It's Christmas at Hogwarts, and, as usual, hardly anyone's staying apart from you, Harry and the Weasley's. The Great Hall has been decked out with massive pine trees sprinkled with snow that glisten magically under the light cast by the floating candles. Wreaths and garlands line the walls, tinkling with bells, winking with tinsel, and dotted occasionally with large red berries.
The teachers and you few remaining pupils sit about one table assembled in the middle of the hall, piling your plates high with all the exquisite foods the house-elves have prepared; crisp roast potatoes, dishes of strangely coloured vegetables, juicy beefs and turkeys, vats of thick gravy, and many more mouth-watering platters line the dark wood surface. You sit between Ginny and Fred Weasley, who're bickering over your head about a Wizard Cracker which exploded, set the ends of Ginny's hair on fire, and was put out by a very excitable Fred, who accidentally turned his sisters hair bright purple, along with her eyebrows and lashes. You shovel food happily into your mouth, laughing along with George, pulling more crackers with a couple of jittery first years, and firing Star Bursts at Harry, which hit him and burst into showers of tiny diamonds.
Ron is scowling at his siblings, who continue to fight on either side of you, until he kicks Fred hard under the table, angrily jerking his head at you. You pretend not to notice, dodging a Snap from Harry and sending one right back that bounces off of his glasses lens with a ping! and explodes into a plume of silver stars. Fred shoots Ron an angry scowl, but turns glumly away from Ginny and immediately joins in a conversation between George and some bespectacled sixth year Ravenclaw girl. You watch him a minute before turning back to Ron, who's staring at you intently, and raise an eyebrow, nibbling at a carrot on the end of your fork. He shrugs and clears his throat before becoming extremely interested in his pumpkin juice.
"If we're all quite finished, I suggest the pupils clear off back to their common rooms." McGonagall mutters to Dumbledore, who gulps down some dark blue liquid from his goblet before rising unsteadily.
"Quite right, Minerva. Yes. Students, return to your House commons at once. I shall send house-elves to light the fires, it's rather chilly tonight. Go on, off you run." Immediately, with a sweep of Dumbledore's wrinkled hand, all the chairs at the bottom end of the table scrape back, allowing you all to stand. Everyone says their thanks before rising, and you few pupils turn and make your way from the Hall; Ron and Harry stroll from the room without a backwards glance. They've been doing a lot without you over the holidays, and it's really starting to annoy you.
You scowl at them, and drop back to walk with Fred and George, who're shoving each other about and laughing loudly in the silent corridors. You walk between them, jabbing them both sharply in the ribs; they glance down at you from at least a foot above.
"What's up with Ron? He didn't talk to me at all during dinner. And he looked really annoyed when you and Ginny were arguing." You add to Fred. They shrug simultaneously, and George leans his elbow on your head as you walk along.
"Young love, eh?" He sighs to Fred. They both laugh rambunctiously, and Fred wraps his arm around your throat lightly and rubs his knuckles jokingly against your head, leaving your hair sticking up and messy. You push out from beneath their arms angrily and scowl up at them, trying (and failing) to smooth out your fringe.
"What're you two on about? Ron's my friend... Stop it, honestly." You mumble as they raise their eyebrows at each other, unconvinced, feeling your cheeks burn red. It was no secret that you liked Ron, but he made it pretty clear he didn't like you back by necking on with Lavender Brown at every chance they could get. The twins roll their eyes before stopping, and turn to stand in front of you, so that the three of you form a shivering triangle in the middle of the barren, draughty corridor.
"Come on, (Y/N). You're dim," You smack George's arm then, "-but you're not completely stupid."
"Besides, he does make it fairly obvious, doesn't he?" Fred adds, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling his robes tighter around himself. You stare at them both blankly, before they share another eye roll and both place a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"(Y/N), Ron fancies you. Huh, and we thought he was slow..." They tut, smirking, and turn to head back to Gryffindor tower, exchanging disbelieving headshakes as you stand, bewildered and confused and nervous in the lonely hallway.
You sit curled up in the common room, late after curfew that night, huddled into your Gryffindor jumper with a new Quidditch rule book opened in your lap (you've never played properly, but find it insanely interesting, and would try out for the house team if your parents ever agreed to get you a decent broom). The fire's blazing brightly, decorating the room in a warm glow, and you're slowly nodding off when Harry comes racing through the portrait hole, skidding to a stop when he sees you. He grins broadly, weaves his way through the squishy sofas, and finally plops himself down beside you.
"Hey." He says, pulling the book from your hands and reading the cover, before yawning and tossing it back next to you. You sit up straighter, crossing your arms, and scowl at him; you still haven't forgiven him and Ron for ditching you after dinner earlier.
