A/N: Big chap and lovey stuff ahead. ~longlive83~ Shez

~

Ron woke up on Christmas morning to a sharp rapping on the dormitory door. He blinked blurrily at his curtains, trying to understand the noise, when he heard Harry groan and roll over.

"Go away," he said, voice muffled in his pillow. "We're not home."

"Harry," said Ginny. "Don't be stupid. It's Christmas."

"Gin?"

"Can we come in?"

"Is 'Mione there?" Ron called, and then smiled when she piped up:

"Morning."

"Hang on, I'm coming," Ron said, but Harry was already out of bed by now and jogging over to the door. Ron swept back his curtains and saw them stepping in, Ginny in an old nightie that Ron recognised from home (getting a little short now), and Hermione in long pyjamas. They both had slippers and dressing gowns on, and were shivering. Ginny was carrying a pillowcase.

"D'you want to go down to the common room?" Ron asked, pulling back his covers. "There's a fireplace there."

"No," Ginny said immediately. "Let's stay here."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "And it's not like Dean or the others are here to be disturbed."

"Did Neville go home for Christmas too?" Hermione asked, and Ron shrugged.

"He must have, he's not at Hogwarts. Come sit here." He patted his blankets, feeling somehow nervous, and Hermione looked at him a moment before coming over. She sat on the end of his bed. She'd never done this before, and watching her tuck her feet up underneath her body, he felt a surge of happiness in the vicinity of his stomach.

Ginny sat on Harry's bed, and Harry eyed her briefly.

"How come you can sit in our rooms," he said eventually, "and we can't go into yours."

"Because," Ginny replied, quite archly. "Boys can't be trusted."

"And you can?"

"Of course," she said, and then grinned. "What did you get?"

Ron and Harry examined the piles at their bed-ends. Ron's mother had sent both of them the usual package of home-made sweets and jumpers; Harry had given him a set of the twins' Extendable Ears, and some Every-Flavour Beans; Charlie sent Ron a dragon's tooth on a string (his letter explained that it had only fallen out of the beast's mouth due to poor dental hygiene, but nobody else had to know that); Bill sent aftershave, Fleur sent a framed picture of her and Bill in Paris (why Ron would want this, he had no idea, but it was a nice thought); finally, Fred and George had sent him a brown-paper-wrapped package. When he removed the covering, he found a how-to book – Charming the Robes off Radiant Women – with the inscription: "Thought this might come in handy, Casanova." He quickly folded the thing back up in its wrapping before Hermione could see it.

The girls waited patiently for them to finish their present opening, but soon Ginny was nudging Harry.

"It's a lovely broom repair kit," she said firmly, "but can we give ours now?"

"Of course," Harry said, putting the kit away. He didn't say who'd sent it, but Ron had a feeling it might have been Lupin. "Shall we fetch them, Ron?"

"OK," Ron said, feeling that nervousness rise up again. He'd picked this all on his own, and hoped it would do. No, more than that – he hoped it was exactly right.

Once they had their gifts out of their bureaus, and Ginny and Hermione had taken theirs from Ginny's pillowcase, the four of them sat with these packages on their laps in a momentary, awkward silence.

Then Hermione laughed a little, and then they all did, and then Ginny was moving closer to Harry, and Ron was looking at Hermione. She was still smiling, and pushed her present towards him.

"Here," she said. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he replied, and put hers on her knees.

He opened his first. It was a Chudley Cannons Sweatshirt, in blue.

"Thanks," he said, impressed, and she raised her eyebrows anxiously.

"Is it alright?"

"It's lovely."

"Look under the collar, at the back."

He did so, and his eyes widened as he saw what was written there – Final, 1990.

"'Mione …" he breathed. "Is this … what I think?"

"The man in the shop promised me it was genuine. The people used one of those truth serums and everything. Anyway, the Keeper wore it when they went to the national championships that year. I mean, I think that's it. That's what they said. I – do you like it?"

He could hardly comprehend the question.

"Like it? Merlin – wow. Thank you. Thank you so much." He kissed her once, pulled back, and then had to kiss her again. "Wow. Thank you. How did you get this?"

"I have my ways," she said, smiling widely now. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it. I may never take it off."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's not going to work for hygiene."

