The two girls regarded each other over the many textbooks laid out before them. The candles had dimmed, a tribute to the deep of night. Something creaked and crackled beneath the floor. Number 12 Grimwald Place was home to more sounds than made a person comfortable, especially at this time. Mrs. Weasley was downstairs, no doubt cooking, cleaning, or a healthy combination of the two. It was all she could do to stay sane. Harry and Ron were out with most of the Professors and Dumbledore, leaving just the girls, the mother, a scared Nevelle and Luna (who were already asleep on the kitchen floor), and of course Mrs. Weasley, keeping the pair company while she bustled about. The absence of the sounds of people moving about did little to calm the nerves of Hermione as she sat there, wand ignited, pouring over book after book for hours at a time. Ginny had recently taken to helping Hermione. She needed the conversation, the closeness to another person. Nevelle didn't talk any more, and unless they were really desperate, most people avoided speaking to Luna at all costs. She had taken to memorizing anthems of various countries, and reciting them at will whenever addressed.
Yes, war forces people to do things they never thought they could. It leaves all sorts of marks on the subconscious, marring and defiling every crevice it touches until you go mad, in some cases. For Hermione and Ginny, this was their escape.
Hermione turned back to her reading, lowering her eyes to the page of blurred text. Age and mildew had distorted the ink, making it lean and ripple in ways that made the eyes burn and the brain spin. Ginny watched her reading, eyes flicking from line to line; reading, absorbing, retaining. She watched her gentle fingers follow her eyes, soft pads whispering across the roughened parchment, stroking the indistinct ink into careful lines for her to read. She shook her head softly, her red hair falling in eddies and waves over her shoulders to frame her face and neck. The book she held in her lap suddenly felt heavy, and she closed it softly. A puff of dust rose from the pages and settled painstakingly slowly back onto solid ground. The book joined its fellows on the ever-building pile between the pair, and Ginny stood up. Arching her back, she yawned and stretched her tensed and frozen muscles, hard and uncooperative from inactivity. Hermione looked up.
"Are you alright?" she asked, watching the rise and fall of her friend's chest, the subtle recoil of her ribs as she straightened and blinked. Ginny shrugged, walking over to the other side of the table to the sofa where Hermione had been stationed for the past twelve days.
"I'm just taking a break." There was a pause, as the studious girl returned to her reading. "Hey, Hermione? Can I ask you a question?"
She looked up again, regarding the redhead with wizened brown eyes. Something in the other girl's green eyes sparked a connection deep in her mind, like a handle to reality she had been looking for since the whole war began. Hermione nodded warmly, daring to smile, a mere twitch of the corners of her mouth. Ginny shifted uncomfortably, looking down at the book. Raising her eyes again, she took a breath of thought.
"Do you think we'll make it? Honestly. Do you think this is really it? That we'll die here in this house, never seeing Hogwarts, or Hogsmede, or anything ever again?" Her eyes shone with the question, reflecting two flickering spots of candle flame behind Hermione, pupils pinpricks despite the soft light. Hermione closed her eyes, head bowed in careful thought. She put her quill in the book and shut it with a gentle 'pomph' of heavy paper. Turning to sit facing Ginny on the long ornate couch, she crossed her left leg under her and steadied herself on the back cushions.
"Ginny, no matter what happens I'll be here for you. If we win, if Voldermort is defeated tomorrow, we can go out and have a grand celebration. Honeydukes and all. And if we stay here for four months more with no victory or defeat, we will stay here and do whatever we can to help Harry and Dumbledore," she spoke softly, looking at Ginny with a mixture of concentration and sympathy. "And if we loose the battle tomorrow there is no way we can do anything but accept the inevitable. It's nothing but a waiting game, and the least we can do is help."
Braced for the worst, Ginny still couldn't help but gloss over. Green eyes shimmering with the tears she couldn't seem to stop, heart slowly cleaving in two at the thought of her family lost and dead before the powers of the Dark Lord himself, and hands shaking with the effort of holding in her emotions, Ginny sat before Hermione, slowly coming apart. She didn't know what to do, what to say, how to react. She had known Hermione would say exactly what she did, but somehow she couldn't prepare herself. As the first tear broke free and slid down her cheek, she could do nothing but let everything out. Sliding forward on the sofa, she fell into a sobbing heap, head on Hermione's knee. Surprised, Hermione jerked back before stopping to look at the suffering girl before her. She felt her own tears threatening to flow, and as she pulled Ginny into a sitting position she shifted over closer, letting the weight of the crying girl fall onto her. Slowly, tentatively, unsure, Hermione wrapped her arms around Ginny. Ginny held on with all her anger and frustration, sadness and terror. Sobbing, gasping for air, and crying heavy tears of guilt and remorse, the two sat together in the soft candlelight.
"Shh. It's okay, Ginny. Don't cry, please don't cry. I don't know how to make this better, I don't. It's driving me crazy. Please, Ginny. Shh. Come back, I've got you. You're safe here. Shh," whispered Hermione, gently rocking Ginny in her arms, lightly brushing her red hair from her pink face. Ginny's sobs lessened, and finally stopped. Sniffles replaced bawling, and her breaths returned to normal. Hermione wouldn't let go. Ginny didn't want her to let go. Somehow this contact was… human. Ginny pulled tighter under Hermione's chin, pressing herself against her in the darkness, trying as hard as she could to melt into this body that held her safe from the world. Hugging tighter, Ginny inhaled deeply. She was holding a lifeline, smelling the human scent, wanting to taste the skin of someone who would hold her forever.
