It was hot. Above anything else, it was hot. Ginny's upper bedroom in the muggle boarding house was cool, of course, her being a witch. But when she came down the creaking attic stairs to use the loo or to get a bite to eat, the hot, humid air would curl around her like tentacles and smother her.
That's why when Hermione called to invite her by her house on the other side of Thames, in Westminster, she jumped at the opportunity. Ginny left Lambeth, a south borough of London, and took to the streets. It was not far to Hermione's, only about a kilometer, and that was only because she had to go six blocks over to cross the Thames and then back another four to get to Hermione's flat off of Millbank Road.
No one passing Miss Weasley in the midday sun would ever suspect her for anything other than a normal young woman, fresh from Upper School. She was taller than the average woman, but not by much, at about 175 centimeters, or five feet nine. But she was boyish in proportions, with bony shoulders and narrow hips. Her stomach was obviously flat, as she had a rather clinging light brown tank top on. Ginny's breasts were smallish, and rather high and pointed. Her legs went on for days and they were accentuated by the cotton denim shorts she was wearing. There were sandals for her feet, which had a smattering of freckles on them. Her hair set her apart though, a dark and rich auburn that had darkened with age. It was as straight as her friend's was curly and today it was in a tight ponytail at the back of her head, the tips of which brushed against her neck irritatingly.
Ginny rang the buzzer outside of Hermione's flat. The woman in question's head popped out from the fourth story front window and dropped a set of keys down, narrowly missing Ginny's head.
"Hermione!" Ginny called upward, laughing. "You could have killed me with those keys!"
"Hurry on up. I've just gotten back from the grocer and I've a whole box of those popsicles you love."
This spurred Ginny into action: the thought of the lovely banana ice treats residing in Hermione's ice box. She inserted the correct key into the lock and started up the stairs winding through the center of the building. She stopped only on the second floor to say hello to Mrs. Erambala, the kindly Indian lady that took care of Hermione once when she got ill and no one could be contacted for a few hours.
The thought of banana popsicles motivated her on up the stairs.
Hermione was at the door before Ginny could unlock it with the keys she had almost been impaled on.
"Oh, let me inside. It's so hot out there," Ginny begged, taking the popsicle in Hermione's hand from her. She gave her grape one a lick before handing it back and hugging Hermione.
"Get your own," Hermione laughed, shutting the door behind her. The instantly cooler air wrapped around Ginny how one would think that serenity and tranquility would.
Hermione lifted up her hair, which looked to be heavy, with both hands and secured it off her neck and back with a large claw clip. The light brown waves and curls almost came to her waist, as thick as any hair Ginny had ever seen. Hermione's sundress crept up her legs as she did so, exposing lightly tanned thighs. For some reason, this distracted Ginny past her motivation for a popsicle.
"Aren't you going to get one?"