I know that smirk
She cornered her in the library with a glint in her eye and hands planted on her waist. Hermione might as well have been a quaffle in Ginny’s eyes—ripe for the taking.
“Who is it, Hermione?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean.”
“Oh, please. I’d know that Slytherin smirk anywhere. You didn’t get that from my brother.”
Hermione feinted to the left before attempting to dart to the right, coming to an immediate halt as the other girl blocked her efforts.
“Slytherins don’t own the trademark on smirks, you know,” she scoffed, finally giving up and settling back with arms crossed.
“No, but they all seem to share the exact same style, one you didn’t sport until recently. So I ask again, who is it?” Her light brown eyes narrowed in speculation at Hermione’s continued avoidance of eye contact.
“Nott?”
Hermione gave a slight shake of her head and Ginny thought it a pity. Those two would have been perfect with each other as swotty as they both were. Not to mention their adorable curls.
“…Goyle?”
This time all she got in response was a snort. It had been a far-fetched guess, but she’d certainly seen and done stranger things herself.
“If you say it’s Parkinson I just might take you in to see Pomfrey.” This time her statement earned her a glare.
“Pansy’s changed a lot lately. She’s…better these days.”
That was certainly a surprise. Ginny didn’t hate Parkinson, per se, but she didn’t trust her either, especially after she’d tried to turn Harry in.
“Well, I know it isn’t Zabini, so that just leaves—”
“Wait a minute,” Hermione interrupted. “How do you know it isn’t Blaise?”
This time it was Ginny’s turn to smirk, not that one, but the smile most others outside the family attributed to the twins, but only because they didn’t know Bill or Charlie. “Because he would’ve told me.”
Hermione blinked once, then once more. Then she gasped as realization dawned.
“Ginny! Are you shagging Blaise?”
The redhead peered down at her nails as she contemplated painting them emerald green. “I might be.”
“But, Harry? I thought you were with Harry!”
“I am.”
As Hermione continued to sputter, Ginny’s stoicism dissolved into peals of laughter. “Oh, Hermione, why not both?”
“Both! Do they know?”
“Of course they do. They’d have to, given how much they enjoy snogging each other as much as they do me.”
Ginny wished she could bottle up the memories of Hermione’s face just then so she could share it with the other two. It was the perfect combination of surprise and intrigue. She might be one year older, but she was so, so precious in her innocence.
“How is Malfoy in bed, anyways?” she casually tossed out. Now this would be interesting.
“We—I—I mean—how did you guess?”
“Love, there weren’t many Slytherins from our year left, and I’m fairly certain you’re not interested in anyone younger. If anything, I would’ve pegged you for an older guy. Way older.”
If Hermione’s blush was any indication, Ginny guessed that she had her fair share of crushes perfectly fitting her assumptions. That would be worth investigating later. But for now…
“So? Are you going to spill?”
Teasing Hermione really was criminally fun. She made it so easy with how open her expressions were, how her body language immediately reflected her feelings. Like now—she stroked her fingers idly over her wand like she wished they were wrapped around something, someone, else.
“We’re not quite there yet. Draco wants to take things slow.” A pretty rose blush crept across her cheeks at the admission.
Ginny couldn’t help her brows from jumping up in surprise. Malfoy? Take things slow? Not only was that not his reputation, but it almost sounded like…
“But you want to?”
A shy nod and an ever deeper blush were her answers.
“Alright, tell me everything, and then I’ll tell you what to do.”
Far be it to say that Ginny wasn’t giving when she wanted to be, despite her overall greediness for life and all its pleasures. She’d be certain to exact gratitude from the ferret later.