Not quite up to par, we're afraid, but at least the hiatus is broken. :)

8. Pay attention to the little things. Be considerate and show that you think about her.

Look for opportunities to make small gestures that show you care. Even a simple, "How was your day?" when she comes home from work and being able to listen to her are huge things. Offering your opinion on things she wants to discuss are pluses. Listen to what she wants, and be the one to ask her to dance once in a while. Women of any age are all about a man with manners – no one's attracted to a dope who acts like a caveman.

+
Ronald's Tip: Keep yourself up to date on your surroundings, and remark on the changes.

Thursday, April 2000

She'd been going on for some time about how it always seemed that masculinity and idiocy went together, making no effort whatsoever to be subtle about her references to me and Harry.

I didn't know what else to say about the subject, and we hadn't had an argument in a record period of time – two months and four days now since I'd been keeping track – so I didn't utter a peep when she mentioned something about having a regular "girl's night out" from now on.

I still don't know what that's supposed to mean. Harry and I hang out occasionally, of course, sometimes with Neville and Dean and Seamus, too, but we don't do anything special. Listen to a couple matches, have a few drinks, that sort of thing. Which is actually pretty depressing, now that I think about it.

Anyhow, she's been making a big deal out of how she doesn't have any time to herself – which is absurd, since she calls the shots about her own job – and whenever she does she's stuck with me and Harry. My response to this, of course, was a meek and sheepish "Sorry," which she ignored.

So she went out yesterday night, dismissing my comment about, "Isn't tomorrow a work day?" with Ginny and Luna and probably some others. They all had the air of a woman intent on Napoleonic domination.

Harry was doing an extra shift for Kingsley, so I stayed home and watched some "reality show" on the new television Hermione's dad had gotten us for Christmas last year. I thought about calling Neville, decided it wasn't worth it, sulked for a bit, and then went to bed at ten.

She looked chipper and refreshed the next morning. I debated whether or not to ask her what time she came in, then settled for, "So you had fun last night?"

She smiled at me over her newspaper and didn't say anything. I frowned as I leaned back against the counter with my cup of coffee. I knew that smile. Something had happened yesterday night and I was supposed to know about it. The last time she'd gone out with Ginny she'd gotten…what had she gotten? Something new, whatever it was, and then she'd been mad for a week that I hadn't noticed.

So I had to notice this time.

I studied her, still frowning, as she went on reading the paper. There was that wicked little smile playing on her lips, and I wondered how Harry was faring.

Shoes? No, she'd definitely bought those in November – some crazy day for Muggles where they got up at three in the morning to buy everything for half off.

Clothes? There wasn't much to say here, since she was wearing her usual Ministry robes.

I was starting to sweat. What else could a girl change in one night?

Hermione shook her head as she turned the page, and a wisp of hair fell loose. She tucked it back behind her ear, and then I got it.

Her hair. It was straight.

I said so.

"It's straight," I declared, standing taller in my pride.

She snorted, not even deigning to lower her paper to look at me. "Prat."

Later that evening, she let me listen to two matches in a row, and even joined me for the second one with a glass of wine. I figured if I kept this up, I could tell her how much money I lost betting on the Cannons last week without ending up in St. Mungo's.