He grinned, and took a breath. "So," he said, "are you going to open mine?"

"Of course."

She took off the paper and ribbon (Ginny had done that for him, he was shite with wrapping), to reveal a small, black box. Hermione glanced at him with a disbelieving expression, and then back at her present. For several seconds, she just stared at the box, holding it in her hands.

"Don't you want to see inside?" he said eventually, and she glanced at him again, very briefly, before removing the lid.

There was another silence, and the she drew the necklace he'd bought out of the box, and held it up on outstretched fingers. A silver charm – a Celtic symbol – hung from it.

"Ron," she said lowly, "is this real silver?"

"Yes." He didn't know what else to say.

"You bought this for me?"

"Yes."

"How can you afford this?"

"I managed."

"But how?"

"Hermione – don't worry, OK? It's a present. I want you to have it. I – I don't know, I thought you could wear it. So you'd think of me," he finished in a mumble, suddenly unable to meet her eye. It had been a bit of stretch on the resources, but he'd cope, and it was worth it to get her something decent.

There was another silence, interminable in his imagination, and then she turned slightly, and pulled her hair to one side.

"Put it on for me?"

Looking at the nape of her neck, the little curls that she'd missed, he felt his pulse throbbing fast.

"Right," he said, and did so. The clasp was small for his big hands, so she reached to do that bit herself, before taking the charm between her fingers and holding it up.

"Do you know what this means?"

"It's one of those old English things."

"Celtic."

"Yeah, Celtic. That's the symbol for loyalty," he said, flushing a bit. "That's what the guy who sold it to me said."
Hermione looked at the charm a little longer, and then dropped the necklace so that it lay against her skin, beneath her pyjamas. As far as he could tell, it was sitting somewhere between her breasts, and that thought was enough to make breathing difficult. He glanced sideways at Harry and Ginny in hopes of distracting himself. He'd almost forgotten about them, but Ginny was practically in Harry's lap, hugging him, and Harry was laughing lowly. He seemed pleased.

"You gave me a Snitch," she said incredulously, and then sat back, turning to Hermione and Ron with bright eyes. "He gave me my own Snitch!"

"To practice with," Harry interrupted. "So you can be Seeker for England one day."

"Don't," she said, reddening, but gripping the little gold ball tight in her hand. "I can't believe you. These are expensive."

"Not really," he said. The expression on his face was – Ron didn't know how to describe it. Sort of solemn and earnest and something else altogether. "I wanted you to have it."

Ron looked away as Ginny kissed Harry, and found that Hermione was taking his hand, facing him again. She put her palm against his palm, and her fingers came two-thirds of the way up his.

"Small hands," he said softly, and she smiled down at them.

"Yours are just big," she corrected him.

This was the best Christmas morning he'd ever had.

~

There were almost twenty students at Hogwarts for the holidays, and all attended the traditional Christmas dinner that evening. Also present were Dumbledore, Lupin, McGonagall and Snape. The other teachers had elected to go home for the break, or were staying in their offices (like Trelawney, who hadn't been to a Christmas dinner since McGonagall humiliated her 'Inner Eye').

For Ron, the meal was half-spoilt by the presence of Malfoy. Being, in effect, an orphan (his mother dead, his father a wanted criminal), and isolated from the rest of his dark-arts-mad family by way of his conversion to Dumbledore's Army, he was forced by circumstance to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. He didn't look too happy about it – he didn't look too unhappy either, but then again, that was Malfoy these days. Inscrutable.

In many ways, it had been easier when he was just plain bad. Ron tried to ignore him.

Dumbledore told ridiculous but quite funny jokes, which even McGonagall enjoyed, and Snape brooded quietly at the end of the table, a white faux-fur hat from a Christmas cracker on his head. Ron listened to Hermione laughing, and Harry and Ginny chatting in warm murmurs to his left. He ate his roast, and his pudding, and had second helpings like the polite Weasley boy he was. He gradually forgot about resenting Malfoy, and forgot about the memories of last Christmas (which was somehow less menacing, Voldemort further off) – he just let himself fall into the happiness of the evening.

At the end of the meal, Lupin leant over to Harry and Ron.

