Hermione’s Helping Hand - A gift for hamimifk!
Title: Hermione’s Helping Hand
Author: accio_catawba
Recipient: hamimifk
Pairing(s): Hermione/Ginny
Word Count: 2,500
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dubious consent, somnophilia, psychological trauma
Summary: With the stress of the war gone, Ginny’s nightmares return. Hermione helps her best friend.
Author's Notes: I would just like to thank scarletladyy for working so hard to put this together. I had fun writing and I can’t wait to read all of the submissions!
**
The leak in the ceiling was just above Ginny’s spare bed, and a summer rainstorm caused a steady stream of water to drip down on Hermione’s pillow. They retired to Ginny’s bedroom after a dinner that nobody ate, following Fred’s memorial service. Emotionally exhausted, still not having had a proper night’s sleep since before the battle, the two young witches groaned aloud when they noticed their predicament.
“I’ll mend it,” Hermione offered rather groggily, pulling her wand and pointing it at the ceiling. “Reparo!” She tried, but the ceiling did not patch.
“Oh bugger the leak, just share with me. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Ginny tugged off her formal robes, which were too heavy for summer, and pulled on a pair of thin pyjama bottoms and a tanktop before crawling into her childhood bed, scooting toward the edge of the mattress.
Hermione stubbornly stared up at the ceiling, her brow creased as she muttered to herself. “Is it-- reparo condensus? No, that’s not right. It’s an anti-rotting charm I need, yes... it must be..”
“You haven’t slept in days, Hermione. Forget the damn ceiling for now.”
With a reluctant nod, Hermione unclasped her own robes and tugged on one of Ginny’s oversized t-shirts, groaning in delight as she curled up beside her best mate. “I haven’t truly slept in nearly a year...” she whispered, before succumbing to the exhaustion.
At some odd hour during the night, Hermione jolted awake, confused. Rain continued to pelt against the windows and at first she thought the storm had awoken her. And then her eyes fell on her thrashing bedmate.
Ginny lay on her back, drenched with sweat. Her breathing was shallow but even, her teeth gritted as she writhed against the mattress. “No...” she whimpered, “No, Tom-- please.”
Hermione sat up and had instant flashbacks of sharing a room with Ginny in Grimmauld Place, where she would have horrific nightmares of her hypnotic servitude to Tom Riddle. “Ginny,” Hermione said forcefully, placing a gentle hand on her sticky forehead, brushing the damp hair away from her freckled skin. “Ginny, wake up. You’re having a nightmare is all, come on now...”
A helpless whimper passed Ginny’s pursed lips. Hermione could sense that Ginny was still sleeping but her body seemed to relax some, responding to her touch. “Tom, please...”
“Shh... you’re all right,” Hermione coaxed, brushing some more bright red hair out of Ginny’s face. “You’re safe. I’m here--”
“Please, Tom. Please--” Ginny suddenly reached up to grip up Hermione’s wrist, pressing a warm kiss against her palm. “You know what I need. You promised-- you promised you’d help me after I helped you...”
Hermione froze, staring down as her best mate’s mouth found the inside of her wrist and kissed her there as well. Instinctively, Hermione tried to pull her hand away, fully expecting Ginny to wake.
She did not wake. She only whimpered more, her body starting to thrash about as she did earlier. Lightning struck just outside their window as her grip only tightened on Hermione’s wrist, tight enough that Hermione was sure she’d be bruised by morning. “No! Tom! Tom, you promised. You promised you’d help me!” Tears leaked out of Ginny’s closed eyes and Hermione watched her face tense with frustration.
Hermione stopped struggling at the sight, her heart breaking as she watched the effect of the inner demons Ginny had clearly been fighting. How many nights had they tortured her like this? And why hadn’t she noticed any sort of sexual component before? Nausea came over her in a wave. Hermione had felt the weight of a horcrux for months; Ginny had carried the burden of that diary for an entire school year. “Oh, Ginny...”
