Revealing
"I must admit," Ginny said, "that there are some things that Muggles do better than us." She stroked the frothy scrap of satin and lace that passed as a brassiere with a covetous eye, and assessed it thoughtfully. "This IS nice."
"That pale coffee shade would look very good with your skin," agreed Hermione.
They were passing an afternoon in the ageless feminine pursuit of shopping, chiefly for underthings, and were discovering that they very much liked the other's tastes and shopping style.
"Do you want to try it on?" Hermione said. "You know your size now...let's see if they have it here." She hunted through the rack, and produced it. "And I insist on the matching knickers. This lace is gorgeous."
"Oh, I don't need to try it on," said Ginny, happily. "The shade is fabulous, and we know what size I am. Let's just get it, and call it a day."
"That sounds like a plan...my stomach's starting to growl," Hermione admitted. "Shall we get a room? I really don't want to go to my mother's house or back to the Burrow tonight, not with getting up so early in the morning."
"Sounds good to me," Ginny said. They paid for their purchases, and laden with bags hailed a taxi and found a hotel not too far from the hospital. Accustomed to anxious family members, the desk clerk was smooth and efficient, and before long they were ensconced in their room.
"Lovely stuff," said Ginny, dumping the bags out on the bed and sorting through the clothes. "I think I'll wear some now. What's your recommendation, Hermione?"
Hermione was sorting through a fashion magazine she'd bought. "Depends on what you feel like wearing tonight."
"Well, yes..."Ginny wandered over to peer over Hermione's shoulder. "What were you thinking?"
Hermione looked at her, and smiled with more than a hint of mischief in her face. "Have you ever been to a Muggle dance club?"
"No," said Ginny. "But I like to dance."
"I think you'll like it," said Hermione with a smile. "First, though, dinner."
They ate at a little Italian place that Hermione's father had taken her to, once, with food that tasted like it had magic woven through it, bursting on the tongue and coiling around the senses. They drank wine, and laughed, and stared into each other's eyes as though the world didn't exist. And when they floated out of the restaurant on a happy haze of good food and infatuation, Hermione pulled them into an alley and pulled out her wand.
Ginny stared in amazement as her suit transformed into a dress that was about four inches longer than indecent and clung to her body like a lover's hand. The air on her body told her it had a lower cleavage than anything she'd ever worn in her life. She ran her hands down it, and felt the sensation of crushed velvet. "Whoa," she said, grinning. "I like this. Now....you."
Hermione smiled and turned the wand on herself, and was dressed in a pair of leather pants and a top that was sleeveless and damn near backless. The leather pants rode low on her hips, and Hermione pulled her hair up and back, conjuring combs to hold it.
"And..." she said, searching the alley for a couple of paper scraps..."ah, here." She tapped each with her wand, transforming them into ID cards. "Tuck it in your bra," she said. "They won't let us in without."
They Reduced their wands, and after concealing them hailed a cab to take them to the club. Hermione had been taken to the club by one of the boys her mother had tried to get her to date. He had felt positively racy going somewhere where all kinds of couples inhabited the dance floor, but it hadn't done a thing for her. Now, though, Ginny's hand in hers as they walked up to the door...the anticipation was making her blood sing. You could almost but not quite hear the music from outside, sliding over your skin like an erotic whisper, and Ginny cocked her head to listen as the bouncer looked at their IDs. He moved the rope, and they walked in.
In the bar area, it wasn't so very loud. Hermione skirted the tables and headed straight for a door in the back. "If you want to talk," she said, "do it now. We'll have to shout in there."
Ginny shook her head, cheeks flushed. "Let's go."
And they ducked inside.
The sound and heat hit them like a wave. The room was, of course, packed, but not too much so, and the techno they were playing sent shattered crystals of form and shape up their spines, calling an ancient rhythm. Move! and they moved.
Oh, it's like sex, Ginny thought, with delight, the music moving through her like a spell, that exquisite moment before its release, breasts rubbing against Hermione's body. There was sweat and arousal in the air, swirling and charging as the dancers moved. She glimpsed skin gleaming with sweat, a fall of intricately braided hair swinging...and then Hermione kissed her, and she lost track of it all. Heat in her mouth like heat around her, and the music pulsed and soared, like flying, like spellwork, like lovemaking. She could feel her nipples hardening, her breasts swelling, and Hermione's arms came around her and pulled her close, curve to curve, and she ran her tongue up the tendon of her neck and made Ginny shiver, weak, suddenly...but the music caught her and bore her up, moved her along.
