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prunesquallormdI just saw the last ever Harry Potter film. SO MANY FEELINGS I CAN'T EVEN.
I should probably do the whole review/thoughts thing, but I'm kind of sleepy, and am having difficulty with words at the moment (which is kind of an ongoing thing recently. Really need to get on top of that!).
So instead, I'm rewatching The Philosopher's Stone and drinking gin and tonic, and I'm going to bother you with old fic. It's kind of cheating (I do mean to finish the last story of this series. Some time. I hope), but these are the some of the first stories I ever wrote, and in a way they're my little love letter to the series, and to two of my favourite characters (and my f/f OTP (I'll never stop being incredibly upset that my m/m OTP died in canon :(:(:(:( )).
So, ridiculously over-the-top-romantic/nostalgic femslash coming up! If such things bore you/make you feel like your teeth are going to rot, best turn away now!
***
(There are more reader-friendly versions here, at my Archive of Our Own page)
Title: Blue In Green
(Part 1 of Giving Up Theses Kisses)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Luna/Ginny
Rating: M (Well, there's smut, although not really a whole lot of it. Also, I'm apparently entirely convinced that, outside of a PG environment, Ginny swears like a trooper. I can't be the only one, right?)
Summary: Marry me!
Word count: 3400
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Obviously all the characters and pretty much everything else belong to JK Rowling. This is just for fun!
Original Author's Notes: This was inspired initially by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lareinemisere's prompt "Marry me!". The drabble that currently exists only in my head for this same prompt is entirely different, but this was far more fun.
I had Miles Davis's "Kind of Blue" playing on repeat most of the time I was writing this and the various moods of that album shaped the mood and tone of it considerably. I stole the title from my favourite track (which is utterly beautiful - it's here. Give it a listen and if you like it buy the album. There's a reason it's a classic.) and the opening lyrics were written to that piece although they're not actually on the album so I've no idea who to credit (they turned up in an google trawl).
Forzagury <3
A/N2: This was written before I had a beta, and while I've been meaning to have it looked over since I first posted it, I've never got around to it. Whenever I read it back these days (which I've done more than a couple of times *shame*), the flaws jump out at me rather. It's kind of silly and romantic/nostalgic though, and I'm rather fond of it, so.
Blue In Green
Hues of blues and greens surround me
knowing you have found another love
has turned my world
to sorrow
Green with envy for another
fearing she may be the one to soar
through life with you, can't lose these
Hues of blues in green
Ginny remembers.
They're lying, crown to crown, red hair tangled in blonde. The June sun westers, shadows lengthen, but it's still warm, balmy even.
A few hundred yards away the Forbidden Forest looms.
Luna had wanted to go closer. She likes the forest, and besides, she's not afraid of anything - and Ginny can never tell if it's something missing in her (like colour blindness maybe), or whether her view of the world is so other that there really is nothing to fear.
It's one of the things that Ginny loves about her. Ginny, who is brave, strong-willed, “fearless” even, and yet still so fearful. Just because she hides it doesn't mean she isn't afraid. Now especially; the war is so close she can feel it, almost see the clouds gather, taste ozone in the scorched air.
And Luna shows no fear. Sighing happily, she reaches out, takes Ginny's wrist. Despite the awkwardness of the position, she draws Ginny's hand to her mouth; kisses her palm.
“They'll be back soon,” she says in that sing-song voice of hers – it's a voice that can make the most mundane things sound beautiful, and Ginny has never told Luna exactly what it does to her, although she's had occasion to find out. “They'll be back and everything will be all right.”
She sounds like she believes it, too. Of course she believes it.
It's not enough for Ginny, though; Ginny, guilty, afraid, heart tugging in two directions. And the worst of it – the worst of it is that small part of her that thinks “If he doesn't come back, I won't have to choose.”
And so, crown to crown with Luna, bathed in the warmth of the evening sun, she battles her fear and her guilt. The tears, when they come, are silent and short-lived. Her pride won't allow them to be anything else.
Ginny remembers.
The sun is long gone, but the moon – huge and magnesium bright – bathes them just as fully, and Ginny is sure that Luna feels warmed by it. She probably believes it would tan like no sun ever could [Luna whose reaction to excessive sunlight is second only to Ginny's].
Ginny's eyes – puffy and sore – are closed. [It isn't the first time she's cried recently; it won't be the last either.] Luna is as stealthy as the Nargles she so often talks of, but Ginny feels her movements. She still holds her hand, but the warmth of her scalp vanishes, to be replaced by lips – equally warm, immeasurably more soft, kissing her eyes open before pressing to her mouth.
And for all the things that Luna's voice does to Ginny, they're nothing compared to what those lips do.
Luna so often seems not entirely present – as if being attached to an actual physical body is just an amusing, and occasionally baffling, necessity – that Ginny had been surprised at how there she is when she kisses. It's one of the few things she does that isn't dreamy or languid. Not rough, not bruising, but utterly focussed: greedy lips, nibbling teeth, playful tongue that swipes and dances. Luna's kisses brook no argument; demand that Ginny's body responds. Ginny has yet to disappoint her.
Ginny stretches beneath her, her breath quickening as she circles Luna's waist with her arms, pulling her closer. Luna hums contentedly into the kiss, nips at Ginny's lower lip. She tangles her left hand in Ginny's hair, pulling slightly, forcing her head backwards to expose the length of her neck. She plants tiny butterfly kisses along her jaw line before moving her attention to her throat, licking and nibbling as she goes.
