Summer : Ron and Hermione
She was distinctly upset, and he had no idea why. Again.
Their relationship seemed to work like that: Hermione would get angry, he would be confused, they would get into a row, they would make-up. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Not that he minded. Ron watched her frizzy brown head bobble around in the garden, strings of curses escaping her lips that he was sure she had learned from Ginny. The exhaustion from his Auror training was calling him up to his room, but he was very much in love with the grumbling witch, and it seemed to give him an extra burst of energy.
So instead of tromping up to his bed, he rounded the corner of the garden to find Hermione bent over flower bed, wand in one hand and trowel in another. He instantly saw the source of her frustration - the flowers were behaving oddly, winding around one another and wilting and generally looking worse for wear.
He remembered the conversation at breakfast that morning between his mother and Hermione -
"Molly?" she said, stumbling over the word. His mother had insisted that Hermione call her by her first name, since she would be family eventually (which caused Ron to choke on his orange juice).
"Yes, dear?" she asked from the sink.
"Would you mind if I tinkered around in the garden?"
His mother turned and gave Hermione a curious look, raising her eyebrow. It was common knowledge that the young woman would much rather be curled up with a book than doing yard work. "Of course not, dear. But if I might ask, whatever for?"
She bit her lip in what Ron recognized as a nervous habit, pushing her scrambled eggs around on her plate. "I've been staying here for a while now," she said softly. "I just wanted to repay the favor."
"Nonsense!" his mother cried, turning to the table where he an Hermione were eating. "You're no burden, and I want you to consider this a second home!" She rounded on the two of them and wrapped one arm around each of their shoulders. "I'm very glad to have you here," she whispered throatily, and Ron had a flashback to when they left to find the Horcruxes two summers ago.
Snapping herself back, his mum moved away and beamed at the two of them. "But dear, if you want to tinker around in that garden, you're more than welcome. Heaven knows it could use a good pruning every now and again!"
Apparently gardening wasn't as easy as Hermione's books had implied. She was sweating and her bare shoulders would be sunburned in the morning, and she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Hey," he called softly, causing her to drop her trowel and turn her wand on him.
He held up his hands in mock surrender and she sighed. "Sorry, Ron," she muttered, standing and brushing the dirt form her knees. A weary smile crossed her face as she approached and then he had his arms full of Hermione. "How was training?"
"Difficult," he groaned. "It gets worse everyday. Not to say I don't enjoy it," he supplied. "It's more fun than working in the shop with George. But Harry is much more of a natural than I am."
Her hand came up and ruffled through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead gently. "You're good at different things," she assured, and he believed her. It had taken time, but he was finally over his jealousy of his best friend. Just a month ago Ginny had commended him on finally maturing past the toddler phase. The next day he and Harry had charmed her room so that everything was stuck to the ceiling. Of course, Harry got the punishment for that one, but he told Ron later that the look on Ginny's face when she saw their handiwork was completely worth losing a month of snogging.
"And how's the gardening going?"
Her eyes quickly became icy and he instantly regretted his words. But after a moment she just sighed and gazed back at the unruly patch of vegetation. "I'm thinking about calling Neville over, so he can at least fix what I messed up." Backing away from him, she kneeled by the plot once again, picking up her trowel deftly.
He squatted down behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "You can't be good at everything, you know."
"I know!" she replied angrily, though he knew it wasn't focused at him. "I just want to be more well rounded. I know so many theories and rules and definitions, but sometimes it's difficult for me to apply them effectively. I passed my Herbology N.E.W.T with flying colors, but I can't even prune a garden properly!" Tears were swimming in her eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Come off it, 'Mione. You're one of the brightest witches of our time." She turned to look at him out of the corner of her eye, and he could feel the blush rising on his face. "If it takes you a little while longer than normal to get something right, no one will think any less of you."
She huffed, but leaned back against him lightly. "They look horrid, don't they?" she asked.
For a moment he thought about lying, but just then one of the begonias began smashing it's flowers against the ground. "Yeah," he sighed as pink petals burst into the air.
They both started laughing and he felt his heart swelling with a feeling he had started identifying specifically with Hermione. The moment was interrupted when a resounding boom of thunder crackled above their heads and the clouds broke open with a flash of lightening. Rain pounded against their heads and the suicidal begonia calmed itself.
Hermione stood and began running for the door, but Ron grabbed her wrist. A chapter from 'Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches' came back to him suddenly. "Dance with me?" he asked, hoping that Hermione wouldn't think him a complete nutter for wanting to say out in the storm.
Instead of scoffing, she flushed a pretty pink and came back to his arms. "Ron," she affectionately mutter, and he twirled her around the garden.
"For the dance we never got to have at the Yule Ball," he said, a grin on his face.
She tilted her head back and laughed, and Ron knew at that moment that they were still growing into their relationship, but he wouldn't trade any of it (laughs, fights, tears, or snogs) for the world.