The Angels On High

The Best Christmas

by Grace

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A/N: Okay, gotta say several things here. First off, thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed my last story, you guys spoil me to death! Second off, this isn't a sequel to Faith In Things Unseen, but it is R/H mush. Actually, so much I very nearly cried and puked at the same time in writing it. It's really unbearable.

Third off, a lot of people will read this and say Ron is out of character, but I really don't think so. I mean, you can criticize me if you want, but I just think that if he was under as much stress as I put him under, he would act a little more seriously. I dunno. Just don't sue me, please review if you like it, I'm sorry if you don't, and on with the story!

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The best Christmas I ever had? Oh, geez, that's a tough one. I've never really been into that kind of stuff, even though I'm lucky enough to have a family large enough to enjoy holidays Harry would probably trade ten years of his life to experience for an hour.

I guess I'd have to go with the Christmas of my fifth year. I was fifteen at the time, of course, and I was starting to come to terms with life in general more than I ever had... I was forced to do it. Lord Voldemort had returned, and by one of those ironic twists in life, the fate of the world pretty much rested in my best friend's hands.

My fifth year, up to about two weeks before Christmas, was definitely the most miserable few months of my life. It was like a shadow, a dark tension, or something, was hanging over everyone in our world. Even Professor Dumbledore seemed glum, and he's always been the bright spot at Hogwarts. I had to prepare for my O.W.L. tests, which required more studying than I'd ever done in my life. On top of everything, I was more than confused about where I stood with everybody in my life. I'd had too much time the previous summer, I guess, what with Harry not being allowed to come visit for most of it, and I therefore had way too much time to think and overanalyze everything. I ended up coming back to Hogwarts unsure of my feelings toward everybody, namely a certain female best friend of mine who couldn't get her nose out of her book long enough to notice what was up with me. Or so I thought.

Anyway, by the time the middle of December rolled around, I'd managed to work myself into an over-emotional funk. I was upset with everybody, I was worried for everybody, and I wouldn't let it out for two reasons: a) I'm a guy and b) I knew I had no right to feel sorry for myself. If anyone did, it was Harry, and I could tell he was trying for all the world to act as if nothing had happened. In fact, he did a decent job – but the people closest to him could tell he wasn't his old self. The idea was that he tried, though, and if he was going to make an attempt at normalcy after all he'd been through, by God, I was too.

And now, I guess I'd better get on with the story.

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I woke up late on the 11th of December, due to lack of sleep the previous night. Luckily, it was Sunday, so I wasn't late for anything. I got dressed and went to the common room after a bit, where I found Harry and Hermione playing chess by the fire.

"Morning, Sleepyhead," said Hermione. Harry, deep in concentration, nodded greeting. I sat down to watch.

As I looked around the common room, I felt a certain kind of contentment I didn't feel much those days. The roaring flames were bringing us heat; nearly everyone else was outside, playing in the newly fallen snow; and for once, Harry, Hermione and myself were just a couple of teenagers. For just a few minutes, we didn't have to think about anything but the game. It was a welcome relief.

It was also fleeting; a few moments later, when Harry had just made a victory jump and put Hermione in checkmate, a brown owl flew in the window with Hermione's issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Why did it get here late?" I asked her.

"Oh, probably just the weather," she replied as the unfolded it. Her eyes fell on the front page and she promptly folded it right back up again. She was poised to toss it in the fire when I grabbed it from her and read the headline: Four More Wizards Killed; Ministry No Comment. Harry saw the look on my face and snatched the paper before I could stop him; he read the entire article, then neatly folded it and handed it back to Hermione. We were quiet for a few minutes, then he said, in a flat, expressionless tone, "They disappeared near Hogwarts, you know. I'd better warn Sirius." Harry's godfather had been hiding out in a cave near Hogsmeade.

Hermione shot him a concerned look. "Your scar hasn't been hurting, has it?"

He didn't reply, and merely said, "Ron, how about a game?"

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The next few days passed without event. We spent most of our time studying, and were too exhausted to talk to each other. Hermione and I were watching Harry like a hawk; I was watching Hermione, as well.

I'd been acutely aware of her presence all year long, if you must know the truth. I figured it was because I'd recently come to the startling realization that she really was a girl.