Fierce tones, relentless in harmonic progression, and Ginny used her slightly shorter stature to reach up and suckle Hermione's earlobe, and the ragged moan the other girl made had her wetter than she had been before. Merlin, but the girl was lovely in the pulsing lights, something pagan and unholy, luscious and unsafe. Fingernails ran a pleasureable pain across the back of her neck, and Ginny felt the orgasm gather and burst within her as the music crest, lightning sheeting across her skin, and she groaned and rolled her pelvis in against Hermione's thigh, dropping a hand down to where her sex lay encased in the soft leather, grinding her knuckles against her until she sobbed into Ginny's hair, curling over her. And still the music throbbed and swelled, driving them on, crushed together by the press of people, and they danced, stripped to essential raw nature in this public intimacy. And they danced.
And somehow in the dance it all fell away....fears of acceptance, of belonging, of success and failure, shed like the clothing the other dancers were shedding on the floor. There was nothing but them, like flames, nameless but known past naming, until, for fear they should burst, they stumbled to the door and fell through it, leaving the music to pulse behind them like the memory of an orgasm in the blood.
Walking back to the hotel cooled the blood in their face and the sweat on their bodies, but not the fire in their blood. They couldn't touch...even being close made their bodies pulse.
"Shower, " Ginny said firmly once they were in the room, peeling off the velvet mini-dress and kicking off knickers and shoes, pulling off her bra. Hermione was prying the leather and satin from her own body, following her in. The warm water suddenly made them both aware of how sweaty they were, and it was with a slower but no less profound intimacy that Ginny ran soapy hands over Hermione's torso, seeing pleasure darken the caramel eyes while the lids hooded slightly. Her lips parted, ghostly sigh emerging, and she lifted her arms, letting Ginny run her hands down her sides to her hips, a touch that was both innocent and erotic. She turned her face to the water, and it sleeked her hair down, otter slick, and Ginny felt her heart skip a beat with sheer desire.
Drying charms had their hair dry, despite its fullness and length, a moment after they stepped out of the shower, and it was Ginny who led Hermione in to the bed, laid her down, and pressed her arms above her head. "Stay there," she whispered into her ear, then slid down her body and began to kiss her feet.
Hermione had long toes, lovely beautiful narrow feet, and Ginny ran her hands over them, stroking instep and heel and arch, and then kissed her way up the long bones course, barely visible under the skin, and ran her tongue along the inside of her ankle. Hermione groaned. Kisses up the calf, the sweet curve of the muscle, and the amazingly soft skin at the back of her knee, and the scar at the kneecap from some forgotten childhood mishap. The skin of her thighs was soft and sweet too, but Ginny stopped, moving up her body, putting her mouth to Hermione's ear to whisper.
"Do you know how lovely you are, how gorgeous and hot you were tonight?"
Hermione whimpered, the words a greater seduction than touch could be.
"I wanted to peel that leather off you with my teeth and dive in, eat you like a ripe peach on the dance floor in front of the world. So strong and beautiful, so soft..."
She slid her hands down. "Beautiful breasts, overflowing my hands, and so responsive...I barely breathe on your nipples and they're hard." She stroked the soft underneath of her breasts and watched her arch up, but holding back, waiting, letting Ginny do what she wanted to, what she wanted her to.
"Oh, gorgeous, beautiful woman. God, I could eat you alive," she whispered, and suited action to word, leaving tiny nip marks along Hermione's belly. She could smell her arousal, see it gleaming like dew on the hair, and she smiled, turning her head and drawing it up so that her long hair fell against Hermione's thighs, pressing a silken caress across the mound.
"Please..." Hermione whispered, shakily.
Ginny shifted up, sliding her left arm under Hermione's neck, throwing a leg over her thigh to hold her down, and kissing her hard. Oh, heat. Heat and teeth and softness and wanting, deep and powerful, memory of the music stirring in her blood...She stroked a hand just firm enough not to tickle down her breastbone and belly, down in a teasing light touch over her groin before stroking up her inner thighs and carefully, lightly, parting the folds to ease a finger between them.
Hermione groaned and writhed against her, teeth on Ginny's neck and ear making her moan. Stroke the finger down, then press in, and find her clit with your thumb...god, she's hot. Tell her...tell her...
"Beautiful woman," she whispered into hermione's ear, "So hot and hungry, you'd swallow me up. So very sensitive, so lovely....Oh, yes, that's it, more, tell me you want more...."
