This is ridiculous! Brilliant, but ridiculous! What does she think she's playing at?

"Hermione?" he whispered.

There was no response, but he couldn't give up. The girl he was in love with had just casually hopped into his bed despite being furious with him for days. How could she not expect he'd have questions?

"Hermione, please? Are you alright?"

Again, she remained silent, only yanking the covers up over her shoulder in reply.

"Hermione, you don't have to go, but…what–what're you doing here?"

"It's warm."

Her voice was small but confident, and her answer made his head spin even faster.

Warm? What the fuck does that mean?

Ron reached down and grabbed his wand from the floor next to the bed, sat up straight, and murmured, "Lumos."

The lights popped back on, illuminating the room and prompting a frustrated growl from the small form next to him.

"Hermione, you can't be serious…what's going on?"

She flipped onto her back and glared up at the ceiling, clearly irritated with him, and her words were terse. "Ron, it's cold outside. Which means it's cold in here. You, on the other hand, are warm. I'm cold. You're warm. Clear enough for you?"

"Oh," he answered, completely dumbfounded that she could think it was that simple. "But…so is your be–"

So is your bed? Shut up! Why would you chase her away? Just let her stay! She wants to stay with you! That has to be at least kind of good!

"Nevermind. Yeah, sure. Okay. I suppose it is warmer…this way. But don't worry, I'll, erm, keep to myself, yeah? Keep my hands…uhh, over here."

"Fine. But turn off the lights. You know I can't sleep with them on."

The conversation did nothing to alleviate his confusion, but Ron nonetheless performed a quick Nox and slipped back down under the blanket. He tried to make himself as skinny as possible, his lanky frame practically hanging off the mattress to make sure he offered her enough space. The courtesy was as much for himself as it was for her; he could only imagine how mortifying it would be for her to slide backward and get poked by him in an aroused state. It's not like he could avoid that, not really. Completely out of his control, wasn't it? And surely only made worse by a beautiful girl sharing his bed!

Somehow, after several more minutes of puzzling through the situation in his mind to no avail, he drifted off to sleep. After what seemed like an unfairly short amount of time, he felt someone shaking his shoulder. His eyes flashed open to see Harry's perplexed face staring right at him, glancing back and forth between his two friends who'd seemingly decided to share a bed for the evening.

As Ron stood up and stretched, Harry pointed to the bed as if to ask the obvious question. Ron simply shrugged and shook his head, which prompted Harry's eyes to grow wide as dinner plates with surprise. Pulling an extra jumper over his head, Ron motioned to Harry to follow him toward the tent entrance, slipping on his trainers, hat, and gloves before stepping out into the bitter cold.

"Erm, care to explain?" Harry whispered once they were both outside.

Ron rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned before explaining things to his friend. "Mate, it was weird. I went to bed to try to get some sleep, and a few minutes later she just showed up, told me to budge over, and got in!"

"Just like that?"

"Just like that!"

"Wow. So, does this mean…I mean, have you made up, then?"

"Not that I know of. Nothing else happened. When I kept asking her why she was there, she just said something about being cold and that was that. No talk, no discussion."

"Strange…"

"You're fucking telling me."

The two boys stared out into the dark night, only the light of a few small bluebell candle jars shining on their immediate surroundings. If anything, it was colder than it had been when he was sitting outside with Harry earlier, and the wind had picked up as well, swirling snow around their campsite.

Ron crashed down in front of the tent, pulling his legs underneath himself to try to expose as little of himself as possible to the elements. His best friend offered him a supportive pat on the back, but Ron couldn't blame him for not volunteering any additional advice. The entire situation was illogical, and it wasn't like Harry was some kind of girl expert or anything.

"Well, you sure you're going to be okay?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go on, get some sleep, then. No use in both of us staying up all night."

"Alright, then. Night, Ron."

Once Harry had ducked back inside, Ron was left alone. How was he supposed to pass the next eight hours without going crazy thinking about what had just happened?

At least it gave him something to think about, though. Night watches were always dreadfully boring, and having a puzzle to concentrate on would surely help him stay awake through the dull early morning hours.

Initially, he wondered if perhaps her actions meant she did want to attempt a reconciliation. But then why was she so short with him in her explanation? He'd asked a completely reasonable question, and she'd attacked him as though he said he hated her cat.

