"Where did this scar on your shoulder come from?" Harry asked

"Oh, that?" Ron turned his head to look at him. "I thought I told you about that. When I was nine Fred convinced me to climb up on top of the garden shed for a dare, but the roof was old and it fell through with me and I landed on top on Mum's pruning shears." Ron winced at the memory.

Harry also winced in sympathy but then shook his head. "No, not that one — this one." He gently ran his fingers over the small, discolored indent just on top of Ron's left shoulder.

Ron blushed and dropped his eyes demurely; he snuggled his cheek into the pillow. "You really don't know?" he asked quietly.

Again Harry shook his head.

"You."

"Me?" Harry's eyes went wide.

Ron gave a lazy, loving smile and rubbed his nose up against Harry's own. "You should really consider cutting your nails more often."