It's Sugar, here!

I was always curious as to how Hogwarts maintained a normal temperature. Sure, there's insolation and stuff... but wouldn't it get chilly?

Pairing: RonxHermione.

Promt number: 016.

Mood: Cold.

Warnings: None. Kinda fluffy, though. /

Scritch, Scritch. The red headed sixth year's quill would scratch about the parchment, writing a word or two before stopping for him to examine what was written. He would sigh dispiritedly and with obvious agitation before writing something more, then beginning the long process over again. "Your grammar is wrong. It's is, not are. Right there." Hermione noted to him, pointing and yawning as she lay back a little more. She'd been reading over his shoulder as the two sat on the dark, maroon couch used for seating among Griffindor students in their common room. Usually Ron would complain and tell Hermione to stop correcting him, but he'd been the one to ask for help.

Hermione, though brilliant, was not of much help. It was two a.m., and she was not exactly very attentive.

"Thanks." Ron managed to mutter, scribbling out and editing it as she told him to and continued writing a little bit more, until he felt a small thud of the brown haired girl's head against his shoulder. "Hermione?" He asked, with no answer as he looked up from the essay Snape had maliciously assigned of them to see his best friend's head leaning lightly against his shoulder.

A small smile spread across his face, replaced by a frown as he felt her body shudder from obvious chill. He'd been so intent on finishing his essay he hadn't noticed the bitter cold that filled the room. The fire had died to just embers, and while the castle walls protected them from the blizzard outside, the cold was still seeping in.

Hermione shivered again and Ron sat aside his quill and parchment, face flushed despite the cold air. Her lips were slightly parted as she rested with her head against him and he realized then that there was nothing more beautiful than a sleeping girl.

That's where his main problem began. If he got up to get a blanket for her, or to try and bring the fire back to life she would stir and that would ruin the perfect beauty of it.

He couldn't exactly leave her to shiver, though, could he? He sat a few moments, ears red from the situation he faced. She was his best friend, and the best thing for him to do was wake her and send her to her bed... but his want to be more than friends prevented him from it. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her protectively, and lay her head against his chest as he laid back.

The shivers stopped immediatly, and the rhymic beat of The boy beneath her's heart seemed to lull her into an even deeper sleep. Despite his want to sit and watch her sleep, the warmth made by both their bodies so close comforted him and slowly his eyes fluttered closed.

When Neville Longbottom, always the first one up for breakfast on Saturday mornings, came down the steps the day after he quickly noticed the pair. He noted a smile and blushing cheeks to both of the people he found and left the room in an embarrassed hurry to let the pair continue their comfortable slumber.

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