Also, surely her own bed was perfectly warm. Ron knew he tended to run hot, but it wasn't like they were that cold. She could've just worn an extra jumper and achieved the same end. It was a deliberate choice to join him. Although, she didn't seem to enjoy anything about it and was irritated any time he said anything.

Why did girls have to be so confusing?

Before he knew it, the sun started peeking over the treeline, casting long shadows from the evergreens surrounding their tent. The burst of heat on his face was refreshing, and he was happy to hear the sounds of stirring bodies behind him. Someone was awake in the tent, and it smelled like they were making tea.

A few moments later, Hermione popped out the entrance, a steaming mug in each hand.

"Here," she said, thrusting it in his direction.

Ron slipped off one of his gloves and accepted the mug, the ceramic instantly warming his hand. "Thanks."

As she turned to head back inside, he tried to stop her. "Hey, Hermione? Erm, did you…I mean, were you still able to…you know, sleep?"

A flat expression stared back at him, and her eyes narrowed as she peered back at him over the lip of her cup. "Yes."

"Oh, good. I just…I hoped you didn't get too cold once I left."

Her head tilted to the side as her gaze continued boring through him. "No, Ron, I was fine. Believe it or not, I've managed to get a good night's sleep nearly every night of my life without you."

Barmy witch…she has to know what I mean!

"Right, I know, but…well, I suppose that's my point. You've never done that before. Can't blame me for being a bit surprised, can you?"

"Ron," Hermione started, rolling her eyes at him, "what do you want me to say? Like I said, I was cold. It's not a big deal."

"Maybe, but you understand why I might be a bit confused, don't you?"

"It's purely utilitarian. In case you'd forgotten, we're trying to survive out here. We don't have the luxury of feather beds at Hogwarts any longer."

The words cut through him, slapping down any hope of a deeper meaning. But he glimpsed her face as she turned away, spotting a blush rising in her cheeks and only serving to add to his growing disorientation.

"Okay. That's fine."

"Great. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to get some work done."

Before she could step back into the tent, he called out one more time. "You're welcome back, you know."

"Excuse me?" she spat without turning around.

"If you're cold again tonight. I'm just saying…I don't mind."

Hermione paused, looking as if she was going to turn back to him and reignite the argument. Instead, though, she slipped back into the tent, leaving him alone for the last hour of his watch.

At least I tried…

The rest of the morning seemed to proceed like any other. A few times throughout the day, they'd all huddle around the table and discuss new theories or thoughts to try to get back on the right track. Ron always made sure to offer some suggestions, and even though Hermione sometimes seemed irritated, he could tell that she thought he'd had some good ideas.

From the time the sun rose until it set in the evening, though, Ron was mainly concerned with trying to deduce Hermione's intentions. He couldn't help but entertain the truly encouraging thought that her actions were a way of trying to accept his apology and make amends, but in a way, that concept made the least sense of any of the myriad possibilities.

By the time night fell, he had run himself in circles over and over again, failing to make any progress within his mind. Unfortunately, it was Hermione's watch that night, and while he'd offered to take it off her straight away, she'd refused him immediately and returned to barely speaking to him. Still, he wondered if she might try to get a bit of sleep before her watch, and with Harry patrolling the outside of the tent to think things over, he finally tucked into bed just after nine o'clock.

He tried to keep his eyes open, but within several minutes, he was asleep, only to wake up to the first rays of dawn light hitting the side of the tent. Harry was asleep in the bed across from him, leaving Hermione alone outside. The silhouette of her body was barely visible through the opening of the tent, and as quietly as he could, Ron crawled out of bed and prepared two cups of tea.

Her head didn't turn when he brought it out to her, wordlessly accepting the mug without turning her attention from the horizon.

Sure, why not? What's another day of being completely ignored…

"Reckon we'll have to move again soon?" Ron asked as he took a sip of his tea.

"Probably soon, yes."

"Any ideas where to go this time?"

"I have some."

"Brilliant! Dunno what we'd do without you, really."

When no reply followed, Ron inwardly cursed at himself. Why was it so hard to have a simple conversation? The two of them were going to be living in the same cramped tent for the foreseeable future. Something had to give eventually, right?

"Alright," he continued, kicking at the dirt with his feet, "I'm going to see if Harry's up yet. Let me know if I can…help or whatever."

