Hermione had her face buried in Ron's stinky shirtfront.
He hadn't changed that shirt in weeks.
He reeked.
They were standing back from the doorway because of the powerful stench emanating from his tiny room, and yet there she was, in her crisp blue pyjamas burying her nose in his ungodly B.O.
He was stroking her hair.
Which was like, an actual reaction.
Over the past month and a bit, he really hadn't done that. Just… no response. George had pelted him with sweets a la Peeves and he hadn't done anything. Hadn't even eaten the sweets. They'd melted into the carpet.
It was like… he'd been fine.
Like really fine.
For months.
Everyone else was a mess.
But Ron was fine.
And Hermione was fine.
And they were really bloody helpful and really bloody supportive, and then, when everyone else was sort of more or less fine, they both just went weird.
But not… not in a normal way.
For example, Ron wasn't eating or sleeping or flying. Or washing. Or complaining. Or anything.
And now that her parents were back and settled, with their memories restored and their daughter restored… well, Hermione had stopped reading. She mostly slept. And wept. And showered. Several times a day. And watched soap operas on television and refused to leave the house.
Harry and Ginny had been discussing Hermione when the car pulled up, because they'd realised that although they'd spoken to her on Mr Weasley's new phone, they actually hadn't set eyes on her in over a month.
"I just want to spend some time with my parents," she'd said, and they'd believed her, at first.
But it was the Grangers' car, and they never really visited.
So Harry and Ginny had raced downstairs, collecting Weasleys as they went, and out to the front gate where Mr Granger was looking up and down the lane and scratching his head, and Mrs Granger was saying she was sure it was here somewhere, and trying to persuade Hermione to get out of the car.
And Mr Weasley was apologising for the disillusionment charm, and slightly fawning all over them, not on purpose, just because muggles always got him a little over excited. The Grangers, it seemed, were prepared for this, and Mr Granger fetched from the boot a plastic tub full of appliances, while Mrs Granger apologised to Mrs Weasley for turning up with no warning, because really they were very worried and wanted to ask if it was some kind of magical flu.
And everyone hugged Hermione, and she smiled weakly, and said it was nice to see everyone, but she really just needed a nap.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she sniffed, but it was almost like she was so used to her eyes leaking that she didn't notice it much anymore.
Harry was very unnerved.
Ginny pulled strange and expressive faces at him, and as everyone trooped back inside, she leaned up against him and whispered in his ear that they should take her to see Ron.
But when they got inside, Hermione had sat down on the sofa and closed her eyes. And Percy, coming down from upstairs, caught sight of her, and went and fetched a book, a very particular book, a book she'd said, months ago, that she badly wanted to read, but couldn't find…
Well, she said thank you very sweetly and put it down of the coffee table and closed her eyes again, saying she'd look at it later.
Harry felt quite bad for Percy.
He looked like he'd been punched in the gut.
Hermione had been very kind to him in the weeks after the battle. She'd given him books to take his mind off it.
And Harry knew that hunting down this unusual volume was Percy's very stiff and awkward way of trying to say thank you.
Bad.
Harry and Ginny, feeling very confused and muddled, had scooped her up off the sofa, one arm each, and marched her upstairs to Ron's stinky room, while the parents discussed and debated, and Percy tried not to look hurt.
Their plan hadn't been very well thought through, and as they'd reached the doorway to Ron's Palace of Smells, Harry realised that they'd both sort of assumed that putting them together might help somehow.
But to start with she just stood in the doorway yawning, and Ron was just sitting on debris on his chest of drawers, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, surrounded by dirty clothes, and plates of mostly uneaten food from days gone by. The window was closed, and the hot sun streamed in and everything seemed to be visibly pungent.
And Ginny, like an idiot, started talking in that special voice you might use to coax a particularly stupid pet towards their dinner bowl.
"Look, Hermione, it's Ron. You remember, Ron, don't you? Ron, Hermione's come to visit you, isn't that nice?"
