The Brother Code

First rule of brotherhood, don't let mum know. Second rule of brotherhood, listen then advise whenever sibling is going to look like a chump. Third rule of brotherhood, don't let mum know. Start's with Hermione's 'really unusual' perfume...

Early November 1995

Quidditch was a nightmare, school was a nightmare and you-know-who was on the loose: and yet the redheaded, fifteen year-old keeper was smiling. He should have been studying but that was getting harder. He'd gotten over the shock of his Quidditch performance as soon as he'd heard that his brothers, and Harry, had been chucked off the team. It wasn't even that Ginny was going to try out for seeker.

It was late and Ron Weasley stared into the fire: thinking about beckoning brown eyes, ink stained fingers running through his hair and welcoming lips.

She bloody well kissed me in front of Harry; that has to mean something, he thought. Her primary rule broken: thrown out of the window with one ruddy kiss. Actually, it was a peck on the cheek for luck. In front of Harry, who didn't care! Well, maybe he was too busy thinking about Weasley is Our King... or Cho Chang but that's not important. She kissed me. She kissed me. She kissed me.

Harry hadn't freaked out when she kissed him. In fact, he didn't seem surprised at all: which made sense because Harry liked Cho. Hermione was delighted by Harry's infatuation with the Ravenclaw. And she kissed me.

Anything was possible. Like, he had this reoccurring dream, which was actually a memory: kissing Hermione on the Yule Ball dance floor. He'd swept her into his arms, kissed her deeply and they'd gently swayed. Christmas was always special for them, the time when they'd almost been something more than they were. He couldn't help but glance over towards the object of his affection. She was knitting, again.

It was a situation completely without drama and his heart warmed at the homely sight. For an instant, he imagined they were older and that it was their fireplace she was sat beside; their children were playing by her feet. She reminded him of his mother knitting for Christmas.

His eyes widened: Christmas. He should get her something nice for Christmas. Something that would tell her he saw her as more than a friend. But what? Oh Merlin, he needed help. He could ask Harry: but that would be strange and Harry had no experience. He could ask the twins: they had experience but they'd just use the information against him. He could ask Ginny; but she was Hermione's friend too, therefore, she could no longer be trusted.

He racked his brains for a candidate. There was someone he could trust: someone with experience bound by his brother code of not telling their mother, giving advice so he, Ron, wouldn't be foolish and most importantly not telling their mother: Bill. Quickly, Ron scrawled a letter.

Dear Bill,

How is work? How is Fleur? You're the only one I can ask about this but there's this girl I like... Like more than a friend kind of like and I want to get her a present that isn't a book or sweets. Any idea?

Ron

It was a letter without fuss. Bill wouldn't be able to guess who he was on about and he knew he'd be decent enough to help.

Bill Weasley was stuck in his office at Gringott's: bored and a little frustrated. He'd been working at the Goblin bank for months and still they wouldn't let him near any cool stuff like the dragons. His work for the Order was tiring, watching a very uninteresting door coupled with the mostly fruitless, recruiting new Order members. Books, parchment and codes littered his desk. It was like being in Hogwarts again. No adventures, no danger, no puzzles that could get him killed just dusty bookwork. As much as he loved the books, he needed something to take his mind of his frustration.

Fleur, his very beautiful, very French girlfriend, was away visiting her parents and sister. He missed her beauty and the way she fitted into his arms; but what surprised him most was that he was starting to miss her voice, her sense of humour and her complaining about English food. He had it bad and he knew it. As a distraction he reached for his post. There was a bill, a returned letter from Percy (the prat); an enquiry for French lessons (either the twins or Charlie's idea of a joke) and there was a scrawled on envelope.

It took Bill five minutes to decode the note and afterwards he just grinned: 'Ronnie, Ron, Ronniekins,' he exclaimed with a smile, 'finally!' He reclined savouring the moment: his little brother had finally grown up. It wasn't that he fancied a girl, it was widely agreed that Ron had fancied Hermione for years, it was just that he admitted it.

Oh to be fifteen and in love with a sixteen year-old girl, Billthought. He remembered being that age and on Prefect rounds with that well endowed Brown girl. He couldn't remember her name; but the way she made him feel was all too haunting. He got tongue-tied and went blotchy. He felt overly lanky and didn't know what to do with his limbs. Charlie understood. Charlie, like the twins, never had a problem with talking to girls. He suggested playing it cool by being the strong silent type.

He'd been devastated when that hadn't worked. The well endowed Brown had started to gab on about a Ravenclaw she fancied. As soon as she and the Ravenclaw had started snogging, the gabbing had turned into a gushing fountain of information he didn't want to know. Fortunately, the chap had been a sore loser when it came to Quidditch and, thanks to Charlie performance; that relationship hadn't lasted very long.

