𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

_____

Grimmauld Place

_____

HERMIONE prepared for the sharp slice of the air she would face before apparition.

Her bag draped over her shoulder as she ensured her wand tucked away up the sleeve of her left arm. Her fingers found the loose strands of her hair, stretching them behind each of her ears before her eyes sealed shut.

It happened so fast that she struggled to regain her balance afterward, an awful thudding reaching her temples as the world slowed around her.

She inhaled, carefully, as her eyes peeled open once again, and there she stood in the midst of it.

The pavement in front of the steps remained the same, only differing underneath the beaming sun. A harsh winter's breeze swarmed around her, her fallen curls dancing with the wind.

Glancing down at how she stood, she fixed the creases in her skirt, tugging on the hem of it, adjusting the way it appeared to others. 

She sucked in a breath to her lungs, the cool air stinging her throat as it travelled through her. Her nose kissed with the cold; her cheeks mottled with freckles tinting red underneath the flesh of her skin.

Hermione swallowed with much difficulty, shoving away the threatening thoughts that began to flood through her mind, telling her to turn away.

But she didn't.

This was something she needed to do. For herself and for her relationship with her friends. Assertiveness rushed through her veins, her shoulders stiffening as her features along her face turned into stone.

She marched up the steps quickly, before she could change her mind, and her fists turned into balls, colliding roughly with the wooden surface of the door.

Her sounds crowded with the pounds of her heart beating, her hands shaking as they shifted an ashen colour.

She counted each beat for comfort, doing whatever she could to keep herself occupied and distance from the overwhelming thoughts that attacked the walls she had constructed in her brain.

She stood still another moment, rehearsing her breathing as though she were adapting to a newly learnt skill. Trying her best to avoid hyperventilating, which had formed into an unhealthy habit of hers.

"Hermione?" 

She flinched at how her name sounded, startled by the sudden voice behind her. She spun around, swiftly, the aching in her chest easing at the sight of the red-head penetrating the frame, leaning her shoulder against it.

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, a sweet smirk curling her lip, her brows lifting as though intrigued. She was dressed in a mint blouse paired with ocean blue denim jeans, the same shade as her eyes, and a pair of black ankle boots.

"Good afternoon," the witch greeted, without an ounce of surprise held in her tone, almost expectedly. 

Hermione felt the panic welling inside her, screaming at her to leave now, but she couldn't, and she didn't want to. She gave a tilt of her head as the corner of her mouth twitched.

Ginny huffed, approvingly, "well, what are you still doing out there in the cold? Come right in."

Hermione strode forward without a second thought, very afraid of cowering and walking out. She moved forward, step by step, one foot after the other, and she held no hesitance in doing so. She reached the kitchen before long, seating herself on one of their spindly chairs.