FicWad

author's notes: This story received lots of beta by idlerat, the person who got me into all this in the first place, plus a bit more beta at the last minute by leogryffin; deepest thanks to both. The characters belong to JK Rowling, of course. The words are mine. Nobody's making money on this.
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Post Bellum


After the war everything was different but everything still went on just the same. The Burrow's garden amazed Ginny: cress and verbena and rhubarb grew as though nothing had happened at all. Her father still went to work every day - for longer hours, if anything, than he had before the war - and every evening as he took his bath, he still sang old Muggle songs, loudly and badly. Her mother nagged about curfews and dirty dishes as if Ginny had never seen her standing on the steps outside the Ministry building, hurling desperate curses at Death Eaters. And she fussed at them all about what they were to wear to all those ceremonies in those first months of medals and speeches. But one after another - starting with Ron - they all stopped going, and she didn't say anything about it. The twins never, even in the worst of it, closed the joke shop; but now they were back to living above their store, doing very well with a new line of Death Eater Trading Cards and worse, stuff Ginny didn't even want to know about. The sun still rose every morning and the owl still delivered the Daily Prophet soon after. After breakfast, there wasn't much to do unless you wanted to weed the garden or read the paper.

After a while, the sports page began to seem less like news accidentally delivered from some other world where they hadn't had a war. They had reformed the All-England Quidditch side, and she didn't recognize most of the players who smiled and waved from the big team photo the Daily Prophet printed on its back page. The paper still sometimes talked about the ones who had died, even on the other side. But if the Aurors had them, if they were in Azkaban or about to be sent there or waiting to go through the de-Riddlification Process that her father was working on, then nobody mentioned them at all. A bit like Percy. Everyone talked about Charlie sometimes, when their guard slipped, and said how brave the rest of them had been too, but nobody talked about Percy.

She wished she hadn't been home, the day they came for Percy.

Once, early in the spring, she found herself vaguely imagining playing Quidditch for England herself, a passionate fantasy from her faraway girlhood. Odd, that, because she would have sworn that she had no wish to ride a broom for any reason, ever again. Not after ... everything.

In her nightmares, she flew. Not that anything happened to her. But all around her, people were falling through the air, falling, and she couldn't save them. Sometimes, dreaming, she saw again scenes she had witnessed in the war - and she had watched enough people getting cursed right off their broomsticks - but that wasn't the worst. The worst was watching it happen, over and over, to strangers: images she might or might not have seen, really, during the war. Even Death Eaters, falling. Once a leather-bound diary. She couldn't say why that should trouble her so, but it did. The witch at St. Mungo's who took away her Dreamless Sleep potion, right after that last battle at the Ministry, told her not to dwell on it. So, most mornings, first thing, she had to turn her mind away from the night. Like washing her face or drinking her tea. Not thinking about it had to become part of her routine.

It came to Ginny that this idea about Quidditch, though not much of an idea, was the first she had thought about a future of any kind since the war began two years before. If someone had asked her then, she would have said that she didn't expect the war to end. She would have meant that she expected to die soon. But she lived.

Eventually, she supposed, Hogwarts would be a school again instead of a ruined fortress. All of them who were left could go back to classes, and take the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s that had been cancelled for two years in a row, and then she would have a degree. It would be something to do. It was almost like having a plan. Funny to think of studying all those subjects in books - charms and flying and Defense Against the Dark Arts, oh, especially Defense Against the Dark Arts - after having gotten good at them the hard way. She wasn't even supposed to know how to Apparate, which was a joke. She would be dead by now, about five times over, if she hadn't caught on to that one pretty quick.

Well, there were a lot of things she knew that she would rather not know. It wasn't so bad if you didn't talk about it. Ginny had tried to be logical about this, like Hermione. She had concluded that there were two things that could happen if you talked about that kind of thing: either you made the person listening to you feel bad, and then you would feel guilty; or the person who was listening wouldn't feel bad, and then you would feel lonelier. So, better not to talk. Writing was best avoided too. People had owled her but answering was just too ... What was she going to say? "I'm not dead, thanks for asking"? They would figure it out. They had probably figured it out. Nobody -- hardly anyone, anyhow -- had owled her twice.

If Hermione owled her again, she might write Hermione.

But Ron was good: he just liked to lark around, but not too much, not like the twins. Almost every day he made her get on her broom, just to have someone to practice a little quidditch with. Sometimes they snuck off for a butterbeer, or something better, in the evening. They ran to the village and back, most days, while yelling out horrible muggle military chants, just in case they needed to be in shape for something. But they didn't talk about much, and they didn't have to look cheerful with each other, and it was all right.



So the spring went by. Ginny hung around with Ron at the Burrow, avoiding parades and memorial services, as the crocuses gave way to tulips and the headlines in the Daily Prophet shrank into smaller type. Molly Weasley, unstrung by grief about her older boys - Bill who was so far from home, and Charlie who was gone forever, and Percy, poor foolish Percy - tried to shield her youngest from its effects. She could barely keep up the pretext that the twins' business exasperated her, and she she simply could not feign an interest in Arthur's career any more. She was glad Ron and Ginny were home. She could see them playing on their broomsticks sometimes from her bedroom window. She took comfort in watching them eat. But she had to let them go their own ways.

One perfect May afternoon, she found Ron measuring Ginny's height at the kitchen doorway. When was the last time any of them had done that? It must be years. But they were still growing; they were still children, despite everything. Ron was using a switchblade - why did he have a switchblade? - to make a notch three inches higher than Ginny's last mark, as high as the twin's last. Three inches in three years, fancy that. Ginny had turned out to be tall after all; her body looked rather like Bill in his Quidditch years, ropy muscles and gangling limbs, while her face, all jaw and cheekbone, was more like Ron's really. Her hair wasn't much longer than Ron's either, come to that. Why hadn't she let it grow out again, now that the war was over? And she would need new robes for school. When was the last time she had really looked at the two of them?

Then she heard Ron tell Ginny "facing the end of the world didn't stunt our growth after all, eh?"

And Ginny answering, "except for Charlie's," and the two of them laughing.

The worst was Ron's casual "Sorry, Mum, didn't see you there."

She turned away with her fist stuffed to her mouth, and luckily made it all the way to the bedroom before she began really howling, so that nobody heard her sobbing until she couldn't breathe. And then she had to take more Pepper-Up Potion than she should have, just to get through making dinner.