Ginny's gasp, a barely audible “Oh”, escapes her lips as Luna's other hand presses itself between their bodies, finds its way to the hem of her top, nails raking across the taught skin of her belly. She briefly dips a finger into Ginny's navel before circling it – once, twice, three times. Ginny whimpers and shakes her head, and Luna stops instantly. She raises her head, looking Ginny in the eyes, silvery grey meeting brown questioningly.
“Ginny?”
Ginny's eyes are unfocussed; she seems confused by the question, takes a couple of seconds to respond.
“Why have you stopped?” She can hardly get the words out, and god, is this all it takes to unravel her so completely? Heavy petting and those quick, knowing fingers? “Don't you dare stop.”
Luna's lips quirk slightly, and she chuckles, raising a hand to brush Ginny's hair from her eyes.
“You're sure?”
Ginny's eyes snap back into focus and she glares for a moment at the girl hovering above her.
“What the fuck, Luna? Are you trying to drive me insane?” It's a momentary flare-up that vanishes when Luna's chuckle returns, bells ringing in the night air. Brown eyes remain fixed on silver-grey ones though; wide, feverish but with the slightest hint of a challenge. Ginny doesn't appreciate being teased, certainly not when Luna's finger nails are gently, so gently, tracing a line from her navel to a point just below her chest and back again.
Luna's smile is radiant as she leans forward once more, crushing her mouth to Ginny's as her right hand finally begins its journey down her body. Ginny strains to meet it, but Luna's weight pins her in place, won't allow her to move as she fumbles at the buttons of Ginny's jeans. After what seems an age, she feels fingers rubbing at the material of her knickers and another sigh escapes her, one that derails into a moan as the elastic is pulled aside and eager fingers meet equally eager flesh, stroking firmly, dipping, curling.
They both know ways to deaden the sounds that follow, have used them often enough in places less secluded than this, but there is nothing that Luna loves more than the uncontrolled – and loud - noises that Ginny makes beneath her. She has stopped kissing her now, just so she can watch her eyes roll back in their sockets, hear her moans and screams unmuffled.
Ginny breaks under Luna's hand, her name on her lips. It's the most wonderful thing that Luna has ever heard.
Ginny remembers.
“Marry me”.
Ginny has barely recovered her breath; feels like it will be a long time before she'll be steady on her feet. She looks up at Luna, gently illuminated, seeming almost to shine with her own light. She's sucking her fingers, one by one, and Ginny thinks that it’s probably the filthiest thing ever.
Ginny giggles and reaches for Luna's hand, pulling it from her mouth and towards her own. She swirls her tongue around each finger in turn, humming happily to herself.
She doesn't answer Luna's – well, it wasn't really a question was it? She couldn't be serious? Luna pulls her hand away, turns Ginny's face towards hers with wet fingers. There is none of the quizzical sweetness there that Ginny is used to seeing. She is smiling and yet utterly serious.
“I mean it. I love you. I'll always love you. Marry me. Tonight.”
“Geez, Lu. You don't think that's a bit quick, do you? There's dresses to make, invitations to send. People like some notice”. Ginny’s tone is light but she’s floundering. Her heart feels like it's going to beat out of her chest. It can't contain the mess of emotions that she feels: confusion, happiness, guilt, fear.
And love. She can't understand how loving someone this much doesn't make it easier.
She sees a flicker of pain in Luna's eyes. At her response, at the one thing she could have said but didn't. She can't bear it.
It's just a flicker though, gone as quickly as it came. Holding Ginny's eyes, Luna reaches into her bag and pulls out, what is it? A ring? Yes, a ring. A red band – stone or metal or even plastic, Ginny can't tell – in which is set a flower, all pale red and orange and yellow (certainly plastic, if Ginny's any judge at all). If Ginny put it on it would cover almost her whole hand. Ginny has never seen anything more ridiculous.
Luna says nothing else, just reaches for Ginny's hand. Ginny worries for a moment that her heart might actually burst.
She lets Luna lift her hand, put the ring on her finger.
“Oh, Lu.”
But Luna puts a finger to Ginny’s lips, smiles that smile, of such knowing innocence, such warmth. Ginny doesn't know how to deny that smile, how to stay sad in its light. The ache in her heart dissolves, and her doubts? She knows they were there, but for the moment at least there's no room in her for anything that isn't Luna.
Luna knows she has her answer. She turns, hooking up her own bag and Ginny's, and pulls her companion back towards the castle. It's so far past curfew that they'd be as well to find somewhere else to sleep – they have done often enough in the past – but Luna has something else in mind.
Ginny shivers; the warmth of the day is long forgotten, but it's not just the cold. She's a writhing mass of conflicting emotion – has been for as long as she can remember, that's the truth of it – and tonight, finally, she has relinquished control to another. She doesn't have to lock herself down any more, and it feels good.
She laughs. It's a thing of beauty: musical and sweet, but edged and layered with brightness and strength. It echoes through corridors of cold stone, and at any other time Ginny would have been concerned with the whereabouts of a certain cantankerous and vengeful caretaker, and any number of other dangers that the night-side of the castle presented. She doesn't care tonight though. She's young and happy and, if being in love has proven to be so much more complicated, and painful, than she has ever dreamed, still she can't regret how she feels.
