On the list of Ron's quirks that could be equally endearing and infuriating by turns was this: he had a very hazy concept of personal space. Perhaps it came from growing up with lots of love and little privacy, but he could be enormously casual about touching anyone and everyone, particularly when he was happy or drunk (or both.) When the Cannons won a game, he was liable to start issuing bear-hugs to anyone within his considerable reach without warning.
Harry, of course, was the opposite. He never seemed to touch anyone casually, even the people he loved most. A hand on the shoulder was a definite statement; a hug was a novel; and at night, even after a love-making, he usually rolled just out of reach before going to sleep. It wasn't that he didn't want physical contact, more like it never occured to him. He'd never learn to speak the language of touch, and was more inclined to try to stumble though saying something with words than showing it with the subtlety of gesture.
Hermione considered herself a happy medium between the two: she knew just when a squeeze or a pat of a hug was appropriate, and more importantly, she knew when it was not. But that didn't mean she didn't appreciate it--sometimes--when Ron snuck up behind her and draped himself over her shoulders, hands laced together just under her breasts. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Important things," Hermione said, in hopes that if she said it enough she might actually believe it. "Go away."
"Go away? But I just got here."
"Don't look too busy to me."
"I'm at my desk, aren't I?"
Those hands suddenly became a tight grip of arms, and Hermione found herself hoisted out of her chair. "Not now, you aren't!" Ron said triumphantly over her shrieking.
"Ron! Ron, put me down!" Hermione shouted, thrashing about. "Harry, help me!"
Harry poked his head in from the hall. "What the hell?"
"Hermione was ignoring me," Ron said with a pout, but he did allow her feet to rest on the ground again. "I had to do something about it, didn't I?"
"Harry, make him let me go," Hermione said, swatting half-heartedly at Ron's hands. "I have to get my work done."
Harry smiled a bit and crossed the room to tug on Ron's wrist. "Let her finish, mate. She won't be happy until she does."
Ron released is grip on Hermione, but quickly snagged Harry about the middle and pulled him close. Hermione was now sandwiched between her boys. "I've got a better idea," Ron said softly.
"Do you?" Hermione asked.
Harry squirmed, before his hands found a good place to rest on Hermione's hips and his shoulders moved to accomidate her head. "I'm listening."
"It involves all of us, just like this, only with less clothes, and a furry rug."
"Where are you going to find a furry rug at this hour?" Hermione asked.
"I was sort of hoping you'd have an idea."
Harry sighed warmly. "So let's skip the rug and try the bed instead."
"Bed's not furry, though."
"Did you ever pay attention in Transfiguration?"