“Tom...” She sobbed, arching her back. Hermione could see Ginny’s nipples had hardened through the fabric of her top. “Tom, I’ve missed you. I’ve needed you...”
“Ginny, wake--” Hermione tried again with much more force in her tone, but her words caught in her throat when Ginny suddenly guided Hermione’s hand between her legs.
Hermione gasped aloud, watching Ginny’s fingers lace with her own, urging Hermione to apply pressure there. The fabric of Ginny’s pyjama bottoms were sopping. Hermione’s eyes shot back toward Ginny’s face, which appeared more relaxed now, her jaw falling slack as she moaned. “Oh, thank you,” she rasped. “Thank you, Tom-- I’m feeling a bit better already...”
Hermione’s bottom lip caught between her teeth as she continued to rub her fingertips against that sticky wet material, watching as Ginny’s face continued to relax.
“More... more, please...” Ginny begged, thrusting her hips against Hermione’s hand.
What if she wakes? Panic began to set in and Hermione contemplated for a moment. But I’m helping her... Hermione’s hand slid beneath the waistband of Ginny’s knickers, her index and middle fingers parting her folds. “Oh Gods...” Hermione whispered, her mind suddenly incapable of thinking logically (for if she was, she would surely realize how wrong this was), and she was shocked.
Shocked that she could feel her own blood rushing south, and that it felt so not-wrong.
But her focus was on her bedmate, who was now whimpering again out of desperation. “Yes, more-- please, Tom--”
Hermione hadn’t ever touched another witch like this, though it felt entirely natural considering she had the same parts. Her fingers circled Ginny’s clit until she cried out, her body shuddering with orgasmic spasms.
When Hermione removed her hand, Ginny blinked awake.
She was still panting and blinking up at Hermione, her eyes glossed over in confusion. “I... what happened?” Ginny licked her lips and tried to catch her breath. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” Hermione cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and slid her hand beneath the blankets, discretely wiping away Ginny’s come. The evidence. “You-- you were having a nightmare,” she pointed out in a very matter-of-fact tone. “I woke you.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. “Are you... feeling all right?”
Ginny furrowed her brow, staring up at the ceiling. “A nightmare. Yes, that... makes perfect sense.” She nodded. “Yes, I feel... just fine. I’m sorry I woke you.” Ginny shifted and even in the dimness of the bedroom Hermione could see her cheeks flushing harder. She must have noticed how damp she was.
“It’s no matter, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Hermione turned her back to Ginny, curling up on her side. “Perhaps tomorrow I’ll brew you up a batch of Dreamless Sleep potion.”
“Thanks, Hermione. That’d be great.” Ginny curled up on her side and soon her breathing steadied once more.
“G’night,” Hermione murmured, wanting very much to slide her hand between her own legs, but she refrained. Eventually, sleep took her once more.
**
The next few weeks passed rather uneventfully. Hermione had diligently brewed Dreamless Sleep Potion for Ginny and there hadn’t been any more nightmares. On Ginny’s part, anyway...
Hermione, on the other hand, was hardly sleeping, throwing all of her energy into helping out around the Burrow. She had just finished a long night of degnoming the garden when she made her way to the kitchen to find the Weasley matriarch flicking her wand over the stove, sending over a teacup in her direction.
Today’s evening tea was a touch too cool, but Hermione didn’t have the heart to insult Molly by pulling her wand and warming it. Molly sat across the kitchen table looking much like an inferi-- her eyes sunken and red-raw from sleepless nights and endless sobbing, her skin pale as ever, the lines more defined. And with good reason. She’d lost a son just two weeks ago, so she didn’t seem to notice the tea was lukewarm as she sipped at it.
“Shall I warm up some biscuits then, Mrs Weasley?” Hermione poured a bit of milk in her tea and watched the older woman carefully. Everyone walked on eggshells around the Burrow these days, though there was nothing anyone could really say to Molly without triggering her tears. There was a handkerchief in Hermione’s pocket at all times now, just in case.
