Yeah, this story was written EXTREMELY short notice so please excuse its "hot-off-the-pressness."

Disclaimeriffic: I do not own Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley (or any of the Weasleys for that matter) or anything related to the Harry Potter book series. It's all property of (Lord) J.K.Rowling. (Also, I do not own any other things referenced in this work, for all clarity's sake).

Thoroughly exhausted from a busy day, Harry flops down on his comfortable, oversized four-poster bed, reaches into the second drawer on his nightstand, and pulls out his journal...

May 25, 1994, 21:20

Today wasn't too bad. As a matter of fact it was quite...enlightening:

It was pretty nippy out today but sunny so, since I didn't have any classes scheduled for the last period of the day, I figured it wouldn't hurt to head out of the castle and do a bit of thinking by the lake. I don't know why but there's something about how the sunlight reflects off of the water's glassy surface that...calms me. When I got there I thought I saw someone sitting in my usual spot, however I wasn't prepared for what I saw.

Only one word came to my mind as I saw him lying there in the grass: Beautiful.

Ron was reclining against a large, shady tree; his tie loosened and top buttons unfastened. He always complains about feeling stifled by his uniform. Lying on his robe, which he had spread out beneath himself like a blanket, he was casually flipping through an issue of Quidditch Monthly. I couldn't stop myself from staring; rather, ogling. My eyes followed the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slightest breeze that ruffled his feathery, red hair, the small shadows that danced over his exposed, freckled arms(apparently, he had rolled up his sleeves). After some time, he must've realised that I was standing there because he motioned me over with a nonchalant wave of his hand. I couldn't help but oblige.

I remember him saying something about the Chudley Cannons and gesturing to some article, I wan't too interested but I nodded and smiled regardless. I also remember asking him why he was there, at the lakeside. "It's the lake water,"Ron smiled and turned to face me, "the light shining off of it is just...just..." I laughed, and looked deep into his eyes. "It's just beautiful.," I conluded. Sitting there next to him in my, now our, meditation spot seemed so right. In all honesty, I had thought about Ron in that way before but I've always pushed the thoughts out of my mind, deeming them wrong or inappropriate; today I didn't care about my upbringing, or about societal standards. All I cared about was the fact that I had Ron's undivided attention.

He had crawled over to the water's edge and dipped his finger into the shimmering liquid, causing a slight, rippling disturbance in its surface. "I like to come here to get away, not that I've got that much to get away from but...well...it's nice to have somewhere to go.," Ron mused, idly twirling his finger in the water. I was so intently watching as the winds picked up, causing his shirttail to rustle in the carrying drifts and exposing the small of his back to my prying eyes, that I failed to notice the dark shadow rising steadily from the lake's depths.

As I saw the dark tentacle reach out and snatch up my best and dearest friend, I wanted to scream; I wanted to, but I was so shocked that no sounds could possibly be formed. His body was yanked to and fro by the beast, whipping at odd angles and giving him the appearance of a lifeless doll. Ron's eyes were wide with terror, "HARRY," and he disappeared beneath the pool. I looked around frantically, hoping that someone, anyone was around and knew what to do. It seemed that I was alone in my dilemma. I reached into my robe pocket and pulled out my wand: I didn't have an inkling as to what I was going to do but I knewI had to do something, even if it meant I had to improvise. Just as I drew in a breath, ready to shout out any spell or hex or jinx that came to mind, a sopping wet streak of red flew up out of the lake and landed at my feet. Dropping my wand, I fell to my knees and locked my dumbfounded eyes with his astonished ones. A moment of silence, followed by an eruption of laughter. We laughed so hard that tears streamed down our cheeks, although Ron's were too wet to distinguish them. Finally we composed ourselves and he sat up, soaked to the bone and shivering slightly in the chilly breeze. I had tried to remember a drying spell that Hermione had told me once, but Merlin knows I never listen to that girl. Better reasoning told me to bring him back to the common room, and so off we trekked, joking about the kind of fit Filch would have when he saw the massive puddles left by Ron's clothes.

After quite a while (we still haven't grown accustomed to that changing staircase) we reached the common room and our respective dormitory. Try as he might, nary a towel could he find. Although Ron looked absolutely adorable, his wet, too-small boxers clinging to the curves of his slender hips as he shuffled around vainly searching for a towel, I knew that he would get sick if he didn't dry off soon; I dug into my trunk and withdrew my favourite green towel.Noticing the towel in my hands he laughed and began to approach me, "You must really have your life in order, knowing where your towel is like that." My apparent confusion only made him laugh harder. He told me it was from a book he'd read a while back by some muggle author; I told him that he was turning into Hermione. The next thing I knew he had tackled me to the floor and was playfully punching me in the chest; I had to shove him off, simply because he was cold and wet and uncomfortable...that was the only reason, I swear. When he sat up again, I noticed that he was shivering just slightly again and I took the moment to drape the towel around his shoulders; he smiled up at me and voiced his thanks before he began to dry his face and hair.

I sat back against the foot of my bed, watching him rid himself of the excess water. He lifted the corner of the towel to his face and inhaled deeply "Smells like grass...and sunlight, and water...like summer." I didn't want to tell him that I often curled up with that towel in the summer months, almost as if it were a security blanket. I watched a tad confusedly as Ron crawled over to me, my towel in his hands, and lay his head on my stomach. My heart leapt in my chest but I retained my composure, "Ron! What are you doing! They can see us you know!" Well, I tried to keep my cool. He cuddled closer to me, ignoring the other two Gryffindors in the room, "Oh, shut up. It's just Dean and Seamus, and they're leaving anyway." In lack of an excuse to get him off of me, I just let him warm up there. "Harry...I know you like me. I see the looks you give me, those looks that can't possibly be mistaken for anything else," I tensed up a bit ," and it's ok because...I like you back." It was at that moment that I was free...

Harry places the pen (those muggle devices come in handy) back into his journal and puts it back in its respective place, his movements jostling the bed just so. "Whatcha doin' Harry," Ron drawls from his side. Rolling over to face him, he brushes a loose strand of hair off of Ron's forehead and places a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. "Nothing...nothing at all." In the closeness of his, now their, bed he takes the time to admire Ron's bright azure eyes, each small freckle on his face, how his hair seems to blend flawlessly into the bedclothes.Despite the warmth of the room Ron snuggles closer into Harry's chest, who doesn't seem to mind it at all. Before retiring to slumber, Harry glances at the damp green towel at the foot of his bed, the towel that smells of summer; the towel that brought the two of them together.To think that he would have left it at Privet Drive...

In memoriam of Douglas Adams (1952-2001), the hoopiest frood in existence.