"I'd like to speak with you, if that's alright."

Harry nodded. "Of course. Now?"

"If you don't mind."

"It's fine."

"We'll see you in the common room," Ginny said, standing.

"I'm going up to my room first, and then I'll come down," Hermione said, and stood with her. They both wished Lupin a Merry Christmas, and walked out of the Hall.

"What did you want to talk about?" Harry asked immediately. He sounded rather edgy, as per usual when speaking privately with Lupin. Ron was pretty sure Ginny was right about reminding him of Sirius, and maybe his father too – and he thought Lupin knew it, because his eyes became sort of sad.

"I wanted to make sure you are continuing the D.A. with the commencement of this new term," he said. "I've got a feeling it's going to be important for people here to have their wits about them when it comes to defence." He gave Harry a meaningful look that Ron did not understand.

"I know we haven't had as many meetings lately," Harry said after a moment. "It's difficult in seventh year …"

"It's alright." Lupin waved a hand dismissively. "I just thought I should – warn you."
Warn them? Warn them of what?

"Do you know something about Voldemort, Professor?" Ron asked lowly, unable to stop himself, and Lupin gave him a startled glance.

"Know something? No. But …" He hesitated. "I feel that things will be coming to a head this year."

"What, the war?"

"Yes, the war, if you can call it that."

"Well, we'll do it," Harry said shortly. "Thanks."

"If you need my help …"

"We're fine for the moment."

"Right. I know you're busy, and I'm sorry to put this on you."

"We started the D.A.," Harry said, but he sounded somewhat grim. "We'll keep it up."

"Thank you," Lupin said simply, and then his eyes regained a certain twinkle that they'd been missing. "I know you have your hands full with study, and N.E.W.T.s, and …" He jerked a head in the direction of the two girls' departure, "other important things."

Ron's ears went bright red, and Harry cleared his throat. Lupin didn't wait for them to reply.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad we got to speak. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," they replied, almost simultaneously, as Lupin left the table.

There wasn't anybody left in the Great Hall besides Harry and Ron – everyone had gone back to their respective rooms, he presumed – and it was suddenly quite eerie there, the only sound the reedy, dimming voices of party hats charmed to sing carols, the only light shining from torches, candles and the starry ceiling.

"I'm going to the common room," Harry said. "Coming?"

"Er – I might just go and meet Hermione first, and come down with her."

"Alright." Harry stood, and then paused. "Well – Merry Christmas, mate."

"Merry Christmas."

Harry ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, and departed. He was clearly shaken up by Lupin's mention of Voldemort, and Ron thought it was rather silly of the teacher to bring the thing up in holiday season, of all times. He was thinking about this as he left the Hall and went upstairs, and of what Hermione would think of it.

All his thoughts stopped when he heard voices on the third floor, close by. There was something strange about the way they sounded – he couldn't put his finger on it – and then with a certain rise-and-fall of speech he recognised Hermione's tones.

That clinched it. He had to see what was going on. Hurrying now, he went down the corridor in the general direction of the sounds. He was walking for half a minute, and was just beginning to wonder if he'd imagined it, when he came around a corner and saw Hermione and Malfoy. Malfoy had a hold of her upper arm, and Hermione was looking at her feet. He was speaking to her, rather intensely. Ron still couldn't make out his words exactly, but it was these sounds that had carried down the corridor.

He didn't know what to do – move, stay, punch Malfoy in the face. He watched, feeling helpless, and then Hermione cut Malfoy off with a sharp word. She removed her arm from his grip and began to walk away, but he came back and grabbed her again, harder this time.

"Don't," she said loudly, but Malfoy just moved his hand to her wrist instead, still talking. She tried to pull away once more, but he was stronger than her, and she couldn't. He was leaning close, too close, talking fiercely, and Hermione was twisting her arm to remove it from his grasp.

At that point, Ron found himself walking forwards at a rapid pace. Malfoy heard his footsteps on the stone floor before Hermione did, and released her immediately. He didn't run off – somehow, Ron had almost expected that – but shifted away from her a little.

Hermione took one look at him, and then began to shake her head.