Of course, I knew she was a girl technically; I'm not that daft. The thing was, I never really thought of her that way. I'd always considered Hermione as a bossy partner-in-crime who just happened to sleep in a different dormitory. She didn't wear dresses or make-up; she didn't do ridiculous things with her hair, like the other girls I knew. In short, she didn't act like a girl, so I didn't think of her as one.

Until Krum.

When Hermione's first romantic interest entered the picture, I got... strange. Suddenly, I was acting in ways that I didn't understand and didn't like one bit. I hated Krum the minute I saw him with her, hated so completely and fully that every time I heard his name, I was almost possessed by a maddening desire to hurt someone. It was nerve-wracking. Why was this happening to me? Why did I snap at the Yule Ball? Why did I feel self-conscious every time I looked at Hermione? Why was I so upset when she went to Bulgaria, or when he told her he loved her? Why did I wonder (constantly) if the feeling was mutual? Why?

That I might be jealous was an absurdity, one that I laughed off as soon as it crossed my mind. Me, and Hermione Granger? Yeah. Right. When Snape grows wings and a halo.

But the thought was there, and it wasn't going to leave, no matter how stupid. I began to question myself. Did I like her? Well, certainly I liked her, but did I like her, like her?

And what would I have done if I did?

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Harry grew more and more despondent as Christmas inched closer. He barely said two words to me, and Hermione and I were getting pretty worried. By the time everyone had left for break, I could tell she was ready to act on her fears... she just didn't know quite how to go about starting. Which is where I came in.

It was late that night when Harry started to pack up his books to go to bed. He went up a few stairs and turned back to me almost as an afterthought. "Hey, Ron – you coming?"

I jumped. I'd been staring off into space again and didn't see him leave. Hermione shook her head ever-so-slightly at me, which I took to mean I should stay. "Wha – oh. Um. ...No."

He cocked his head and shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She waited until he was in the dorm and the door was shut behind him before she turned to me with the most apprehensive look I have ever seen etched in every line of her face. Her voice sounded quite terrified, but I could tell she was fighting for control.

"Ron, I think we need to do something about Harry, you know, how he's so depressed lately."

I gave her my full attention. "Uh... okay, I agree. Like what?"

"I was... um... hoping you had an idea?"

Her concern was completely adorable, and her faith in me was blind as a bat. As if I would be able to wave my wand and magic all of Harry's problems away!

"I don't know... I just seems like there's no use in his worrying, his guilt. What will it solve? Why is he doing this to himself?"

"I don't think he can help it," she said, staring in the fire. That girl has so much insight. It really amazes me. It's like she can read minds. I've often wondered if she could read mine.

We were quiet for a little while, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. I was so nervous by then that it wasn't even funny; never mind that we weren't talking, just being alone with Hermione was cause for me to sweat gallons those days. She finally spoke, and I knew she was on the verge of tears by her tone. "It's just... Ron, everything's going to pieces. Everyone's so sad, you know?"

I nodded. "I've noticed it too." Boy, that was an understatement. The mood of the people around me had become so suffocating that I felt drenched in misery by that time.

"I know Harry. I mean, I'm more observant than you give me credit for," she said. "I've been around him long enough to be able to read him like a book –"

"And we all know how well you do that," I interjected.

She glared at me (oh God, she's beautiful when she's angry) and continued. "– and I know this is eating away at him. There won't be anything... left of him, if he thinks about this long enough. And I just, I just don't think that with everything happening the way it is, I just don't think I can bear to... lose him to this." She said the last part in a whisper, and then she really did start to cry. I didn't know what to do with myself; I really, really hate it when Hermione cries. I don't know why. I've seen lots of people cry in my life, but I've only been bothered by three of them: Harry (he's practically my brother, how could I not be bothered by that?), Ginny (probably instinct), and Hermione (I wasn't ready to face that explanation yet).

I gave her a very, very tentative hug (which broke apart in record time) and she wiped her eyes.

"Thanks," she said. She sounded like she had the world's worst headache; I felt more sorry for her then than I ever have. It got to me, and I lost it.

