A/N: Written for a certain bird on Tumblr which languished in prompt purgatory for far too long. Rated T for Ron's filthy mouth and lemon zest (aka innuendo)

Bloody Hell!

Why the fuck did Hermione interrupt me? Why couldn't she let me finish what I was going to tell her, huh? Why the bloody hell did she not wait thirty bloody seconds and let me finish what I was talking about?

But no! She had to get all swotty and barmy and start a row, about me being late again to brunch with Mum and Dad on Sunday and when I try to tell her why, she turned beastly.

Then Mum got shirty and prattled on about respecting my fiancée and then bloody hell ripped my bollocks off for raising my voice at the table! Of course I'm going to get mad! Mum bloody well sided with Hermione when I was right.

Can't get a word in edgewise with those birds!

So now, after talking with Dad – and I love Dad, don't get me wrong – but he can natter on about so many things when all I want to do is row with Hermione, snog her silly, and shag her until she realizes I'm right and she's not.

Bloody good that did! But then Mum smacked me on the side of my head with her wooden spoon and I exploded.

So now, to make up for the disaster known as brunch – and fuck, I didn't even get to finish my meal, much less pudding! – I have to go out to the orchard and pick some bloody flowers to make it up to Hermione, at least according to Mum.

Bloody cold and wet out here!

Why'd Mum have to start yelling? And I saw Percy trying to keep from laughing, the git. At least Audrey had the decency to keep quiet while Mum and Hermione were yelling at me. She's nice, and seems like she's fit enough, at least for that Prefect Prat. He's constantly smiling so I bet he's getting his knob worked too, the smug git. I need my knob polished today too but I'm out here in the sodding garden to pick some bloody flowers to make it up to Hermione, much less Mum.

Where the hell are those flowers Mum told me to go pick? She said out in the orchard, that she'd planted some rose bushes but I can't see –

Fuck! Where the hell did those bloody things jump out from?

Fuck. Those are the rose bushes and I think I just trampled the damn things.

Thank Merlin for Magic! I doubt Mum will notice I'd walked through the bloody things.

'Ron,'

Oh fuck. What now, Hermione?

'I don't need roses,, no matter what your Mum says.'

Shit. I'm fucked.

'Hermione,' and bloody hell, she's so damn fetching in that dress. I want to shove that dress up under her baps and suck that delicate skin on her stomach and -

"Now what was it that you wanted to tell me?"

Fuck. I can't remember.

"It must have been important enough for you to yell at me and your Mum."

"Obviously not," I pouted. "Not if both of you have bits of me in your beak."

"I'm listening now. Please tell me what was so important that you were an hour late to Brunch."

I still have to pick those bloody flowers. Mum would thump me hard if I didn't do as she told me to do. But Hermione is here, looking so fit and blushing hard. Maybe she'll go with me to get them.

Her hands are so small compared to mine, and they are chilly in the April air. But then she says mine are like fire, burning hot and so warm in comparison. But her hands warm up so much when she's touching my tadger and rubbin' my knob.

Shit. Flowers. Right. I can't think about getting a leg over when I've got other things to do.

"Watch your step, love," I tell her and she's smiling like I complimented her. Silly witch. But that root there would have hurt if she tripped on it. Brilliant she is but she doesn't pay attention sometimes, like the fact I was barmy for her for yonks and she didn't cotton on.

"I told you that I didn't need flowers. You know I rather they stay on the bushes since they only wilt in a day or two and then I have to toss them out."

"But I'm getting these for Mum since she told me to. She'd smack me with that spoon again if I didn't get those flowers she demanded."

"She didn't demand, Ron."

You don't know Mum like I do. When mum says do something, you do it, and with no cheek. I remember one time – "

"Sickle for your thoughts?"

Oh, right. Hermione. She loves talking and you know, I don't mind listening to her, and occasionally talking, too. I prefer doing other things with my mouth but for now, since the ground is so cold and wet, talking will do.

"I was thinking about Mum hitting me with her spoon when I gave her cheek."

"Was that often?"

"Sometimes, but then I learned to keep quiet at the dinner table and she quit hitting me with the spoon. Then she'd get mad when I wouldn't talk at all, trying to eat so fast so Fred wouldn't take my dinner. It's completely barmy that I can't win, either for giving cheek or not talking at the table."

"You don't have to yell, not when I'm there."

I look at her and she's smirking some. When did Hermione learn to flirt? Is she even flirting? Bugger if I know.

"Then again, yelling at the right time and place is never remiss."

Yeah, she's flirting, I reckon. When did she learn that? Did Ginny teach her that? Or did she read it out of a sodding book? Fuck it.

"You really want to know why I was late to lunch?"

She squeezed my hand and it's not the same as squeezing my bits but it'll do considering we're out in the orchard and Mum can still see us from the back door if she squinted hard enough.

"I got promoted at work and have ten days off. That's why I was late – 'cause Robards –"

Omph! I do wish she'd warn me when she's going to jump me.

Sod the bloody natty blooms, not with what she'd doing with her tongue.