hello, this was written with the weekly pairings drabble competition in mind, but it's a bit longer than 500 words, so I hope this is okay. I've noticed there's a serious lack of femslash in the fandom so hopefully this little Hermione/Ginny will help things. title comes from Sapphic fragment 9, which I thought was fitting.
warnings for: sexual suggestions, excess amounts of prose, implications of war.
seven
We lay together. You and me always almost the same, always almost divine. What a joke, I think, what a lie divinity is. Immortality is nothing but a scoff caught in the back of my throat, a fool's errand, a fool's dream. Traitorous, my mind whispers: but you've found divinity; in the curve of her neck, the twist of her mouth, the lilt in her laugh.
I deny, deny, deny.
Your heart is a hummingbird, and your ribs a cage, and I take my time pressing bruises into your pale skin. Not permanent, not yet anyways. One of your hands is in my hair, the other is drifting down my back, painting a picture out of the blunt press of nails, lower and lower still.
This is ours alone.
three
You find solace in cigarettes, holding smoke in your lungs for as long as you can until nicotine becomes the air you breath. You light them with a snap of your fingers, delighting the neighborhood kids to no end, and have taken to keeping one behind your ear at all times. Ridiculous and endearing. Just like the rest of you.
I asked you why you'd risk your health on something so mundane.
You flicked ash on me as you answered that the world was going to hell in a handbasket, so we might as well go the way we want to go.
I laughed and told you that American culture was seeping into your blood, our Missourian friends were sure to be proud.
You just smiled and took another drag. We both ignored how the smoke that left your lips looked like the remains of the home we left.
I find solace in you. My own mind is too messy to stay in. Screaming for blood. Screaming for those we left behind. At night when galaxies are exploding in my head, I look to you and count the stars that litter your skin, imagine starting anew against your collarbone, imagine being reborn in press of your lips.
five
We're both going to burn, I decide. Like Helen and Paris in the remains of Troy.
six
I hand you a cup of tea. A quiet apology, a plea.
"I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this," you say again, and again, and again, your words melding and melting into each other, like snow in the spring.
"You will. You must," I say, gently as I can, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.
"They're all dead, aren't they. All of them. We left and they all died."
My mouth goes dry, "If we stayed we would have died as well."
You drop your head against my shoulder, screaming into the fabric of my shirt. I'm helpless and hopelessly lost on what to do. And as I cradle you I ask God a question I hope he'll answer.
How do you put together a heart that was shattered into a hundred and one pieces?
eight
Question: will we have a happy ending?
Answer: the heroes never do.
Question: what if we're not heroes? at least not anymore.
Question: what are you willing to risk?
Answer: everything.
two
I think things started to change when I saw you in the garden one morning. You, burning and bold and brave and broken, and me, the dreadful Icarus, drawn to the sun only to burn up in its arms. I think we could be beautiful together, coming together as only two broken things can. And then I think, maybe I won't burn up, maybe I won't fall, maybe this will be resolved peacefully.
Then you smile at me, and I realize I'm already drowning.
one
Hermione Granger asks if she wants to leave the country. Blood and nightmares staining everything, even themselves.
Ginny Weasley says yes, and takes her hand.
Neither of them looks back.