He'd been the strong silent type again and he'd had his reward. Perfect rounds had gotten extremely interesting after that. Not that this would happen for Ron and Hermione because they couldn't stop arguing. Sometimes, they were just like his mum and dad; and for a second, Bill wondered how that love would feel like.

Knock! Knock!

A splendid surprise was at the door. Home early was his very beautiful, very French girlfriend. As she walked over into his arms, he felt breathless with excitement. She fitted into his arms perfectly. They came up for air ten minutes later, after a suitable hello. She settled on his lap and they began to talk. It wasn't long before noticed the letter.

'Bill, what is this?' she purred grabbing the letter from his desk. Bill tried to stop her but it was too late, she had read it. 'Parfum, Ron should get Her-min-ee parfum.'

'Perfume?' he questioned, wondering if this conversation with his girlfriend broke the brother code.

'Yes, she is just the age to enjoy that kind of thing,' Fleur stood up and spun around giggling, 'quand elle le porte ... ça va sentir le progrès belle!'

'Yes sweetheart,' Bill agreed surprised at her giddy reaction, 'when she wears it... it'll smell like beautiful progress!' For a moment, his mouth went dry and he couldn't believe his luck. He was dating this caring, intelligent woman.

It was early in the morning when the owl came. As usual, Harry was taking forever to get out of bed, now his school Quidditch career was over. Unusually, Ron sat alone waiting. There was a tapping at the window and he was surprised by the sight of Bill's owl at the common room window. Without thought or hesitation, he ripped open the response.

Dear Ron,

Fleur's fine and says hello. Work is interesting but a lot less adventurous than decrypting tombs in Egypt. I suggest you get this girl that you like perfume. Girls like perfume. If you don't believe me ask Hermione.

Bill

'What!' Ron exclaimed, leaping from his chair. There was no way to react anymore because out of the corner of his eye he noticed a mass of curly hair.

'Bad news,' Hermione asked, tenderly touching his arm. Ron's mouth went dry and he felt himself going red.

'No,' Ron answered shifting away, stuffing the response in his pocket, 'it's just mum wants new knitting needles for Christmas and I have no ruddy clue about them.'

'I can help you there!' Hermione explained excitedly. She started to talk about what his mother would like and he wanted to listen, but she was so pretty, he zoned out a little and enjoyed the tone of her voice.

That night, Ron sat up in bed, having spent all day mulling over the Bill's suggestion. He'd imagined that moment, giving her his present and all he saw was a slap in the face. Funnily enough, he wanted more than that: he wanted to hold her in his arms again. For her to know he was ready for the next step in their relationship. So he wrote to his brother again:

I don't want her to think that she smells bad!

Bill Weasley sat inside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour wondering about the brother code. It said: Don't tell mum. Listen and give advice. And don't tell mum. Not telling mum was easy; she was too distracted by the Order to fret about her children's communications between each other. He was still uneasy because although he followed the letter of the code, it wasn't the spirit to outsource advice giving to Fleur. Hence his pondering the code: did his girlfriend knowing break that code? In his hand was the unopened response.

However, the moment he saw her walking in; Bill knew he'd share this with her. She sat close to him and he felt intoxicated. Together, they opened the letter. It was a ten word response.

I don't want her to think that she smells bad!

'Sorry my brother's a git, love!' was the only thing he could comment.

'Well, at least he izn't denying the pafurm is for Her-min-ee,' Fleur said brightly. 'We must let him know who it's for and that she'll love it. She's going to Bansko in Bulgaria this Christmas to visit Victor so Ron must give her something special.'

'Hermione's going to see Vicky for Christmas?' Bill whispered shocked.

'Yes, Victor told me,' Fleur said with a smile, 'before the third task he thought there was something going on between Harry and Her-min-ee. But, I told him that cannot be. So this you must do. Write that Her-min-e won't think that at all, especially if he picks the right parfum.'

'And how will my little brother pick the right one?' Bill wanted to know, thinking that, even at this age, he didn't think he could be trusted to pick the right perfume.

'Because,' she said with a devious smile, 'I will help him!'

'Why are you so determined to help them?' Bill asked curiously.

'I was born in the most romantic city in the world – of course I'm determined to help love!' with that Fleur snuggled into his arms and all thoughts of his brother evaporated.

Bill's next letter contained something Ron hadn't been expecting. It came during breakfast: after the Daily Prophet so Hermione was too engrossed to notice. Harry was trying to watch Cho unobserved. Ron stuffed Bill's letter into his pocket until he had a bathroom break. He hurried into the stall and ripped open the envelope, letting it tumble to the ground. The letter read:

Ron,

Hermione won't think you thinks she smells; if you pick the right scent little brother,

Bill

Enclosed was an order form for Scent Sense perfume. On the top, there was a cartoon of a stylish witch striking a sexy pose with a perfume bottle. The caption read: Scent is a demanding art. It privileges what is subjective, skin-close. So seek out what no one else is wearing. Ron gulped, skin-close, his mind literally exploded with images and questions. The pictured witch seemed to enjoy perfume. Would Hermione?