"Look," I said firmly. She started and stared at me; I could feel my walls tumbling down. "Don't you think, not for one, one fraction of a second, that we're not all going to be okay. We are. Harry is going to be fine!" My eyes were getting brighter. "I mean, he's indestructible! He hasn't let himself get down yet, and he's not going to – he can't!" Voice was cracking. "And you, Hermione, you're going to be fine, too, because everything would stop if you weren't! We're all going to be fine, we're going to live years and years and be friends through all of it, we're going to defeat Voldemort –" Her eyes widened. "– yes, I said Voldemort, I can't live being afraid of this – and everything is going to be okay because that's just how it has to be. Can you see it being any other way? It just has to be, it has to be." I was crying now, unwillingly, but I didn't feel embarrassed. I didn't feel anything. It was like a dam had just burst and everything had come rushing out so fast that I didn't have a clue what I was saying. I was dimly aware of the fact that I was going to be humiliated in the morning, but I didn't care. Hermione was so shocked it took her a second to react, and then she put her arms around me and I knew she was crying too. If the angels on high were looking down on us then, they must have felt pity. Our world was falling apart, and all we could do was let the tears fall down and wait for the silence in our heads to subside.

I don't know how long we stayed like that. It couldn't have been that long, but it felt like an eternity. I got control of myself though, and then Hermione did. We broke apart; now I was embarrassed. She knew it. It didn't matter though, because we had bigger problems than my self-consciousness.

"Ron, let's just go to bed," she said. "Everything will be better in the morning."

I wish I'd have believed her. I wish she'd have believed herself. I wish she had been right.

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You can imagine how badly I slept. I don't think I got a total of an hour of shut eye that night; I kept thinking about Hermione's face when she'd said she couldn't lose Harry. I knew I couldn't either, and I knew that we would if something didn't happen soon. God knows what we would have done without him. I tell you, he may not have parents, but it doesn't matter. We care about him enough for his whole family. Of course, I'll never admit that to him... that's the way guys work. Stupid, isn't it?

God, the next morning was awkward. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, but I couldn't meet Hermione's eye for at least half the day. I think I felt my overflow of emotion was a violation of my masculinity. (Pause for hysterical laughter.)

Harry was worse than usual. He barely said a word and kept spacing out – he would get this look in his eyes, and you'd see that and just know that he was going through something terrible, horrible, something you probably won't ever experience in your entire life.

Hermione looked so upset, watching him. I've never seen her so concerned, ever... well, except for the times we thought he might die. But, other than that... She was so nervous and so worried. That was what did me in, what had triggered my little episode the night before and what made me decide to do what I did. I can't ever bear to see her really, truly as upset as she was. It kills me. Sure, I can put up with it on the outside, but it really kills me. I don't know why.

That was why I pulled him into an empty classroom before dinner and told Hermione to go on ahead.

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He folded his arms defensively, emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion. Harry's no idiot; he knew I was going to confront him, and he didn't like it one bit. Tough luck.

"So?" His voice was edgy, a tone he rarely uses with me.

I sat on a desk and let my feet dangle. "Talk about it."

"Excuse me?"

"What happened the night of the third task last year?"

He looked as though he didn't believe I had just dared to ask that question. Harry knows how much I hate talking about things that matter, but I had to do what I had to do for everyone's sanity. It was going to save us all in the end.

"I don't have to answer that question."

"But you're going to."

Raised eyebrows. His mouth became a thin line. "Oh, really? I suppose you're going to make me?"

"Well, you're not leaving until you tell me. And I want the truth."

"I don't have to take this. Dumbledore said –"

"I don't give a damn what Dumbledore said! You're going to tell me right now, because if you don't you're going to go insane and your innocent friend, the girl who's known us both since we were eleven years old, is going to go right along with you, and I'm sorry, but that's not going to happen if I can help it."

"Well, you can't. You're wrong. Mind your own business," he snapped, trying to push past me. I stood firm and wouldn't let him.

"Damn right it's my business! You think I'm going to sit around and watch Hermione go absolutely out of her mind because you think it's none of my business? If you want to throw yourself into a downward spiral, I can't put up a fight, but I'm not going to let you destroy yourself and take her with you, because then I'm going to snap and maybe I'll end up in St. Mungo's. That would make it my business."

I don't think Harry's ever heard me string that many furious sentences together at one time. His eyes flashed, but he stopped resisting. I knew the element of surprise was weakening his defenses, and I kept talking while I had the upper hand.