Hermione cast her a look that plainly said that she was far too tired to deal with Ginny's apparent insanity, walked over to Ron, stepped between his lanky legs and wrapped her arms around his middle.
Harry was still dumbfounded by how close her nose was to Ron's armpit. Personally, he was breathing through his mouth to avoid the stench.
And Ron, the Stinklord Almighty (only one of the many new titles bestowed on him by George), was stroking her hair, his other big freckly hand splayed gentle and white against the back of her pyjama top.
"You smell nice," his voice was scratchy and dead.
"You smell awful," she was sniffing again, and wiping away tears.
"I know," He kept stroking her hair, and she leaned into him, rubbing her face against his chest.
"Should we leave?" Ginny whispered in Harry's ear.
"Dunno… they seem… I dunno…"
Harry felt a tangle of emotion at the sight of them there, still and strange, hugging, like… well. Not like friends. But not like lovers either. This seemed to be something more specific and serious and sad.
He felt a pang of something akin to guilt. Not quite guilt. Something that was to do with feeling like he'd been a selfish beast for not… not what? With Ron refusing help, generally unresponsive, and occasionally… not aggressive exactly, but there was no way in hell you could get a six-foot something wizard to take a shower if he didn't want to… and then Hermione, sweet but non-committal, constantly saying she'd come for lunch next time, or fobbing him off with something that sounded so goddamn reasonable but meant that he felt like he really shouldn't pop round and intrude on her life…
It was a feeling of… being stuck. The uncertainty of trying to do the right thing by people, and falling short, but also knowing, deep down, that whatever the problem was, it just wasn't one you could solve.
So a nearly-guilt, yes, but also a feeling that it wasn't his fault that he couldn't fix it, and that perhaps he could've tried harder, but he hadn't because he knew.
Not his to fix.
He felt…
Like maybe that was a good thing.
I'm not the chosen one…
"I choose you," Ginny murmured, cuddling up to his side.
"I'm really regretting teaching you Legilimency, Gin, stop reading my mind,"
She kissed his cheek and whispered.
"I didn't mean to, but that was so loud. You're special to me, Harry, and I'm fantastic, so I think that's better than being the boy who lived…"
Well, duh, that is what I was thinking.
She laughed in surprise, and kissed him again, and he grinned, and put up the mental blocks he'd been getting lazy with lately.
In the Stinkhole, Ron and Hermione hadn't moved, still holding each other in that sombre way, but Harry could see the heat was starting to make Hermione sweat as well, damp patches starting to appear on the crisp fabric, her hairline darkening, Ron's hand wiping the sweat away from her forehead, lifting her hair, automatically soothing and smoothing…
"I should have a shower," Almost… rueful? Was that actual expression in his voice?
"Yes,"
And they were moving now, Ron shambling after Hermione in the direction of the bathroom.
Harry and Ginny pressed themselves against the wall, the little waft of freshly laundered linen and shampoo immediately swamped by the Stench King's overwhelming odour as they passed.
Harry and Ginny exchanged looks.
"He's out of the bedroom," Ginny whispered, "Harry, we can clean!"
Harry grinned.
"Never see you excited about cleaning before,"
"Shut up, and go get mum, I'm gonna make a start," She had her wand out already, pushing up her sleeves, "And ask her what she used when the twins were making stink bombs, because I really don't think scourgify is going to cut it,"
Harry raced downstairs with the tidings of great joy: The Nosekiller is taking a Shower.
Thus began the cleaning frenzy.
Everyone helped.
The window was busted open (took three of them to get the sticking charm off), the filth was banished, and Ginny was scourgifying everything in sight. Harry rescued Ron's most prized possessions so they wouldn't be destroyed in the flurry of spells and charms and banishments, and Mrs Weasley was a whirlwind of magic Harry didn't recognise. Percy was wearing gloves, and sorting quidditch mags and comic books into piles, and George was treating the bed as though it was plague infested, and consulting Gilderoy Lockhart's Household Hints for the treatment of Infected Linens and Cursed Mattresses.
