FanFic100 Challenge #72 "Fixed"
Title: Fixed
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Summary: One-shot. Sirius reflects on his love for Ginny. Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.
Warning: Ginny is 16 in this story. Sirius is 37. Don't like it, don't read it. You know the drill.
I sat in a bar tucked away in a dark recess of Knockturn Alley like I did every Tuesday evening. And, like every Tuesday evening, I had planted myself front row in the same chair just left of the crest of the stage. I watched a blonde saunter half-heartedly down the catwalk, stop at the pole and begin to spin. Her hair lacked shine. The skin around her waist was showing signs of stress. There was a mole on her pale left shoulder. Her eyes rarely opened, although when they did, they revealed two bloodshot orbs devoid of any emotion. She was attractive, by most men’s standards though. It couldn’t be helped if all I saw were flaws.
I wanted her to tempt me. I did. I wanted every girl to tempt me. Hell, I wanted any girl to tempt me, that’s why I came to that bar every Tuesday, week after week. I just wanted someone to make my eye wander, someone to take my mind off of Ginny.
She was perfect. She was graceful, articulate, and poised. Freckles dotted her smooth, porcelain skin. Her legs were long, even for her stature. Her naturally lean body was accentuated by feminine curves. She was especially well endowed just below her neck. The tops she would wear in the summer were like the worst torture devices imaginable. The thin straps of her tank top would fall carelessly off her shoulders, revealing even more of her delicate body. She had begun to outgrow the innocent lacey things she wore as a child but still donned them on hotter days, leaving me panting like the dog I was.
I enjoyed her company not just because she was marvelous eye candy. She was a wonderful conversationalist. Her sense of humor was just the right mix of wit and sarcasm. She liked to poke fun at the way my tongue would loll out of my mouth when I fell asleep at inappropriate times. She affectionately called me “the dog”, which, much to my satisfaction, evolved into “my dog”.
We had become close. Too close for my comfort. I had fallen in love with this girl, this woman who couldn’t have yet known a man’s touch. I knew the exact moment I realized I had fallen for her.
I had woken late one afternoon to find the house deserted. Wandering past the kitchen and out the sliding glass doors, I found myself in the arboreal dell that was the backyard. Walking past the first hedge, I found Ginny, sprawled out on the grass before me, playing with a lady bug that had found its way into her palm.
She smiled when I came into view, patting the ground lightly beside her, not saying a word. I gladly joined her, watching silently as she turned her hand this way and that, trying to keep the lady bug from flying away.
“Shirley.” She said plainly, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Shirley?” I asked, puzzled.
“Her name.” She grinned at me playfully. “She seems like a Shirley to me.”
I shook my head gently, laughing to myself.
“What?” She questioned. “Are you laughing at me? Surely you can’t be serious.” She promptly erupted into a fit of laughter.
“Oh you think you’re so clever. How long have you been waiting to use that one?” I teased lightly.
She stuck her tongue out at me, still laughing quietly to herself. “Be nice. All of my pets need names. At least now you have company.”
“Company.” I scoffed. “Since when am I your pet?”
“Since I decided you were.” She smiled coyly, her eyes fixed on Shirley crawling about her hand. I wanted desperately to be that lady bug. It didn’t know how lucky it was. I had never once touched Ginny, although restraining myself got more and more difficult with every passing day.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I belong to no one.” I asserted, turning my head away dramatically.
“Oh?” She asked, drawing my eyes back to hers. “Then why are you jealous of Shirley?” And with that, she gently lifted my hand with hers, while tipping her other hand into mine. As soon as the lady bug realized its change of setting, it flew off, just as Ginny had begun to walk back into the house.
That night was the first night I came to a bar like the one I was sitting in now. It was so wrong to love her. After the first few weeks it was more than apparent that I could not love the girls that sold themselves onstage. Love is not love that alters when alteration finds. Just because I didn’t want to love her didn’t mean I could stop.
If I couldn’t love something else, I could at least lust after something else. Again, it became glaringly obvious that I couldn’t do that either. Yet here I sit, week after week, praying to some unknown force to allow me to respond in any way to these girls. Love is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.
