Categories > Books > Harry Potter
Her Best Friend's Girlfriend
3 reviewsSeventh Year AU. Posted for the International Day of Femslash.(http:/www.femslashday.com/wiki/Main_Page) Beside the pond on a rainy afternoon, Ginny makes an unusual request of Hermione.
5Ambiance
Her Best Friend's Girlfriend (743 words)
An Harry Potter Fanfiction by Andrew Aelfwine
*
Characters and situations of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling and her publishers, and are merely borrowed for this non-commercial fanfic.
Warnings: femmeslash, heterosexuality implied, bisexuality implied, snogging, character death mentioned, alternate universe, yours truly
AU, Seventh Year-not HBP compliant
Hermione/Ginny, Ginny/Harry implied, Future Hermione/Harry/Ginny implied
*
Raindrops were dappling the pond, and the Giant Squid had gone below to sulk, or perhaps, as Luna had once said, to play at noughts and crosses with the Merfolk. Hermione and Ginny sat on a blanket beneath an oak, the shelter of its branches augmented with a repellent charm.
"My great-great-great-grandfather killed one of Malfoy's cousins-seven-times-removed here," Ginny mused. "Gutted him like a trout, I'm told. That was back when everyone still dueled with swords, of course."
"Yes," Hermione said. "McGonagall told me there was a fencing instructor here when she was a student."
"Ah, sport fencing," Ginny said. "Not a bad little game, but it's got nothing to do with real fighting. The moves are all wrong, and there's only a handful of spells you can put through a piece of wire. It's better training with a plain stick than a foil, truth to tell."
Ginny seemed to expect her to say something, but Hermione couldn't find any words that made sense. She made a little interrogative "hmm" in the back of her throat.
"Sword spells are fascinating," Ginny said. "You have to learn languages to use them, not just Latin but Old Norse, Middle English, two kinds of funny old German... Some of them are in languages that Muggles don't even know were written down, languages so old they borrowed their word for iron from Hittite. They're nothing like wand spells."
Part of Hermione wanted to know more. There were manuals of Wizarding swordplay in the Restricted Section, but they were kept under strong wards, the sort even she wouldn't break just to know a few more bits of historical trivia. Another part of her wished Ginny would find something else to talk about, Charms or Runes or even Quidditch.
There was something dark in sweet Ginny, something that had awakened after the fight at the Ministry and never gone to sleep again. Last year, all but dry-eyed, she had drunk her brother's blood from her palms and sworn to kill the Lestranges with her own hands.
Ginny and Harry had been seeing each other since the month before Ron was killed. Hermione would've been happy about that, once.
They took tutorials from Professor Snape and Alastor Moody, tutorials they didn't talk about. Harry was teaching the DA new spells, the next thing to Dark, spells that skirted the bans on Cruciatus and Imperius, spells that unbalanced the body's energy nodes, spells that, slightly stronger or aimed a hair to the left, would maim or kill. Ginny slept with a dagger beneath her pillow and taught unarmed combat to all houses and years alike.
Her friends were growing together like two trees planted side by side, two trees that reached out branches to catch and draw her in. And she couldn't run away, for all she might wish, as if she were a tree also and rooted in the ground beside them.
"Hermione," Ginny said. "Look at me?" Hermione didn't dare. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing some primitive ancestor staring out of her friend's eyes, a blue-tattooed savage with scalps hanging from her Thestral's reins. "Please?"
She couldn't not look. The smile on Ginny's face was sweet, and desperate, and something else. She didn't know what, until the lips were against hers and the arms were about her and Ginny was whispering "Kiss me, 'Mione. Please, mín swa léofen freond? Buss mí?" And they were kissing, lips locked, tongues twined, kissing and embracing and rolling about on the blanket atop the soft grass.
"Harry?" Hermione said at last when they lay still, side by side.
"I'm not him," Ginny said. "You're the only person we'd ever trust to make us Polyjuice."
"What about him?"
"He loves me. I love him. He loves you. I love you. And we were hoping..."
"This isn't about..."
"You can say my brother's name, love."
"Ron, is it?"
"Don't be silly, Hermione. It's about us, the three of us. And... do you know why Voldemort went bad?"
"No."
"He was an ascetic, a celibate. He might have made a decent priest, but a Dark Lord needs not only a Dark Lady, but a Light Lady. Will you be ours?"
