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“You’re Ginny Weasley, aren’t you?”
Ginny turned slowly at the unfamiliar voice. Weasley – she hadn’t been called that for almost two years now. She looked over the short fellow in the ragged, tartan overcoat who had addressed her. He wore thick spectacles perched on his nose above his day old shave, and a maroon bowler pulled tight over his head.
“It’s Ginny Potter now,” she replied warily. “Weasley was my maiden name.”
“It’s still you though, isn’t it? I suppose that’s all that matters. I’ve got a message for you, from Hermione Granger.”
Ginny bristled at the mention of her former schoolmate’s name – her former friend’s name. She hadn’t spoken to Hermione in three years, not since Hermione had broken Ron’s heart. Bludgeoned his heart, is more like, thought Ginny angrily. Ginny told herself that was why she refused contact with Hermione, but she sensed it wasn’t the whole reason. She didn’t want to think about that right now.
“And why would I want to take a message from her?” asked Ginny roughly.
“She said you might be a bit put off,” he began, “but the thing of it is, she might not have much time, you see.”
Ginny’s eyebrows contracted in confusion. “Much time for what?”
The little man pulled off his bowler and began to fiddle with it nervously, as he stared at the ground, refusing to meet Ginny’s eyes. He bounced on the balls of his feet, as if he was prepared to bolt at any moment. Ginny peered at him more closely, and noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed, as if he’d been crying not too long ago. She had a sudden sinking feeling in her gut. The wizard cleared his throat.
“I’m Calico Hodges. I work with Hermione in the Department of Mysteries,” he said, as if that might explain everything. So she did get that job after all, thought Ginny. Everyone thought Hermione would end up in some sedate armchair position, maybe in the Translation section, or something more academic, maybe even a position at Hogwarts itself. Ginny was one of the few who hadn’t been surprised when Hermione applied for the Department of Mysteries. She thought it obvious that after seven years of adventures with Harry and Ron, Hermione would have been bored out of her skull with a desk job. All of this, however, did not clarify what Mr. Hodges was trying to get at. She waited for him to say more.
“We received a shipment of artifacts from Egypt - I can’t tell you what kind, mind you – but they were booby-trapped with ancient curses. We thought we’d defused them all, but we were wrong, it turns out. I went to open up one of the pieces, and, well…anyway, Hermione deflected the
worst of the curse away from me and Tim Mudgins, but she got a pretty bad dose herself. She’s in St. Mungo’s now, but no one can really say if she’s going to be, um, alright or not.”
Ginny gawked at him, three years of hostility dissipating in an instant, at least momentarily. Her mind didn’t quite seem to grasp what Hodges was saying, but her body started shaking involuntarily. A feeling of dread swept over her.
“You don’t mean…I mean, alright how? She’s not-“ Ginny stopped abruptly. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Hodges shifted uncomfortably, continuing to stare at his feet. “Dying? Unfortunately, yes. Well, maybe. The thing of it is, the curse is so old, the Healers don’t really understand it. They’re not sure what it will do to her. But she’s got a terrible fever, and she keeps slipping in and out of consciousness, and the periods she’s unconscious are getting longer.”
Ginny couldn’t wait for another word. She was about to apparate to St. Mungo’s, when Hodges caught her arm. She stiffened and glared at him. She didn’t give a damn about all the Muggles on the busy street around her, but he pointed across the narrow boulevard.
“We have a Ministry car,” he said. “It’s not quite as fast as apparition but we can have you there in five minutes and you won’t have to break the law.”
Ginny glanced at Hodges, then at the car waiting for them. She gave a curt nod, and strode across the street, her red ponytail bobbing fiercely behind her.
***
Ginny opened the door of the private suite as quietly as she could muster. Given that she wanted to nothing more than to fling it open and rush into the room, this was a feat of willpower on her part. Her hand trembled on the doorknob, not knowing what she would find in the room beyond.
Ginny’s eyes went straight to the pale, frail figure lying unnaturally still in the bed. The white sheets and pillows seemed to engulf Hermione’s small frame, only her bushy curls pushing back against the white expanse threatening to swallow her. Hermione’s skin was sallow, and beads of fever sweat dotted her forehead. Tears flooded Ginny’s eyes at the sight. No matter how mad she’d been at Hermione, she never wanted something like this to happen. She never expected to see Hermione so vulnerable. The Hermione she remembered, the young woman who had been her best friend, had been so strong, so…so…alive.