"You might want to head outside, you know." He sits back, and flings his arms carelessy over the back of the chair. You deepen your frown, and are about to ignore him again when you angrily spit, "What, so you and Ron can hang out without me? Again? Where is he, anyway?" You glance briefly around the room, though you already know Ron isn't here. Harry smirks, standing up again and holding out his hand to you. You hesitate before taking it exasperatedly, and Harry pulls you to your feet, chuckling.
"Shut up. I don't know, maybe you should go and look for him. Outside." He adds, and then you realise what he's hinting at and feel very stupid. You run your fingers through your hair, straightening out your jumper, and look up at Harry expectantly.
"You look fine, now go." His hand finds the small of your back and guides you to the portrait hole, through which you crawl and cast a look back to see Harry grinning broadly once more, giving you an encouraging thumbs up.
The lanterns in the corridors have all been dimmed now, and you struggle to find your way about in the dark; you'd use your wand, but it's been locked in your dorm all day. You stumble blindly through near darkness, occasionally colliding with a solid body, apologising profusely, and then realising you've clashed into not a person, but a suit of armour.
"Ron?" You turn left, entering another hallway, and begin to feel your way down it when suddenly you're being pulled down a narrow passage by a pair of strong arms. You let out a painfully loud cry as you're startled, but your mouth is quickly stifled by a large hand. Suddenly, from the very spot in the hall where you'd just been stumbling about, Filch hobbles into sight carrying a rusting lantern, closely followed by Mrs Norris. He glares into the darkness, and watches his red-eyed feline sniff suspiciously down the hall; at one point, she comes dangerously close to your hiding spot, but Filch quickly beckons her away and slumps off down an opposite corridor. You breath out a sigh of relief at having made such a narrow escape, and jump again when you hear another sigh from close behind you. You spin sharply on your heel and leap a cautious step back.
"Oh, calm down, (Y/N), it's me." Ron whispers into the darkness before illuminating his wand and lighting up both of your faces. You reach over and smack him on the arm, hard.
"What the hell are you doing?" You hiss, and he frowns back.
"I could ask you the same! I only asked Harry to tell you to meet me outside the common room, I didn't know you fancied a midnight stroll about the whole bloody school." He spits back, shining his wand closer to the walls and into the faces of scowling portraits, now all annoyed at having been woken. Suddenly the memory of what Fred and George had told you earlier floods back, and you immediately feel awkward for standing so close to Ron, knowing either he fancies you, or he knows that you fancy him. Your face darkens, but instead of showing your embarrassment, you sigh angrily and cross your arms instead.
"So, what did you want, anyway?" You whisper, glancing unimpressed down the dusty corridor, knowing full well that you've never been in this part of the castle before, aswell as knowing that you shouldn't be here now. Ron ignores you, continues to inspect the hallway closely, then grabs you by the arm and pulls you roughly down a further maze of passages.
After walking for 10 more minutes in painful silence, you groan and yank your arm away from Ron. He glances distractedly back over his shoulder at you, still examining the walls.
"Where are we going? If you're planning on dragging me down every corridor you can find all night, I think I'll pass." You hastily dust off a cobweb which has made a home in your hair, hoping he hasn't noticed.
"It's hard to navigate in the dark, you know. And if you hadn't wandered off, we would be there by now." Ron mumbles, brushing dust off a painting of an overgrown marsh, where a horse canters about lazily. He traipses off down the hall again, and you follow closely.
"If you're suggesting that the reason we are going in circles around the school is my fault, the-" You're cut off by Ron jumping back excitedly as he clearly finds what he's looking for. He turns to the wall and mutters something against it, before the grey stone bricks begin to glitter and shine like the glassy surface of water. You frown, and are about to ask what he's doing, before he steps straight through the stone blocks and out of sight. Suddenly, the hall is plunged into darkness again as the light of Ron's wand disappears with him, and you hastily gravitate towards the strange glow given off by the wall portal. You stand, bewildered, studying the glistening bricks from a safe distance, when Ron's hand reappears, grabs the front of your jumper, and yanks you through after him.
After having shaken off the cold, silky feeling of the portal, you realise you've appeared suddenly in a pitch black room. The air tastes musty, and is thick with dust. Ron's light is off now, and when he turns it back on, his face is illuminated centimetres from your own, and you both spring apart jumpily; you rub your eyes in mock-tiredness and hope he doesn't see the violent blush pinching at your cheeks. You lower your hands, and catch him looking at you self-consciously with one hand scratching the back of his neck.
"Maybe this wasn't the best idea..." He says abruptly into the near darkness. You scowl up at him and cross your arms.
"I didn't go strolling around the freezing castle on Christmas, risking expulsion, for you to decide that 'this wasn't the best idea.'" You return, and he immediately grabs your hand, which even he looks slightly surprised at.
