JKR owns it all.
Harry, Ron and Hermione sat sprawled across the messy floor. Snow fell thickly outside the Burrow as Celestia Warbeck's Christmas carols floating through the closed door. Harry could have sworn the Ghoul above Ron's room was grunting along with the cheery rhythms.
Hermione, who had been contently reading by the door, gave the lounging red-head a sudden a repulsed glare of disgust.
"Ron, what is this?" Hermione picked up a suspicious looking lump with the tip of her wand.
He shrugged indifferently, returning to his Quidditch magazine. "No idea, honestly I don't want to know."
"You really should think about cleaning this room, it's a wonder you manage to live in here... Merlin only knows what lurks underneath the bed." She crinkled her nose, kicking a box of half eaten chocolate frogs.
"Why even bother? Mum's been on my case about it, I keep telling her it's just you guys, not like the prime minister." He shook his head at the mere idea of even straightening up the squalor.
"Ronald Weasley, you honestly need to think of your hygiene here! There is no way you can maintain a healthy immune system living in this." She pointed to the fine cover of forest green creeping its way up a package of sugar quills.
Rolling his eyes, Ron looked at Harry and snorted.
"Hermione, I only have a few more months left then I can clean all of this with magic. What's the point of manually doing things when you have a wand? If it bugs you so much, why don't you clean it yourself?"
She stared at him, pulling a hair tie from her wrist. "You Ronald Weasley are a lazy slob. But, for the sake of the rest of us, I shall." With that Hermione Granger tackled the appalling mess.
Ron shot a disbelieving glance in Harry's direction.
"Wow Hermione, what would I do without you?" A light blush crept over her face, but she continued on her way, shrilly-questioning Ron on the expiration date on those pasties, and the cleanliness on some soiled robes.
"Seriously mate, the Kreacher lives in cleaner conditions." Ron smiled, evidently still quite pleased with himself.
Harry stood, stretching as his snowy white owl pecked lightly at the frosted window. Having apparently scrounged for enough food, she hopped neatly into the room, hooting happily.
Hedwig remained on the open windowsill, allowing the winter chill to circulate through the stagnant air.
Hermione resurfaced, clutching a deep purple cylinder.
But Hermione never got the chance to finish her inquiry, for the device in her hands exploded, grey smoke billowing, jets of light flying.
"Hermione!" They both yelled. Diving on the floor for cover the pair anxiously waiting for the fog to clear. When it did, much to her friends' intense relief, a rather pale Hermione emerged. Her hair was, if possible much more bushy but no visible bleeding or bruises could be seen.
Wrapping her in a quick hug Ron examined the smoking can.
"A product of Fred and George's no doubt, I need to have a word with them on leaving their products lying around..."
"Hermione, are you hurt at all?" Harry asked, intently looking over her arms for cuts and burns.
She shook her head, eyes wide she calmly pointed to the windowsill.
"Harry, what exactly happened to Hedwig?"
Hedwig the owl was nowhere in sight, for a crumpled figure of a girl had replaced her.
A/N Should I continue? Good, Bad? Were any of the characters OOC? If so, feel free to tell me! Yes if any of you guessed I do have a sad obsession with Harry Potter's owl. :P
Thanks for reading