yiling matriarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marginalia) wrote2003-10-23 01:33 pm
marginalia) wrote2003-10-23 01:33 pm
Entry tags:
fic. shatter. hermione/ginny
title: shatter
archive: .: marginalia :.
fandom: harry potter
pairing: hermione/ginny
notes: for the two lines challenge. i don't own 'em, please don't sue. thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dorrie6 & starfishchick for the beta, the love, & putting up with my general angst. any remaining errors are due to me being dumb & stubborn.
In the end it was a tiny thing that undid Ginny. Hermione would have thought it funny, or ironic, or odd at least, that is, if she had let herself think at all. That after all Ginny had gone through, three words would tear her apart.
But she didn't allow herself to think about much of anything outside of the war, and there they both were strong indeed, firm behind McGonagall, supporting, not shadowing.
.:.
In the beginning, it was slow as these things generally are. They spent evenings in the Muggle coffee shop below their rooms, passing as students out of habit, poring over books by the fire, pretending that it was just another bit of homework and not the making or undoing of the world.
The nights were cold and too-empty beds were islands in the inky black of the rooms. Hermione asked Ginny or Ginny asked Hermione or no one asked anyone and it just happened that they fell between the same sheets one night last night some night.
But it happened somehow. And Hermione still had nightmares, the ones Ginny used to hear from her room, but now Ginny quieted her before the noises, so unHermione-like, disturbed the others. She rubbed her back and hummed lullabies that she knew best in Bill's young voice, floating above her cradle when their mother was drained by the havoc of the twins.
.:.
The first time Hermione kissed her, Ginny held her breath, the lullaby sticking in her throat. Hermione kissed her, feather-light, her face hidden in shadow. Kissed her and turned away.
Ginny lay awake, Hermione's hot tears drying on her lips, and wondered who Hermione had tasted.
.:.
News from the war, both magic and Muggle, became more unstable. Hermione folded up her pain and fear and filed it away, but it slipped out and escaped into the dark.
In her dreams, she watched Ron fall.
She wouldn't let herself think about that.
.:.
Most nights, once Hermione was quiet, Ginny slipped from the bed and curled up in the armchair.
Ginny tucked her hands up into the opposite sleeves of Ron's old sweater and touched the rough patchwork at the elbows. Hermione's work, strong on the inside, virtually invisible on the outside, and Ginny pulled it tight around her. Binding. An embrace.
She watched Hermione sleep and guarded against the dreams.
.:.
It was inevitable, the night the kisses became more, desperate heat and need. I don't know what I'm doing, Ginny whispered against Hermione's neck, slipped her hand up Hermione's thigh, sliding up and pressing hesitantly against damp cotton. Here, Hermione tugged nightgowns free, guided Ginny's hand, closed her eyes when their breasts brushed together.
Hermione ground down on Ginny's fingers, forced the rhythm, made the sweetest little sounds. But she never said Ginny's name.
.:.
After, Ginny got up and made tea. A ridiculous exercise, but it gave her distance. She wore only Ron's sweater. She ran her fingers through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to comb it. She turned to Hermione, tried to form the question.
I don't know, Hermione admitted. I don't know.
Ginny shattered.
archive: .: marginalia :.
fandom: harry potter
pairing: hermione/ginny
notes: for the two lines challenge. i don't own 'em, please don't sue. thanks to
dorrie6 & starfishchick for the beta, the love, & putting up with my general angst. any remaining errors are due to me being dumb & stubborn.In the end it was a tiny thing that undid Ginny. Hermione would have thought it funny, or ironic, or odd at least, that is, if she had let herself think at all. That after all Ginny had gone through, three words would tear her apart.
But she didn't allow herself to think about much of anything outside of the war, and there they both were strong indeed, firm behind McGonagall, supporting, not shadowing.
.:.
In the beginning, it was slow as these things generally are. They spent evenings in the Muggle coffee shop below their rooms, passing as students out of habit, poring over books by the fire, pretending that it was just another bit of homework and not the making or undoing of the world.
The nights were cold and too-empty beds were islands in the inky black of the rooms. Hermione asked Ginny or Ginny asked Hermione or no one asked anyone and it just happened that they fell between the same sheets one night last night some night.
But it happened somehow. And Hermione still had nightmares, the ones Ginny used to hear from her room, but now Ginny quieted her before the noises, so unHermione-like, disturbed the others. She rubbed her back and hummed lullabies that she knew best in Bill's young voice, floating above her cradle when their mother was drained by the havoc of the twins.
.:.
The first time Hermione kissed her, Ginny held her breath, the lullaby sticking in her throat. Hermione kissed her, feather-light, her face hidden in shadow. Kissed her and turned away.
Ginny lay awake, Hermione's hot tears drying on her lips, and wondered who Hermione had tasted.
.:.
News from the war, both magic and Muggle, became more unstable. Hermione folded up her pain and fear and filed it away, but it slipped out and escaped into the dark.
In her dreams, she watched Ron fall.
She wouldn't let herself think about that.
.:.
Most nights, once Hermione was quiet, Ginny slipped from the bed and curled up in the armchair.
Ginny tucked her hands up into the opposite sleeves of Ron's old sweater and touched the rough patchwork at the elbows. Hermione's work, strong on the inside, virtually invisible on the outside, and Ginny pulled it tight around her. Binding. An embrace.
She watched Hermione sleep and guarded against the dreams.
.:.
It was inevitable, the night the kisses became more, desperate heat and need. I don't know what I'm doing, Ginny whispered against Hermione's neck, slipped her hand up Hermione's thigh, sliding up and pressing hesitantly against damp cotton. Here, Hermione tugged nightgowns free, guided Ginny's hand, closed her eyes when their breasts brushed together.
Hermione ground down on Ginny's fingers, forced the rhythm, made the sweetest little sounds. But she never said Ginny's name.
.:.
After, Ginny got up and made tea. A ridiculous exercise, but it gave her distance. She wore only Ron's sweater. She ran her fingers through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to comb it. She turned to Hermione, tried to form the question.
I don't know, Hermione admitted. I don't know.
Ginny shattered.
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