We Love Our Sister.

Chapter 2: Ginny seeks, Ginny finds more than she seeks.

A/N - My second update tonight. Hopefully it is a nice read. Do leave comments (: thanks!
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Ginny found dinner distracting enough. It was nice to see all her brothers back at home, like a happy family reunion, though not much of an occasion, both Mr Weasley and Mrs Weasley were evidently elated to have the dining room so full.

Mrs Weasley had to seat herself at the end of the long table, almost squeezed up against the wall, while Bill, Charlie and Percy took the left length of the table and Ron, Ginny and the twins took the right, leaving Mr Weasley at the opposite end of the table, facing Mrs Weasley.

‘Plenty to go around,’ Mrs Weasley beamed as she passed a large plate of roast chicken.

For a mother of seven children, it was indeed heartening to see all of them seated around her as though in her nest, safe and enjoying the food.

Percy was going on about some report on cauldrons, a subject that by normal standards would have been declared and stamped “Exhausted” within the five hours from the time he was back, yet there he was, alternating chewing and speaking. Quite a feat, Ron thought to himself.

‘… and Mr Crouch seemed really pleased when he met the Norwegian representatives last week over the ...’ Percy’s voice was drowned by Mr Weasley’s.

‘Ron, have Harry replied your letter? I got a feeling Mum’s letter got refused by the Post Office because there aren’t enough stamps,’ Mr Weasley piped up, rather suddenly. ‘George, mind passing the gravy...’

Ron had sent Harry a duplicate of Mrs Weasley’s letter to the Dursleys, asking (telling, rather, seeing that they’d be getting Harry regardless of the Dursleys’ reply) if they could have Harry over for the Quidditch World Cup and spending the rest of the two weeks of holidays with them.

‘No, Dad, haven’t gotten a reply yet. But Pig’s not back. I reckon it’s on its way with Harry’s letter, at least it won’t get lost like Errol. Or knocked out,’ Ron replied with a smirk.

Errol, the family owl, had a real knack for flying right into glass windows and falling off the top-shelf on which he’s been perched on or even getting lost while flying.

‘I’d needed the space to write the address, and I’ve cramped it up as best as I could, and what’s wrong Ginny, not feeling too good?’ Mrs Weasley added in a concerned voice when she noticed Ginny playing with her food more than eating it.

‘No, I’m fine, Mum,’ Ginny answered. ‘Not too hungry I guess.’

Ginny made an pronounced attempt to ingest the food off her plate after that, rather than merely twirling them around, shifting them from one corner of her plate to the other.

———

The Weasleys lounged in the sitting room for quite awhile. Simply lazing around after dinner was an enjoyable thing to do. They enjoyed each other’s company and Charlie was giving a vivid recount about a particularly nasty Swedish Short Snout that almost escaped the breeding grounds because one of the guards on duty neglected the locks.

Charlie gestured wildly with his hands and everyone lurched forwards and jerked back as his story unfolded and winced collectively as they heard how one trainer got thrown sixty feet into the air with a sudden, backwards swipe of the dragon’s great tail.

Ginny’s spirits seemed to have lightened up considerably, not that it showed very much difference on the surface, but she was less quiet and reserved after Charlie’s dragon tale. She even joined in the twins poking fun at Percy when he pompously announced that he was going back to his report, and positively flounced back upstairs to his room on the second floor.

They went on talking about their many adventures in school. Fred and George particularly took pride in having Silenced Filch’s cat, Mrs Norris, and locked her in an armour suit, only to be found by a livid Filch three days later.

Mrs Weasley, who was supervising her enchanted scrubs washing the dishes, bewitched a frying pan to fly over and whacked the twins each on the head.

‘OUCH. Mum! You can’t deny Filch is a nasty old git!’ Fred shouted in pain, and Mrs Weasley made the pan rap him again, hard.

———

‘I think it’s time you went to bed, all of you,’ Mrs Weasley gestured to Ron, Fred, George and Ginny, who were the only ones left in the sitting room quite some time later.

