Chapter Text
Ginny Weasley’s leg was bouncing up and down to a fast steady rhythm as she gazed out her window at the dark morning sky. Her eyes were fixed on a bird flying between the branches of a tall elm tree not too far from the orchard, singing a beautiful, but loud song. She recognised it as the melody that woke her up from her light slumber.
Being a Weasley, she was known for being able to sleep through a storm taking place in her bedroom, not unlike her brother Ron. But today was different.
At five o’clock, twelve hours before Harry Potter’s return to The Burrow, she jumped out of her bed onto the cold wooden floor, despite it being quite warm during the day still, and began cleaning her room. It was moments like these she wishes she could use magic outside of school, it would save her an awful lot of time. Time she could spend flying, drawing, or merlin forbid studying.
She was moving the framed picture of her family in Egypt for the fifth time that morning.
“Why am I up at this unearthly hour, cleaning of all things,” she spoke into the silent room.
Hermione would be arriving at The Burrow in a few hours and Ginny wanted everything to be perfect for her. She had admired the older witch ever since she started at Hogwarts. Even if she couldn’t remember much of her first year, she knows that without Hermione guiding Ron and Harry to the Chamber of Secrets, Ginny wouldn’t be alive.
The sky was slowly being set alight with an orange to rival the Weasley’s hair. The sun peeked over the mountain and cast a blinding light through Ginny’s window. Her bedroom looked the cleanest it had in… well, ever. The wood that filled most of her room nearly sparkled under the morning light. The clothes that previously covered the entirety of her floor, packed neatly away in her wardrobe. Her bed had no crease in sight, just how her mother taught her. She had to remake it three times to get it right. But something felt off, like something vital was missing. Ginny ignored the feeling and undressed for a bath.
*
“Good morning, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione stood outside the threshold of the Burrow which led into the kitchen. Her stomach growled at the smell of bacon and eggs from Mrs Weasley’s cooking. “I’m sorry for arriving this early, but my parents needed to get back to London.”
She stood anxiously for only a second before Mrs Weasley pulled her into a crushing hug.
“Not to worry dear!” she pulled back to observe Hermione and tapped her cheeks with her worn but nurturing hands, “it’s lovely to see you again! Come in, come in!”
Hermione’s smile grew quietly as she observed all the trinkets and features that made The Burrow so homely. Throughout the years, the Weasley’s home had become somewhat of a safe place for Hermione. Her own house is the complete opposite of the Weasley’s. Where noise fills every corner of every room, silence grows in the Granger’s. Where people are bustling past to get to the next room or shoving to a glass on the table, Hermione could swing her arms about and not be worried to hit a passerby. She loves the palpable energy that The Burrow provides, not to mention the magic she’s surrounded with.
Hermione glanced over towards the sound of footsteps.
“Morning mum, just going for a -”
Ginny was halfway down the stairs when she locked eyes with the brunette and slowed to a stop.
“Ah, Ginny, help Hermione take her things upstairs, would you,” Mrs Weasley said facing the dishes waving her arms about, motioning at Hermione’s trunk.
“Hi, Ginny!” Hermione’s smile had grown significantly since appreciating the walls of The Burrow. Her favourite thing about being here over the last few weeks of the break every year, is spending time with the youngest Weasley, the first girl she’s ever really connected with. After all the sleepovers and days running amok together, they have become really comfortable with each other and at ease in silence. But Hermione could sense something was wrong.
Ginny hadn’t taken her eyes off her, nor spoken a word. Hermione had grown a few centimetres over the time spent apart, and her hair, slightly tamer than the year before, was resting delicately on her maroon woollen sweater. Ginny’s eyes were wandering to her collarbone and noticing the perfect shadow it created against her skin.
She was taken aback by a sensation similar to being winded, as if all the air had disappeared from her lungs.
She physically shook her head to rid of the thoughts that had paralysed her on the steps. Strange.
“Hey! Here let me grab that for you,” her stupor only lasted a few seconds, though it felt like minutes. Ginny couldn’t grasp why seeing Hermione today was different to any other time, they were best friends, weren’t they?
*
Hermione followed Ginny with Crookshanks in her arms, purring softly. She thought he would be happy to have so much room to explore, compared to being cooped up inside the flat in London. She placed him gently on the floor and he ran away swiftly, no doubt to pester the troublesome gnomes outside.
“Oh, bollocks! I haven’t set up your bed. Thought I forgot something,” Ginny mentally slapped herself. After getting up so early to clean, how could she forget something so vital.
Hermione grinned for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, “It’s okay Gin, I can make it up later,” she noted that Ginny had seemed particularly flustered that morning and didn’t want to make her feel worse. She also saw that, surprisingly, there was not a speck of dust in the younger girl's room.
“Wow, you didn't tell me your mum started cleaning your room for you,” Hermione was watching Gwenog Jones’ Quidditch robes flutter in the wind. She had a look of determination not unlike Ginny’s.
Ginny rolled her eyes, “ha-ha. I wanted everything to be per-… clean for you. I know how particular you are about your space. Something about ‘a clear room creates a clear mind, essential for studying!’” she tried to imitate Hermione’s voice, gaining a gasp from the witch, feigning offence.
