So then they stand next to each other, silently, washing and drying, and sometime between the kitchen emptying and filling like the tide, Ginny chasing Fred around and a few of those Aurors Hermione was talking about troop through the kitchen, one of them dragged along by two others, bleeding through a bandage. Their elbows touch because the sink is too small, and normally it wouldn't matter, Hermione wouldn't even notice, but it's not Ginny, or Ron, or Harry, it's him. Some suds and water have trickled down from his hands, and they wet the elbow of her long-sleeve, and Hermione doesn't dare breathe for a moment as the warm water seeps through the fabric and becomes cold, and she doesn’t quite know why.