Barefoot, shoes in hands, Luna and Ginny half run, half skip – whispering, giggling, outright laughing - down endless corridors, up endless flights of stairs.
“Where the hell are taking me, you madwoman?” Ginny gasps, at the top of the fifth staircase. [She only managed most of that flight because Luna had physically dragged her up it. And here's another thing about her, she never seems to tire; it's probably the most uncanny thing about Luna, and it's not really as if Ginny isn't somewhat used to uncanny].
Luna smirks at her; she actually smirks, which isn't an expression that Ginny has ever expected to see on Luna's face.
“Well, I could tell you, but surprises are so much more fun.” She's not even breathless, and how is that possible?
Ginny straightens, her breathing slower now but still heavy. She raises an eyebrow at Luna - rather glad now for the hours she spent in front of a mirror to master that little trick – and fixes her with a stare that could have been called steely were she not licking her lips in that precise way.
“Surprises? Well if it's surprises you want.”
They're only separated by a couple of feet, but Luna is farther from the wall of the corridor than Ginny, so it's not a simple matter. Still, Ginny is delighted with herself when she feels Luna stiffen and gasp slightly as she backs her into the wall, hands on her shoulders. Her lips on Luna's are insistent; she nips on Luna's lower lip, silently requesting entry. Her acquiescence comes quickly and Ginny chooses to take it as a more general invitation. Her right hand is quick, almost desperate, as it navigates its way down Luna's body, pausing at the waist-band of her jeans; her body is attempting to eliminate even the slightest space between them.
It's not in Ginny to take without giving, and she has unfinished business to attend to.
But Luna's hand clutches at her wrist; she groans into her mouth. And it's not a moan of desire so much as a gasp of horror. Ginny unlocks her lips from Luna's, pulling back and looking quizzically at her. There is a look of panic in Luna's eyes that cuts her to the quick.
“Hey, I thought you liked surprises.”
A snicker from somewhere behind her is the only answer she needs to her unasked question. It's an answer she would have given anything not to hear.
“Oh. Fuck.”
Luna's eyes are closed now, as if she can't bear to look at the expression of the man standing behind Ginny. Ginny takes a step back, straightens her shoulders and draws herself up to her full, not so impressive, height. She turns on her heel, shielding Luna as best she can from view.
Ginny hadn't thought that it was possible for Filch to look more repugnant. The look on his face now though – undisguised lust mixed with total hatred – shows her exactly how wrong it’s possible to be. Her temper flares for the second time that day, and this time the outcome is unlikely to be quite so pleasant. She decides to brazen it out. What do they have to lose?
“What the fuck do you want, Filch, you fucking pervert? Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to creep up on people?” She doesn't need to feign outrage. It bubbles up from her gut, fills her mouth with bile.
She feels Luna relax slightly behind her, chuckle quietly. She knows that Filch can too easily call her bluff but she has given Luna a chance to collect herself, gather her dignity around her. It's something; the most important thing.
Luna steps from behind Ginny now, smiles her miraculous smile. Ginny doesn't understand how she can display such warmth in the presence of someone so foul.
The effect is remarkable. Perhaps he is thrown by the juxtaposition of Luna's smile with Ginny's open aggression, but he drops his eyes to the floor, reddens, shuffles backwards. But he has one trump card. He knows he's in the right.
“Sorry ladies, but I'm going to have to take you to the headmaster. You know you shouldn't be out of bed at this time of night.”
His tone is not at all apologetic, though, and Ginny is sure that she sees the shadow of a sneer on his face.
The knowledge that he has even the slightest power over them, this vile little man, bothers her so much more than the thought of having to explain themselves to Snape. A midnight interview with the headmaster she can deal with but not like this, not trailing behind Filch with their tails between their legs.
Really, fuck that.
She curses herself for having dropped her bag [and she knows by now that she should keep her wand in easy reach all the time, but just this once her hormones had clearly had other things on their mind]. She begins to edge slowly towards it, takes a sharp breath, casting desperately for that killing blow, the verbal barb that that will so debilitate him that the charm she has planned will be more for her own satisfaction than out of any real necessity. But for once it doesn't come, and for the second time that night she is left floundering. She opens her mouth, willing the words to come, and as she does so Luna steps forward. Ginny has no idea what Luna has in mind; she never really could read Luna, thinks of her as her own little mystery. It doesn't matter now though. Whether she intends it or not, Luna has provided all the distraction that Ginny needs. She steps backwards until she is hard against the wall, bends down, reaches for her bag, all the time staring at Luna's back and the caretaker in front of her.
She grabs her wand, flipping it over as she straightens up. And freezes, horrified, as Luna stands on tiptoes, her hands on Filch's shoulders, to whisper in his ear. His colour, already high, would do a beetroot justice now, and when she kisses him, Ginny is certain for a moment that he's going to pass out. She winces, feeling almost personally violated. Her wand twitches in her hand, itching to take out her outrage on Filch in the most violent manner she can manage.
Luna is still on her toes, her cheek almost brushing Filch's as she continues speaking. Ginny forces herself to take several deep breaths; she trusts Luna, is sure she knows what she's doing. Calmer now she looks more closely at the man before her, sees the mask drop. She sees, for the first time, past the bitterness, the disappointment, the anger and resentment. And Filch smiles. He roughly wipes his eyes, not quickly enough to obscure the tears that have gathered there.
