Cotton (Ginny/Luna, G)
Title: Cotton
Pairing: Ginny/Luna
Rating: G
Words: 539
Okay, judyhazeleyes requested G/L fluff, and that's what I set out trying to write but it sort of turned into this preslash/friendship fic and it's not exactly fluff, but hopefully it'll do anyway. Sorry, and hope you like it! :)
Ginny’s never had time for her dolls, and they’re barely dolls anymore anyway - just rags of faded cotton and faint smiles. A few days after her tenth birthday, Ginny dumps them in the bin on her way up to the orchard.
Her mother isn’t happy when she find them. “I treasured these once, you know,” she says, “and my sisters, too.”
“I just don’t like dolls, Mum.”
“Fine,” Molly says, bundling them into her handbag. “We’ll take them to the Muggle charity shop. They’re not going to last much longer in this house, anyway.”
*
The Muggle in the charity shop frowns over her glasses at the battered dolls lying forlornly on the counter.
“They’re quite old,” Ginny’s mother says, cheerfully. “But I’m sure somebody will love them.”
“We can’t take them, I’m afraid.”
Ginny suspected as much, and quietly slips away, lured over to the other side of the shop by a toy car that appears to work on eckeltricity. She tips it this way and that, trying to work out where its brain is, when she senses somebody standing beside her.
“Hello,” says the girl, a tall, thin waif-like thing with big blue eyes that gaze at Ginny expectantly.
“Hello,” Ginny says, doubtfully, putting the car down.
At that moment, Molly bustles past. “Come on, Ginny, we’re leaving,” she says, briskly, throwing a contemptuous glance at the counter behind her. “Really, they can’t afford to be so picky.”
It’s started to rain softly, the kind that Ginny likes to feel on her nose. Even if it didn’t feel so nice, it’s not worth putting an umbrella up for, although her mother doesn’t appear to agree, as she tugs her underneath it. “I made her take them in the end. I’m sure they’ll make a lovely present for some little girl.”
The blonde girl has her nose pressed up against the glass, hands flat either side, as she watches them walk away.
*
“Ginny, dear, are you planning on waking up today?” Her mother thrusts the curtains open and sunlight spills into Ginny’s hot bedroom.
“Eventually,” Ginny mumbles into her pillow, stretching beneath the quilt.
“I thought you could spend the day at the Lovegoods’. They’ve got a little girl of about your age, she’ll be starting at Hogwarts in September, too.”
“Mum, I’m not awake yet.”
“Of course you are. Come along, Ginny, there’s a good girl.”
*
Ginny is ushered into Luna’s bedroom. The walls are a delicate pale blue, covered in scribbled drawings of cats and flowers and other suitably girlie items. The bookshelf holds more books than Ginny’s ever seen, and the windowsill is covered in flannel-grown cress.
On the bed, sits the blonde girl from the charity shop, staring at Ginny with a look of blank surprise. Behind her, Ginny catches sight of dolls, just as injured as the ones she gave up.
“Hello,” says Luna Lovegood.
“Hello,” says Ginny, awkwardly. They’ve done this part already.
“Sit down.” Luna pats the space next to her on the bed, invitingly.
As she sits, Ginny sees the dolls more closely. They wear an assortment of bandages, and bear the scars of clumsy stitches. Beneath a stray piece of thick white gauze, Ginny recognises faded freckles.
Pairing: Ginny/Luna
Rating: G
Words: 539
Okay, judyhazeleyes requested G/L fluff, and that's what I set out trying to write but it sort of turned into this preslash/friendship fic and it's not exactly fluff, but hopefully it'll do anyway. Sorry, and hope you like it! :)
Ginny’s never had time for her dolls, and they’re barely dolls anymore anyway - just rags of faded cotton and faint smiles. A few days after her tenth birthday, Ginny dumps them in the bin on her way up to the orchard.
Her mother isn’t happy when she find them. “I treasured these once, you know,” she says, “and my sisters, too.”
“I just don’t like dolls, Mum.”
“Fine,” Molly says, bundling them into her handbag. “We’ll take them to the Muggle charity shop. They’re not going to last much longer in this house, anyway.”
*
The Muggle in the charity shop frowns over her glasses at the battered dolls lying forlornly on the counter.
“They’re quite old,” Ginny’s mother says, cheerfully. “But I’m sure somebody will love them.”
“We can’t take them, I’m afraid.”
Ginny suspected as much, and quietly slips away, lured over to the other side of the shop by a toy car that appears to work on eckeltricity. She tips it this way and that, trying to work out where its brain is, when she senses somebody standing beside her.
“Hello,” says the girl, a tall, thin waif-like thing with big blue eyes that gaze at Ginny expectantly.
“Hello,” Ginny says, doubtfully, putting the car down.
At that moment, Molly bustles past. “Come on, Ginny, we’re leaving,” she says, briskly, throwing a contemptuous glance at the counter behind her. “Really, they can’t afford to be so picky.”
It’s started to rain softly, the kind that Ginny likes to feel on her nose. Even if it didn’t feel so nice, it’s not worth putting an umbrella up for, although her mother doesn’t appear to agree, as she tugs her underneath it. “I made her take them in the end. I’m sure they’ll make a lovely present for some little girl.”
The blonde girl has her nose pressed up against the glass, hands flat either side, as she watches them walk away.
*
“Ginny, dear, are you planning on waking up today?” Her mother thrusts the curtains open and sunlight spills into Ginny’s hot bedroom.
“Eventually,” Ginny mumbles into her pillow, stretching beneath the quilt.
“I thought you could spend the day at the Lovegoods’. They’ve got a little girl of about your age, she’ll be starting at Hogwarts in September, too.”
“Mum, I’m not awake yet.”
“Of course you are. Come along, Ginny, there’s a good girl.”
*
Ginny is ushered into Luna’s bedroom. The walls are a delicate pale blue, covered in scribbled drawings of cats and flowers and other suitably girlie items. The bookshelf holds more books than Ginny’s ever seen, and the windowsill is covered in flannel-grown cress.
On the bed, sits the blonde girl from the charity shop, staring at Ginny with a look of blank surprise. Behind her, Ginny catches sight of dolls, just as injured as the ones she gave up.
“Hello,” says Luna Lovegood.
“Hello,” says Ginny, awkwardly. They’ve done this part already.
“Sit down.” Luna pats the space next to her on the bed, invitingly.
As she sits, Ginny sees the dolls more closely. They wear an assortment of bandages, and bear the scars of clumsy stitches. Beneath a stray piece of thick white gauze, Ginny recognises faded freckles.