Differently
When one Harry James Potter woke up on Saturday morning, mainly due to a large explosion coming from the room next to him, he groaned and rolled over. There was a protesting sound from the bed next to him, and an arm came flying out from under the covers, hitting Harry on the nose.
Harry didn't manage to suppress a rather unmanly squeak at this nose-hitting so early in the morning, and swatted at the arm.
A rather disturbed, 'Oh, Hermione,' came from the occupant of said bed, and Harry decided he didn't want to know. He really didn't. He sat up, avoiding Ron's dangling arm, and quietly got dressed.
It was then he discovered something else that annoyed him; his favourite red jumper was missing. He'd gotten it only last year, from a rather flushed Professor Lupin, who admitted without too many words that this had been one of his father's old jumpers, found in some box or another on the Professor's attic.
Hence, the jumper began on its journey to become Harry's favourite jumper. The journey didn't take very long. In fact, it probably started and ended right at the same moment, when Harry pulled the jumper over his head and realised that it was, strangely enough, exactly his size.
And now his jumper was missing. This simply wouldn't do. He had to have that jumper, and he had to have it now.
However, Ron chose that exact moment to promptly fall out of the bed, and Harry was a bit too distracted by this to think about something such as jumpers, even if it was his favourite one.
The next morning was more or less the same; there was more of the explosions, and less of the nose-hitting, something for which Harry was very grateful. When he got dressed, however, the same problem arose. He couldn't find his jumper.
It was then he started to wonder where exactly he'd put it.
The Jumper Problem, as Harry had came to call it in his mind, continued on for a few days, and Harry was starting to find it more suspicious by the passing day.
He'd already asked Hermione, in charge of doing the laundry, if she'd seen it one day, and she'd blinked at him, and told him, in a tone she usually reserved for Ron, that she couldn't tell the difference between one red jumper and another, so would he kindly just leave?
Then again, Harry reasoned, perhaps he shouldn't have asked her such a thing when she was busy admiring Gilderoy Lockhart's portrait on the cover of his newest hit-novel, Now Who Exactly Am I Again?
Maybe, maybe it was just in the laundry room. Yes. Both Hermione and Harry were staying over for the holidays, so there had to be an awful a lot of laundry. He'd get it back soon.
Problem was, he didn't.
And now it was starting to become annoying.
Harry snuck into the laundry room - which was more of a laundry closet, to be honest - under the stairs, and began to rummage through the huge piles of freshly washed clothes.
The light in the closet clicked on, and Mrs Weasley stumbled in, carrying a laundry basket full of dirty clothes. She said, 'Oh, hello, Harry, dear,' when she saw him, smiling.
'Morning, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said politely, trying to not look too guilty.
Mrs Weasley gave him a smile, and took out her wand, pointing it at the piles on the floor. The piles quivered, and then began to sort themselves by type and by house-occupant.
'Er, I was wondering,' Harry said, tearing his eyes away from one of the piles and looking at Mrs Weasley, 'if you've seen my jumper.'
'What jumper, dear?' said Mrs Weasley, who had aimed her wand at the laundry basket, which promptly started to wash itself in mid-air.
'My red jumper. The one Professor Lupin got me for Christmas.'
'Oh, that one that belonged to your father?'
'Er, yeah,' said Harry, nodding.
'The one with the faint orange stripes up on the right shoulder?'
'Yes, that one,' said Harry, nodding again.
'The one with the hole near the rim?'
'Exactly,' said Harry, relieved.
'No, haven't seen it,' said Mrs Weasley, happily.
Harry groaned.
They had been playing Quidditch for a while now, and Harry had just caught the Snitch - which was, in fact, a small cherry, painted gold and charmed to speed around by the twins. He landed triumphantly, Ron next to him.
Fred landed next, and then, Ginny followed. She gave Harry a wide grin. 'Well done. I only saw it a moment later, but you can't easily beat a Firebolt.'
Fred, George and Ron laughingly made their way inside, patting him on the shoulder. Hermione followed, her nose still buried in the yellow-and-gold book by Lockhart. They were complaining loudly about the lack of food in the garden; Harry had the faint suspicion they wanted to charm Mrs Weasley into making them an evening snack.
Harry, however, wasn't listening. He hadn't been paying too much attention to the other occupants of the house, and it was now, he suddenly noticed, that Ginny was wearing a red jumper, one with faint orange stripes on the right shoulder and a tiny hole near the rim.
His jumper.
'You're – you're wearing my jumper,' Harry said, blinking.
Ginny frowned for a moment, then looked down. 'Oh, right, I am,' she said, with a shrug.
'You're wearing my jumper,' Harry said again.
'Er, thought we'd already established that, Harry.'
'My jumper,' Harry said loudly, a hint of panic seeping into his voice.
Ginny's frown deepened. 'Are you sure you're all right?'
'Why?'
'Why what?'
'Why are you wearing it?'
Ginny flushed slightly, but looked him defiantly in the eye. 'Because it smells like you.'
'Oh,' said Harry softly, inching closer.
'And you do smell rather nice, Harry,' said Ginny, not moving, although Harry saw her eyes flash towards the house in slight panic.
'Do I, now?'
'Yes,' said Ginny, not looking him in the eye. 'Very nice. Like boys and Quidditch and –'
'Ginny,' Harry interrupted.
'Yeah?'
'Shut up.'
'Oh, okay.'
And when he kissed her, he figured he didn't really mind Ginny wearing his favourite jumper.