“Well, go on then,” he says, his voice gruff but, almost, affectionate. “Get to your beds. The headmaster'll have my hide if he hears about this.”
Luna kisses his cheek one more time and steps back, whispers “Thank you”.
Filch's smile widens; he tries to hide it in a cough. “Ach, be off with you.”
He turns, walks away without looking back, but Ginny would swear that he is, very quietly, whistling to himself.
She looks at Luna, her eyebrows so high they almost reach her hairline, and for the third time that night, words fail her.
“Wh?” She takes a breath, tries again. “How did you do that? What did you say to him?”
Luna smiles, shakes her head; for the briefest moment there is sadness in her eyes.
“He's lonely. He doesn't deserve to be. No one deserves to be.”
This time, as she gathers Luna to her, hugs her for all that she's worth, Ginny is certain her heart will burst. She's amazed, a couple of minutes later, to discover that she's still conscious, still standing.
They separate and Luna reaches up, tweaks her nose.
“Come on, you. We'll be late.”
Ginny knows there's no point in asking again, has decided that she's rather enjoying this ride. After all, surprises are so much more fun.
Another flight of stairs, and another. They're on the seventh floor now and realisation slowly begins to dawn on Ginny. And with it, a second realisation. She couldn't say how long they've been there, couldn't even begin to understand how she could have failed to notice them before but,
“Church bells. How on earth?”
Luna just winks at her as they come to a sudden stop, beside that bloody stupid tapestry. Ballet dancing trolls, indeed. What the hell was he thinking?
The door in front of them is huge, double-leaved, a simple pointed arch. It resembles nothing so much as the door to a church. Luna reaches for both handles, opens both sides wide, offers Ginny her arm and, when Ginny takes it , she leads her, laughing, with tears in her eyes, into the brightness and warmth of a summer's day.
Ginny watches.
Harry's face is serene in the moonlight. Ginny knows his features so well that she doesn't need to look, not really, and anyway she can hardly see through her tears. She hears Albus whimpering through the wall – a nightmare probably – and she gets up to check on him, reaching almost unconsciously for her phone. She speed dials 3 as she pulls on her dressing gown and pads into Albus's room. The answer isn't long in coming, and even now her heart beats out of her chest at the sound of her voice.
“Luna?”
Title: Memento Mori
(Part 2 of Giving Up These Kisses)
Sequel to Blue in Green.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Ginny/Luna
Rating: R (for swearing, drugs)
Summary: On the anniversary of Fred Weasley's death, Ginny visits her brother's grave.
Word count: 3200
Warnings: Fluff!
Disclaimer: Obviously all the characters and pretty much everything else belong to JK Rowling. This is just for fun!
The opening quotation is from a poem by Mervyn Peake
Again, unbetad.
A/N: In part, this was written in response to the suicide of an old friend, so I guess I was using both Ginny and Luna's words to express some thoughts on grief and loss. I hope it's none the worse for that.
Memento Mori
“To live at all is miracle enough.”
It loomed.
4 feet tall, 3 feet wide, pale grey granite; yet still it managed to entirely dominate Ginny's vision. She stood, breathing deep and hard, trying to ignore the feeling she got every time she saw it, that feeling she could only describe as being akin to a punch to the gut; sharp, agonising, debilitating.
The words were simple enough.
“Frederick Weasley
April 1st 1978 – May 2nd 1998
Beloved son, brother and friend.
Missed, always.”
Ginny still found it difficult to grasp the import of those words though, refused to accept, in at least a small part of herself, what they truly meant.
She sighed, and stepped forwards, placing one hand on the cold stone before turning and sliding, with her back to it, to the ground.
Ginny swore as the damp of the early morning soaked through her jeans.
“Jesus Fred, you fucker. What sort of a greeting's that, and after I came all this way too?”
Pulling her wand from her bag she dried herself off, accioing a sheet from a nearby clothes-line – hell, she could always return it later, and no one would believe the little boy playing there when he tried to tell them that it had literally flown out of the garden – and sat again, more gingerly this time.
Ginny closed her eyes, felt the cold in her bum and back, and just breathed. Inhale, exhale, repeat and over. The noise of the early morning rush – and the shouting of that child. “Muuum. It flew. Honest” – did their best to intrude on the serenity of the old cemetery, but with little effect. The mostly old and ramshackle stones, standing at all angles in inebriated ranks, flaking and ivy choked; the yews and beeches and sycamores – variously brooding, and joyous in their spring growth; and the twittering of the birds – and Ginny had come close to hexing one of the little bastards after it had greeted her in the least welcoming way imaginable, making her wish that she'd taken notice of the more domestic spells in the magical repertoire – all these conspired to draw down an atmosphere of peace on the place that nothing could shatter.
And Ginny needed peace. God knew that was the first thing she wished for, and the last thing that she ever got.
“Ten years, hey? Fuck. Where did it go?”
Ginny leaned her head back until it bounced gently against the gravestone, sat as she was for a few minutes, just staring into the distance. The morning mist had burned away, leaving a blue, cloudless sky in its wake. It was going to be hot, unreasonably and unseasonably so, and Ginny didn't relish the thought. Magic notwithstanding, her family's expenditure on sun block was pretty eye watering, and it clearly wasn't going to get any smaller.
Ginny smiled, staring at her own hands for a moment.