Her lips moved, but it was a moment before she could get the word out. "Yes."
"Only if you wish. We could find--"
She put her finger across Ginny's lips. "No, you couldn't. Not one who'd love the pair of you as I do."
#####
An Harry Potter Fanfiction by Andrew Aelfwine
*
Characters and situations of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling and her publishers, and are merely borrowed for this non-commercial fanfic.
Warnings: femmeslash, heterosexuality implied, bisexuality implied, snogging, character death mentioned, alternate universe, yours truly
AU, Seventh Year-not HBP compliant
Hermione/Ginny, Ginny/Harry implied, Future Hermione/Harry/Ginny implied
*
Raindrops were dappling the pond, and the Giant Squid had gone below to sulk, or perhaps, as Luna had once said, to play at noughts and crosses with the Merfolk. Hermione and Ginny sat on a blanket beneath an oak, the shelter of its branches augmented with a repellent charm.
"My great-great-great-grandfather killed one of Malfoy's cousins-seven-times-removed here," Ginny mused. "Gutted him like a trout, I'm told. That was back when everyone still dueled with swords, of course."
"Yes," Hermione said. "McGonagall told me there was a fencing instructor here when she was a student."
"Ah, sport fencing," Ginny said. "Not a bad little game, but it's got nothing to do with real fighting. The moves are all wrong, and there's only a handful of spells you can put through a piece of wire. It's better training with a plain stick than a foil, truth to tell."
Ginny seemed to expect her to say something, but Hermione couldn't find any words that made sense. She made a little interrogative "hmm" in the back of her throat.
"Sword spells are fascinating," Ginny said. "You have to learn languages to use them, not just Latin but Old Norse, Middle English, two kinds of funny old German... Some of them are in languages that Muggles don't even know were written down, languages so old they borrowed their word for iron from Hittite. They're nothing like wand spells."
Part of Hermione wanted to know more. There were manuals of Wizarding swordplay in the Restricted Section, but they were kept under strong wards, the sort even she wouldn't break just to know a few more bits of historical trivia. Another part of her wished Ginny would find something else to talk about, Charms or Runes or even Quidditch.
There was something dark in sweet Ginny, something that had awakened after the fight at the Ministry and never gone to sleep again. Last year, all but dry-eyed, she had drunk her brother's blood from her palms and sworn to kill the Lestranges with her own hands.
Ginny and Harry had been seeing each other since the month before Ron was killed. Hermione would've been happy about that, once.
They took tutorials from Professor Snape and Alastor Moody, tutorials they didn't talk about. Harry was teaching the DA new spells, the next thing to Dark, spells that skirted the bans on Cruciatus and Imperius, spells that unbalanced the body's energy nodes, spells that, slightly stronger or aimed a hair to the left, would maim or kill. Ginny slept with a dagger beneath her pillow and taught unarmed combat to all houses and years alike.
Her friends were growing together like two trees planted side by side, two trees that reached out branches to catch and draw her in. And she couldn't run away, for all she might wish, as if she were a tree also and rooted in the ground beside them.
"Hermione," Ginny said. "Look at me?" Hermione didn't dare. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing some primitive ancestor staring out of her friend's eyes, a blue-tattooed savage with scalps hanging from her Thestral's reins. "Please?"
She couldn't not look. The smile on Ginny's face was sweet, and desperate, and something else. She didn't know what, until the lips were against hers and the arms were about her and Ginny was whispering "Kiss me, 'Mione. Please, mín swa léofen freond? Buss mí?" And they were kissing, lips locked, tongues twined, kissing and embracing and rolling about on the blanket atop the soft grass.
"Harry?" Hermione said at last when they lay still, side by side.
"I'm not him," Ginny said. "You're the only person we'd ever trust to make us Polyjuice."
"What about him?"
"He loves me. I love him. He loves you. I love you. And we were hoping..."
"This isn't about..."
"You can say my brother's name, love."
"Ron, is it?"
"Don't be silly, Hermione. It's about us, the three of us. And... do you know why Voldemort went bad?"
"No."
"He was an ascetic, a celibate. He might have made a decent priest, but a Dark Lord needs not only a Dark Lady, but a Light Lady. Will you be ours?"
Her lips moved, but it was a moment before she could get the word out. "Yes."
"Only if you wish. We could find--"
She put her finger across Ginny's lips. "No, you couldn't. Not one who'd love the pair of you as I do."
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