It was the strangest order form he'd ever seen. Instead of a list of perfumes with pictures of different boxes and bottles, perhaps containing a way of sniffing the product there was a statement.

The ancient art of perfumery is a secret that can ensnare the senses and free the mind. Our perfumer needs only a few details about your loved one to create a truly bespoke fragrance just for them. With your input and our artist licence we'll make the ideal present for the person you love.

All fragrances need three key notes. Our magical base will help them become a unique signature perfume.

What are the key notes? Choose the three most powerful memories of your loved one. Speak the incarnation and the form will fill itself in. The next thing you need to do is choose a perfume bottle - House-elf created: these bottles allow our natural oil based perfumes to remain beautifully mixed.

Send us your order form with five galleons and your Unique Scent Sense fragrance will wing its way to you. Gift wrapping just an extra three sickles!

Ron quietly groaned. That was that plan out of the window. There was no way he could afford that without selling something. And if he did that, his mother would notice. He glanced between Bill's letter and the form. Then, he noticed something on the floor. Another smaller envelope had fallen to the ground. He read the note quickly and his heart stopped: PS: This you're belated congratulations on becoming perfect/keeper/early Christmas present. It was a voucher for Scent Sense for five gallons and three sickles.

Later that evening, after his Prefect rounds with Hermione, he was able to sit quietly and contemplate the Scent Sense spell. It was really hard to concentrate because she'd spent the whole rounds stopping him lash out at Filch, who was ranting about purebloods and muggleborn's. As soon as Filch had started he felt her delicate hand slip into his own. It was, by far, the longest their hands hand been skin-close.

The top fragrant note had to be of his first memory of his loved one. Ron closed his eyes and tired to remember. It was harder than he expected. There was the first time they'd met on the train after George's spell hadn't worked when she wouldn't stop talking and told him he had soot on his nose. She was a perfect even then with that bossy voice and critical glance. However, a little further back in his memory there was a sunny day in Diagon Alley. He'd been there with his family when the twins had begun to taunt him about the Sorting. They'd bounced him between themselves when he'd tripped over his own feet and toppled into a person wearing a hat. Until recently, he'd thought it was a strangely silent muggleborn boy. However, when he'd picked Hermione up from her house this summer, he'd noticed a picture with Hermione wearing that same hat.

The second fragrant note had to be from the heart. His heart was full of her. She made him feel unsure of himself, but when they fought and he had her full attention he felt sure and strong. Sometime, he felt stupid around her because her brain was so much faster, but when he beat her at chess or saw a problem from a different perspective: her face lit up because it was what she'd missed; he didn't feel dumb at all. As daft as it sounded; there were the times he kissed her, like after the Yule Ball that he knew he was home. Then, the times she'd kissed him unexpectedly, he felt like the hero, not the sidekick.

The base note had to be how he wanted her to feel when she wore it. He thought through so many memories of her. He wanted a memory that was all theirs: like their first trip to Hogsmeade; spinning around in periwinkle dress robes. Clearly, he recalled her on a summer's day reading in the garden. She looked beautiful and happy.

Ron opened his eyes and on the parchment ancient runes appeared. He wish he knew what they said, but realised it was better he didn't. He just hoped it didn't smell like feet and she'd like it.

The answer came on Christmas day. She said it was 'really unusual' and his heart had gone to his mouth when Harry gave him a quizzical look. It was only later, when he was standing behind her, in front of Kreacher's den; he knew it was the right present.

There was a pleasing smell of fruit and something woody. She smelt like summer berries and brooms. It reminded him of a time before the Quidditch World Cup. He'd been flying with his brothers while Hermione read underneath a tree. Beside her, was a bowl of summer berries; blackberries and raspberries with a sprinkling of vanilla sugar. He flown over and he noticed the berries had stained her lips. He wanted to kiss her.

There was something else to the smell. Something floral yet musky: like those monkey flowers in the Burrow's garden. He concentrated on the memory and there was a detail he'd originally forgotten. Ginny had placed flowers him Hermione's hair, by the time he gotten to her most had fallen out but the smell lingered. The heart of the scent reminded him of summer in the Burrow and dessert.

Later that night, through the haze of snogging in the library, she thanked him again for the perfume and he was truly grateful for the brother code and Bill's advice.

That's why Hermione's Christmas present from Ron smelt so unusual: I based the smell on Lancome Tresor Midnight Rosethe perfume Emma Watson fronts.

Intertextual story mentions: the Christmas Tradition series, A Second for Luck and Time of Their Life.

What do you think?

JustSuperMione

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She-Who-Must-Be-Reviewed