Please Don't Say You're Sorry

It was another summer spent at the Weasleys' home, the Burrow. It wasn't really different than any of our other summers. Sure, there was the threat of Voldemort attacking that was looming over our heads. But it wasn't like we hadn't had that threat for two years previously.

She was a year younger than I. She was full of life and had a sense of adventure. I was bookish and full of boring knowledge. She was beautiful. I could hardly believe that Harry had ignored her for three years. But, then again, it wasn't until she left her little shell that her true beauty shone through.

She was a Chaser. I was never one for Quidditch. Flying was difficult for me, no matter how many books I read or how far I delved into research about the sport. But for her, it seemed natural. Almost as natural as it had been for Harry.

Her vivid red hair rippled out behind her as she darted around her brothers toward the makeshift hoops in their backyard. She managed to get her shot by Ron, which was a feat, especially since he had become comfortable playing Keeper. She swooped around, a triumphant fist pumping in the air. She grinned broadly around, then looked down at me. I smiled back, pulling my nose out of one of the books it was tucked in to.

I continued to watch her as she flew, watching as her clothes clung to her curves as she sped along. Somehow, under my very nose, she turned from a scrawny girl into a stunning woman. And somehow, I was finding her to be stunning.

After the game, everyone walked a bit from the house to a nearby pond for a dip. I followed, deciding not to partake in the swimming, but wanting to be around everyone else.

I watched her over my book. I watched how her hair flowed behind her as she swam, seeming to be a brilliant red liquid of its own. I watched her float, looking at her flat little tummy, and thin, fit thighs. Looking at her, I felt out of shape and fat. My legs would never look like that, and I could only dream that my stomach would ever be that flat. She was fit. I was glad that I wasn't in a bathing suit.

We walked back to the house. I walked on the outside of the group, swimming in my own thoughts. I didn't say much. I just put in my usual odd fact to not seem too far out of it. I looked at her, and my plain brown eyes met her intense ones. She seemed concerned, but said nothing. I looked away, after offering a tidbit.

We all ate dinner. Bill was there with Fleur, his fiancée. Fleur was talking to her about France and Beauxbatons. I kept sneaking glances at her as she talked jovially with Fleur. Often she'd break out into laughter when Fleur told her about some of the Frenchmen she had met. I ate slowly, and I made conversation with Ron and Harry, and maybe once with Bill.

We had dessert after that, chatting contentedly. I sat back, pretending to be interested in anything but her. She had become quiet, as she always had when dinner and dessert ran late.

I excused myself since I had found it steadily harder to keep from watching her. I walked up the stairs to the bedroom we shared, changed into my pajamas, and climbed into bed.

I held the covers up to my chin, staring at the ceiling. I wasn't the least bit tired, and even if I was, my brain was running too fast for me to even consider sleep. I saw her face before my eyes, her every feature. How her hair fell around her face to her shoulders. How her eyes twinkled and small dimples showed when she smiled. Everything.

None of these feelings were new to me. I had had them for a few months, and I had done nothing about them. I needn't worry about a boy asking me out, for I wasn't the type that most boys liked. It wouldn't raise eyebrows if I didn't have a man on my arm. But it would if I did have one.

I figured that my infatuation for her would pass, just like every other. My infatuation with Harry. Ron. Seamus. Professor Lockhart. Any of them. I figured that this would go away with time, just as they all had.

I closed my eyes as I heard her open the door. I heard rustling as she moved around our room, changing from her clothes to her nightclothes. I steadied my breathing as she climbed into her bed, trying to at least give the façade of sleep. I fell into a light doze soon afterward.

I woke out of my light sleep at the sound of bedsprings creaking. I looked over at her bed. She was tossing and turning. Her sheets were wrapped around her body, giving her the appearance of being in a cocoon. A pale light illuminated the room, revealing her forehead to be shining with a light sweat.

I watched her eyes fly open, and they welled with tears. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, as though she had almost drowned. Her brown irises spotte my own, looking down on her. I could tell she was fighting back tears. I quickly moved over to her, enveloping her into a tight, friendly hug.

