“You want me to what?”

“Hermione, don’t get all riled up,” Harry pleaded.

He knew he was in real trouble when her hands slammed down onto her hips and she gave him the Hermione Granger Death Glare.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Potter,” she said in a dangerous tone.

Harry looked over at Ron, who sat on the sofa watching the exchange with amusement.  Ron shrugged, offering no help.

“But it was the only thing she said that was positive,” he pleaded.  He knew he was going to lose this argument – he and Ron never really did win against her – but he was looking forward to the making up.

She stamped her foot.

This was bad.  Very bad.

“I am not your brood mare!”  And, with that, she left the room, slamming doors on the way to her study.

Harry sank to the sofa next to Ron and rested his head on Ron’s shoulder.  Ron ran his fingers through Harry’s dark hair.

“Mate,” Ron began, barely suppressing a laugh.  “You probably should have waited until after she had this baby to bring up the other eleven.”