I love her. I love Ginny and there is nothing I can do about it. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Summary: One-shot. Sirius reflects on his love for Ginny. Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.
Warning: Ginny is 16 in this story. Sirius is 37. Don't like it, don't read it. You know the drill.
I sat in a bar tucked away in a dark recess of Knockturn Alley like I did every Tuesday evening. And, like every Tuesday evening, I had planted myself front row in the same chair just left of the crest of the stage. I watched a blonde saunter half-heartedly down the catwalk, stop at the pole and begin to spin. Her hair lacked shine. The skin around her waist was showing signs of stress. There was a mole on her pale left shoulder. Her eyes rarely opened, although when they did, they revealed two bloodshot orbs devoid of any emotion. She was attractive, by most men’s standards though. It couldn’t be helped if all I saw were flaws.
I wanted her to tempt me. I did. I wanted every girl to tempt me. Hell, I wanted any girl to tempt me, that’s why I came to that bar every Tuesday, week after week. I just wanted someone to make my eye wander, someone to take my mind off of Ginny.
She was perfect. She was graceful, articulate, and poised. Freckles dotted her smooth, porcelain skin. Her legs were long, even for her stature. Her naturally lean body was accentuated by feminine curves. She was especially well endowed just below her neck. The tops she would wear in the summer were like the worst torture devices imaginable. The thin straps of her tank top would fall carelessly off her shoulders, revealing even more of her delicate body. She had begun to outgrow the innocent lacey things she wore as a child but still donned them on hotter days, leaving me panting like the dog I was.
I enjoyed her company not just because she was marvelous eye candy. She was a wonderful conversationalist. Her sense of humor was just the right mix of wit and sarcasm. She liked to poke fun at the way my tongue would loll out of my mouth when I fell asleep at inappropriate times. She affectionately called me “the dog”, which, much to my satisfaction, evolved into “my dog”.
We had become close. Too close for my comfort. I had fallen in love with this girl, this woman who couldn’t have yet known a man’s touch. I knew the exact moment I realized I had fallen for her.
I had woken late one afternoon to find the house deserted. Wandering past the kitchen and out the sliding glass doors, I found myself in the arboreal dell that was the backyard. Walking past the first hedge, I found Ginny, sprawled out on the grass before me, playing with a lady bug that had found its way into her palm.
She smiled when I came into view, patting the ground lightly beside her, not saying a word. I gladly joined her, watching silently as she turned her hand this way and that, trying to keep the lady bug from flying away.
“Shirley.” She said plainly, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Shirley?” I asked, puzzled.
“Her name.” She grinned at me playfully. “She seems like a Shirley to me.”
I shook my head gently, laughing to myself.
“What?” She questioned. “Are you laughing at me? Surely you can’t be serious.” She promptly erupted into a fit of laughter.
“Oh you think you’re so clever. How long have you been waiting to use that one?” I teased lightly.
She stuck her tongue out at me, still laughing quietly to herself. “Be nice. All of my pets need names. At least now you have company.”
“Company.” I scoffed. “Since when am I your pet?”
“Since I decided you were.” She smiled coyly, her eyes fixed on Shirley crawling about her hand. I wanted desperately to be that lady bug. It didn’t know how lucky it was. I had never once touched Ginny, although restraining myself got more and more difficult with every passing day.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I belong to no one.” I asserted, turning my head away dramatically.
“Oh?” She asked, drawing my eyes back to hers. “Then why are you jealous of Shirley?” And with that, she gently lifted my hand with hers, while tipping her other hand into mine. As soon as the lady bug realized its change of setting, it flew off, just as Ginny had begun to walk back into the house.
That night was the first night I came to a bar like the one I was sitting in now. It was so wrong to love her. After the first few weeks it was more than apparent that I could not love the girls that sold themselves onstage. Love is not love that alters when alteration finds. Just because I didn’t want to love her didn’t mean I could stop.
If I couldn’t love something else, I could at least lust after something else. Again, it became glaringly obvious that I couldn’t do that either. Yet here I sit, week after week, praying to some unknown force to allow me to respond in any way to these girls. Love is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.
I love her. I love Ginny and there is nothing I can do about it. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.