(no subject)
fanfic100; Ginny/Luna
Prompts: 006-Hours, 007-Days, 008-Weeks, 009-Months, 010-Years
Word Count: ~1150 total
Rating: - PG13ish
I.
I read once that roughly ninety four percent of my mind lies about idly without a thing to keep it busy. As such, I try and keep it occupied with entirely recreational thought while the usual, overworked six percent chugs away at school and war and research. Lately, I've set it to think about you-- for example: I have to share you for exactly one and one half of an hour in History of Magic on Mondays and exactly three hours in double Potions; one hour and forty minutes in Arithmancy; an inexact number of hours (which can often be defined by a basic polynomial function) during lunch and sometimes breakfast and always dinner, unless there's Quidditch practice, in which case I sit with Trevor and we chat about what's new at floor level.
I don't add up the hours that we're not in the same room, because I know enough to know that it would be a depressingly large number, and I'm not one for depression. I also don't add up the hours that you're exclusively mine, because that would be a ridiculously small number, and yet those hours seem to shrink beyond their alloted location in spacetime. Sneaky things-- they move faster than they should and slide away without warning and leave me counting hours again. Which is fine because those go in the pile of hours that I won't count and I can hand them over to the six percent for revision or sleep without remorse. The counting is fine, that is. The being without you part is...
II.
Like days spent in a pointless circle. God. The stupid, constant drone of "Blah blah planets" or "blah blah don't let the mandrake kill you" or "blah blah make it a goblet". I swear, Professor McGonagall is fairly brilliant, but the only reason I pay attention to Transfiguration any more is that if that Skeeter bitch can manage an Animagus transformation, damn it, so can I.
Classes without you fill my day because they're supposed to-- don't think for a minute that I'm not jealous of my bloody brothers for getting to skip out and start their actual lives. If I tried that, I'd wager I'd last maybe a day or so in the wild before being dragged back by large, stern brothers and tied to something with a pat on the head and be told to stay.
Don't get me wrong-- I'd bite. Only person I'd let keep me as a pet is you, and then I'd only bite if you wanted me to (but not as an animal, 'cos that's a little weird, don't you think?). Speaking of, do you want to keep me as a pet once I do manage it? I think I'm something toothy and growly; I could keep you safe and you could keep me fed and we'll curl up...
III.
Mmm. And we could hibernate for weeks on end in the winter; it'd be lovely I think if I could sink my fingers into your fur and set my head on your back and be smug about the fact that a very large, very dangerous animal has decided that she would like to be my pet. Could I collar you? Maybe a sparkly one; not pink. Maybe blue, maybe green, but definitely sparkly.
That's presuming though, isn't it? Maybe I just like the idea of a collar sitting against your skin as a girl rather than an animal; a tiny thing, just enough to make people duck their heads and look more closely to try and suss out if what you've been wearing for a few weeks now is a necklace or a collar and where you got such a thing and why it's just loose enough for a blonde Ravenclaw to be able to fit a finger under it and use it as a convenient handle.
No, yes. I do just like that idea quite a lot. It would probably be alright if you found that a little odd, but I know for a fact that you are going to think it's...
IV.
Hot-- bloody hell how? How do you walk around with these pictures in your mind and still manage to wander around looking as if your head is filled with wondering what sort of mischief the Snorkacks are up to and whether chalk makes good jewelry?
Oh hell no, I wouldn't mind. Can we please shop next Hogsmeade weekend (if there even is one)? Better, can I get my idiot brothers to send me one of their catalogues for that one place right on the corner near Knockturn? I've had some blackmail material on them for a few months now and I vote this is the time to use it.
Nicely done, by the way. I'm now flushed and shifting uncomfortably. Talk to me about Arithmancy or something, please. It's at least an hour to lunch but right now, the severe gnawing hunger in my belly from missing breakfast is warring with the prospect of dragging you off and having my way with you, though I might be too weak with hunger to do much but tackle and pin you.
And! Get your hand off of my knee, miss, or I'll do it right here in class instead. Which could be good for...
V.
Years of being referred to as The Girl Who Was Tackled and Pinned by the Girl Whose Stomach Was Rumbling So Loudly No One Could Hear the Properly Applied Shrieks of Said Pinned Girl.
which could be amusing and rather interesting to see whether anyone would hazard to shorten or acronym-ize it. I could be GWWTP and you'd be GWSWRSLNOCHPASSPG. I think I win that round, even though GWWTP is more clumsy than 'loony'.
Of course, either way I win the round if you tackle and pin me, but it'd be more impressive if you did it in your animagus form. Then we could go straight to the odd cuddle, collar or no (Which, incidentally, will make me the Luckiest Loony Ever, and would leave me still in the lead for winning at acronyms).
I think... You know? I think you'd make an excellent cheetah; fast, gorgeous, lithe, deadly in your pretty colors; not the biggest nor the smallest; relatively domesticable, but not without good reason or resources (and such a graceful neck).
So here. In the absence of anything else: Mine mine mine-- I write it on your arm now and then because I can, even though I suppose it's impractical to lay claim on a person and really if it's just a 'mine' it could mean you were anyone's... I suppose, if it wasn't written in semi-secret translucent spy ink. Do you know your brothers bought the formula from me? I'd wager you didn't, but it was an excellent project for third-year Charms nonetheless, and Dad wrote an article about how the Ministry secretly tried to steal the formula bu--
--Oof. Hello.