“Oh fuck it. Do something useful will you?”
She reached into her bag, pulled out a battered old wooden box – a present from Luna, swirling rainbow decorations forming their two names, intertwined – and prised off the lid, still tightly fitting after all these years. Inside were tobacco, papers, lighter, and a block of hash the size of her little finger nail. Ginny slid a nail under the tape sealing the tobacco and reached inside, taking a pinch between thumb and forefinger. Yep. A year old, and dry as dust, but she'd planned for the eventuality and a new pouch of tobacco joined the old in the box.
She began to roll.
Ginny didn't even enjoy smoking the things, could never really see the point, but she enjoyed the ritual of it. It had become a habit now. Every year, on the anniversary of her brother's death, she would sit on his grave and get really fucking stoned.
It didn't help. Nothing ever helped. But, for one morning a year, it was what she had.
She rolled - papers, a little too short, and the glue less than fresh, so it took a little tearing and licking to make a base large enough for her needs; bathe the resin in the little yellow flame of her lighter (blue plastic with the rather chipped and forlorn crest of her Quidditch team) and crumble a thin line onto the paper; add tobacco and roll; lick, stick, roach and light; and for all that she did this only once a year, there was a comforting, comfortable sensation that came with all these steps, a form of physical meditation, perhaps. And as she went through the motions, she spoke, the river of her consciousness barely disturbing the peace around her.
“So, then. Well, I know you've not been up to all that much – sheesh, I don't know why I bother visiting sometimes, you're not exactly the best conversationalist. But, you know, if the mood ever takes you, just chip in. I won't be annoyed, I promise.
“No? Fair enough. Looks like it's all on me again.
“Well, first things, first. Things aren't that great with Harry. And don't you dare say I told you so. Even though I know you did, and if you'd still been around to keep telling me... Fuck it, you know, maybe if you'd been there, it wouldn't have all been so overwhelming. And maybe I wouldn't have been such a bitch. And don't say you don't believe it, because you know it's true.
“What was it you always said? There's only one girl good enough for your little sister. I never got how you knew. It's not like we didn't try to hide it, but you just got it. How did you get it when I didn't? How did you know when no one else had a fucking clue?
“Did you ever try to have an argument with Luna Lovegood? Geez. The most frustrating experience ever. It was like, fuck, I don't know, trying to argue with the birds or something, or trying to persuade the grass not to grow. She'd just stare at me with those bloody eyes of hers and tell me that it was fine, maybe I should sit down, I looked a bit flustered; have some cake. Nothing seems to faze her, you know?
“Fuck. You know what? I was trying to make her fight for me. I should've known that she's above that.
“God, I was so fucking confused. And you were gone, you little fuck. Just when I fucking needed you to kick some sense into me.”
She paused, staring at the spliff poised between her fingers, mesmerised momentarily by the curling of the smoke, the gentle glow, the way that it never, ever burned down evenly. She tore at the little piece of paper that had managed to escape the fire, flicked it away; raised the spliff to her lips and inhaled deeply. She felt the heaviness sink into her limbs as the smoke invaded her lungs, and settled back further against the hardness of the gravestone, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Ron and Hermione aren't doing much better.
“I bet you could have seen that coming a mile off too, you smug bastard. You wouldn't have said anything though, would you? You always did let him make his own mistakes.
"Not like me, god, none of you could ever stay out of it with me, could you? Just cos I'm the youngest. Do you have any idea how annoying that is? 6 older brothers always on my fucking back about something, and only you and George ever had anything useful to say.
"And mum. Always on at me to try harder to make it work. Like he was ever the one. But fuck it. I snagged myself a hero, what mother's not going to love that? Forget that he was never the one I really wanted, he's Harry fucking Potter, what girl wouldn't want to marry him, right?”
She felt the heat of the spliff as it burned down to the roach and, pushing a hole into the soft earth of the grave, buried the butt an inch deep, to join the handful already there.
Ginny felt the change in atmosphere a moment before the crack of a twig alerted her to the presence behind, perhaps a couple of seconds before that familiar perfume reached her nostrils. She stiffened, her heart racing, before she forced herself to relax, wilfully expelling the tension from her limbs.
“Luna. What are you doing here?” She didn't turn; remained with her head resting against the stone.
She could almost feel the slow, quizzical smile spreading across the face of the woman behind her.
“Looking for you, silly. Where else would you be today?”
At the sound of her voice, Ginny relented. It was still lilting; still, as often as not, dreamy, although pain and bitterness and loss had affected even Luna, left an edge – discernible only rarely – that had simply not been there before. Ginny still couldn't deny that voice, though, just as she could deny nothing else about her, had never been able to. Except that once, and that had been a denial she had lived to regret, so many times.
Ginny opened her eyes and turned to look at her visitor, finding it necessary to crane her neck virtually back on itself, and even then she could really only catch the yellow of her hair. She waited for a moment for Luna to position herself less awkwardly, but in vain. She sat up, cursing, and shuffled forward on the sheet. Spinning around on her bum she leaned back on her hands.
Luna's smile – bright, open, sincere – was as luminous as Ginny had ever seen it, and in that moment she felt everything that had been so wrong inside her for so long drain away. Although she had known, deep down, that it had been both wrong and horribly unfair, she had been determined to run Luna off in the quickest and most brutal way possible. Her resolve vanished in that instant, though, as she saw her standing, dressed in the most unLuna-like manner imaginable – black pencil skirt; white blouse; black pumps; muted, tasteful bag – before her.
