word count: 585
Ron comes home to the most ridiculous sight. Hermione stands in the kitchen, dressed in a cozy red flannel shirt, which isn't particularly strange in and of itself. Ron has always found her especially beautiful like that, when she's dressed so casually and not forced to be professional and try to impress those around her. No, her outfit isn't the ridiculous part. It's the fact that she's bundled up and clearly trying to keep warm while also eating an ice cream cone.
"I'm not an expert," he says, "but that seems a bit counter-productive."
Hermione looks up at him, offering him a smile. "Just because the weather is getting colder, doesn't mean I can't still have ice cream," she tells him, and she uses that tone that says she's saying something completely logical. "If you dress warm enough, it doesn't count."
"That has to be the greatest crime against ice cream enjoyment ever," he says dryly.
His wife rolls her eyes, but he can see amusement in the way her lips curl into the faintest smile. "Really? This coming from the man who bites into ice cream."
"At least I bite into it when it's warm outside," he counters, unable to resist a grin. "Meanwhile, I get the feeling you would happily have ice cream with a yeti if you were bundled up enough and had a nice fire to sit by."
"Don't be ridiculous. Yetis can't eat dairy."
Ron wonders if that's actually true. The only time he even vaguely remembers hearing about the creature was when Lockhart taught Defense, and the git wasn't exactly the most reliable source. Still, he knows Hermione would be the one to know such a thing, and it's hardly the first time she's just thrown out some causal, obscure tidbit, so Ron just runs with it.
"Fine… Some other ice monster then," he says, racking his brain to remember any other creature that lived in snowy areas. Maybe he should have paid more attention in class.
"Come on, Ronald. I'll fix you a cone, and then you can see that it's always perfect ice cream weather."
"For the brightest witch of our age, you really don't make any sense sometimes," he teases. "But fine. I'll bite."
"Of course you will. You'll bite right into the ice cream."
Ron laughs and shakes his head. It's funny, really. To the rest of the world, Hermione Granger-Weasley is a serious professional. She's always calm and collected, and she's so logical and rational that many speculate that she should have been a Ravenclaw.
But he sees someone different. This is his Hermione, and he is lucky enough to see the softer side of her, the side that is truer to who she really is. So few people get to know this part of her, and he is lucky enough to have married her.
"Your ice cream," Hermione says, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before handing him the cone.
"Not fair. You're wearing a flannel."
"And you've already broken out your favorite jacket. I'd say we're pretty evenly matched."
Why does she have to be so logical? He bites into the ice cream, ignoring the way Hermione stares at him with pure disgust in her eyes at the gesture. It's cold, but not cold enough to make him shiver, not enough of a difference in eating ice cream on a warm summer day.
"Fine. You were right," he concedes.
"Of course I was. Now, will you please stop biting into it?"