No, I don't mind the staring. You get used to it.
Prompts: 006-Hours, 007-Days, 008-Weeks, 009-Months, 010-Years
Word Count: ~1150 total
Rating: - PG13ish
I.
I read once that roughly ninety four percent of my mind lies about idly without a thing to keep it busy. As such, I try and keep it occupied with entirely recreational thought while the usual, overworked six percent chugs away at school and war and research. Lately, I've set it to think about you-- for example: I have to share you for exactly one and one half of an hour in History of Magic on Mondays and exactly three hours in double Potions; one hour and forty minutes in Arithmancy; an inexact number of hours (which can often be defined by a basic polynomial function) during lunch and sometimes breakfast and always dinner, unless there's Quidditch practice, in which case I sit with Trevor and we chat about what's new at floor level.
I don't add up the hours that we're not in the same room, because I know enough to know that it would be a depressingly large number, and I'm not one for depression. I also don't add up the hours that you're exclusively mine, because that would be a ridiculously small number, and yet those hours seem to shrink beyond their alloted location in spacetime. Sneaky things-- they move faster than they should and slide away without warning and leave me counting hours again. Which is fine because those go in the pile of hours that I won't count and I can hand them over to the six percent for revision or sleep without remorse. The counting is fine, that is. The being without you part is...
II.
Like days spent in a pointless circle. God. The stupid, constant drone of "Blah blah planets" or "blah blah don't let the mandrake kill you" or "blah blah make it a goblet". I swear, Professor McGonagall is fairly brilliant, but the only reason I pay attention to Transfiguration any more is that if that Skeeter bitch can manage an Animagus transformation, damn it, so can I.
Classes without you fill my day because they're supposed to-- don't think for a minute that I'm not jealous of my bloody brothers for getting to skip out and start their actual lives. If I tried that, I'd wager I'd last maybe a day or so in the wild before being dragged back by large, stern brothers and tied to something with a pat on the head and be told to stay.
Don't get me wrong-- I'd bite. Only person I'd let keep me as a pet is you, and then I'd only bite if you wanted me to (but not as an animal, 'cos that's a little weird, don't you think?). Speaking of, do you want to keep me as a pet once I do manage it? I think I'm something toothy and growly; I could keep you safe and you could keep me fed and we'll curl up...
III.
Mmm. And we could hibernate for weeks on end in the winter; it'd be lovely I think if I could sink my fingers into your fur and set my head on your back and be smug about the fact that a very large, very dangerous animal has decided that she would like to be my pet. Could I collar you? Maybe a sparkly one; not pink. Maybe blue, maybe green, but definitely sparkly.
That's presuming though, isn't it? Maybe I just like the idea of a collar sitting against your skin as a girl rather than an animal; a tiny thing, just enough to make people duck their heads and look more closely to try and suss out if what you've been wearing for a few weeks now is a necklace or a collar and where you got such a thing and why it's just loose enough for a blonde Ravenclaw to be able to fit a finger under it and use it as a convenient handle.
No, yes. I do just like that idea quite a lot. It would probably be alright if you found that a little odd, but I know for a fact that you are going to think it's...
IV.
Hot-- bloody hell how? How do you walk around with these pictures in your mind and still manage to wander around looking as if your head is filled with wondering what sort of mischief the Snorkacks are up to and whether chalk makes good jewelry?
Oh hell no, I wouldn't mind. Can we please shop next Hogsmeade weekend (if there even is one)? Better, can I get my idiot brothers to send me one of their catalogues for that one place right on the corner near Knockturn? I've had some blackmail material on them for a few months now and I vote this is the time to use it.
Nicely done, by the way. I'm now flushed and shifting uncomfortably. Talk to me about Arithmancy or something, please. It's at least an hour to lunch but right now, the severe gnawing hunger in my belly from missing breakfast is warring with the prospect of dragging you off and having my way with you, though I might be too weak with hunger to do much but tackle and pin you.
And! Get your hand off of my knee, miss, or I'll do it right here in class instead. Which could be good for...
V.
Years of being referred to as The Girl Who Was Tackled and Pinned by the Girl Whose Stomach Was Rumbling So Loudly No One Could Hear the Properly Applied Shrieks of Said Pinned Girl.
which could be amusing and rather interesting to see whether anyone would hazard to shorten or acronym-ize it. I could be GWWTP and you'd be GWSWRSLNOCHPASSPG. I think I win that round, even though GWWTP is more clumsy than 'loony'.
Of course, either way I win the round if you tackle and pin me, but it'd be more impressive if you did it in your animagus form. Then we could go straight to the odd cuddle, collar or no (Which, incidentally, will make me the Luckiest Loony Ever, and would leave me still in the lead for winning at acronyms).
I think... You know? I think you'd make an excellent cheetah; fast, gorgeous, lithe, deadly in your pretty colors; not the biggest nor the smallest; relatively domesticable, but not without good reason or resources (and such a graceful neck).
So here. In the absence of anything else: Mine mine mine-- I write it on your arm now and then because I can, even though I suppose it's impractical to lay claim on a person and really if it's just a 'mine' it could mean you were anyone's... I suppose, if it wasn't written in semi-secret translucent spy ink. Do you know your brothers bought the formula from me? I'd wager you didn't, but it was an excellent project for third-year Charms nonetheless, and Dad wrote an article about how the Ministry secretly tried to steal the formula bu--
--Oof. Hello.
No, I don't mind the staring. You get used to it.