Ginny smiled back. It was all she could think to do.
Something – something horribly inappropriate [God. Not here. Not now. Jesus] – twisted deep inside her.
The seconds ticked by as Ginny mentally berated herself. Luna's smile slipped slightly to be replace by the slight quirk of an eyebrow, a quizzical twist of her lip.
The realisation that she was going to have to say something – and soon – dawned on Ginny. How long had she just been sitting there, grinning like an idiot, staring?
God, girl. Say something.
“Hey you.” Ginny felt herself relax now, but there was that feeling, still, the one that she was trying so hard to ignore. “It's good to see you. Sit.”
A rather graceless folding of limbs – and Ginny loved her, if possible, even more for that, that behind these strange clothes she was still the same Luna – and a slight ripping sound (“S'okay. Not as skinny as I used to be. It'll mend”) , and Luna was on the sheet in front of her. So close.
Luna picked up the box that still lay beside Ginny's bag, smiling in remembrance, and rifled through its contents.
“Does it help?”
Ginny grimaced.
“Honestly? Not really. Mostly it just makes me lethargic and anxious. It's just... Oh, I don't know. It's just a thing to do, you know? Something to mark out the day, this day. To set it apart, yeah?” Ginny leaned further back on her hands, closing her eyes.
“I find it hard to stop, you know that. And mostly I don't want to, cos stopping means I just think too much, and gods know, I don't want that. But it's the least I can do really, just this one day. He deserves that, at least.”
There was silence. Opening her eyes again, Ginny watched as Luna picked the roughly rounded little sphere of resin from the box, rolling it in her fingers. She raised it to her nose for a moment and sniffed. Ginny shook her head in amused disbelief as Luna pinched off a speck and placed it between her teeth, biting down hard. She coughed slightly, using her finger nail to remove the remains if the resin from her mouth, and wiping it on the sheet.
“God, Luna, I love you, but you're such a dork sometimes, you know that?” Ginny said, smiling to soften her words.
Luna smiled back, and winked; became instantly serious again.
“Why do you come here? It's one day a year. What does it change?”
Ginny felt her disbelief returning, tinged with anger this time. She clamped down on it, desperate not to argue.
“It's Fred's grave, Lu. How do you even need to ask that? Jesus. You're as bad as the others.” She took a slow breath, fighting to keep her words conciliatory.
“Look at the place. Do you know how many people come here?”
There was no reply; there didn't need to be. Luna already knew the answer. She leaned forward, gently placing a finger to Ginny's lips.
“Do you feel him? Is he here?” She continued, not allowing Ginny to answer, as certain of the answer to this question as she had been to Ginny's. “Of course you don't. He's not here. He's never been here.”
Ginny stared at her, stunned, unable to respond, as she continued, raising a hand to Ginny's temple - “He's here” - to her heart - “and here.” Her hand lingered on Ginny's chest. “He's not dead, not really. No one ever is, not while there's someone to remember. And when there's not, what does it matter?”
Ginny was frozen, a statue, unwilling to break the moment, as her heart sped against Luna's hand.
“He's with you, Ginny, you know that. You don't come here to be with him, you come here to escape. You come here because you're not happy.”
Ginny was blinking furiously now, utterly determined not to allow release to the the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Fuck's sake, Lu. What are you doing? You know we can't do this. There are too ..”
“Too many people to hurt? And how does this help them?” For a moment, the softness in Luna's face wavered, and there it was, the edge.
Ginny smiled through her tears, a mess of conflicting feelings. “What? You're going to fight for me now? You couldn't have done that ten years ago? Jesus, Lu, what is it with you? Fucking Jesus.
It wouldn't have taken a lot. Christ, I wasn't asking you to fight a duel for me. Just for a sign that you wanted me, you know, that you cared that you might lose me.”
Luna's answering smile was sad.
“Ginny, I married you. Don't you remember? Or did you think that was just a game? Something to while away a summer's evening?” She raised her left hand, palm inwards, to display the ring she still wore. She reached forward to stroke her cheek, the soft lilt of her voice affectionate. “You poor, clueless girl.”
“Well, yeah. You should know by now that you need to be pretty direct with me.” Ginny laughed, bitterly. “Why didn't you just tell me? Would it have been so sodding hard?”
Something changed between them then. Luna's smile slipped once more; in its place was a look that froze Ginny in place, and simultaneously melted her.
Luna's voice was low, intense.
“I'm telling you now.” She let the hand that still rested over Ginny's heart – and Ginny had almost forgotten it, couldn't believe that Luna had managed to keep it still for so long – slide downwards to palm her breast. Luna circled her nipple with her thumb through the thin material of her top as Ginny's breath hitched.
“Oh fuck.”
Sitting as she was – legs stretched out in front of her, hands supporting her on the ground behind, Luna on her knees beside her – Ginny felt more vulnerable than she had ever been. She stared at Luna, eyes wide, breathing heavily, and waited. Her eyes fixed on Ginny's mouth, Luna leaned forward, lifting her hand from Ginny's breast. Ginny's whimper of complaint - high, breathy and incredibly frustrated - was followed by her left hand, grasping at Luna's right, returning it roughly to its previous position. Ginny squeezed Luna's hand hard, and lifted her right hand from the ground to place it behind Luna's neck and pull her to her lips.
