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There was nothing that could have prepared Ginny for the Christmas Markets.
She’d thought herself prepared, ready for the trip, just like she’d been ready for the weather, the freezing cold that seemed to permeate everything in the season, even though they’d yet to see snow. They’d rugged up in their coats and their scarves and gloves, leaving a hand free each to clasp together for Hermione to Side-Along Ginny to the Christmas Markets. Hermione had spoken so fondly of the Markets; of how amazing they were with such enthusiasm and longing, and Ginny had both wanted to see the Markets that could make her girlfriend light up so, and needed to finish her shopping. It had seemed like a good idea to combine the two.
She might be regretting that now.
The Market is as decorated as anything Ginny has ever seen, festive tree branches and flags and lights as far as the eye can see. Every stall has a Christmas greeting, the loud words wishing her Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and a Joyous Festive Season.
And the noise. It’s so loud, the indistinct chatter of the crowd of people around her. Ginny can hear the hum of music, but can’t pick out any of the notes over the noise of the crowd.
There are just so many people, and Hermione holds onto Ginny’s hand, pulling her along by the clasp of their fingers, moving through the crowd with a characteristic determination. Ginny tries to step in behind Hermione, to follow in her path like she used to on her broom, slipping in behind a teammate to avoid the wind, but it didn’t seem to work, and people keep bumping into her. She tries tucking her shoulders in, pulling in on herself to make herself smaller, but not even that seems to help, and Ginny feels every bump like a hit from the bludger, shocking her down to her core.
Ginny isn’t sure she’s ever been anywhere so busy before, hasn’t seen so many people packed into such a tiny place in her life, and the roof is far away, but it feels like it is all pressing into her, worse than the one time George and Fred had dared her to climb into Ron’s trunk, and then shut the lid on her to make sure she could fit. At least that had only been for a moment, she’d barely been in the dark for more than a few seconds, but it was still enough for Ginny’s heart to spike. It was that memory that Ginny thinks of now, as the crowd presses in on her, and Ginny longs for the sweet relief she’d felt back then when the lid had opened, and she’d flung herself out of the trunk, breathing in deep and spreading out her limbs like she’d been starved for it.
Here, she only tries to pull more in on herself, like that might stop the crowd of people from pressing into her – but it seems like nothing could stop them. Ginny feels like a leaf that floated down onto the Great Lake, getting buffeted around by the wind and the waves.
She’s sweating, can feel the thin sheen of it on her body, feel a dampness on her brow and underneath her shirt, sweat making a dampness under her armpits.
Making Ginny’s hand grow clammy.
One particularly harsh jolt was all it took, and Hermione’s hand starts to slipping from hers. Panic overtakes her, and her fingers desperately try to hold on tighter. A small noise explodes from her, a yelp or even squeal maybe, and Ginny darts forward, pushing aside the person between them, and slamming into Hermione hard enough to knock her forward, pressing into the person in front of them.
Her hand secure again, Ginny holds on so tight her fingers started to ache. She tucks herself into Hermione’s shoulder, burying her head into the familiar scarf. If she inhales deep enough, she can smell the warm scent of lavender, the hint of her shampoo, the faint smell of bergamot that came from her favoured tea choice – Lady Grey.
Hermione squeezes her hand reassuringly, and then turns around, coming to face Ginny. Their bodies press together in the crowd, and Ginny wants to bury her shoulder into Hermione’s shoulder again, to try and block out the crowd, the people, everything except Hermione in front of her.
Their entwined hands hang awkwardly between them, but Ginny doesn’t dare release it, not even to change her grip to make it more comfortable, or clasp her arms around Hermione. It feels like her only anchor in the sea of people, and Ginny can’t risk losing that.
Hermione leans in, closing what little distance was between them to place her mouth by Ginny’s ear.
“Are you okay, love?”
The words bring a prick of tears to her eyes, and Ginny blinks furiously, holding her eyes shut tight and willing the tears not to fall.
She takes a deep breath.
In.
Hold.