“Now who would you be quoting there, hmm?” she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow.
“Just the brightest witch of our age,” said Ginny with a look of obviousness.
All of the previous awkward energy had evaporated, replaced by their refreshing and expected banter, which made the older witch feel extremely relieved. She wouldn’t know how to cope with staying with Ginny if she behaved how she did when she arrived. It was obvious that Hermione made her feel uncomfortable, and she couldn’t stand to know that she was somehow the source of the younger girl's unhappiness.
How far from the truth that was.
“Well now you’re just plagiarising thoughts from the entire school, don’t you have any original material?” her eyes narrowed as if she was scrutinising Ron, but no malice was evident in her gaze.
Ginny took this as a challenge. How could she not? Hermione’s eyes were sparkling, and her smirk was taunting her. She noticed how radiant she was when she was happy, truly happy. Ginny may have played a part in that.
“Okay, how about… the most ambitious, courageous, persistent, - cough - annoying - cough -” Hermione attempted to swat Ginny on her arm, but with her quick reflexes she moved out of the way.
“-hey, I’m not done yet! Where was I… ah yes, annoyingly beautiful witch of our age.”
Hermione stuck her tongue in between her teeth and looked away, again pretending to be offended. But she snapped her head back when she realised what Ginny had said.
“Wait, did you just call me-”
The bedroom door swung open, Mrs Weasley’s voice cutting Hermione off.
“Breakfast is ready girls, come on, you must be starving!”
*
The girls spent the day wandering the fields, swapping stories and falling back into their friendship with ease, as if they never parted ways at Kings Cross Station. They threw rocks across the small lake in the forest near the Burrow, and Ginny was able to skip the rock three times before it sank into the depths of the cold water. Hermione couldn’t get the hang of it for the first few minutes, until…
“Here, can I show you?” Ginny stood from her position on the bank of the lake and walked slowly towards Hermione.
“I don’t think this is something I am good at, Gin,” Hermione looked at the younger girl approaching.
Her eyes were drawn to the rock she was turning in her hand. Hermione knew Ginny couldn't sit still if her life depended on it. As if the world would collapse if she wasn't doing something. She supposed that she was like that herself, keeping busy with study to not think about all the other things going on in her life. She had been through so much with Harry and Ron over the years, coming close to death, on more than one occasion, only saved by her quick intelligence and wit. She understood the need to be constantly distracted.
“Where is that persistence I was talking about?” Ginny winked, accompanied by her trademark smirk.
Hermione’s thoughts halted and her vision became clouded for a moment, as if she couldn’t process what she was seeing. She thought back to the conversation in the redhead’s room, how she had called her the most beautiful witch of their age. Her cheeks started to heat up, and she looked away.
What did Ginny mean by that? No one had ever called her that, besides her parents, but they had to. She supposed that Ginny was just being kind and supportive. A good friend.
“Well, I’m not particularly athletic, am I?”
“I disagree,” Ginny’s smile had returned, she looked like she was being genuine, her face showing no signs of mocking. Hermione was perplexed, to put it simply. Not many people gave her compliments, and when they did, it was a somewhat backhanded one about her intellect. And yet she had been here for only a few hours and Ginny had managed to compliment her multiple times.
She stood next to Hermione and demonstrated the technique step by step, making her copy them. The taller witch was trying to stay focused, but her mind wandered to Ginny’s lanky but coordinated limbs, and how she had yet to grow into them. She could see the lightly defined muscles working, how with time she would grow to be tall like her brothers, and potentially more athletic than most.
“Now just do it all together and remember to flick your wrist before you release.”
Hermione switched back from her thoughts to her body and began the movement, but as she let go, the momentum of the throw caused her to become unbalanced. She was about to hit the ground when a hand snaked around her upper back, and the other gripping her shirt at her stomach.
The rock skipped once on the surface of the clear water, as both hearts did too. But her achievement went unnoticed, as they locked wide eyes. Ginny noticed how chocolate brown Hermione’s eyes were, and it felt like her throat dropped into her stomach. She gulped.
“That was close,” Hermione breathed, eyes wandering from the redhead’s own to her pink lips.
“Yeah.”
*
The girls were making their way back to The Burrow. Ginny was trying to convince the brunette of how fun the upcoming Quidditch match was going to be, but the moment at the lake was lingering between them, like perfume on a shirt. The conversation seemed forced, and Hermione fought to ignore the feeling creeping up inside her. Her hands started to sweat despite the cool weather, and her mouth became dry, limiting her responses to her friend.
Ginny’s voice faded into her racing mind, “Dad has a tent just for us, so we won’t have to bunk with those smelly boys. It will just be us, great right?”
A thought struck Hermione.
“Oh my god!” She stopped walking. “I completely forgot about Ron! He’s going to be so upset with me!”
“Both of those things are not a hard to do,” Ginny retorted.
“Ginny! Don’t say that,” but she was fighting a smile, which didn’t go unnoticed. “We better hurry back.”
“Wanna race? Last one back is a stinky mountain troll!”
“Hey, that’s too soon! Wait - Ginny! Ugh.”