Harry wasn't awake, of course, but he already knew that. Instead, Ron found the copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard and again tried to scour it throughout the morning. It was no use, though; he already knew the stories backward and forwards. Nothing new was presenting itself, and even when Harry jumped in to help, they got nowhere.

Later that afternoon, the trio apparated to another section of forest that Hermione had visited in her youth, successfully setting up camp in under an hour. Mercifully, the temperature was a bit warmer where they were. The ground was still damp, but it was clear that any recent snowfall had melted as the forest warmed up. It was still cold, of course, but far better than their last stop.

After a meager dinner, Harry offered to start his watch early, clearing out of the tent and leaving Ron alone with Hermione again as they had been a couple days prior. It wasn't lost on Ron that both of them would be sleeping in the tent that night with Harry on watch, and he found himself hoping for a repeat of her actions. Ron couldn't help but wonder if Hermione had apparated them to a warmer location specifically to avoid the possibility of joining him in his bed, but he quickly dismissed the thought as too egocentric.

Shortly after ten o'clock, he set down the textbook he'd been looking through, washed his dishes, and brushed his teeth before climbing into bed. Hermione was still poring over Godric Gryffindor's biography, doing her best to find any clue about the wizard's life that might lead them down the right path. He knew he didn't want to fall asleep until she went to bed herself, just in case. Fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, but pinching himself every few seconds worked a treat to keep his mind at least somewhat alert.

Forty-five minutes passed before Hermione closed the book, causing Ron's eyes to fly open and take note. She magicked out the last remaining bluebell jars of light, plunging the room into darkness. Her footsteps were his only clue, and he could hear her stop in front of the beds. When nothing happened, though, his spirits dropped.

Of course she wouldn't come back. Probably considers it a momentary lapse in judgment. Maybe she was just trying to wind me up, even. Wouldn't that be just my–

The gears of his mind ground to a halt, though, as the covers were pulled back over his body, just as they had been the last time. He could feel the contour of the mattress shift as she rolled in, again with her back to him. His whole body froze in place, and he didn't move a muscle. One thought kept popping into his mind, as well, and it was more than a little intriguing.

It's not that cold tonight.

It took a few seconds for her to settle herself and find a comfortable position. Once she was still, though, it became apparent that she was most comfortable with her back pressed entirely against his front, forming a perfect small spoon as her head was tucked just beneath his chin. It would've been one of the best feelings in the world if he had any clue why it was happening. Instead, he tried his best to remain in one place, not wanting to do anything that might push her away.

Don't move. Shut up. Stop breathing, if you can manage it. Don't ruin this!

Just as he was drifting off, Hermione's hand found his in the darkness, and she dragged it along her stomach until it came to rest on her opposite hip. As naturally as possible, Ron shuffled a bit closer to her as his fingers tightened around her body, prompting her to snuggle even closer into his chest.

He couldn't have stopped the smile from spreading across his face if he tried, even though he knew that Hermione might have felt it through her hair. That beautiful, lovely-smelling hair that was tickling his nostrils. What he wouldn't give to hug her closer, squeeze her tighter, hear her giggle with appreciation. All of that was a bridge too far, but Ron figured he could still enjoy the little victories. He allowed his mind to fade to black as an unfamiliar sensation returned for the first time in months – hope.

When Ron woke the next morning, he was warm. Abnormally warm. As soon as he looked down, he understood why.

Hermione's entire upper body rested on his chest, and her arm was draped over his shoulder. His hand was asleep, tingling as it remained wrapped around her waist, gently skimming the exposed skin just below the hem of her jumper. A cold foot was pressed to his shin amongst the tangle of legs underneath the sheets.

To Ron, it was heaven.

And since it would likely come to a screeching halt as soon as Hermione woke up, he did his best to savor it while he could. Over the next several minutes, light started to filter into the tent, casting a dull blue glow to the entire space. Dawn was breaking outside and the world was waking up, but within the tent, the slow cadence of Hermione's breaths and the steady beat of her heart were the only signs of life.

A bird's song started to echo outside their walls, and she began to stir. Ron could feel her eyes blinking open against his chest. As she pulled her hand back, her nails scraped lightly over the sensitive skin of his neck, and he instantly broke out in goosebumps.

Without warning, she shot bolt upright in the bed, prompting a grunt from Ron as she pushed off his abdomen to move away from him.