A few days after that, while washing up after Sunday breakfast, Mr. Weasley asked Ginny if she was planning to do any studying over the summer, to get ready for school starting up again. Ginny looked at him, blank-faced and silent. She knew he was thinking: our little girl. Her father persisted: "I thought - that is, your mother and I thought - perhaps you ..." Facing Ginny's bleak stare, he gave up before he got to there's nothing we can do for you now.

The next Sunday at breakfast, Mr. Weasley said "So! I see Harry and Hermione are going to be joining us for a bit!" in the loud cheery tones he usually saved for his job.

Mrs. Weasley said, "Just Hermione, Arthur. Harry's coming for dinner, but he can't stay. " Ginny watched Ron's eyes cut back and forth between their parents.

Mr. Weasley said "Right! I should have remembered! Since it's my office that's been keeping him so busy, after all! So, Harry and Hermione this afternoon, and Hermione's to stay. That should be great fun. Too much space at this table lately!" Nobody replied. He went a little redder, and picked up the Daily Prophet. Ginny and Ron and Mrs. Weasley looked at their plates.

So in the middle of the afternoon Harry rolled out of the fireplace. He brought roses for their mother, who made a fuss, and Any Flavor Beans for them. Both gestures seemed odd but in different directions: that he should try to be formal and adult with Mrs. Weasley, and try to be like, well, like a kid, with Ron and Ginny. Ginny didn't like the way he hugged her and then Ron - more like a clasp of both forearms - and then, to be fair, tried to think of a way he could have said hello that she would have liked. Funny. Funny that Harry should be in such serious, grownup robes on a Sunday afternoon. Funny to see him without that scar: middling height, middling build, specs, completely ordinary. Someone had gotten him to cut his hair short, probably so he would look respectable when testifying at all those Death Eater trials. Funny how respectable he looked, too.

Ginny was waiting for Hermione. Hermione had been at Hogwarts, until almost the end of the war, helping with wartime spells. They had seen each other sometimes when Tonk's brigade got called in to have new charms put on their brooms or learn new hexes. Everyone liked Hermione's plain good sense; she just told them what to do without a lot of blather about the Light versus the Darkness. Tonks had called her Little My, after a character in some Muggle book. When the - when they had to try to fly people out of Hogwarts, Ginny had worried about Hermione. But it was Oliver who had got her out, safe. It had taken a while to find that out; for a long time there was not a reliable list of ... but Hermione had been all right, after all. And then they seen each other since only at those stupid ceremonies, and not at all since the small service for Tonks. Maybe Hermione just wanted to be a Muggle for a while, live in the world where the war never happened. Ginny kept wondering what Hermione looked like now, as if it had been years rather than months. She kept wondering if Hermione was angry because she hadn't written back. But it was better to pay attention to what was right in front of you, wasn't it?

Ginny could see that Ron wanted Harry to himself, so they could talk Quidditch or something probably, but Harry kept making polite conversation with their parents instead. Well, really with Mr. Weasley. Well, really, Ginny decided after a while, they were gossiping like two sergeants slagging an inept lieutenant, except that Harry had figured out some way to disguise gossip as serious adult talk about judges and warding spells and Veritaserum. Mrs. Weasley was off to the kitchen before Harry even mentioned the word Azkaban, Ginny noticed. She looked at Ron fidgeting and listened to her mother's clatter at the stove and thought about kicking Harry in the shins.

Finally Hermione walked in the door, while Ginny was watching at the fireplace for her. "Hello," she said, and then she noticed their faces. "What?" She brushed at herself as if she thought there might be something wrong with her clothes, then figured it out. "Oh, I Apparated into the garden. Easier than the Floo."

Ginny stared at her in a way that was probably rude. In her muggle clothes, Hermione looked just as bony and gaunt as she had in the worst of the war. She hadn't grown much since Ginny's third year at school, Hermione's fourth; Ginny thought she could probably just about fit her underneath her chin. It would be funny to try. Hermione was still wearing her hair braided, keeping it out of the way as though she might have to go mix up some Skele-gro potion at any moment - the way she'd had to do when Hogwarts was beseiged, after Snape ... well, one more thing not to think about. She was a little more pale than she used to be, and she still had those dark circles under her eyes. Probably she stayed indoors reading all day long.

Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, "Oh, hello Hermione, you must have gotten your license then?"

Mr. Weasley added, "Must have been on your first try too. Good for you!"

Ginny waited for Hermione to say something about how it wasn't hard to pass the test after all the Apparating she had done already, but Hermione just thanked them politely and handed Mr. Weasley a set of spanners in a red plastic box, for his collection of Muggle artifacts. While he was whispering a request to his wife for help in figuring out this new prize - "D'you suppose they're weapons, dear?"-Hermione was greeting Ron and Harry and Ginny.

She gave Ron a loud smacking kiss on his cheek, which made him turn pink and look at Harry. She put her arms around Ginny's neck and murmured "I've got a flask of firewhiskey with me for later." And she stepped toward Harry, who Ginny could see was going to try that forearm clasp thing again, then stepped neatly aside and punched his shoulder instead. "Good to see you, you big hero!" she said, which for some reason made Ron and Ginny start to laugh, and that set Hermione off, until finally Harry was laughing too.

So dinner was all right after all.



Sometimes Ron thought he would gag on all that went unspoken. Not just his words, but everyone's. The names they didn't speak, the days they didn't talk about, the feelings he probably didn't have words for anyhow. The war was over; they had won; what did he have to worry about? But worry was one feeling he could name. He worried about his mother, about his sister, about himself, even. It made it hard to eat, and it didn't help that he could see his father - who might act the fool sometimes but was not at all thick, he had come to understand - noticing whether or not they were eating. Well, none of them but Harry were looking very healthy. His mother probably ate no more than Percy was eating. And if Hermione got any thinner she would disappear altogether. Ron picked up a forkful of flan. Hail the conquering heroes, home to clean their plates.

After dessert, his father said "I'm sure you all have a lot of catching up to do! Your mother and I will clean up. You all can go out to the garden if you like." And so they found themselves sitting on the hill in the very back, passing Hermione's small bottle around as night came in. Ginny had found a stick that she was using to poke idly at a garden gnome's hole. Harry and Hermione were squabbling the way they always did lately. Something about politics, as usual. The Ministry and that. Ron lay on his back and watched the stars come out, wishing he knew the summer constellations as well as the winter ones.

