Not surprisingly, Ron found himself often thoroughly distracted for weeks after that night. Even Harry's startling information about Mr. Crouch being healthy enough to sneak around Snape's office fell on Ron's ears as though from a great distance. Perhaps, if he hadn't been so busy fantasising about the idea of being with both Harry and Cedric at once, he would have done a better job of defending Harry when Hermione scolded him for not working out the clue sooner.

He found he was no use in finding solutions to Harry's underwater problem, either. The three of them would spend hours in the library, with Hermione researching manically and Harry staring morosely at the nearest open book, and Ron would become lost in the tantalising disappearance and reappearance of Harry's tongue between his lips as he read, so that his blood rushed dizzyingly away from his brain and he could think of nothing other than what that same tongue had done to him the night before.

Ron's appetite for Harry's touch was increasing exponentially. He needed more and more, spent longer and longer nights in Harry's bed, until Harry practically had to shove him out when Neville's snores grew quiet, indicating he was waking up. As a result, Ron and Harry were learning a great deal about each other's bodies in a very short time. Ron knew exactly when to tweak Harry's nipple to push him over the edge and make his eyes fly open so he was looking into Ron's eyes when he climaxed. And Harry had found a delicious spot behind Ron's ear that never failed to make him whimper gratefully when Harry thrust his tongue against it.

And every night, as he stroked and rocked and thrust against Harry's firm, hot body, he imagined how much more exciting, still, it could be if Cedric's hands and teeth and tongue and body were there, stroking and rocking and thrusting with them.

Two nights before the Second Task, when Harry had gone off food for worrying about what he would do, and Ron was growing deeply concerned about him, Hermione stopped in the middle of scanning a book called Tried-and-True Transfiguration Tricks to say, "When, exactly, were you two planning on telling me?"

Ron looked up, quickly, pulling his foot guiltily away from where it had been stroking the inside of Harry's thigh under the table, and kicked his shoe back on. He tried his blankest expression, wishing his face hadn't gone so suddenly, thoroughly hot.

Harry was scowling at Hermione. "Look, I'm sorry I lied to you about having worked out the clue. It was only that you kept going on about it, and I was sick of hearing it! I have it worked out now, anyway, for all the good it's doing me." He finished with a growl, tugging his current tome closer to himself and sticking his nose back in it.

Hermione turned her gaze on Ron. "That's not what I meant," she pursued, and Ron felt his face grow, impossibly, hotter. He knew he must be about the colour of his jumper by now.

Harry's eyes flitted up, spotted Ron's expression, and stopped. His jaw dropped open and a glowing blush bloomed along his cheekbones.

Hermione was watching all of this shrewdly. "So," she said, looking from one red face to the other. "How long?"

Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged. "It's a couple of months, now," he told her, seeing Harry nod in his peripheral vision.

Hermione nodded with a dainty and displeased grunt. "Two months," she repeated under her breath.

"Look, we were going to tell you ..." began Harry, but Hermione shut him down with a glare.

"Like you were going to tell me about not having worked out that clue?" she asked acidly.

"And you were so forthcoming about your partner for the Yule Ball," Ron growled, still very sore on the subject.

Hermione shot him a scowl, but turned a page and kept reading the book in front of her. Within half an hour, the iciness had melted away, without a further word on the subject, and they were back to comparing notes on the lack of information they were finding in all of these heavy, dusty volumes.

The following night, they still hadn't found anything, and both Ron and Hermione were seriously concerned about Harry. He was looking pallid and, if possible, appeared to have lost weight in the past two days. The long, sleepless nights had clearly taken their toll - after staying at the library until closing the previous night, Harry had been so exhausted that Ron had only held him until he'd fallen asleep, then slipped back to his own bed to allow Harry to rest.

Now, with barely twelve hours left until the Second Task was to begin, Harry was entering a whole new stage of panic that Ron wasn't sure he'd ever seen before.

Worried as he was, of course, Ron had lost touch with his tenuous grasp of the concept of tact. In a moment of frustration, he blurted out, "I don't think it can be done. There's nothing. Nothing. Closest was that thing to dry up puddles and ponds, that Drought Charm, but that was nowhere near powerful enough to drain the lake."

"There must be something," countered Hermione, while Harry stared at Ron bleakly. "They'd never have set a task that was undoable."

"They have," said Ron in frustration, so sleepy that he wasn't entirely aware of the words coming out of his mouth. "Harry, just go down to the lake tomorrow, right, stick your head in, yell at the merpeople to give back whatever they've nicked and see if they chuck it out." Harry continued to look at him miserably, but Ron could only offer, "Best you can do, mate."

The evening had taken a distinct turn for the pessimistic from there, so that by the time Fred and George had shown up to drag him and Hermione away, Ron had felt a guilty sense of relief at having a respite from having to watch the hopelessness spread over Harry's features.

He didn't like leaving Harry alone, though. Not ever, but especially not now. When Dumbledore had told them they were being put to sleep, Ron had panicked: they'd promised Harry they'd be back to help him, and now they wouldn't see him until the task was over.

Ron, in particular, was more worried than the other hostages. Something came over all warm and fuzzy in his chest when he heard that he was what Harry would miss the most - that much was unmistakable - but he also knew that Harry might not be able to complete the task. What would happen to Ron if Harry didn't show up to rescue him?

"Um, professor?" he asked, trying to pretend his voice wasn't cracking. "What if - what if there's some sort of snag, and our Champion doesn't make it there to rescue us. You know, for some reason." Hermione looked furious, but he was ignoring her, because he wasn't at all pleased that she had been chosen as Krum's hostage. Their relationship must be a little more intense than she was letting on, and Ron thought he might be thoroughly annoyed about that. Cho was eyeing him curiously, for her part, but Ron was sure he wasn't ready to contemplate the ramifications of her being Cedric's most-missed, so he ignored her, as well.

Dumbledore graced him with a twinkling smile. "I assure you that you will all be perfectly safe. If any Champion is unable to complete the task, his or her hostage will be brought to the surface magically, when the task is over. You can trust that we are being very careful to ensure that no one is harmed in the course of this Tournament."

Ron nodded, heartened, and avoided the eyes of all three of the girls in the room. He couldn't help noticing, with wry humour, that even eight-year-old part-Veelas possessed a certain allure, even for queer blokes such as himself.

Anyway, he thought, stealing a glimpse at Hermione. It wasn't as though he weren't interested in any girls.

The next thing he'd known, he'd woken up in Harry's arms, in the lake, in front of the whole school and assorted other spectators, with that bloody Veela kid hanging onto Harry for dear life, from the other side. He hadn't meant to be snippy about Harry dragging her along - it was such a Harry thing to do, after all - only he'd forgotten that it might not be so obvious to Harry, down at the bottom of the Lake, that really, everyone was perfectly safe.

Later that evening, after everyone else was asleep, Ron made up for his snippiness with some much more positive behaviour.