Ron sat on his bed, his head ringing, his hands feeling as if there was no possibility of them ever being warm again. He wasn't sure what to do, did he work on past charms assignments? Did he write a letter? Did he read? Definitely Not, he thought to himself.

The air outside was gloomy, the usual snowy blueness of the sky washed out with yesterday's rainfall. His bed creaked under his weight, and his thick sweater felt strange against the pallid air. Harry was in Dumbledore's office. With Draco. What was it about the git?

It was the only thing that he could seem to think of, his face, his eyes, his hands. He had gone daffy, he knew it. It was the only thing that made sense. Yet, Merlin, why couldn't he function. It was like, whenever Draco wasn't around he was the only thing he could think about, nothing else seemed worthy of his attention.

And, honestly, it was becoming a bit of a problem. Ron nudged his pillow, lying his head down against it. It wasn't, and never would be as comfortable as the couch. He stared at the stark ceiling, the little divots and scratches. He thought he could stare at it for the rest of eternity and never grow bored.

That the never-ending plume of internal debate would keep him in stasis forever. It has to stop, he thought to himself. Did it? Did he even want it to, whatever exactly it was? He was dying to ask Hagrid, or Hermione, or his Mom, or literally anyone who had some form of wisdom.

But he feared, if he did, that . . . he didn't know. He didn't know anything.

"Ron!? Where in the hell are you?" Harry screamed, practically throwing the door open.

It smacked against the wall, leaving a small but noticeable welt. Ron jumped off of the bed, his butt hitting the floor (that was the second time today). "Yes . . .? What's wrong?" He asked, too fearful to say anything above three words.

Harry looked flushing, his cheeks red with anger, his brows furrowed, his glasses hanging a little too far down his nose. Ron couldn't quite tell if he was angry or had just run up twenty flights of stairs. "What did he do?" He asked plainly, looking around the room as if it was foreign. "What?

Who?" Ron gulped, he couldn't help but play with the cuffs of his sweater. "You know who," he said, he stature so aggressive that Ron felt like he wasn't actually awake. "You think I'm going to buy that story? That you two miraculously got stuck in the rain and found yourselves back at Hogwarts?

Do you think I'm that stupid?"

"Look, Harry, It's the truth. We captured our creature . . . and, I thought I knew where I was going, but, in hindsight I guess I didn't." Harry looked at him expectantly. He didn't like lying, especially not to Harry, but what was there to do?

"We got completely lost and then got into argument," he took a breath, "it started raining, terribly raining, so we went back to the cave where we got the camazotz and fell asleep there." Ron was surprised that he was able to say those words with such a straight face. "That's it? He didn't threaten you?"

"No, we didn't speak to each other, I refuse to speak civilly to a git like Malfoy.

But, he didn't do anything, not anything out of the ordinary anyway." Harry pondered this, his face clearing a bit. "So then . . . how did you get back?"

"We followed north, like my Mom said,"

"How on earth did you convince him to do that?"

"I-well, I didn't, he just sort of . . . followed me."

"Right . . ." Harry looked twenty times less angry than when he first walked in. Ron took a mental sigh, wondering how he got off so easily. "And what about the letters?" He asked, still standing in front of the door. There it was.

"I- . . . I'm not . . . I don't-"

"What is wrong with you? I'm your best friend Ron, why can't you-"

"They're from Hermione!" He blurted out, immediately regretting his decision. Harry stood there, purely stunned. ". . . what?" Ron had to think, and fast.

"Yeah! I wanted to tell you, so here it is, we've been sending letters to each other, back and forth you know." He said, his voice too quick to be sincere.

"So, what? You two are dating?"

He asked, a not-so-smile creeping onto his lips. "More or less." Ron didn't know what he was saying. "Why didn't you tell me Ron? I mean, I would've told you."

"I- Hermione didn't want anyone to know, not yet. She made me promise not to tell,"

"Not even me!?" Ron wanted to kick himself so badly, or better yet, just stop talking.

"No, please don't tell her you know, I genuinely fear for my life if you do," that wasn't a lie. Harry thought for a moment, his face fully softened.

"You and Hermione? Wow . . . that's just,"

"Odd?"

"Yeah, odd,"

"Tell me about it Mate. But you promise you won't tell her?"

"Yeah, yeah of course, I promise."

"Thank you." With tha Ron sat back on his bed, refusing the urge to puke. Harry paced around, eventually sitting at the desk and taking out a piece of parchment from his bag. "So, what's it like?" Harry asked, his pen scrolling haplessly against the paper, making little etching noises.