"Look, this was my stupid plan, but Harry helped. Don't say you can't accept this or whatever because I- uh, we worked really hard on it, (Y/N), just for you. And if you don't like it, then... Well, let's just hope you do." He mumbles this last part embarrassedly, though you've hardly been paying attention; his fingers have somehow intertwined their way with yours, and his thumb's rubbing against yours nervously. He clears his throat over your thoughts of how small your hand looks in his, and you jerk your head up sharply. Your confused face blooms a small smile on his.
"Merry Christmas." He whispers, flicking flames out of the end of his wand and lighting a dusty stone fireplace set into the wall. You gasp at the breathtaking sight in front of you.
You're stood in a small, circular room, no doubt in one of the castles many towers. The walls are draped in dull, heavy-looking tapestries, upon which knights canter about on horses in some strenuous battle which they've clearly given up fighting. There're shelves lining the walls, upon which sit grimy artefacts of such apparent little significance that they look as though they've been untouched for centuries. A great grandfather clock stands against one wall, decorated with intricately carved stags and fawns, and partially concealed beneath another mauve tapestry. The floor's clothed in a thick, stained rug, which is worn and tattered around the edges, but cozy looking all the same. And floating above this rug, suspended in mid-air at eye level as though on invisible wires, hovers a shiny, gold-plated broomstick.
You take a disbelieving step towards it, reaching a tentative hand out and stroking the slick, mahogany handle. You run your fingers down it's varnished surface, stopping at the tail. The broom ends in a thick bundle of perfectly preened sticks, which are held in place by two thick, gold bands which shine in the firelight.
"It's nothing special. Harry's old Nimbus 2000. After he got his Firebolt, the Nimbus was just sitting there. So I thought that maybe you'd like it." You run your forefinger across the plaque engraved with the model, and it comes away spotless; the broom seems to be the only thing in the room which hasn't gathered dust, as it continues to levitate spotlessly below your touch.
"We brought some stuff to repair it in Hogsmeade, and we've spent pretty much all our time fixing it up, which is why we've been kind of ditching you recently. Sorry about that, by the way." He adds with a smirk, which fills your stomach with jittery butterflies. His hands are stuffed nervously in his pockets, and he's looking at you expectantly, though you leave your face expressionless. This is mine. This is mine, and it's from Ron. Clueless, uninterested Ron... After you remain silent, he clears his throat and continues.
"I know how much you like Quidditch, and now you can finally play! Um, if you want, that is. It's not the fastest anymore obviously, but it's still pretty good. If you don't want to use it then I'll understand. It might not even work properly. Harry pretended to know what he was doing, but I don't think he had much clue..." He rambles, scuffing his shoe against the floor awkwardly. How could he think this wasn't enough? This was more than enough, more than you'd ever think to ask anyone for. You turn to face him as he continues, with sweating palms.
"I'd've got you a new one if I had the money, but this was the next best thing... Well, say something. Even if it's that you don't like it, it's okay, I-" And with some strange burst of courage, some random swell of unexpected bravery, you duck swiftly beneath the broom, cross the small room in two strides, grab the front of Ron's maroon jumper, and crash your lips against his.
For one awful moment, you think he's not going to kiss you back, that Fred and George have got it all wrong, that Ron doesn't fancy you back and you've made a complete fool of yourself. But then he brings both his hands up to cup your face, bending down further to get a better angle with his mouth still on yours. You stumble closer to him, until your bodies are as tight together as they can be beneath your thick Winter layers, and your arms wrap up over his shoulders, fingers tangling into the red hair at the nape of his neck. He suddenly bites your lip gently, and you wonder where he's learnt how to kiss like this when you remember his frequent displays of affection with Lavender, but all thoughts of her are immediately replaced by the astonishing fact that you are making out with Ron Weasley. He trails one hand down to your lower back and manages to pull you even closer. You tug on his hair roughly, and he presses his lips harder against yours, a small, stifled groan escaping from the back of his throat. He brushes loose hair from your forehead, and turns his head again when suddenly the grandfather clock hidden beneath the heavy tapestries chimes midnight, causing the two of you to spring apart violently.
You flush, and turn briskly back around to look again at the broom. You both observe it in silence for a moment, before Ron says quietly from behind you, "So...you like it, then?" You brush your fingers over the perfectly preened bundle of sticks again, before letting them drop.
"I love it." You whisper, turning to face him again. His hair's mussed up, and the bags under his eyes give you some idea as to how much time he and Harry have spent working on this, just for you. But a happy smirk pricks up the ends of his mouth all the same, as he reaches out and laces his fingers lazily through yours, drawing you nearer. You look down, and trace the bright yellow 'R' on his jumper with slightly shaking hands to hide your own too-wide smile. He tilts your chin up gently, and brushes his thumb along your lower lip affectionately.
"Merry Christmas, (Y/N)."