The Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade visit was a particularly chilly one.  Ron even found himself pulling out his winter cloak.

"Nice idea," said Harry, following suit of Ron.  Ron gave a nervous sort of laugh.  Harry stared at him quizzically.  "You look kind of pale, Ron.  Are you okay?"

"Fine!" Ron chirped.  "Just… a little cold is all.  By the way, have fun with Parvati today."

"Yeah, I've got my fingers crossed," Harry replied.

*Me too,* Ron thought, *me too.*

"Well, I need some new parchment and a new quill, but that's it, what do you want to do, Ron?"

"Well… that's fine.  Maybe go get a Butterbeer afterwards?"

"Right," said Hermione, who began to rant on about the end of term finals.

By the time Hermione had found parchment and quill, Ron felt they were long overdue for a Butterbeer.  But as Hermione instinctively turned towards the Leaky Cauldron, Ron suddenly piped up, "Why don't we try the Seeing Willow up the street?  It's just a few blocks ahead.  And it's not as crowded."

"Well… okay," said Hermione agreeably, wrapping her cloak around her more tightly.  Walking the few chilled blocks had quieted Hermione down quite a bit.  "Gosh, it's freezing," she chattered after the first block.

Ron took a deep breath of the frosty air and said in a careful voice, "Here."  He lifted part of his cloak over Hermione's shoulders, allowing his arm to stay wrapped around her protectively.  She flinched slightly.

"Oh, er, thanks Ron."  She shifted beneath his arm, and then-- whether by the will of the cold or something else-- leaned further toward the warmth of Ron's body, and rested comfortably against him as they continued to trek toward the Seeing Willow.

Ron took shallow breaths and smiled.

The Seeing Willow was not crowded when Ron and Hermione arrived; its day had come and gone.  The Seeing Willow had been a popular establishment years before.  Now it sat, the wood a little more worn, the paint a little thicker—it was inviting, though a little too old fashioned to commonly attract the younger crowd.

"What'll it be, kids?" a middle-aged witch called from behind the bar.

"Two butter-beers, please," Ron said, setting 6 sickles on the counter.  Hermione was reaching into her bag, digging for her money.  "It's okay Hermione," Ron stopped her. "I've got it covered."

"You don't have to do that, I've got my money right here—"

"—Really.  My treat, okay?"

"Okay.  Well, thanks," Hermione said, Ron turning three shades of red.  They each took their butter-beer, found a sturdy-looking oak table near the fire that was burning in the fireplace, and sat down.  Ron opened his bottle and took a large sip.  He set his bottle down, and smiled at Hermione who was still trying to get her bottle open.

"Argh, I can't get it," she frowned.  "My hands are too cold."

Ron laughed and reached for the bottle.  In doing so, he brushed his hand against hers, and was surprised.  "Geez, Hermione," he exclaimed, "your hands are freezing!"  He held them in his own for a moment, and though he hesitated, he deliberately held them just a little longer than he usually would have.  Hermione made a little noise.  "Sorry," he muttered quickly, and opened her Butterbeer jerkily.

"So," Hermione began after a few seconds of silence, "Hagrid's not saying what the next creature we'll see in class is.  You know what that probably means."

Ron chuckled, and they fell into the comfortable rhythm of conversation they had always known.  *I've just got to relax,* he thought.  *Talking to Hermione shouldn't make me nervous.  Just let it be natural.*  But at that particular moment, Hermione started to laugh, and Ron felt his heart start beating about three times faster than it had been before. *Yeah,* he thought sarcastically.  *This is totally natural.*