It is summer at the Burrow once again, the heat of midday reaching out with its sticky fingers. He's tempted to skive off the rest of the day and take a dip in the pond, but quickly decides not too. Instead he lazily charms a feather to float around his cot, not really focusing on his actions.
He hates summer, truly and honestly, and is already counting down the days until term starts…. but he doesn't even have that. They're not going back this year; instead they will be going somewhere they very well may not come back from. He thinks then that it will be like an endless summer, stretching out and denying him the cool relief that autumn brings.
He hasn't always hated summer; once upon a time his life revolved around summers. He would giddily anticipate the days when Bill, Charlie, and yes, even Percy, came home and the family was whole again. Sure he had Ginny to play with, but she was a girl, she didn't really understand, and when the twins weren't making his life a living hell, they spent most of their time with each other. Summers also meant that his mother would loose the sadness in her eyes. He knew she had him, Ginny, and the twins, but there was always a part of her that felt incomplete when her children were gone, and didn't return until they were home. He couldn't imagine if someone was lost and that look stayed forever.
The thought of that scared him, every passing day brought the war closer to their doorstep, like a cat that delights in giving dead rodents to its owners. Most nights were filled with the Orders informational meetings, detailing what horrors awaited him, Harry, and Hermione.
Hermione.
The reason he dreads summers. He tries to remember when it wasn't this way, but he already has spent hours of his life pondering when his feelings went from friendly to something more.
Summers, while gave him a break from the danger being Harry's mate put him in, they also gave him a break from her, and that wasn't something he readily embraced. He wonders if it is possible to miss someone this much, surely not. But miss her he does, he missed the way her hair curls in springy ringlets, the way her eyes flashed when challenged, the way she huffed when…
"Get out of bed you lazy lump!" shouted Ginny at his doorway. When he turned to look at his annoying younger sister she smirked, "Quit fantasizing about Hermione and help me in the scullery."
And then there is that, he thought as Ginny flounced off. The constant looks and teasing he received from his family. Was anything sacred? It was always, Hermione this, Hermione that, Hermione, Hermione, HERMIONE. He felt as if they were waiting for the day that instead of the famous Weasley blush, they would elicit something else.
Well, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. They could all go sod off for what he cared. Always taking the mickey out of him, bloody bunch of wankers. He would show them, daydreaming about Hermione my arse, and with that thought Ron Weasley charged down the rickety stairs ready to start the day.
And charge he did, into the surprised arms of Hermione Granger. He excitedly drew Hermione to him as his family looked on; a knowing look in his parents' faces, a satisfied smile from Ginny, and an annoying smirk from Fred and George.
Well, he thought as he drug Hermione up the stairs with him, who cares if I look like a wanker anyway?