“Fred loved biscuits,” Molly replied, tears instantly welling in her bloodshot eyes as she accepted the handkerchief from Hermione. “Oh thank you, dear. Have I thanked you for preparing supper last night? And breakfast this morning? And helping with my laundry? I did notice, I just don’t remember if I--”
“You thanked me. But really, no thanks are necessary. I’m happy to help.” Hermione made her way to the cupboard to pull out two small plates, and then moved to the breadbasket to pluck two of the biscuits she’d made yesterday. She pulled her wand and muttered the spell to warm them.
Molly composed herself after a few minutes. “It’s really remarkable, dear, how... well-adjusted you’ve been. You just fought in a war, for Merlin’s sake. My children are a right mess-- they’re either holed up in their rooms or throwing themselves into rebuilding the castle, and poor Harry’s shut himself up in Grimmauld Place for nearly a month now, hiding from those bloodsucking reporters-- and you--” her blotchy face looked over at Hermione, eyes wide in amazement. “You’re just... carrying on. Helping me, when you should be off tracking down your parents, grieving the loss of your own friends.”
Hermione merely shrugged as she levitated the plates over to the table. “I’ve told you not to worry about Harry. I check in on him daily to make sure he’s eating.” She bit off the edge of her biscuit and considered Mrs Weasley’s observation. “I suppose you’re right. It is rather strange, my being able to carry on just as things always were. I read a book on trauma and grief once when I was twelve-- my uncle had gone mad after my cousin was killed in a car crash, started doing incredibly... uncharacteristic things-- stealing from shops, seeing things that weren’t there...” She shook her head, smiling sadly. “That was years ago. But I did learn from that book that trauma and grief can manifest quite differently in people experiencing the same traumatic events. I s’pose that’s why Harry’s shutting himself out from the world, Ron’s working himself ragged up at the castle, and I’m... helping.”
Molly nudged her biscuit with a spoon, clearly not having the appetite she used to. Still, she managed a weak smile up at Hermione. “You’re such a dear. And Ginny told me how you’re helping her with her sleeping problems.”
Hermione choked on her tea. “That reminds me! I’ve got to finish brewing this batch of Dreamless Sleep potion.” Hermione glanced at the clock and saw that she had just five minutes to get back to her cauldron, so she finished up her biscuit and half her cup of tea in a hurry. “Goodnight, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said sweetly. “Let me know if you need anything at all.”
**
Hermione took the stairs two at a time until she was on the fourth landing and paused when she heard the shower running. Ginny routinely took showers before bed, and Hermione had developed a strange habit of lingering just outside the door for a moment. It was always cracked open the tiniest bit; Ginny said she doesn’t like the bathroom to get too steamy.
At the sight of Ginny’s blurry naked frame through that blasted shower curtain, Hermione’s breath caught. She was instantly reminded of that night, when she had fought so hard to forget about it. But she could feel a tightness tingling between her legs at the memory, and she watched as Ginny ran her soapy hands over her body. Oh Gods...
Possessed with a desire greater than any magic could ignite, Hermione retreated to her cauldron, where the Dreamless Sleep potion was boiling at a perfect pale-purple hue, awaiting its final steps. She looked at it and frowned, glancing at the clock ticking on the far wall. There’s still time...
Without further hesitation, Hermione pulled her wand and waved it over the Dreamless Sleep potion, draining the substance from the cauldron. She hastily reached into her ingredient kit and pulled out her rarely used ingredients that were buried at the bottom.
Asphodel. Wormwood. Valerian roots. Preserved sloth brain. All of these ingredients were expertly measured so that the ingester would have exactly eight uninterrupted hours of sleep per dose. They were then combined, stripped and stirred counter-clockwise. Hermione heard Ginny’s shower turn off just as she was crushing the sopophorous beans, which when she dripped their juices into the cauldron gave off a familiar hissing sound and the potion turned its signature lilac color before fading to clear. This potion would send Ginny into a sleep so deep that she would surely not wake while it coursed through her body.
The one problem was that she also wouldn’t dream.
