fanfic

Aug 11, 2006 17:50

Yeah, another HP fic.

Very, very Ginny/Luna.

So. Yeah. Girlslash.

Done totally on a lark.

Beginnings

Standing like John Wayne,
she is full framed
she is center stage
and my imagination is rattling in its cage.
I didn't really notice when everything else disappeared
but as far as I'm concerned
if it isn't her, it isn't here

--“If It Isn’t Her,” Ani DiFranco

i.

“When was the first hint?”

“I cannot believe you asked me that.”

“Well, I wanted to know.” Your hands trickle and tickle up the knobs of my spine, legs tangled with mine.

“You do not.”

“Yes, I do.”

I shudder, breathe stutteringly. And there’s that thing at the small of my back; you flick and I clutch at you. “Fine! Fine…”

--

First day of their second year, and Luna knew she was staring. How could she help it? The Gryffindor table was packed to the brim, the far side a tangle of black, red, brown, red. Red. It was the second redhead that drew her gaze.

She glanced away, back, and kept staring. Damnit. This was not how it was supposed to go. Distantly, a thought niggled, uh, well, honey, you were talking to Trevor earlier, you can’t talk. Why were her thoughts Southern for a moment? Hm.

The redhead girl tossed her hair, briefly, and flashed a slow, uncertain smile, and Luna felt her stomach move into very awkward acrobatics. For that ten percent of the brain that most people use, Luna felt rather intensely that the rest was busy drooling and making incoherent, perverted noises. Snorkacks for the brain. She wondered if she was drooling, herself; it felt rather like her mouth was gaping and letting the paparazzi in.

“Loon.”

A voice. No matter. For all she knew, it could be her fairy godmother or something like it. Did it matter? She had staring to do.

Irritably, Padma shoved at her shoulder. “Loon! Pass the porridge.”

“Who’s she?” Luna motioned absently to the girl that her eyes kept following, even while she was trying to look at Padma.

“Who?”

“One next to Harry Potter.”

“Oh. Ginny Weasley.” Luna’s hands her poised, fairy light, over the porridge bowl. “Loony. Come on,” Padma sighed. “I just want the porridge.”

“Hm?”

“Oh, stop staring.”

“I’m not staring.”

Padma rolled her eyes, smirking. “Well, she is pretty.”

Luna smiled slightly, slowly, with the glassy glint in her eyes again that usually meant she was about to fall off onto a tangent that had little to do with what was going on. Classic Loony Lovegood. “I’m communing.”

--

ii.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Ginny, would I lie?”

“You’re too busy dreaming to lie,” you laugh, bubbling and soft. This is the only time I’ve ever heard you chuckle like that, and it brings slow warmth up from the tips of my bare toes. I brush my hand across a pale, freckled back, and luxuriate in your shudder.

You roll over, crushing sheets beneath you, glorious red and brown, and smile, Chesire sweet. “Don’t you want to know when I knew?”

I smile, broadly, unsure what to say, playing my fingers over your skin. “While I’ve got you here…”

--

“The mandrakes will eat you.”

A dreamy voice sounded at her shoulder, and she spun, hard, to face the elfin blonde face before her. “Pardon?”

The mandrakes were all carefully planted and, blissfully, silent. The girl smiled, wryly. “If you’re not careful. Adult mandrakes sometimes get tricky, you know,” she added, absently, as if this were common information and Ginny did, indeed, care. She went to shrug and go back to communing in the silence, when she found herself unable to quite look away. The girl’s eyes were slickly sweet, as if she were glossing over a good part of her personality to put this up, and, dimly, deep.

Then the rest: blonde, sort of, mussed, tugged into a lazy ponytail, and a copy of the Quibbler held in one hand. A wand was tucked behind her ear, and a smaller, faux-wand, was tucked beneath the hairtie. Slight, but she held herself strongly, with a tautness to the muscles that made Ginny rethink the vacant stare. There was someone there that just didn’t really care what the rest of the world thought. She knew what she knew, and she’d be damned if it was going to be let go. The sly strength, however, was rather marred by her gaudy, violently red apple earrings.

“Oh, I think I’m drowning,” she whispered, softly, as the earnest expression on the girl’s face shifted quickly to a shy amusement.

“That happens sometimes,” she said, eyes darting away. “Dream thieves, you know.”

Ginny laughed. “Yeah.” Oh, did she know. “What’s your name?” She caught herself running a hand along the table that held the mandrakes, and jerked away as if it were on fire. Don’t think about last year don’t don’t don’t. Still shy and uncertain, she was still Ginny, still Ginny... there was no time lost.

Luna’s eyes widened a fraction, impossibly misted over, grey. “Luna Lovegood. Ravenclaw. You’re Ginny Weasley. You were in the Chamber of Secrets. I bet you saw a Horank.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am,” Ginny added, not quite sure what to say. You know me? After a moment, she realized that there was another almost question tacked on the end, and mumbled, "I don't want to talk about that."

And in the back of her head, that warning: don’t trust a thinking thing if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.

Luna smiled, vagued, and brushed a hand over Ginny’s. “It’ll be okay.” She tucked the copy of the Quibbler into Ginny's hands, folded the girl's fingers over it, one by one, and brushed the empty hand into a fold of her messy robes. With a twist and flow of blonde hair, the slim Ravenclaw girl slipped away from the greenhouse as quickly as she had entered.

Ginny found herself shaking slightly. Mine.

--

iii.

I laugh, sheer delight rippling through me. “I left you breathless?! I think you’re lying.”

“Yeah,” you breathe against my skin. “Of course I am. Blah, blah, blah, the mandrakes will eat you. I could have forgotten that incident.”

I let my hands wander a little, a smirk crossing my face at your delighted discomfiture; stop, and twine my fingers through your hair. God, I love your hair. My little fire fairy. “You could have.”

“And yet, I didn’t. Am I a puppy, or do you just love my hair?”

“No,” I murmur, leaning over to brush a sticky sweet kiss on your lips. “You’re a fairy. Didn’t you know that?”

You roll your eyes, start to tug away, though I know you won’t, won’t really have the heart to crawl out of bed. “Obviously, because I’m just about to fly right out of the bed… oh.” I pause, raising my hands back up in defense.

“I didn’t say stop…”

I don’t take the bait, and instead question, “Would you wear wings?”

“Giant, flaming red ones. Of course I would. It’d clash horribly with the hair,” you muse, touch the frizzed ends of what I think was a braid last night.
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