Warm Me Up

Harry was cold. He was always cold now. When it had first started it was mid-March and he didn’t think much of it. Spring hadn’t really started yet and there was still a bit of frost. But then April came, and he was just as cold. By the time May came around he was just plain sick of it.

He tried wearing extra socks but then his shoes wouldn’t fit. And he tried wearing two Weasley sweaters but he’d ended up looking like a lumpy Christmas tree what with one being maroon (“Gryffindor Pride dear”) and the other Green(“To match your eyes dear”). Ron had had a good laugh on his behalf and Hermione had tried to take him shopping.

His next resort was self heating charms. Surely if you could cast one on a room you could cast it on yourself right? His first attempt had resulted in him catching himself on fire. Unfortunately he hadn’t been fast enough at putting it out and he’d had to take a trip to see Pomfrey who hadn’t been too pleased.

“Always getting yourself into trouble aren’t you. Can’t stay out of here for more then two days. Don‘t know what I‘m going to do with you Mr. Potter.”

Eventually he couldn’t take her muttering anymore and had insisted he was fine. Against her protesting he’d run out of there as fast as he could to seek Hermione’s advice on the matter. He’d found her sitting in the library studying with Ron.

“Well of course there is, but we won’t learn any of that until next year. It’s part of Newts you know. Mind you I’ve read all up on the subject but I wouldn’t dare test it out without McGonagall’s permission. Why do you ask?”

And suddenly Harry didn’t want to explain. Couldn’t’ sit tell her how day after day he was always cold. Couldn’t look into Ron’s piercing blue eyes. And he couldn’t stand the weight of his questioning stare. He didn’t know how to tell them that he found himself sneaking outside instead of eating lunch with them just so he could sit in the sun. That he felt weary and tired and no matter how much he tried he couldn’t warm up. That he felt as if he was cold from the inside out. Even his heart felt cold. No, he couldn’t tell them that. So instead he just shrugged and said he’d just been curious. Hermione seemed to accept that and went back to reading her book. Harry then proceeded to stare at the table, and Ron- he continued with what he’d always done best- watching Harry.

After that Harry had pretty much given up hope. Nothing he’d tried could warm him up. Not the Pepper-Up potion from Madame Pomfrey, or the tea Dobby. Not the Chocolate frogs from Ron or the Christmas sweaters from Mrs. Weasley. Even the roaring fire place in the Gryffindor common room wasn’t enough.

Lying in his bed a few nights later, Harry stared mournfully at the top of the canopy willing himself to fall asleep. He was so tired but he was just too cold to fall asleep. He turned onto his side and hugged the covers tighter to his chest. He was cold. Always so bloody cold lately. There was a shuffling on the floor and suddenly Harry’s curtains were slowly pried open.

And then Ron was standing there. With his night shirt only half buttoned up and his chest partially exposed. Dark freckles darted down as far as he could see and there were red pillow marks on his cheek. His hair was completely mussed and his eyes were heavy and relaxed. Harry had never seen him look so adorable.

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. As Ron climbed into Harry’s bed no words were spoken and he couldn’t decide if this made things better or worse. He vaguely registered that Ron was softer then he had imagined and that he smelled like soap and like home. And then Ron was climbing under the covers and nudging Harry over. Wrapping his arms all the way around him and snuggling up close. Within minutes Ron was fast asleep holding Harry tight. Harry’s last thought before drifting off was that for the first time in months he wasn’t cold anymore.