He found the toilet, making his way there by muscle memory. This bloody tent. He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t burned it after that miserable year living in it. He padded back to bed, slipped under the covers, and pulled the sleeping woman smothered by pillows closer. He liked burying his nose in Ginny’s hair, but instead of the cinnamon of Ginny, he smelled flowers.  Has she changed her shampoo?  He sneezed, and his mouth filled with curly hair. 