"What's what like?" Ron asked, terrified for another barrage of accusatory questions. "Having a girlfriend," he said blankly, devoid of emotion. Bloody hell, Ron thought to himself.

___

Ron was entirely too joyful when he was able to leave his dorm and wander about the halls aimlessly. Dinner had ended, however, he had eaten a VERY heavy lunch, leaving him as stuffed as he had ever felt in his entire life. So, Harry stayed with him in their dorm, thrusting an onslaught of "girlfriend" related questions at him. Honestly, he had no idea what to say. He had never been in a relationship, blimey, he had never even had his first kiss. It was sad, and it wasn't, Ron didn't quite know how to feel about it.

The only thing he did know was that he purely hated when Harry asked him questions about it. It wasn't his fault, he was just curious after all (especially about the Hermione business), but it was absurd. He didn't know what to say, nor how to even act. It felt like with every breath he took he was digging himself deeper and deeper into a chasm of lies and schemes. He felt like Draco. Merlin, how ironic was that?

Ron decided to focus on something else, preferably the encompassing darkness of the halls and the sharp breeze of the wind outside. Ron must have never noticed it before, but it was beautiful. The way the lights cascaded down on smooth pavement, and standings suits of armor, and golden rimmed paintings, and dark cloaked students. Ron must have been admiring the scenery for too long because he stumbled into a random hallway, one that was barren and nearly stripped of like. All at once Ron recognized the main door, it was the room that held the instruments, the music hall or whatever Ms. Pince called it.

The edge was just barely cracked open, allowing Ron to slip slickly inside. "Lumos," he said, the main light flickering on, illuminating the room in a bath of golden glimmer. The piano sat in the middle, beckoning him forwards with the bench pulled out ever so slightly. He was about to sit down when he heard the door unlatching behind him. "What are you doing?"

Draco's voice asked suddenly, walking in and closing the shutting behind him. He was no longer in his robes, but a black, shiny suit. Ron was as confused as anything, who wore a suit before bed? " I . . . I just wandered in here I guess," Ron said, looking about the room awkwardly. They stood there, just looking at each other, all eyes, no words.

The tension was thick, and Ron felt as if it was hanging on his shoulders. Draco tossed out his wand, mumbling some spell all too fast for Ron to understand. The lid to the piano flew open, and suddenly, the keys started playing themselves. The melody was stunning, ringing throughout the room in a way that made Ron's heart flutter. Draco put his wand away and held out his pale hand.

"Dance with me," he said, his voice breathless yet deep. Ron could attach no words to the expression on his face, to the way that his eyes kissed his own. "What? Why?" He asked, feeling like he was caught in a trap that he didn't really want to leave.

Draco walked over, talking his hand up in his own, it was cold yet somehow warm. He leaned his head close to ear, Ron could feel his breath on his neck. "Just do it," he said, pulling away so that he could look into his eyes. "I can't dance," he said, looking down at Draco's fancy leather shoes. "Follow my lead," he said, at that Ron nodded, and together they began to move.

Draco wrapped his arm around Ron's waist and grabbed his opposite hand, leading him about the ground in a series of slow stepping motions. He tripped a few times, over his own feet, over Draco's. But eventually he got the hang of it, and they began moving faster, a true ballroom dance. The music grew louder, so loud that Draco threw out his wand and cast an opening spell so they could move into the hallway. He cast a few more spells and suddenly a wave of blue light was writhing above them, technicolor, whirling neon lights.

The hallway looked like a starry night, a wave of constellations, and they were dancing under it, with the music, with each other. And, Ron suddenly didn't care if he was seen, or heard, or whatever other kind of scrutiny that could have been thrown at him. The only thing he cared about in that moment was the hand settled on his waist, the eyes on his own, the breath on his cheek. Where was he again? What year was it?

Time and space felt like they didn't exist. "Ron!" A voice called, breaking up the music, causing Draco to look distressed. He put his hand on his cheek, soft and cold, everything and nothing. "Don't go," he said, so close that Ron was sure he would never be able to properly function mentally again.

"Ron!" The voice called again, this time louder, almost in his ear. "Ron!" His eyes shot open, his chest convulsing madly. "It's time for breakfast, don't want to be late for Hermione," he said, winking suggestively. Merlin, Ron thought to himself, banging his head against his pillow.