Two fingers, and three, and bending them just right to stroke that spot within, and whisper more wild words into her ear, until she curls herself like a bow into your shoulder and sinks her teeth in, eyes like something wild and startled in the forest, and sobs, and shivers, and there are tears in her eyes that are so lovely that there's nothing to do but kiss them away....and let her touch you in return....
Hermione woke with the feeling of a dream passing when the phone rang. She showered, then dressed, transfiguring herself another dress out of a robe while Ginny was in the shower. Makeup and hair were done with the feeling of putting on armor.
"Nerves, huh?" Ginny said, squeezing her hand briefly before turning to the mirror to do her own makeup.
"Yeah," said Hermione ruefully. "I...I'm worried."
"About your dad?"
"No....about Mother."
They breakfasted in silence, but though tense, there were small smiles and glances that broke through the tension that reaffirmed the connections made the night before. Finally, it was time to pay, time to walk out into the light rain, and walk to the hospital, and to find the waiting room.
As Ginny walked in, a tall woman with severely cropped dark hair and piercing blue eyes looked up from the corner. She had a good figure, but the pants and jacket she wore concealed it more than flattered it, though the color was good, and the jewelry simple and plain. Hermione saw her too.
"Mother," she said, simply, and waited.
"Hermione," the woman said. Her eyes were cold as they rested on Ginny, and she found herself thinking that if Malfoy disliked her, he had nothing on Margaret Granger.
"Has father been taken down yet?"
"No, he's still upstairs."
"I'll see you again in a moment, then," Hermione said, and walked out. Ginny followed.
"I don't think we're going to have a repeat of yesterday, you know, "said Ginny in the elevator."
"No. Mother gets....irrational at times. And then there's no reasoning with her. I think she's gone irrational about us. But I can ask Father about it," Hermione said.
"She wears her hair very short, doesn't she," Ginny said. "Is that normal for Muggles?"
"No..." Hermione said, "but Mother always has. She says that it's easier to deal with that way, and doesn't fall in her face or tickle her ears or neck when she's working, and that she coped with a mop like mine for years as a child. Apparently her family was traditional and wouldn't let her cut it, and of course no charms were available. She was always endlessly patient with mine, though...with me, for that matter."
Hermione's father was being talked to by the anesthesiologist when they walked in, and they waited until he left to go to his bedside. "There's my girls," he said, pleasure lighting his dark eyes. "Hermione, I saw your mother...it's no good with her. Not now." He sighed. "I don't know what's going on in her head, but she's always been a little bit odd about anything to do with the intimate side of life. I....I don't know what to tell you. I don't want you to think I'm rejecting you, because I'm not, but..."
"But not only do you live with her, you have to work with her," Hermione said. "I understand. You know that I'm living with Ginny's folks...shall I send letters to the office?"
His face lighted up. "That will work, for now...and, you know, you can write it all down. You don't have to edit for your mother, now."
They laughed, and she reached down and hugged him. "I love you, Father. I'll be here when you wake up."
He hugged her back. "You do that, and don't let your mother bully you. We'll try a little patience. Remember, slow and steady wins the race."
He turned to Ginny. "And do I get a hug from you, too?"
"Of course, if you want one," she said, smiling and getting hugged as well. "My family's a pretty hugging sort of family."
"Well, you can convert my daughter. I miss getting hugged," John said, and watched as they took each other's hands in a subtle connection.
"I've got your medicine here, Mr. Granger," said the nurse, "And I'll just run your daughters off now so we can get you ready to go."
"All right," he said with a laugh. "Off with you two, and remember what I said."
"We will," said Hermione, with a smile, and then he surrendered himself to the bustle of the medical professionals.
A Reduced wand came in handy in the Muggle world, thought Ginny, as she unobtrusively pulled a book out of her purse beneath her chair and tapped it with her wand to return it to full size. Textbooks tend to take up a lot of space. She tapped it again with a Confusing Charm...anyone who looked at it would see a Muggle college text on medicine, while the wizarding world would see its true title, "Charms for Medical Use, Revised Edition".
Hermione was reading beside her, toe touching her foot in a quiet but subtle connection. They glanced up at each other, giving the small look of connection that they had perfected at Hogwarts, and returned to being silent beside each other. Ginny returned to her book, but after a page, abandoned it for something far more interesting...Hermione's mother, watching them from a corner of the room.
