Title: Not Necessarily Wanting Me

Author: Lorien_Eve

Pairings: Harry/Ron, Ron/Draco

Disclaimer: All the characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I dirtied them up a bit, but I promise to have them nice and clean when I give them back.

Spoilers: Everything

Rating: PG - NC-17, this chapter is PG

Feedback: I'd love some!

Summary: Ron's in love with Harry, but he's afraid Harry will never feel the same way. Draco helps him forget - even if it's just for a little bit.

Genre: Romance, a little angst, a little drama

Author's Note: I wrote this story for NaNoWriMo back in November. After I went over my word count of 50,000, I set it aside and worked on some other things. The story isn't finished, but I'm still working on it and I'm a little over halfway done. I wanted to go ahead and post it to hopefully put pressure on myself to finish it. This has *not* been beta-ed. No way would I put my beta through such torture. I've read over it myself, but I know I missed a few things, so please excuse any typos you see. I'm really bad a writing summaries, so don't judge the story by my description of it. It's better than it sounds. Honest.

The soft moonlight shone through the window, illuminating the sparsely furnished room with a mild blue hue. There were no perceptible sounds-not on the street, or in the house. Though if you listened closely, you could discern a slight stirring under the covers in the smallest bedroom upstairs.

Harry shifted almost soundlessly in his bed, unable to sleep. For a change, it wasn’t a nightmare that kept him up. It wasn’t visions of Voldemort killing, or screams from his parents, or thoughts of the night during his fourth year when Cedric Diggory was murdered in an unplottable graveyard.

Despite a really tough fifth year, Harry was feeling surprisingly content this summer. He had been with the Dursleys for over a month now, and had a week before he returned to Hogwarts. As ever, the Dursleys had hardly been tolerable of him. They pretended he didn’t exist most of the time, which suited Harry just fine. The less talking they did to him, the happier he was. Of course, if they did take the time to talk to him, all he had to do was mention Sirius’s name.

Now, Harry was kept awake with much happier thoughts than he’d had in years. He rolled over in his bed, looking at his small, wooden bedside table. Standing proudly, all in a row, on the table were four birthday cards-one from Ron, of course, one from Hermione, one from Sirius and Remus, and one from Hagrid. Harry had only been sixteen for two days, but he had already memorized all his cards by heart.

Hermione had written that she was spending the summer with Victor. She wrote to Harry about all the mountains, saying that they were the tallest and most majestic she had ever seen, and that they went on forever and ever, and had heard stories of people who tried to follow the chain, but never made it. Victor had taken her for a boat tour on the Danube, the longest river in Bulgaria. She told Harry that it was even bluer than she’d imagined, and how in his wildest dreams he could never picture a deeper, clearer, more impenetrable blue. She said she was learning loads of stuff, amid all her sight seeing.

That sounded just like Hermione, Harry thought with a grin. Only she would put natural wonders second rate to studying and learning.

Hagrid’s card hadn’t been as long or as detailed as Hermione’s, and the grammar hadn’t been as impeccably correct, either. Hagrid, in his typically friendly way, had wished Harry a very happy birthday, telling him that he was looking forward to seeing him at the beginning of the next school year, and that he hoped those Muggles weren’t harassing him too much. Accompanying the birthday card was a brown, wrapped parcel of treacle fudge. It was one of Hagrid’s specialties, though Harry had had too much experience with Hagrid’s cooking to eat it. He had broken too many teeth and bitten his tongue too many times trying to chew and digest bites of food that Hagrid cooked. He was terribly grateful for the thought, though, and was going to make sure that he thanked Hagrid for remembering his birthday the next time he saw him.

Sirius and Remus’s card almost came as a shock to Harry. Not so much the fact that Sirius sent him a card-he knew Sirius would send him one. He had sent him one last year, and Sirius was nothing if he wasn’t a completely devoted godfather. What surprised him about the letter was that Sirius and Remus had sent him one together. He had had his suspicions of the two back in his third year, when Sirius came forward and incriminated Pettigrew as the Secret Keeper. The emotion and relief with which Remus had embraced Sirius upon finding that he was innocent of the betrayal and murder he had been imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years for, was strong and palpable. It was more than brotherly. At that very early time, Harry hadn’t recognized it, but because of a few glances and gestures afterward, and once Harry had time to reflect upon that evening in the Shrieking Shack, he was a little suspicious. Add that to the fact that Harry never got a letter from Sirius without mention of Remus, and Harry was beginning to catch on to the slightly surprising relationship that they had.

