RON

"Just what he wanted, actually!" Molly Weasley's cheerful voice almost managed to break Ron out of his momentary trance. Of course, a hideous, itchy sweater was not just what he wanted for Christmas. It never was. But, as he got older, he'd grown to appreciate the sentiment more each year. He couldn't help imagining his mum, perhaps even forgoing the use of magic to hand-sew a sweater for each of her children every year. It must have passed the time she'd typically spend trying to rally her rambunctious family into some semblance of order. It was difficult to conceive, but the Burrow must be somberly quiet while they were all away at Hogwarts. The result of Molly's busy work - as unattractive as it was - served as heart-warming evidence that her life really did revolve around her children.

As he unrolled the maroon sweater from an old, re-used gift box, he lifted his head and noticed her.

Hermione was smiling at him.

Now, as of late, her smile was enough to leave him a little breathless - but he'd gotten pretty damn good at hiding it at this point. This smile was entirely different. There was a warmth there that he hadn't noticed before. It melted him on the spot. He felt his ears redden, and he hoped against hope that it just looked like he was simply embarrassed by the sweater.

He returned Hermione's endearing smile with a sheepish grin of his own before turning (reluctantly) to his mum to thank her for the gift. He quickly ducked his head and peeked back over at Hermione. She was still staring - only this time, when their eyes met, he could've sworn he noticed her cheeks tint a faint pink before she suddenly became engrossed in a scrap of discarded wrapping paper near her slipper.

Okay, that was another different thing. Hermione, in all her confidence, seldom looked embarrassed. Ron felt his broad chest swell with pride. It helped just a little bit to even imagine the slightest possibility that he wasn't the only one feeling...off.

He couldn't tear his eyes away. He rarely saw her like this - in her pajamas as opposed to her school uniform or regular muggle clothing. There was an intimacy to it. For everyone else, it probably just provided a familial pull towards Hermione - like she was as much a part of the Weasley clan as him, which, at this point, she pretty much was, along with Harry - but somehow, it didn't feel that way to him. It felt way more intense than anything he'd ever felt about anyone else, let alone his family.

He glanced at Ginny, who - to his slight annoyance - was not so subtly ogling Harry from across the room. No, he didn't feel that same rush when he looked at his actual sister in her pajamas. He looked back to Hermione, and his stomach did a swooping somersault. She was looking right back at him - only she didn't look away this time. She gave him a soft little smile again, and he suddenly felt dizzy - like he'd been testing himself to see how long he could hold his breath underwater and pushed himself to the brink, forcing himself to come rushing back up for air.

"Alright, alright - that's enough, everyone." His mum's kind yet shrill voice broke Ron from the chokehold his thoughts had him in.

"Gather up your things and take them to your rooms, then come right back down for breakfast. Fifteen minutes! Chop, chop!" Molly ordered, getting to her feet and making her way from Weasley to Weasley, kissing their cheeks - and, of course, not leaving Harry or Hermione out of the ritual.

Clapping Harry on the back, he nodded towards the stairs. "Let's go, mate."

They clamored up the rickety wooden stairs Grimmauld Place had to offer, which were reminiscent of the Burrow's architecture. They maneuvered down the narrow hall to their room, arms wrapped around their respective haul. Upon entering, they unceremoniously deposited their armfuls of opened gifts onto their beds. As Harry attempted to organize his things behind him, Ron froze in his attempt to do the same. Just behind the back leg of his bed sat the gifts he'd gotten for Harry and Hermione. The three of them silently agreed to exchange their gifts privately. That way, they didn't take away from Molly's gift-giving spotlight. He stooped down to reach for Harry's gift, which was sloppily wrapped in plain brown parchment paper - but as he turned around to chuck it over to him, he only saw his back headed out the door.

"Just going to use the loo before we eat. See you down there," Harry called over his shoulder.

"Right. See you."

Alone again, Ron set Harry's gift on his bed adjacent to the pile of unwrapped gifts he'd accumulated. All he could think up to get Harry was anything quidditch related. Considering the fact almost anything sold at Spintwitch's Sporting Needs in Hogsmeade was well out of his price range, he'd settled on a relatively common collector's item - a book that detailed all the teams in the running for the Nation Championship that year. Pages and pages of moving pictures depicting key players and their signature moves. Smiling with a particular fondness, he knew that as minimal a gift as it was, Harry'd appreciate it - which was ideal because if Harry had been the type of prat to expect something lavish, A, they wouldn't be best friends and B, he'd have to explain that he had to skimp out on Harry's gift because the vast majority of his limited budget went towards Hermione's gift.

Stooping down again, he picked up her present, which was wrapped up much neater in shimmering, navy blue paper and a white, satin bow to punctuate what he had to admit was a damn good wrapping job - and he hadn't even asked his mum for a lick of help with it.

Sighing, Ron weighed his options. He could confidently march down the hall, knock on the door to the room she was sharing with Ginny and ask for some privacy. There were two problems with that plan. One, he wouldn't hear the end of it from his sister. Two, he just wasn't that smooth. He blushed, wondering why he was even shooting for suavity with Hermione Granger. She was his best friend, and best friends didn't stress out over giving gifts, let alone how those gifts were given. Wrestling with what he considered a purely idiotic train of thought, unbidden, his mind brought back the image of her smiling at him as he opened his mum's sweater. That was why he was shooting for suavity. He wanted her to smile at him like that again. No, he needed her to.

Ron steeled himself, breathed, and turned on his heel to head out the door. Time was precious with Molly Weasley at the helm. Soon they'd be eating, and then everyone would be delegated chores around the house. It was now or never.

Lifting his head, he stopped in his tracks. Apparently, great minds, or one great mind and one significantly less great (his own), could still think alike from time to time - because there she was, beating him to the punch.

He gulped back the word vomit that threatened to spill out when he saw her. Luckily, he wasn't sure the words would come, even if he lacked the sense to keep them at bay. A sliver of December sunlight filtered in from a fight window, illuminating her slightly flushed face. Her bushy brown hair was tied back now, exposing her soft features in all their breathtaking glory. She looked as adorable as she was beautiful. And then, bloody hell, she fucking batted her eyelashes at him and crossed the threshold.

Ron gulped again and forced himself to keep his eyes locked with hers. If he let them drop to her lips, he'd be a goner - let alone to her chest. Sure, her pajamas were hardly provocative. They were white, dotted with little blue snowflakes. They were damn adorable - but Ron's thoughts wandered to what lay underneath them. The kind of things he couldn't even admit to himself he fantasized about during solo sessions in the shower.

"Hi." Hermione chirped up, her cinnamon-brown eyes darting down to the gift in his hands and then back up to his most likely dumb-founded expression.

Fucking open your mouth and talk, you git. You're making a right arse of yourself! Ron worried his lips - still nothing.

"Your mum was so excited for everyone to open her presents; I didn't want to take away from the event she made of it. So…here." Clearly unbothered by his silence, she held out a rectangular present wrapped in light, sparkling blue paper. "Happy Christmas, Ron."