Chapter two, yada yada yada, read&review because you think it's/I'm awesome. Or not. (My god, am I tired.)

Leather & Cigarettes
Chapter Two: need and/or want

Light leaking through the blinds and dancing across her eyes is what woke Hermione initially. It was the first time she had seen it in days; her eyes winced at the infiltration and blinked wildly, becoming accustomed. Her room was a blur of dark furniture, dark carpeting, and dark sheets, red hair fanning across her pillow -

Red hair? She forced her eyes to focus on the shining auburn, slightly tangled. It led to a pale face, freckles littered across the bridge of a small nose, positioned over pink parted lips. A stubborn, slight jaw, a graceful neck with a few small red marks to ruin its perfection, and… Hermione swallowed, her pulse quickening. The bare sweep of a collarbone belonging to an equally bare body. The body of Ginny Weasley.

Don't panic, Hermione, she thought, taking deep, slow breaths in order to calm her racing pulse. There's nothing to panic about. Just because you're naked, and she's naked, doesn't mean that you have anything to panic about.

She put a hand close to her mouth and started gnawing at the delicate skin, an old habit she'd picked up from her years at school. Hermione felt her eyes soften as she gazed down at the girl - no, woman; Ginny was nineteen now, after all - and traced her cheekbones with her eyes. There were dark circles beneath her closed eyes, so much worse than the ones Hermione had herself. It looked as though the redhead hadn't slept in weeks.

Neither have you, a voice pointed out, but she shrugged it off. Her work was all mental, all I'm sorry to inform you, but… and potions. Forcing spells into ordinary objects: quills, watches, hair binders, for the protection of five. And yet still, so many people died…

"Stop," she said aloud, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Ginny didn't stir. Hermione sighed, shook her head to get her mind out of old thoughts and forced them to focus on the new. This situation in particular. She needed to sort things out. Her cool, logical brain couldn't handle the irrationality of her naked body and Ginny's naked body in the same bed. What had happened?

Like a book, she flipped through the pages of her mind and found the chapter on last night, skimmed through the memories until she found the time around midnight. She'd been on her way back to her apartment after buying more moths and powdered unicorn hooves for her protection potions when she had run into Ginny - or, when Ginny had run into her. They had talked, then a shadow had appeared from the alleyway: a Death Eater. He had tried to Petrify Ginny; she had quickly thrown up an anti-hex shield around both of them, and they had run for it. Hermione hadn't wanted more Death Eaters to be alerted of the battle. She'd taken them to a safer place where they could Apparate to her apartment. They had drunk tea together; Ginny had asked to stay the night. Not that Hermione wasn't going to offer in the first place, but - They had ended up in Hermione's room. She'd given pajamas to Ginny. Ginny had taken off her coat, a faded leather jacket, and held it out, looked around for someplace to put it. Hermione had reached out to take it, their hands had touched, and -

Hermione shuddered as her body and mind both remembered what had happened afterwards. Nothing could have prepared her for that kind of unbridled pleasure, that kind of carnal hunger. It was like she had been craving Ginny for all this time; she'd needed the other woman's touch without realizing it.

But it wasn't just the sex, she thought, brow furrowing. It wasn't just instant gratification. You felt something else, too. A different kind of need. A different kind of want. And yet she could not pinpoint it; she could not precisely say what she had felt, what she still felt, watching Ginny Weasley sleep in her bed.

Needing to do something other than lay around, she gingerly removed herself from the bed and grabbed her bathrobe from the closet, a silky number in eggplant with ancient runes swirling in grey. A present from Harry for Christmas two years ago. Somehow, they had still had time for Christmas.

She shook her head before she could get overwhelmed with the injustice of this war and, after throwing another glance towards the sleeping woman, went to the kitchen to make breakfast and tea for them both.

The kettle was just coming to a boil and the fourth pancake was just being slapped magically onto a hot plate as Ginny stumbled in sleepily, her hair in disarray and Hermione's tank top and pants looking as if the redhead had pulled them on while walking. Perhaps she had. Seeing her again, and clothed, made Hermione blush and nearly overflow their teacups. She hoped that the redhead hadn't noticed.