"Now Harry, you look like shit. You've been looking like shit ever since that night, and I regret that until now I've been too worried about your reaction and mindful of your privacy to ask you what happened, but it's going to come out now. You need to tell me, Harry. You have to be able to remember it without reliving it, and this is the first step. Go ahead, start. I won't interrupt."

I knew I'd won him over. I've never spoken that forcefully to him in all the years we've been friends, and he knew that I was right. He knows my temper, he knows I'm stubborn, and he knew that he wasn't going to leave that room until we'd fully re-hashed that night down to the last detail, so he might as well get started. Not that he was going to be happy about it.

"Start when you grabbed the cup," I said, helping him along.

"A lot of things went on then, really, I can't remember all of it. It's a little blurry." He was glaring at me and evading the question... great.

"Start when you grabbed the cup," I repeated.

He sighed. "I told you, I really don't remember most of this –"

"Don't lie to me Harry. We've never lied to each other and we're not going to start now."

"I'm not lying, I don't remember very clearly –"

"What happened when you grabbed the cup?" I was getting really mad now.

He knew he couldn't get out of this. "The Cup was a Portkey. Cedric and I were taken to a dark graveyard. We thought it was part of the task and got our wands out, and then we heard a voice –" Harry looked like he might be violently sick, then regained himself. "– we heard a voice, really raspy, say, 'Kill the spare.' That was Cedric; they used Avada Kedavra on him, he fell down, and he was dead. His eyes were still open and everything." I saw Harry try to repress a shudder. "Can we stop now?"

Bad as I felt about it, we couldn't. He had to get this all out, because I knew he was having flashbacks every single second of every single minute of every single hour of every single day, and that just wouldn't do. He couldn't relive it forever. "No, keep going."

He took a deep, shaky breath – apparently I wasn't going to have to fight him any more. The memories were getting to him. "Then Wormtail grabbed me – God, he had terrible breath, like he'd just eaten a... dead body ." It came out before he could stop it, and I was afraid he was going to lose control for a second, but Harry is stronger than anyone I know in that respect. He pulled it together. "Anyway, he, um, tied me to a tombstone. It was Voldemort's father's." Now it was my turn to suppress a shudder.

"Then he had this, like, baby in his arms, but it wasn't a baby. It was Voldemort, and it was hideous. He took my blood then and stuck it in the cauldron – did I tell you there was a cauldron? – then Wormtail, he cut off his right arm. He was screaming, in horrible pain, but he cut off his right arm to drop in that goddamn cauldron. Then he put Voldemort in. It, it should've drowned, but it didn't. I waited and waited for it to drown, but then he rose out of it, and he was – do we really have to keep doing this? Honestly, Ron, you're not supposed to be asking me about this. I think you've heard enough."

"You're right, I have heard enough, but you haven't told me enough."

He sighed. "Fine. Voldemort rose out of the cauldron. His face was flat and he had slits for eyes. He looked like a really tall, white snake. His eyes were red, and he said something to Wormtail. He was... he was still screaming and crying. Wormtail, not Voldemort. And then all these people showed up, and it was the Death Eaters. Voldemort talked to them all, and he gave Wormtail a new arm. Silver, platinum, or something shiny. Hideous thing, but Wormtail was so grateful for it. He was kissing Voldemort's robes. I don't remember what Voldemort said exactly to the Death Eaters, my scar was hurting too much for me to pay attention." He put his hand on his forehead, almost unconsciously, then let it drop and continued.

"Then he touched my face, and he could, because he had my blood now. Then he had Wormtail untie me, and Voldemort wanted to duel me. To kill me," he spat. "He used Avada Kedavra, but I dived out of the way.... and then I stood up, and used the Disarming spell when he tried to kill me again, and then our wands... connected, lifted us up out of that place. And then people started coming out of his wand... like ghosts, but they were solid. They were his victims." I didn't know how Harry could keep going on without breaking down, but he did. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his voice expressionless.

"First Cedric, then an old man, then Bertha Jorkins, and then... my parents. They all talked to me and told me to keep going. Cedric told me to bring his body back, and then my mum told me I had to break the connection (our wands were connected by a beam of light) and run over, and grab the Cup so I could leave. I did, and he tried to kill me as I went, but he missed. Then I got out, I was back on the grounds, and I was still holding Cedric's body. It was like I, I couldn't let go."

"Then Moody took me to a room, somewhere. He practically had to carry me, I hurt so much. A spider had got my leg in the maze. I mean, a really big spider."