“Ginny?”
Ginny started at the unexpected voice, and then goggled at the two people sitting beside Hermione’s bed. “Mum? Ron? What are you doing here?”
“Same thing you are, I imagine,” answered Ron. He stood to give her a hug, but his expression was pinched with worry. Molly Weasley’s face looked, if possible, even more concerned than Ron’s as she squeezed Ginny tightly in her embrace.
“Your father sent Ron for me as soon as he heard,” explained Molly, taking her seat next to Hermione again. She picked up Hermione’s limp hand in one of her own. “He’ll be here soon himself. I thought we’d need to let you know, but your father said that one of Hermione’s colleagues had gone to get you already.”
“She’s been asking for you, Gin,” said Ron softly, his expression unreadable.
“That’s what Mr. Hodges, Hermione’s coworker, said,” she answered lamely. She didn’t know what else to say. Her eyes were drawn once more to Hermione and confusion roiled her insides. Before, she couldn’t think about anything other than getting here, but now that she was here it seemed all very strange. After all, she hadn’t spoken a word to Hermione for so long. It seemed a bit odd that she’d be the one Hermione would ask for now.
Turning back to Ron, she asked, “How are you…with all this?”
Ron rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t stand seeing her like this. She’s got to get better.”
“That’s not what I meant, Ron.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “Blimey, Gin. I never thought I’d get over her, you know. But then Katie and I got together last year, and things have been alright. Hermione and I even started talking again, a little. At work mostly, but still it felt better, having her back in my life as a friend.”
Ginny stared at him in astonishment. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were talking again?”
“It didn’t seem like you wanted to know,” replied Ron honestly. “You’ve been so angry with her, I figured you’d just lay into me if you found out.”
Ginny was taken aback. She’d been claiming that her anger was on her brother’s behalf ever since Ron and Hermione split, but Ginny was forced to admit that even Ron had gotten over it quicker than she had. What was she still holding onto, if it wasn’t the outrage over Hermione’s treatment of her brother? Ginny’s mind shrank away from the question, as if the answer was a venomous snake waiting to strike. It doesn’t really matter anyway, right? I’m here either way, she told herself.
Before Ginny could delve too deeply into her own thoughts, Hermione stirred weakly on the bed, her breath raspy. She exhaled a small moan and her eyelids fluttered weakly, as if opening them were a struggle. Ginny sprang to the side of the bed, gripping the railing until her knuckles turned white. Anxiety twisted in her gut as she watched Hermione’s labored movements. Finally Hermione opened her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, large inside their frame of chocolate brown, her gaze distant.
“Hermione?” asked Ginny, her voice tremulous.
Hermione’s head swiveled slowly to the side. At first, it seemed as if she didn’t even see Ginny standing there, but then she blinked, and her eyes focused on Ginny’s face. She smiled weakly.
“Hi,” said Hermione in a hoarse whisper.
“Hi,” replied Ginny, her heart suddenly in the vicinity of her throat.
“Water, please.”
“Right here, dear,” said Molly, holding a cup up to Hermione’s lips. With some effort Hermione lifted her head from the pillow and swallowed a few sips. Then, with a sigh she fell back onto the bed again.
“Thank you.”
Ginny couldn’t help but smile a little at Hermione’s manners. Even dangerously ill, Hermione was as courteous as ever.
Ron spoke next. “How are you feeling?”
“Weak,” Hermione responded, her voice a bit louder, though still low. The water seemed to have perked her up a little. “Not much worse than before, but not any better either.”
“The last Healer in here said your fever seemed to be leveling off, so I expect that’s a good sign,” said Ron, sounding as if he were trying to be cheerful, yet failing miserable.
“I suppose so,” replied Hermione noncommittally. Ginny found Hermione staring up at her, as if waiting for something. Ginny felt her face flush and she began to fidget with the edge of the bed sheet.
None of the Weasley’s seemed to be able to think of anything else to say, but Molly bustled about, filling up the water glass that was only half empty, fluffing up a few of the pillows, and straightening out the sheets. Hermione just kept looking at Ginny, until finally Ginny averted her eyes. Even then it felt as if she could feel Hermione’s gaze on her.
Hermione spoke again. “I was wondering if I might have a word with Ginny – alone.”
Molly stopped in her tracks. Ron glanced from Ginny to Hermione, and then back again, a question written plainly on his face.
But all he said was, “Right. Ok. Hey mum, let’s get a bite to eat down in the cafeteria. It’s been hours since lunch and I’m famished.”