She hadn't. Ginny collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes with her fists, saying nothing. When Hermione started setting the table, Ginny wordlessly stood and helped.

"You don't have to help," Hermione told her, trying to take away the plate of pancakes.

Ginny held on stubbornly, shaking her head. "You don't have to do all the work," she retorted, and, wrestling the plate away from the brunette, set it resolutely on the table next to the butter and powdered sugar.

Hermione sighed, but couldn't help but smile. Somehow, this felt right, yet she couldn't figure out how - or why. It had been a year since they had last seen each other. Ginny had been in Romania with her troop and her brother Charlie, sniffing out Dark Wizards and Witches. Hermione, on the other hand, had stayed in England, helping Harry, Ron, and Dumbledore plan battle tactics and casting a slew of Invisibility and Protection spells on various people, groups, and buildings. She'd also been substituting for various teachers who were involved in the Order at Hogwarts, filling in for Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. In fact -

"Ginny, I don't know how long you want to stay here, but I have to go to Hogwarts today to fill in for McGonagall at two," she told Ginny, after swallowing a mouthful of pancake. "You can stay here, if you want to; there are plenty of protection spells on this apartment, so you'll be safe." Why did Ginny being safe matter so much? She was sure that the redhead had faced a lot more than Hermione's concern was given merit for. Ginny could take care of herself. If Hermione hadn't been there last night, she was sure that the girl could've taken on the Death Eater by herself and beaten him.

However, the more pressing matter was the fact that Ginny hadn't yet answered her. The redhead wasn't eating, either. Worry bubbled inside her, swelled into fear, and the panic she had felt at awakening.

She tried again. "Ginny?" she asked gently, tentatively reaching her hand across the table to touch Ginny's bare arm. "Are you listening to me?"

"What do you think happened last night?" Ginny asked her suddenly, taking her aback. Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off. "I don't know, really, either. It wasn't just sex - if it were just that, you wouldn't have come out here so calmly and made breakfast for us. You wouldn't've offered to let me stay here for the day."

"Ginny, I -" Hermione started, but Ginny silenced her with a finger on her lips. She inhaled sharply at the contact, feeling it rush across the rest of her skin.

"You felt that, didn't you?" Ginny whispered, not pulling her finger away. "This isn't just a random shag and then we're done."

Without thinking, Hermione nipped gently at Ginny's fingertip, making the other woman gasp lightly. "I didn't think that it was," Hermione answered, feeling absolutely calm, despite Ginny's outburst. She hesitated for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts in a logical manner. But what was logical about this at all? "And I don't want it to be. I don't quite understand it, but - I want you to stay here."

But Ginny shook her head, pulling her hand away slowly. "I can't stay here," she replied. "It would be too dangerous for both of us. We both know that your protection spells aren't perfect -" Hermione winced visibly, guilt stabbing her for all the dead bodies buried or cremated in England, all the letters she had had to write - "and I don't want either of us in a compromising situation."

It was logical. Hermione's mind grasped onto Ginny's rationality and went running with it, yet it had no idea where to go. "So where do we go from here?" she asked, for both her mind and her heart, which was also listening intently.

"I don't know," Ginny answered honestly, running a hand through her tangled hair. "All I know is that I haven't slept so well - or at all - in the past few weeks, but I felt safe enough here - with you - to do so. I didn't even freak out when I woke up in a different bed." She sighed. "I think I want this. I think I might even -" Ginny hesitated over the word, and Hermione could feel her uncertainty - "need this." Her eyes searched and held Hermione's, a deep blue ocean to drown polished tiger's-eye. "Do you?"

Hermione felt overwhelmed. Her life had been spells and potions and books without emotion for the past year - all rationality, all logic and reasoning and recitation. This new chapter was littered with the exact opposite. She didn't know what to do, nor did she know what to think.

Did she want this? She thought back to the feeling of Ginny's fingers tracing swirls down her back, the feeling of soft lips on her neck. It had felt so good to be with someone, to fall asleep next to someone. To wake up and not be alone.

