Next chapter up soon, I promise.

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It took Ginny a full minute to realize that she was still standing in her hallway staring at the door where Ron had just left. She was pulled from her reverie by what she assumed was Harry stomping back into the kitchen. She looked down and stared thoughtlessly at her hands knotted in the fabric of her apron, at her still feet. She could feel her heart starting to slow, as she felt all feeling leave her.

Hermione was coming home.

Her fingers knotted tighter but her stance remained.

Hermione had tried to kill herself.

Still no feeling would come, just the rough passing of fabric between her pale fingers, the grains rubbing her skin raw, but she couldn't feel it.

Hermione still loved her.

Her heart picked up, her fingers worked at the fabric, she didn't blink, she didn't move. She couldn't. For years she had been looking for some hint...some little sign that Hermione still wanted to see her. She'd even given Ron a message if he ever ran across her. Anything, a letter, a newspaper article saying something about her so that Ginny would know she was okay.

She'd been stashing muggle papers for years. Harry didn't know this, but then again she had never met a more oblivious man. Maybe that's why he was the obvious choice for marriage. But now...now, she had everything she had been waiting for for years and years... and she didn't know what to do. She couldn't move, she couldn't think, she could just stand there. Dumbfounded. She heard noises coming from the kitchen. She knew Harry would be in the hallway soon, either to look for her, or to head back to whatever he was doing upstairs.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Must move...must move...she silently coaxed her legs until she regained enough feeling in her body to turn and ascend the stairs. She knew quiet would help her think.

When she reached her bedroom she was at a loss. How was this going to help? She shut the door behind her with numb fingers. She crossed the room and sat heavily on the cornflower blue bedspread. It didn't take long until she was laying on it, her face buried in the fabric, thinking that maybe the familiar smell would do something to calm her. It didn't. It smelled like Harry. Her and Harry. Not Hermione...that sweet delicate smell, that shy, becoming smell. That smell Ginny would smell just before Hermione walked into the room...that smell. Ginny closed her eyes, trying to imagine it...trying to hold onto it.

As always there came that smell...Ginny leaned into it, smiling, a second later soft arms were around her, fragrant hair was brushing her shoulder and warm lips were being pressed to her own.

"Mm, hello love" Ginny mumbled, opening her eyes to bright eyes and parted lips.

"Hello, studying are we?" Hermione looked down at the scattered books on Ginny's floor.

"Not anymore." Ginny mumbled, bringing Hermione's lips back to her own.

Hermione...Hermione...

"This is where you should always stay" Ginny mumbled, later, after clothes had joined the books on the floor and faces were flushed, hair a mess.

"I know. You know I'll always come back." Hermione snuggled deeper into Ginny's arms.

"Like a dog. A really really cute dog." Ginny laughed and ran her fingers through Hermione's hair.

"Mm...dogs always find their way home." Hermione smiled, and Ginny felt her heart beginning to break.

Ginny jerked, pushing herself away from the fabric as if it had burned her. She felt tears in her eyes now and she tried desperately to push them away. She had managed this long, she could manage a little longer, and Harry could not find out or it would be ruined...over.

Ginny loved her son, and she wouldn't rip apart his world like that. She had to stay with Harry...but she could handle that...just as long as Hermione was back in her arms.

She gazed out of their small bedroom window and wondered if Ron was back with Hermione now...she wondered if they were packing...or if they were on their way here. She wondered if Hermione was the same...if she smelled the same, if she got the same look on her face when she smelled something sour, if she laughed the same, touched the same. She wondered if she would love her the same.