Scent of a Woman
by She's a Star
Disclaimer: Still JKR's. Fancy that!
Author's Note: I wrote this for hp500, too, and am continuing with the uploading. This is set post-HBP at The Burrow.
"Harry?" Ron asks on a rather lazy Sunday afternoon as he puts his socks away (as per Mrs. Weasley's request). "D'you ever notice – uhh—"
"Yeah?" Harry prompts, and hides a smile. Ron's ears are turning red, and the look on his face is one inspired only by one particular subject.
"What I mean is, d'you ever . . ." he practically dives into his sock drawer as the next two words spill out of his mouth, ". . . smell Hermione?"
Harry blinks. "Smell her?"
"Well, yeah," Ron stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets with perhaps a bit more vigour than necessary. Harry suspects this is supposed to make him look casual. "You know."
"Not really," Harry says blankly, working his hardest not to grin. "Why – do you?"
"'Course not," Ron mutters, and scowls as he returns to his socks. "That'd be mental."
"Okay."
Ron relaxes a bit as he throws the last pair of socks – maroon – into his drawer, apparently thinking they've dropped the whole subject.
He's a bit of a git, really, Harry concludes, if he thinks he can get off that easily.
"Why d'you ask?"
"What?" Ron almost yelps. The sock drawer slams shut quite violently.
"Well, it's just a bit of a weird question, that's all," Harry says nonchalantly. "I dunno what Hermione would think about you aski—"
"Don't you dare tell Hermione!" Ron interjects, in a way that might have been a bit scary if it hadn't been so utterly desperate.
"I didn't say I was going to," Harry points out, as innocently as he can.
The red from Ron's ears seems to be contagious; it's spreading quite nicely to his neck and face, creating the impression that he might very well explode at any given second.
"I know," he grumbles, making an impressive show of looking anywhere but Harry. "Just . . . don't, that's all."
He can't resist. "Why not? I'm sure she'll be flattered that you pay that much attention to her."
"Sod off," Ron orders darkly. "I pay just as much attention to her as you do."
A doubtful smirk proves so necessary in that moment that Harry doesn't even attempt to hide it. "Oh, yeah, definitely. In fact, I contemplate smelling her all the time—"
Ron calls him something that Harry's sure both Mrs. Weasley and Hermione wouldn't approve of, then proceeds to ignore him entirely in favour of rearranging his socks.
"All right, fine," Harry finally capitulates after maybe fifteen seconds of very pronounced silence. "Why were you wondering if I ever smelled Hermione?"
"Nothing," Ron mutters.
"No, seriously, go on," Harry instructs, then adds generously, "If I laugh, then I'll let you turn me over to Fred and George as a test subject. Promise."
Ron considers this for a moment before seeming to find it acceptable. He keeps his eyes firmly trained on the sock drawer as he composedly asks, "Have you ever noticed her smelling like perfume?"
"Perfume?" Harry repeats.
"Yeah," Ron says gruffly to the maroon socks. "Perfume. That's sort of . . . rose-and-peppermint scented?"
Harry cringes. (Ron, who still only has eyes for the socks, doesn't notice.) He dimly recalls Christmas at 12 Grimmauld Place, and Hermione mentioning something about interesting perfume to Ron. Rose and peppermint, he decides, probably fall under the interesting category.
Perhaps a bit too interesting, as he's never actually caught Hermione smelling like that.
Still, he can't quite bring himself to tell Ron that. Instead, he scrunches up his brow in feigned consideration for a second before saying, "Yeah, I think she's smelled like that sometimes."
Ron brightens considerably at once. Harry, figuring it's his duty as best friend, pretends not to notice.
"Oh," Ron grins, "excellent!"
Harry pointedly stares at the Cannons poster on the wall.
"I mean – uh – that's good, I guess," Ron amends. "That she likes it, and all."
"I guess," Harry agrees dutifully.