Mr Weasley failed to keep the Grangers downstairs, so they stood in the doorway and stared.
"…so you see we're worried too…" Mr Weasley was saying, as dirty clothes swept down the hall like hoards of demons desperate to reach the laundry.
"It's grief then, you think? Only, she's not even reading and she's never done that before,"
"Perhaps it's similar: Ron's not eating, and he's-"
"So tall!" exclaimed Mrs Granger, "She's not really eating much either. She said the past year was particularly hard for him because he needs so much food to function,"
"Maybe that's why he's been holed up in here, then," said Ginny, levitating a sort of squirrel-king assemblage of socks; they were all gummed together in a many-footed heap.
"Do you think the smell is an expression of his inner pain?" Asked Percy, charming the spine back on to a beaten textbook.
"Where's Hermione?" asked George, "She in the shower with him?"
"I neither know nor care," said Mrs Weasley bluntly, "Provided he actually has a shower,"
"We're a bit worried about showers," put in Mrs Granger, "Hermione has been having about four or five a day,"
"This would only be shower two for today," said Mr Granger, "And she'd be doing that at home anyway,"
"True, I just wish we'd brought her some clothes,"
"She can borrow some of mine," said Ginny, dashing past, "More pyjamas?"
"Well actually… we'd really like to encourage her to stay awake for more than a few hours…"
"Sorted," the flash of orange as she vanished up to her attic room.
"Quickly!" Mrs Weasley was saying, "George, dear, no-one in this house has had mage's typhoid, you can probably skip that one-"
"Not worth the risk!" George declared, "When I'm done with this mattress, it's going to be so far from filthy it'll cure disease,"
"Do you think it would be pushing it if we made them some sandwiches?" Harry asked, "I mean… if he's having a shower, maybe he'll eat something too…"
"Good idea,"
"Wonderful, something we can help with! Unless…?"
"No, no, you can definitely help with sandwiches," said Mrs Weasley, "Arthur?"
Mr Weasley took the Grangers downstairs to make lunch, and Harry thought that of all things, Molly Weasley surrendering her kitchen was the thing that made it seem most like an emergency.
It was a fascinating morning.
Turned out you could curse a place not to stink. Mrs Weasley looked unapologetic about it, and said it couldn't be called a Dark Art when no-one got hurt and the result was so good.
When they'd finished, the room smelt faintly of soap.
The bed was made.
The pillows plumped and fresh.
The chest of drawers empty, drawers closed.
Ron's belongings were clean and neatly stacked.
The carpet was restored to its original lurid orange.
The posters on the walls were all mended, straightened and stuck down properly.
A gentle breeze wafted fresh garden scents, mild floral, herbal smells in through the window, which was now smudge and cobweb free.
Two piles of clothing sat on the bed: a pair of Percy's pyjamas, lengthened to what they all decided would probably fit Ron (sans underwear, as they'd all agreed his needed to be destroyed, and no-one felt inclined to lend), and Ginny's selection of clothing for Hermione. She'd opted for leggings, a stretchy comfort bra and a soft t-shirt dress with the Holyhead Harpies logo emblazoned on the back.
"I figured she probably wouldn't wear anything that was, like, too much like clothes," Ginny explained, "She'd probably just put her pjs back on. This is daywear, but super comfy so if she does fall asleep it's ok,"
"Thank you," said Mr Granger, placing a tray of food down on the now gleaming surface of the chest of drawers, Mrs Granger following with a tray of drinks.
"George!" Mrs Weasley batted his hand away from the finger sandwiches.
"There's more downstairs," Mr Granger chuckled, "I like the cheese and pickle too,"
They left the door open, invitingly, they hoped, and went down to the kitchen.
Harry couldn't say why everyone felt that they needed to be conspicuously absent when Ron and Hermione got out of the shower; no-one had said anything about it, it just felt like they shouldn't be there.