Harry and Hermione's conversation slowed, then stopped, thankfully. Ginny started to sing, very quietly, the song she sang when she was a little drunk. Something about how she used to ride a horse. Hermione, to his surprise, joined in:

six jolly soldiers to carry my coffin
six jolly soldiers to march by my side
and bring me two to dig the grave
and lay me down easy
I am a young soldier who never done wrong

Her voice wasn't much louder than Ginny's, but it was a nicer sound, Ron thought. Harry stood, brushing at his robes where he'd sat down. "That's it then," he said, sounding more like himself than he had all night, "there's not enough whiskey left to make these morbid old Muggle songs sound good. I'm going back to my rooms."

But Ron could hear his smile in his voice and so he said "no, let's go get a proper drink first." And, to his surprise, Harry agreed.



They sang that song twice more all the way through, slower each time. When I was on horseback, wasn't I pretty? Ginny wondered if Hermione remembered teaching it to her last year. They were lying on the hill with their heads almost touching. Somewhere frogs were singing to each other. The stars moved so slowly. Finally Hermione spoke. "I didn't mean to chase them both away."

"Yeah, well," Ginny said, "Harry's gotten a little hard to take."

"You noticed? I thought you still might have a crush on him. "

"Ugh! No! not since I was, I don't know, twelve. I don't know why I have to keep hearing about that. Anyway ..." and she realized that what she said was true only as she spoke the words, "it's Ron who has the crush on him now."

"He can step to the back of the line-up. The whole wizarding world has a crush on Harry. "

So Hermione had known . "Poor Ron. Maybe he's so drunk he won't remember any of this in the morning, anyway."

"None of us are that drunk. But let's go to bed anyway."

Hermione got to her feet and stuck out a hand for Ginny. She was so tiny and Ginny so tall now that Ginny laughed at her determined effort to haul her upright, like an ant trying to help a grasshopper climb a blade of grass. But it was too much effort to explain, and anyway Hermione was laughing already. Then they both were trying not to giggle so nobody woke up as they staggered in the back door, past the fireplace, up the stairs and down the long hall.

Ginny had spent the afternoon making plans for the night: where she should sleep and where Hermione should sleep, what she could and could not mention, how she would apologize if one of her nightmares turned noisy. In the end, though, Ginny might as well not have bothered to plan anything at all. Mrs Weasley, refusing to acknowledge that the Burrow now had plenty of space, had pushed the family's tiny, lumpy rollaway bed into Ginny's room for Hermione the way she used to do in the summers before the war. Hermione took a look at the it, sighed, and Transfigured it together with Ginny's single bed into a wide futon. Sleeping comfortably, a soldier's obsession. And, drunk or not, Hermione knew where her wand was and how to use it: a good soldier, Ginny thought. A great soldier. Even if she was useless on a broomstick.

Hermione undid the Shrinking Spell on her bag, pulled out a ratty full-length nightgown, comb and toothbrush and then shrunk it back up again. Ginny got into a pair of Bill's old boxer shorts and a left-over teeshirt from the joke shop that she would never had worn if the printing had turned out so you could read the words, or see the flobberworms wriggling. When Ginny got back from the bathroom she found Hermione was sitting on the edge of the bed in a long cotton nightgown that might once have been green, undoing her braid. Then she stabbed at her hair with a comb for a bit, creating new tangles instead of smoothing out the old ones in her thick, bouncy mane. Ginny watched from the doorway for a bit and finally asked "Would you like some help with that?"

Hermione nodded. "D'you remember, you used to do this in the summers? And you did this for me once or twice at school? Years ago?"

"I wasn't much good at it."

"Well, it's true, Parvati was better. But you've improved."

And Ginny was taking great care, sorting through the worst bits with her fingers, patiently stroking the newly untangled strands until they lay almost flat down Hermione's back. She lifted the whole mass delicately to get to the finer hairs at the back of Hermione's neck and combed those too, very lightly. Hermione made a small humming sound - did she know she was making that noise? - which seemed to mean she was satisfied.

"There," Ginny said at last, "go look in the mirror."

"Thanks!" said Hermione, as Ginny leaned back on the futon.

The mirror said "Much better, dear." And Hermione pulled her hair back into a loose knot -- "keeps it out of the way," she said, the way she always did -- before she lay down too and said Nox.

Ginny said, "well, goodnight" and Hermione leaned over to kiss Ginny's cheek and Ginny turned her head and their mouths just touched. Delicate brush of lip. The scent of firewhiskey. Ginny breathed in, hard. Then their mouths were open and Ginny felt Hermione's jaw knock against hers and their noses mash together until Hermione moved them around somehow so their mouths fit. Then Ginny felt Hermione's small pointy tongue flickering between her lips, and then they were pressing closer together and Hermione's mouth was so warm, so sweet, that Ginny could have gotten drunk on kissing if she wasn't already a little drunk. She wanted Hermione closer, so she put her arms around her and pulled herself over until they were pressed against each other from knee to shoulder; the pressure added sweetness to the kissing. Ginny's tongue was testing the sharpness of Hermione's teeth. Hermione's arms went around her.

But the sheets were in the way, everything was bunched together and in the way and wrong. Sweat made her clothes stick to her. Her teeshirt had somehow gotten twisted around so that it was strangling her. She needed to feel more of Hermione's skin but her nightgown was rucked up between them. Strands of Hermione's hair ended up in Ginny's mouth, stuck to both their foreheads. Ginny wanted everything to be right, to be perfect, like Hermione, perfect, and for a few seconds she was gasping, almost crying, but Hermione's small hands were holding the sides of her face and Hermione's eyes were open and black and shining in the dark and Ginny remembered to breath again until she felt less like drowning. Her hands somehow freed themselves to pull her teeshirt off. They kept kissing and kissing as they kicked all the sheets and blankets off the futon, and Ginny's hands found their way into Hermione's hair and tangled there, pressing Hermione's head toward her own.

And then Hermione rolled on top of her - Ginny thought for an instant of wrestling with a small, fierce, dark animal - and somehow her nightgown wasn't the way any more and Ginny could feel the skin of Hermione's legs along the outside of her own and Hermione's hands were running along Ginny's arms and capturing her wrists and pulling them above Ginny's head and her mouth was burrowing into the angle where Ginny's neck met her shoulder.

