The next twenty-four hours were possibly the longest of Ron's life. He'd returned to Gryffindor Tower at a dead run, only to learn that Hermione hadn't seen hide nor hair of Harry yet, which only got her worried when Ron let slip that he'd seen Harry sprint up the stairs several minutes ahead of him. When Harry finally tumbled through the portrait hole a quarter of an hour later, panicked and nearly hyperventilating, it had taken both Ron and Hermione to calm him down enough to get the story of Mr. Crouch's mysterious appearance and disappearance, Viktor being Stunned, Snape being impossible and Karkaroff being outraged, and Dumbledore being efficient and trusting of Harry's word, but ultimately too late to reach Mr. Crouch before he vanished.

Through it all, Ron's mind hummed with his luck at not being caught in the Entrance Hall with Cedric, and with the question that loomed heavy over both his and - he could clearly see - Hermione's minds.

Finally, somewhere in the shocked lull as Harry's account sank in, Hermione asked in a strained, light voice, "What were you doing alone with Viktor, in the first place?"

Ron shot his eyes toward her, then fixed his attention on Harry. His breath whooshed easily out of his lungs the moment he saw the complete lack of guilt in Harry's expression. There was a bit of awkwardness, yes, and quite a lot of amusement as he turned to her and responded, "He wanted to talk to me - about my intentions toward you."

Hermione blinked twice, flushed a very pretty shade of pink, and began to examine her cuticles in great detail.

Ron watched the light sparkle in Harry's eyes, and wanted nothing more in the world than to throw Harry over his shoulder, carry him up to the dormitory, throw him down on the bed and Evanesco every scrap of clothing from his body. Unfortunately, he could also see beyond the sparkle, to where Harry was genuinely concerned about what had happened to Crouch and to Viktor, and what it meant to his own safety and the safety of everyone at Hogwarts. Somewhere in his middle, Ron could even feel Harry worrying about him, about protecting him from whatever this vague and unsettling threat was that was hovering over the whole school and the whole year. Feeling that, Ron couldn't help searching out Harry's hand under the table, giving it a firm squeeze, and believing, at least for those few seconds, that he really was the most important thing in Harry's life. He wasn't proud of the happiness he felt from entertaining that thought, but he was reassured.

They ended up staying up all night, the three of them, discussing all the angles and implications of what Harry had witnessed and what the staff had said about it. In the morning, they drafted a letter to Sirius and climbed to the Owlery to deliver it, nearly revealing 'Snuffles's' proximity to the twins when they met up with them on the way out. Hermione seemed especially worried about the twins' shifty behaviour and talk of blackmail, but Ron wanted to know as little about it as possible, in case his mother ever asked.

What Ron wanted was to tell Harry about Cedric's offer. It seemed petty and unimportant, talking about orgiastic fantasies when the fate of the wizarding world might hang in the balance, but Ron was fifteen, and the majority of his brain cells were not located inside his skull. He knew that important things were happening, important things that might require his attention, but when Harry kept taking hold of his wrist to check his watch during History of Magic that morning, so many electric pulses ran up Ron's arm and down to his groin that he was throbbingly hard and going dizzy by the time the lesson was half gone. He wanted to tackle Harry to the ground, to throw himself on top of him and grind him into the cold, stone floor, and if the whole class was watching, so much the better. Harry was his, and if danger was looming, then he was starting to believe that he really might not mind who knew just how and how much he belonged to Harry.

A tiny, frustrated noise escaped Ron's throat, and Lavender turned halfway toward him, giving him a look that was half intrigued, half bemused. Ron pretended not to feel his skin go hot, but cleared his throat, angled his quill as though taking notes, and looked straight ahead with an expression that was meant to look attentive. Harry's eyes fell on him like a warm, steel glove, and Ron continued to act as though a burning flush were not creeping up his neck and around his ears. He would have to wait a little longer until he could be alone with Harry again, and he would manage it, somehow.

When the bell rang, Harry jumped up, shoving his books into his schoolbag and darting for the door. Ron leapt up to follow him, excited to find the first secluded alcove, when he remembered that Harry was rushing not to catch a chance for a quickie, but because he wanted to ask Moody's opinion about what had happened the previous evening. Ron trailed behind Harry and Hermione, who had been out the door ahead of Harry, and gritted his teeth through the meeting with Moody.

As they were leaving Moody's office, Moody fixed his real eye on both Ron and Hermione, and although his magical eye was pointed out the window toward the Durmstrang ship, Ron had the disquieting sensation that it could see the filthy fantasies running through his head. "You two," he said gruffly, making Ron jump as though accused of something, "you stick close to Potter, alright? I'm keeping an eye on things, but all the same ... you can never have too many eyes out."

Ron winced at the rather unappetising pun, but also felt his pulse head south. 'Sticking close' to Harry was what he'd been wanting to do all day, and what he intended to do the moment he could get both of them back to the Gryffindor dormitories. Maybe sooner, if he could find an empty classroom nearby and get rid of Hermione.

No such luck, of course, so it wasn't until after dinner and a couple more hours of studying and speculating after that that Ron got Harry alone and in bed and naked and focussed on something other than what he'd witnessed the previous evening. For only the second time since they'd been together, Ron didn't wait for their dormmates to return to the room and go to sleep, but pulled Harry's bed hangings closed and then - and this was a first since he and Harry had kissed that first night in December - dragged Harry into his own bed where he ravished him, repeatedly and thoroughly until they were both too knackered to move and their lips were raw and swollen from raking across each other's skin.

Holding Harry there in his arms, peaceful and sated and sweaty and naked, Ron felt ridiculous for considering Cedric's proposition. If he'd made anything clear that evening, it was that he had plenty enough energy to keep up with Harry, given just the little bit of extra motivation that had grown within him from the extra hours of denied release. They didn't need Cedric to try and join or wedge his way between what Ron and Harry already had. Ron would tell him in the morning: he would tell him no thanks, that he and Harry were -

"What were you and Cedric talking about last night?" asked Harry in a muted whisper, so soft it was barely a breath of air.

Ron froze, and in freezing, felt the obviousness of his guilt pour off him in waves. As quickly as he'd decided to forget Cedric's offer, he understood that he had no option but to tell Harry about it; anything else would make it obvious that Ron was trying to hide something, and considering what Harry had probably seen, could spell some serious trouble for this perfect contentment that Ron had so lately been enjoying.

So, he told him. Given the situation, and the suddenness of the question, and the nature of the revelation itself, it's not surprising that he utterly failed to finesse the information into any presentation less shocking than its plain, bald truth. Once he'd said it, Ron heard his voice reenter his brain via his ears, and understood again how completely bizarre the situation was. Here was Cedric Diggory, one of the most handsome and popular and accomplished boys in school, and here were the famous Harry Potter, unwilling Triwizard Champion, and the nearly anonymous Ron Weasley, known only by his brothers' reputations or his proximity to Harry, and this smart, tall, talented sixth-year had decided that he wanted a couple of fourth-years to ... well. It was no wonder that Harry's eyes flew wide and his mouth stammered, "He ... what?"

Something about the raw hunger in Harry's eyes, the soft parting of his lips into an 'O' of surprise, made Ron need to kiss Harry much more than he needed to repeat what he'd told him. And as he rolled on top of him again, sticking to his skin a bit because of the sweat drying between their bodies, and as he felt Harry growing warm beneath him again as they moved, Ron swore he heard Harry's voice sigh in his ear, "Yes - oh - oh - yes, tell him yes," and then the blood was rushing too loudly in Ron's ears for him to ear anything more at all other than his own panting breath and hungry moans.