Author: loonyluna9

Title: Insomnia

Rating: T (for a little, uh...inappropriate 16 year old boy talk describing Snape's sex life (in the next chapter). Maybe more crude stuff will come up too. Who knows.)

Dedication: To my ex, who tolerated my slash obsession ("You're a little freak aren't you?"-Rea) and whom I still love a lot. And to anyone who bothers to review my crap. I love you too. ; )

Disclaimer: Ask yourself: Do you think this series would really be as kid-friendly and PG if I were the owner/author of it? I think not.

Warnings: You no like slash? Go 'way poophead! You like slash? Come join the partyyyy!

Summary: What would you do if you had a crush on your best friend? Welcome to the majority of the teenage population. What if you had a crush on your best male friend? Welcome to the majority of the female teenage population. What if you you were a guy too? Welcome to the majority of the gay male teenage population. What if you could do magic and your best friend was Harry Potter? Welcome to Ron Weasley's world: population 1.

Quick Ramble: Add 1 cup of low fat mild cliche-ness. Mix in 6 months worth of stalling and not writing on my part. Stir in 2 teaspoons of extra virgin OOC de la Ron. Pour in 3 cups of well-stirred frustration and writers block. Add liberal amounts of chocolate. Mix until thoroughly blended. Pop into oven for 2 hours on low heat. Set on cooling rack. Read. Enjoy.

Insomnia
by loonyluna9

Pale white rays of moonlight flood through the open window, seeping into the creaky floorboards, dusty furniture, and spring mattresses arranged about the room. The stars dust and scatter the sky like diamonds on a blanket of black velvet, and aid the moon in illuminating the slumbering bedroom on this hot summer night. A soft breeze floats lazily through the window, smelling of sweet blossomed flowers and big winding oak trees. And sitting in these trees are several tawny owls, serenading the dark sky with their soft tranquil hoots.

But despite this scenic and serene atmosphere, a pair of bright blue eyes lie quietly in the corner, bloodshot and wide awake. A set of pallid, freckled legs and arms twist about restlessly on the worn bed, sending the bed springs into an erratic frenzy of squeaking. Plagued by a sudden burst of insomnia, Ron Weasley is rendered incapable of falling asleep. All attempts at trying to doze off failed spectacularly and still leave a frustrated and alert Ron lying in the dark.

His dilated eyes focus in on his muggle alarm clock on his nightstand. The bright neon red numbers flash 1:46 am like a mocking reminder, and send the grumbling red head into a deluge of complaints. His eyes shift, for the umpteenth time, to his Chudley Cannons poster hanging on his closet door. The zooming figures are a blur of vibrant orange as they race on their broomsticks at alarming speeds. Quaffles bounce back and forth while Beater bats swing to and fro, knocking violent balls up and down the pitch.

"If they played like that during a real Quidditch game, they'd actually be giving me something to cheer about." Ron mumbled to the silent room, rolling his eyes at nothing in particular.

He heaved a sigh of annoyance, coming to the realization that everyone was asleep except him. There wasn't a peep in the entire house, aside from his father's guttural snoring from down the hall, and it was quite off-putting to be the only one in The Burrow not getting a wink of sleep. Even Harry, who was staying with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer, was sound asleep in the bed against the opposite wall.

Giving another irritated groan, Ron gazed down at his night shirt. The light blue cotton shirt was now damp with perspiration and beginning to stick to his chest. His legs weren't faring much better either. The plaid green pajama shorts were now riding up in the heat and were a little damp too. And although he hadn't slept a wink, Ron was sporting a serious case of bed-head; his fiery red hair was now sticking up at awkward angles, completely tangled and disheveled.

Finally and utterly fed up with the hot and itchy blanket, stifling air, unnerving lack of sleep, sweat-soaked clothes, and tremendous boredom that comes with this kind of thing, Ron Weasley did the only logical thing he could think of in a dire situation like this: he grabbed a convenient balled up sock from the floor and chucked it at Harry as hard as he could. Hitting it's target, it bounded off the sleeping head with a thump and landed on the floor.

Giving a disturbed snort, Harry slowly opened his eyes and blinked rather stupidly. Squinting in the near-darkness he peered around the room, noticing the…green? No…black? Maybe blue. But either way, Harry noticed the dark-colored sock ball (seemingly innocent) on the floor. He willed his sleep-slowed body to sit up and stared at the blurry outline of his best friend. One glance (after fumbling to put his glasses on) showed the poorly concealed grin on Ron's face, which he was still valiantly trying to hide. Barely awake enough to form coherent sentences in the first place, his mind indiscreetly nudged him and hinted he should say something. Slurred and uneven, Harry managed to garble:

"Ron?...Didjou jus' throw a sock at meh?"

It was only a matter of seconds before Ron started snorting and guffawing uncontrollably. The laughter only increased in intensity when he noticed the helplessly confused expression on Harry's face; that and the fact that he still looked like he was half asleep, with his unruly hair, rumpled pajamas, and drowsy eyes.