Ginny had already started towards the wonky house, and Hermione couldn't hope to keep up.
She slowed her steps near the door, shoes crunching on the dirt, Hermione a few seconds behind her.
“Phewww, you stinnnnk! Did your big ol’ troll feet slow you down?”
Hermione was bent over catching her breath, holding her hand up to signal Ginny to shut up and wait.
“That,” she said with deep and laboured breaths, “was completely unfair.”
“Just gotta develop those reflexes, Granger.”
“Well, you already had a head start by coming up with the stupid idea anyways.”
“Ouch. And I think I proved earlier that I have excellent reflexes, thank you. You have yet to prove yourself.”
At that moment, Ron opened the door.
“Where have you two been? It’s past lunch time, mums been waiting for you to get back. I’m starving!” Ron turned back into the house and sat down on a chair in a huff.
“Of course he’s worried about food and not his best friend that he hasn't seen for weeks,” Ginny whispered in Hermione’s ear.
“Ginny, you're late!” Mrs Weasley’s voice boomed across the kitchen. Ginny winced.
“Sorry mum, just lost track of time.” Hermione stood next to Ginny with her hands together, looking down. Mrs Weasley looked at her and felt a pang of guilt.
“Well never mind now. Come on over and dig in. Up you come.” Her nurturing demeanour returned instantly.
*
Harry Potter had arrived, and Ginny was blushing. She mentally smacked herself; she had tried all holidays to get over her stupid little crush on The Boy Who Lived, but it seems him being away created a false sense of achievement.
In fact, Ginny’s behaviour to both of Ron’s best friends made her question herself. In the little time she spent with Hermione, she went through a rollercoaster of emotions, without a real explanation. She supposed that she had a desire to impress her brother friends so they would like her more, just to “one up” him, which made her nervous she might fail. She relaxed at the thought it was just to better her brother.
But after lunch, once Ron had eaten twice his body weight, his mood had lightened and his charm had returned. Although they usually bickered about anything and everything, Hermione and Ron were smiling away and chatting about their time away from Hogwarts. Harry was faily quiet, opting to listen to the others rather than recap his presumably horrible time away.
Ginny caught glimpses of the way Hermione interacted with Ron as she cleared the table and helped her mother wash the dishes. Mrs Weasley had joked about Ron harbouring feelings for the witch in the past, which was completely due to the fact that he had no other friends that were girls. Mothers usually jump to conclusions like that. But the way they were acting around each other now, was enough to warrant an accusation like that.
Ron had made a goofy face, imitating the old shopkeeper that had been rude to Mr Weasley on their trip to the shops. Harry and Hermione both laughed loudly, and something about it made a green feeling rise all the way from her toes to her head.
“Are you done with that one, dear?” Mrs Weasley's weathered hand was waiting for Ginny to pass the plate over to her to dry. Her mother's eyes fell onto the table of laughing teenagers, then back to her daughter.
“You’re all done here sweetie, go be with your friends. But don’t be late for dinner again, you hear me?”
“Thanks mum I won’t. And Ron’s not my friend.”
Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes and Ginny rushed quietly away towards the trio. As she was approaching though, hushed whispers ceased, and silence grew. She slowed to a stop, realising she had interrupted something important. Everyone seemed to be keeping secrets nowadays, more so than when she was younger, which is usually the not the case. Ginny felt like she was being treated like a child, sheltered and innocent. If only they knew how much she can handle. How much she has gone through. She was stronger, and she would prove it.
But for now, her emotions got the better of her. She steeled her fists and clenched her jaw to make her way upstairs. She caught Hermione’s apologetic eyes, and in that moment, her stubborn facade nearly fell apart. She felt her knees weaken, but immediately regained her stance and began her leaded foot ascension to her room and slammed the door.
Something was going on. Ginny had heard whispers about it for a while now. Conversations drifting through the thin walls late at night, broken at the sound of a creaky floorboard, giving her position away. From the snippets she collected, she could determine that her parents didn’t want their children that still attend Hogwarts to know about something. Even Fred and George. Especially Fred and George, actually.
A gentle knock at her bedroom door brought her back to reality. “It’s just me, Gin,” Hermione spoke softly. “Can I come in?”
Ginny made her way tentatively towards the wooden barrier keeping them apart. She turned the handle and as soon as they met eyes, she felt overwhelmingly embarrassed. She had every right to be upset, but her behaviour wouldn’t put her in Hermione’s good books. It’s not like she had room for more short tempered and stubborn red heads in her life. So when Hermione hugged her, Ginny didn’t know what to feel.
By the time she had processed the older girls body pressed to hers, she had stepped back. All the warmth had been replaced by a cold she hadn’t noticed was there before.
With all her courage mustered, she took Hermione’s hands in hers. “Merlin, why is this so hard all of a sudden,” Ginny thought to herself.
“I’m sorry about before. I can’t explain it to you now. Maybe I will never be able to. Just please don’t hate me, I wish I could talk to you about it.” Hermione apologised. She looked so sincere; eyes slightly glazed.
Ginny felt a pang of guilt. “Don’t worry, I get it. No problem.” She smiled a small smile, and that was it.
“Need a hand with that bed?”