Harry had known Remus, as he was his Defense Against the Darks Arts teacher during his fourth year. He was, by far, the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Harry, Ron, and Hermione had ever had. Even his fellow Gryffindors admitted it. Harry felt a bond with Remus even before he felt one with Sirius. Of course, he was still under the impression that Sirius had murdered his mum and dad. But with Remus being the first friend of his parents that Harry had known, he felt a fondness towards the man. Remus had been the one to teach him how to produce a Patronus. It had not only saved his life, but Sirius’s, Hermione’s, and even Dudley’s lives when they had been cornered by Dementors. Remus was one of the few links Harry had to his parents. If Sirius was looking for a relationship with someone, Harry honestly couldn’t think of a more fitting person.

In Harry’s birthday card, Sirius, and also Remus, had wished him a happy birthday, saying they hoped he was doing well after his rocky fifth year, and that if his aunt or uncle gave him any trouble, for him to threaten them with a visit from Sirius. Sirius had also told Harry to owl him as often as he needed, as he always looked forward to hearing from him. Perhaps the strangest and most nagging part of the card had been when Sirius hinted that there would be a surprised for Harry once he got to Hogwarts. Harry had wracked his brain trying to figure out what Sirius had meant by that, but as of yet, he hadn’t come up with anything. The Triwizard Tournament had been a surprise in his fourth year, but it was definitely not a good surprise. He hoped this one would be better.

His last, and most favorite, card came from Ron. Harry had instantly recognized the messy, scribbled writing on the front of the envelope as Ron’s, and he had opened it first. Like all the rest of his friends, Ron had wished him a happy birthday, saying that he’d always heard that Muggles thought sixteenth birthdays were the best. Also written in the card was the best present Harry could’ve ever gotten. Ron said that Mr. Weasley, newly appointed Minister of Magic, would be sending him a Portkey in a few days’ time. Pig would be delivering it, and it would be magicked to warp him to the Burrow at 12.00 AM on the designated night.

At last Harry was getting away from Privet Drive! He couldn’t be happier. Summers were his least favorite part of the year, unlike almost all other students who looked forward to the break between school years. He loved Hogwarts, though, and although his classes were taxing, he still enjoyed them. Hogwarts, however, was nothing like knowing he’d be going to the Burrow in a few days. The Burrow was his absolute favorite place in the world. Not only did it house is very best friend, Ron, but it also contained his favorite family. They were the family that he didn’t have, the family that he’d always wanted.

Most importantly, though, was that the Burrow was were Ron lived. Ron. Ron had been Harry’s first and best friend since he came to Hogwarts. Harry had met him on the train, and they had instantly become friends. Unlike Draco, who had only wanted to be Harry’s friend because Harry was famous, Ron had liked Harry for who he was-an insecure, unsure, stuttering mess. Their friendship had grown over the last five years, and now Harry was starting to feel something different towards Ron. Sure, he was still his best friend, but Harry was starting to have more than just friendship feelings for him. ‘Starting to’ weren’t exactly the appropriate words, though. He had been experiencing these strange, almost uncomfortable feelings since the end of his second year. Obviously, he would never, ever tell Ron about this. Harry questioned his own feelings nearly everyday, even though it had been over three years now.

What he felt towards Ron was totally different from what he had ever felt towards anyone else. He had had a crush on Cho Chang, beginning in his third year, and ending with a not-so-interesting climax last year. Cho was nice, and very pretty, but regardless of how hard Harry tried, he just couldn’t make himself feel the same way around her that he did when he was around Ron. It was because of these bizarre feelings for Ron, that Harry had opened Ron’s card first, had memorized the writing inside it before he memorized any of the others, and had placed it closest to his bed.

There was a fifth letter on his bedside table-a folded, off-white piece of parchment-but it wasn’t a birthday card. It was his yearly letter from Hogwarts. It comprised a list of books and supplies, along with the standard Hogwarts letter.

He reached one arm over to rummage through the top drawer of his bedside table. Finding what he wanted at last, he pulled out a small, colorfully wrapped object. Ron had sent him a whole bag of Chocolate Frogs for his birthday. They were both his and Harry’s favorite candy, and they often fought over them. It must’ve taken a lot of self- control for Ron to send Harry so many. He was almost certain, though, that Ron had saved several for himself before attaching the bag to Pigwidgeon’s leg.