"Ron, it's OK," she said, rather lamely, but Ron was hardly listening. He went directly to Malfoy, put his hands on his chest, and pushed him up against the wall. Malfoy made a small sound of surprised exhalation, but said nothing. He didn't struggle either, just met Ron's eye with cool collectedness.

They stared at one another for some time, and then Ron managed to speak.

"If you ever touch her again," he said gratingly, "I'll hurt you. I'll make you wish you'd never been fucking born, Malfoy. Understand me?"

Still Malfoy said nothing, didn't even move. Abruptly, Ron didn't want to look at him anymore, and pulled him away from the wall and into the corridor.

"Get out of here," he said, and Malfoy, with strange composure, turned and walked away.

Ron stood where he was, breathing hard, staring at his feet.

"Ron …" Hermione began, but he held up a hand as if to say 'don't talk'. She paused, but then continued, quietly: "Do you want to go to my room?"

He didn't really know, but he didn't want to leave her alone. He nodded, and they went.

~

Ron didn't say a word on the way, but his voice returned as soon as she shut her door.

"What the hell was that?" he burst out, spinning to face her. "What was he doing?"

"He wanted to talk to me," she said. "Will you calm down for a second?"

"No, I will not fucking calm down."

"Don't speak to me like that," she said sharply, and he clamped his mouth shut with an effort. He knew if he didn't, he'd swear again. Hermione's expression softened and she came a bit closer. "Are you OK?" she asked, and he shook his head once. She bit her lip, and came closer still. "I'll tell you what he said, alright?"

"Alright," he said hoarsely. "Tell me."

"He said that I should be with him."

There was a long, tense silence. Hearing her say that made him feel light-headed.

"So you were right," Hermione went on, "he does fancy me. It's only because I'm nice to him. He said it himself, I'm the only person who really bothers. Other people are civil, and other people don't care, and other people are downright nasty. Of course he fancies me if that's what it's like for him here. And that's what I said too – that he should think about it a bit more before he just came out with things like that."

Ron could feel his jaw tightening.

"And then he said he had thought about it, and that he knew I was a – a Muggle-born, and that he didn't mind," Hermione said, taking another step forwards.

"For God's sake," Ron muttered, furious, but she put her hand on his arm and it was oddly calming.

"And then I said I was with you. And he said you didn't deserve me. And I said he was being ridiculous, and to let me go. And he said he wouldn't until I listened to him. And I said I had listened to him, and I didn't want to listen anymore, and he said I'd just have to, and then you came in. And that's everything that happened."

Her hand moved from his arm to his cheek, and when she spoke next, her voice shook, just a little. "So I told him I didn't want to be with him, alright? And you have to promise not to hurt him or anything. He can't help it that he doesn't have anyone else, and he can't help it that he was raised to think that whatever he wants, he gets. He didn't hurt me. I'm fine."

"What about next time?" Ron snapped, and she cut him off.

"There won't be a next time. I want you to promise me you won't hurt him, OK? I feel sorry for him. He has to sort himself out. Look at me properly."
He raised his eyes to meet hers. They were hard and pleading at the same time, and he found himself nodding. He couldn't resist her.

"Right," she said, relieved, and dropped her hand. "Right." She put an arm around his waist instead. "But thank you – for coming along when you did."

"That's alright," he replied, quite stiffly.

Her other arm went around his waist too. "Because you know I don't want him, don't you?" she said seriously. "I only want you. You know that?"

He didn't say anything, and she held onto him tighter until he nodded again.

"Yeah, I know. I know."

She had hair in her face, and he brushed it behind her ear, before letting his hand come to rest on the back of her neck.

"It's been a good Christmas," she murmured.

"Yeah," he agreed lowly. "It's been a good Christmas."
She smiled, just slightly. "Are you going to repeat everything I say?"

"No." Her voice was quiet. It made his throat feel closed-over, and his heart go crazy. She just went on looking at him.

Merlin, who was this girl? Where did she come from? When did she stop being Hermione his girl-buddy, and start becoming this woman who had such a hold on him?

"I want to kiss you," he said suddenly. She didn't respond, but he leant inwards anyway, and pressed his lips hard against hers. She opened her mouth – he could taste Christmas, and he could taste her. He was warm, and his whole body was tingling (certain parts in particular). She was pressed up against him, and his hands were on her back, sliding beneath her jumper despite all internal demands to the contrary.