She was pretending to read the paper, but Ginny could feel her eyes on her. On her more than her daughter, actually. She could almost feel the eyes on her face and hair, her hands as she turned the pages, on her legs where her toe touched Hermione's.
I wonder why she hates me so, Ginny thought. Although, actually, it's not me, it's what I represent. Easier to handle, that. I'm a role, a symbol, that she dislikes, not a person. She glanced at the woman again, sweeping her eyes over her closecropped dark hair, the eyes hooding like Hermione's when she was thinking, recognizing the angles and the set of the familar mouth. She fairly quivered with tension, and Ginny realized, looking at her, that it was a normal condition. It was the tension of concealment, though, not of work. Her entire body screamed "leave me alone!", and her clothes did nothing for a body that, though less busty than her daughter, was still quite good for a woman in her early fifties. They barely managed a conceding nod to being female, shying hard toward androgyny.
When Margaret Granger went into the hall, Ginny stood as well. "Back in a moment," she said to Hermione, who glanced up, nodded, and went back to her book. Ginny followed Margaret down the hall to the ladies' room, and walked in, managing to fiddle with her hair while Margaret dealt with more personal business, and was around the corner when Margaret came out to wash her hands. She moved over, and looked at her makeup in the mirror when Ginny came up next to her.
"I know you don't like me," she said, in a firm but quiet voice, imagining her mother saying it, "but you love your daughter, and I do too. And I don't want her to get hurt any more than you do. If you choose to not acknowledge us, that's all right. I'll play this by whichever rules you want. I just want you to know that we are not walking away from you, and an owl will always find us. And I want a truce. Can you manage that?"
Margaret went white, and flushed, and opened and closed her mouth, clearly caught between several statements.
"I....A truce, yes. I can...do that. It's just...it's all too much," she said quietly, leaden pain in her voice."
"John's being sick?" said Ginny.
"That, and all this... I wanted her to have a normal life, you know," Margaret said, half to herself. "I didn't want her to hate herself and feel bad all her life like I always have. I failed."
"You didn't fail. Hermione's a lovely, confident woman."
"She'll never marry and have children, though," said Margaret, again in that painful half whisper. "I wanted it all to be right for her."
"It doesn't take marrying a man to have children," Ginny said. "We'll manage, in time. I'm from a large family, I want kids someday. But we both have college to get through. We've got time. Sometimes, you know, 'all right' isn't what you thought it was going to be...my mum and dad taught me that."
"I...I wish I could believe that," Margaret said, hugging herself in a child's gesture of comfort. "I've never had "all right".
"Things can change, you know," Ginny said. "I know when I want kids...I want them to have both their grandmothers."
Margaret nodded, and turned away. "I...don't ask me to be happy for you. I can't. But...she's my daughter."
Ginny nodded. "I'll send you the news as it happens."
Margaret nodded once, jerkily, and walked to the end. "Leave me alone, please," she said, and as Ginny moved to the door, she could see tears on the older woman's cheeks.
Hermione looked up when she came in. "Is....everything all right?"
"I wanted to talk to your mother," said Ginny. Hermione started to speak, horrified color blazing up in her face, but Ginny continued. "We have a truce. She'd like to get letters about you, to know what's going on...but, love, she's got some huge issues sitting like a dragon on her Quidditch pitch. It's not you. I know that much now. Whatever this is, it's her."
Hermione nodded with a motion much like her mother's. "That....helps," she said, with a sigh. "I...there's always been something. Things changed when I was about ten or so...she wouldn't touch me, started being really strange.... I don't know."
"I don't either," Ginny said. "But...." She trailed off as Margaret came in and sat down, picking up the paper again with a gesture of decision that shut her off entirely from the rest of the room. Ginny gestured that it didn't matter, and picked up her book again.
Waiting for someone in surgery always seems to go on forever. This was no exception. At noon, Ginny and Hermione slipped out and ate lunch in a quiet silence, then sat a quiet watch while Margaret did the same. The silence went on, until, finally, a young man came in, still in scrubs, and said, "Family of John Granger?"
"Everything went well," the doctor said, "he's been taken to recovery, and when he comes out you can see him."
"Thank you," said Margaret. "Can you tell me where..."
"Down the hall and to the right, there's signs," he said, and rose and departed.
"Let's wait," Ginny whispered to Hermione, and they waited outside Recovery until they saw Margaret leave, tears of relief sparkling in her eyes.
"Girls," was all John Granger said, tubes running into both his hands and coming out from under the blanket. But they both kissed him, and he smiled, and it was all going to be okay.
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