"Don't leave me, Hermione," Ginny squeaked into Hermione's collarbone. Hermione kept slowly petting the flaming red hair. She closed her eyes and put her chin down, meeting with the warm scalp. She inhaled, the scent of lavender filling her nose and her soul with a calm she hadn't felt in months. Suddenly Number 12 was just a place, a place where she was holding the only thing left that was good and pure. She clutched onto Ginny with resolution, something compelling her to kiss the part in her hair. Ginny's eyes opened, recognizing the feeling from her childhood, when her father used to kiss her there before bed. Before he was…
Ginny turned slightly, nuzzling Hermione's neck. She kissed the hollow of her collarbone, a long, lingering taste of the other woman. Hermione inhaled sharply with the sensation, eyes open with shock and mystified wonder. For a second something in the back of her mind told her to push Ginny away, to deny this happiness when everything around her was suffering. The feeling was dulled under the sensations radiating from her fluttering heart. Breathing faster to avoid the dizzying head rush, Hermione looked down at her… friend? Was this friendship? She pushed the question out of her mind.
Ginny felt the change. The erratic breathing, the pulse of the throat, the impulsive swallow. Closing her eyes she kissed her again, lightly just before the collar of the robes got in the way. Gooseflesh prickled up around her lips, adding texture to the taste she loved exploring. Kissing upwards, tilting her head to reach the side of her neck, just under her ear. A brief exhalation of air hissed beside her ear as she sucked harder on the delicate flesh; biting down softly, responding to the reactions above her. Hermione had closed her eyes, mouth open slightly, unconsciously gripping Ginny's shirt with each shockwave of intense reality.
Suddenly the feeling became too intense. She had to stop it, had to stop this from continuing. Ginny was her friend. A war is not the time to have fun, to explore, and taste, and moan in throes of ecstasy. Turning her jaw downwards to force Ginny away, Hermione breathed fitfully to chase pieces of her shattered calm and reason. The redhead looked up, eyes wild and confused, perplexed and questioning. This couldn't end. Something inside her had sparked, lit, caught on fire and was burning ablaze. Hermione looked at Ginny intently, studying her eyes. The green was lit, both with an inherent passion and the flames of the candles around them, seeming to glint and burn and dance in the darkness. Pupils, dilated black and deep, contracted ever so slightly with each breath. Hermione fought with herself, one hand braced on the couch back, one hand on the shoulder of her only hope.
It was right, it was natural. Giving in was inevitable. What was there left to go wrong? They couldn't loose anything more than they had already lost. Something about this night, this treacherous night at Number 12, was even more venomous than the rest. After so much terror and apprehension, Hermione needed to belong. Thumb gently caressing the sharply defined collar bone, she reached up decidedly to cup the back of Ginny's glowing hair. She smiled, leaning into the hand. Hermione dared to grin before leaning forward to press her lips against Ginny's.
Warmer than firecoal, all the frigid desperation in the room melted into their mouths. Gently, cautiously, exploringly, Hermione opened her mouth slightly, pressing forward, probing, letting her tongue taste everything she could reach. Ginny pressed back, arm snaking around Hermione's shoulder, awkwardly at first. Unlike Hermione, Ginny had some experience. On the other hand, Hermione seemed to have an inherent sexuality. Hermione responded, shifting on the couch to sit on her knees, urging Ginny to straddle her, pulling the small of her back closer. Ginny moaned, vibrations tickling Hermione's tongue, buzzing in her teeth and in her core.
Hermione snapped. Incendiary waves of intention and implication powered through all her emotional barriers, all of her carefully constructed barricades against fear and pain crashing down into pure pleasure. Breath peaking, sweat prickling on her forehead and neck, fingers clutching, raking along Ginny's back; she softly pulled away from her lips, turning to lick and kiss her ear and neck, alternately licking and nibbling at her skin. Ginny gasped, throwing her head back and sending ripples of golden red hair cascading down her back. Thrusting herself forward fluidly, their bodies meshed together, intertwined. Ginny pressed herself into Hermione, bodies touching from breasts to knees, trying their hardest to meet, to connect and bind.
Hermione stopped.
As the two pulled apart, Ginny looked at Hermione. Eyes meeting, they suddenly felt awkward. The redhead abruptly moved backwards, pulling away. Hermione did the same, scuttling to the opposite end of the couch, eyes wild and scared, darting nervously from her friends face to the floor, anywhere but in her eyes. Ginny clutched her neck with her fingers, willing away the burning heat in her chest, resolutely focused on a spot below Hermione's crossed feet.
"I… oh Gods…" stammered Hermione, holding her forehead, still rosy and warm from their contact. Ginny looked up, grimacing slightly.
"We should not have done that," said Ginny sharply, "that isn't right, what we just-"
"I know," replied Hermione, sitting pointedly forward, turned away from the light. Minutes passed, with nothing but the creaking of Mrs. Weasley down below echoing off the sudden calm of the room. Ginny shivered, unexpectedly cold. Her hands dropped to her lap, eyes still unfocused. She struggled for a word, anything to break this silence. It hurt more than being alone, it was more isolated than solitude. She stood abruptly, padding softly to the door, each footfall a deliberate cacophony with the silence. Reaching the door, she turned the doorknob with a resonating squeak and left, chancing a look behind her to the figure softly silhouetted by muted candlelight.
As the door closed, Hermione exhaled. Had she been breathing at all? She didn't remember, her thoughts were so mixed and lost inside her ordinarily organized mind. Pulling her wand out from under the books, she waved the candles into darkness. She was left with the scent of the pages she loved, and the memory of lips taking her skin, caressing it, obsessing over it, soothing it. Her hand twitched. She reached up to touch the spot that still tingled and throbbed. Pressing her finger into the redness, warmth spread from the point to the ends of her feet and the nerves of her eyes. Glowing, maybe even smiling, she couldn't tell, she leaned back. Closing her eyes, the room faded from her mind, leaving only a couch… and Ginny.