Molly hesitated, clearly wanting to stay near Hermione. Ginny knew that her parents had remained in contact with Hermione after her and Ron’s breakup. Ginny had been furious about it, but Molly’s motherly affection for Hermione had never wavered. Molly always said that, after the War, she was not losing anymore of her children, blood relations or no. Now, Ginny could plainly see the deep anguish in her mother’s eyes as she looked at Hermione. Finally though, Molly nodded.
“Very well, but only for a few minutes.” She stooped over and pressed a quick kiss to Hermione’s forehead before letting Ron lead her from the room.
An awkward silence fell over the room as Ginny stood frozen by the side of the bed. She thought she ought to say something, but couldn’t seem to force any words past the lump in her throat. It was Hermione that finally broke the silence.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” she said, a slight hitch in her words.
“Oh Hermione, I wouldn’t…I couldn’t not come,” replied Ginny. The sadness in Hermione’s tone tugged at something deep in her chest.
Another awkward pause passed, and Hermione said, “I missed you.”
Tears welled up in Ginny’s eyes at Hermione’s words, but she swiped at them angrily with the back of her hand. As her emotions rose up in her, the anger suddenly returned.
“Rather odd way of showing it, going off like that without a word after breaking Ron’s heart,” Ginny snapped.
“Ginny-“ Hermione began, but Ginny cut her off.
Part of Ginny felt horribly guilty for losing her temper with a very sick woman, but three years of pent up anger came pouring out. “Oh, sod it, Hermione! Hurting Ron was one thing – and he was a bleeding mess, you know – but disappearing like that, like I was nothing to you…how could you?”
Hermione’s face was a stunned mask of hurt and confusion, but Ginny barreled on, “I mean, I was your best friend, Hermione, your best friend. And then you just cut me out of your life like it was nothing. No explanation whatsoever. Not a word, Hermione, not a word for three years!”
Hermione’s mouth was open in shock, and her eyes glistened with what Ginny knew could only be unshed tears. Seeing the look on the older girl’s face transformed Ginny’s rage into the pain it truly was. Hermione had abandoned her, and it had cut more deeply than she had ever let herself acknowledge. When Harry, Ron and Hermione had returned to Hogwarts to finish their N.E.W.T.s, Ginny’s friendship with Hermione had blossomed into a relationship unlike any other Ginny had ever had. They had shared secrets, dreams, everything. Then Hermione had broken off her relationship with Ron a few months after graduation, and simply walked away. Even now the hole that should have been Hermione’s place in her life loomed large and black, threatening to swallow her. Ginny was bewildered by these realizations.
“You don’t know what your leaving did to me,” Ginny muttered, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, unchecked this time.
Hermione tried to sit up, but the effort proved too much for her. Ginny’s temper ebbed as she watched Hermione struggle. Going to Hermione’s side, Ginny helped the sick witch into a half-sitting position, pushing pillows behind Hermione’s back to prop her up. As she eased Hermione back onto the pillows, Ginny could feel the blazing heat radiating off of Hermione’s skin, and worry rushed in to fill the space left by her receding anger.
When Hermione was settled, with Ginny in a chair by her side, Ginny found Hermione’s brown eyes on her again.
“Ginny, I didn’t contact you because I thought that’s what you wanted,” stated Hermione softly.
“What I wanted? Why on earth would I want that?” Ginny asked in dismay.
Hermione looked confused again. Her tone was incredulous when she answered. “You never responded to my letter. When I didn’t hear from you I thought that it must have been too much for you. Then I heard you married Harry, and I knew you had made your choice.”
It was Ginny’s turn to be perplexed. Ginny’s stomach churned. “Choice, what choice? And what letter, Hermione?”
“Don’t be daft, Ginny.” Hermione now seemed to be angry, as if she thought Ginny were playing with her, though in her weakened state her voice was barely at normal volume. “The letter I left for you, in your flat, the day I left Ron.”
“Hermione, I promise you, I never got any letter,” replied Ginny, her voice quavering. Her stomach twisted sharply in her gut, and her pulse raced.
Hermione just stared at Ginny for a moment, her brown eyes wide. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth with a trembling right hand. A single tear escaped from beneath a closed eyelid, sliding down her cheek.
Tentatively, Ginny grasped Hermione’s other hand in her left hand. Hermione’s skin burned beneath her fingers. “Hermione, what did the letter say?”
