A/N: Thanks for reading this little Christmas fic! This was written as part of the Romione Discord Secret Santa 2023 as a gift for sm_jl. It's three chapters total, so I'll post one per day and finish on Christmas Eve.

Happy holidays to all!

Why didn't I take another jacket when I had the chance?

It had been a week since Ron had left Shell Cottage, his citadel of unearned comfort and bitter self-loathing. One week since the Deluminator, a useless parlor trick of a trinket to that point, had guided him back to the place his heart most wanted to be. And while he knew he was back where he belonged, Ron couldn't help but miss a few things about life with his brother and sister-in-law. The steady meals, the luxurious bed, the privacy. And the warmth. Since he returned to the tent and resumed the Horcrux hunt with his two best friends, he hadn't been truly warm for even a second.

And so his mind continually circled back to the same question over and over again. Why hadn't he taken another jacket?

There were plenty of them in the closet right next to the front door. Surely Bill wouldn't have been too bothered to be down a coat or two. Ron had run right past them on his way out the door, down the snow-covered cobblestone path, and into the garden where a small, hovering blue light finally solved his most tortuous riddle.

Not that it mattered any longer. He'd lost his chance, and instead he found himself shivering in the wintry January weather of whatever the hell forest they'd apparated to the previous evening. The icy air burned his nostrils, feeling like tiny sharp pins against his sinuses as he breathed in. At least Harry was sitting next to him, suffering from the same predicament. There was a strengthening of spirit in their shared misery, right? Power in numbers?

No, of course there wasn't. It was just fucking cold.

But as cold as it was outside the tent, it didn't hold a candle to the frostiness waiting for him within its magical walls.

If anything, it was stupid of him to expect things to be any different. He'd abandoned them, abandoned her, full stop. His desire for a complete meal and an end to the long, fruitless days of searching had poisoned his heart and blinded him to the reality of the situation and the sanctity of his initial promise. Simply put, he had taken the easy way out.

Harry had accepted his apology quickly, much to his relief. Even if he only did so because Ron had saved him from freezing to death five minutes prior, at least it marked one friend back. The two of them were already getting along well again, and it was almost as if he'd never left. Ron found himself frequently joining Harry for parts of the Chosen One's watch shifts. Sure, it meant more time out in the cold, but it also saved him from another tongue-lashing from Hermione.

As soon as he'd re-entered the tent that night he'd trudged back home, broken Horcrux in hand, the apologies started to flow. He'd tried apologizing to her with words, with an extra jumper during her watch, with a poorly made but well-intentioned cup of tea, and with a newfound enthusiasm for their mission. But it was to no avail. Her stony facade showed no sign of cracking, and the pointed quips and barbs she lobbed at him day after day stung more than she realized. He deserved them, of course; every single one of them. But after the eighth time in as many days that she reminded him of his betrayal, he was feeling as though perhaps the smartest thing would be to give her space and hope that time would be his most reliable ally.

"Cold is worse than last night, don't you think?" Harry said as a gust of wind swept across the tent entrance.

Ron shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets. "Reckon you're right. Wish one of us could think up somewhere nice and sunny to go. Maybe I could wing it and try to land us in Egypt, right by the Pyramids we visited after second year."

"With our luck, we'd probably end up stranded in the middle of the British Channel with a shipping vessel bearing down on us. Besides, even if we made it, there's not going to be a Horcrux in Egypt."

"Hate to break it to you, mate, but there aren't any Horcruxes on this tundra either."

"I mean, there could be…"

"Mate…"

"Yeah," Harry answered with a chuckle. "Suppose you're right."

The conversation died down, but it was followed by a comfortable silence. The type of silence that didn't require any explanation or excuse. Ron was delighted to have that feeling with someone, at least. All of the silences when Hermione was around were tense and awkward, the air thick with unspoken emotion between them.

