A/n: I've been on hiatus, and forgot my old password. So I'm starting from scratch. 3
Her voice rings through my ears; begging me, urging me to keep going. Never ever to stop. It sends chills down my body and boils my blood. Heat settles between my thighs, my hand between hers. My fingers buried deep within her; her fingers buried in my hair. The feeling of being wanted – needed – in such a way is more than flattering for a girl like me. Thus, I am more then willing to oblige; especially for a creature as gorgeous as she is…but dreams remain dreams.
My reflection gazes intently at me, scrutinizing every detail. Am I pretty? I concede to the fact that I could be pretty, but I'm not really willing to take the time to show it off. I shouldn't have to. For someone who doesn't try you sure waste a lot of time in front of the mirror.
"Sod off."
I hate how I always have to run to class. I'm late anyway. Alas, so it goes. I manage to walk in just as role is being taken.
"And …Ginny Weasley, you are quite lucky your name is at the end of the list. Thank you for gracing us with your presence. If this becomes a reoccurring issue, we're going to have problems," Professor McGonagall warns. You probably shouldn't have cut her class on Monday.
I mumble a compliant answer as I slide into my chair.
The class passes slowly, as per usual. Ugh, Transfiguration. I can feel my eyes finally blur out of focus while the professor talks. And suddenly I'm elsewhere. I imagine her gentile smile; perfect teeth, full lips, and the slight blush of her cheeks. The depths of her dark eyes that envelop me spring to mind also. They consume my very being.
I hear the rustling of parchment and the scrape of chairs being pushed back. Shaken from my daze I follow suit. That was actually pretty fast. You must have zoned out early.
I'm glad when today is over. I flop down on a cushy couch near the fire in the common room. She takes more classes than anyone else I know, I expect her to be here in about an hour. Reluctantly I start my homework. You're a week behind on work in all of your classes. I just get going, knowing that my beautiful all-knowing goddess will swoop in to help just in time.
On cue, just as I start really chewing up my quill, she strides in. She seems upset; then I notice my brother and Harry are in tow, laughing.
"I really just don't want to hear about it, you guys," she shoots over her shoulder. "Honestly," she huffs, rolling her eyes. The two boys grin widely and make their way toward the boy's dormitories. "Hello Ginny."
"Hey." Offering her the cushion next to me, "What are they on about?"
I watch her pull out her homework. She has beautiful hands. They've got ink stains and she has a callous on the side of her finger from writing so much. She is an artist of words and poetry. Pay attention. "They think I care about what horrible jokes they play on people. I swear they spend too much time with Fred and George. Well, at least Ron and Harry are less public about it anyway."
On paper at least; she has such random speech. And maybe feels a bit left out.
"Are you upset because they didn't invite you?" I ask cautiously. Oh shit. That could go either way.
"No."
I just stare, a small smile.
"No," she says a little more sternly.
I can feel my eyebrow twitch, "Really?"
Sighing and slouching back onto me, "Maybe a little."
I put I arm around her shoulder and am now close enough to share the same breath with her. "Don't feel too bad, it's just more time you get to spend with me," I grin.
She returns my smile and I can feel each and every wing in my stomach. I ignore it and break her gaze, beginning again on my homework where I left off. What are you so afraid of?
Time passes. She finishes her homework. I can feel her looking over my shoulder at my chicken scratch. It's a wonder she can even read my potion's essay. "The facts are right, but there's a few spelling mistakes," she catches my eyes, "Do you mind if I…"
"Not at all," I blurt. She waves her wand and letters rearrange themselves, some are added, and some are taken away. "Thanks, Hermione, you're amazing."
Subject has made contact, plans? Her hand is resting on my thigh and she gives me a warm smile, "Any time." She squeezes it gently before reaching into her school bag and pulling out a book. You're a bloody wimp.
That's just how my days are in general. Horribly frustrating? Yes, and with no help from you. For a conscience you suck at telling me what to do. Well, you get what you pay for. I didn't pay and I'm not sure I even asked for it. Exactly. Whatever.
I am horribly smitten with Hermione Granger. She is the essence of sexy; she's oblivious to it. She has silky soft messy brown hair, beautiful dark green eyes, and a mouth anyone would be glad to have anywhere on themselves. And we all know all about her academic brilliance, do I have to go into detail? Lord knows everyone else does. "Stop that," I'm trying to think.
People don't know her like I do. She's really funny, but no one really sees her when she's being goofy. Around people with low-brow standards she's reserved. Seriously though, she's really witty and charming. She's so genuinely kind to people, but you'd never know because some people…Ron and Harry...Yes, shut up. Some people don't treat her very well, so they don't get to see it.
We have a history, but not really the one I'd hoped for. We've been friends for years. We held each other in the hard times; trough break-ups, peer torment, and when my brother being a goon. We had pajama parties in my room at the Burrow and in her prefect dorm at school. She cheered for me at the Quddich games. We took walks and had serious conversations about life. We're best friends.
That's kind of the problem. There was an incident this winter. We were hanging out drinking with the boys. We went back to my room and talked to one another for a while. Long story short: we kissed a lot, went to sleep cuddling in each other's arms, and we haven't spoken of the incident since. Not to say that her being my best friend being the real problem, it just kind of hiders our friendship status. Friends are supposed to talk about things. She hasn't told me what she thought of the encounter, then again, neither have I. I also haven't told her for years that I like her, I'm not sure she realizes it.
Things are weird now – for me. Not so much for her. You may want to reiterate how oblivious she is. Don't tell me how to talk to myself. I was doing fine before you showed up. You're just pissed because you don't like people trying to give you introspective thoughts. I can easily introspect by myself. You're just blathering on about some silly unrequited love bullshit. And it isn't necessarily that it's unrequited. You just don't know what she thinks. So you decide to obsess over it. This is where I come in. I am here in order to guide you out of you're excessively creepy emotional rut.
"You're a fucking asshole!" Because I'm right. "Fine, I'll try it your way," now that I'm thoroughly sure I may be mad…I have no idea where that train of thought went. Jackass.
A/n: Love it? Hate it? Dying for more? Go ahead and review.