Hermione let her hand drop away from her lips. Underneath was a sad, wistful smile. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes it does, Hermione,” said Ginny gravely. The sense that something had gone terribly wrong enveloped her, and she needed to know what, as much as she dreaded finding out. “Tell me, please.”
“Did Ron ever tell you why I broke things off with him?” asked Hermione, answering Ginny’s plea with a question.
“He said that you had fallen in love with someone else, but you wouldn’t tell him who. That was another thing that got to me, you being in love with someone and not telling me.”
Hermione opened her eyes again, but she did not look at Ginny. Instead she seemed to be studying Ginny’s fingers intertwined with her own. Half consciously, Ginny tightened her grip.
“I told Ron I couldn’t tell him who, because I wanted that person to know first.”
“I take it things didn’t work out with the git, because otherwise he’d be here, wouldn’t he,” said Ginny flatly. She was trying to be gentle, but it still chafed her, knowing that there had been someone in Hermione’s life that she had not known about. And if she was honest, there was more than a whiff of jealousy mixed in with her irritation.
“Oh, Ginny, don’t you see? It was you. That’s what my letter said. It was you I loved. It…it still is you.”
Ginny was thunderstruck. Hermione, in love, with me? The idea was both disconcerting and strangely pleasurable. Suddenly she was seeing the last three years in a whole new light. What would her life had been like if she’d known? A deep sadness filled her heart at the question, a feeling of irreplaceable loss. And what had happened to the letter? Her head was spinning with too many thoughts. Hermione must have taken her silence for rejection, because she tried to pull her hand away from Ginny’s.
“No, wait,” Ginny said, keeping Hermione’s hand firmly in her own.
Raising her other hand, Ginny reached up to touch Hermione’s cheek, gently rubbing her thumb over Hermione’s cheekbone. The tenderness in the gesture surprised even Ginny herself, but she refused to withdraw her hand. Ginny’s heart ached, seeing the pain and doubt in Hermione’s face.
“I am so sorry, Hermione. I never knew.”
“I thought-“ began Hermione, tears threatening to spill over, but Ginny shushed her.
“It’s over now,” soothed Ginny. “It will be OK.”
Hermione brought her right hand over their interlaced fingers. Ginny could feel the tips of Hermione’s fingers brush the metal band on her ring finger. Normally she barely noticed her wedding band anymore, but with Hermione’s touch she suddenly became excruciatingly aware of its weight. For a moment she couldn’t find her breath. Hermione let out a ragged sigh, and, closing her eyes, leaned back into the pillows.
“I’m so tired,” Hermione murmured. Fresh sweat had broken out across her face, and the heat from her fingers seemed to intensify. Her cheeks looked even more hollowed out than they had before, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. Fear rose like bile in the back of Ginny’s throat.
“Hermione?” whispered Ginny weakly, but Hermione did not respond. The sick witch’s mouth was slack, her lips chapped and broken. Her skin looked gray.
“Hermione?” Ginny’s plea was more desperate, but still Hermione showed no sign of hearing her. Tears prickled and burned in Ginny’s eyes.
Then Hermione’s fingers went limp, releasing their hold on Ginny’s hand. Ginny’s tears poured down her face, her heart shattering in pieces.
***
Ginny sat alone, perched on the edge of an armchair in the flat she and Harry shared just outside of London. A piece of parchment lay in her lap, her eyes fixed on it. In the deepening gloom of twilight she could no longer see the words written upon it. She didn’t bother to turn on the lamp next to her though. She had read the letter so often that day that she had the lines memorized by now, each word etched on her heart.
Ginny heard the scrape of a key in the lock and the front door swung open. Harry wandered in, his hand groping for the light switch on the wall. Normally, Ginny would have thought Harry’s unconscious Muggle mannerisms cute, but she barely noticed today.
“Lumos lampera,” Ginny commanded and half a dozen lights came on at once. Harry startled, dropping his keys on the floor.
“Geez, Ginny, you got my heart going there,” he said, laughing. He bent over to pick up his keys, then looked to where she was sitting. He paused, his keys dangling in his frozen hand. His eyebrows jumped up as he watched her.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked.
Ginny looked down at the suitcase by her chair. It was small and light. When she had started packing it earlier that afternoon, she couldn’t decide what to bring. She kept looking around and around the flat, but she couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted with her. Everything in the flat was a lie. Ultimately, she grabbed just enough clothes for a few days, two of her favorite spell books, a few baubles that her brother’s had given her over the years, and her broomstick. The broomstick was propped by the door.