Pretend that the room had cleaned itself, and produced a small feast of sandwiches and crudités, complete with iced water, orange juice, a pot of tea, and some chocolate chip biscuits for afters.
Mrs Weasley was complimenting the Grangers on their instant feast, and inviting them to stay for dinner. She seemed very impressed that they'd managed to prepare such quantities of food with only Arthur to help magically.
Arthur explained that everything had been done the muggle way, and very exciting it was too.
The Grangers, discovering he kept a portable generator in the shed, had encouraged him to pull it out and have some fun. They'd plugged in the blender and the toasted sandwich maker, and the beaters, whipped out a bundle of smaller devices and thoroughly enjoyed showing him how to use them all.
"That's why there are so many salads," Mr Granger said, "We all like the slicer,"
"It's got a giant blade that spins around very fast!"
"Quite a lot of them do that, really," said Mrs Granger.
"And the magic didn't interfere?" asked George, interested.
Mr Weasley went pink.
"It's my new invention," he said, "Makes muggle appliances magic proof! Might make my job redundant though…"
The conversation shifted on, George drawn in to an inventing discussion with his dad, the mothers swapping stories of the various symptoms of Ron and Hermione, and Harry, Ginny, and Percy just ate, and chatted about quidditch and the book Percy had found for Hermione.
"Why don't you give it to her parents?" Ginny suggested, "I know she's desperate to read it. Or, she was before she got into this funk. She'll love it when she's feeling better,"
"Are you sure? She didn't seem that interested…"
"She put her nose in Ron's armpit, Perce, I don't think she's in her right mind at the moment. She'll come good,"
"It's that one on Medieval transfiguration she kept going on about, isn't it?" Harry asked, not really that interested, but trying to be encouraging. It was an unspoken rule that you had to include Percy. It was almost as though they'd all decided that they hadn't made enough collective effort to make him feel involved before. So now, small talk.
"Yes, it's…" Percy flicked his wand and the book came whizzing in from the living room, "This one. About the development of Animagi transformation in Europe. Hermione thinks that part of the process may be just superstitious ritual, because obviously they do it very differently in Africa and Japan, and she said her interest was just academic, but… are you lot planning on becoming unregistered Animagi?"
"No," said Harry, flipping through the pages of grotesque diagrams and thinking that the word 'planning' was far too strong for his vague intention to find out what he'd be.
"Oh," Percy sounded disappointed, "Pity. That would've been fun,"
"What's this?" demanded George, "What does Percy think would be fun?"
"Becoming an illegal Animagus," said Ginny smugly, as Percy coloured up.
"Percy, my man," said George, clapping him on the back, "Are you sure you want to start your life of crime with something so major? What about-"
"Imperiousing ministry officials?" suggested Percy quietly.
"Oh yeah," said George, "Forgot about that. You know that's quite impressive,"
"I didn't have that many options," Percy mumbled, "It's not like- ouch!"
The book flew out of Harry's hands, clocked Percy in the side of the head and whisked itself out of the room.
All conversation halted, and everyone exchanged looks.
Harry leapt up and ran after it.
He could hear it ahead of him, bouncing off the walls as it made its way upstairs.
It had to be Hermione.
It just had to be.
It couldn't be some kind of threat. Surely. Percy wouldn't be that stupid. He would've checked. He was even more finicky about security than he'd ever been.
It had to be her. Just a casual accio. Surely.
He skidded to a stop outside the open doorway of Ron's bedroom, and plunged inside.
"Shhhh, Harry, he's sleeping," Hermione looked mildly annoyed, "Honestly, you're like a herd of hippogriffs,"
She was wearing the outfit Ginny had chosen for her, and her unruly hair was neatly braided over one shoulder. She was sitting on Ron's bed, leaning back on a mountain of enlarged pillows, and she looked wide awake and normal. She had the rare book in one hand, and the other arm was hugging Ron's head to her chest, fingers stroking through his hair. It was so clean it looked fluffy.