Hermione needed Ginny to dream tonight. She rummaged through her ingredients and found a small jar labeled Belladonna. Yes, that should do it. A small amount of the plant’s berries were sprinkled on top of the potion, and once they dissolved she stirred it once more.
“All set then, Hermione?” The youngest Weasley was wrapped up in her bath towel, fumbling through her drawers for her nightclothes. She didn’t seem to notice that the potion looked a bit different tonight. And why would she? She trusts me completely, and I’m doing this to help her. That last time, that night after the funeral-- Ginny seemed much more peaceful the next day, much more relaxed. But since then, she had been withdrawn. The fire that fueled Ginny Weasley’s quick wit and spitfire personality had gone out.
It was time it was reignited.
“Just about ready.” Hermione funneled the cauldron’s contents into fourteen small vials-- one dose per night for a fortnight-- and then she uncorked one and gave it a smell. The (slightly modified) Draught of Living Death was odorless, and it would be tasteless, too-- just like Dreamless Sleep potion. The crystal vials were black on the outside, so Ginny would not notice the difference in the potion’s color.
Ginny changed into an oversized Harpies t-shirt and plaited her hair before reaching for one of the vials. Hermione watched as she uncorked it and downed it without thought. “Thanks, Hermione,” she muttered, crawling into bed.
Sleep took Ginny instantly. Hermione waved her wand over the potion ingredients, stoppering them and sending them back into their proper places in her trunk. She locked the bedroom door and turned off the lights, her eyes quickly adjusting and falling on Ginny’s sleeping frame.
Hermione’s gaze was transfixed on Ginny’s peaceful expression, as her facial muscles appeared to relax more with each passing moment. In her semi-conscious state, her body visibly loosened as well and her lips parted. Testing the waters, Hermione reached out and brushed her fingertips over the top of Ginny’s thigh.
Ginny gave a soft moan. “Mm... Tom? S’that you?”
A victorious smirk tugged at the corners of Hermione’s mouth. “Yes, Ginny.” She whispered, leaning down to brush her lips against her ear. “It’s me.”
Author: accio_catawba
Recipient: hamimifk
Pairing(s): Hermione/Ginny
Word Count: 2,500
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dubious consent, somnophilia, psychological trauma
Summary: With the stress of the war gone, Ginny’s nightmares return. Hermione helps her best friend.
Author's Notes: I would just like to thank scarletladyy for working so hard to put this together. I had fun writing and I can’t wait to read all of the submissions!
**
The leak in the ceiling was just above Ginny’s spare bed, and a summer rainstorm caused a steady stream of water to drip down on Hermione’s pillow. They retired to Ginny’s bedroom after a dinner that nobody ate, following Fred’s memorial service. Emotionally exhausted, still not having had a proper night’s sleep since before the battle, the two young witches groaned aloud when they noticed their predicament.
“I’ll mend it,” Hermione offered rather groggily, pulling her wand and pointing it at the ceiling. “Reparo!” She tried, but the ceiling did not patch.
“Oh bugger the leak, just share with me. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Ginny tugged off her formal robes, which were too heavy for summer, and pulled on a pair of thin pyjama bottoms and a tanktop before crawling into her childhood bed, scooting toward the edge of the mattress.
Hermione stubbornly stared up at the ceiling, her brow creased as she muttered to herself. “Is it-- reparo condensus? No, that’s not right. It’s an anti-rotting charm I need, yes... it must be..”
“You haven’t slept in days, Hermione. Forget the damn ceiling for now.”
With a reluctant nod, Hermione unclasped her own robes and tugged on one of Ginny’s oversized t-shirts, groaning in delight as she curled up beside her best mate. “I haven’t truly slept in nearly a year...” she whispered, before succumbing to the exhaustion.
At some odd hour during the night, Hermione jolted awake, confused. Rain continued to pelt against the windows and at first she thought the storm had awoken her. And then her eyes fell on her thrashing bedmate.