Ginny's miscalculation became apparent a moment later as Luna, unbalanced already and unable to use either of her hands to stabilise herself or support Ginny, toppled forward.
Their two bodies, faces nose to nose, came to rest mere inches from the gravestone. Ginny, breathing hard from more than simple desire now, giggled. Her left hand still holding Luna's right firmly in place, her right at the back of Luna's neck, she gasped, simultaneously managing to laugh and wince .
“Of all the places to break your fall. Jesus, Lu! Also, ouch!”
For all her discomfort, though, Ginny's smile was warm. She wriggled out from underneath the weight pinning her down, finally releasing Luna's hand and, when Luna had pulled it away, replacing it gingerly with her own. Luna watched, a chastened look on her face, a look that was quickly replaced by one of surprise when Ginny pushed her onto her back and straddled her.
Ginny looked down at Luna, whom she had loved from the moment she saw her, and had never stopped loving in the long years since.
“Promise me something, will you?”
Luna looked up at her, ever patient, but now, perhaps, just a little smug. She nodded.
“If I'm ever being an idiot, just tell me, yeah? Don't expect me just to know, because I never do, and I don't want to waste another ten years while I bloody figure it out for myself.”
Another nod, as Luna reached up and grasped the neckline of Ginny's top.
“Also, if you remember any of those spells we used to use at school, you might want to give them a whirl, because this is probably going to get quite loud.”
Luna was smirking now.
“Ginny, you idiot. Just shut up and kiss me, will you?”
Ginny crushed her mouth to Luna's, thinking to herself, in the brief time before she became incapable of lucid thought, that the unhappiness of the last ten years had all been worth it, for this one, perfect moment.
*****
And that's it for tonight. I thought about posting part three, but while it's quite romantic it's also very explicit, so it would rather change the character of this post xD
I hope you're all well!
♥
I should probably do the whole review/thoughts thing, but I'm kind of sleepy, and am having difficulty with words at the moment (which is kind of an ongoing thing recently. Really need to get on top of that!).
So instead, I'm rewatching The Philosopher's Stone and drinking gin and tonic, and I'm going to bother you with old fic. It's kind of cheating (I do mean to finish the last story of this series. Some time. I hope), but these are the some of the first stories I ever wrote, and in a way they're my little love letter to the series, and to two of my favourite characters (and my f/f OTP (I'll never stop being incredibly upset that my m/m OTP died in canon :(:(:(:( )).
So, ridiculously over-the-top-romantic/nostalgic femslash coming up! If such things bore you/make you feel like your teeth are going to rot, best turn away now!
***
(There are more reader-friendly versions here, at my Archive of Our Own page)
Title: Blue In Green
(Part 1 of Giving Up Theses Kisses)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Luna/Ginny
Rating: M (Well, there's smut, although not really a whole lot of it. Also, I'm apparently entirely convinced that, outside of a PG environment, Ginny swears like a trooper. I can't be the only one, right?)
Summary: Marry me!
Word count: 3400
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Obviously all the characters and pretty much everything else belong to JK Rowling. This is just for fun!
Original Author's Notes: This was inspired initially by
lareinemisere's prompt "Marry me!". The drabble that currently exists only in my head for this same prompt is entirely different, but this was far more fun. I had Miles Davis's "Kind of Blue" playing on repeat most of the time I was writing this and the various moods of that album shaped the mood and tone of it considerably. I stole the title from my favourite track (which is utterly beautiful - it's here. Give it a listen and if you like it buy the album. There's a reason it's a classic.) and the opening lyrics were written to that piece although they're not actually on the album so I've no idea who to credit (they turned up in an google trawl).
For
zagury <3A/N2: This was written before I had a beta, and while I've been meaning to have it looked over since I first posted it, I've never got around to it. Whenever I read it back these days (which I've done more than a couple of times *shame*), the flaws jump out at me rather. It's kind of silly and romantic/nostalgic though, and I'm rather fond of it, so.
Blue In Green
Hues of blues and greens surround me
knowing you have found another love
has turned my world
to sorrow
Green with envy for another
fearing she may be the one to soar
through life with you, can't lose these
Hues of blues in green
Ginny remembers.
They're lying, crown to crown, red hair tangled in blonde. The June sun westers, shadows lengthen, but it's still warm, balmy even.
A few hundred yards away the Forbidden Forest looms.
Luna had wanted to go closer. She likes the forest, and besides, she's not afraid of anything - and Ginny can never tell if it's something missing in her (like colour blindness maybe), or whether her view of the world is so other that there really is nothing to fear.
It's one of the things that Ginny loves about her. Ginny, who is brave, strong-willed, “fearless” even, and yet still so fearful. Just because she hides it doesn't mean she isn't afraid. Now especially; the war is so close she can feel it, almost see the clouds gather, taste ozone in the scorched air.
And Luna shows no fear. Sighing happily, she reaches out, takes Ginny's wrist. Despite the awkwardness of the position, she draws Ginny's hand to her mouth; kisses her palm.
“They'll be back soon,” she says in that sing-song voice of hers – it's a voice that can make the most mundane things sound beautiful, and Ginny has never told Luna exactly what it does to her, although she's had occasion to find out. “They'll be back and everything will be all right.”
She sounds like she believes it, too. Of course she believes it.