“Ginny?” Harry asked again. She realized that she’d just been staring at him, instead of answering. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind as she looked at the face of the man she had trusted implicitly since her first year at Hogwarts.
Ignoring his concerned expression, she asked a question of her own, “Why didn’t you let me see Hermione’s letter, Harry?”
Her voice was icy and unrecognizable, even to herself. At first Harry seemed to be utterly puzzled by her question, but as he looked from her face to the parchment in her lap, realization dawned on him. His eyes got very wide behind his glasses, and his lightning scar crinkled on his forehead in consternation.
“Ginny-“ he started to say, his voice low.
“Impedimenta!” she shouted, her wand pointed directly at him.
The spell hit him hard in the chest, and he was flung back against the door through which he entered. It slammed shut with a loud crack as his body collided with it. She could see his shocked expression, but, three years after the War, his reflexes were as fast as ever. He whipped out his own wand.
“Expelliarmus!”
Ginny’s wand went flying, clattering down somewhere behind the sofa, but she didn’t care. She rushed at him, bare-handed, and rained down blows on his head, arms and chest – anywhere that she could strike him. He held his hands over him, trying to push her away.
“Ginny, calm down!” he roared.
“Calm down?! Calm down? Why you stinking, lying rat!” she shouted at him, her fury making her words boom in the small living room.
“Ginny, I’ll explain everything if you just give me half a chance!”
Ginny landed a particularly satisfying smack on the back of Harry’s skull. He yelped. Then suddenly she broke off her attack and strode away from him. She flung herself down into the armchair again with a disgruntled huff, and picked up the letter from the floor where it had fallen when she’d sprung from the chair. Her hand trembled as she held it in her hand.
With a grunt, Harry pulled himself up into a sitting position on the floor, his back leaning against the door. He ruefully rubbed the bruises on his skull. He winced when he touched what Ginny hoped was an especially sore spot. He took his glasses off, examining them. The frame was bent and one of the lenses cracked from a well-aimed slap. He quietly mended them with his wand before putting them back on. Ginny snorted, knowing that he was dragging his feet.
“How’d you get that?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.
“There’s not much I can’t pry open given enough time,” she said.
“You’ve got Fred-“ she paused, lingering over her dead brother’s name for a moment. She still couldn’t help it. “-and George to thank for that.”
“Of course,” he replied, a humorless smile crossing his face for a brief second.
Harry still wouldn’t meet Ginny’s gaze. He opened his mouth a couple of times, as if he were going to say something, but nothing came out. Finally he found his voice.
“I’d just come home from talking to Ron. You’d given me a key only a few weeks before and I wanted to surprise you, take you out to dinner. When I got in, I noticed this parchment on the counter with your name on it. I recognized Hermione’s writing.”
Harry sighed.
“I sort of suspected what it was going to say. She never thought I’d seen, but I’d noticed how Hermione was looking at you those last few months. I knew I shouldn’t have read it, but I couldn’t help myself. I was so bloody mad when I read it. I couldn’t believe that she would do that to Ron and to me!”
“To you, Harry? It was my letter!” Ginny snapped.
His eyes flew to hers. Pain marred his smooth features. “Don’t you see, Ginny? I couldn’t risk losing you. I’d lost too many people during the War. I don’t think I could have handled losing you too.”
“You selfish prat. It was my choice, Harry, not yours! And you took it away from me.”
“Ginny, I am so sorry! Please believe me! I kept telling myself to give you the letter, I truly did. But..but…”
“But you didn’t,” Ginny said flatly. “You let me go on thinking she didn’t care a whit about me for three years. You knew how hurt I was. I thought that was why you stopped talking to her too, but now I see it was never about me.”
“It was always about you. I love you. Ginny, let me make it up to you. We’ve been happy, haven’t we? We can be happy again. I’m so, so sorry,” he beseeched, his words tumbling over one another. He rose from the floor and drew near to her.
“Why’d you keep it, Harry?” she asked quietly.
Harry was down on one knee next to her chair. Hesitantly he placed a hand over hers, but she yanked her hand back, recoiling from him as if his touch had stung her.
“Ginny, please.”
“Why did you keep it?” she repeated, her voice almost a whisper.
“I don’t know, really. I guess some part of me always felt guilty. I just couldn’t ever quite bring myself to get rid of it.”
