.

Well, there, now she had the start of a novel under her belt. That would be good enough for now. Maybe later, she’d show it to Ron, and then she’d attempt to persuade him to learn to read music. If she was lucky, he’d do it, if not, well, she’d live all the same.

It looked like it was going to be another lovely day. She smiled as she looked outside and saw the tree branches being tossed by another silvery breeze.