Ginny wanted to keep very still, so she could memorize the feeling of Hermione's body, the way her hipbones fell just between Ginny's, the way her bony chest pressed into Ginny's breasts almost painfully, the way her hair covered both their faces and smelled of smoke, the strength of those small hands. Hermione's feet curving on top of Ginny's shins like she was using Ginny as a surfboard, the taste of salt of the skin over Hermione's clavicle, her nightgown bunched up between them somewhere around their stomachs, and that meant that she was naked there, there, she was ...

But then without meaning to Ginny was using her knees to press Hermione's legs further apart, and Hermione ended up with one narrow thigh pressed up against Ginny's cunt, there, that tendon pulled taut so that Ginny was sliding, falling along it like diving through warm clouds on a broomstick and then they were moving together, rocking together, Hermione had caught her so good oh god good and Hermione was saying something into her neck, oh her mouth there on Ginny's neck, and Hermione was wet and scratchy and so hot on Ginny's thigh, that was Hermione's, Hermione's, her cunt, there, and then Ginny could move her hands again and without meaning to her hands were sliding along Hermione's back, oh beautiful the knobs of her spine, and then lower, there there so good there, Hermione's ass a small knot of muscle Ginny had to pull to herself, to push, to push at, pushing into Hermione's leg while Hermione's hands framed her face again.

And then just the thin soaked cotton of Ginny's underwear separated the skin of Hermione's thigh from Ginny's oh there that there pushing so hard there and Ginny knew she was making some kind of sounds into Hermione's mouth squeezing her eyes shut oh please oh please as everything in her cramped together tight oh wait I'm oh wait everything squeezing tight tight and then released now oh now and released again now and now and relaxed slowly into some other feeling that Ginny could have figured out if she could just think but there was no hurry and.

Wait. Oh. There.

Hermione, smiling, had pulled back a little to look at her in the dark, and Ginny felt flushed all over. Say something. She should say something.

"So, um, Hermione? Okay. Um. Is that okay? I mean -"

"S'good. You're so beautiful. " Ginny's left hand and Hermione's right had found each other in the dark. Their fingers laced together while Hermione's thumb circled Ginny's palm. Ginny's eyes closed. There was a long pause.

" 'm not. You."

"No, you are ... you --"

But Ginny had fallen asleep.



When Molly Weasley came downstairs in the morning, shortly after her husband had left for the office, she found that Hermione and Ginny had already made tea and toast. Since they were joking about whether or not Ron would get out of bed before noon, she gathered that the evening had been a success. The girls left her at the kitchen table with the newspaper while they went out to the herb garden. She could still hear them through the kitchen window, Hermione explaining which herbs needed picking with the dew still on them, which gained power from being picked by moonlight, which had to be picked at dark of the moon. Hermione, apparently, was bossy as ever.

In the afternoon, Hermione sat on the ground with a pile of textbooks while Ginny and Ron practiced Quidditch maneuvers over her head. Hermione always had been such a serious girl, not at all like her own children. Except, of course, Percy. Forcing herself away from that - that useless line of thought, Molly watched her youngest children playing on their broomsticks. They seemed happy enough as they practiced a series of swooping dives, competing to see who could get closest to ground without actually landing.

By the end, Ginny was laughing so hard that she actually fell off her broom, luckily (Molly let her breath out again) at the low point of the dive. Hermione, who had barely looked up from her Arithmancy book for an hour, began teasing Ginny about what a disaster she would be as a seeker. Ron and Ginny turned on Hermione, chasing her around the garden, trying to get her to do a little flying herself. She noticed that, once the children put the broomsticks away, Hermione massaged Ginny's shoulder, where she had landed on it. A Quidditch spill. It was nothing. If Molly's eyes filled with tears as she watched from her bedroom window, well, that too happened every day and was nothing to remark on.

No, it was a good day, the best day since - the best day in a long while. Arthur not only came home on time, but he announced that Harry was coming for dinner again, and would bring two of those Muggle pizzas that Ron used to love. And then Harry did pop out of the fireplace not five minutes after Arthur fetched Ron and Ginny and Hermione in. Ten minutes after that they were all seated around the big kitchen table, eating and arguing, but even the argument was friendly enough. An improvement, anyhow.

Arthur started it by mentioning some Death Eater family whose house-elves had been interrogated that very afternoon. He was pleased because, as he said, "if we're down to house-elves, well, soon enough we'll have this whole terrible episode behind us." Well, of course mentioning house-elves would set Hermione off, wouldn't it? She started to say something about freeing the house-elves, but then stopped, looking at Harry. Nobody needed to mention that awful time in his god-father's house.

But Harry, surprisingly, wanted to keep the discussion going; he responded as though Hermione had completed her sentence: "But if they want to go on being LeStrange house-elves? Shouldn't that be their right? And shouldn't they then be considered as members of the LeStrange family?"

Molly could hear Hermione and Harry skipping steps in what was, clearly, a well-worn argument. Hermione asked, "well, what about werewolves then? and centaurs and giants and goblins? Are they people, with rights and responsibilities, or just more dangerous magical creatures? Where do you draw the line? Who's a person, and who's just ... property?"

Ron and Arthur both looked as rapt as they might at a well-fought Quidditch match. But - another surprise - Ginny joined in. Slowly, as if she were forming the ideas only as she spoke, she said, "I think ... I think that was what the war was about. Underneath everything else. It was - it could have - it was supposed to change everything. The Death Eaters ... they were bad because they had terrible ideas. It wasn't only what they did, right? And it wasn't just - Voldemort. It was why they all did what they did that made them ... evil, I guess. They didn't even think Muggleborn wizards were really people. Or squibs. And even pure-blood wizards who didn't have castles and house-elves and new robes all the time, we weren't as much people to them as a family like the LeStranges, were we?"

Hermione was nodding vigorously. Words spilled out of her: "Right! Right! And you see, that's the kind of thinking that the war should have ended. That was the point. We weren't going to be, oh, divided up anymore, by the Sorting Hat or the Ministry or anyone. No more calling people monsters. No more Slytherin and Gryffindor. No more aristocrat, and no more mudblood." The ugly phrase made Mr. and Mrs. Weasley flinch, but Harry and the younger Weasleys didn't even seem to notice it anymore.

Ron's ears had gone red. He looked at Harry before he spoke, then at his father. "There was that little job of saving the wizarding world, maybe?"

But Harry answered, "No. No. I mean - Hermione's got a point. Besides the one on her hat, that is. What's the point of saving the world if all you're going to do with it is freeze it in place?"

