Summary: Sequel to Always in the After, from Ginny's POV. Hermione's healing takes several unexpected turns. Warning: FemmeSlash Her/Gin. Mentions of previous rape/abuse, but rated M for much happier reasons. Well, mostly.

Disclaimer: I still only own the few meager possessions in my apartment, not any of J.K. Rowling's characters, spells, charms, potions, plants, animals, magical devices, and so on.

Also, approximately 10 words of dialogue in a later chapter belong to my ex, who would be pleased to see them in Ginny's mouth.

Note: The following story takes place during the trio's seventh year at Hogwarts and the summer that precedes it. It also takes the liberty of assuming that Voldemort was defeated at the Department of Mysteries Battle at the end of Order of the Phoenix. Thus, it is canon only up to book five, and mine, plot-wise, from there. Finally, it is a sequel to Always in the After (Year Six), and it will flow a lot more smoothly and make a lot more sense if you have read that fanfiction first. However, doing so is not a strict requirement, especially if you're only here for the romance/femmeslash. (Note also that the following story is from Ginny's POV, and it may include her perspective on some of the events that took place in the previous tale.)

(Two Months Post Always in the After)

Slumped into a seat in the last open compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Ginny began riffling through the scraps of parchment that she had shoved haphazardly into her trunk that morning. She wanted to decide which ones to pitch and which ones to keep, to avoid a lecture from her mother about the state of her packing, and, most of all, to simply be immersed in anything that would pass the time. Sighing, Ginny chastised herself for not tossing the whole lot in the rubbish bin on her way out of the Gryffindor dorms. After all, each and every sheet was ruddy useless now, with her O.W.L.S finally over and a whole study-free summer ahead. But all of them had also been kept for a reason, albeit one even Ginny considered a bit silly.

There was the torn off bit of a Potions scroll on the twenty-three uses of Griffin Tongues, marked by Snape with an "P". Under the grade, three words were wound in impossibly neat cursive, "Well, what does that git know? Love, Herm." Then there was the page of hastily copied notes on the Goblin Standoff of 1433, the one that Hermione had absentmindedly doodled stick figures all over, while quizzing Ginny between classes. And stuck to that was a wrinkled Transfiguration Quiz, the one she had aced and then left her on her four-poster. The one her suitemate had found and pounced her with a hug for . . .

Really, Ginny mentally huffed, I only keep them because they remind me how much better she's gotten in the last couple of months! She knew it wasn't a lie per se, at least not enough of one to make her feel guilty when she shoved the whole stack back into her trunk. Let mum yell, she challenged her worries, I'll do my own bloody laundry!

Yet somewhere inside of her, Molly Weasley was the only concern that allowed itself to be extinguished, and Ginny was forced to once again toil over the thoughts that remained. Thoughts that revolved around a younger, thinner girl, one with bushy brown hair and ink-stains on her oft-bitten nails . Why is it, the red-headed girl wondered, that I've gone all pissy, just because she's sitting in the prefect's carriage with Ron?! It's never been different . . . not really.

But then, she knew, since last winter, it had. Ever since Seamus and his horrible blessing of a joke, Hermione and Ginny had never really been apart for long, at first at the younger girl's insistence and then at the older's. They sat together at meals, slept in the same bed, separated only for classes, showers, and the like. Sure, Ron and Harry were usually there too, and she had grown almost as close with them as she had with the female member of their original trio. But it wasn't the same.

Perhaps, she hoped, she was merely feeling some angsty teenage grief over being, for the first time in a long time, left out. But she knew she couldn't justify it. Not when the prefect's were required to fulfill their duties upon boarding, not when Hermione had pulled her close on the stairs and promised to join her after a bit. Recalling that moment, Ginny's senses were overwhelmed by the scent of lilacs and freshly bought parchment, the scent that had met her nose, when Hermione's body, in that moment, had met Ginny's . . .

Stop it!, the Weasley girl scolded herself, shaking free of the memory. Why must you think of her like THAT? I mean, it's not like she's your . . . It's not like you'd like to be her . . . but Ginny was afraid to put a word to it, to give her feelings a label that might fit her yearnings only too well.

It wasn't that Hermione was a girl, not really. For although she had not confided this in anyone, Ginny had long ago realized--and confirmed through experiments with Dean and others--that the feminine form alone could hold her attention. No, her gender was not the issue. The issue was that she was Hermione. Had it been any other skirted Hogwart's student, Ginny would have accepted her affectionate longings, readily and without guilt no matter the other girl's sexual orientation. She may not have acted on them, but she would have allowed the fantasies to linger all the same.

Herm, however, had been violated by another's twisted desires for her body only a year before. And although that was not Ginny's intention, although she only wanted to give the other girl love, not lust or hurt, she nonetheless feared the reaction a romantic gesture might receive. True, Hermione was growing stronger and happier, was breaking free of her pain and rarely dreaming of Jacob. But Ginny was the one Hermione trusted to hold her when such a nightmare came, the one Hermione sought out for comfort, emotionally and physically, when she was at her most vulnerable. And despite these new feelings that had cropped up unexpectedly over the last few weeks, Ginny would do anything to not betray that bond, to not betray what it meant to her and what it meant to her closest friend.

And on top of all that, she knew that Herm fancied her brother. Probably always had, and probably always would.

"Pointless," Ginny muttered, shifting her focus to the blurs of green, yellow, and brown rushing past the compartment window. Pointless, and stupid, and something I need to get over before . . .

The rattling of the compartment door interrupted Ginny's musings, causing her heart first to leap in anticipation and then to crash, when she saw it was only Neville Longbottom.

"S-s-sorry!" the older boy stammered, noticing her look of disappointment, "It's only that I can't find Luna anywhere and Harry's, well . . . he's busy snogging what's-her-name, that beater from Ravenclaw. Thought I should, you know, give 'em some space," Neville muttered, "seeing as how he's on her like my gran on a piece of Peach Cobbler."

Ginny snorted a laugh at the image, one that brought an awkward smile of relief to Neville's face, and then she patted the seat next to her, inviting the amiable distractions that her fellow Gryffindor might bring. "Her name's Roxie, Roxie Polling, and really, Neville, you ought to know, considering she's been sneaking into our common room every night for weeks."

When Neville still looked at her confused, Ginny shook her head, and prodded him further, "You know, the girl who knocked him unconscious during the first match of the season, the same one responsible for Draco Malfoy having to sit his exams with a string of pink fairies tatooed across his forehead? Honestly, it was probably that one that made him fall for her, although with the way she fills out those Quidditch robes . . ."

But her companion just shrugged, remaining oblivious to even the insinuation of bosoms, and Ginny resigned her ambition to draw more out of him on the subject. Instead, she passively watched Neville fiddle with one of the buttons on his almost-outgrown robes, before turning her attention back to the window and the thoughts she had left lingering there.

She'll come, Ginny sighed, and probably Ron with her. Maybe even Harry and Roxie, or Luna, or who knows who else. But she'll come.

She'll come and then we'll have the whole ride, the whole summer, for me to sort this out.