Unwrapping the sweet and popping the wriggling frog into his mouth, Harry turned the accompanying card over to see who he had gotten this time. It was Bowman Wright. The wizard in the picture smiled and waved at Harry, his hand proudly displaying a small, golden, winged ball. Harry tossed him back on the table. He already had three of him, and Ron had five. Why couldn’t he get Wendelin the Weird or Montague Knightley? Those were the only two he didn’t have, but no matter how many Chocolate Frogs he ate, he was never lucky enough to get either one of them. Ron had lucked up and gotten Montague Knightley in a pack of Chocolate Frogs that Harry had bought him for Christmas last year. Harry tried to convince Ron that since he had been the one to buy him the Chocolate Frogs, he was entitled to that card, but Ron wouldn’t hear of it. He had taunted Harry with it during the entire Christmas break.

Harry checked the clock on his bedside table. Eight o’clock. Four more hours. What he wouldn’t give for a Time Turner right now. He was looking forward to going to the Burrow so much that four hours felt almost like four days. Harry closed his eyes, and with a very giddy smile on his face, he allowed himself to drift off into a comfortable sleep. Tonight, his dreams weren’t about Voldemort killing, or about hearing his mum and dad scream, or about thoughts of the night during his fourth year when Cedric Diggory was killed in an undisclosed graveyard.

Tonight, his dreams were about red hair and freckles and long arms and gangly legs. He dreamed that he and Ron were playing Quidditch in a large, empty stadium, not unlike the stadium that hosted the Word Quidditch Cup. Harry was zooming around the field on his Nimbus Two Thousand, searching for the Snitch. He had been looking and looking determinedly, but he couldn’t catch sight of the small golden ball. Ron, who was supposed to be guarding the Gryffindor goal posts, flew up next to him, and pointing his finger towards the ground on the opponents’ side, showed Harry where the Snitch was hovering. Harry went into a fantastic dive, the dives he was becoming famous for at Hogwarts, and captured the Snitch spectacularly, just pulling his broom up before the nose of it crashed into the ground. Though the pitch was empty, Harry could hear people screaming his name in celebration. Ron guided his own broom to the ground and patted Harry on the back before engulfing him in a massive hug.

Harry sat straight up in bed. It was just a dream. He should’ve known. He’d never be lucky enough to have Ron return his feelings. It was a still a nice dream, though. Looking out the window to see what had caused him to wake up at such an inconvenient time, he saw a very furry blur hooting happily outside his window. Damn Pig for waking him up. Couldn’t he have waited another couple of minutes? With a sigh, Harry got up out of bed and went over to the window to open it and let Pig in.

Pig swooshed in through the open window, hooting happily, very pleased with himself. There was a note tied to his leg, and also an untidily wrapped package. Harry tried to grab him as he flew by, but Pig was too quick for him. Harry ran after him, flailing his arms in the air, trying to reach the tiny owl. Pig seemed so proud of himself for delivering the letter and package that he apparently had forgotten that he actually had to give them to Harry.

“Get down here now!” Harry hissed in a whisper.

Looking as though he had just noticed Harry for the first time, Pig turned abruptly and landed with a clatter on Harry’s bed. Harry hastened over, untying the note and the brown paper parcel.

He opened the note first. Harry immediately recognized the scribble as Ron’s handwriting.

Harry smiled to himself, not caring that he was once again wearing that silly grin. He was looking forward to seeing Ron soon, too. It felt like it had been ages, though it had really only been a little over a month.

Harry reached for the wrapped package. Pulling at the hastily tied string, the paper fell off and the object rolled onto his bed. It was an old Muggle alarm clock. The glass over the face was missing, and so was the minute hand. There was no back cover, and an assortment of springs and gears were sticking out of it. Harry laughed. Undoubtedly, this had to be something that Mr. Weasley kept around the house. Harry knew about his love for all Muggle things, and he could just imagine how much fun he must’ve had with the gears and the springs. He’d have to be sure to give it back to Mr. Weasley once he got to the Burrow.

Checking the clock on his bedside table, Harry noted that it was 11:55. Just five more minutes. He tossed Pig an owl treat to shut him up, and picking up Hedwig’s empty cage, he sat down on his trunk, holding the busted and broken alarm clock, waiting with much anticipation for midnight.