Ron was half-lying on top of her in Percy's tidy pyjamas, one giant arm tucked around her, and a leg over one of hers. He was gently snoring into her cleavage.
It was strange to see him and only smell soap.
"Just… making sure that book wasn't… possessed… or something," Harry explained.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.
"I hardly think Percy is likely to give me a dangerous book," she said, "He's still a bit paranoid,"
Harry tried not to stare as Ron nuzzled Hermione's bosom in his sleep.
"He's sleeping," he said redundantly.
"Yes. And as you can see, I'm a bit stuck," she said.
More people arrived in the doorway. Ginny, Percy, George. The parents all straggled behind.
"Oh, do go away," said Hermione, "I just wanted something to read, because I can't move. Look, I'll send a patronus next time. Accio just seemed easier, but if you're all going to make a fuss-"
"She's not crying!" exclaimed Mr Granger, "Hermione, love, are you going to read that book?"
"That is, traditionally, what you do with books," said Hermione dryly. She caught sight of Percy, "This is an incredible find, Percy, thank you. Where did you get it?"
"Rare book dealer," said Percy, looking relieved, "Asked her to keep an eye out for me,"
"Well, it's wonderful-"
"What happened in that shower?!" demanded Ginny.
Hermione frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Everyone exchanged looks.
"Well…" said Harry, taking the plunge, "You were both kind of… weird before…"
Hermione blinked at him.
"Hermione, sweetheart, are you sure you don't want a nap?" Mrs Granger asked cautiously.
"No," said Hermione, sounding surprised, "I've only just had lunch. Which was lovely, by the way, thank you. Ron's only napping because he hasn't been sleeping well,"
"Ron hasn't been sleeping at all," corrected Ginny, "Did he eat lunch too?"
"Well, I could hardly have eaten all that by myself, could I?"
Everyone looked at the trays on the chest of drawers. All that remained of the mountain of food was breadcrumbs, a wilted lettuce leaf, a smear of mustard, and a few stray sprouts. The orange juice was gone, and only an inch was left of the water in the jug.
"I'd quite like another cup of tea, if someone's free," Hermione said, "I'd get it myself only…"
"Coming right up, my love," said Mrs Weasley bustling through and foisting the empty trays onto George and Percy, "We'll leave you to it. You just let us know if you need anything," She started shooing everyone out of the room.
Baffling.
Harry couldn't help staring.
And perhaps he would never know what had happened in the shower. He didn't want to know, precisely, it wasn't that, it was just…
Ginny slipped her hand into his, and gave his fingers a squeeze.
It felt like the beginning somehow.
The beginning of all sorts of little mysteries.
It was a little bit bittersweet, in a way, he supposed, but on the whole…
Ron whimpered in his sleep, a little panicked, scared noise, his fingertips twitching, and Hermione put down the book, stroking his hair with both hands and murmuring reassurances into the top of his head. He mumbled something as a question, her name, Harry thought, from the way she smiled and said she was right here.
So it was the beginning, maybe.
The start of feeling a little on the outside, a little left out… it would be ok.
He'd always known it was coming.
That one day…
Ginny quirked an eyebrow at him.
He put his arm around her and kissed her temple.
"We'll let you get back to your book, hey Hermione? Sing out if you need us,"
She looked back up at them.
"Well, actually," she said, "Do you want to stay and catch me up on things? I'm not going to be able to focus if he's having nightmares, and he did say they tend to come in waves,"
"Really? He said that? Because he-" Ginny cut herself off midsentence, "You know what? I'll bring the tea up. You guys talk," and she dashed off after the rest of her family.
So it would be different.
But…
Maybe not so different.
Harry perched on the chest of drawers.
"So Percy thinks you're planning to become an unregistered Animagus," he said.
Hermione's lips twitched.
"Well… I mean… the Marauders did it. I think we could manage it…"
Harry grinned.
Maybe not so different at all…