The soft click of the camera fills the quiet flat, followed by a satisfied hum from Ron. You glance up from your book just in time to see him lowering the camera, grinning as he inspects the photo.

“Ron,” you sigh, fighting a smile. “Are you seriously taking pictures of me again?”

He shrugs, completely unapologetic as he plops down beside you on the couch, the camera still in hand. “Can’t help it, love. You look nice.” He turns the camera around, showing you the image—your face caught in concentration, the soft glow of the lamp making the whole thing look annoyingly aesthetic.

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “You do realize you have dozens of pictures of me just reading, right?”

“And?” He smirks, setting the camera aside so he can pull you into his arms. “Doesn’t matter what you’re doing. You always look good.”

You huff, shaking your head, but your heart melts anyway. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

After a moment, he perks up again. “Oh! You were gonna show me how to use that video camera thing, yeah? Moving pictures without magic—it’s bloody brilliant. Think I could film you making tea or something?”

You groan, laughing as you lean into him. “You are obsessed.”

“Maybe,” he admits, grinning. “But only with you.”