Years later (and it took years, really), Ron figured out that it all started with a jumper. One stupid Christmas jumper his mum had made him, a bit manky around the cuffs and collar, revolting shade of faded maroon, but yeah. It started with that.
It had been a normal Saturday to start. He played in the pick-up Quidditch match in the morning before having lunch with Gin. Then, he had drinks with Harry and Hermione (same pub, same table, same rounds). He liked it that way. His life was full, he thought. He liked his work (Auror--kept you fit, kept the bad guys off the streets), he was happy with his mates (always good for a laugh, that lot), and he even had his own flat (no bathroom sharing--always a plus).
He left the pub feeling a bit fuzzy around the edges, so he decided to walk home rather than Apparate. He rounded the corner near the news agents just down from his flat, fishing in his pockets for the house keys (enchanted pockets--not the best idea, in practice), when he collided with the poor unsuspecting person coming round the other side.
"So sorry!" he said, now feeling a bit foolish (must remember to keep keys in smaller pocket). He'd knocked her hard enough to send her tumbling directly into a puddle on the ground. Without hesitating, he held out his hand. "Blimey! I'm such an idiot--"
"Ronald?" she asked, taking his hand. When she'd got back on her feet, she swept at the hair that had fallen in her face, and she said again, "Ronald Weasley?"
"Luna Lovegood! I haven't seen you in ages."
"I always knew we'd bump into one another again sooner or later," she said, voice lilting in the same dreamy fashion he remembered.
"Yeah," he said, blushing. "Sorry about that."
Luna smiled brightly (had her eyes been that blue in school?). "It's all right. You didn't mean to."
"Well, I'm sort of glad I did, now." Noticing her clothes, now wet from the ground, he asked, "Fancy a cup of tea? My flat's just up the road here."
"Yes," she said. "I'd like that, I think."
At his flat, he didn't really know what to do (hide underpants, quickly get all of last weeks dishes to the sink, clear newspapers from sofa), but Luna made herself at home, sitting at his kitchen table while he started the kettle and tried to find two clean cups (very back of cupboard, off to the right). When he handed her a cup, he noticed that she was shivering from her damp clothes.
"Would you like to borrow a shirt or something? I feel really terrible about knocking you down."
"That would be lovely," Luna said.
It was only then that he realised what a real problem he had with laundry. The only clean article of clothing left in his flat was one of his mum's Christmas jumpers. Shrugging, he pulled it from the shelf.
Handing it to her, he said, "I hope this will do. It's..."
She interrupted him, saying simply, "Thank you," and she smiled that smile again (really, her eyes were so blue).
He showed her to the bathroom, so she could have some privacy.
She emerged only a couple of minutes later. He didn't know if it was the way the color offset her light hair, or how the large jumper made her look even smaller, more petite, or if it was the maroon against the pale skin of her thighs (yeah, it was probably that) that made him do a double take. He hadn't remembered ever thinking Loony Lovegood very pretty back at school, but in his flat, in his jumper, he didn't know if he'd ever seen a woman look so beautiful.
His mouth went dry. When he found words again, he muttered, "I didn't think about... You look... trousers... I mean... do you want..."
"No. This is just fine," she said, smile changing only slightly. Then she stepped right into his personal space, kissing him on the cheek, lips lingering perhaps a moment longer than they needed to, fingers brushing his neck. She smelled like spring (rain and flowers and grass).
He turned his head then, only a fraction, and kissed her on the mouth, tangling fingers through her hair, wrapping his other arm around her small waist.
He was never the same after that kiss.
And it all started with that horrible jumper.