FANTASY (4/3/03)

Summary: When her summer dreams come true one morning, it is beyond Ginny's wildest expectations.  f/f

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and thus do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. I'm also sorry if f/f slash offends you, but I think it's beautiful.

Dedications: Nicole, you are my Hermione... you know that, don't you, luv?

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          The ache between my legs comes more often than not anymore.  No longer can I look across the room without seeing her, and I cannot see her without wishing she was there.

          My youngest older brother invited her to spend the rest of the summer with our family here at the Burrow, and that same invitation was extended to Harry.  Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, used to be the object of my desire.  Now, looking back, I know that I was pretending all along.

          It is her that I watch now, both carefully and painfully.  I am careful, for the ideals of society have declared this wrong; it is painful, for I know that the ache will not go away.  She is leaning against our kitchen counter, her head thrown back with laughter.  Ron is standing near her; the tips of his ears are red, and I can only imagine that he is thinking the same thoughts about her that I am.

          I must be blushing to the color of my hair.  Imagine, being in love with the same girl as your brother!

          "Is everything okay, Ginny?"

          I turn around so quickly that I nearly fall off the step.  I am blushing now; I can feel it.  Harry's standing behind me, his hand on the railing, concern keeping his emerald green eyes from twinkling.  I do not say anything because I am lost in those eyes.  I wish that my body would give some kind of reaction to the look his is giving me, but it does not.

          I wish to be staring into chocolate brown eyes.

          "Everything's fine, Harry," I say, and I realize that my hand is shaking.  I push past him and disappear past the landing and practically fly into my room.  I am still thinking about her.  I am still aching for her.

          I am careful to lock the door behind me, and I fall onto my bed in tears.  For so long, I wanted nothing more than to have the great Harry Potter, the famous boy wizard, bestow interest on me.  I thought that it would be the end all of everything, but it's not.  I stretch out on the bed, my back and legs and arms all flat against the covers.  I now know that it was never what I wanted.

          My hands are at my waist, shoving my skirt down.  I could just push it up, but I find that to be a hindrance.  My left hand pokes at the elastic of my knickers, sliding smoothly between worn pink cotton and coarse red hair.  I know just where to go; I've done this so many times before.  It is sad, and it is wrong, that I know just where to touch myself.

          There is an understanding.  I need that touch.  I need to imagine that it is her touch.  I need to imagine that her hand is driving me to the thralls of ecstasy and bringing me back again.  I am a bad person, to be in love with another girl, but I need her, and I want her, and I think I've fallen in love with her.  She's my best female friend, and I am hers.  My right hand slips underneath my shirt, underneath my camisole, touching my breasts.  I can only imagine what it would feel like to have her hands on them.

          I am no longer a little girl.  I do believe I'm at least part of the way to being a woman.  I have the figure of one, that much is sure.  My year mates envy my early developments.  I have curves in all the right places, they say.  My breasts are fuller and rounder than many of the seventh years.  I moan, touching myself and letting myself go.

          That was when the door opened.


          The voice is sweet and angelic; it belongs to the girl whose hand I wish was caressing me lovingly.  My own fingers are doing that, but I imagine that they are hers.  I moan, and she gasps.  I want to stop; my cheeks are red, but what am I to do?  I cannot stop this; I simply cannot.  I realize that I have been moaning her name.

          "Ginny..." the door clicks shut faintly behind her, and her voice is faint.  My hand begins to move faster, more furiously.  I am floating away, and I am not really aware that the object of my desire is standing before me, gapping in shock.  I moan once more, and my hand stops.  My fantasy has ended as it always has.

          It takes me several minutes to regain my composure.  I do not realize it, but there are tears in my eyes when I look up at Hermione.  It is only then that I realize that there are tears in her eyes as well.

          "I thought I locked the door," I say lightly.  I am upset, and the tears keep coming.  She was not meant to see that.  I am a dirty, vulgar girl, and she is my sweet angel.

          Hermione does something that surprises me.  She crosses the room and sits down on the edge of the bed.  My left hand is still buried beyond my own coarse hair, covered by those worn pink knickers, but my other hand has come out from underneath my shirt.  It drops lightly down onto the mattress beside me. 

          "Ginny," she breaths.  This was not what I was expecting.  The fingers of her left hand lace with those of my right.  "That was..."

          No, this was not what I was expecting.

          "I'm so sorry," I cry.

          "No!" Hermione is forceful, almost violent with her response.  I look guiltily away.  "Ginny... you don't understand.  I think that was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

          Hermione just called me masturbating beautiful.  My breath catches in my throat.