Ginny let her eyes travel over her husband’s face, tracing a path from the haphazard black hair, to the scar on his forehead, down to the green eyes peering at her from behind round spectacles, and beyond, to his lips, frowning now. Part of her loathed the sight of him, but she could still sense that he was in real pain, even if it was pain that he’d inflicted upon himself. She viewed her own reactions with an odd, dispassionate sensation, as if she were standing beside herself. She knew she had loved him once, but it seemed like a distant memory now. She let go of her anger, and a strange calm settled over her.
Without a word, she stood. She could feel Harry’s eyes following her as she folded up the letter and put it in her pocket, and as she retrieved her wand and tucked it away. He hadn’t moved from his spot near the chair. He finally stirred when she put her wedding band on the cushion in front of him and reached for her suitcase.
“Ginny, no, please no,” he moaned.
“I can’t, Harry. Not after this.” Her voice was steady and firm.
“But-“
“No, Harry. There’s nothing more to say.”
Harry slumped to the floor in stunned silence. Ginny lifted her suitcase and hefted her broomstick under her arm. As she opened the door, she heard Harry clear his throat. She paused, waiting.
“Just tell me one thing. If you’d gotten the letter then, would you have stayed?”
Ginny looked over her shoulder at him. He seemed to have collapsed into himself, his anguish plainly written on his face, yet she couldn’t even feel pity as she replied.
“Honestly – I don’t know.”
With that, Ginny walked out.
***
The empty white bed before her seemed to be mocking her. Ginny stared at it, remembering Hermione lying there. Her heart ached over what might have been. If things had taken a different path…
A warm arm slid around Ginny’s waist, pulling her against an even warmer body. The smell of Hermione’s soap enveloped her as she let herself be drawn into the embrace. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back on Hermione’s shoulder, Hermione’s bushy curls caressing her cheek. She sighed.
“Stop that,” came a whisper at her ear.
Ginny smiled. “Stop what?”
“Thinking about what if. I’m right here,” said Hermione. Hermione grasped Ginny’s hips, turning her until the two were facing one another. Hermione had a stern look on her face, but the hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You could have-“ Ginny swallowed, trying to shove the visions of the nearly comatose Hermione out of her mind.
“But I didn’t,” said Hermione firmly. “And I’m not going to.”
“Don’t say that,” replied Ginny irritably. “You can’t make that promise. No one can.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Hermione softly. “But I can promise you I’ll be a lot more careful now that I know what a row it would cause if I wasn’t.”
“You’d better be,” growled Ginny, only half playfully. “You’ve got a lot of time to make up for. It’s a lucky thing you’re so smart, Ms. Granger. If you hadn’t been able to translate those hieroglyphics the last time you were conscious…”
Ginny’s voice trailed off, and she shivered. Hermione shook her lightly.
“There you go again.”
“I’m sorry.” Ginny blinked. “It’s just…I can’t quite believe all of this yet.”
“So, me dying is real to you, but not me loving you?”
“Um…”
Hermione harrumphed. “Well, we’ll just have to change that, won’t we?”
Suddenly, Ginny felt Hermione’s lips on hers. They were soft and supple, and tasted sweet. At first Hermione’s kiss was light, a gentle brushing of skin across skin, but then Hermione’s mouth became more demanding. Ginny could feel the air become almost unbearably warm around them as Hermione deepened the kiss, but Ginny responded with her own fervor. Ginny yielded to the subtle pressure of Hermione’s arms, letting her body melt into Hermione’s. She gasped as electricity thrilled down her spine, leaving her tingling, but it was the sudden swelling in her chest that awed her the most. She’d never been kissed like this before – or rather she’d never kissed someone back like this before, not even Harry. Her senses were reeling as she tried to take in everything about Hermione all at once.
Then Hermione leaned back, breaking the kiss. Ginny felt a little jolt of disappointment at the loss of contact. Hermione looked up into Ginny’s eyes, a hint of concern in her eyes.
“Ginny, you’re shaking.”
Ginny laughed. “Am I? Maybe I’m just starting to understand what’s real.”
Hermione grinned at her. “Well, there’s plenty more reality where that came from. Let’s get out of here. I don’t think I can stand to be in the hospital for one more minute.”
“I’ll second that. Come on.”
Arm in arm they headed for the door together. Ginny threw one last glance over her shoulder at the white bed, just before the door swung shut, and for once the sight didn’t fill her with dread. She smiled. It was just a hospital bed, after all.