"What are you doing?" Ginny said, face aghast.
In an instant Percy pulled himself from Hermione. The hand vanished, and she was left empty, and twitching, and flooded with embarrassment. Why did Ginny have to barge in right now?
"I can't believe this," Ginny said, coming into the room. She was beside herself, and looked all the more pure-hearted in her pink nightgown. "Why are you saying such awful things to each other?"
Silence filled the room.
"How did you hear?" said Percy. His tone was subdued, he sounded just as awful as Hermione felt.
"I was outside the door."
To preserve privacy (and not wake up the rest of the house), Ginny closed the door again and stayed there, hand on the knob. Percy collapsed back against the headboard, and Hermione tugged up her pajama bottoms and went against the cold wall at the foot of the bed. She covered her breasts with her top, and Percy muttered a spell to clean himself.
"I'd heard Hermione crying," Ginny explained, facing them again and coming onto the carpet. She looked on the verge of tears. "I waited for her to come back, but she never did. I wanted to check on her. I thought she went to the bathroom, and I came to look for her, and saw your light on. Then I heard you talking -"
"Lovely spellwork," said Hermione.
"It's for quieting, not silencing -"
"And I heard what terrible things you were saying to each other!" said Ginny. "I thought we all got on well. I thought you two, being the brightest of everyone, might be able to talk, and enjoy each other's company…"
Part of Hermione wanted to scoff, even if Ginny's perspective was rational. She might've liked her books, but they had nothing else in common.
"And then I come in here, and… and you're just being so foul to each other, and -"
"Ginny," said Percy, mournful, "I'm so sorry. So terribly sorry you had to hear all that."
Hermione glanced at him.
"I'm such an awful big brother," he said.
"No, you're not!" said Ginny, coming to the bedside.
"I am," said Percy, looking down at himself. "Hermione is right. I've been neglecting you, and everyone. I'm always hiding myself away, wishing I was somewhere else, when you're really the best family a person could ask for. I don't deserve you."
"No," said Ginny, climbing onto the bed. "That's not true. Look at me."
She took Percy's face in her hands. Was Percy about to cry?
"You work so hard," said Ginny. "You do. Everyone understands that. You've been putting so much time in at the ministry, and you've done amazing things for yourself."
Hermione felt awkward. It was like she was intruding on a tender family moment.
"And everybody's so proud of you," Ginny said.
"Are they?" said Percy, looking at her.
"Of course they are."
Ginny moved closer to Percy. She put a leg on the other side of his lap.
"They are."
Hermione's cheeks glowed red, and her heart beat in her chest. There was quiet for a moment as Ginny blocked Percy's face from view.
"And I'm proud of you too," said Ginny softly.
Hermione heard a kiss.
"Ginny -" said Percy.
"Shh," said Ginny, and their heads met again. Another kiss. "I want to make you feel better," she whispered.
Hermione gaped. Disbelief dumped through her, washing out everything else. What. was. happening. Percy's hands appeared on Ginny's thighs, and Ginny kissed him again. Hermione watched her reach down, into Percy's briefs, and guide out her brother's cock.
There was no way, Hermione thought. This couldn't be real. But as Ginny positioned his tip at her pussy, and kissed him deeper, she felt something else grow… her urge. She stared at them, face hot. Ginny sunk down, her lips spreading as Percy slid inside.
Hermione's let her top fall and, disbelief still coursing through her, slid her hand to her crotch. This was awfully, terribly wrong. But it was riling her up like nothing had before. She pressed at herself, as Ginny moved a strand of scarlet hair behind her ear. Hermione brought her hand to her mouth and rested it on her teeth, pressing her tongue against her skin. A moment ago, it'd been her with Percy. It'd been Percy's hands on her, his magic fingers in her mouth. But now she'd been discarded. For his own little sister. Ginny was more desirable to him than she was.
Hermione rubbed deeper, pressing at her nub with her thumb, probing inside herself with her pointer and middle fingers. She brought her hand out of her mouth and squeezed her tit, the saliva cool on her skin, and drew quick, shallow breaths. Ginny's hips rolled, Percy sliding in and out of her.
