Hermione's frame of mind was not dissimilar to Ron's. Being at Bill and Fleur's house was like being in a palace after living in a tent for so long. A tent with two teenage boys.
She didn't want to think what sort of condition she would have been in if they had only the tent to go to after their ordeal at Malfoy Manor, but though she was still a little sore, Fleur had healed her really well for someone who was not a Healer. It unsettled her how Fleur was able to skew the opinions of those around her. Hermione was quite fond of her now, a far cry from her original perception.
Luxurious as it was to sleep in a bed and eat well prepared food, Hermione knew it couldn't last forever. While they were living in comfort, Voldemort was still at large. Hermione lingered for as long as she could under the covers of her single bed, but Luna was talking in her sleep about Nargles and Hermione thought she might wake her from scoffing too loudly.
Never one to be dim, Hermione saw the steam from the bathroom and knew that someone had used the shower recently. The open door–another bonus of living in a house–led her to believe that the bathroom was vacant, however. Who would shower with the door open? If they wanted to de-steam the room, why not crack a window? Hermione barely stifled her yelp by covering her mouth with her hand and turned away so violently that her face collided with the ajar door. Then she stubbed her toe.
"Ow," She hissed, hopping out of the way. "Sorry!" She hoped the flooding of colour to her cheeks could be explained away by her superficial injuries, and not the sight of Ron, damp, half-naked, little droplets of water trickling over his skin. Not that at all.