Being the brightest witch of her age, while certainly a flattering title, had several drawbacks: people seldom ignored her during her final year at Hogwarts, constantly asking for stories, advice and help with homework, and perhaps most annoyingly, the constant questioning of her interest in one Ronald Billius Weasley.

It wasn't always malicious, of course, sometimes an almost conversational, off-handed tone accompanied the "You're so clever, why him?"s and the "Out of anybody in the world, and you picked that bloke?"s; nevertheless every snarky comment about her partner urged angry creases to sprout between her brows, although she did try her hardest to keep a stiff smile on her face (which, Ginny had informed, gave Hermione a constipated expression (it was later clarified that this was not, in fact, a very flattering look)).

This continued for years. A tight smile, a quick defence, a rude hand gesture that luckily only confused the purebloods, who were easily convinced that it was a muggle 'farewell': every interaction grinded on her conscience and tightened her jaw. One day, she decided she had had enough.

"'Mione? Babe, what's up, you've got a meeting tomorrow, shouldn't you be in bed? You've not been having nightmares again, have you darling?" A groggy figure spoke, emerging from the door frame, and half-stumbling over to the sofa, where Hermione was feverishly clacking away at her laptop.

"Ron, dear, why don't you go back to sleep, I'm fine thank you, I promise." She replied, not averting her gaze, nor slowing her typing, much to the confusion of her freckled boyfriend.

"Get to bed soon though, would you? It's cold without you there and you know how I get with the cold."

Hermione nodded, a wide grin on her face as she recalled the many occasions she'd found Ron in her Weasley jumper after a long shift when she hadn't returned home until late.

It was perhaps two in the morning or half past when she'd finally finished her presentation, and was eager to utilise it as and when it was appropriate (she'd even included fancy transitions!), moreover though, she was exhausted, and couldn't wait to slip between their freshly washed duvet and drift off to the soft murmurings of the one she loved. 

A gentle light streaked into the room, falling on cozy sheets, ruffled and tugged just the right way to optimise comfort, a loose formula the pair had perfected. The lumpy, colourful throw Hermione had crocheted with some level of stubborn love, as a way to make their flat feel more homely--she had to admit, the embarrassing first attempt to make something that emulated the Burrow was entirely worth the frustration when she saw Ron's face soften, eyes alight with something akin to adoration, and the gentle touches he'd regarded her with--it was all so genuine, so wholly them. 

"Sleep well, babe?" Ron husked, a tired smile hanging on his lips; a habit--how could he not grin, half-soaked in sleep, as he gazed upon a girl who'd saved him in more ways than one, as he took in her drowsy eyes, and her perfectly imperfect 'morning skin'. 

She hummed in response, but only barely squinted her eyes open, wanting to hide among the warm embrace of her bed for a while longer. He breathed a light laugh that tickled her ears as he leaned over to kiss her temple, before turning and heaving himself out of bed. Both of their jobs required them to be up at what was deemed an unreasonable time in the morning, but even so, there was an unwillingness to leave the blissful environment in favour of a generally unpleasant work space. The kettle whistled in the kitchen, and with some effort, Hermione stretched lightly and threw the covers off of herself, and sluggishly dressed in her work attire, plodding along to splash her face with water to keep up the illusion of put-together-ness. 

Ron was nursing a pan of eggs with his 'Kiss the Cook' apron tied over his pyjamas, as the radio played quietly in the background--some presenter he couldn't remember the name of rattling off the weather forecast ('It's not divination, Ron' Hermione had insisted through giggles one time, after the taller of the two had been disgruntled that their picnic had been ruined by a bout of rain)--while a piping cup of tea sat on the countertop next to him, steam swirling from the mug.

The butterflies were rife in her being as she wrapped her arms around his middle, and smushed her face into his shoulder adoringly; he soon plated breakfast up and turned to give her a real embrace, his nose brushing the crook of her neck as they swayed in each other's arms.

So as Hermione strutted into work, her cloak swishing behind her, hair bouncing, with her face set with professionalism and determination, and her fingers grasping the handle of her briefcase, she thought about Ronald Billius Weasley. 

It was around lunchtime when she was confronted with a snarky comment (a shame, really, seeing as though she and Remus had a rather successful meeting regarding werewolf rights that morning); it was an older lady, with a haughty expression and hair pinned up in such a way that radiated 'high class'. 

"Oh, Granger, I do dread to think about that boyfriend of yours--running a joke shop now is he? See, I don't understand why you didn't think to court Harry Potter--"

"If I could stop you right there, Miss," Hermione interjected, opening her briefcase and removing her laptop from it, "While you are certainly not entitled to any of my personal information, especially regarding my relationship, I feel as though it is necessary to prove to you that my partner is the only person I can imagine myself being with."

The woman's face paled as the powerpoint loaded up.

"But--But it's 53 slides long!" She commented incredulously, having recalled PowerPoint from her advanced muggle studies degree.

"Well, one of them is a title slide, the other is a conclusion, so really it's only 51. Still, let's get into it, so, slide one: he can cook, really well--"

A/N: How was it? I feel like I really need to work on the endings of these, but hey ho, I've not done creative writing in ages, so i suppose some slack should be cut. Also I'm just a little bit tired and officially Sick Of Media 

Dedicated to Potato190505, because she is the most patient person on the planet, she has a really excellent Wolfstar story called l'osservatore della bellezza that i would most certainly recommend (the narration??casual poetry????in character humour and personality and internal struggles and aesthetics?????? it's got it all folks) and also I'm really sorry for calling you short the other day xoxo