****

Ron sat on the steps of the back porch, waiting nervously for midnight. In just a few minutes, Harry would be here. He couldn’t wait. He’d been looking forward to this all summer. Unlike most students who enjoyed the summer recess more than any other time of the year, Ron had been moping and grumbling around the house ever since he’d gotten home from school. It just wasn’t right not having Harry around to joke with and get into trouble with. Harry was his best friend, and after spending five school years with him, Ron didn’t know what to do with himself without Harry.

Lately though, Ron was discovering that he was having more that just friendship feelings for Harry. That was crazy, though, wasn’t it? Harry was a guy, and so was Ron. Why would he have those kinds of feelings for him? He had caught himself several times fondly imagining Harry’s always-mussed hair and bright green eyes, and how he would’ve loved to see those eyes gazing needily up at him. Harry’s nose was absolutely dead center, too, he was happy to notice.

But that was beside the point. Ron wasn’t going to think about things like that. Harry was his friend, and that’s just the way things were. All Ron knew was that he didn’t feel the same without Harry around, and that he had actually been looking forward to school starting just so he could see Harry again. That was before they had arranged for the Portkey. Now, Ron would’ve just been happy to stop time at midnight and have Harry stay at the Burrow forever. How come Hermione was the only one lucky enough to get a Time Turner?

It had to be almost midnight by now. Ron had come outside a little early. Actually, a lot early. About 11.00 to be exact. He knew the Portkey wouldn’t activate for another hour, but he wanted to be there the second Harry arrived, and staying in his room or dealing with the rest of his family, especially Fred and George, was just too much for him. He didn’t know why he was so nervous about seeing Harry this time. He’d never been nervous about it before. He started picking anxiously at a loose thread on the hem of his jeans. Just let midnight get here soon, he thought.

****

At almost the same time that Ron heard the clock in the kitchen chime, he heard a whooshing sound, and Harry appeared suddenly before him.

“Harry!” he said, jumping up instantly from his seat on the steps. He hoped he hadn’t sounded too excited, but he probably had. He had a strong urge to run up and hug Harry, but he fought it, and merely walked over to him instead.

“Hey, Ron,” Harry said happily. “It’s nice to see you.” Very nice, Harry added to himself.

“Nice to see you, too,” said Ron, smiling. “I don’t guess that Portkey gave you any trouble?”

“No, no trouble at all. It activated right at 12.00.”

“Oh, good.”

Once again, Ron felt slightly awkward, though he couldn’t figure out why. He toed the dirt nervously.

“So…,” Harry started.

“Yeah…” said Ron.

“Mind if I come in?” Harry asked with a laugh.

“Oh! No, come on. You can take your things upstairs.”

Ron turned and walked into the kitchen. He was almost at the staircase when he realized Harry wasn’t behind him.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” came a voice from outside.

“Where did you go?”

“I’m out here. I’m trying to get my trunk up the stairs.”

Boy, did Ron feel stupid. He should’ve offered to help Harry with his luggage, but he had been so anxious to get Harry into his bedroom, he didn’t think about it.

Wait, no, he was not anxious to get Harry into his bedroom. He just wanted to help him get settled, that was all.

“Sorry, mate,” he said, walking back through the kitchen and going outside. “Here, let me help you.”

Harry sat Hedwig’s cage on top of his trunk, and with him grabbing one side and Ron grabbing the other, they lifted the heavy trunk and lugged it into the kitchen.

“Let’s sit it down here for a minute,” breathed Ron, when they reached the bottom of the staircase.

“Yeah, good idea,” said Harry, just as out of breath as Ron.

“What have you got in here? Bricks?” joked Ron.

Harry laughed. “Close enough. It’s all those books.”

“Ok, ready?”

“Yeah, sure,”

With a grunt, they hoisted the trunk up again and began their trek up the four rickety staircases to Ron’s room.

“I don’t see why we can’t just use magic,” Ron complained when they stopped on the third level to catch their breaths again. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t really feel like facing another inquisition this summer,” said Harry dryly.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I didn’t mean-”

“Ron, it’s ok. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Now Ron felt more stupid than ever. Harry had faced a horrible inquisition last year for doing magic over the summer. He and his cousin had been attacked by Dementors, and in order to save both of their lives, Harry had cast a Patronus charm. Why did Ron have to bring that up now? He made a mental note to think from now on before he opened his mouth.