Ginny lay on her back, drenched with sweat. Her breathing was shallow but even, her teeth gritted as she writhed against the mattress. “No...” she whimpered, “No, Tom-- please.”
Hermione sat up and had instant flashbacks of sharing a room with Ginny in Grimmauld Place, where she would have horrific nightmares of her hypnotic servitude to Tom Riddle. “Ginny,” Hermione said forcefully, placing a gentle hand on her sticky forehead, brushing the damp hair away from her freckled skin. “Ginny, wake up. You’re having a nightmare is all, come on now...”
A helpless whimper passed Ginny’s pursed lips. Hermione could sense that Ginny was still sleeping but her body seemed to relax some, responding to her touch. “Tom, please...”
“Shh... you’re all right,” Hermione coaxed, brushing some more bright red hair out of Ginny’s face. “You’re safe. I’m here--”
“Please, Tom. Please--” Ginny suddenly reached up to grip up Hermione’s wrist, pressing a warm kiss against her palm. “You know what I need. You promised-- you promised you’d help me after I helped you...”
Hermione froze, staring down as her best mate’s mouth found the inside of her wrist and kissed her there as well. Instinctively, Hermione tried to pull her hand away, fully expecting Ginny to wake.
She did not wake. She only whimpered more, her body starting to thrash about as she did earlier. Lightning struck just outside their window as her grip only tightened on Hermione’s wrist, tight enough that Hermione was sure she’d be bruised by morning. “No! Tom! Tom, you promised. You promised you’d help me!” Tears leaked out of Ginny’s closed eyes and Hermione watched her face tense with frustration.
Hermione stopped struggling at the sight, her heart breaking as she watched the effect of the inner demons Ginny had clearly been fighting. How many nights had they tortured her like this? And why hadn’t she noticed any sort of sexual component before? Nausea came over her in a wave. Hermione had felt the weight of a horcrux for months; Ginny had carried the burden of that diary for an entire school year. “Oh, Ginny...”
“Tom...” She sobbed, arching her back. Hermione could see Ginny’s nipples had hardened through the fabric of her top. “Tom, I’ve missed you. I’ve needed you...”
“Ginny, wake--” Hermione tried again with much more force in her tone, but her words caught in her throat when Ginny suddenly guided Hermione’s hand between her legs.
Hermione gasped aloud, watching Ginny’s fingers lace with her own, urging Hermione to apply pressure there. The fabric of Ginny’s pyjama bottoms were sopping. Hermione’s eyes shot back toward Ginny’s face, which appeared more relaxed now, her jaw falling slack as she moaned. “Oh, thank you,” she rasped. “Thank you, Tom-- I’m feeling a bit better already...”
Hermione’s bottom lip caught between her teeth as she continued to rub her fingertips against that sticky wet material, watching as Ginny’s face continued to relax.
“More... more, please...” Ginny begged, thrusting her hips against Hermione’s hand.
What if she wakes? Panic began to set in and Hermione contemplated for a moment. But I’m helping her... Hermione’s hand slid beneath the waistband of Ginny’s knickers, her index and middle fingers parting her folds. “Oh Gods...” Hermione whispered, her mind suddenly incapable of thinking logically (for if she was, she would surely realize how wrong this was), and she was shocked.
Shocked that she could feel her own blood rushing south, and that it felt so not-wrong.
But her focus was on her bedmate, who was now whimpering again out of desperation. “Yes, more-- please, Tom--”
Hermione hadn’t ever touched another witch like this, though it felt entirely natural considering she had the same parts. Her fingers circled Ginny’s clit until she cried out, her body shuddering with orgasmic spasms.
When Hermione removed her hand, Ginny blinked awake.
She was still panting and blinking up at Hermione, her eyes glossed over in confusion. “I... what happened?” Ginny licked her lips and tried to catch her breath. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” Hermione cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and slid her hand beneath the blankets, discretely wiping away Ginny’s come. The evidence. “You-- you were having a nightmare,” she pointed out in a very matter-of-fact tone. “I woke you.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. “Are you... feeling all right?”
