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Summers at the Burrow were Hermione’s favorite time of year. While she loved Hogwarts and studying and learning, there was something to homely and fun about the Weasley’s home that practically intoxicated her. Hermione grew up in a neat house, with serious parents. Her mother was always trying to tame her hair and telling her to sit up straight at the dinner table, and her father was always busy with work. It wasn’t necessarily a strict upbringing, but it was a lonely one.
The Weasley’s home was anything but neat, serious, strict, or lonely. Knitted blankets were lazily folded on every couch and chair, the sound of laughter filling the rooms until the people inside barely fit anymore. Mrs. Weasley could be scary when she tried, but she rarely bothered to yell because it was just cute, childish fun. And how could one be lonely surrounded by so many people? Even when Bill, Charlie, and Percy moved out, the Burrow was still bustling with ginger heads and one mop of messy black curls among them.
Hermione liked having her bushy brown hair in that mix.
Yes, she loved the feeling of warm and loving familiarity that the Burrow gave, but Hermione loved the people within it more. Molly and Arthur were like second parents to her, always feeding her and asking her about Muggle contraptions. The twins teased her mercilessly, but part of her loved it, beneath any annoyance and snark she showed them. Ron and Harry were her best friends in the world, and any chance to see them more was a chance she’d seize, especially when it meant getting Harry away from his awful aunt and uncle.
And then there was Ginny. Hermione had never gotten along with girls well until she met Ginny. She couldn’t quite place why, but they simply clicked almost immediately upon meeting.
It was summer, and Ginny had, much to Molly’s horror, chopped her hair off at her jaw, claiming it was too hot to have that thick red hair hanging off her shoulders all the time. She wore Muggle clothes Hermione had grown out of and gave her; jean shorts and baggy t-shirts that she tied up in a knot, showing a strip of pale, freckled skin.
Hermione felt like an idiot in her cardigan and pajama bottoms as she came down the stairs. It was the first time in a long time that Ginny had actually woken up before her.
“Practicing some Quidditch techniques,” had been her reasoning.
She sat on the kitchen counter, long legs dangling over the side as she sipped tea from a yellow mug.
“Don’t tell your Mum, but I like your hair short like that,” Hermione said, smiling over the rim of her matching mug. “It suits you.”
The grin on Ginny’s face as she thanked her would be worth Molly’s glare if she heard.
Hermione had never had a sleepover until she stayed at the Burrow. She never had many friends, so she had never been invited to one. When she told Ginny that, Ginny had been horrified, and claimed they needed to change that immediately. Sneaking snacks into her room and making a little fort out of sheets and pillows, Ginny insisted on giving Hermione the ‘full sleepover experience’ she’d had with her brothers or with Luna Lovegood when she was younger.
Hermione’s heart fluttered with childish happiness as she sat amongst the blankets. Ginny told her ghost stories in the light of a candle, and they kept their giggling quiet as they chatted way into the night. The two of them had wound up falling asleep in their makeshift blanket fort, Ginny’s head on Hermione’s shoulder, the candle long since blown out, and all tales of ghosts and crushes settling into their memories while they slept.
It had been one of the most fun things Hermione had ever done. Nights rarely went that way as they got older though. It was too lame, too silly now.
Hermione wished she could be twelve again, watching Ginny’s facial expressions change dramatically with each line of her story, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle laughter at jokes, feeling Ginny’s breath against her collarbone as she drifted to sleep. She wished Ginny would fall asleep beside her again.
It was the summer before her sixth year, and it had only been a week since Hermione had arrived, and she was quickly coming to the realization that she couldn’t keep Ginny off her mind. And it was that same week she climbed into bed, waiting to hear Ginny’s mumbled goodnight, when instead she heard a sniffle come from the bed across the room. “Ginny?”
Another sniffle. “Yeah?”
“Are you alright?”
“M’fine.”
Hermione wasn’t good with emotions; other’s, or her own. But she sucked it up, pushing the blanket off her legs and tentatively walking towards Ginny’s bed, a gentle hand resting on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Ginny’s eyes were red as she turned and looked up at Hermione, trying to compose herself. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, wiping her eyes. “Just me being silly.”
“You’re not silly,” Hermione said immediately. “You know you can tell me, right?”