They stopped again on the third level to catch their breaths and rest their tired arm muscles before starting up to the fourth level.

“Ready again?” asked Harry, gesturing to the trunk at their feet.

“Yeah.”

They lifted the trunk for the last time and clambered up the final staircase and down the hall to Ron’s room.

“What the hell is all that racket?” said a sleepy voice, poking his head out from his door across the hallway from Ron’s. It was Fred. “Oh, it’s you,” he finished, looking at Harry.

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to wake you.”

“Eh, no problem. I thought it was just my noisy brother,” he said, looking at Ron. “He’s really been looking forward to you coming here.” He gave Ron a big smirk.

Ron went pink, and shuffled his feet. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to put this trunk down.”

“Don’t let me hinder you. I’m going back to bed,” said Fred, as he shut the door.

“Damn brothers,” Ron muttered under his breath.

As soon as they entered the room, they both dropped the trunk. Harry pushed it over against the wall so that it was out of the way.

“Well, here we are,” said Ron, “your home for the next week.”

Harry couldn’t be happier. This was exactly where he wanted to be. Not just at the Burrow, which made him happy enough, but in Ron’s bedroom. It was a shame they couldn’t just lock themselves in here forever.

“Mum conjured a bed for you on the floor,” said Ron, pointing at a mattress, pillow and blankets.

“That was nice of her.”

He was disappointed. It was a shame he couldn’t sleep in Ron’s room with him. They had never slept together before, though, so why should this summer be any different? Still, Harry was disappointed that he didn't have a built-in excuse to join Ron in his bed.

“So…” said Ron, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Yeah…” said Harry.

Here was that awkward silent again. When had this started? They had never felt this way around each other before.

“Well, are you hungry?” asked Ron at last. “Mum fixed a big meal tonight, and there’s plenty of left overs.”

“Great. Yeah, I’m starved.”

“Ok, come on.”

Had Harry’s aunt and uncle not been feeding him? Ron thought angrily. He’d wring both of their necks if he knew they’d been mistreating Harry.

****

Ron rummaged around in the refrigerator, searching for anything he could find. If the Dursleys weren’t going to take care of Harry, he most definitely was.

“There’s some chicken, and um…some potatoes, and let’s see…some Yorkshire pudding.”

“That’s enough,” said Harry. “I don’t want to eat everything.”

“Oh, mum won’t care,” said Ron. “She’ll be happy to know that I’m feeding you. You’ll have to eat it cold, though. I don’t have any way to heat it up without doing underage magic.”

“I don’t mind,” said Harry, tearing into a piece of chicken.

He was so hungry that he would’ve risked breaking his teeth if the food had been frozen. Besides, Mrs. Weasley was the best cook he knew, and there was no way he was going to refuse anything she made.

“She’ll be happy to see you in the morning. So will Dad. They’ve been looking forward to you coming.”

“Who all's here?” asked Harry, wondering if any of Ron’s older brothers were visiting.

“Just Mum, Dad, Fred, George, and Ginny. And me,” he said with a sheepish grin. “But I expect Bill, Charlie, and Percy will show up sometime. They can’t stay away from Mum’s cooking.”

Harry didn’t blame them. It was hard to find food as good as this.

He ate another piece of chicken and devoured half the bowl of potatoes before he decided that he was so full, he thought he might bust if he ate another bite. Now that his stomach was full, he was extremely sleepy, despite the nap he had taken earlier in the evening.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed,” he said, yawning and stretching.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” said Ron, catching Harry’s contagious yawn.

****

Once they were back upstairs in Ron’s bedroom, Harry opened his trunk and fished around for his pajamas. He’d never consciously thought about it before, but now he was slightly hesitant to change in front of Ron. He didn’t like being that open and exposed. It was silly, though, really, because he had changed in front of Ron countless times, especially since Ron had joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Regardless, he knew he couldn’t get around it without arousing some kind of suspicion, so he decided it was just something he was going to have to do.

He found his pajamas, neatly folded, under a couple of pairs of his school robes. He glanced nervously over at Ron, who was also rummaging around in the top drawer of his bureau. Ron was distracted. If Harry could change quickly, he wouldn’t have to worry. He threw his shirt off, and quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, whisking them down his legs and off his feet. He fumbled with his pajama pants, trying to find the waistband as quickly as he could. Not quick enough, though.