Don't, the voice of reason kept saying. Stop now before this gets too much.

He couldn't, and she wasn't pushing him away. It felt so good to touch her like this, and forget about Malfoy and all the rest of it, that he was almost dizzy. His hands were on her bare back now (beneath her jumper, beneath her shirt), sliding up to her shoulder-blades. He'd never touched a girl's shoulder-blades before. They were slender and curved against his fingers.

She was tugging at his Chudley Cannons sweatshirt too, and he had to remove his hands from her to let her pull it off. He was still wearing a singlet, and she paused only briefly before taking that off too. She ran her hands over his chest, and his stomach, and, biting his lip, wondering if he dared, he put his hands on the bottom of her jumper. He tried to see her face, tried to ask Is this alright? with his eyes (God knows he couldn't have said it aloud), but she wasn't looking at him.

Slowly, he tugged her jumper all the way off. She was wearing a white T-shirt beneath it (he recognised it, she'd worn it before) and, almost trembling, he took hold of this too.

"'Mione …" he said, finding voice, but she cut him off before he could say anymore.

"It OK," she murmured. "I want you to."

"Are you sure?"

In response, she pulled her shirt off herself. She wasn't wearing anything beneath it, and his heart went even faster – he hadn't thought that was possible. There was only the necklace he'd given her, lying in the space between her breasts, very bright. He touched it lightly, and then moved to touch her. Her skin was soft beneath his hands, and he couldn't believe that he was allowed to see this, feel this.

"Merlin," he said hoarsely, and from the corner of his eye he saw her smile a shaky smile. She leant against him, kissing him, kissing his collarbone.

By now, he wasn't doing too well in the downstairs department, especially with her so close. It was the sweetest kind of torture, and it was surreal, and was this happening – was he standing here, was her shirt on the floor?

At that moment, her hips came flush against his, and he groaned aloud, unable to stop himself. She must have felt him because she pulled away almost immediately, and covered her mouth with one hand, the other dropping to her side. She looked taken aback and half-frightened, and he didn't say a word, just tried to calm himself with some fast inner talk and deep breathing.

There was a long, long silence.

"Ron – I –" she began, and then stopped.

"It's alright," he said. "We don't have to."

"I – I'm sorry."

"Hermione," he said, as steadily as he could. "Don't say sorry, OK? I don't – I don't want to – not until you're ready – I –" He didn't know what else to say, so bent and picked up her shirt instead. He handed it to her, and she shrugged it on quickly, flushing.

"You don't – mind?" she said then.

He ached all over, and quite frankly he could have slept with her right then, on the floor if necessary, in half his clothes. But mind?

"No," he said quietly. "I don't mind. We don't have to do anything if you don't want."

She swallowed. "I do," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I do. I'm just – a bit scared. I'm not – I don't think I'm ready yet, for that."

"I know. It's alright."

"Just not yet."

"Hermione, it's OK."

"Ron, I'm –"

"Shut it," he said firmly, and gave her a half-smile. "Don't say anything else, OK?"

She smiled back faintly, and nodded once. "OK."

He put his singlet and sweatshirt back on and there was an awkward moment while they stood looking at one another.

"Well," Ron said then. "I'm going to bed."

He made to go past her, but she stopped him.

"Ron?"

"What?"

"You can – I mean, you don't have to go yet. We won't – do anything. But you could just – sleep here tonight."

"Sleep here," he repeated, and she made a movement that was part shrug, part nod.

"I just don't feel like being by myself," she said lowly.

Ron thought for a few moments, and then nodded.

"OK. OK, I'll stay here."

They talked for some time, and then she got into bed, and he sat at her feet, and they talked more. When she fell asleep, he watched her for a little while, and then dimmed the lamp. He went back to his own dormitory, deciding that it'd be better all round if he did so. At least he wouldn't risk getting 'Mione in trouble. 

He barely dozed. The whole incident felt like a dream.

~

The tension mounts … and I'm spent for this evening. :) ~no-one wants to be alone at Christmas-time~ Shez