Author's Note: Be kind to me, as this is the first slash story I have ever written. If this is not something you generally enjoy reading, I will tell you that it is significantly more subtle than the content in many other stories I have seen. The pairing, as I have mentioned in the summary, is Minds On Fire, or Hermione/Ginny.
It is Quiet Here
It is quiet here. She is but an outline before the dying embers, and feels as though she is naught but an ember herself, slowly fading away into ash. She watches them as they turn from orange to grey; their feeble attempts to be ignited once more reflecting dully within her eyes. She wonders what purpose it serves for them to even try, as they must know as well as she that their efforts are in vain.
She can feel the tickle of her own warm breath against the back of her hand as she supports her chin. It is gentle, as the whispering of the wind caressing her hair. Yet it is quiet here, and the wind does not dare to enter and disturb the peace. It is a pity, she thinks, that it wishes not to blow. She trails her finger along the sofa's threadbare arm with a pensive nature, her eyes never leaving the hearth. Her chestnut locks curl softly about her face. With her free hand, she tucks a section behind her ear in an attempt to tame the wild mass.
He will never understand her. He will never come to love her as she has so deeply come to love him. Why must he torment her battered heart further than has already been done? Why?
There is silence here. She feels her lashes droop together and her eyelids begin to close, so heavy are they with exhaustion. She knows she must soon slumber, but does not wish to welcome in the fantasies her dreaming mind will force her to succumb to. They will only tempt her further into a world she knows does not exist. She exhales softly, the tips of her curls swaying with the sudden air.
Suddenly, there are footsteps. She can hear them echoing upon the stones as her intruder descends the staircase, disturbing the solitude in which she has lain. Slowly, she turns, yet cannot see their face, for it is marred by darkness.
'Hermione, sorry... Didn't know there was anyone here.' It is Ginny. She knows this instantly by the light tone of her voice. Hermione sighs once more.
'No, it's alright. I was about to leave...' She pulls herself from the tranquilizing depths of the sofa. The embers have died, and she has been cast into shadow. Hermione moves slowly past her small companion, hoping to escape into the depths of her four-posted sanctuary.
'Don't. I didn't mean for you to go.' She catches her arm just as she is about to slip away. Hermione wishes nothing more that she was but amirror of lifethat could not touch or be touched at all, for she longs to feel naught.
'Don't worry, Hermione,' she continues. 'Ron's just... you know... well, he'll come around, I expect.'
Hermione shakes her head from side to side. 'No. He-he just doesn't - he just won't realise...'
'Then maybe you should forget about him.' She is only slightly comforted by this small gesture of her friend.
'Forget?' She nearly laughs. 'Could I just as soon ask my heart to stop its beating? No, Ginny, I cannot forget.'
'I can help you.' She has not noticed until now how close they have come together. Their breaths merge as one cloud of grey. Hermione's stomach quivers strangely, and her voice seems to have been drawn short. 'Let me help you, Hermione.'
She feels soft lips against her own, hands caressing her skin. Her touch sends goosflesh to her arms as she melts into the other girl's affections, perpetual bliss grasping and clouding her mind as she slowly gives in to her desires.
She lays in her arms, her head lain upon the other's slumbering form. The embers have grown cold within the hearth, yet neither takes notice, for together, they are warm. Hercurls intertwine with those of a fiery red, light enough in the darkness. Her fingers rest gently upon her chest, and their bodies seem to merge as one. Their hearts, at last, are laden with happiness.
It is quiet here...