On Christmas Eve, all was quiet in Gryffindor Tower. Neville and Seamus were snoring contentedly, and Dean was breathing deeply and almost silently, each in his own bed. A fire crackled brightly in the hearth, and snow fell gently and silently in the moonlit world outside.

Behind the curtains, Ron and Harry were nestled all snug in Harry's bed, covered only in the blankets and touching lightly and reverently as they drifted toward sleep. A sheen of sweat still clung to Harry's chest, due to the heartracing excitement Ron had shown him a few minutes earlier. His ribcage had barely returned to its normal motion from the heaving gasps Harry had made as Ron had teased and tickled and tweaked and touched until Harry had trembled and tensed and toppled over into Ron's waiting arms. Ron could still taste Harry's tongue in his mouth, feel the impression of his teeth against his lips. Now, as his brushed his fingertips over the goosepimples that sprang into relief all over Harry's arms and torso, Ron thanked Merlin for the opportunity to feel this whatever that he was feeling, that made his heart warm itself from inside and his cheeks hurt from smiling.

They had spent some time together nearly every night since that first time, and each time they lingered longer after wearing themselves out, exploring each other's bodies and faces through touch, taste and smell. Ron had already memorised the tiny difference between the shapes of Harry's earlobes, the scent of his neck after he'd got a bit sweaty, and the sound of the tiny moans he made when Ron brushed his nipples with his fingertips.

Ron had never paid attention to the details of a person - even himself, even Cedric - in quite this way before. He was utterly enthralled with the shimmer of the tiny, iridescent hairs that adorned Harry's chest and chin. It seemed impossible that even a wizard could be this magical.

Knackered, but not yet entirely sleepy, Ron toyed idly with a few strands of Harry's hair, waking him from a brief doze.

"Mmm," grunted Harry happily, and wriggled forward to kiss him.

Ron breathed Harry in as their lips met, relishing the softness their kisses always had once they'd spent their energy. He loved the excitement of the beginnings of their evenings together, too, but there was something that felt so much closer about this kind of kissing.

Harry draped a wrist over Ron's neck and caressed his jaw with his palm. "Can we skip the sodding Ball tomorrow night?" he murmured hopefully.

"Yeah," placated Ron, knowing it wasn't true, but also knowing that he wasn't really lying, since neither of them was expected to believe it. He would never lie to Harry, after all.

"Good," said Harry, playing along. He increased the tension on the hand that held Ron's head, scooting his entire body even closer for a tighter cuddle. His voice was muffled with sleep as he continued, "Jus' stay here. Spen' Chrsmss w' you."

"Yeah," said Ron again, wishing he could make it true by saying it enough times.

Ron snuggled closer, wrapping Harry in his arms, and tried to get to sleep. Only now that Harry had mentioned the Ball, Ron found his brain gnawing at the question of Hermione and her mystery partner.

He fidgeted and shifted, and Harry opened one eye.

"Shstllwntllyoo, mm?" Harry mumbled. Unintelligible as his words were, Ron started slightly as he understood the meaning: She still won't tell you, huh?

Harry always seemed to know just what Ron was thinking.

"She doesn't have a partner," Ron growled for the thousandth time.

Harry opened the other eye and pulled back far enough to focus on Ron's face. Considering Harry's myopia without his glasses, this wasn't very far. "You want her to be going with you," said Harry flatly.

Ron gave the awkward, snuggled-close-in-bed version of a half-shrug.

"Only I don't see why she still won't admit there's no one else, and agree to go with me."

"You've agreed to go with Padma Patil," Harry reminded him. "It's a little late to be changing partners, even if Hermione actually needed one."

Ron scowled. "Whose side are you on? Anyway, don't you mind that Ginny's said yes to Neville? Didn't you want to go with her, and instead you're stuck with that Trelawney-worshipping nutter, Parvati?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and turned part way onto his back. "I wanted to go with Cho," he told the ceiling.

The words hit Ron hard, somewhere high in the gut, and he almost literally choked a bit from the impact. Harry wanted to go with Cho. Cedric wanted to go with Cho. Hermione wanted to go with ... well, someone who wasn't Ron.

Ron swallowed his self-pity like a bitter pill. It was pathetic, feeling sorry for himself because some bird he'd hardly met was the only one willing to tolerate his company, and even she would probably shun him once she'd seen his hideous, mouldy robes.

He started to roll away from Harry, the same way Harry had rolled away from him, but the arm around his waist grew tight and stopped him.

"I wanted to go with Cho," said Harry again, a little more life and a slightly different emphasis now in his voice. "That was what I wanted before. Now ... I wish I could go with you."

Blinking stupidly, Ron could only stare at Harry. The possibility of being together - in public - hadn't even occurred to him. "But we have to take the Patils," popped out of his mouth, for lack of anything useful to say in response.

Harry nodded. Ron was looking at him again, so he could see the dimness creep into the naked, green eyes. "We have to take the Patils," he echoed dully, and pulled Ron closer, burying his face between Ron's chin and the pillow.

He didn't say anything else, or lift his head, all night.