Hermione was so excited that she was gesturing with her pizza crust still in her hand. "Exactly! And then you see the kinds of, of nonsense about it all that's in the paper, that you just know that they print because the Ministry tells them to - sorry, Mr. Weasley - but did you see that editorial last week, about how wizarding families should all try to have lots of children right away, to make up for the war? How it's our duty to get married? Like we were prize cows! not people at all! I could just ... spit!"

Ginny was watching Hermione, Molly Weasley noted, with an expression of intense admiration. Ron and Harry had caught each other's eyes. Ron said, cheerfully, "Eh, Hermione, it's not so bad if you stick to reading the sports page." The four of them burst out laughing.

Nobody was looking at Molly, and she looked vaguely out at the darkening garden outside the kitchen window. She could just barely remember how it was after the first war, when she was a little girl. And then by the time the war against Voldemort - the first war against Voldemort, that was - had started, well, she already had the three boys. Seven children, dear lord. How she loved them. How sweet her life had been with them all, while she had them. But surely, in a different world ... she would have had a different life.

Her husband cleared his throat. The children - must she stop thinking of them as children? - stood up all at once, as if someone had given them an order she hadn't even heard, and walked outside, still talking. Hermione, at least, paused to thank her politely for dinner. In silence, she and Arthur cleaned the kitchen.



The day had gone so slowly. Ginny alternately dreaded being alone with Hermione again and felt unable to bear not being where they could touch. She wanted to take the newspaper away from Hermione at breakfast just so she could see her face better. Even with Ron right there this afternoon, she wanted that shoulder rub to go on forever. She wanted to lean over at the dinner table and smell Hermione's neck. She wanted Hermione to put down her book and watch her flying. She wanted to know what Hermione thought about - or maybe she didn't. She wanted to not think about it, what they had done, but her mind couldn't leave it be. Hermione told Harry that they had stayed up too late the night before so tonight, thanks all the same, she was going to bed early; Ginny half wanted to go to the pub with Ron and Harry anyway, just to avoid ... well, whatever they were going to say to each other, or not say, when they went upstairs. Hermione always stayed in Ginny's room, every summer, until the war. Why did everything seem so complicated now?

When they finally got upstairs Hermione didn't seem to be in any hurry to go to sleep after all. Hermione Transfigured the beds into a regular double box spring and mattress this time, and doused the lights. They sat on it, still dressed, talking. Not touching. Hermione sounded just the way she always did, like it didn't matter to her that they were here, in her room, together, by themselves.

Hermione was undoing her braid. "So do you reckon Ron might have a chance with Harry? This is two nights in a row. "

Ginny had picked up Hermione's hairbrush and moved behind her; she couldn't see her face. If you knew someone really, really well, could you tell their expression from their back? She concentrated on a mare's nest under Hermione's left ear. How could it have gotten so tangled in a single day?

"Ah, that's nice. Thank you," Hermione said. "I was joking, you know. About Harry and Ron. But it would be nice."

"Yeah. Or it would be nice if Harry stops being such a prat."

"No, he's better than he was, really. Don't you remember how much whinging he used to do, before the war? And did you see him right after the war? When he was way too busy being the hero to hang around with us?"

"Mmm ... I think that was harder on Ron than on me."

Hermione reached back to take her hairbrush from Ginny, then tossed it across the room, into her bag. She didn't get up to look in the mirror this time. Instead, she just leaned back against Ginny. Ginny's arms went around her as though this were something ordinary and everyday.

Hermione paused, then picked up the same topic. "Yeah, I think Harry must have had someone different every night for a while. That couldn't have been easy on Ron. Not like he was exactly a monk, during the war."

Ginny took a breath. Was she going to say this? "I think, well, a lot of us were kind of doing that. During the war."

Hermione didn't move. She had worried that Hermione would move, when what they were doing felt good. But Hermione paused again, too. Finally she said, "Me, for instance. Back then."

This was easier than Ginny had thought it would be. It made her brave. "Yeah, I saw - anyway, I thought you might have. Everyone seemed to be acting like that. " They sat there, not moving, for a while. Ginny leaned down a little to smell Hermione's hair. Finally she asked, "Did you ever - I mean, with - " but then she couldn't even finish the thought.

Hermione turned around until they were sitting right across from each other on the bed, not touching anymore. So that was bad. But she had figured it out, what Ginny had meant. What she had been thinking, or trying not to think. "Oh, Merlin, no, none of your brothers! and not Harry! That would have been too weird."

"Well, but why not?"

"I don't know. Just strange. It was mostly with people - guys - I thought I might not see again. Actually. Maybe it was a way of getting to know someone quickly, because everything had to be quick, do you see? But I already knew Harry and Ron and everyone so well. So."

Somehow all this had gotten easier again. Ginny stretched out on the bed. Hermione lay down too. "Did you like it?" Ginny asked.

"It was okay. Mostly okay. I kept waiting for - it seemed like it ought to get better, right? after a while. But it was better than sleeping alone. I have bad dreams."

"Mm. Yes. Me too. But I just kissed some people and that was it. I mostly didn't want anyone to touch me. Which was kind of funny. I, um, I dated some people. Before. Boys, I mean."

"I remember. You went out with half the school, it seemed like."

"Not half the school! Just some boys. Anyway I didn't, you know, mess around with them either."

Ginny could feel, right through the mattress, that Hermione's back had stiffened. But Hermione didn't say anything. She just exhaled slowly. So Ginny had to keep on talking. "No, I didn't mean - don't be mad."

They turned to face each other, and Ginny could see Hermione thoughts crossing her face for a bit. But it wasn't bad. She could see it wouldn't be bad. It would be all right.

Which, finally, was just how Hermione said it, too. "It's all right. I'm not mad. It's just - I think lots of us were just messing around a lot, when we had the chance, you know. It seemed stupid not to, right? or to wait. Because of ... Well. Anyway, since the war, it's strange, nobody talks about it. About what we did when we weren't fighting. And I haven't done that kind of thing since the fighting stopped, either."

Ginny felt her attention shy away from this, what it might mean, what it might imply about last night. Was that what they were talking about? Probably not. Maybe they had just been drunker than she had realized, and Hermione didn't even remember. But she wanted Hermione not to be mad at her, she didn't want Hermione thinking that she thought - she dared herself to say it:

"I think - I might easily have done more, you know, than I did. During the war. But not with the boys who were around. There was one time. With Tonks."

