My Sweet Time
"Charlie Weasley, I am never ever playing Quidditch with you again!" Hermione shouted as she dug through the bushes for her missing trainer. "I just bought those shoes!"
Charlie snorted. "You weren't really playing," he teased. "I've seen toddlers play better than you."
She stood up straight and put her hands on her hips. "Excuse me, Mr. Superstar On A Bloody Broom! I'm sorry for being a Muggle-born witch and never setting eyes on a broom until I reached Hogwarts!" She pursed her lips and began searching through the bushes again, narrowly avoiding some of the gnomes that thought her fingers would be fun to nip at. "Now help me find my shoe!"
Charlie had dazed out while she was screaming at him. Her hair was standing in all sorts of wild directions and her face was the color of a beet in her anger, making the light smudges of dirt that were on her forehead and the end of her nose stand out. Oh, and when she leaned over into the bush! He silently thanked the Muggle man that had created jeans, and then the women that lobbied for the right to be able to freely wear trousers. The swaying of her hips and the fit of the trousers were just...he didn't know how to describe it.
"Charlie! My shoe!" she shrieked from the bush, reminding him that he was supposed to be helping.
He marched over to the bush and pulled the angry woman out by her belt loops and turned her to face him. "Charlie, what are you - "
He cut her off when he kissed her deeply. "You are beautiful when you are angry," he whispered.
Hermione smiled. "Well, if you don't find my trainer within the next five minutes you will see exactly how fantastic I look when I'm irate," she said sweetly.
Charlie smiled back and kissed her again. "In that case, I should take my sweet time."