Chapter Text
Burrow, Mid-August, 1994
Consciousness returns to her slowly, and Ginny is far too warm and comfortable to try to force it. She’s never been a morning person, not really, and this one is frankly too nice to waste being all awake about it. There’s a dream floating at the edge of her consciousness, a quite pleasant one. The details are too fuzzy to make out, like notes of a song half heard through the radio static, but by the end she faintly recalls she was being held, a head resting on Ginny’s chest, wrapped up in each other. She can still feel it—
That’s. That can’t… She’s still dreaming, that's the only—
Ginny shifts slightly, and the arm that continues to feel worryingly real tightens around her waist. There’s a tickling sensation across her face—hair shifting as a head presses itself harder into her shoulder and upper chest, and, frankly, this is getting concerningly less dreamlike by the minute. There’s every chance that none of it has been a dream, save maybe metaphorically.
She tries hard to calm her breathing, and will her heart into attempting a speed that won’t give her away immediately, and not the I’ve-just-run-from-Griffindor-Tower-to-the-dungeons-while-downing-twelve-coffees pace it’s trying for. She is…more successful than she worried she might be—but a damn sight less than she hoped. It’s fine.
It could, she tries to remind herself, just be Luna sneaking in with no warning to cuddle or something. And maybe that would be its own brand of terrifying—and she’s never done something like that before, mind you, but it seems sort of like the thing she might do. And sure, the hair tickling her face feels entirely wrong for Luna, and she really only knows one person—nevermind that. Could be Luna, that's all.
Please let it be Luna, please let it be Luna, please let it be Luna.
She peeks an eye open.
At first, all she can see is a mass of decidedly un-Luna-ish dark brown hair—which is more than enough, really, to work out the exact amount of screwed she is. The visual makes her suddenly quite acutely aware of all the points of contact between her and her temporary roommate, best friend, and current most serious crush, one Hermione Jean Granger, who’s cuddled up to, or rather, practically asleep atop of, Ginny.
So. That’s a problem.
Hermione tightens her grip again, and Ginny can feel every inch of the girl’s arm pulled across her middle, can feel the rise and fall of her chest pressed to Ginny’s side, can feel where her hand is gently brushing the skin of her side where her nightshirt has ridden up, can feel Hermione’s leg draped over one of Ginny’s own, can feel her head making a pillow of Ginny’s shoulder and chest. In short, can feel Hermione cuddled about as closely to Ginny as a person can be. Her breathing is soft and regular, gently grazing Ginny’s neck as she sleeps on.
Ginny’s own arm is behind Hermione, holding her close, hand brushing the skin at the small of the other girl’s back, just under her shirt. Ginny slowly reaches her free hand over to brush the back of her fingers against—
Oh gods. She quickly jerks it away. Was she really going to caress her cheek like that? Run her fingers through Hermione’s hair? Oh Godric, she’s got it bad. Surely this is some sort of punishment—she’s not sure which founder’s cereal she pissed in, or maybe Merlin’s or Morgana’s, to get saddled with this. It’s tricky enough just to have to share a bed with her, she’s not sure she can handle it if…this becomes the regular way they wake up. A girl can only take so much.
Hermione’s head shifts again, tilting further to bury her face in Ginny’s shoulder, snapping Ginny out of her thoughts.
There’s a contented sort of hum. “Mmmmm—morning Gin,” a sleepy voice says from against her shoulder, “You awake?”
Ginny’s breath catches in her throat. She jerks her hands away from the other girl, sputtering, “Oh—Sorry! I—I was just—I didn’t—”
Hermione rolls her head back to look up at her, blinking her eyes blearily, and presses a finger to Ginny’s lips, silencing her. “You’re too loud for this early. ‘m sorry, I seem to have mistaken you for a pillow.” Hermione smiles up at her sleepily. “In my defence, you’re very comfy.” She yawns, then starts to move to roll off of Ginny.
Before she can think better of it Ginny catches Hermione, pulling her back into place. “S’ok. Don’t move yet.” Ginny can feel herself flush nearly as red as her hair. “You’re comfy too.”
Hermione's smile grows bigger, and she snuggles back in, sighing softly and contentedly.
“‘K. Few more minutes.”