"Oh. Lucky you." Ginny propped herself up on an elbow so she could see more of Hermione's face in the moonlight. But she didn't look angry, or sarcastic, or upset. And Ginny had never told anyone.

"Yeah, that was good actually. She's not - I mean - we didn't do that much. I think it was more like snogging than anything ... else. But we were sort of stuck one night in Hogsmeade after - well, anyway, something had happened, and we had a free night, and the rest of the brigade was back at Hogwarts, and we got drunk and went up to our room and started kissing. And some other stuff. She was so much fun, right? Even in the middle of everything, she knew how to have a laugh. I really - I liked her, you know? But then the next week ... well, you know what happened to her."

"Oh, Ginny. " And Hermione had rolled on her side and was looking at her with a mixture of sorrow and comprehension and something Ginny couldn't even recognize. But not disgust, definitely not that.

"Hermione? Last night? Did you - had you - um ..." Another thing Ginny couldn't quite say.

Hermione was smiling at her. Hermione was smiling and saying, "Yes, I had kissed a girl before. No, I wasn't that drunk. Yes, I liked what we did. " And Herminone's eyes had caught Ginny's now so she couldn't look away, and Hermione's hand was holding Ginny's while one thumb rubbed slow circles on her palm. "And we could do some more, if you wanted." Hermione's voice was not quite steady. That circling thumb made it hard for Ginny to attend to anything but her hand.

"Okay. Yes! Um ... now? We don't have to, I mean. But if you wanted to?"

"I want to. We need to ... we should do some things first."

Ginny stared at Hermione in the dark. Was this going to be difficult again? The other - the first thing they did seemed pretty easy. Last night. Like riding a broom. Even the talking now had been all right, mostly. Did they have to talk more? She thought that might be less simple: more like trying to read a map while riding a broom. She felt tall and clumsy again, like she was going to knock into something delicate with her elbow. She thought she might cry, and that would be terrible. Okay. She had been through worse than this. She just had to breath in, and out, and in. And say something. "What things?"

"Well..." Hermione sounded more like her regular daytime self again. Hermione the Prefect, Hermione the Head Girl. Hermione in her stupid muggle clothes in the double bed she had made for them. Was this real? Ginny made herself pay attention while Hermione said, in her usual voice, "We should find our wands so we can put a silencing spell on the room, so nobody hears us. And we can put a ward on the room too. And set a light. I want to see you. And we should get under the covers. And take off all our clothes. And it might be good to have a glass of water beside the bed. All right?"

Some feeling - maybe relief? - flooded Ginny's body like a potion that nobody had invented yet. She said "Oh! Right! We can do that!" which somehow made Hermione giggle, and then Ginny was laughing because Hermione was, and then they were holding on to each other in the dark and feeling each other shake and then they were kissing again, and so it was a long while before Ginny pulled Hermione up from the bed and dragged the nightgown off her head. Then Ginny nearly tripped getting out of her socks. She had to sit down on the bed again hard while Hermione stood by the bed, laughing again, which seemed unfair, so Ginny nipped at her arm, and that led to more small bites, and Hermione leaned in to kiss her some more. And so they never got to the rest of Hermione's plan at all.

Something in Ginny said see? this is meant to be fun. She wanted to tell Hermione about that but she forgot, because there was just enough light from the window for Ginny, sitting on the bed, to see Hermione standing in front of her. She seemed tiny and enormous at once. Ginny wondered: she's so fragile, how can I keep her safe enough? and the voice inside answer don't think. look. And there were the deep shadows at the hollow of her throat and under her collarbones. Those were her breasts and her nipples. Those were her ribs. Her pelvic bones. Her navel. Oh god that, that dark shape, there, that was her ...

Ginny leaned forward and put her cheek against the small swell of Hermione's left breast, turned into it and took the little bump of nipple between her teeth. Hermione made a high whining sound but her hand came up and pushed Ginny's head toward her and Ginny opened her mouth and took as much of her small breast into her mouth as she could - the skin so soft, the breast so firm it was barely there, the most delicate swell of flesh over bone imaginable, the warm sweet smell - and kept her tongue on the nipple as Hermione made a sound that was almost keening, and one of them was shaking.

Something inside said I know how to do this as Ginny's arms came around Hermione, holding her up as Ginny went to her knees in front of Hermione and slipped her mouth across to her right breast, and just rested there for a minute, licking at the nipple, then nuzzling at its side, feeling the heat of Hermione's small living body don't think and Ginny's mouth drifted down, kissing and nipping and licking at Hermione's stomach and the tops of her thighs and then, and then, and then she could feel that wiry brush against her breasts and her face, and Hermione breathing louder, and a salty smell was coming from one of them.

Now Hermione's voice was shaking again. "Ginny. Oh. I can't stand up anymore." And Ginny let her go and she sat down on the bed and then Ginny grabbed her wrists and said "Okay, then. You sit here. But on the edge of the bed" and she could speak again, that was a surprise, her voice was calm and low and steady because I know how to do this and Ginny was on her knees again on the floor in front of Hermione and still holding her hands at the edge of the bed and saying "spread your legs apart for me."

And then Ginny was kissing the inside of her thigh up where the skin was a little darker and so perfectly soft and that beautiful tendon between torso and pelvis was pulled taut again for her, kissing, kissing with just breath and lips as a tremor shook the small muscles, then kissing with teeth and tongue, circling up and down and across those narrow thighs that shook like a cheap broom in a high wind. Hermione was whispering I've never and you don't have to and oh god but everything in Ginny was telling her it's okay and this is how so Ginny leaned in closer, smelling something as green as moss, and used the tip of her tongue to part the thick lively hair down the middle, up and down and up again, making a space for herself there as Hermione moaned and moaned and jerked and pulled against Ginny's hands holding hers to the bed.

Ginny lifted her head and Hermione made a sobbing sound, grabbing for air. But their eyes caught and Ginny could feel her knowledge shining from her, riding her breath: I can do this for you, I know how, I know and she said, let me.

