Copyright: What elements of this story that I own, and are not the property of anyone else, are licensed
CC-BY-NC-SA. That means that you can take anything in this story, up to and including the whole thing, and use it
however you like, as long as you promise me three things:
1. You will link back to me (preferably to my author page)
2. You will not make money off whatever you do
3. You will share your work under these same conditions
Today's prompt: "What is your character's rating on the Kinsey scale?" I'll save you all the trip to Wikipedia by telling you that the Kinsey scale is a seven-point scale for quantifying sexual orientation: a score of 0 means you're completely heterosexual, a 6 means you're completely homosexual, and there's a whole range of bisexuality in between (There's also an X rating for asexuality, but I don't really think it counts).
On that note, this is one of only a few chapters in the whole story that isn't Harmony: Hermione/Ginny is the pairing here, because I thought it made the most sense.
I'm really interested in what you all think of this one; this is the very first time I've ever written any kind of slash fiction, and I'd love to get feedback on how I did.
"Her…Hermione?" Hermione Granger, in what should not have come as any great surprise, had her nose in a book (The Skeletal System of the Giant: New Speculation - much more fascinating than many gave it credit for) when Ginny, red-haired younger sister of her friend Ron, hesitantly interrupted her. The fourteen-year-old witch turned from where she was reading all about how giant bones are hollow - to stay light enough to be mobile - to see the youngest Weasley sitting on her bed, worrying the well-worn sheets as she refused to meet Hermione's eyes. "Can I…Ask you something?"
Hermione felt a little bad about the whole situation; the Weasleys were nice enough to let her into their home before the Quidditch World Cup, and Ginny had graciously shared her room with the older witch, virtually a complete stranger. And yet here was Hermione Granger, ever the consummate houseguest, shutting out all the world. "Of course, Ginny." She answered kindly. "Ask me anything."
"Even a really personal question?"
That gave Hermione a moment of pause, but she decided to answer: "Sure, anything; what's on your mind?" How much trouble could a thirteen-year-old witch possibly get into with personal questions?
"Have you ever kissed a boy?"
A lesser being would have squawked in surprise and indignation at being asked such a question by so young a girl. A lesser being would have asked why in the seven hells Ginevra Molly Weasley would want to know such a thing. A lesser being would have immediately launched into a detailed play-by-play of every romantic exploit, all the way down to pre-school crushes.
In many ways, Hermione was not a lesser being. But on this particular subject, as she proved with bulging eyes and a dropped textbook, she apparently was. "Ginny," She hissed, glancing to the door as if expecting Mrs. Weasley to appear, summoned by the impure thoughts of her daughter. "Why on earth do you want to know a thing like that?"
Ginny flinched away at the older girl's reaction, and Hermione immediately felt bad. It was quite obvious that Ginny wasn't completely comfortable asking those sorts of questions and, Hermione supposed, she was reaching the age when she would begin to be curious about boys - Hermione herself had succumbed to the temptation to read some of her parents' medical books at about the same age. "It's just…Fred and George are always bragging about how they had their first kisses so young, and how amazing they were, but none of the boys are paying me any attention; is there something wrong with me?"
Hermione sighed, seeing Mrs. Weasley's influence. The matronly woman was very kindly and good-hearted, but she clearly subscribed to the kind of traditional gender roles claptrap that muggles had moved away from in the sixties. "Oh Ginny," Hermione bemoaned, pitying the poor girl more than words could express. "There's nothing wrong with you. It'll happen when it happens, and it's different for everyone."
"Have you had your first kiss?"
Hermione paused. "No." She replied finally. "And I'm okay with that. I don't need validation from a boy to feel complete, and neither do you."
"Do you want to be kissed?" Ginny asked, innocently.
All of Hermione's pomp, generated from her progressive diatribe, deflated as Ginny's question recalled to her mind the dream she had been having on and off since the end of Third Year: the one where she was Sleeping Beauty, in an enchanted sleep at the top of a tall tower, and her Prince Charming flew up on a hippogriff to awake her with a kiss. That Prince Charming was black-haired and had the most stunningly green eyes was a completely separate concern. "Yes." She answered, her voice much smaller than it had been a mere moment ago.
Ginny was silent for a long while, and Hermione desperately hoped that would be the end of it. She had been having a lot of strange feelings over the summer, feelings her doctor assured her were normal hormonal responses to stimuli but that had no stimuli to speak of, and she would personally have rather sorted those out without also having to entertain the submissively feminine notions of a barely-teenaged witch. But alas, Ginny asked again: "Do you ever think about what it would be like?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know," Ginny responded vaguely, her ears reddening in classic Weasley fashion, "How it would feel; if he'd like it; if you'd be any good."
"Yeah." Hermione admitted, with no small amount of shame.
"Do…do you…"
"Do I what?" Hermione interrupted, snapping a bit more than she'd intended. Ginny's questions were hitting a surprisingly sore spot in the young woman - a spot she would have to examine and understand.
"Want to practice?" The redhead finished, resolutely looking at the sheet she was twisting into knots.
Hermione's book tumbled to the floor with a crash. There was no way she had heard what she thought she had heard. "Could you repeat that please?" She asked in what she hoped was a measured voice.
The redness of Ginny's ears had spread over the rest of her face, turning her the most impressive Gryffindor scarlet Hermione had ever seen on a human face. "It's just that I haven't had my first kiss and I really want it to happen but I'm afraid I'll be terrible and that I won't get kissed any more if I'm no good and what if I really like it I don't want to be made fun of." The small girl took a few deep breaths before continuing at a less manic pace. "And you haven't had yours either, and I know you won't make fun of me, and I promise I won't make fun of you, so why can't we practice on each other?"
Several dozen reasons occurred to Hermione, in fact, including: their difference in age; that Hermione was Ginny's guest; and that one of Hermione's best friends was Ginny's own brother. But she couldn't deny that the proposal was an appealing one. Hermione's was the sort of personality that refused to be sub-par at any activity (with the exception of flying), and that certainly included kissing, and she knew very well that the only way to improve was through practice.
Also, she had to admit, there was a certain amount of intrinsic appeal in kissing the youngest Weasley. Poor Ginny suffered from a truly terrible case of 'the gingers,' but as she was growing up the freckles were beginning to recede, and her pale skin gave her an almost-imperial complexion. She didn't think of herself as homosexual, but Hermione had to admit that Ginny was a cute little girl.
And besides, maybe she could use the results of this practice on Harry someday.
"Okay." Hermione answered shyly. It didn't look as though Ginny was going to take the initiative, so Hermione rose from the camp bed she had been sitting on and took a place beside the girl who still refused to meet her eyes. Hermione's heart was pounding as she hesitantly reach out to the girl's chin - good lord her skin was soft - and tilted her head up so their eyes met. And then it happened.
"Wow." Was all Ginny could say when they broke apart, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open.
"Wow." Hermione agreed, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. She couldn't believe she had just done that, or that it had felt so good; Ginny's lips were smooth and soft and moist and tasted a little bit like raspberry. Hermione licked her own cracked lips self-consciously, knowing that she didn't take as good of care of them as she should, and feeling bad about that for the first time in her life. "I don't think you're going to have anything to worry about." She informed the girl lightly.
"You neither." Ginny replied. Then her eyes opened, and Hermione noted a mischievous glint that she had never seen there before. "But there's no reason we shouldn't try to improve, is there?"
"None that I can think of."