Restricted Section. Five minutes.
The magiked parchment burst into flames seconds after her whispered aparecium. Hermione had barely had time to recognize the words, written in Ginny Weasley's blocky printing, before she hastily scooted her chair back to avoid singed eyebrows. Ginny was a skilled witch, but careless at times. Hermione scowled and peered around the nearly-empty, hushed room. The redhead was nowhere to be seen.
What on earth might Ginny require from the Restricted Section? she wondered as she packed her parchment, quill, and Potions texts into her rucksack. It was highly unlikely that Harry had confided what they knew about the horcruxes to Ginny – Dumbledore had given him express instructions to tell no one but Ron and herself. It must be a paper, then.
She drew her rucksack over her shoulder and strode to the rear of the library, stepping around the carefully tended velvet rope that separated the Research and Restricted sections. She had no idea how Ginny would managed to enter the Restricted Section without a note; it had taken until Sixth Year, a constant presence in the corner of Madam Pince's eye, in addition to frequent requests, for Hermione to receive a permanent pass from the librarian.
Hermione made her way to the last row of the section, drawn by the waning spring light that filtered through the lofty window, the only light that outfitted the vicinity. The walkways and study areas between the Restricted stacks were even more narrow than those of the regular stacks, she noted. It was one of the things Hermione loved best: the seclusion and comfort that accompanied the oldest, least-visited books of the library. The rich smell of ancient paper, the dust filtering through the evening light – it bewitched her in the most sentimental sense of the term. She withdrew the penultimate chair, sat, and perused the shelves before her.
She was elbow-deep in Artemius Lawson's fervent essay on the restriction of troll habitats when she felt a pair of hands land lightly on her shoulders. Emitting a faint squeak, she turned to see a smirking Ginny Weasley behind her.
"You startled me," she said, a hint of annoyance threading her words.
Ginny gave a noncommittal shrug in response and took a seat next to Hermione. She leaned the chair back until the topmost crossbar rested against the wall behind them, then threw her feet on the narrow counter that lined the shelves. She was the very picture of insouciance with her lanky body stretched across the aisle, Hermione thought.
"Did you need help with something? Has Flitwick reached the dread 'Charms of the Ancients' parchment?"
"I don't need help with a paper," Ginny responded quietly, regarding Hermione with unabashed openness.
Hermione returned the gaze, unsure of look in those bright blue eyes. "What do you need, then? I thought when you asked me to come here – "
In a flash of fiery hair and pale skin, Ginny careened towards her and kissed her. Hermione had time to register the harsh clack of chair feet finding the floor, the shuffle of parchment across the counter, and the pull of strong hands winding in her hair, all before the complete and utter betrayal of her own lips which responded in earnest. She leaned into the kisses, suddenly and unwittingly hungry for them. A hand ghosted down her front, opening her robes with inexplicable deftness, and came to rest on her left knee.
It had been months since Ginny had last kissed her, not since a quick, impassioned meeting at the conclusion of the Christmas Holiday, when both of them had lamented the time spent apart due to her row with Ron. Hermione had watched with feigned disinterest as Dean Thomas fumbled his way out of his and Ginny's relationship earlier that week. She suspected that it had been a long time coming; she knew what Ginevra Weasley's mouth was capable of, and if the kisses she'd witnessed between the two were any indication, Dean was certainly not on the receiving end of that skill.
A skill which, much to her chagrin, was working its way down her neck. In the library. In the library, occupied by Madam Pince and a plethora of other living beings with eyes and ears with which to see and hear their kissing.
"Ginny!" Hermione hissed, tamping down the moan that threatened to spill out instead. "Someone might hear!"
Ginny's hand moved further up her thigh, confident and full of purpose. She leaned in and kissed Hermione's pursed, unwilling lips once more, then whispered against them, "No one but you comes to the Restricted Section, Hermione."
"You called me here for this?"
"Mmm hmm." The hand began weaving figure-eights up and down her jean-clad thigh. Those piercing eyes flitted to her lips, then down to her breasts.
"You couldn't wait until tonight?" Hermione managed, tensing under the insistent fingers. Those fingers reminded her of stolen summer nights in the Burrow, hidden away from prying eyes, deep beneath the covers and each other. She shivered to have them upon her again and thought briefly, guiltily, of Harry, before shoving the thought away to focus on the matter at hand.
They couldn't. Not in the library, with the threat of getting caught. What if Harry and Ron found them out? What if her library privileges were revoked? What if she got expelled? Her mounting apprehension dampened the trail of desire that Ginny's thumb was drawing up the inside of her thigh.
"I'm leaving," Hermione said, shoving her chair back and standing abruptly, but before she could blink Ginny had her wrists pinned above her head against the cold stone of the library's rear wall.