She sobbed softly, and I hugged her closer as she shed tears onto my chest. I rocked slowly, rubbing her back gently. We sat like this for a while, but I couldn't have complained. She was my best friend, and I loved her dearly.

She pulled away from me slightly, looking up at me with puffy eyes. I could still see the tear streaks shining on her cheeks. "Oh, Hermione," she breathed, hugging me close.

I returned the embrace, not wanting to let her go. I wanted to protect her from whatever had brought her to tears. But I relented my grip when she loosened hers. "Thanks," she said, resting her head on my shoulder.

"You're welcome," I whispered, my hand running over her hair. "Anytime."

We sat like that for a few long moments. I stopped playing with her hair at one point. "Why'd you stop?" she asked me, looking almost vulnerable when she looked up at me.

"I dunno," I answered. "I just... well... yeah. I don't know."

"It felt good," she said innocently. "I liked it."

I hesitantly ran my hands along her hair again, and when she didn't protest, I continued to do it. Before long, I realized that she had fallen asleep. I stopped playing with her hair, but I didn't dare move. She deserved sleep. If her dream had been bad enough to draw tears, she needed sleep.

She woke up after what I thought to be a far too short period of time. She looked up at me again. "Why'd you stop?"

This time I had an answer. "You were asleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Oh," she said, sounding puzzled. "I was asleep?"

I nodded.

"For how long?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I don't have a watch or anything to tell."

"Oh."

I nodded. I met her eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

She nodded, and was silent. I didn't press her for any details. If she wanted me to know something, she would tell me. "You know, I'd always thought that I'd get over it."

I was surprised. I hadn't expected her to talk. And I didn't have a clue as to what she was talking about. I watched her. She was staring at one of her walls, not focusing on anything in particular.

She continued. "It's been little over four years," It suddenly came to me what she was talking about, "yet I still have nightmares."

I opened my mouth to say something to reassure her, but she continued before I could say something. "He haunts me, Hermione. Whenever I think that I've finally managed to get over him, he returns. He reminds me. He reminds me of what I did. Of who I hurt." She looked at me, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "He won't let me forget."

She let out a soft sob, I moved to do something, but she shook her head. "It's always the same dream. It's always of when I went down to the chamber for the transfer of life and magic. And every time, he kisses me before I go under his spell. Every time, he kisses me the same way. It's not a nice, soft peck. It's forceful and controlling, as though he just wants to emphasize his power over me. It shows me that he owns me, and that I will always belong to him.

"Then he starts the spell to transfer my life to him. Except, in the dream, I'm not asleep or passed out or whatever happened when I was down there. I see everything that happens, as though I had seen it when I was really down there. I'm positive that if Harry recounted his story, it would be exactly like my dream.

"But this was worse than being unconscious. I can see everything as it happens, but I can't move. I can't tell Harry to watch out. I can't help with the basilisk. All I can do is watch as Harry kills it, and being bitten at the same time. All I can do is watch as Harry finished Tom off. But then, when he stabs the diary, Tom doesn't die. He just laughs, then kills Harry.

"Then, somehow, you can Ron got down there. You were Petrified, and Ron was blocked off from Harry by a pile of rocks. But somehow, the both of you get down there. Tom mercilessly kills Ron." Her voice broke. "T-then he tortures you, performs a curse on you, and you d-d-die... s-s-slowly.

"Then I woke up," she finished, less than dramatic.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks again. I hugged her to me tightly, rocking slowly again. I'd occasionally kiss the top of her head, thinking nothing of my actions other than how they could stop her tears. I realized that I was also crying, for I wanted nothing more than for her to stop.

She must have felt my tears upon her hair. "I'm sorry, Hermione," she sobbed into my chest, still crying.

I shushed her softly. "It's okay. It's okay. It's just a dream." I repeated that to her, just wanting to slow her tears.