Percy's hands felt up Ginny's nightgown, and Hermione watched. She remembered how they felt on her. Ginny's backside was revealed, as well as the curves of her butt. Hermione took it in, grabbing at herself. Her heart stung with abandonment. Loss. And her pleasure swelled as her eyes watered. She drunk Ginny in, the softness of her bottom, the curve of spine and long muscles up either side, the pale tone of her flesh, only slightly lighter than her brother's. She was infinitely more desirable than her. Hermione arched her back, pressing at her hand as she rubbed away. Some part of her wanted Percy's attention.
Ginny mumbled something.
"I love you too," said Percy.
Hermione froze, mood falling, even as her body pounded. It was much too sweet. She watched Ginny's back for another moment, listening to the gentle moans of brother and sister, as Percy sunk himself into her.
They adjusted their position. Hermione nimbly gathered her top and left the bed, giving them room to be prone. She went to the door and paused to look back, a slight feeling of sickness rising inside her. But stronger was the arousal at her unwantedness, and however disturbing and saccharine the scene was, it only fuelled her further. She left just as Percy slid horizontal, Ginny's hands on his chest, Percy starting to lift off her nightgown as she swayed back and forth on top of him.
Hermione went into the dark stairwell. Once again she didn't know what to do with herself. Crotch urging her, she dug her hand into her pants and tried to satiate it. She could go upstairs and be alone in Ginny's room, she thought - but Harry and Ron were up there, and it made her feel lonesome. She withdrew her hand, taking a breath, and went down the stairs instead. She put her pajama top back on, groin still screaming at her, body still wishing for an embrace. She could camp out in the living room, she decided, and work herself out. Or sit there until she calmed down. The Weasleys had nothing in the way of a TV, but there was bound to be something she could read.
She slowed. Something to read. That was all she ever did. It had to be some form of escapism. She'd read about that once. And meanwhile, her life was passing her by, her friends having experiences without her. She'd told herself it was for her studying, that she had to catch up if she'd wanted to pass off as a witch, but… was it true? Was that just her, making excuses, so she could keep running in the same tracks she'd been in, over and over?
And Percy's words… they'd hurt, a little. They'd hit her deep. Was that how she felt about herself? Was there a truth there?
She made her way down to the next landing, self-pity weighing on her. She wondered about what she had to do, about what she needed to do to change, but everything was so disappointing and unfair at the moment it was hard to think. Her eyes watered, and she sniffed, body still buzzing. And why was she like this? It wasn't normal, as far as she could tell. She fetishized her own abandonment? Her own isolation?
A sound came up from the kitchen: a running faucet. Hermione froze, pricking her ears and wiping her face. The water turned off. Somebody was drinking. Another person was still up… had they heard anything? A glass set down, clinking, and suddenly Mr. Weasley's balding head appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He didn't know she was there! He was shirtless, except for a tie, and wearing a pair of gray underpants.
With alarm, she found she was right outside his and Mrs. Weasley's door. Her heart thumped in her ears - what could she do? If she ran away right now, Mr. Weasley would surely spot her and wonder what she was up to. But if she stayed… it was inevitable. She cleared her throat.
Mr. Weasley's head popped up - "Hermione!"
"Hi," she said, softly.
"Why are you up so late?"
"I…" she looked away, miserable at herself. She tried to find the right words. "I couldn't sleep."
"Are you feeling alright?"
"I don't know."
Mrs. Weasley's voice came through the doorway - "Arthur? Hermione? Is that you out there?"
Mr. Weasley gave Hermione a smile, but she couldn't make herself return it.
"You want to talk about it?" he whispered. "Come in and sit for a minute?"
She hesitated, then nodded.
Mr. Weasley opened the door and beckoned her to follow. It was another tiny room, this one crowded with a large, soft bed, a closet bursting with clothes, and a small dresser where Mrs. Weasley did her makeup.
"I've brought a visitor," said Mr. Weasley, shutting the door behind them.
"Hello, Hermione!" said Mrs. Weasley, covering herself with a blanket. "Goodness, your hair's a fright. Come and have a sit-down, dear."
Grateful, she did so, tucking her legs under her at the bed's edge. Her crotch was still simmering, but she did her best to ignore it. Mr. Weasley got in on his side, and he and Mrs. Weasley smiled at her, and Hermione couldn't help but feel that, finally, here might be two people that cared about her.