"I thought it was going to rain today," Hermione stated simply as they stepped from the back door of the Weasley's house and into the garden, which was laden overly much with weeds and overgrown grass. Crookshanks, who she had released from his carrying case moments before, darted past their feet and under a nearby bush on another hunt for gnomes. "I was surprised to see the sun shining this morning when we left."

Ron, honestly, had a million different things running through his head at the moment and could pick none of them to say, while Hermione Granger walked beside of him through the Burrow's poor excuse for a garden and talked about the weather. It made it seem like they had only known each other for a few weeks and it was an awkward situation to find her visiting his home. Nevertheless, he was inclined to agree, "Yeah, it's nice out," though instantly thought it wasn't quite the thing to say.

After his statement, which had honestly sounded a little more forced than he had intended, they walked through the garden in silence, treading over thick grass badly in need of cutting and passing by the large pond haphazardly positioned among a small clump of gnarled trees and weeds -- at one time, it had probably been beautiful. About to mention that Fred and George had once tricked him into believing there was a squid living in the pond (after their first year at Hogwarts and the discovery of the squid living in the lake on the grounds), Ron soon came to the conclusion that it wasn't probably the type of conversation Hermione was interested in ... nor the type he wanted to have, actually, as it would probably lead to her explaining something she had read in a book somewhere about Magical Creatures of the Water.

It didn't take terribly long for the two of them to reach the end of the garden and subsequently the low wall which surrounded it, constructed of stone and nearly covered with moss. Turning his back to what lay beyond -- fields, then the village of Ottery St. Catchpole -- Ron leaned against the crumbling, but sturdy, wall that came just above his waist. Hermione, however, became interested in the fields in the distance and leaned almost completely over the stone barrier to gaze at them.

"I don't think anything's grown out there for a while," Ron noted, suddenly quite aware not only of the disheveled state of the Burrow, but also the garden and the village near it. His house, however, was not as embarrassing as his family's financial situation, since it was home.

"There's wild flowers growing there," Hermione noted, seeming rather interested in the prospect of flowers despite how much she gave the impression that books and learning was for more important and exciting that doing something out of doors. "Could we -- "

" -- go over there?" he finished the inquiry for her, though he had not bothered to even glance over his shoulder towards the field. "Sure, if you're not scared to climb the wall," as he finished the statement, he couldn't help but grin, knowing what her reaction would be. Then, placing his palms upon the top of the wall, minding the thin layer of growth over the top, Ron hoisted himself up and on to the top of the stony foundation to sit, offering a hand to help her up onto it, as well.

Hermione gave him a mockingly angered look. "I think after facing Devil's Snare, winged keys, a living chess board, being turned into a cat, being petrified by a Basilisk, discovering a werewolf in the school, being scared to death by a Boggart, then placed under a spell and into the midst of Merpeople in the middle of the lake -- "

At the mention of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, during which she was the one thing Viktor Krum would miss the most, Ron visibly stiffened, his hand faltering until she grasped it (obviously unaware of his change in emotion), missing the entire rest of the list of dangerous situations she had been in since beginning school at Hogwarts.

" -- I think I can handle a climb over a low garden wall, Ronald Weasley," she finished, settling herself into a sitting position next to him. The smile which had formed upon her lips faded a bit as she noticed his own was no longer visible upon his features. Though, just as she was about to ask if she had said something wrong, it returned.

"In a skirt?"

"What?" she looked almost offended by the inquiry, until she realized that she was, indeed, wearing a knee-length skirt. "Oh, honestly. It's a garden wall. I've done worse in my school uniform." With that, she nonchalantly twisted herself about to jump from the wall, landing on the other side with a nearly haughty smile.

Ron followed suit, landing from the 'jump' (which was really much less than that, due to his height) beside her. "Gee, Hermione, you're turning into a regular tomboy. What's next? Burning books?" Not waiting a second for her response, he dashed off towards their intended destination of the field. Mentioning burning books to Hermione Granger was almost as dangerous as accusing Lucius Malfoy of being a squib to his face -- though, thankfully, Hermione wouldn't be inclined to use an Unforgivable Curse in response.

Within a matter of moments, Ron found himself amidst a field of knee-high wild flowers, having sped his pace to a jog when he heard Hermione attempting to cast a leg-locker curse upon him (which was misfired purposefully, he was sure). With so little as a second thought, he stooped down and grabbed a bunch of the white and yellow flowers, plucking them from the ground. "You can't curse me, Hermione, I haven't apologized yet," he called over his shoulder as she came panting up behind him.