"Actually, he looks kind of…cute," a little voice in the back of Ron's head said quietly. The laughter abruptly stopped as Ron politely told the opinionated voice in his head to shove off.

"Shove off? Ron, who the hell are you talking to? And why on earth did you hit me with a sock?" Harry muttered, finally regaining the power of articulation.

"Uh, no one," he replied sheepishly, forgetting the other question entirely. He flushed slightly with embarrassment at both his mental confession and the fact he had actually told the voice to go away. Out loud.

Ron sighed. Things had been getting weird like this for the past few months. A cloud of confusion had formed over his head and it seemed like he just couldn't shake it off.

Harry and Ron were the best of mates. They've had high and low points in their friendship, but in the end they would always put their necks on the line for each other. They always confided in the other, talked of Quidditch, school, girls, and everything in between. They laughed together as they recounted foolishly hopeful young girls approaching Harry, asking for dates to Hogsmeade. He always politely turned them down and resumed going about his business, but they'd always think about it in the dormitory late at night and laugh at the experience. But although Ron appeared amused on the outside, he secretly felt the urge to wring the girl's neck, drag her through the Forbidden Forest by her hair, and manually peel her toenails and eyelashes off to feed to blast-ended skrewts.

Something told him these urges weren't normal.

And lets not forget the way Ron felt the gripping inclination to peek at Harry in the Quidditch locker room showers (not at all for masculine reassurance and comparison), read the latest drivel in the Prophet over his shoulder just to get close to Harry, how he got that surreal light-headed feeling when he smiled at Ron, or how he flushed bright red when Harry came within breathing space of him, or how he was taken aback by how stunningly emerald his eyes were, or how he habitually searched large crowds for a head of unruly raven hair, or how he beat himself up whenever they had a row even if it wasn't his fault to begin with.

Oh dear god, how could we forget that.

"Hello? Earth to Ron…?" Harry waved a hand in front of his face, urging him to come back to reality.

"Huh, what?" Ron asked, finally losing that faraway look and regaining his senses. He gave a little gasp of alarm though as his eyes focused in. How did Harry suddenly get that close? A small, telltale blush began to involuntarily spread over his cheeks.

"You know, you're actually within kissing distance. All you have to do is just lean forward slightly and…"

"Christ! Will you go away for just a minute?!" Ron shouted. He was really getting fed up with that voice, always interjecting it's unwanted opinions and such.

"Ron? Are you okay?" Harry asked worriedly with a furrowed brow, slightly disturbed by his friend's outburst and drawing back a bit. "You're a little off-color. Literally and figuratively speaking." The slight blush kissing Ron's cheeks flared.

"I'm fine. Really. Just frustrated, that's all." he muttered, turning away to hide his face.

He really had to stop doing this sort of thing.

End of Chapter One

Preview of Chapter Two

"Well, I suppose I have mixed feelings too. The holiday is nice. Even nicer with you here," Ron said honestly, trying his hardest to once again ignore the voice in his head making catcalls, kissing noises, and whistling. "But I don't mind going back to school in two weeks so much. Just as long as Malfoy transfigures himself into food for the giant squid, Snape doesn't act like he's got a stick up his arse all the time, and Trelawney lays off the cooking sherry."

"I don't think…that's going to happen–anytime s-soon." Harry managed to choke out around a loud burst of laughter. This sudden wave of humor and hilarity was apparently contagious as Ron joined in too, gripping his aching sides.

A full minute passed until they finally managed to get themselves under control, and even then there was an occasional chuckle or wide smile. They sat in amicable silence for a moment.

"You know what the teachers really need?" Harry began.

"Huh?"

"A really good shag."

"What?!" Ron spluttered, not believing his ears. Perhaps he misinterpreted what Harry just said but it sounded like 'shag'. "Come again?"

"I said the teachers need a really good shag. It would loosen them up a bit. What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry asked bewilderedly, noting that Ron's expression resembled the face of someone who just got an unexpected whiff of dragon dung.

(If you wanted to simplify it, he looked like Snape on one of his really bitchy days but that was beside the point.)

"Are you off your rocker? You just said–! I mean, a shag–? Can you picture…? Snape, he–! Ewww! That's just nasty!" Ron stammered incoherently.

Author's Note:
1. I am not DEAD. Just want to clear that up.
2. Yeah, I know it was a bit cliche but I couldn't resist the urge to write my own little cliche fic. Just about every author does at some point in their time here so I decided to do mine now and get it out the way.
3. There will be more of this and hopefully an update soon. I orginally started on this months and months and months ago but I gave up on it for a bit. Then some inspiration hit and I tried again. I've got about 4 more pages of this typed up to hold me (and you) until I write the rest. This is my very first multi-chaptered fic so be patient with me. Please.
4. You've gotten this far now reading through all my crap. Why not take an extra 10 to 20 more seconds to type a quick a review. If you really want me to, I'll return the favor. Plus, you get the added bonus of me loving you. Forever. 3