Ron was not having a good birthday. March was a pretty awful month for a birthday, what with the weather not being able to decide what animal it wanted to be, Christmas a distant memory and summer holidays still months away, and -- of course -- Quidditch matches when it was windy and cold and raining and...

When they were losing to Ravenclaw 170-40.

Zoom. Clang!

Make that 180-40.

Damn. Ron hung his head as he retrieved the Quaffle, tossing it to Ginny who easily caught it before racing downfield. Glancing up, he saw Harry shoot him a sympathetic look and wipe the excess water from his glasses before racing around the pitch again. Ron knew he should be paying attention, but he always fell into spectator mode when Harry was flying like this. He'd spent four years being Harry's biggest cheerleader, after all, and Harry had few opportunities to look so free; it was only natural that he watched even when he was supposed to be paying attention to the Quaf--

Ron dove suddenly, arm outstretched, and just barely managed to defend the goal, cursing because he hadn't been paying attention to the game. Gryffindor was down, but not out, and winning this meant staying in the running for the Cup. So, as difficult as it was, Ron had to stop watching Harry.

Harry flew by the goal posts again, flashing Ron a brilliant smile and a thumbs-up before flattening himself on his broom and pushing his Firebolt into a dive. Ron even caught the flash of gold before the blue blur of Cho Chang rushed by him. Harry's hand was outstretched -- the Quaffle was heading toward Ron's head -- a Bludger knocked Cho from her broom -- both of Ron's arms closed around the red ball -- Harry made a fist, then opened his palm, revealing fluttering gold wings.

190-180, Gryffindor.

His face a mixture of disbelief and amazement, Ron looked down at the Quaffle still tightly clutched to his chest, then at Harry, who was grinning and holding the Snitch high above his head. Swearing and hollering so loud that two of the Ravenclaw Chasers shot him dirty looks, Ron took off on his broom, bolting straight to Harry, with the rest of the team close behind.

"We won!" shouted Harry unnecessarily.

"Hell yeah, we did!" Ron shouted back, vaulting from his broom to Harry's, facing him. His Cleansweep fell back to Earth, forgotten. Ron was so excited that he didn't even register the surprise on his friend's face when he leaned forward to tightly wrap his arms around Harry, especially because five other laughing and whooping bodies soon pressed in on them from all sides.

As the rest of the team moved so they could all breathe properly, Ron pulled away, still giddy, just as Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ron's. Despite the rain and the cold, Harry's mouth still felt warm against his, but before he fully understood what was happening, Harry abruptly jerked his head back, blinking as though he could hardly believe what he'd done.

"Er," said Harry, awkwardly running one hand through his damp hair as he guided them both back to muddy ground. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," Ron said, touching his lips, just as the whole of Gryffindor tackled. Maybe the day was looking up.