Eggs? Something faintly Mexican? Ginny turned over, her face falling into the shaft of light that woke her up each morning. Squinting in the harsh gold, she stretched under the thick blankets, arching, waking her muscles. With a sigh she recoiled and sat up groggily, grabbing her shoulder to loosen the tense muscle. She was mildly surprised to find that she hadn't changed into her nightgown the night before. Dismissing it, she pushed back the quilt and swung her legs over the side. It felt like a Monday, heavy and foreboding. She stood, grabbed her towel, and strode to the shower.
It had to be scalding. Boiling hot, hot enough to fog the mirrors within seconds, hot enough to leave you red and tingling even after you were dry and clothed again. Ginny tested it, holding her arm in for as long as she could stand. Just a little too hot. Taps changed, twisted, reading her motions, enchanted and obedient. She shed her shirt, then slid her pants off. Bra, underwear… they joined their counterparts on the smooth-tiled floor. Ginny stepped daintily into the shower, the pounding water rubbing the sleep from her body, kneading her back muscles into submission. She moaned softly as the tension left her, lavender filling her nostrils with heavenly relaxation. Holding her hand underneath one of the five golden taps, pastel body wash slid like silk into her palm. Humming softly, she smoothed it over her body. Steam filled her nose, the showerhead echoing her thoughts in scent. Lavender filled the bathroom, making Ginny almost float with the serenity it provided. But something else began to infuse into the calming scent. Something faintly tropical, a musky, heavy scent tickled her nose. Paying no heed, she continued her morning ritual, tickling her skin with the lotion and smoothing it into her body. She lathered herself, hands inexplicably drawn to her own breasts, playing gently there. Smiling, her eyes closed to the heat of the pounding water, she allowed her body to take its course, running her hands down her stomach and back up, igniting the nerves in her abdomen. She pulled harder at her nipples, pinching and scratching carefully, spiraling quickly into rough, primal motions. Leaning back against the wall of the shower, the clashing sensations of the frigid tile and the scalding water made her eyes snap open, her hand circling lower and lower between her thighs, until it eventually circled her own sex.
Glazed, completely unearthed, Ginny brought herself to the peak of sensation, moaning, growling, the most basic of sounds, hand wildly thrusting, unable to get enough of this feeling. It hit, stars floating, the most powerful orgasm of her life, making the heat sting like tiny drops of molten lava on the engorged nerve-endings of her aroused body. Panting, she slid down the tiled wall onto the floor, completely exhausted. Something in the back of her head called to her. Groggily, smiling moronically with the intense relief, she tried to hear what it was. Kava Kava! She laughed to herself. Musky tropical scent? Kava Kava, the worlds most powerful aphrodisiac. That would explain her unusual behavior.
But… why would the shower surprise her like that? It was enchanted, yes… but not intelligent. Responding only to the wishes of the user, it did not have the ability to make its own decisions.
Ginny rose, suddenly ill-at-ease. Quickly rinsing off, the shower stopped, and she stepped out. Wrapping herself in her towel, she was bitten by the sudden chill. She turned to the mirror. Bright red, a shade to contest her own flaming hair, she wore an expression of perplexed unease. It was unbecoming. Looking down and shrugging, Ginny walked from the bathroom, greeting her shaft of light with a smile, and her wardrobe with much relief.
Clean, dressed, and wand in hand, Ginny felt ready to start her day. After a quick charm to make her bed, she made her way to the door. Glancing sideways, the breath left her chest, and her heart fell deep into her abdomen. She stopped, stock still, her wand raised and shaking. The bed- that bed. The only other bed in the room, the room she shared… the room she shared with Hermione. She blinked slowly, heavily. Mouth open, finally able to breathe, her wand falling with a soft thud onto the threadbare carpet beneath her feet, she stepped backwards. Finding the wall with her hands, she stood, her weight on the musty wallpaper, mouthing silently. That bed… that girl… that night. Last night. She shook her head, wet hair hitting her face. She had forgotten, forgotten in the drone of the morning. She slid slowly to the ground. The bed was made, sheets crisp and perfect, just the way they always were. The pillow was even immaculate, no crinkles, no lines. It was the very image of Hermione. It hadn't been slept in.