Out.
Then another.
When she opens her eyes, Hermione is still watching her and Ginny opens her mouth, ready to tell Hermione that she is fine, but no words come out.
After a moment, she shakes her head.
“Okay.” Hermione squeezes her hand again. “What do you need?”
“I think I need some air,” Ginny says, when what she really means is, I need some space. She thinks Hermione understands anyway – she’s always been good at seeing the things Ginny doesn’t want to say.
Hermione’s face turns determined, a look Ginny had seen many times before, and never like this, but it’s still reassuring. When Hermione turns this time it is with more determination, moving quickly through the crowd, and pulling Ginny along behind her. People still bump into Ginny, but it’s easier to ignore this time, focusing instead on the back of Hermione’s head. She kept her eyes on the familiar beanie and the curls of hair which have managed to escape it and are cascading down over her scarf. It works so well that she didn’t realise they’d made it through the crowds until the cold breeze hits her again, chilling her face and making her eyes prick once more.
Hermione leads them over to a bench and table, pushing Ginny towards the bench seat. Ginny takes the hint, sitting on the bench and Hermione slides in next to her, straddling the seat and facing Ginny.
“Can I touch you?” Hermione asks.
It seems a little redundant given that their hands are still linked, but Ginny nods. Hermione leans in, wrapping her free arm around Ginny tight and pulling Ginny in towards her. Ginny lets herself go with it, closing her eyes, and leaning her head to rest it against Hermione’s shoulder.
Hermione’s breathing is the loudest sound she can hear, and Ginny focuses on that instead of their surroundings. Ginny lets it ground her, until her own heart stops pounding, and her breath has calmed down to match it.
The shame starts to overcome her then, the same horrible feeling like the Basilisk’s venom all over again, twists her gut and sends the chill straight through her. She wants to drop straight through the floor. It’s a good thing she can’t Apparate yet or she’d be half tempted to do it, Statute of Secrecy be damned.
Or not, really. Despite the desire, Ginny’s never been one to run from her own failures.
She takes a deep breath, then another, and finally pulls away from the warm safety of Hermione’s embrace.
The hand she hangs onto though. And it’s what Ginny looks at now, placing Hermione’s hand in her lap and stroking the junction between Hermione’s thumb and pointer finger.
“Sorry I ruined your shopping trip.” The words get stuck around the lump in her throat, come out quieter than she intended them.
“Oh love, you didn’t ruin it.” Hermione pulls their entwined hands towards her, and Ginny’s gaze follows them as Hermione brings their hands up to her lips, places a kiss on Ginny’s knuckles. “You couldn’t have ruined it. You’re so much more important than any shopping trip, and there’s nothing I’d rather do than spend time with you. Wherever that is.”
“Oh.” It’s the easy honesty that Hermione always gives, and it cuts through Ginny like a knife to the gut. “You know I—” love you, she wants to say, but the words get caught in her throat, and her voice trails off. It seems like too much too soon – and she’s been so shit at that before, rushing in with boys. This feels different though, there’s something that feels just right between them, and it makes Ginny hesitate when she used to push ahead, rushing to try and find something that she never seemed able to find.
She thinks it might be one of the scariest things she’s done. But it feels worth it, especially when Hermione looks at her like she is now, like Ginny is all she’s looking for.
“You know there’s no one else I’d rather spend my time with either, right?” she says, eventually, and it feels a bit like a cop out, but it’s also the truth, the blistering truth and she owes Hermione that.
“I do,” Hermione says, the words barely above a whisper, but Ginny hears them still.
Hermione leans forward, closing the distance between them to brush her lips against the corner of Ginny’s lips. The kiss is only for a moment, and then she presses her forehead against Ginny’s temple.
“There’s a little hut out here that sells the best hot chocolate you’ve ever had,” Hermione tells her, words puffing out a breath of warmth against Ginny’s cheek. “Do you want one?”
“Better than Mum’s?”
“The best,” Hermione repeats.
“You better not hear her say that.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”