          "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

          Now I know why tears are shining in her eyes.  I finally look at her.  One of her hands is still clutched desperately around mine, but the other is now stroking my hair, dampened slightly with sweat, away from my face.

          "No," I croak.  "You don't understand..."

          "I don't?" Hermione looks scared.  "I need... I need to know."


          "Ginny," she says, "surely you've heard me before."

          I've heard her before?  What was I supposed to be listening for?  I hear every word she says; I listen to her with rapt attention.

          "I always hear you," I say desperately.

          "No..." she whispers.  "I do it too.  It's okay."

          "No it's not!" I exclaim softly.  "It's not okay, Hermione.  You don't understand.  I was thinking about you.  I always think about you.  I'm always thinking about you."

          "Oh," Hermione looks shocked, and I begin to cry again.  She looks panicked, and she does the most surprising thing yet.

          She tugs my hand away from crotch.  My fingers are sticky with my own juices, and she licks each of them succulently.  It's more sensation than I can handle; I can feel myself getting wet again.  She sucks on each of them until they are completely free of cum.

          "I..." she stammers, and she looks wild.  She looks just as I've always imagined myself looking when pleasuring myself.  Her hand leaves mine, and both of her hands move to my waist.  She shoves my knickers down roughly, shoving them off the edge of the bed.  She is completely on the bed now, and she straddles me.

          "Kiss me," I order, and she does.  Her lips are softer than Neville's, and he is the only guy I've ever kissed.  I push them open with my tongue; it flickers gently against my own.  She is wearing a button down shirt, and my fingers are adeptly undoing each.

          Her bra clasps in the front, and I tear into it.  Her breasts sway before me tantalizingly when I pull out of her sweet and tantalizing kiss.

          "You," I say, "are wearing too much."

          Her knees drop to the mattress, and my hands move to her hips.  I push down on her skirt, and we somehow manage to shove it off onto the floor.  She is virtually nude; I am still covered from the waist up.  With a kind of savage passion I had dreamt of but never found probably, she yanks both my shirt and camisole over my head.

          "Ginny..." moans Hermione, and she collapses on top of me.  Her breasts are rubbing against mine, and the silk of her knickers rubbing against my clitoris is about to drive me nuts.  I find myself grasping the back of the undergarment in question, desperately shoving them down her hips.  I get them to her knees, but she has to see them the rest of the way off.  I grab the smooth skin of her bare buttocks, and her hands slip beneath my shoulders.

          Then, I push her away.  She is obviously surprised; she looks guilty.  I grin, and then I shove her down against the bed.  Now, I am kneeling above her, and I rest my crotch against her bare stomach.  I pinch one of her nipples teasingly, which elicits a sexy gasp from my Hermione.  I rub her breasts gently with my fingers; I love the way they respond to my touch.  They are becoming hard, and her face is becoming very flushed.

          "I've had mine for the day," I whisper, leaning in to her ear.  "It's your turn."

          My head is between those glorious thighs, browned from many days spent at the lakeshore in the sun.  I shove them as far apart as possible, and I bury myself in that wonderfully forbidden area.  I bite gently, loving the taste of her sweet juices.  My tongue flickers experimentally, first into her vagina, and then against her clitoris.  She moans quite loudly.  I am slow and tantalizing with my motions because I love the way her breasts are jiggling.  She is breathing very irregularly, and they look like two glorious mountains.  She is much larger than I had ever expected.  Those Hogwarts robes hide so much.

          "Oh Ginny, oh Ginny, oh Ginny," she keeps muttering, her eyes half closed.  With one last flick of the tongue, she loses it.  She screams out in pleasure, clutching my bedcover desperately.  When she finally catches her breath, her eyes look glazed over.  She is giving me a sexy half smile.  I stretch out next to her, pressing my bare back against her.  I can feel her breasts, and I shift so she can wrap those long legs around my middle.

          "What does this make us?" I ask, loving the way her hands cup my breasts when she wraps her arms around me.  This moment is beyond my wildest dreams.

          "I don't know," says Hermione.  She kisses my head.  "I don't care... I love you, Ginny."

          My heart is beating faster than it was when we were kissing.  "I love you, Hermione."

          I roll over, pressing my breasts against hers.  Her legs part, and we move together so that our sexes might also touch.  It is wonderful to gaze into those chocolate brown eyes.

          "So many fantasies," mutters Hermione.  I know just what she means.