"I can take that!" Oh, you are my *redacted*
The aftermath of war is weird, Hermione realizes about half a day later. She is standing between Harry, who hasn't said a word after dropping the elder wand, and Ron, who, as always, is starring at Harry in concern.
It used to make her jealous, long before she realized what this look represented. Before she realized that she looks at the raven the exact same way.
She can't help any more than she did in the war now. There are no riddles that require her set of skillsets, no potions to brew, no nothing. Her mind, always running faster than most can keep up with, is quiet this time.
Or, almost quiet, she whispers to herself as she turns to stare at Harry. His green eyes are dulled, almost looking completely lifeless. It scares her, she wants her boy back. The one he was in their fourth year, when innocence was still clinging to his bones.
But then, he stopped being innocent the first time he met You know who. Even in her mind she can't spell out his name, so much fright does he cause her.
Pathetic, really.
"We should get him cleaned up," gets her out of her musing. She blinks softly up at Ron's mature face, old beyond his years. His eyes find hers for a quick over, then slide towards Harry again.
"I don't think he is... there right now." He states lamely, still starring at the boy, not yet man, no matter how much the world wanted to shape him into one, yet.
"Ye-," her voice cracks, her throat suddenly ridiculously dried up, "Yes, let's."
They both grip Harry by the shoulders and he startles a little bit, looking around a little frightened and Hermione wants badly to know when the time was that he started dissociating.
Ron is the one to take them away using the floo. They end up in Grimmauld place again, the house as unfriendly as always. Ron doesn't meddle, immediately taking both her arm and Harry's and leading them to the bathroom. While Harry is arguably ridiculously magically powerful, Ron is also nothing to laugh at. And he has always been better than Harry and her combined at wandless magic, so in less than seconds he has the faucet running with warm water and soap in there.
The three have been on the run for almost a year, seen each other nakedness more times than they can count and while Hermione and Ron do appreciate just how handsome and pretty Harry can look, they have never looked at him in that kind of way, so sharing the huge bathtub that was used for pool parties in the Black Manor (or so Sirius claimed) won't be a problem.
"Harry, can you look at me?" Ron asks, turning the boy's face towards him. It doesn't take the genius inside her that Ron is trying to use legilimens on Harry to see where his mind is wandering right now, but she still is surprised when Ron staggers back, a pained expression leaving him.
"Yeah, he needs a bit of time." He states softly, looking even more concerned than ever.
"It's fine," she steps up to them, her boys, lovely and caked in dried up blood and dirt
"We'll be there for him as always." The two share small sincere smiles with one another before they start undressing first.
Harry hasn't moved an inch, standing exactly where Ron discarded him.
"I don't think he has blinked in the last four minutes," states Ron, having followed her gaze to the raven.
He approaches Harry and slowly and softly tugs on the hem of his shirt and then, in one fluid movement, drags it off of Harry's torso. Ron starts saying the mist random things in existance, but Hermione is sure that she isn't just imagining Harry relaxing. Back when, Hermione remembers, Harry's nightmares got bad enough he was paralyzed for half a day afterwards, Ron would do this too. He'd sit there and babble away and when she later asked why Ron was so good with Harry's night terrors he told her all about how he experimented in the beginnings of their friendship with what worked with Harry and what did/does not.
"Help me get him in the tub," Ron murmurs softly to her, having completely undressed Harry and leading him towards it. She grabs Harry's skinny forearm and makes sure he doesn't slip on the wet tiles. Then, she leads him to the submerged waterbench at the end of the tub? Now that she is standing in this huge thing she should rather call it pool than anything else, really. She tugs him to sit next to her, all the while Ron has been babbling about another Quidditch game he is excited about and in his hand is a soaked up washcloth, which he uses on himself first. He gives her another one, with a pink print and she throws it in his direction.
"Ron Weasley! Are you pushing gender roles on me?" She cries in fake shock, hoping against hope that Harry would react to this. But no, he keeps starring into something neither her nor Ron can reach. Seeing her attempts fail the mood darkens considerably, so both her and Ron finish up washing quickly before turning to Harry.
"He won't do much like this," Hermione watches, puzzled, as Harry only holds his little washcloth in his hand, still starring into nothing.
Ron nods determined and gets a hold of another sponge.
"Don't worry, I have enough experience with this. Percy used to get really sick as a child so I would help him bath sometimes." He hesitates, but then looks at her and Harry between them and nods again.
"Also, Harry used to throw up and skake too badly, so I helped him shower too sometimes. I was worried he'd slip or something."
"Why didn't you go to Madam Pomfrey?" Shock doesn't begin to explain her feelings, but Ron only shrugs.
"He didn't want to make a big deal out of it."
"Tomorrow, we'll go to a healer," she demands and Ron doesn't refuse her.
Most of their wounds have closed, thanks to their magical healing abilities, but safe is safe.
She lets Ron take control so he takes on cleaning Harry's legs and neither regions, while she goes for his blood caked fingertips. All the while Harry doesn't move, only whimpers on occasion. Everytime he does, both start petting him like an oversized dog and whispering assurances. He seems to be more aware of his surroundings or maybe that is her wishful thinking.
After also finishing with his torso, she reaches out to his face and holds it gently in her hands for a moment. Then, it hits her like a slap to the face.
"Ron, he died!" She sobs, starring at the face she saw for almost every day of her life and from the vibrations in the water she knows Ron is sobbing too. She doesn't stop cleaning Harry's face till there is nothing left to mark his pale skin and then she holds his head to her naked chest and just sways. She feels Ron settle behind her and for a minute or so they just hold this miracle of a boy in their arms, limp as a puppet.
Break down over, they get to cleaning his hair. They can't let go of Harry, it seems. The boy never shows any displeasure anyways so they maneuver him as they like, sometimes holding his wrist just to feel the pulse.
They hold his head overwater while tipping a cup that Ron brought or transfigured over his hair. Then, she works in the shampoo while he just holds his head up, softly cupping a hand above his eyes so they don't start burning.
"You know, back when I was a kid, I wanted a younger brother," Ron whispers, a melancholic tone setting into his voice.
"I'd protect him, take care of him. He'd understand my struggles like nobody else would. I wouldn't be the last in the line anymore." And then, his voice gets even quieter, so quiet she has to strain her ear to understand it fully.
"I'd tell him he doesn't have to be a girl for me to love him."
He sighs, still holding Harry's head in his massive hands, softly cupping his hands over his eyebrows to not get any hair products in his eyes. She doesn't know what to say in response to that, so she stays quiet again. Instead, she takes her time admiring Ron, for his physical as well as mental strenght. They have all lost a huge amount of weight, but Harry, who always had trouble eating and could go hungry for days on end, took it worst and Ron, with his massive, if skinny shoulders and long limbs make Harry look like a doll in his hands.
"Well, I guess I don't need another brother anymore, " the pause must have gone for ages in which she stayed quiet but as always Ron is fine with that.
"Harry always filled that void good enough," he chuckles warmly, rinsing the products out of black strands of hair.
But they don't act like siblings, the three of them, she thinks to herself.
They take on another role for Harry, but, as she watches those two, she can't really put it into words on what to call their dynamic.
It feels closer, warmer than siblings. But because she can't put her finger on it, she disregards the notion for a while.