A/N: In February 2017 I wrote a series of short fics for "OTP's Day" based on a list of non-sexual acts of intimacy. I'm going to be reposting them here now regularly. Please remember to leave a comment if you liked it and to leave quietly if you didn't :)

Prompt: Finding the other wearing their clothes [set in the summer before Goblet of Fire]

Lending

The kitchen at the Burrow could comfortably sit eight people. Nine, if one of them didn't mind being squished against the cupboard. Even though there were, in fact, nine Weasleys, fitting around the worn wooden table had rarely been an issue: by the time Ron and Ginny had been born, Bill and Charlie were only a couple of years short of going off to Hogwarts and, during the holidays, the children were still too small to take up any significant space. Later on, the rest of the Weasley brood spent most of their time at school while the older brothers graduated and moved out, pursuing careers abroad, and when they all managed to get together at their childhood home, they endured the discomfort of a too small table as best as they could (which didn't necessarily mean gracefully).

That summer, both Bill and Charlie had managed to take days off work in time to go to the Quidditch World Cup final and spend some leisure time with their family. Ron was fine with that—he loved both of his older brothers, probably because they had never got under his skin the way the rest of his siblings had—but he had invited his two best friends to stay over for the rest of the holidays as well. Which meant that, once they were all there, they would have to squeeze in if they didn't want to fall out of a window.

His mother had written to Harry's aunt and uncle for permission to pick up their nephew the following day, but Hermione had arrived that afternoon, and the weather was so fine Mrs Weasley had decided they would be eating outside, which had relieved some of Ron's anxiety. This was the first time Hermione visited his house. He didn't want her to feel like he had invited her somewhere she would be uncomfortable. Like Harry had been two summers ago, she didn't seem put off by any aspects of the Burrow, though, but marvelled at being in a fully magical household, and glad to be there.

Ron was glad that she was there, too. Even after the tension that had existed between them during the previous school year, he appreciated Hermione as a friend, and it wasn't because he knew he could count on her (most of the time) to revise his homework. If you asked him, he couldn't say what was it that he liked of being friends with her. They fought a lot, not always over important things. When he told a very obvious (generally bordering on dirty) joke, she wrinkled up her nose. She always nagged him about being tidy with his notes and stop making your writing bigger, Ron, the teachers aren't idiots .

But he reckoned she was also… she didn't always disagree with him. And she could be funny too, in a dry, sarcastic way that Ron shared whenever he wasn't trying to be funny. She kept helping him and Harry, even though she'd said many times that she wouldn't, so she obviously cared about them. He couldn't say why, but Hermione was good company, and he cared about her, too.

And, sometimes, he thought about the way she had hugged him, crying, when she'd told him she was really sorry about Crookshanks eating Scabbers (which hadn't turned out to be true, but they didn't know that at the time).

The only women that had ever hugged him belonged to his extended family, so Ron reckoned that was why he'd found it so—

Disconcerting. Unexpected. Flustering.

That was all it was, and that was why he kept having flashes of that memory that he had to mentally bat away like flies as he listened to Hermione talking about one thing or another, before she realised there was something fundamentally wrong with him.

So, there they were that evening, sitting side by side at one of the tables they had set up in the yard, not so close that their elbows touched while they ate, but close enough that he noticed goosebumps on said elbows as she reached for the salad bowl.

'Hermione, are you cold?' he asked. She looked up, seeming surprised, and ran her hands over her bare arms.

'It's a bit chilly, that's all.'

'D'you want me to fetch you a cloak or something?' he offered, feeling like it was the right thing to do.

'No, it's fine,' Hermione said, giving him a small smile.

Ron nodded and grabbed his fork again, but before he could keep eating, he felt a jab on his ribs.

'What's your problem?' he hissed at Ginny, sitting at his other side. His younger sister was unfazed at his glare.

'Offer her your jacket, you tosser,' she hissed back, looking pointedly at the Muggle garment that Ron had tied around his waist.

Ron scowled at her, then at the jacket, considering it. Hermione said she was fine. Maybe she'd said it so Ron wouldn't have to get up, and she was actually cold, but would she want to wear his baggy, worn-out, probably dirty jacket that he was presently sitting on?

Ginny elbowed him again two more times—she wasn't really going to leave him alone, was she? He untied the jacket from around his waist, shooting daggers at his sister—Hermione would be embarrassed, she would either politely refuse, or she would say yes to avoid being rude, but feeling weird about it—either way, Ron was going to kill Ginny.

He had to tap her shoulder to catch Hermione's attention.

'Er… do you want this?' he asked in a low voice, holding his jacket out for her, but keeping it below tabletop level, almost as if he was offering her a flask of Firewhiskey.

Again, Hermione looked almost startled. He thought she was blushing, too, but he couldn't be sure in the dimming light of the yard.

'That'd be—you're not using it?' Ron shook his head. 'Yes—thank you, Ron,' Hermione said, smiling brightly at him and accepting the jacket.

As she put it on, the long sleeves engulfing her small hands, Ron felt himself turning red in the twilight, and decided that this, too, was disconcerting and flustering, and he would avoid lending her any clothing of his in the future.