A tinge of pink rose in the sky, a new morning awakening as it followed the path of the sun. A previously pitch black sky was gradually fading into a bright blue, mixed and hued various dappled shades of orange and yellow. The few, occasional blades of grass left untouched by the previous night's snowfall welcomed the morning gratefully as the sun's pouring rays provided illumination and warmth upon the school grounds. The trees as well seemed grateful, spreading their broken, fragile branches to an inviting morning sky. One tree, labeled such as 'The Whomping Willow,' stood untouched by this harmonious daily ritual, casually whipping its branches viciously at all movement that stirred anywhere near it; otherwise standing solemn and alone not admist the other trees.

Somewhere nearby, there was another stir of movement, ever so slight; this occuring inside the ancient castle settled upon the grounds.

Eyelids fluttered and parted, belonging to a boy; or rather (classified by his age of sixteen years), a young man. Fiery red hair fell over his eyes, unkempt and tangled as was the usual style. The boy, (as we'll label him for now), pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing vaguely as memories of the night before played in his mind .. as if someone had pressed the rewind button.

After slowly coming back into reality, the only words lingering in his mind were jumbled words such as "Gryffindor," "Quidditch," "House Cup," "drunk," "party," and "Harry."

Harry. That name gave him a familiar jolt that soared straight to his heart, nearly skipping a beat with anticipation although he was unsure of the reason why this occurred; after all, Harry was his best friend.

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley; best friends ever since their first year at Hogwarts.

The two always sticking together, through every battle and challenge; accompanied by the know-it-all they all knew and loved: Hermione Granger.

Ron sat up in his bed, pain throbbing in his forehead as his gaze fell upon the boy beside him who lay in deep sleep, lightning-bolt scar only slightly exposed due to a mess of black hair that had fallen into his face.

Weasley couldn't help but grin. Somewhere deep inside of him, the emotion tugged at him. He cleared it from his thoughts as his mind settles on other things.

He shouldn't be feeling this pain; wasn't it usually the famous Harry Potter who felt these unusual pains, due to the fact that a damned scar had been shot into his forehead?

But then, as Ron's memory went back to the occurences of the previous night, he sighed discontentedly to himself.

Must he get drunk at every party? He was slowly turning into an exact duplicate of Fred and George.

Ah, well, just a hangover. He had much more to fret about, including the Potions exam later that day that he had forgotten about.

D'oh.

The red-haired boy struggled a yawn before stepping out of bed and shoving his feet into a pair of fluffy slippers. He had forgotten to draw the curtains around himself the night before, so his sleeping habits had been visible to the whole of the boys' dormitory, including his snoring.

Good, thought Harry silently as he quietly turned over in bed, the silent creak unheard as his eyes followed every movement that Ron made. Ron took no notice, figuring that Harry was just turning over in his sleep, and he quietly slipped downstairs into the Gryffindor common room.

Harry lay awake for a while after that, staring out the window only a few feet from his bed, alert to everything around him. Surprisingly, Harry was fully awake, which only came as a surprise because he hadn't fallen asleep last night after all.

No, he had watched Ron instead; from the time the Weasley boy had gone to sleep to the exact second he had awoken just moments ago.

And wow, thought Harry to himself, unable to control the feelings that he had otherwise been unaware of.

Ron Weasley was damn sexy when he slept shirtless.