Last summer Hermione distinctly remembered Ginny Weasley's torso being shaped like a plank of 2x4—skinny, straight squared, and barely any chest.
Hermione's fourth year and Ginny's third year at Hogwarts passed, whizzed, flickered by in a blur of various sceneries of the school and of other memories of the events occurring. And Ginny was pretty much Hermione's best friend—equal to Harry and Ron, since with Ginny she could discuss the things Harry and Ron wouldn't relate to, or more importantly, care about, but with Harry and Ron she had been through so much, making the three them more emotionally bonded.
Yet, Hermione really didn't notice much of Ginny's change in appearance until the single female Weasley child stood before her in the ever-so familiar Burrow, not even taking three entire steps from the fireplace into the household.
The first thing Hermione noticed was her hair. It used to be a vivid, almost orange-y red. It used to bring out her caramel freckles. But Ginny's hair somehow transformed into a darker version of its former red—a deep, rich, burgundy. It was of medium length, reaching down about two inches below her collarbone in the front, and had this healthy, pretty shine to it. Hermione's happy, exhilarated grin fused with a gaping mouth at the sight of it.
When Ginny smuggled her into a friendly, happy bear hug, one of the many Hermione encountered upon her arrival, Hermione was startled at the fact the younger girl's shoulder grazed the bottom of her jaw. She was actually almost two inches taller than Hermione now, which, in reality wasn't much, but still.
Hermione took the rest of Ginny's appearance in with a swift, yet measurable glance:
Ginny's formerly round, childish face was now slightly, just slightly more drawn downwards, giving her a sharper jaw that reminded Hermione of Fred and George's face. But the edges of her jaw and cheekbones were much more soft and feminine.
The chestnut brown eyes were still the same, with the gold bursting from the pupil. But the golden lashes were painted black with mascara, which Hermione literally blinked with disbelief at, seeing as to how Ginny was such a tomboy. Or used to be, apparently. Hermione also noticed Ginny had applied eyeliner and some gray shadow. When did she start wearing makeup?
Ginny was wearing a pair of faded light-wash jeans, seeming to actually be hers with how they were tight against her long legs; legs that used to be boney but now seemed thicker with muscle, but of course still stick-skinny.
She was wearing a plain light pink spaghetti strap shirt that hugged her curved sides and exposed the thinnest sliver of skin. She wasn't milky white now, Hermione presumed her golden-bronze complexion came from practicing Quidditch out in the sun with her brothers for the first half of the summer.
Wait. Pause. Rewind. Curves? Hips?
Hermione's expression had twisted into one of incredulousness, and then she glanced at Ginny's chest.
She had breasts now?! When the bloody hell did that happen?! And they weren't some beginner's mounds either—Hermione supposed she had to have B cups.
"Ginny!" She yelped, but smiling. Despite she was, well…surprised to say the least, she was still incredibly delighted to be standing in the Weasley living room, reunited with her second family after over a month.
"Hermione!" Ginny said in a mocking sense. In all truths, she was used to this; she had sped through puberty extremely quickly, beginning the second to last month of school and now, well, here she was. Most of her relatives gave her this reaction through the entire duration of June as they came to visit. The boys constantly commented on her, saying crude, infuriating things during their Quidditch scrimmages such as "Geez, Gin, is your broom wearin' out or are those things slowin' you down!" or, "Bloody hell, was that the bludgers or are you lettin' the dogs off their leashes!"
It was just a twinge humiliating, not to mention effectively frustrating during the heat of a game, but it always left her with the tiniest smile on her lips then or later if she was too mad.
Ginny Weasley never cared much about her looks—no point in fussing over things you don't, and never would (so she thought), have. But then she transformed…and so did everything else.
But if she did care, Ginny always vaguely, offhandedly noted she would envy Hermione. Ginny always thought, in the same vague, off-handed sense, that Hermione had this natural beauty you couldn't paint on with make-up and tight clothes. With her heart shaped jaw, big brown eyes, pink lips which so easily curved into that attractive, cocky smirk. And she had long ago learned to tame her naturally bushy golden brown hair, as it was now shorter and silky and wavy, instead of all crimped and frizzy.
It was also in the way she held herself; drenched in confidence, eyes blazing with intelligence always held up to another's. But, she cradled her textbooks to her chest like they were her young—although it only added to her know-it-all, study-fanatic image.
Hermione stood there, baffled. She seemed to be scanning hastily around the room, behind the furniture, into the corners, searching for the real Ginny, because this thoroughly developed, frankly, gorgeous thing was not her.
"Ginny, you, you're so—when did you… God, where have I been?"
Ginny smirked knowingly, and chuckled, "I believe on the other side of London, in the suburbs with your parents and cousins Jermaine and Elisa to accompany you. Or at least, that's what I've gathered from your letters."
And for some reason the response seemed all the more charming coming from the new fourteen-year-old Ginny. Hermione felt warmth settle into her gut, as though an entire keg's worth of butter beer was washing over her insides. A grin of her own appeared on her lips.