It was killing him not to be able to talk to her the way he used to. Before he'd left, there was a sense of camaraderie that was noticeably absent in the last several days. Well, when he didn't have that damned locket around his neck, at least. Sure, they'd been cold and lost and miserable, but they'd been cold and lost and miserable together. Laughing together when each other's stomachs grumbled, studying the clues together, bracing against the cold together. And even when things got a bit testy, there was a cooling down period after which moods improved and the familiar banter returned.

But lately, he could only display that easygoing side of him around Harry. Whenever the three of them were together, it was all business, focused and determined, no time for fun. Which would be fine with him at times, honestly. After all, they had a mission to accomplish. One pesky little fact remained, however, and it was one that he couldn't overlook no matter how hard he tried.

Ron was in love with Hermione.

Looking back, he couldn't remember exactly when he'd admitted it to himself. If he was honest, he probably knew as long ago as fourth year, maybe even earlier than that. But there were moments in the recent past where his feelings had crystalized so clearly that he was left with no doubt. Ironically, the first instance he could recall was at one of his lowest points.

It was Christmas Day during sixth year, and he had just opened the hideous necklace Lavender had gotten him. Seeing her gaudy and entirely inappropriate gift only served to remind him of the gift he hadn't given Hermione, the one that remained tucked away in his trunk. It was a new phoenix feather quill, one she'd been drooling over for years any time they'd gone to Scrivenshaft's in Hogsmeade. It had taken Ron months and months of saving his money, scrimping any time he went to Honeydukes and making do with hand-me-down everything. But it was worth it. At least, it would have been if only things hadn't broken so thoroughly.

Since then, many other moments stood out in his mind. The little grin that danced across her face after he'd finally broken up with Lavender. Dumbledore's funeral, where he'd held her in his arms as they grieved together. His bedroom a few weeks later when she arrived in the dead of night, dripping wet from the pouring rain and devastated after erasing her parents' memories. Dancing with her at Bill and Fleur's wedding, her eyes bright and her smile even brighter.

And as he lay alone in the night at Shell Cottage the last few months, crying himself to sleep over what he had lost, he knew more than ever that she was it for him. She was the only one that could ever make him happy and give his life meaning. Unfortunately, she was also the only one capable of causing this level of pain.

Not that it had been her fault, of course. He'd brought it all on himself, and he could only look inward to assign blame.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think I should do?"

His friend let out a low whistle and shook his head, a few flakes of snow falling loose from the mound that had accumulated on his hat. "I think you're asking the wrong guy. My track record with this stuff…I mean, I don't think I need to tell you."

"Well, there's only one other person here, and I can't bloody well ask her."

"Yeah…right. Well, you've apologized, right?"

"Of course! You know I have, you've heard it!"

"I know, I know. Okay, then what else can you do, really?"

Ron groaned. "Thanks a lot, mate. Top shelf advice."

"Look," Harry started with an exasperated sigh. "I'm thrilled you're back, and I'm thrilled to be able to get on with the Horcrux hunt. I don't know why she's taking so much longer to come around than I did. I have an idea, but I don't know. I just think…I don't know, I suppose if I were you, I would just try to remain positive. If you start getting all cross and depressed again, it's not going to get better."

"Reckon you're right. Plus it's loads easier now that we've snuffed out that little portion of soul we'd been cuddling with at night, yeah?"

"Oh, loads."

With a smile, Ron reached down and picked a few blades of grass from the hardened soil. The tips were frosted over, and as he twirled them between his fingers, the small ice crystals melted, leaving a cool residue on his nearly frostbitten hands. He wiped them on his pants and pulled his gloves back on, his mind circling back to his original dilemma.

Why didn't I take another jacket when I had the chance?

As the wind raged on, Ron's watch read eight in the evening. His shift would be starting in four hours, and he hadn't slept at all. As much as he preferred the friendliness of the outside to…whatever was waiting for him inside, if he didn't get some rest, he'd be no good to any of them. And he swore to himself that he wouldn't let them down. Not again.

"Alright," Ron said as he stood up and dusted off his trousers. "I'm going to head inside. I've got the night shift, so I'll see you in a little bit."

"Sounds good. And Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Just be yourself. Erm, the nice version of yourself, yeah?"

"Right."