Ginny nodded, her hand coming to rest on Hermione’s for a moment before pulling away, like she’d changed her mind.
“I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll think of me differently. Badly.”
“I could never,” Hermione reassured her, sitting on the edge of her bed now.
“You say that now,” Ginny said, a humorless laugh and a shake of her head following it.
“Hey, look at me,” Hermione said, and Ginny did. She managed to look beautiful even while crying. “I promise that anything you tell me, you’re still my friend, okay?”
Ginny nodded, wiping her eyes again. “So, you know how I was dating that Ravenclaw boy?”
“Yes.”
“We broke up before summer started, but that’s not why I’m crying. He broke up with me, but what he said has been on my mind since it happened,” she said, looking as though she was working up the courage to say it aloud. “He said that when we kissed, or held hands, or whatever...it was like I wasn’t kissing him. It was always like he was kissing me, and I was off in another world, kissing someone else.”
Hermione kept her mouth closed. This wasn’t the time for logic or advice or intellect. This was the time to listen, and nod.
“At the time it seemed so fucking stupid. Obviously I was dating him, I was physically kissing him, what did he mean by that? I didn’t love him, but we were together. So obviously I chose him. But the more I think about it...I didn’t enjoy it. Any kiss we had. It felt like...like a chore.”
She took a deep breath. “So, I started thinking about...who else I was kissing, in my head, when I kissed him. And he was right, it was never him, at least, I didn’t want it to be.”
Hermione’s hand came to rest on her knee.
“Hermione, if I tell you this, do you promise not to tell anyone?”
“I’d make an Unbreakable Vow on it if you asked,” Hermione replied. She wasn’t one for hyperboles, but it felt like the right thing to say.
“I was kissing a girl, in my head. Not a specific one, I don’t think, but it was a girl. I..I think I’m a lesbian, Hermione. I get if you don’t wanna sleep in here anymore—”
“Woah, Ginny...First of all, there’s nothing wrong with being gay. My mum’s sister is a lesbian and she’s very happy with her partner. My dad has a gay couple as his patients and they always bring him trinkets from their vacations. I know plenty of gay people, and they’re all great. Second of all, I would never stop being friends with you...or kick you out of your own bedroom because of it!” Hermione could almost laugh at how dumb it sounded, but she understood the fear it came from.
Ginny looked ready to cry again, but for different reasons this time.
“And can I tell you a secret?” Hermione asked.
Ginny nodded.
“I think I might like girls too. I mean, it’s something I’ve thought about before. I’m not quite sure cause there are plenty of blokes I find attractive too. I told my aunt about it before I came here for the summer, and she said her partner identifies as bisexual. I’ve never heard that word before in my life, but the minute she said it, something clicked,” Hermione smiled softly. “So, I guess I’m bisexual. And you’re a lesbian. And there’s nothing wrong with either of us. Okay?”
“Okay,” Ginny replied, unable to help the smile forming on her own face as she leaned forward and pulled Hermione into a hug.
They stayed up talking for a while longer, about the girls at Hogwarts they found pretty (they both hated to admit how attractive Pansy Parkinson could be), and about childhood friends they were way too close with but had no idea it was a crush back then. They muffled their giggles behind their hands and pulled blankets over their shoulders. It was no fort, but it would do. As it got late, they wound up asleep in Ginny’s bed, though they barely fit because it was only meant for one person. Ginny’s head came to rest on Hermione’s shoulder, breath tickling her collarbone.
Hermione was content as she drifted off.
Then, a year at Hogwarts and a month of summer passed, and the first thing Hermione did when she got to the Burrow was pull her girlfriend into her arms, hugging her as though she hadn’t seen her in years, though it had only been four weeks. The bustling of the Burrow was familiar and warm as Molly filled Hermione’s plate more than she thought she could stomach, but she ate it all anyway because it was too damn good to let go to waste. Ron teased her about already completing her summer assignments, and Harry played with her hair on the couch after dinner, his fingers gentle as he talked about how he’d missed her and Ron, like the giant sap he was. Arthur asked about Muggle television, and Hermione tried to explain it to no avail, but he was fascinated nevertheless.
And when they went to sleep, despite there being two beds in the room, Hermione squeezed into Ginny’s bed beside her, eyes shut contently, Ginny’s breath against her skin.
Summer at the Burrow was where she felt the most at home.