Hermione was no where to be seen in the library, although it was quite possible that she might be hidden under a large stack of novels. Harry breathed a sigh and let Ron search for books that could help them. It was then that he noticed a piece of yellowed parchemtn sticking out of the middle of "Shards of a Broken Soul". It seemed to be someones lost bookmark. He pulled the book towards him and opened it up to the marked page. Ah, he loved these trashy romance novels, the written language was superb and danced for his eyes, yet he was always slightly miffed when some of the words didnt quite 'qualify'. He drew his eyes away from the text to the bookmark, the paper looked familier, other than that, it didnt have a name, but instead there were a few scribbled words, that at Harry's glance looked to be part of a poem. Just as he was stashing the bookmark, Ron slapped two huge tomes down on the table, the romance novel flying off and hitting a first year in the thigh.

"'Ey, what'chit." Ron grinned apologetically and nosed his way through the smaller of the two books. Haryy rather unwillingly glanced at the second, and opened it to a random page. Instantly he was hit with a vivid image of a dominatrix house-elf. Slamming the book shut he was laughing before it closed. he knew he'd always act the cool, but couldn't help taking a second look. By this time Ron had dismissed Harry's outburst as a random act of insanity.
"Well Harry, that certainly wasn't weird or anything...all that I've managed to find is the natural house-elfs gestation period, and some word mentioned all the time but I'm not completely sure what it means...uh..whats a 'gimp'? Harry?" For the second time that day Harry felt himself blush violently, and laugh hysterically.
"A gimp is someone who gets off by being dominated during sexual actions." Harry knew quite a bit more, too, but he didn't want to continue, especially because it was Ron he was talking to. Harry had been bisexual for as long as he could remember, he no longer questioned this, it was just another part of him that wasn't discussed with anyone. Ron was sat frozen in his dusty, time-clogged chair.

"Well...you asked, Ron.."

"Yea, but, i was joking. I wanted to see if you knew, thats all...you uhm into that sort of shit?" Harry had seen the wuestion coming, but his answer still wasn't ready:
"Er..well yea, i guess, i mean i wouldnt mind -stop laughing at me, damnit!" - It was too late, Ron was already clutching his stomach, but thankfully his laughter was cut short by the shrill bell that pierced the quiet. Harry stormed off to potions, more than a little annoyed with Ron, and sat down next to a flustered and bothered looking Hermione, leaving Ron with a seat next to Neville. 'He deserves it.' Harry thought bitterly, and went to claim a cauldren.

The bell signalling dinner was more like a call of freedom for repressed Harry who exited potions as quickly as he could; before Ron or Hermione had even finished packing up. Halfway to the Great Hall Harry realised how much of a git he was - he'd forgotten his bag. Typically the whole damn thing, not just a quill or two which he could leave there, so his feet turned once more and carried him back to the dungeons via some old stone steps. IT was only after he'd started to fall that he noticed the pool of water on them. He only had time for a gasp before his body felt cold, hard stone. He'd landed on his side, which now throbbed like a bitch. Harry could feel he was getting angrier and angrier with himself when around the corner came a panting Ron.

"Harry! What the hell are you doing on the flooer? Are you alright?" Harry looked up from his grounded fetal position, and felt incrediably stupid.

"I..uh..forgot my bag, then i fell over..." He started thickly, yet another blush had crept in to crowd Harrys' features.

"uh-huh, well, i got your bag anyway, want a hand up, mate?" Ron grinned at Harry, and Harry forgot completely that less than five minutes ago he had been annoyed at Ron. Grinning back he got himself up, and flicked some of the excess water from his long, black school robes.

"Thanks Ron, man I', hungry, beat ya' to the Hall!" Harry started racing back up the slicked stones, while Ron noticed that Harry had dropped something: It was the two pieces of yellowed parchment that Harry had found, unbeknown to Ron, and now Ron put them both back together:

Beautiful Boy, you remind me of Autumn

Beautiful Boy, your head in the clouds

Beautiful Boy, If I could only hold you

My Untouchable Autumn Boy.

Ron was stunned. He knew it couldn't be true but...wow did Harry really think that about him? woh Harry?; his best friend, his dorm buddy...surely there would be no way that someone like Harry could ever like him! Yet here was the proof! neglected looking, torn up, but proof none-the-less...Untouchable Autumn Boy? those words sounded so nice to his tongue...but he knew not to get any hopes up, but his feet flew with happy elation to the Great Hall, the last line of the sad little love poem resounding in his mind with each bounding step.

Dinner in the Great Hall consisted of sausages and mash, with servings of GraveOx (sounds a bit like, GRAVEY-OX) and steamed peas. Ron however, couldn't of cared less about the food for once. He sat, absently shovelling it into his mouth. His eyes kept dancing on Harry, and his mind was fixed on the young wizard also. Harry was sixteen now, old enough that the only reminder of puberty was on his face, with a few spots here-and-there, it felt odd for Ron to really look at Harry like this, before he'd hardly registered his looks, regarding him as 'mate'. Ron thought back to the only other time he'd really looked at Harry: It was back on the Hogwarts Express when they were both first years. Ron couldnt believe that one of the most famous wizards of all time was sitting opposite him...he was fascinated with Harrys' scar back then...and now? now Ron seemed fascinated with the whole of Harry. How fickle Ron thought his mind was - to be swayed into thinking like this all because of one small, desperate little love poem. Yet Rons eyes still traced the outline of Harrys lips and jaw, his eyes still followed the slight movement of Harrys' robes as he breathed, his eyes still wondered at Harrys own pair. Yes, they were green; so fucking green they stole the other, cheaper colours around them and turned them green as well, so green it could never be replicated, so green even Spring would be jealous. And Ron? Ron was his Autumn Boy.