:::Secrets and Schemes:::
The instant the little hand reached the four, Ron's alarm clock went into a tailspin. Groaning grumpily, he felt blindly around for the thing, slamming his hand against the button once his fingers found it, shutting off the shrill, invasive sound. Sniffing, he resituated himself on his pillow, dragging the blankets higher until they were tucked tightly under his chin. He ignored the shuffling sound that came from where Harry's makeshift bed was against the wall, easily beginning to drift back into sleep.
"Get up, Ron…" his friend urged quietly. "It's time to go."
The redhead cracked one baleful eye open, watching resentfully through the darkness as Harry slipped his feet into a pair of heavy snow boots. He closed it again, making a face. "Do we have to?" he whined. "Its so early! Let's just give her the presents when we see her later..."
"This was your idea," Harry reminded his friend pointedly. "What was it you said—if we can't bring Hermione to Christmas, we have to bring Christmas to Hermione." He smiled at the strangled sound that came from across the room. "Yep," he said dryly, "I'm pretty sure that was it."
Ron yanked the blankets all the way over his head. "I said it in theory," his muffled voice came from underneath. "I take it back."
Harry pulled on his overcoat. "Come on. Think how happy it'll make her, having all the usual trimmings. Waking up and finding all her presents under a tree—and being able to eat a slice of pie with breakfast like we do every year. It's tradition, Ron." He slid mittens over his hands. "Think of the smile that will be on her face when she sees it. She'll be so surprised."
Slowly Ron drew the blankets back down, just enough for his blue eyes to peek out. The pointed look on Harry's face—and the thought of Hermione's delighted, unguarded smile—finally forced him to relent. "Fine, fine," he sighed, his shoulders sagging as he brought the covers all the way down. "I'm getting up."
Minutes later, both boys were trudging silently down the stairs in their scarves and hats, the blue-eyed man's gaze grumpy, drowsy; the green-eyed one's dry and dull after spending hours wide awake, without so much as a wink of sleep.
"So what's the game plan?" Ron asked, carefully piling Hermione's gifts up until they were stacked like a precarious Jenga tower in his arms.
Harry was at the corner of the living room, where a miniature evergreen sat with fallen needles at its base. He and Ron had each chipped in for an extra, smaller tree when they'd come up with this little scheme on the Weasleys annual trip to the tree farm. He lifted the thing up over his shoulder, ignoring the gentle poke of green spines against his cheek. "Tree first—" he answered, "then presents—pies in the kitchen. I'll write a quick note, and that'll be it. In and out."
"With the stealth of a shadow…" Ron agreed in a theatrical whisper. His friend raised a brow at the silly attempt at intrigue—causing the redhead's dark-blue eyes to narrow. "Excuse me for trying to make being awake at this ungodly hour a bit more interesting," he declared grudgingly.
"You're excused," Harry said back, only enhancing Ron's grumpy gaze. "Are you ready?" he asked, his skeptical gaze watching the unsteady pile of packages balanced in his friend's uncertain grasp.
Ron swallowed, looking at the tower less than confidently. "Ready."
Harry nodded once, then disapparated, silent, clean—and Ron followed immediately after with a resounding crack. They appeared moments later on the snow-covered sidewalk outside of Hermione's house.
"Damn these boots," Ron swore, feeling ice water seep in through a hole in one of them. He wiggled his toes, now soaked and cold. "They're crap! I should have borrowed Fred's." Heaving a frustrated sigh, he began to step forward towards the snow-dusted steps. "Let's just get this over with…" He pushed his way through the little white gate, edging carefully down the stone path.