"Moody got me to that place, and then he told me that he... he had been the one to do this to me. He had changed the Cup to a Portkey, and he managed to give me all those hints, and he was the one that got me out alive so that I could face down Voldemort. He was a Death Eater, and he was about to finish off what Voldemort had started, but then Dumbledore and McGonagall and Snape came in, and Dumbledore stopped him. He was really Mr. Crouch's son, he'd gotten out of jail a long time ago... but that's a long story. The point is that he was there, he'd been taking Polyjuice Potion the whole time. Then Dumbledore had me in his office, Sirius was there, I told them what I'm telling you, and that's that."

Harry had been speaking so fast that I couldn't understand most of the story, but it wasn't like I cared. The point was that he'd gotten it out, finally. That was the first step.

"Can we go now?"

I could see the sun setting in the window behind Harry. He was looking at me again. I could tell he was going to be mad at me for a long time now, but at least I'd gotten him to talk about it. I hopped off the desk, took two steps to where he was standing, and put my hands on his shoulders. We stood arm's length apart and stared each other down.

"Listen, Harry. I know you're going to leave this room mad at me and you're going to be mad for a long time if I don't stop you." My eyes narrowed and caught his. "Lemme tell you a story. One day this Muggle's walking along the road, you know, and he falls into a hole. The walls are steep and he can't get out. So then a Muggle doctor walks along, and the guy yells up, 'Hey, can you help me? I'm stuck down here!' So the doctor writes out a prescription, throws the paper down, and moves on his way. Then a priest walks by, and our guy tries again. The priest writes down a prayer, sends it down, and walks away. Then a friend walks by, and the guy says, 'Hey, Joe, it's me down here buddy! Can ya help me out?' So the friend jumps down in the hole with him. Our guy says, 'What are you, an idiot? Now we're both stuck down here!' and the friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out.'"

It took Harry a minute to get what I meant, and I saw his anger begin to vanish. I was starting to return to my old, non-confrontational self. I dropped my hands down and we started to leave, but he stopped me.

"Hey, Ron." I turned. "Thanks. I mean, don't ever do that again, but thanks."

I nodded. We left.

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Hermione later asked me what I'd said to him to make him "get better." I told her he wasn't, which was true; throughout the next few days, he still kept getting that look in his eyes, but not as often. He even smiled once. I think Hermione considered that her best early Christmas present. I know I did.

Christmas Eve finally came, and the castle seemed a little happier to me. Maybe it was the fact that it was Christmas, maybe it was because Harry was more like himself – I don't know. It seemed to me that Dumbledore got the sparkle back in his eyes for a little while.

We had been studying in the common room that afternoon, and Harry and I went to put our books in our dormitory before dinner when he decided it was my turn to get some friendly counsel. He grabbed my arm before I could leave the room and pulled me aside. I stared at him curiously, and he started talking to my feet.

"Look, um, Ron... I have some advice for you. You know, you really did help me, a little, and I feel a little inclined to return the favor." His gaze leveled with mine, and I could see mischief in his eyes that hadn't been there since... God, I didn't know how long. "Er... let's put it this way. We're not eleven anymore, we're fifteen. We're teenagers, you know."

"...Yeah..." Where was this going?

"Well, with everything going on, it doesn't feel like it sometimes, but we're still fifteen." I continued to draw a blank. He sighed. "Do you know what Muggles are doing when they're fifteen? They're necking, making out, scoring, whatever."

"Um... yeah..."

"Oh come on! How daft are you, man?" He took a deep breath. "What I'm saying is, girls don't have cooties anymore. We're growing up. Make your move."

He started to leave. "What move?"

He turned around, and I could tell he was fighting a smile. "Why did you hate Viktor Krum last year?"

He got me there. I said nothing.

"Come on, Ron, you may not know it yourself, but you've got it bad. Hermione's not a little girl anymore, and you're not a little boy." Suddenly, his message became clear as crystal.

"No, no, I don't like her, like her," I replied frantically, in an entirely unconvincing voice.

"Oh don't you? Look, even I can see it. The way you talk about her, Ron, it's obvious!"

I shrugged. It was starting to become obvious to me that he was right, but I didn't want to admit it. Like this was the time for romance!