Hermione was still again but she was saying god. Oh god. I'm so excited, oh, please, make me, make me and Ginny bent her head again and delicately, carefully slicked all the hairs down along Hermione's lips and then pulled away again as Hermione moaned oh oh oh yes and then there was just enough room between them for Ginny to see everything, to find what she needed to find, and then put her mouth down on Hermione's clit as her whole body jerked and she was nearly screaming. Pressing the blunt top of her tongue down as hard as she could on Hermione's clit while her jaw and chin and nose leaned into all that rich swollen softness. Tasting a sharp clean smell, almost lime, almost vinegar, sucking her clit in and gently stroking it up and down, up and down, while Herminone's whole body began to shake now and Ginny could feel it through Hermione's legs, her hands, her cunt on Ginny's face oh her cunt. Her hands trembling under Ginny's hands. Hearing Hermione really sobbing now while the width of Ginny's shoulders kept her knees spread wide and Ginny's hands kept hers from flying away and Ginny's mouth, Ginny's tongue held that one point still, stroking in an unvarying rhythm that kept Hermione from flying into pieces until finally, finally she lifted her feet from the rug and wrapped her legs around Ginny's back and was gone.

Ginny felt Hermione pulse against her cheeks and chin and heard her faint gasping, oh, oh, oh. The pleasure of what she had accomplished suffused her body like a blush. In the dark, she smiled.

Hermione lay back, lay still. Ginny scrambled up to rub her wet face all along Hermione while Hermione was still taking deep, gasping breaths. Her hands clutched at Ginny's short red hair, stroked her open face. They kissed lightly, and Ginny wondered what Hermione tasted. As if they had made a potion together: Ginny's spit and Hermione's - well. And what would that potion do?

"Wow."

"Mmm."

"I got your hair wet."

"Yes. It was ... I liked that. "

"Um ... We probably made a lot of noise?"

"You made a lot of noise." Ginny felt like she had won something, pulling those sounds from her. She felt ... triumphant, that was the right word. But she wasn't going to tell Hermione that. Instead she said, "Don't worry. I have about a zillion charms on my room anyway so nobody heard anything."

"Mmm?"

"I have - I had six older brothers, you know. Rules or no rules, I got pretty good at locking up my room."

"Mmm. I guess you would."

"Actually, my mum did it for me, when I was seven or eight or so, and they used to come back from Hogwarts and tease me, and Ron was around all the time and he was even worse. She's pretty understanding."

"Yeah ... I like your mother. But don't let her get her nose near your head before you have a shampoo."

"Very funny. "

Hermione scrambled around so they were lying on their sides, facing each other again. Two girls in bed late at night. A slumber party.

"She's having a hard time, hey? Your mum."

"I think - Yeah. Yes. Things have been a little ... It's been bad here. She doesn't ... we don't talk about it much. About anything that happened. But you know. The thing with Percy was the worst."

"Mmm. Do you think she knows about - um - "

"About me, you mean? There wasn't much to know until now" which was starting to feel like flying a broomstick while looking at a map, again. "My father is a bit worried about me, maybe. Ron too. Not - well, this. I don't think that would bother them so much. They'll figure it out, I guess, anyway."

There was a long silence. Ginny thought maybe she would ask about Hermione's parents. Did they understand that Hermione had been a hero in a war, a real war? Had they worried about her? Did they care who she - who she dated? She lay still, forming the questions in her head while Hermione slowly stroked her sides, fingers gently tracing the lines of her ribs. Good job Ginny wasn't ticklish. And then Hermione spoke before Ginny was done deciding whether or not to ask anything.

"Hey, are you falling asleep?"

"Not really. Mmm. Maybe. You?"

"Yeah ... I might. But kiss me a little more first."



This drifting feeling. That was new. Kissing and barely talking and feeling like floating away. Staring at Ginny's face and then closing her eyes and then staring some more. Before, when she used to - well, going right to sleep and not dreaming was sort of the point, wasn't it, then? But this was ... this was different. Hermione felt like this could last for hours, for days.

"Hey Hermione?"

"Mmmm?"

"Are we going to do this again?"

Hermione yawned. "Well, sure, okay. Ahhh. But I thought you were sleepy?" With her head on Ginny's shoulder, their bodies lightly in contact, she could feel her stiffen just a little and then, almost deliberately, relax.

"Oh. No, I meant -"

"Well, later, yeah. Again. If you want. This is great. I really, really like this. I really like you. Couldn't you tell?" She let her hand stroke up and down Ginny's side, following the slow curve from ribs to thigh and back to rest at her hip again. She was waking up again.

Now Ginny really was awake. "Yes! - I mean, I think so, yeah. But I didn't mean we had to do anything right now."

"Shhhh. I was teasing. But ... can I touch you?"

"Well, you are touching me, aren't you?"

"You know what I ... oh..." because then their mouths were touching, very gently, Ginny leaning into Hermione for a kiss so light that it was hardly a kiss at all. Hermione licked slowly at the corners of Ginny's mouth, still tasting herself there. Ginny opened her mouth and took a big, raspy breath. For an instant Hermione had the oddest sensation of falling into her, so she clutched at Ginny's hip to steady herself, and then they were kissing really hard while some distant part of her tried to remember the spell to charm away the bruises she must be leaving over Ginny's hipbone, and the bite marks on her lips.

Ginny was making tiny noises, almost whimpering, into Hermione's mouth. Hermione wanted to stop everything else just to listen to those sounds more carefully. But she wanted to keep going. To touch everywhere. Everywhere. The sensation of drifting was evaporating in the heat from their bodies. Now, now. Now.

Hermione began to feel more, more, what was the right word, more urgent. She pushed at Ginny's hip so she down lay flat while Hermione's hands moved over her and her mouth went to Ginny's breasts, nuzzling and licking and nipping where she was so soft. So soft there. Like her lips. Ginny was hard, tight muscle almost everywhere, ass and thigh and shoulder and back, but her breasts and her lips were softer than ... softer than ... Hermione couldn't find words, even in her head.

Hermione's hands went everywhere, stroking, exploring. That smooth skin over her shoulderblades, over her ankles, like perfectly polished wood. The place under her jawbone where Hermione's mouth just fit. One hand moved from Ginny's hipbone to cup her pubic mound - so soft, the hair there - and Ginny really did come close to screaming then, pushing upward against Hermione's hand. Oh, oh yes.

Hermione found her voice again. Ginny. Oh Ginny, show me. Show me how to touch you. Almost instantly she felt Ginny flush all along the line where their bodies met, a sharp sudden rise in temperature, a subtle difference in the texture of her skin. Please Ginny.

