A/N: originally published on Tumblr in Jul 2021
"Hermione, we've been cooped up all day."
Ron's knees were hooked over the back of the couch, his head dangling off the cushions and the tips of his hair just brushing the carpet. "For three days. When will this bloody storm move on?"
Hermione glanced out the window, observing the rain beat against the glass in a torrential downpour. "I'm not sure what you want me to do about it."
She resumed reading her book from where she was curled on the other end of the sofa. He reached a lanky arm to the coffee table and wrapped his fingers around a wooden coaster, squinting one eye and taking careful aim. The coaster left his fingers and ricocheted into the book Hermione was holding, sending it flying into the wall where it slid behind the arm of the couch.
"What the hell, Ron?"
His lips twitched. "Crookshanks did it."
"Crookshanks is upstairs." She flourished her wand, levitating her tome from the depths of the crevice it'd fallen into. "And your boredom is not my problem."
"Who says I'm bored?" Ron never argued quietly; the words reverberated through the room above the tumultuous noise of the thunderstorm.
For an answer, Hermione glared at him over the top of her reopened book.
He rolled off the couch, sprawling on their living room floor and scrambling to his feet. "Let's go outside."
"I'm going to pretend you didn't just suggest that," Hermione answered, flipping a page.
The rain pelted the sliding glass door with such force he had difficulty making out the back fence. He watched the storm for a while, then grasped the handle. "I'm going."
"Wait, what?"
Sliding the door shut behind him, he strode to the centre of their small yard. He closed his eyes and held his arms out, letting the rain fall against him, soaking his skin, his clothes, his hair. Splashing across every surface in the yard and the thunder rolling in the far distance consumed his senses. He let the rain pour over him until he was saturated. He shook his hair, flinging droplets in a circle and laughed.
"I'm glad you're happy, you maniac."
A smile crept over his face, but he kept his back to her. "What're you doing out here?"
"I couldn't let you go by yourself, could I?" He couldn't see her, but he grinned, so easily imagining the indignant set of her jaw. He set off towards the shed, unsurprised when her voice, now hitching higher, stayed by his side. "I had to follow you to make sure that you didn't hurt yourself. Where are you going?"
As quickly as his unused-for-nearly-a-decade Quidditch reflexes would allow it, Ron snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her so that she was pinned between him and the side of the shed. "You can just say when you're worried about me."
Beads rolled down her face and her wild hair clung to her in sopping curls. Her eyelids fluttered as he leaned closer to her, depositing droplets from his fringe onto her cheeks.
"Well then," she whispered, licking her lips. "I was worried about you."
He traced his fingers down the outside of her arm and she leaned into him, body arching against his. He circled her wrist with gentle pressure, drawing her hand above her head as he pinned it there, boxing her in on one side. "See, nothing wrong with a little rain." He kissed her nose, feather light.
She smiled, pressing her lips within millimetres of his. "You do always know how to get me to loosen up, sweet husband."
He adored it when she called him that, and he whispered against her lips. "Don't I know it, loving wife."
He pulled back a bit, grinning at her. It was the kind of grin that made her eyes widen and her body wiggle as she tried to escape his grasp. "No, whatever it is, don't you dare! No, Ron-"
He scooped water from the overflowing birdbath he'd kept within arms reach and splashed her with it, leaving her spluttering as he released his hold. She wiped her face, gaping at him. He backpedalled until he was several metres away, bouncing on his toes.
Hermione always retaliated. It was one of the things he loved about her.
She pushed her hair from her face, glaring at him. He could read the mirth in her eyes- which was good, it meant she wasn't actually mad at him- but he also saw calculation there. Something clicked into place, and with two flicks of her wrist she'd summoned the hose to her hand and turned it on.
Ron was no fool. He ran.
He ran around the yard, trying without success to hide from the vindictive spray of her hose. He ran through the garage, chasing a laughing Hermione into the mudroom, eagerly wiggling out of their soaked clothes. He ran across the house, up the stairs, and into the shower, anxious to get warm in the steam with his wife. Later, in the bed, holding a sleepy and contented woman in his arms after finally finishing what they started many hours before out by the shed, Ron's mind ran with the happy idea that he was, quite decidedly, anything but bored.