"Don't. Please," Ginny said, and leaned down to kiss her again. Hermione had almost forgotten the feel of that long Chaser's body, thin and vivacious and firm, bent around her own smaller figure. She pressed back, using her shoulders and hips for leverage against the wall. If she could just maneuver herself away from the wall, she might be able to talk Ginny down and convince her to go to the Tower and have a proper romp in a bed. Hermione begrudgingly admitted to herself that this illicitness, this outrageous affront to a space sacred to her, aroused her deeply. When she felt Ginny's hands tighten around her wrists in response to her wiggling, Hermione admitted defeat and slumped back again.
Ginny looked at her quizzically. "Hermione, if you really don't want to…"
"If I don't want to what, Ginny? To fuck in the library?" She scowled again as Ginny pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. The girl had told her once that her scowl was the most frequent and adorable of Hermione's expressions; it enraptured and annoyed her to no end. "I don't want to get caught in the library with my robes around my ankles, no."
"Well then, let's not get caught," Ginny purred, insinuating a muscled thigh between Hermione's legs. She didn't move to kiss Hermione again, however. Hermione suspected that she was awaiting approval to continue. She thought for a moment.
She couldn't deny the wetness pooling at the juncture of her thighs, nor the overwhelming desire to banish Ginny's clothes and hold those spectacular small breasts once more. She couldn't deny the electric effect of Ginny's toned abdomen heaving against her with every breath.
Hermione couldn't deny the girl against her. She kissed Ginny, hard and fast, and ground down on the thigh between her own.
Ginny's hands were all over her at once, raking over her breasts, down her stomach, squeezing her ass. She unbuttoned Hermione's shirt and pushed the material off flushed shoulders, but didn't bother with the bra before digging her fingers into Hermione's wild curls and kissing her again. Hermione loved the feel of that thin, expressive mouth on her. She hummed her approval as Ginny tugged her head gently back and bit her neck below her ear, and let out a full-fledged moan when Ginny shifted her leg ever-so-slightly against her.
"A spell, Ginny. Too much noise," Hermione gasped. She could feel the wide smile pressed against her neck, and thought for a moment that Ginny would allow the noise to continue, until she felt the hands drop from either side of her head. Ginny took a step back and withdrew her wand. She whispered a clumsy muffliato before dropping the wand and unfastening her robe with nimble fingers.
Grateful for the momentary reprieve, Hermione groped for her own wand and threw a hasty disillusionment charm over Ginny's shoulder, towards the narrow entrance to their enclave. It did little to allay her anxiety, but what the charm didn't accomplish, Ginny's hands on her breasts did. Long fingers traced her nipples through the cotton bra, then skirted down Hermione's abdomen until they reached the button of her jeans. Ginny looked up from where her hands were paused, still smiling.
Hermione had missed her. She harbored an affection for the redhead that, while perhaps not outright romantic love, was nonetheless deep and abiding. Ginny Weasley offered a welcome respite from the tediousness of interacting with other girls at Hogwarts; Hermione could not stomach the catty disputes over boys, and so she typically avoided them altogether. It didn't hurt that Ginny constantly flaunted her lissome body around the dormitory, exuding a quiet confidence with which no boy could compete. Nor did it hurt that she climbed into Hermione's bed and drew the curtains on occasion, revealing lengths of pale skin that Hermione delighted in exploring.
She dropped her hands from Ginny's waist to undo the button and draw the zipper herself. Ginny sighed happily. When those long fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties, Hermione drew a sharp breath and propelled her hips off the wall, towards Ginny. She covered Ginny's hand with her own and encouraged her fingers lower, until finally, finally, Ginny touched her.
It was magic, what Ginny did to her – magic in her fingertips, her mouth, her teasing laugh and dancing eyes. Ginny wrapped her free hand around Hermione's hip and urged her forward, onto those waiting fingers and thigh. Hermione gathered her close, as close as movement would allow, and dug her fingers into Ginny's lean back. She wished for a fleeting moment that it could always be this way: protected by Ginny and books, light filtering down on her, magic all around. Reality, she realized, wasn't so kind. With the growing uncertainty in her world, Hermione might always have to find her protection, light, and magic in borrowed moments like these.
She wouldn't let the melancholy seep into her now, not with Ginny sighing against her neck and her fingers moving so prettily in and out of her. Hermione tugged the girl's shirt out of her pants and slipped her hand up the front to cup a small breast, doing her best to be gentle and failing miserably as Ginny rocked more urgently against her. She twisted and pulled and cried out, prompting Ginny to put a firm hand over her mouth.
Ginny, to her credit, made no noise whatsoever. She seemed possessed of a single-minded resolve to prove that Hermione, if anyone, would be the one to give them away. As her agile fingers worked deeper and sent Hermione over the edge, Hermione was quite positive that Ginny was correct in that assumption. She moaned traitorously into the hand covering her mouth, arching once more against the redhead, determined to ride out the pleasure until the very last.
"Quietly," Ginny whispered as she withdrew her hands and allowed Hermione to slump against the wall. Had she been in her right mind, Hermione might have caught the wicked glint in Ginny's eyes. Instead, she only worked to catch her breath enough to recast both the disillusionment charm and muffliato spell.