And Ginny opened her legs wide from the hip and grabbed Hermione's wrist hard and shoved it down so her fingers went in to where wetness pooled and that must be Ginny's clit against the heel of her hand and Ginny was squirming against it now, moving, oh god. Hermione heard those noises again, and words now, so good so good so good, and Hermione found her own rhythm rocking her hips against Ginny's outflung thigh, oh Ginny this feels, this feels so, oh, while Ginny had Hermione's wrist so tightly in both hands that the pain gave Hermione something, it kept her there, right there, with Ginny, while her fingertips swam through that slick silky place and Ginny pushed and pushed against her palm. Oh yes just like that, like that, there don't stop, don't stop, don't stop. Oh Hermione, oh you're making me, making me come, ah so good, so good.

Hermione wanted Ginny too to have that one hard sharp sensation, to anchor her right here, here, with her, so she stretched her neck down to close her teeth on Ginny's nipple. And that must have been right, because Ginny screamed again, a completely wordless sound that went on and on as her hands somehow tightened on Hermione's wrist and her whole body arched up off the bed and her cunt sucked at Hermione's fingertips in a new rhythm that must mean, that must be, must be, she must be coming, there, coming, there there there right there ... and just the idea pushed Hermione over the edge again, breathing in sobs while she rode Ginny's thigh up and down and up again and farther up staring at the red of Ginny's neck and jaw and sliding sliding on her thigh until yes oh Ginny Ginny Ginny.

Ginny let her wrist go - god it hurt -and so Hermione took her hand away finally from that sweet place and brought it to where their mouths had met, both of them licking at that hand. Hermione felt like she was floating away again, and that was good, that was brilliant, but she spoke, finally, just for the pleasure of feeling her lips move against Ginny's.

"That was - oh Ginny, you're amazing, you know? You're lovely. Um ... was that okay? Do you feel okay?"

Ginny didn't say anything. She didn't move at all for what seemed like minutes, but probably wasn't. Then, bringing both hands to Hermione's shoulders, she shoved herself back, curled over, brought her hands to her face and started to shake. Was she crying? She was. She was crying. Hermione stroked her back. What had she done?

"Ginny?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, this is ... this is so stupid ..."

No, you didn't do anything, you don't have to be sorry, what are you talking about, what did I do? None of that seemed like the right thing to say.

"Ginny? What happened?"

She sounded like she was choking. Hermione held on to her from behind. Ginny whispered, finally, "Oh god. No. I don't know. I just - You asked how I ... how I felt ... and I, I just can't, I can't -"

Oh. Maybe that made some sense. Hermione climbed over her so they were facing each other again. Ginny went on crying and crying. "Shhhh, sweetness." Hermione didn't know what else to say. She used the words that came into her head. "Shhhh. Shhhh. Sweetheart. Ginny. It's all right. We're both here. Right here. It's okay." Hermione hung on to her with both arms and one leg, as hard as she could. This seemed to be right.

Ginny was snuffling into her hair, still, but more quietly. Hermione kept talking. "I think maybe you have a lot to cry about, you know. But you'll be all right. I promise. We'll be all right. I'll be here for weeks. And you'll be fine, and you're so beautiful. Shhh. Quiet now. We have all the time in the world."

Ginny's voice, calmer but not calm, "But we'll have to go to school! And nothing will be the same!"

Now Hermione was whispering too. "But we'll go to Hogwarts, and it will still be Hogwarts, and most of us will still be there, and everyone will understand, I promise, everyone will have been through it."

"But why, why -" she was crying harder again, "does everything have to be so hard?"

"Shh, sweetheart, it won't always be so hard. We'll go to Hogwarts and I'll be Head Girl and have my own room, and we'll sleep there, and nobody will say a word because you're a hero, and I'm a hero, and we'll be fine. "

"I think ... what if ... I'll have nightmares again ..."

Hermione tried to put all she knew, all she felt, into her voice. Like casting a spell. "Well, if you dream, I'll wake you up, and if I have a bad dream, you wake me up, all right? It's going to be okay now. I promise."

Ginny's voice was so soft that Hermione had to strain to hear her when she said, after a long pause, "It's just that, if I say, if I notice what I feel, sometimes I forget, do you see? I mean ... if I feel it, then I can't remember anymore who won. Who won the war."

This wasn't making much sense but Hermione thought she knew what Ginny meant, maybe. Maybe the important part wasn't the words anyhow. Hermione rocked her slowly, holding on tight. And after a while Hermione could hear Ginny's breathing slow, feel the muscles of her back loosen a little.

In the end Hermione sang her a lullaby. She sat up with Ginny's head in her lap, stroking her hair, and sang what she could remember of an old song her mother used to sing, in her delicate voice:

cuando Pedro salió a su ventana
no sabía, oh alma querida
que en la noche lluviosa y sin techo
le esperaba el amor de su vida

y las causas le andan cercando
cotidianas, invisibles
y el azar se le iba enredando
podoroso, invencible

cuando acabe este verso que canto
yo no sé, yo no sé, madre mía
si me espera la paz o el espanto
si el ahora o si el todovía

pues las causas me andan cercando
cotidianas, invisibles

Hermione had never learnt all the words, nor what they meant - she should ask her mother sometime - but it was a sweet old tune. She felt Ginny's head get heavier as her neck and body relaxed. She sang it again, more quietly. A phrase her father had used once, something out of the histories he liked to read, floated across her mind: losing the peace. She would have to remember to ask him where that came from. As gently as she could, she moved Ginny's head off her thigh and lay down next to her. She wondered what they would make of Ginny, her mum and dad. She wondered what would happen next. It would be so interesting to see what they could do in the world. She brushed her nose, very lightly, against Ginny's cheek, which was still sticky from tears. She yawned.

And then they were both asleep.

.....










notes

The first quotation here is a folk song, English, old. Same tune as "Streets of Laredo."

The second is the song "Causas y azares," Silvio Rodríguez, c. 1985 Hermione has conflated the first two verses. My rough translation of what she sang:

When Pedro went out through his window
he didn't know, beloved soul
that in the rainy, roofless night
the love of his life was waiting for him.

And the reasons encircled him -
everyday reasons, invisible reasons.
And chance caught him in its web -
its powerful, invincible web.

When this verse ends that I'm singing
I don't know, I don't know, mother of mine,
what waits for me: peace or terror,
things of this minute or things that last forever

since the reasons have encircled me -
everyday reasons, invisible reasons.