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About Last Night	By : Hermoginny Category: Harry Potter > FemSlash - Female/Female > Hermione/Ginny Views: 15659 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Harry Potter & co are borrowed with love from J.K. Rowling, the woman who raised my generation. No profit involved, just practice

Chapter List
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7:00 am
It was an odd morning.
One half of Ginny's brain was reeling from the memory of what had happened in the Prefect's bathroom the night before. The other half of Ginny's brain (the more primal part, she suspected) was bathing in warm recollections of what had been happening in the Prefect's bath just before that.
Ginny had never felt anything so true before, so real. Until this point in her life she had only ever had one crush, and that was on Harry. She liked him because he was good, and brave, and kind; and he was the Boy Who Lived. He was friends with her brothers, he got along with her whole family - and he was close to Hermione. From the moment Ginny met Hermione she had wanted to know her better, to be close to her, too.
At first, Ginny assumed that her attraction was Platonic, in the most literal sense. She was drawn to Hermione's insightful mind and easy confidence regarding matters of importance. Not in a broader social context, perhaps, but where it counted Hermione never faltered in her aplomb.
She was so bright - almost incandescent - this strong, determined girl who took no rubbish from Ron, or The Boy Who Lived, or anybody else for that matter. Alongside her intelligence came a conviction like nothing Ginny had ever encountered. Ginny hoped that she would 'grow up' like Hermione, knowing and caring about things that mattered.
What she had with Hermione was something that mattered.
It was only once they were both older, and the idea of intimacy had already entered the heads and conversations of all her classmates that Ginny began to open her eyes to something more alluring in Hermione's exceptional mind; not to mention her smooth wrists, elegant posture, and appealing physique. Ginny remembered precisely the moment that she had seen Hermione for the first time again, in an altogether new light.
...
They had been at the Burrow over the summer and, as usual, they had shared Ginny's bed. Ruefully, Ginny considered how many times she had slept beside Hermione without a second thought, except perhaps the want of more bedspace. Now the idea of them pressed close together under Ginny's little duvet, and Hermione; Hermione...
It was the night before the start of term and Ginny had just come tromping up the stairs from a round of Quidditch with the boys, still carrying the cool night air on her skin. She palmed the handle of her door automatically and stepped into her room to find Hermione, freshly showered and completely naked except for a pair of thin, practical briefs which were making their way over the curve of her derriere along two slender thumbs. Hermione was facing the window and continued to dress unperturbedly as she enquired after their game.
Hermione had probably forgotten this moment entirely. There was no reason for it to stand out to her; she was never ashamed of her body and, afterall, she had simply been getting dressed. But for Ginny, the sight of Hermione's smooth back and shapely shoulders, her deft fingers running casually over her feminine figure as she prepared for sleep - she lit a fire in Ginny: deeper, hotter, and lower than any flame that had ever ignited in her.
She just managed to recover her breath and reply with a semblance of normalcy that the game had been "brilliant, thanks," while her eyes ran along Hermione's spine and over her supple back end, towards the place where her thighs met. Brilliant indeed.
The flame inside her burned hotter and she drank in Hermione's movements until the older girl turned to face her, slipping a shirt over her head as she did. Supple, well-shaped breasts disappeared beneath thin cotton as Ginny tried to hide the lust in her expression. Fortunately, Hermione seemed to attribute the glow in her cheeks to her time on the Quidditch pitch, and accept Ginny's hurried departure for the shower at face value.
The shower was usually the place Ginny turned to for what she liked to think of as 'me time', but she had never 'taken a shower' with the idea of one particular person in her thoughts before. More often than not there was no one in her head at all; just simple, satisfying sensation.
This time, however, Ginny replayed every movement of Hermione's in her head. Every placement of fabric on skin, every graceful curve of Hermione's body, willing those discerning brown eyes to swim into the front of her mind as she brought herself to the edge - and then suddenly, spectacularly over it.
Even this was different now, Ginny thought to herself as she slowly finished washing. It was like gaining a new sense. Everything in her sight was now colored with the soft lilac hue of Hermione, and she glowed at the prospect of seeing her as often as was possible over the next nine months.
Sleeping beside Hermione that night, Ginny allowed herself the pleasure of resting one foot against the older girl's calf. Hermione did not seem to mind it, and quickly drifted off. Minutes or hours later, Ginny had been brave (or reckless) enough to lay one hand lightly atop a cotton-covered hip. She fell asleep relishing the feel of warm, soft skin creating electric currents where it came in contact with her own. Nothing could ever felt better, more obvious, more right.
...
But now she was full of uncertainty. What if Hermione didn't feel the same way? Ginny had never questioned her affection before. Then again, they had never been affectionate like this before.
From their first night together, Ginny hadn't been nervous at all. She could see the truth etched all over Hermione's face: the intensity in her heavy-lidded eyes and her expectant lips, her shortness of breath and that exquisite pink flush in her skin. Even her pores seemed to open up to Ginny, asking her to explore them; to touch her, to learn every inch of her.
And Ginny had touched every inch of her; kissed, licked, brushed, gripped firm thighs and pliable breasts and all that lay between. Ginny had never felt so whole, so alive, so natural, so capable, so free: Like riding a firebolt into the sunrise with dragon's blood flowing through her veins. And Hermione had opened herself up to Ginny in ways the younger girl had never dared even to fantasize about.
Hermione on the edge, or even wanting to be, was a different creature entirely from the bookish and thoroughly rational golden girl that she was to the rest of the world. Hidden away in a dark corner or a dusty room, she was playful, shameless, and unrelenting in the fulfillment of her need.
Her brazen desire fanned the flames of Ginny's already considerable fervor whenever they were alone together, leading Ginny to do things that would have mortified her if she hadn't been so busy reveling in them. Ginny still couldn't believe that she could want someone so much - and so constantly!
But now, now Ginny was experiencing real doubt for perhaps the first time in her life. what if their time spent together didn't matter as much to Hermione? What if it didn't really matter to her at all? What if her wanker of a brother had ensured that yesterday was the last time she would ever get to put so much as a finger on (or inside) Hermione? to lose herself in full lips, soft skin, hot-wet-heat?
If she had to choose between her wand and Hermione's touch, she wasn't sure which one she'd pick. Sweet Merlin, the way Hermione tasted when she was wet and ready for Ginny to take her over: the way her lips parted, her tongue danced, her smooth flat stomach squirmed and her hips ground into Ginny's mouth when she was impatient for release...
Wanting to steel herself against the day with the help of some of her fondest memories, Ginny made sure that the curtains of her four poster were shut tight and cast a silencing charm around them to ensure herself of the privacy needed to reminisce on some of her favorite moments spent alone with Hermione.
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About Last Night