Hide and Seek

She tipped the glass to the side slightly, watching the liquid teeter close to the edge. Then, with a sudden frown, Hermione sighed and took another sip, before placing it on the counter of the bar again. She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the club, at the people milling beside her, asking for drinks, and at the mess of bodies dancing close in the dim lighting, the smoke-filled air, and the thudding music that vibrated in her chest.

When a man sitting across the room stared at her, she quickly looked back down at her drink, frustrated and angry at herself. Hermione didn't want to be here – she really didn't. The club was so, so different from her office at work in all ways possible – there she had quiet, there she could think . . .

But that's why I'm here, isn't it?

Hermione had to snort, smiling bitterly at her cocktail before downing it.

'Hey,' a voice drawled at her side, startling her a little. She turned to see the man who had been staring at her, leaning against the bar in a manner every fibre in her body deemed as arrogant. But it didn't compare to his smile, which made her want to both laugh and walk away in disgust. But she did neither. Maybe it was because she was tired of standing her ground almost constantly, of running, of always moving. Maybe . . .

'I couldn't help noticing you,' he continued, 'I mean, every guy in this place has-'

Hermione stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

'Oi, move over, buddy,' a red-headed girl said, elbowing her way between Hermione and the man.

'Excuse me - we're having a conversation here, lady,' the man said, an angry spark in his eyes. The girl looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. She chuckled, ordered her drink, then said amusedly:

'Didn't look like much of one, mate.'

Hermione couldn't hold back a smile, which the man caught. He scowled at her, then walked away with a tight 'all right'. The girl watched him go with a mocking smile, then turned to Hermione, her expression changed, unreadable. 'Well, I haven't seen you in a while, Hermione,' she said lightly.

'Ginny?' Hermione blurted out in surprise. She stared at the dark and thick make-up around the girl's eyes, her red lipstick, the tight dress and her casual smirk with wide eyes. What astounded her the most was the short red-hair that hung about her jaw. When had she cut it?

'The one and only,' Ginny answered with flourish, winking. 'Let's go to the balcony. We can't really talk here. Too loud.'

Hermione nodded, and followed Ginny across the club, not really believing her eyes. Could Ginny have changed this much? The way she walked and talked . . . it was like she just knew that she had a lure that stemmed from her obvious self-confidence. They went through the balcony doorway and sat down at a table next to the railing. Ginny opened a cigarette packet and took one out, placing it between her red, red lips.

'Got a light?'

'Yeah,' Hermione said, cupping her hand against the wind and lit it for her.

'So . . .' Ginny blew out a cloud of smoke, watching her with strange dark eyes. 'It's been years, yeah? I'd say about four.'

'It's been five.'

Ginny shrugged, looking over the railing at the street below. 'Well, whatever, it's been a long time since you broke up with my brother and buried yourself in work. You haven't really surfaced, have you?' Ginny glanced at her, caught her look, then smiled. 'Thought so. Frankly, I'm surprised you're even here.'

Hermione frowned, then looked away, uncomfortable. 'I'm surprised you're here – I mean, a Muggle club?'

Blue eyes glittered at her. 'I found out a while back that Muggles know how to have some fun . . . Their nightclubs are truly marvellous, aren't they? So carnal.'

'Yes, they are,' Hermione said in a slightly pained voice that made the red-head laugh merrily behind her cigarette. For a long moment, Ginny merely stared at her unabashedly - and the more she did so, the more Hermione suddenly realised how beautiful she was.

How beautiful and threatening.

'So why are you here, Hermione Granger? The Department of Magical Law Enforcement not that riveting anymore?'

Hermione looked up at her, feeling tired, perhaps exhausted. Maybe Ginny saw it in her eyes, because she leaned in closer. 'I came here because I didn't want to think,' Hermione said impulsively, her mouth burning from the truth of it. It had been so long since anyone had asked her a personal question – it was always work, work, work . . . Work that made her, most times, sick from the injustice of it all.

'Hm . . .' a crooked grin widened on Ginny's face, 'the impossible has happened, ladies and gentlemen – Hermione Granger doesn't want to think! I never thought I be alive for this day. What, do solicitors not do it for you?'

'Ginny, please, just leave it alone.'

The red-haired girl gave out a slightly harsh laugh, full of disbelief. 'Well, there's got to be a reason why you abandoned all your old friends, and from what I hear, even your new ones. That's besides your colleagues, but I guess that one is out of necessity really.'

Hermione closed her eyes. 'I'm serious. Leave it alone.'

'Then let's go dance.'

She opened her eyes and frowned at Ginny. The girl threw her cigarette to the floor and crushed it under her heel, then opened her hand in invitation, palm upwards. There was a challenge in her eyes, a well-hidden anger and . . . something else. Hermione wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it made her hands tremble under the table nevertheless.

'Why?' Hermione asked. She bit her lip - she didn't want to say more.

Ginny shook her head and retorted, 'You said you didn't want to think – so you're not going to, okay?' She grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her out of her chair. 'Come, we're going to dance.'

Dazedly, Hermione followed her back into the club, tugged along through crowds of people that got tighter towards the dance-floor. The music vibrated in her chest, shocking her heart momentarily, and her blood moved with the thundering bass in her ears. Ginny turned around and was pushed closer to Hermione, their chest touching, and then she started to move, to dance.

Don't think.

Hermione stared into Ginny's eyes and followed her lead, pushing aside all her stunned thoughts of how things had changed, of how amazing the other girl smelt (so close, a perfume mixed with sweat and smoke, so very human suddenly), of how the thick tension of attraction had settle between them, swiftly and unforgiving . . . Instead, she let go a part of her mind that had always been controlled, and this freed her body, letting it become one with the beat, with the body dancing with hers.

She didn't know how long they danced. She could only remember the songs changing from one to another –and it all didn't feel real. She was in this smoke-filled world, in the heat of it, in the storm of energy that had to get out, out, out-

Then they were kissing, right in the middle of the dance-floor, flush against one another. Hermione couldn't say who had leaned in first, but she knew the feel of a smile against her lips. They stumbled off the dance-floor together to fall against a wall, always touching because Hermione has just remembered how addictive it could be. There were hands in her curly hair, at the small of her back, sending dizzying shivers down her body.

'So when did you turn out gay, Gin?' Hermione asked breathlessly between kisses.

Ginny leant forward and whispered in her ear, 'If you had stuck around, you would've been the first to find out.'

Hermione kissed her then, long and hard, because words couldn't suffice in that moment. She didn't want to think, to figure out what words she could attach to her feelings. Rather, she fell into the moment, giving herself up to sensation and elation and desire . . .

Just like Ginny had.

Tomorrow's words can wait.