Ginny furrowed her brow, staring up at the ceiling. “A nightmare. Yes, that... makes perfect sense.” She nodded. “Yes, I feel... just fine. I’m sorry I woke you.” Ginny shifted and even in the dimness of the bedroom Hermione could see her cheeks flushing harder. She must have noticed how damp she was.
“It’s no matter, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Hermione turned her back to Ginny, curling up on her side. “Perhaps tomorrow I’ll brew you up a batch of Dreamless Sleep potion.”
“Thanks, Hermione. That’d be great.” Ginny curled up on her side and soon her breathing steadied once more.
“G’night,” Hermione murmured, wanting very much to slide her hand between her own legs, but she refrained. Eventually, sleep took her once more.
**
The next few weeks passed rather uneventfully. Hermione had diligently brewed Dreamless Sleep Potion for Ginny and there hadn’t been any more nightmares. On Ginny’s part, anyway...
Hermione, on the other hand, was hardly sleeping, throwing all of her energy into helping out around the Burrow. She had just finished a long night of degnoming the garden when she made her way to the kitchen to find the Weasley matriarch flicking her wand over the stove, sending over a teacup in her direction.
Today’s evening tea was a touch too cool, but Hermione didn’t have the heart to insult Molly by pulling her wand and warming it. Molly sat across the kitchen table looking much like an inferi-- her eyes sunken and red-raw from sleepless nights and endless sobbing, her skin pale as ever, the lines more defined. And with good reason. She’d lost a son just two weeks ago, so she didn’t seem to notice the tea was lukewarm as she sipped at it.
“Shall I warm up some biscuits then, Mrs Weasley?” Hermione poured a bit of milk in her tea and watched the older woman carefully. Everyone walked on eggshells around the Burrow these days, though there was nothing anyone could really say to Molly without triggering her tears. There was a handkerchief in Hermione’s pocket at all times now, just in case.
“Fred loved biscuits,” Molly replied, tears instantly welling in her bloodshot eyes as she accepted the handkerchief from Hermione. “Oh thank you, dear. Have I thanked you for preparing supper last night? And breakfast this morning? And helping with my laundry? I did notice, I just don’t remember if I--”
“You thanked me. But really, no thanks are necessary. I’m happy to help.” Hermione made her way to the cupboard to pull out two small plates, and then moved to the breadbasket to pluck two of the biscuits she’d made yesterday. She pulled her wand and muttered the spell to warm them.
Molly composed herself after a few minutes. “It’s really remarkable, dear, how... well-adjusted you’ve been. You just fought in a war, for Merlin’s sake. My children are a right mess-- they’re either holed up in their rooms or throwing themselves into rebuilding the castle, and poor Harry’s shut himself up in Grimmauld Place for nearly a month now, hiding from those bloodsucking reporters-- and you--” her blotchy face looked over at Hermione, eyes wide in amazement. “You’re just... carrying on. Helping me, when you should be off tracking down your parents, grieving the loss of your own friends.”
Hermione merely shrugged as she levitated the plates over to the table. “I’ve told you not to worry about Harry. I check in on him daily to make sure he’s eating.” She bit off the edge of her biscuit and considered Mrs Weasley’s observation. “I suppose you’re right. It is rather strange, my being able to carry on just as things always were. I read a book on trauma and grief once when I was twelve-- my uncle had gone mad after my cousin was killed in a car crash, started doing incredibly... uncharacteristic things-- stealing from shops, seeing things that weren’t there...” She shook her head, smiling sadly. “That was years ago. But I did learn from that book that trauma and grief can manifest quite differently in people experiencing the same traumatic events. I s’pose that’s why Harry’s shutting himself out from the world, Ron’s working himself ragged up at the castle, and I’m... helping.”
Molly nudged her biscuit with a spoon, clearly not having the appetite she used to. Still, she managed a weak smile up at Hermione. “You’re such a dear. And Ginny told me how you’re helping her with her sleeping problems.”