One by one, they traipsed off towards the stairs, their stomachs still rather bloated from Mrs Weasley’s superb cooking. They muttered ‘good night’ and ‘sleep well’ to each other as Ginny disappearing into her room on the first floor and the twins round the second while Ron went up to the attic; the stairs creaking as they trudged upstairs.

Ginny undressed and threw herself onto her bed, not bothering to light any of the lamps in her room. She gazed up at the ceiling blankly and thought of her past year at Hogwarts — all the kerfuffle over the escape of Sirius Black throwing the school into disarray. Ginny had always enjoyed school pretty much and her studies were not something of a problem, unlike Fred and George’s, who, according to Mum should be made to sit for four hours a day with their books. They have both expressed their open disinterest for joining the Ministry like their Father (and most recently, Percy, have) and wanted nothing more than owning a joke shop.

Her thoughts wandered to Harry. She laughed at the thought of herself almost fainting with joy and nerves when she first saw Harry in the dining room one morning being fed by her mother two years ago. It was a rather strange thing, she thought, how she really wanted to see Harry every time he was not around, and immediately regretting her longing when he appeared in front of her, too afraid to embarrass herself, too fussed over the prospect of Harry not liking her back.

‘Oh well,’ Ginny said to herself.

No, this isn’t good, she thought to herself again, she’s been lying on her bed letting her thoughts run rather far, quite forgetting to try to sleep. She glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight, a whole two hours flew past while she was dreaming. Or thinking.

Ginny decided that she’d take a bath before getting back to bed. She has always had a liking for taking baths at night, a habit which Mrs Weasley have been trying to kick for her for quite a long time now. Mrs Weasley’s attempt can be placed as a total failure for even on a cold winter’s night, Ginny would slip out of bed with three layers of clothing to take a bath before returning to bed, this time with five or six layers more.

However, this was a summer’s evening, one not quite requiring that many layers of clothes. Ginny groped around her now very dark room and made her way to her wardrobe and extracted her bath robes.

Quiet as a prowling cat, Ginny made her way to the bathroom on the second floor as there is no bathroom on the first floor where her room was. There was a flickering candle light in Fred and George’s room which Ginny saw through the gap of the door. She could hear a faint laughter from within.

I’d go in and talk to them if they are still up when I’m done, Ginny thought, and made her way to the bathroom.

Ginny slowly unhooked her bra and brought the straps down, off her shoulders and hung it on one of the many hooks that lined the back of the bathroom door, and after that she pulled down her knickers and hung it up as well.

Ginny moved to the bathtub, and hesitated one moment, and upon deciding to have a quick shower rather than a long one in the tub, she walked to the shelf on took a bottle of lilac-scented shampoo and an accompanying soap.

She felt lilac today. Not the usual vanilla.

As she held them, one in each hand, and made back for the shower, she passed the mirror that hung from the wall. It was a rather large mirror, slightly taller than Ginny was, hanging from above Ginny’s head and its ornate bronze frame almost almost touching the ground. She stopped short, and stared at her own reflection in the mirror.

It was rather a strange thing to do, Ginny thought to herself when she first started looking herself naked in the mirror sometime in the middle of last year (her second year in Hogwarts), but she has been doing this increasingly often and now, it occurred to her, she’d look at herself naked in the mirror almost every time she took a bath.

Somehow, she felt she looked different every time she looked.

Ginny now moved to face the mirror so that she could see her body clearly as though it was someone else standing on the opposite side of the glass. She glanced down at her nipples. They were still pink, and slightly puffed up and set against a small mound. It had that image of something being caught halfway as it evolved, which, technically, was quite an accurate description.

Ginny’s blossoming body seemed to enthrall her as much as it mystified her. Having six brothers before her, she did not exactly have someone to tell them about how things would be when she’d started puberty. Only once had Mrs Weasley mentioned something about growing bodies and changing something-else. Ginny did not understand half the things her mother told her then.

