Damp - H/R - PG-13
Title: Damp
Rating: PG-13 for language
Author: shocfix
Summary: very quick and silly story that rosina_alcona made me write (all the way from Outer Mongolia), ‘cos I was bunnied by what aidendavis said, after reading Steam.

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Damp

Hermione came down the stairs at the Burrow on the first morning of her stay in the summer after they finished school. She hummed a little tune as she did up the buttons on her shirt, and was about to turn towards the kitchen when a noise stopped her.

“Pssst,” someone hissed from the front room, “Hermione!”

Turning to look through the door, she found Harry sprawled on a couch, flicking through a Quidditch magazine, and Ron holding the door open and beckoning her inside.

“What’s going on?” she asked, “Have you already had breakfast?”

“No,” grumbled Ron, and his stomach rumbled to illustrate the point, “we can’t go in the kitchen. Fleur is in there with Mum, crying.”

“Oh dear,” Hermione frowned, “what’s wrong?”

“How the hell should I know?” asked Ron, “I just want my bloody breakfast.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you’re so concerned about your sister-in-law.”

“You didn’t used to like it when he was concerned about her,” Harry put in, slyly, and they both turned and glared at him.

“That wasn’t my fault,” sulked Ron, “and she wasn’t my sister-in-law then, and just why are you trying to embarrass me, anyway?”

“’cos I’m hungry,” whined Harry, “and I don’t see why we are hiding in here. Your mum would let us get some breakfast.”

“We are hiding because she is crying,” explained Ron, obviously thinking this sufficient reason.

“Oh, honestly, Ron, you can face Acromantulas, but you are scared of a crying woman?”

“Basically, yeah,” agreed Ron, slumping down next to Harry and leaning against him.

“Well, I’m going to see what’s wrong,” said Hermione, turning to leave the room, and ignoring Ron’s muttered “Why am I not surprised?”

****

Twenty minutes later she returned. Ron was stretched out full-length on the sofa now, with his legs across Harry’s lap, and they each had half of the magazine.

“Well?” asked Harry, “What’s wrong?”

“Can we have breakfast yet?” queried Ron.

Hermione glared at him. “I’m not exactly sure,” she admitted, “apparently she and Bill went out last night and got caught in the rain, and she got all giggly about it, and he didn’t think it was funny, and they had a huge row, and he stormed out.”

“So, can we have breakfast yet?” repeated Ron.

“Yes,” Hermione snapped, “but Fleur is still there, so be nice to her – your mum has flooed the twins to try and find Bill.”

But Ron had already leapt up and headed for the kitchen. She met Harry’s eyes and he shrugged and said “He’ll be more sensitive after he’s eaten.” Hermione snorted.

She gave him a hand and hauled him to his feet, and they followed Ron into the big, warm kitchen. Fleur was still sitting at one end of the table, red-nosed and sniffling, but still gorgeous. Hermione stifled a tiny pang of jealousy when she saw Ron sitting as far away as possible, already eating toast and jam, while his mother cooked at the stove behind him.

“’ello, ‘arry,” said Fleur, glumly.

Harry looked at Hermione, panicked, but she just gave him a Look, so he muttered a good morning to the miserable French girl, and sat down next to Ron. Mrs Weasley placed plates of sausages, bacon and eggs in front of the two boys and they gave their full attention to their breakfast.

Then there was a series of pops and Fred, George and Bill appeared by the door. The twins looked mildly amused, and swiftly took seats either side of Harry and Ron and stole from their plates.

Bill hung back, eyeing Fleur warily. His hair was longer than ever, and held back in a leather thong. An elaborately carved dragon-tooth earring curved against his neck. He was dressed in tight jeans, a white shirt, dragon-hide boots and a battered leather jacket.

And he was dripping wet.

Harry, Ron and Hermione turned to look out the window, but the sun was shining. They looked at each other and shrugged. Hermione’s eyes narrowed; Ron’s eyebrows raised, excellent, this’ll be good.

Bill squelched over to the seat opposite his tearful wife and sat down.

“Bill, where have you been?” asked his mother, briskly, “Fleur has been worried sick.”

“I’m sorry,” he said to Fleur, earnestly, “I didn’t mean to worry you, I just panicked.”

“But why?” asked Fleur, her beautiful eyes full of nothing but concern, “I only laugh because you upset at raining. I know iz new jacket. I should not ‘ave said zat cows do not mind ze rain.”

Harry, Ron and the twins snorted with laughter and choked as they tried to swallow it when Mrs Weasley glared at them.

“Fleur, darling,” Bill stopped as Ron snorted and got smacked on the back of his head by his mother, “it’s not your fault. I overreacted. It’s just that, well, look at me,” he held his arms out, and they all looked at him, “this isn’t the first time this has happened, and I don’t know why.”

“Eet iz not rain again,” said Fleur, “where you getting wet?”

“No, Fleur,” Bill shook his head, “I’m still wet from last night. This has happened before, and it took me three days to dry out – and that was in Egypt. But I shouldn’t have run out on you like that.”

“Still wet?” asked Fleur, her brow attractively wrinkled.

“But how come?” asked George.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with you?” asked Fred.

Harry and Ron looked smugly at Hermione, and, right on cue, she stood up and walked over to Bill. They both leant forward, placed an elbow on the table and rested their chins on their hands, as they watched her, proudly.

“May I try something?” she asked Bill, tentatively.

“Absolutely, Hermione, but I warn you, I have seen Healers already, and no-one knows what is wrong with me.”

Hermione reached out and slipped the earring out of Bill’s ear, then stood back and looked at him, critically. Then she helped him out of his jacket. No change. Then she unwound the leather thong from his hair and replaced it with a plain elastic band she pulled from her own hair.

“That’s got it,” she said, as the water stopped dripping down his face, and he started to steam gently in the heat of the kitchen.

“W-what?” stuttered Bill.

“Excellent,” said Ron and Harry in unison. The twins looked at them, eyebrows raised.

“But what did you do, ‘ermione?” asked Fleur.

“Well, it was too much…”

“What was?” asked Fred.

“…that earring, brushing his neck…”

“So?” asked George.

“…the distressed jacket…”

“And?” asked Mrs Weasley.

“…the hair tied up with the leather thong…”

“’ermione, I do not unnerstand,” said Fleur.

“…and then he got soaked in the rainstorm….”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks, eyes dancing.

“Well, he was just so cool that he never dried.”

****