But did she need this? The past year haunted her then, that she had spent wondering how Ginny was doing, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't receive an owl saying that her beloved redhead was lost forever, killed by some Death Eater in a foreign country, or at her doorstep. She remained mostly celibate; nobody wanted to share a bed with the Angel of Death. They were afraid that the next letter she wrote would be to their family.

Slowly, hesitantly, Hermione pushed back from the table and went over to Ginny, tilting the woman's chin so that their eyes met. She saw Ginny's pulse in her neck, the flecks of grey and green in her irises. The gorgeous way she was holding her breath.

Not breaking eye contact, she leaned in for a kiss, lips grazing against lips in a shy, tentative manner. Her eyes closed; her hand reached out and cupped Ginny's cheek gently. Ginny's arm came up and wrapped around her neck, fingers tangling themselves in her hair as the kiss deepened. Heat shot to her abdomen and only grew; her skin turned into gooseflesh. She thought about pulling away, wondering if she could - and realized that it wasn't just a matter of she didn't want to. She didn't think she could at all.

It was Ginny who did. The redhead looked up at her through glazed eyes and parted lips. Hermione stared back, oxygen suddenly hard to come by.

"Do you?" she repeated softly.

Hermione licked her lips and nodded slightly. "Yes," she whispered in reply.

Hermione's heart threatened to stop in her chest. She took in breath, swallowing it to her lungs, trying to be calm. Her world had turned completely upside down in the past twenty-four hours. Ginny had returned, they had slept together, and now they were talking about doing it again. It doesn't make any sense! her logic screamed at her from the back of her head, tearing its metaphorical hair out at the development. Fix it! Now!

"After breakfast, I'm going to go," Ginny told the brunette, who snapped out of her mental struggle with a start. The redhead was staring at her with heavy eyes, ocean dark and unreadable. "But…" She hesitated; Hermione held her breath again, half-afraid. "I'll be back, later."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask when, but held her tongue. She simply nodded and returned to her seat, forcing the remains of her breakfast down her throat. The thought of Ginny leaving made her heart squeeze painfully, though she tried to force the feeling away, logic cracking down and trying to reign again. It only half-worked; by the time they had both finished, sending their plates flying to the sink, she had changed it to a dull, questionable ache.

Ginny returned to Hermione's room briefly to change back into her clothes, leather jacket slung over one arm when she came back out again. All black, Hermione noted, finding it typical of most people she knew. Everyone was in constant mourning. Everyone thought it to be constant night.

They stood awkwardly together in the middle of the living room, the same nervousness of last night creeping back into the space between them. Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that maybe this would be goodbye. No one could ever know the future, not even the greatest seer in the world. Not even the Angel of Death.

"Be careful," she told Ginny, the phrase sounding flat as it fell out of her mouth and collapsed, lifeless, on the floor at their feet.

Ginny seemed to notice its death, but didn't say anything about it. After all, death was a constant here. "I always am," the redhead replied. "You - good luck teaching today." She half-smiled. "I remember how bad some of us were."

Hermione couldn't help but return the smile. "So do I." Their eyes met then shyly parted. Logic screamed at her again about the ridiculousness of all that she was doing. She told it to shut the bloody hell up. "Ginny, I -" Everything she wanted to say seemed to stall on her tongue. She looked again at the woman, helplessly pleading for the right words.

Ginny came to her then, pressing their foreheads together. Ginny's eyes blurred into one; her lips were dangerously close to hers. Her desperation for something only multiplied. "Shh," she said softly, "it's okay. Everything's okay. Nothing bad is going to happen to me. And I'll be back here to be with you tonight."

The brunette nodded, though uncertainty still plagued her thoughts. Ginny must have noticed, because when her lips pressed against hers for a kiss, they lingered perhaps longer than they should. Hermione savored in the softness, quickly cataloguing the feelings so she could remember them - just in case.

Their lips parted and their eyes met and Hermione felt herself swimming in that ocean of blue again. It was then that she wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was more of just a question of need and/or want. If maybe it was a question of something much deeper.

"Later," Ginny said softly, and then she was gone.