Disclaimer: It's all Jo's, as is my soul. Ergo, she owns everything.
I have not really written anything in months, but I think this dreary English spring has been taken over with thoughts of summer, and this was spawned. It's just a drabble, but tell me what you think, please.
Summer
It's been hot lately. The cooling charms at the Burrow are starting to give out, and even Hermione can't quite figure out how to fix them. Unfortunately, too, the Weasleys can't afford to have them recast, so everyone is walking around with a fixed determination to love the heat. Harry is here, ostensibly because Bill is getting married, and Hermione pretends not to know that he secretly wants to see Ginny all dressed up for the wedding. Harry and Hermione share grins every time someone lets out a sweaty oomph of a groan and Ron says, loudly, "Yeah, it's really cool not to have to wear Mum's jumpers, isn't it?"
She and Harry usually spend a couple of hours together in Ginny's room after lunch, with Hermione working on her homework and occasionally nagging Harry to do the same, and Harry staring at the ceiling and practicing charms that drizzle cold water onto his head. Hermione pretends not to notice when he picks up one of Ginny's hair elastics and twirls it, pretending to be nonchalant, and looks away when he pulls a tightly folded scrap of parchment out of the loose knob on the headboard. In return, he pretends not to remember that she happened to be sobbing into Ron's shoulder at Professor Dumbledore's funeral, for which Hermione is embarrassedly grateful. She chooses not to think about Ron nowadays.
Lavender Brown, after all, sent him a letter written in purple ink just this morning.
This afternoon, Hermione is alone. Harry has gone to Diagon Alley with Bill to buy things (and by "things", she suspects he means "dangerous twin-made substances"), and Ginny is being fitted again for her bridesmaid's gown, which will not zip up properly, because Ginny refuses, as a matter of pride, to stop eating dessert.
Hermione is finishing up her second Arithmancy essay. She feels quite accomplished; school starts in a month and a half and she has already finished her homework for three classes. She suddenly hears the floorboards squeak outside the door, and before she can say "Come in", Ron is standing n the doorway.
"Hullo, Hermione", Ron says, grinning. He is in a fairly good mood, and Hermione thinks she can guess why; he is hiding a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes bag that looks suspiciously full of the orange tissue paper that usually surrounds joke sweets. She wonders where he got the money to buy them, because he looked embarrassed and shifty yesterday when she asked him why he didn't buy the new Chudley Cannons poster that could throw Quaffles back at you if you chucked them. He's been saving for it, she knows, but apparently that saving thing just didn't work out.
"Hello, Ron," she says. She almost flashes him a huge smile, because it's infectious when he grins, but then she remembers that that would make her look stupid. He hasn't, after all, done anything to merit galvanizing happiness on her side. So she nods briefly, and lets the corners of her mouth turn up a little.
"You doing anything today?" he asks, and Hermione can see clearly that he's trying oh so hard to be nonchalant. She pretends not to notice, and shrugs.
"Oh, not really. I want to finish this essay by lunchtime, and then your mum said we could go to Diagon Alley if Bill went with us. Harry and I figured we'd go to Fortescue's or something."
"Alone?" Ron asks, oddly.
Hermione blinks. "I don't know. Do you want to come?"
"No," Ron says quickly. "Er, no, you go ahead, and I'll…just…"
He bolts immediately. Hermione tries to call him back, but he doesn't answer. She doesn't know what got into him, but there is no way she will agree to stay in this boiling hot house a minute longer when she could relax comfortably with a triple-scoop of bat-eye fudge ice cream without Fleur going on about fitting into bridesmaids' dresses.
Before she leaves, she knocks on his door, and there is a lot of rustling and squeaking before he answers the door. When he finally does, he looks dreadfully uncomfortable.
"Ron, are you all right?" she asks. She can't help it.
"Yeah, yeah, sure, fine. What?"
She looks at him squarely, pretending to be unconcerned and hoping that he wasn't hiding Lavender Brown under his bed or something. After all, he seemed to hate Lavender so sadistically for a very ridiculous amount of time, and that just wasn't natural. Was it?
"I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with us. I'm leaving in a couple of minutes."
"Oh," Ron says, looking down at her. It reminds her how horribly tall he really is. "Uh...I dunno."
She shrugs again, and turns away, refusing to be disappointed. "Suit yourself. I'll see you later."
"Wait!" he calls suddenly, and she whirls around. "Is anyone else going there with you?"
"Um…no," she says, looking bewildered. "I'm meeting them there."
"It isn't safe," he spews out quickly. He backs out of the doorway, slams it, and she can hear a muffled "I'll take you!"
Hermione blinks, stifles a grin, and makes her way back downstairs. A couple of minutes later, he rockets down the stairs behind her, one hand behind his back.
"What've you got behind your back?" she asks him, reaching for the pot of Floo powder. He doesn't say anything, and she can hear a very loud crinkle of tissue paper. As she pulls her wand out to conjure a tiny fire (anything larger would completely kill the remaining cooling charms), she can clearly hear the sounds of a stifled cough, and the sounds of tissue paper falling to the floor. She has no idea what he is doing, but she keeps her back turned to him, because he isn't allowed to see that she's blushing. She doesn't know what she's blushing for, but she is anyway.
The next second, she feels his knuckles on her shoulders, and clenched hands drape some sort of fabric thing over her shoulders. She looks up, confused, and is even more so when she feels a cool, artificial breeze sweep underneath her clothes, making her feel as though she's just breathed real air again, instead of this hot, dry mess that pretends to be atmosphere. Her hands drift to the shawl-thing, and she can feel embroidered silk. It must have been expensive.
"Might help with the heat," Ron says, his ears bright red, as he quickly takes his hands away from her shoulders, where they've been lingering.
Hermione looks up at him, and blushes again, vividly. She tries to say thank you, but the only thing that comes out is "But I thought you wanted that Cannons poster."
He grins at her, and, haltingly, reaches for her hand. She forgets to be surprised when she lets him, and they Floo into the Leaky Cauldron with intertwined fingers.
LA FIN
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