Ducking his head, Ron shook off the snow before reentering the tent. He found Hermione sitting on the sofa, carefully studying one of her school textbooks. After taking off his jacket, Ron passed by, pulling out his wand and casting a quick warming spell on the cup of tea at her side.

"Looked a little cold," he offered with a smile.

She didn't even look up at him, turning the page of her book with a lazy flick of her wrist. "It was fine."

"Oh. Well, still. Cold night and all…"

It probably shouldn't have surprised him that a response never came. Instead, Hermione adjusted her position on the sofa and narrowed her eyes, concentrating more intently on her reading. Ron couldn't help but feel a bit hopeless; it didn't matter what he did, nothing seemed to be working. Instead, he kicked off his trainers and strolled over to the opposite side of the room, sitting down on his bed and pulling back the blanket.

"I'm going to get some rest before the night shift, alright? Harry will wake me up."

Again, nothing.

With one last glance in her direction, he collapsed onto the mattress, hoisting the covers over him as best as he could. He shut his eyes for a few moments, thinking through the situation.

Positive attitude, yeah? Always have a positive attitude. Make sure she knows I'm happy to be back. Make sure she knows I'm eager to help. Make sure she knows it doesn't bother me that the meals are small and usually quite rubbish. How can we be expected to make shepherd's pie in these conditions?

Ugh, shepherd's pie. What I wouldn't do…

Just as he felt himself drifting off to sleep, his eyes snapped open one more time, focusing on Hermione. He watched as she picked up the mug, took a sip, and gave a little shudder as she inhaled the warm vapors. A grin spread across his face as he instantly recognized the action. Hermione always shuddered when something warmed her to her core. The first bite of warm bread after a long, snowy day at Hogsmeade, the first sip of warm butterbeer after watching a

Quidditch match, even the cocoa Dumbledore had brought them after they'd been retrieved from the lake during the Triwizard Tournament.

Knowing that he'd made her night even a little better filled him with more warmth than any raging fire ever could.

For a few more minutes, he watched her as she finished her drink, marked her book, and stood up and stretched before washing out her mug in the sink. When her gaze shifted back toward the beds, he snapped his eyes shut, hoping she didn't catch him staring.

A few moments later, though, he allowed his eyelids to slowly rise again. Hermione was standing in the middle of the small common space, her fingers weaving in and out amongst themselves. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and she sighed to herself. Then, with a start, she moved toward the tent entrance, pulling another jumper over her head as if she were preparing to go outside. Just as quickly, though, she pulled the jumper back off, balling it up and forcefully throwing it back onto the sofa.

As Ron watched, she closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly out her nose before marching in his direction. He feigned sleep yet again, but he couldn't help but worry about what was going to happen in the next ten seconds.

What the hell? Is she going to hit me or something?

The floorboards creaked as she thumped toward him, stopping right in front of his bed. Nothing happened at first, but he soon felt the blanket shift against his cheek. A rush of cold air swept across his body as the covers were pulled down to his legs, exposing almost all of him and forcing him to give up the charade.

"Hermione?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound bleary and sleep-worn.

"Move."

Her hand found his shoulder and pushed him toward the far side of the mattress. Ron acquiesced, sliding backward, a look of bewilderment on his face.

"W–What's going…? What's going on?"

A huff of dissatisfaction accompanied her sneer. "Would you just move?"

"Alright, I…are you sure you're alright?"

Her lips tightly sealed, Hermione slid under the blankets next to him, keeping her head facing the rest of the room and avoiding looking at him. As he tried to maneuver himself to give her adequate space, his mind was reeling, trying to make sense of her forwardness. Was this her way of forgiving him? Was she testing him? Or was she simply torturing him, knowing full well that holding her close in the night was one of his most persistent and wildest dreams? Each seemed equally likely and impossible, but the truth had to exist somewhere.

"Hermione, what's going on?"

A flick of her wand later and the lights were out in the room. Hermione pulled the covers up over her and curled up in a ball, still refusing eye contact.

"Sleep."

Sleep? How the fuck am I supposed to do that now?