"Ron, you barely apologized for inadvertently making me a snack for a troll, how am I supposed to believe you'll apologize for a jo -- " Her jovial sentence trailed off as he turned and presented her with the shabby bouquet of wild flowers, many still with roots and dirt at the ends.

"So, maybe," he began, panting slightly from the jog, quite unaware of how he was going to word the sentence, as it was forming in his mind at that very moment, sounding far too stupid to be said. However, Ginny had accidentally planted something in his head . . . something that was at that moment causing him to disregard anything he thought to be stupid, since everything he usually said to Hermione came out wrong due to his second-guessing and rewording. "Maybe ... I'll apologize for that, instead. For all the times I've inadvertently made you a snack for a troll, or ignored your warnings, or got upset for being corrected, or ... " he trailed off momentarily, looking down at the flowers in his right hand, " ... accused you of being traitor, when I should have been yelling at myself for not using my eyes."

Hermione was apparently speechless for some time to the point that she could only take the flowers from his grasp and absently brush the clumps of dirt matted on the roots of a select few of the long-stemmed blossoms. "You're still on about that?" she finally inquired, almost as if she didn't realize the latter part of his statement was a compliment. "What's it matter now, Ron? It's over, Viktor's gone to Bulgaria, there's no more tournament to think about. -- ... Maybe I was being a traitor," she added a sort of 'white flag' to the end of her statement as the usual sign that she didn't want to drudge up old arguments. It would have been a shame to ruin such a beautiful day.

"You weren't," he said quickly, pressingly. "I'm sorry if I ever made you think that. I was the one being a traitor." This was also said quickly, before Ron even realized what it meant. Then, slowly, it began to dawn on him and he continued at length, "I was the one turning against my friend over something that was my fault. It was my problem ... and I blamed it on you."

Again, he had left her speechless during a pause, though he was sure that his words had had the right effect, as she was blinking rapidly to ward off tears and merely peering at the flowers he had given her.

But, that was where he faltered. Rubbing absently, insecurely at the back of his (also freckled-spotted) neck as if the answer to all the emotions welling within him was there, Ron glanced up towards the sky, looking for sometime into the blue depths for an answer, as well, having not immediately found it within himself.

The bushy-haired girl beside him had remained silent until she noticed his attention had wavered to the sky, to which she also looked and felt inspired to comment, "I've never seen a bluer sky," all at once becoming sad, as thoughts began to fill her mind. "When I think of the dark times," she whispered after a moment of sorting out a few things in her head, " ... all those years ago, I don't think of it being ever sunny or the sky ever being blue. You-Know-Who has been quiet since the end of last term, but tomorrow we go back to Hogwarts. Ron, do you think something will happen?"

The answer was obvious -- of course something will happen, Hermione, it's inevitable. The Dark Lord has arisen and called his followers to him. It's only a matter of time because he comes for Harry and anyone else who stands in his way. Yet, he hadn't the heart to tell her that eventually the dark times would come again. He hadn't fully admitted it to himself and couldn't bear to ever think of telling her such a harsh truth.

"Do you think, when it's all over, we'll be able to see a sky this blue again?" she asked, barely above a whisper, still looking up to the brilliant, almost blindingly blue, sky. Her eyes, the color of cinnamon to match her hair, were filled with tears, although her voice was almost unwaveringly calm.

"I think," Ron began, looking from the beauty of the sky to something he all at once found more beautiful still, as if he had been wandering through paradise at night -- her face ... her eyes, "that I can promise you we will." Even if it was a promise to protect her from all the evils of the world, he suddenly felt that there was nothing he could refuse her, most especially when her eyes were filled with tears.

Unexpectedly, Hermione dropped the bouquet and threw her arms around him in a tight hug. This time, however, she neither sobbed on his shoulder nor did he feel the need to awkwardly pet he head. Instead, he did what felt perfectly natural to do and found himself in the sweetest embrace he had ever shared with another.

"Hermione," he whispered against the cinnamon hair, from which wafted the nectareous, dulcet scent of vanilla, which came to just below his chin. At last, it had come to him -- at last, he knew what to say. "If I had realized a little earlier than now ... I would have asked you to the Yule Ball first -- before Viktor Krum or Neville or anyone else who might have asked you. I should have asked you the moment I knew about it. I should have realized a long time ago that you're not just a girl -- ... you're the girl I love."