-
They were all seated around the maple wood kitchen table, orange glow from the setting sun streaming through the windows.
On one side of the table sat Bill, Fred, Ginny, and George, then the other, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Charlie, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Weasley parallel at the ends.
Fred and George were juggling a funny story from the other day between each other, as Hermione ate her meatloaf in squares and continuously stole glances at Ginny.
She knew this was strange, but she still couldn't get over the new looks of her companion. She was baffled, she felt as thought it almost couldn't be possible, and it made her feel a little uneasy at first but the past two and a half hours they all spent together before dinner proved it was still the same Ginny.
Ginny was…attractive. Hermione had drilled it into her head countless times throughout the short time she had been in the girl's presence that this was definitely Ginny, and this was human nature, and this was normal, and this wouldn't change.
Hermione was still observing. Gazing was more like it, she didn't even bother to glance away by this point.
It even seemed Ginny sat in a seat differently, tucked into the table all the way, shoulder's square and back straight. The way she held her fork looked elegant in her long, nimble fingers. The way she popped her forkfuls of food into her mouth was even attractive.
Last year she would be all slouched over, shoveling the food into her mouth if she was hungry, or at least have her elbow propped on the table, chasing the dinner around the plate if she wasn't. Everything was different.
At one point, Ginny saw Hermione looking at her, and offered her a smile. Hermione returned it politely, but obviously embarrassed, told by her tinted pink cheeks and the way she attached her eyeballs down to her plate.
She laughed with the others at the conclusion of Fred and George's story and was shooed by Mrs. Weasley to go upstairs and wash up instead of helping to clear the table a few minutes after.
-
As Hermione eyed herself in the mirror while brushing her teeth, she actually cringed with left over embarrassment from that whole stupid thing with Ginny at the table. Despite all the interaction she had with Harry and Ron, reuniting with them as well, even Fred, George, and the rest of the Weasleys, every couple minutes the shock and realization of Ginny would wash through her mentality all over again. The point of coming to the burrow was to relax with her beloved companions—not for them to cause her confusion and flood her train of thought.
She spit and rinsed, and exited the bathroom, heading around the corner then upstairs from the staircase across from the front door instead of the one in the kitchen, up the second case past the landing where the staircases joined, then down the hall to Ginny's room.
Ginny's door was shut, so Hermione knocked and said, "It's me," the obscured, mental self-explaination that Ginny was probably undressed coursing through her mind to suffice why the door was shut in the first place.
"Oh, come in."
So Hermione entered, and despite she had just guessed a second ago Ginny was probably undressed, she found her eyes widening and her body jolting back a little bit at the sight of Ginny in nothing but jeans and a bra.
She seemed to be creating a human whirlwind around her small, square room, searching around furiously for something on the lightly clothing-littered floor, Hermione's eyes following every movement she made.
Hermione just couldn't break away her gaze, though her muscles relaxed as well as her grip on the doorknob behind her.
Ginny had the same caramel freckles sprinkled all over her busty chest and toned hour-glass shaped stomach as the ones on her face. Hermione never really noticed before.
Hermione blinked and tore her eyes away. She scoffed at herself.
Why should it matter that Ginny's all grown up and gorgeous now? Really… Why is it bothering me so much…?
Hermione shook her light brunette head and stepped towards the bed, lazily stripping her skirt and button down short sleeved shirt, as she continued her mental questionings of her own behavior despite her desire not to.
She was fumbling with her small cotton t-shirt, looking for the opening she would slip over her head, when suddenly the sounds of Ginny tearing apart her room silenced.
Out of curiosity, Hermione glanced sideways only to find Ginny, back facing her... But head over her shoulder, eyes aimed at Hermione's legs…
Hermione almost opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. She didn't want to mortify Ginny the way she had been at dinner; although that was Ginny's doings, but really, it wasn't done with the intentions of mortifying Hermione.
So she continued putting her sleep shirt over her head and hopped into bed. By this point in the summer—mid-July—it was really too hot to sleep in much more than a light shirt, panties, and a sheet. Especially when you're sharing a twin-sized bed with someone in a house with air-conditioning that didn't quite reach the upstairs.
Ginny shortly joined the bed, keeping her space, of course, oddly silent.
Hermione found that to be agitating, thus she groaned, "Ah.. I'm beat."
"Yeah, Apparating a couple thousand miles can do that to a girl," Ginny chimed.
Hermione chortled in a loud exhale through her nose, cracking a toothless grin. After another moment of only the sheets rustling, the lights were out and the only hint of illumination in the now dark room was the moonlight streaming through the window to Hermione's left.
When Hermione closed her eyes, snapshots of Ginny began flooding her mind. She felt her brow crinkle and rolled her eyes. She knew she was only seeing Ginny because she hadn't been able to take her eyes off the girl all day.
She hadn't been able to take her eyes off the girl all day…
-
This was originally going to be a one-shot, but I just made it up as I went along and it's just not done. It's stupid and slow right now, but things will surely change... Let me know what you think:)