"Morning," he said, trying his best to keep his tone nonchalant.

Hermione stood up and started walking toward the kitchen. "Morning."

His mind went blank as he stood up and hastily remade the bed. What are you supposed to say to someone who was ostensibly mad at you, was barely talking to you, and yet spent the night in your bed?

"Tea?" she asked as she turned on the kettle.

It was the first time she'd addressed him without being asked a direct question. Progress, surely. "Please."

Textbooks lay open on the table, and he started perusing them out of boredom. His eyes slipped over the words, but he could tell he wasn't absorbing a thing. There was only one thing on his mind, and it was an elephant so large it barely fit in the room in the first place.

"Erm, did you sleep alright?" he asked as she walked across the room with two warm mugs.

When her reply came, it was barely above a whisper. "Yes."

"Hope I didn't…I mean, I didn't intend to make you, you know, uncomfortable."

Their eyes finally met and their fingertips touched as Ron took the cup of tea from her, shooting a jolt of electricity up his arm. "No, you didn't. I wasn't–it was fine."

"Oh, okay. Good. That's…yeah, good. Me too, you know. Slept like a baby."

Her gaze shot up to his one more time as if she were trying to take the measure of him. Eyes narrowing, she moved back toward the kitchen. "We should probably relieve Harry. I'm sure he's exhausted."

"Oh. Right, yeah, I'll go check on him. Then we can…I dunno, plan our day."

"Okay."

"Brilliant. Yeah."

Dammit. So much for getting answers.

After Harry came inside, the rest of the day was back to normal. Unfortunately for Ron, that meant that Hermione was back to her flippant self about his presence, avoiding him even more than usual. At one point, she even dashed into the bathroom and locked the door, remaining inside for over half an hour and coming back out with a beet-red face. Ron hoped that she hadn't gotten sick because of the lunch he'd helped to prepare.

Over the next two weeks, the trio soldiered on, moving every two or three days to a fresh patch of nondescript forest and doing their best to make sense of the clues left to them by Professor Dumbledore. They'd chased down a lead or two, only to come up empty time and time again. January was almost over, but if anything, the weather was only getting worse, growing colder by the day.

The mood in the tent remained tense. During the day, Hermione continued to ignore Ron by and large, but every time Harry was on watch, she'd climb into his bed like clockwork. Nothing more was said between the two of them, yet she continued to sleep with him wrapped around her any chance she had. At one point, she showed up before he did, forcing him to make a particularly uncomfortable decision. In the end, he'd decided that it was his bed, and if she wanted to be there, it was her choice. He slipped in next to her and fell asleep immediately.

By the seventh time it happened, though, Ron was starting to lose patience. The last thing he wanted was to ruin a good thing, something they both seemed to enjoy. And yet, deep down in his gut, he knew that nothing would ever be solved if they didn't have a real discussion about it.

It was barely sunrise when he woke up the following morning, Hermione almost completely on top of him as usual. Knowing that Harry's watch would likely be over within a couple hours and he was losing opportunities to talk with her, he smooshed around in the bed enough to cause Hermione's eyes to flutter open.

"Sorry," he said, retracting his arm from around her shoulder.

"It's alright."

Just as she was going to stand up, Ron reached out and grabbed her hand, gently pulling her back into the bed.

"Hermione…please," he begged as she laid back down next to him. "Please tell me what this is all about."

"It's not about anything."

"Nothing?"

"Like I said the first time, it's the middle of winter, and it's cold."

"That's it? It's cold?"

She glared over at him. "It is cold."

"Right, but–"

"But what?"

"I know it's cold, but…I mean, you still don't understand why I'm a little skeptical that that's all it is?"

Her hair whipped around as she spun to face him. "Okay, Ron. Tell me what it's about, then."

All of his patience was exhausted. If he didn't get answers–real answers–soon, he was going to lose his mind.

"I don't know, Hermione!" he exploded, sitting straight up in bed. "Whenever Harry's around, you'll barely say two words to me! And I get that, I do! I was a monumental wanker to you two, and I'll apologize as many times as it takes to regain your trust after what I did. But then…what is this? What are we doing here?"

Their eyes met, and she stared at him with a fierceness he hadn't seen since the night of the Yule Ball. "We're not doing anything, Ron. We're trying to win a war."

