Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor the song I saw mommy Kissing Santa Clause.

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Kissing Santa

by Sirenfox

Ronald Weasley was not a light sleeper. Everyone in Gryffindor Tower was more then aware of just how much the tall redhead enjoyed his sleep. In fact, there was only one thing in the teen's life that took priority over sleeping and that was eating.

It was nigh impossible to wake Ron when there was no promise of crisp bacon or syrupy pancakes waiting for him. Harry and Hermione had long since given up on prying him from his bed without a bribe.

There was, however, one exception to this law of nature. One time during the year that his sleeping habits changed drastically, much to everyone's amusement.

The closer Christmas crept, the lighter the boy slept until the slightest noise would pull him from his dreams. And all in an attempt to catch Santa in the act.

It was a puzzle to all of his friends how he had managed to remain so clueless over the years, until they were reminded by Hermione that it was Ron, and Ron was the epitome of clueless.

So they left him alone in his quest to catch a myth. Ron had learned, over the years, that Santa was next to impossibly to spy, no matter how hard he tried or how light he slept. When he was younger he'd even managed to convince the twins to help him out, but not even Fred and George were wily enough to catch the man. They eventually gave up, but not Ron. No. He was determined to corner the man.

It was on Christmas Eve of his sixth year at Hogwarts that his long years of intensive training finally paid off. He'd been minding his own business enjoying a dream about the finer points of Christmas Dinner, when the sound of soft footsteps on the stone floor of the dorm drew his attention to the waking world.

Normally Ron would have headed home for the Holidays, but for some reason he would never understand Harry had been insistent that he stay at the school this year despite his open invitation to the Burrow. Ron couldn't leave Harry here. All alone. For Christmas.

So he'd stayed.

At school.

On Christmas.

Harry, Ron had decided very early on, was insane. But he was still Ron's best friend, so he would be forgiven.

Lazily, Ron rolled over and stuck his hand out of his bed-hangings to snatch his wand off the nightstand. A whispered charm later and Ron was staring blearily at the brightly glowing numbers cast by his tempus charm.

It took a moment for what he was seeing to sink in, but when it did his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why on earth would someone be heading downstairs at one-thirty in the bloody morning?" He griped to himself as he pushed up into a sitting position.

Drawing the drapes aside Ron glanced at the other beds in the room, momentarily confused by the empty mattresses he could see around him before he remembered… they'd all gone home for the Holidays. Like normal people.

Harry's bed was empty though, so it wasn't hard to figure out which of his one current room mates was out and about.

Harry was taking another late night stroll.

Concerned for his best friend, and what little sanity the boy had left, Ron slid from the warm comfort of his bed to trail after the younger teen.

It was another well known fact in Gryffindor that Harry Potter was a very light sleeper. Between his time with the Dursley's and his nightly visitations with Voldemort it wasn't any wonder that he got very little sleep and spent most of his nights wandering the empty corridors.

If Ron could offer his best friend a little comfort on this late night, then it was the least he could do.

The stairway was dark and cold, and Ron was reminded very suddenly that he wasn't wearing any slippers. He shivered, but decided not to go back, he'd loose Harry's trail if he wasted anymore time.

As he got closer to the common room the stairs were lit with a warm flickering that Ron had long come to associate with fire. Harry must not have left the Tower after all, not that Ron was complaining, at least now he didn't have to search the whole castle for the elusive boy.

Ron paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced around the room for the smaller brunet. He found him standing near the Christmas tree, only he wasn't alone. Another figure was crouched near the fire, and Harry was watching him with a look of pure awe on his face. It was a look Ron had never seen before, but one he completely understood, there was only one person that could be.

The man's hair was longer then Ron expected and shown a bright gold in the flickering glow of the flames. He was dressed in the typical bright red robes with snow white fur trim; crowning his head was a matching wizard hat with a ball of white fluff on the tip. When the man stood, Ron was startled at how tall he was. And wasn't he supposed to be more…round? The man was facing Harry, with his back to the stairs, but Ron would recognize him anywhere.

All those thoughts were brushed aside when Harry sauntered towards the man, a very flirty walk with swaying hips and everything, a walk Ron had no idea Harry knew how to walk and that he never wanted to see again. Harry then looped his arms around the taller figure's neck in a move that spoke of long familiarity.

Only one thought was working it's way through Ron's foggy brain: Harry knew Santa.

Harry was speaking now, though his voice was too low for Ron to pick up. Then he tilted his head back lazily to gaze above himself pointedly. Ron's eyes trailed up and up and up to latch onto the sprig of mistletoe hovering innocently in the air above the strange couple.

Ron's world stopped as he stared at the plant, his brain didn't want to make the connection that it knew was there.

There was no way…

Harry wouldn't…

With Santa?

No.

Santa's head tipped back as well, following the path of Harry's eyes, up and up and up, to take in the little enchanted plant before glancing down at the boy wrapped securely around him. Like a leech.

Ron blanched.

He wouldn't….

Not Santa…

Not with Harry.

No. Just no.

It was wrong, and Harry was straight. Santa was married. Harry was sixteen and Santa was…well, Ron didn't know how old Santa was, but it was a heck of a lot older then 16.

This was so wrong.

And yet, even as he watched, Santa leaned down and closed the distance between their lips.

Ron's world came crashing down around him. Harry wasn't straight; he wouldn't be marrying Ginny because he was already in a relationship with Santa Clause. Did that mean Santa wasn't married? Had he and Mrs. Clause gotten a divorce?

Did this mean Harry would be moving to the North Pole? Was Harry now Mrs. Clause? Could he get Rudolph's autograph for Ron? Could reindeer even do autographs?

In a confused daze Ron stumbled back upstairs to his bed, fervently wishing he'd never gotten out of bed in the first place.

The sound of drunken footsteps stumbling up the stairs broke the kiss apart. Harry pulled away from his boyfriend and glanced at the shadowy doorway to see a brief flash of red hair before his best friend disappeared completely up the stairs.

With a groan Harry laid his head on the red-clad shoulder in front of him, only to feel it vibrate under him as the other boy chuckled. "Oh, shut up you." Harry grumbled, "This isn't funny."

"Sure it is." Draco Malfoy drawled, smirking down at his lover, "This has got to be the best outcome to a lost bet I have ever had to pleasure to endure."

Harry glared up at him, "Yeah, well, you don't have to be the one to convince Ron I'm not dating Santa."

Draco's eyebrow arched, a move that Harry had never been able to replicate on his own, "You mean the Weasel still believes in Santa Clause?" He asked in amused disbelief.

Harry could only nod forlornly; he could foresee much teasing of his best friend by his boyfriend over this little issue in the foreseeable future. But when the blond dipped back in for another kiss it suddenly didn't matter anymore.

He'd deal with Ron later…much later.

Alright, so for any of my old readers, yes this is the same story just revamped. I'm moving it over to Archive so I thought I'd tidy it up a bit...and it did need it.

For all the new readers, I hope you liked it.

Review.