Hermione choked on her tea. “That reminds me! I’ve got to finish brewing this batch of Dreamless Sleep potion.” Hermione glanced at the clock and saw that she had just five minutes to get back to her cauldron, so she finished up her biscuit and half her cup of tea in a hurry. “Goodnight, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said sweetly. “Let me know if you need anything at all.”
**
Hermione took the stairs two at a time until she was on the fourth landing and paused when she heard the shower running. Ginny routinely took showers before bed, and Hermione had developed a strange habit of lingering just outside the door for a moment. It was always cracked open the tiniest bit; Ginny said she doesn’t like the bathroom to get too steamy.
At the sight of Ginny’s blurry naked frame through that blasted shower curtain, Hermione’s breath caught. She was instantly reminded of that night, when she had fought so hard to forget about it. But she could feel a tightness tingling between her legs at the memory, and she watched as Ginny ran her soapy hands over her body. Oh Gods...
Possessed with a desire greater than any magic could ignite, Hermione retreated to her cauldron, where the Dreamless Sleep potion was boiling at a perfect pale-purple hue, awaiting its final steps. She looked at it and frowned, glancing at the clock ticking on the far wall. There’s still time...
Without further hesitation, Hermione pulled her wand and waved it over the Dreamless Sleep potion, draining the substance from the cauldron. She hastily reached into her ingredient kit and pulled out her rarely used ingredients that were buried at the bottom.
Asphodel. Wormwood. Valerian roots. Preserved sloth brain. All of these ingredients were expertly measured so that the ingester would have exactly eight uninterrupted hours of sleep per dose. They were then combined, stripped and stirred counter-clockwise. Hermione heard Ginny’s shower turn off just as she was crushing the sopophorous beans, which when she dripped their juices into the cauldron gave off a familiar hissing sound and the potion turned its signature lilac color before fading to clear. This potion would send Ginny into a sleep so deep that she would surely not wake while it coursed through her body.
The one problem was that she also wouldn’t dream.
Hermione needed Ginny to dream tonight. She rummaged through her ingredients and found a small jar labeled Belladonna. Yes, that should do it. A small amount of the plant’s berries were sprinkled on top of the potion, and once they dissolved she stirred it once more.
“All set then, Hermione?” The youngest Weasley was wrapped up in her bath towel, fumbling through her drawers for her nightclothes. She didn’t seem to notice that the potion looked a bit different tonight. And why would she? She trusts me completely, and I’m doing this to help her. That last time, that night after the funeral-- Ginny seemed much more peaceful the next day, much more relaxed. But since then, she had been withdrawn. The fire that fueled Ginny Weasley’s quick wit and spitfire personality had gone out.
It was time it was reignited.
“Just about ready.” Hermione funneled the cauldron’s contents into fourteen small vials-- one dose per night for a fortnight-- and then she uncorked one and gave it a smell. The (slightly modified) Draught of Living Death was odorless, and it would be tasteless, too-- just like Dreamless Sleep potion. The crystal vials were black on the outside, so Ginny would not notice the difference in the potion’s color.
Ginny changed into an oversized Harpies t-shirt and plaited her hair before reaching for one of the vials. Hermione watched as she uncorked it and downed it without thought. “Thanks, Hermione,” she muttered, crawling into bed.
Sleep took Ginny instantly. Hermione waved her wand over the potion ingredients, stoppering them and sending them back into their proper places in her trunk. She locked the bedroom door and turned off the lights, her eyes quickly adjusting and falling on Ginny’s sleeping frame.
Hermione’s gaze was transfixed on Ginny’s peaceful expression, as her facial muscles appeared to relax more with each passing moment. In her semi-conscious state, her body visibly loosened as well and her lips parted. Testing the waters, Hermione reached out and brushed her fingertips over the top of Ginny’s thigh.
Ginny gave a soft moan. “Mm... Tom? S’that you?”
A victorious smirk tugged at the corners of Hermione’s mouth. “Yes, Ginny.” She whispered, leaning down to brush her lips against her ear. “It’s me.”