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It's cold on the roof. Ron shivers slightly but refuses to go back inside the house, refuses to get caught up in the raucous noise that is Christmas in the Weasley household. He can hear the voices as they blend and drift apart. He knows them in his heart, even those who are not family. It's peaceful, a kind of serenity that shouldn't be allowed while war rages all around them. But there's Fred and George laughing with Luna, probably cornering her and getting as good as they give. And Neville's Gran's voice mixes with Ron's parents' from in the kitchen. Others laugh and drink and there's a light sense of relief as he hears Harry, though he blocks the noise out as he realizes he's talking to Ginny. It's private, but more than that, Ron doesn't want to have to kick his best friend's arse for saying something suggestive to his sister. "What're you doing out here, Ron?" He looks over his shoulder and watches Hermione pick her way carefully over the broken shingles and burned spots where war and the twins' experiments have taken their toll. "Looking at the stars." She looks up as he does, her gaze caught by Sirius as well, glowing brightly. "You think it gives Harry any peace?" "No." Ron sighs as she sits next to him, pulling the skirt of her dress down over her legs. "You should go inside, Hermione. You'll catch your death out here." "Death is just as likely to find me inside, Ron." Her voice is wistful and sad, which surprises him, though he knows it shouldn't. They've taken to telling each other their fears, giving them voice as they keep them from Harry. "Besides, I at least had the sense to put on a coat." She reaches over and tugs at the sleeve of his sweater, pulling it down around his wrist. "Mum seems to not have noticed I grew another couple of inches." He pulled the other sleeve down, grinning ruefully as they slid back up his arms. "Yours looks lovely, by the way." It was her first sweater and she wore it over her velvet dress. The fabric glowed dully in the moonlight, liquid swirling around her legs until it brushed against the shore of her sweater and jacket. "It's my favorite color." He looked at it and blushed, realizing it was the same color as the shock of his hair. "It looks good on you." Hermione smiled at the night and leaned against his shoulder, snuggling closer as he moved on instinct, slipping his arm around her shoulders. He closed his eyes and held his breath, trying to remember how to breathe at all as her hand settled on his thigh. He laid his head against hers. "Happy Christmas, Hermione." She turned her face against his chest, her words warm against him. "May God bless us, every one."
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