Ron turned to him suddenly. “I always hate-” but he stopped.

There was Harry, barely clothed, standing in his bedroom. Could he ask for a better present? Nope, not in a million years.

“What?” asked Harry when Ron stopped talking.

Ron completely forgot what he was going to stay. He forced his eyes away from Harry, focusing on his aquarium that was growing algae.

“I-I-oh, forget it!” said Ron irritably. If he hadn’t looked over there, if he had just minded his own business, he wouldn’t be in such a stuttering predicament. He hoped Harry hadn’t noticed anything.

Harry did notice something, but it wasn’t what Ron was afraid of. Instead, he thought Ron had noticed his bumbling haste in changing clothes, and probably thought it was strange for him to be in such a hurry over something so simple. Why did he have to do such stupid things?

Ron was still busy searching for his own pajamas, so Harry took the chance to jerk his pants on and pull his shirt over his head before Ron turned around again.

“Here they are,” said Ron at last, pulling a maroon and white striped pair of pajamas out of the drawer.

He smiled sheepishly at Harry, who returned the smile. This was going to be awkward, he thought. He felt more exposed that he’d like to, changing clothes with Harry so close by. Harry was looking at him funny, and he hoped that his nervousness wasn’t showing too badly.

Harry caught himself staring at Ron, and jerked back to reality. Ron had noticed it too, he thought, because Ron was looking at him strangely. Damn hormones. He wasn’t used to feeling this interested in watching Ron change into his pajamas. He turned quickly back to his trunk to replace the robes he had had to take out in order to retrieve his pajamas. He knew if he didn’t distract himself with something, he wouldn’t be able to stop staring at Ron and wishing that he slept in the nude.

Ron dressed hurriedly, thankful that Harry was distracted with something, so that he could change without having to worry about appearing overly awkward.

“Well, uh, I guess I’ll go to bed now,” he said, once he was fully clothed again.

“Oh, yeah, me, too,” said Harry rising from his kneeling position by his trunk.

“Turn off the light, will you?” asked Ron once he had gotten into bed.

“Yeah, sure thing,” said Harry.

He blew out the candle and stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. They adjusted a little bit, but not really well enough for Harry to be able to see his where his bed was. He put one had out against the wall, feeling his way across it, and put another hand out to make sure he didn’t bump into anything on his other side.

“Umph,” he grunted a minute later.

“What is it?” asked Ron, trying to peer at Harry through the darkness.

“Nothing. I just ran into your wardrobe.”

He had thought he was being careful, feeling his way around the sides, but he didn’t have an extra hand to make sure he didn’t bump into anything in front of him.

Ron laughed at him. “Just keep the noise down, will you? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Ha, ha,” said Harry dryly. “I could be sleeping now, too, if I hadn’t been nice enough to turn the light off for-oof.” His right foot hit against something, almost making him lose his balance.

“What is it this time, your trunk?”

“No, I think I just found my bed,” he said, sitting down and massaging his wounded toe.

“Are you quite through beating yourself up? I told you, some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Oh, hush.” He picked his pillow up and chunked it across the room in the direction of Ron’s bed.

“Hey, what was that for?” asked Ron.

“For laughing at me and my injuries. Now, give me my pillow back so I can lay down.”

“Why should I? You’re the one who threw it at me.”

“If I could see, I’d get up right now, beat you up, and take my pillow back,” Harry said in a fake threatening voice.

“I guess I should be thankful you can’t see then?”

“Damn right, you should be.”

“Ok, ok, here’s your pillow back. But don’t throw it at me again, because I won’t be so nice to give it back to you a second time.”

Harry felt something soft hit him squarely in the face, knocking his glasses off.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“No problem. ‘Night, Harry.”

“’Night, Ron.”

Harry snuggled up under his blankets, feeling very happy. He was at the Burrow at last, and he was with Ron. In Ron’s bedroom, to be exact. He peered through the darkness, trying to figure out exactly where Ron’s bed was. He couldn’t see it very well, but he thought he knew where it was. It was a shame he wasn’t actually in that bed with Ron. It was probably just as well, though, because he was fairly tired, and none of the things he thought about doing in that bed involved sleep.

Harry closed his eyes, immensely grateful that Ron couldn’t read his mind.