She shuddered in my arms. "No... I'm sorry for making you cry." Her voice was barely audible. But I had heard her, and I hugged her fiercely, willing myself to stop crying. I couldn't stop, I just continued to tell her that it was okay, that it didn't matter.

After what felt like hours, I finally stopped, seeming to run out of tears to cry. She stopped soon afterward. She kept repeating, 'I'm sorry' over and over and over again. I kept telling her that it was okay, and not to worry, but it was as though she was in a trance.

She tried to pull away, still muttering. I loosened my hold on her, but didn't cease to try and stop her from apologizing. She sat away from me on the bed. I watched her as she stared off into space. I had a feeling of anticipation in the pit of my stomach. This stupor of hers was going to trigger something. I could feel it.

She turned her eyes to me. I stared back at her, not wanting to look away. She opened her mouth to speak. "Hermione, I--"

But she hadn't been able to finish, for my lips were against hers. A flood of emotions sprung forth. My mind was screaming that I've gone and messed everything up. My heart was saying that I had finally done the right thing. Desire whispered in my ear to deepen the kiss. Want urged my mouth to stop her apologizing. Hope prayed that she'd kiss me back.

I pulled away quickly, edging away from her. I was grateful that it was dark, for I was sure that I was blushing a shade of the deepest red. I didn't dare look at her, afraid of what I would see.

My mind was going into damage control. My heart was aching. Desire tried to get me to kiss her again. Want smiled triumphantly, for I had stopped the apologies. And Hope continued to pray that she'd kiss me back.

I sneaked a glance at her. Her face was the epitome of incredulity. I moved over to my bed, and crawled under the covers, my back to her. Tears stung at my eyes. Despite how I fought, the tears started to roll down my cheeks.

I choked down sobs, not wanting to bother her any more than I already had. I doubted that a few sobs would perturb her more than a kiss from a best friend, but I didn't want to take that chance. I already knew that this was the end. She'd tell Ron, and he'd tell Harry, and all three of them would avoid me like I was an infectious disease. I'd return to how I was in first year, alone and friendless.

I just wanted to fall asleep, to forget about this until morning. I knew that I had crossed the line. And I didn't want to deal with the consequences until the following morning.

I heard the creaking of bedsprings on her bed. I figured that she had just lain down to go to sleep. I was surprised when I felt a slender pair of arms wrap around me. I know that I had jumped slightly.

She had crawled into bed with me, her front against my back. I had managed to slow my tears to an almost stopping point by then. I used my hands to wipe my face, because when I had to face her, I didn't want to look like I had been crying.

She adjusted slightly, and I turned to face her, wanting to get it over with. She looked serious, solemn. "Hermione," she whispered, "I'm sorry."

I started crying again. She hugged me to her chest. It was my turn to apologize like mad. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry you don't like me like I do you. I'm sorry that this happened. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Now everything's ruined! Gone! I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Our friendship. It's my fault. I'm sorry. Now you probably hate me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

She waited patiently. When I came to my senses, I looked at her. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

She kissed me softly on the lips. "Please don't say you're sorry."

"But... but I... you..."

She silenced me softly. "Hermione."

I stopped sputtering out fragments of sentences. She watched me, a comforting smile on her face. It was a while before she said anything. But what she did say, I'll remember forever.

"I'm not sorry."

She kissed me again, and this time, I kissed her back. It soon turned from warm and sweet to wet and passionate. She had me on my back before long, our tongues probing each other's mouths. She broke the kiss, her lips just inches from mine. She gave me another soft peck before rolling off of me, and on to her side, next to me.

I rolled onto my side, trying to give her more room on the small bed. We snuggled close to each other, our legs crossing near our ankles, her head resting in the crook between my shoulder and my neck. I very much wanted to kiss her again, but cuddling was much nicer. I ran my hand along her hair, getting the occasional sigh of approval from her.

Right before we fell asleep, she said, "I'm sorry for making you cry, Hermione."

I lazily kissed her on the top of her head, then smiled. "Please don't say you're sorry."