Ginny ran two fingers across her right breast. The touch of her cold fingertips on the sensitive skin over her nipples set off an immediate reaction. Her nipples hardened and stood pert and stiffened, making her still-growing breasts to look slightly smaller than usual. She did the same to her other breast; she had put down the shampoo and soap she was holding back to the shelves.

And in no time, Ginny was rubbing her little breasts with rhythm and a certain jerking in her lower body. She did not quite recognise herself as she gazed upon her reflection in the mirror. She looked different — grown up. Ginny sat down tiled bathroom floor and almost immediately lifted her butt off the ground involuntarily as the cold of the tiles attacked her skin. She sat herself down again, this time slowly, giving her skin time to adapt to the vastly different temperature of the floor.

Ginny sat cross-legged facing the mirror at first, but an idea sparked in her and she unfolded her legs and opened them, so that she was sitting with her legs open and knees drawn to her chest. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Ginny saw her vagina; a pink opening of flaps of skin with an opening in the middle, and it seemed as though it was pulsating. Then she realised that it was indeed pulsating and it was her own doing — she was unconsciously clenching and relaxing her muscles there.

There was a small tuft of really fine hair growing way below her navel. Ginny moved her right hand down from her chest slowly, caressing as she went, to her stomach, and down to her navel, past that tuft of hair and onto the delicate flaps of skin which seemed to be guarding the still-pulsating opening rather half-heartedly. There was a surprising amount of moisture on the flaps of skin and Ginny stroked herself slowly.

The feeling was wonderful and the effect was instantaneous and a few things happened exactly at the same time. Involuntarily, Ginny threw her head back and let out a little moan of pleasure; something jumped inside her and she felt her stomach muscles contracting; her nipples grew ever stiffer and the pleasure was indescribable and unlike anything she has ever felt; there was a warmth in her chest that seemed to be emanating from within; and an unknown, yet very strong urge seemed to egg her on.

More, more, she thought.

Again she ran her fingers gently across her now wet opening, but this time Ginny let her fingers linger for a few seconds longer, she massaged her fingers harder into the flaps of skin, all the while looking at herself in the mirror and biting back the now constricting urge to purr loudly at the immense pleasure she was inducing on herself. Ginny drew her knees closer to her chest so that it now touched her stiff nipples and she moved her knees to rub them as she could not bear to remove her hand from her vagina.

Now Ginny had both hands caressing her opening and the pleasure was so intense that Ginny was trying really difficult not to make any noises, not knowing who might walk pass and hear her, even at this hour at night. With a heavily suppressed moan and a less than suppressed movement, she stuck one finger into the opening.

The viscosity she felt inside her vagina was nothing she ever imagined. And Ginny let out a very loud “mmmmm” without meaning to. Her finger was still in the opening, she seemed to have frozen in mid-action, her knees stopped grinding her nipples her left hand paused in the stroking of her opening and the finger could feel her pulse as each beat pumped blood around her body, each beat seemed to also increase the intensity of the pleasure she was feeling; the warmth she had felt earlier now spread upwards even her neck felt heated up.

With a sudden lurch in her stomach, Ginny pulled out her finger and inserted it into her opening again, only this time another one went in together. That gratification seem stretched so taut that it was at breaking point. And, happening in rapid succession, Ginny’s knees gave her nipples one hard push sideways and as she withdrew her two fingers and plunged them into viscid oblivion, a sudden surge of warmth, much, much greater than the one she had felt before had violently exploded within her, from where she could not tell.

Only that it flooded Ginny’s entire body within a split microsecond and cascaded itself into waves and waves of extreme and intense pleasure that crashed upon her time and again, and again. How loud she had moaned she did not know, and might never know. For the only thing on her mind was the perfect satisfaction and the height of the pleasure she was feeling. Ginny shuddered hard as she came even harder, flushing out the sweet juices of her first orgasm.