Ginny's eyes snapped back suddenly, and she stood up. Bending to retrieve her wand, she collected her thoughts. Had it been a dream? The sensations, the closeness, the warmth… had she imagined it? Was that the explanation for the shower's unexplainable behavior? Her hand worried her neck out of habit. Suddenly she snatched it back. Running to the bathroom, she fiercely lit the candles with a snap of her wand, and pulled back her hair.
It was there. There, under her ear. The red and purple patch, the telltale mark of Hermione's ministrations, glowed spectacularly on her shower-red skin. Ginny just stared, disbelieving the evidence in front of her, breathing shallowly. As she watched that spot in the mirror, the night played out in front of her like she had filmed it, captured it forever. Reliving it, the pain, the terrible truth… and then the actuality. A resolution so powerful, so moving that it even left a mark.
She straightened. Breakfast smelled wonderful.
Tucking her wand into her pocket, she left the bathroom, closed the bedroom door behind her, and put her foot on the first stair. She wanted so badly to resolve what they had done, to forget it and move on. But something inside her, the same something that made her shake and tremble even now, desperately wanted to relive the night again and again, so deeply intertwined with this brown-haired girl that she could never be free; not that she would ever want to.
…
Hermione woke suddenly, a heavy weight compressing her lungs, making it impossible to draw breath. Sitting up abruptly, gasping, sputtering, flailing for air, she connected with none other than Crookshanks himself, curled contentedly on his master's chest, keeping warm in the early morning chill. Shrieking and hissing, Crookshanks vaulted off, landing on the stack of books ungracefully before scampering off through the slightly ajar door. Pale blue light was filtering in through the dust-encrusted windows to the north. Ugh. It was a Monday.
Sitting up, Hermione rubbed her eyes. Her lower back was kinked from sleeping on the lumpy couch. Silently standing, she was suddenly very aware of the draft whipping violently around her ankles. Shivering, arms tucked tight under her chest, she shuffled to the door. Voices whispered downstairs, sometimes breaking into a nervous peal of laughter, or the clink of earthenware bowls. She smiled. Number 12 was alive this morning. She could hear Ron's dull mumblings. Sliding through the threshold, she padded down the second floor hallway to her room. A shower and a set of clean clothes seemed like a wonderful idea, especially on such a cold, blue morning. Reaching the third door on the left, she turned the latch and went inside, habitually closing it behind her. She strode to her bed, pulling out her wand to put it neatly astride her pillow. A white glow came from the window over Ginny's bed.
She stopped.
Ginny's bed!
Pulling back suddenly, Hermione stumbled unceremoniously onto her own bed. Ginny hadn't heard her. She dared to breathe. Picking up her wand, she hesitated. Using magic on someone without their knowledge was never a kind thing to do. But extreme times…
A slight flash, and Ginny turned over. Hermione's breath caught. Had it worked? She stayed stock still under her breathing evened again. A simple sleeping spell wouldn't harm her. Quickly, Hermione grabbed her things from the wardrobe and scampered into the bathroom. The door shut with a click, and she warded and soundproofed it just to be sure. Panting, back against the door, she looked skyward, willing the pounding light in the back of her eyes to fade.
Minutes passed, and Hermione's breath slowed. She opened her eyes to the darkness of the bathroom. A slit of light shone under the door where the bathroom floor had sunk a little with the weight of the smooth tiles. She ran a hand over her face dejectedly, idly lighting the candles with a wave of her wand. Golden light rose around her and made her blink a few times in the warmth of the colors that enveloped her. She bent forward to put her clean clothes on a bench beside the shower, as the water began to adjust and change behind the curtain.
Hermione shed her clothes and stepped into the spray. It was perfect, as always, slightly warm and smelling of rose-hips and thyme. A signature scent she had worn since she took her first bath nineteen years ago. It was familiar, pleasant, heavy and warm. Standing in the cascading water, Hermione did nothing. She just let the sheet of water fall over her, washing away the night before. Memories, sensations, an indistinct murmur just behind her ear, all these spoke of her contact. Hermione felt dirty somehow. She'd betrayed a secret trust with her body. These feelings, foreign and forbidden, they could not stay with her. She washed her arms. This girl that was invading her head was just another product of the madness of wartime. Her hair was shampooed and light. Ginny, last night… it was all nothing more than madness in these trying times, a textbook example of finding acceptance, both social and mental, in the arms of another person. She turned off the water and stepped out, toweling dry and quickly putting on her clothes. It was logical, it was textual, it was black and white.
Around her, the warm pinks and reds faded slightly, washed out and grey.