Harry read my mind. "Hey, just because Voldemort's back doesn't mean the world's ended yet. We're going to fight this, and we might win. Of course, we might lose, but either way, my advice to you is not to live in a way that would cause you to have regrets when this is all over." Then he left me to my very confused thoughts.

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I went down to dinner late. Almost everyone who was still at Hogwarts was gone, but Harry and Hermione were still down there. I strongly suspect Harry was guilty of stalling her so she didn't leave.

"Hermione?" I said. She looked up at me, and I felt for a minute that I was going to lose my nerve. Her hair caught the light so that she looked like an angel, her eyes were sparkling with curiosity, and I've never seen her so – oh, okay, I'll get corny – dazzlingly gorgeous in all my life. Harry winked at me.

"Um... can I, um, talk to you? Er... alone?"

"Sure, Ron." She got up and followed me to an empty classroom, and I realized that this wouldn't do. I knew she would have wanted it to be romantic, because I know Hermione. Empty classrooms were not romantic. Oh, dear.

"Let's... um... go for a walk."

Now she was really curious.

We got our cloaks silently, then I led her out of the entrance into the dark night. Even for me, it really was a beautiful night. The stars in the sky were sparkling as brightly as ever, the snow was completely pure, we could see our breath, and the cold gave her cheeks a stunning pink glow... but I digress. I don't do description. Suffice to say, it was more than nice.

I don't know how I managed to say anything. I was so nervous I could hardly breathe. We walked slowly around the outside of the frozen lake, and I finally got up my nerve.

"Hermione, um, the reason I wanted to talk to you was..." Okay. Deep breath. Now or never. Harry's words echoed in my ears.

"Hermione's not a little girl anymore, and you're not a little boy."

"The way you talk about her, Ron, it's obvious!"

"...my advice to you is not to live in a way that would cause you to have regrets when this is all over."

"Hermione, I've been thinking," I said. We stopped walking and turned to face each other; she's really cute when she's confused like that. "And I know, this may sound kind of sudden, and stupid – I mean, who knew? And we've grown up together, and maybe never been as in tune as you and Harry..." I babbled.

"Ron, you're not making any sense. At all. Slow down," she commanded.

"Sorry. What I mean is... I like you. I mean, I really like you. And you can say that this is stupid or rushed, or that we're not right for each other, and that you're with Viktor, but it doesn't matter, because I like you and now I've said it so I don't have any regrets when all this is over."

I couldn't read the expression on her face, and the nervousness returned in full force.

"We can go slow, you know, if you want. You don't have to answer now, if you don't –"

Well, then she interrupted me with both of her answers. She didn't want to go slow, and she didn't want to answer later. And she didn't say a word when she told me this.

She kissed me

It was kind of awkward at first – our noses bumped – but then we both kinda got into it, if ya know what I mean. It wasn't French or anything. I mean, we weren't standing around sucking face in the freezing cold for the giant squid's personal entertainment. It was very sweet.

I never understood what they meant when they said a kiss is always more than just a kiss until that moment. That kiss was way more than just a kiss. I could feel her emotions, really feel what she was feeling; I'm pretty sure the same was true for her. I knew she was happy, and God knows I was. I was deliriously happy. I felt like I was drunk.

And I knew that we had a long road ahead of us. I knew we'd fight Voldemort, and in that single moment, I knew we'd win. I knew she and I would fight with each other, but I knew we'd make up, always. I saw our graduation, our wedding, I saw our whole lives in that kiss. And then we broke apart, and the premonition was over... but not the deliriously happy part.

We had our heads together, leaning on each other. We were as close as we could possibly be, and I wondered how it had gotten this serious and close this fast. But I liked it that way.

It felt appropriate to say something. I searched my mind and came up with one word.

"Wow."

She grinned – it was so good to see her smile. Did I make her smile? Wow. I didn't think I could get any happier.

"No regrets," she said.

"Yep."

We stood like that for a minute longer, then broke apart and walked toward the castle together.

"Merry Christmas," I told her, right before we entered.

There was that smile again! God, if only she could keep that up, I'd stay with her forever.

"Yeah... Merry Christmas, Ron."

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A/N: Oh my God, how mushy can I get? *shudders* Did you like that? If not, I'm sorry for wasting your time. If so, could you review? Please, please, please? It would make me so happy! It would be the best Christmas present you could give me. ^_^