Ginny slumped against the wall on which she had been leaning on all this while and gazed blankly at the mirror at her own reflection, this time, completely sated, and very, very pleasured. Absent-mindedly, Ginny rubbed her nipples, although still as enjoyable, it was a gentle relaxation of her muscles which had clenched so hard before that intense explosion and expulsion which she was sure she was not going to forget anytime very soon.

It took Ginny a good fifteen minutes to recover from that radiating intensity of her orgasm and had trouble standing up as it seemed as though her teetering knees refused her momentarily. Ginny took a quick bath and wanted to get back into the warmth of her bed before all of her pleasure dissipated. It was already leaving her in drips and draps as the warm water pounded on every inch of her.

Ginny wiped herself dry and wrapped the dress robe tightly around her and left the bathroom. As she took the first two steps down the stairs that led towards the first floor landing, a flickering candlelight caught her eye and she stopped her descent.

Fred and George were still up evidently — the candle was still lit. Ginny listened for any other sign that her twin brothers were still up, and none came. There was no sound coming from the room unlike the laughter she had heard early on.

Ginny hesitated. She had wanted to be in her brothers’ presence before her bath. Before her little … adventure. Ginny decided that she still did. The twins made her feel loved. Very loved. Not that everyone else did not love her, but in a different way, in some way that even Ginny could not explain. They had always been around for her, treated her really well. And they were the only ones who could lift her spirits when she was, as seldom as it might be, in one of those depressing moods, as she was, just before dinner.

Ginny went back up the two steps and paced the second floor landing towards the twins’ room. As she approached, she could now hear sounds. Sounds that Ginny could not help but feel a vivid rush of familiarity — and she was right. She had just heard them, only that she was the one who made those noises.

A seemingly badly-timed ragged breathing could be heard. Along with a soft moaning, and upon closer hearing, they were emitting from two different sources, albeit in very close proximity.

Ginny raised an eyebrow as she took the last few steps that led her to the door. It was unmistakable. It was issuing from within the twins’ room — which meant the twins were making those sounds. As quiet as she could, Ginny pressed down on the door handle and gently nudged opened the door to the twins’ room, it did not open further than a gap before Ginny froze.

Ginny could see two distinct figures of the twins wrapped in tight embrace, the elongated shadows cast upon them by the dancing candle flame, their naked skin glowing in varying shades of orange against the candlelight.

The twins’ beds, joined together to form a single, large bed, seemed extraordinarily strange with its inhabitants in a rather awkward positions. Fred’s back was facing Ginny at the door and George was facing the door but he was in a half-seating, half-lying position, while Fred was half kneeling, half-keeled-over, and appeared to be leaning on George for support. A gentle rocking movement was in sync with soft moans coming from them.

Ginny stood rooted for but a second as she drank in the scene. Her hand jerked unconsciously as it still firmly grabbed the handle. A creaking sound was heard as the door swung slightly wider, the sound would have surely gone unnoticed in a daylight as the throng of activities in The Burrow would have covered it. But in the dead of night, the sound split the tranquility so entirely that the Fred whipped around and George’s eyes flew open with such force it seemed his eyes popped dangerously.

Ginny did not know how to react. She did not know exactly what the twins were doing. She could not see much except that they were evidently naked, and the candlelight continued making the shadows dance around the stunned trio, apparently unaware that it should stop, as the twins have. The sudden, rigid movement of the twins stiffening upon her intrusion seemed as insanely magnified as had the little creak sounded.

Fred cursed under his breath and Ginny was at a complete loss.

In a whirl of movement, the twins somehow were now sitting in bed staring up at her, both of them pulled their sheets to their necks but it slid back down, exposing their naked upper bodies, and covering them waist-down.

George pointed his wand at a lamp on the table and quietly lighted it. The room seemed much brighter now, a darker shade of orange, the ghosts of the dancing shadows still vaguely visible.

Fred looked darkly at his twin.

‘Come in, Ginny,’ George said simply, but not unkindly, ‘We need to talk.’