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Before attending Hogwarts, summer had been Hermione’s favorite time of year. She liked learning, but didn’t like school. The lessons weren’t interesting enough, the teachers didn’t care, and her classmates… well, none of them wanted to be friends with her. Hermione just didn’t fit in there.
Summer was when she was free.
Hermione would bring a stack of books outside with her and find a spot under a tree or a soft patch on the lawn. The distant noise of garden hoses spraying and motorized lawnmowers were the soundscape of her days. She was content to read for hours, whether learning about subjects that would never be covered in school or imagining herself in worlds more exciting and enchanting than her own.
Summer was when she was happiest.
lll
Hermione found it easier to focus on her studying in the library. But that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy the final weeks of the school year, when she, Harry, and Ron would take to the outdoors like the rest of Hogwarts. As much as she had enjoyed her quiet solitude when she was younger, enjoying it with friends was better.
The three of them would sprawl out on the magically manicured grounds, perhaps even more easily distracted from their class work than they usually were. They would discuss important things and also chat about nothing. They would people watch as fellow students waded into the lake or played with the newest not-yet banned Zonko’s product. Harry might fall asleep and wake up covered in pulled out blades of grass, no thanks to Ron. Or a gust of wind might send Ron’s notes tumbling across the lawn, sending Harry and Hermione into hysterics as he ungainly chased after them – until Hermione charmed the pages back into her hands.
More often than not, Ron would mumble oh sod it, pushing his books away in disgust. Then he’d roll up his sleeves and trouser legs, and spread out his impossibly long limbs to just lie in the sun instead of getting any actual work done. Hermione would try to coax him back into studying sometimes. But she also kind of liked the look of him lounged about like that, the freckles slowly taking over his skin as the days went by.
lll
The environment for Hermione’s summer reading at the Burrow was often Harry and the Weasleys playing Quidditch. She would watch sometimes – it was preferable to when they begged her for need of a player. But watching would get dull after awhile and she’d go back to her books.
Hermione heard a shout and a thud, looking up to find that Ron had slipped off his broom and slid quite spectacularly across the grass. There was a moment of bated breath, before Ron groaned and started to get up. Then came everyone’s laughter.
“I still saved it though, didn’t I?” Ron said, half-annoyed and half-self-satisfied as he tossed the Quaffle up to Ginny. He rubbed his shoulder and walked off to where Hermione was sitting.
Ron flopped down next to her. When he saw the glimmer of concern on her face he smiled sheepishly. “You’re not doing a very good job of refereeing,” he tried to joke.
“And you’re not doing a very good job of staying on your broom,” she chided, setting down her book and taking hold of his skinned hand. “You haven’t broken anything?”
“Nah, just a little bruised and – oi! – bleeding. You could be a little gentler, though.”
Hermione set about mending his hands, knees, and elbows, both of them sniping at each other good-naturedly. Ron stank of sweat, but also carried the smell of all the dirt and grass he’d acquired in his dive. She picked the grass out of his scrapes and brushed it off his clothes, voicing her marvel at how he’d managed to pry up half the field with him.
There was only another hour of proper daylight to play, but Ron sat out for it. He bemoaned his injuries just enough to give him an excuse – strangely enough, Fred and George didn’t take the mickey out of him for staying on the sidelines. Ron asked her what she was reading and she showed him the cover.
“But you’ve already read that, haven’t you?”
“It’s been a few years,” she said. Hermione hadn’t realized he’d ever paid attention. She read a few minutes longer before shutting her book.
“Finished it already?”
“It’s getting too dark to read.” It was half true.
She looked up at Ron, who was sitting rather close to her. His hair glowed even brighter with the sun setting over his shoulder. Hermione reached up and started to pluck out the grass still stuck in his hair. Ron’s ears turned red.