"I understand that, but you're a smart person, Hermione! You don't do things without thinking them through–"

"You're right, I don't!"

"–And so I bet you know that it's a little strange to crawl into my bed at night while ignoring me all day!"

"You know, not everything is about you, Ron…"

"Sure, but look, far as I can tell, you're not jumping into Harry's bed when I'm on watch, are you?"

The question seemed to stump her, and for once, she had no retort. Instead, she pushed herself off the mattress, folded her arms across her chest, and marched across the room to the kitchen. But Ron had no intention of leaving things at that. They were finally getting somewhere, finally acknowledging the real-life situation playing out in front of them.

"Why me, Hermione?" he asked, following her through the makeshift living room. "Why just me? Harry has body heat too, you know."

Water started to shoot from the faucet as she flipped on the tap, shaking her head and muttering softly to herself. "...Seriously asking me that…"

Truthfully, he had no idea what he wanted her to say. Anything had to be better than the perpetual state of limbo in which they found themselves, though, hovering somewhere near the vague intersection of friendship, disdain, regret, and possibly even love. Answers were key…even if it meant things changed in the future.

"I'm serious, Hermione," he said, his voice soft and kind. "I just want to understand."

Her back remained facing him for several moments, her shoulders heaving with deep, rhythmic breaths. When she spun around, her jaw was set and her face was screwed up in frustrated anger. "Ron, how many ways can I say this? There. Is. Nothing. To. Understand. Nothing."

"Bullshit!" he erupted.

Suppose I'm not playing it cool any longer.

Hermione's tone sharpened, laced with understated fury. "Excuse me?"

"That can't be true. It doesn't make any sense and you know it!"

"It can and does make sense!"

"Of course it doesn't! Blankets! Jumpers! Mittens or wool socks on your bloody hands if you really like! That's how you stay warm! Not cuddling up next to a bloke you despise!"

Ron braced himself for another volley of screaming, but the expected indignation and vitriol never came. Instead, her voice was quiet, almost broken. "You think I…?"

"Think you what? Despise me?" he shot back. "What else am I supposed to think? It's not as though you'll actually talk to me! And besides, actions speak louder than words, Hermione."

"Yes, they do!"

Wait, what? Was she implying…?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…it's just n–not…it's not that simple…"

"Sure it is! I'm standing right here!"

Dropping her head into her hands with a low groan, she crumbled backward against the kitchen counter, a faint sniff echoing throughout the small space. "Ron, don't…please don't…"

His mind raced through possibilities as quickly as possible, trying to determine what her ambiguous words could mean. Was she actually that upset with him that she needed to tell him she'd never trust him again? Were she and Harry planning to kick him out and only work as a pair going forward? Or…could it maybe be that she actually had feelings for him?

No, not that. He let himself entertain that delusion for a brief period before he'd gone, and it brought nothing but a broken heart. Never again.

"Fine, Hermione. Fine. Just bottle it all up. Never let anybody in. Sounds about right."

He turned and walked back to his bed, figuring that more rest was the only good solution. A loud crash suddenly startled him, and when he spun back around to face Hermione, one of their dishes was shattered into pieces at her feet. "Are you joking? Me bottle it up? ME never let anybody in? ME?! That's just so delightfully rich coming from you, Ron Weasley."

"Oh really? Is it? You're the one who has never been able to actually just talk things out! Always have to play it close to the vest, yeah?"

"Bollocks! You're completely insane!"

"Oh really? Set any birds on anyone recently, have you?"

Before he could take back the words, he noticed Hermione's body beginning to vibrate with rage. Her hands were shaking as she raised a finger, pointing toward the entrance as tears started to stream down her face. "GO!"

"What?"

"GO! Get out of here!"

"Maybe I will!" he screamed, slipping into his trainers.

"Do it! Leave! Leave us behind! Leave me behind! It's what you're best at, after all!"

Ron whipped around, a menacing grimace on his face. Red flashed before his eyes, and he knew he needed to say his piece. "I never meant to leave you! Never! I tried to come back as soon as I left! One moment of weakness and my life was up in flames. Regretted it for weeks. Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't live, Hermione! Not that you care. It's all about the blame, then, isn't it?"

"Go," she repeated, seething internally as she scowled in his direction. "Go."

But he barely heard her words. The tent flap didn't even have time to hit him in the backside as he stormed out.