It's not enough for Ginny, though; Ginny, guilty, afraid, heart tugging in two directions. And the worst of it – the worst of it is that small part of her that thinks “If he doesn't come back, I won't have to choose.”
And so, crown to crown with Luna, bathed in the warmth of the evening sun, she battles her fear and her guilt. The tears, when they come, are silent and short-lived. Her pride won't allow them to be anything else.
Ginny remembers.
The sun is long gone, but the moon – huge and magnesium bright – bathes them just as fully, and Ginny is sure that Luna feels warmed by it. She probably believes it would tan like no sun ever could [Luna whose reaction to excessive sunlight is second only to Ginny's].
Ginny's eyes – puffy and sore – are closed. [It isn't the first time she's cried recently; it won't be the last either.] Luna is as stealthy as the Nargles she so often talks of, but Ginny feels her movements. She still holds her hand, but the warmth of her scalp vanishes, to be replaced by lips – equally warm, immeasurably more soft, kissing her eyes open before pressing to her mouth.
And for all the things that Luna's voice does to Ginny, they're nothing compared to what those lips do.
Luna so often seems not entirely present – as if being attached to an actual physical body is just an amusing, and occasionally baffling, necessity – that Ginny had been surprised at how there she is when she kisses. It's one of the few things she does that isn't dreamy or languid. Not rough, not bruising, but utterly focussed: greedy lips, nibbling teeth, playful tongue that swipes and dances. Luna's kisses brook no argument; demand that Ginny's body responds. Ginny has yet to disappoint her.
Ginny stretches beneath her, her breath quickening as she circles Luna's waist with her arms, pulling her closer. Luna hums contentedly into the kiss, nips at Ginny's lower lip. She tangles her left hand in Ginny's hair, pulling slightly, forcing her head backwards to expose the length of her neck. She plants tiny butterfly kisses along her jaw line before moving her attention to her throat, licking and nibbling as she goes.
Ginny's gasp, a barely audible “Oh”, escapes her lips as Luna's other hand presses itself between their bodies, finds its way to the hem of her top, nails raking across the taught skin of her belly. She briefly dips a finger into Ginny's navel before circling it – once, twice, three times. Ginny whimpers and shakes her head, and Luna stops instantly. She raises her head, looking Ginny in the eyes, silvery grey meeting brown questioningly.
“Ginny?”
Ginny's eyes are unfocussed; she seems confused by the question, takes a couple of seconds to respond.
“Why have you stopped?” She can hardly get the words out, and god, is this all it takes to unravel her so completely? Heavy petting and those quick, knowing fingers? “Don't you dare stop.”
Luna's lips quirk slightly, and she chuckles, raising a hand to brush Ginny's hair from her eyes.
“You're sure?”
Ginny's eyes snap back into focus and she glares for a moment at the girl hovering above her.
“What the fuck, Luna? Are you trying to drive me insane?” It's a momentary flare-up that vanishes when Luna's chuckle returns, bells ringing in the night air. Brown eyes remain fixed on silver-grey ones though; wide, feverish but with the slightest hint of a challenge. Ginny doesn't appreciate being teased, certainly not when Luna's finger nails are gently, so gently, tracing a line from her navel to a point just below her chest and back again.
Luna's smile is radiant as she leans forward once more, crushing her mouth to Ginny's as her right hand finally begins its journey down her body. Ginny strains to meet it, but Luna's weight pins her in place, won't allow her to move as she fumbles at the buttons of Ginny's jeans. After what seems an age, she feels fingers rubbing at the material of her knickers and another sigh escapes her, one that derails into a moan as the elastic is pulled aside and eager fingers meet equally eager flesh, stroking firmly, dipping, curling.
They both know ways to deaden the sounds that follow, have used them often enough in places less secluded than this, but there is nothing that Luna loves more than the uncontrolled – and loud - noises that Ginny makes beneath her. She has stopped kissing her now, just so she can watch her eyes roll back in their sockets, hear her moans and screams unmuffled.
Ginny breaks under Luna's hand, her name on her lips. It's the most wonderful thing that Luna has ever heard.
Ginny remembers.
“Marry me”.
Ginny has barely recovered her breath; feels like it will be a long time before she'll be steady on her feet. She looks up at Luna, gently illuminated, seeming almost to shine with her own light. She's sucking her fingers, one by one, and Ginny thinks that it’s probably the filthiest thing ever.
Ginny giggles and reaches for Luna's hand, pulling it from her mouth and towards her own. She swirls her tongue around each finger in turn, humming happily to herself.
She doesn't answer Luna's – well, it wasn't really a question was it? She couldn't be serious? Luna pulls her hand away, turns Ginny's face towards hers with wet fingers. There is none of the quizzical sweetness there that Ginny is used to seeing. She is smiling and yet utterly serious.
“I mean it. I love you. I'll always love you. Marry me. Tonight.”
“Geez, Lu. You don't think that's a bit quick, do you? There's dresses to make, invitations to send. People like some notice”. Ginny’s tone is light but she’s floundering. Her heart feels like it's going to beat out of her chest. It can't contain the mess of emotions that she feels: confusion, happiness, guilt, fear.
And love. She can't understand how loving someone this much doesn't make it easier.
She sees a flicker of pain in Luna's eyes. At her response, at the one thing she could have said but didn't. She can't bear it.
It's just a flicker though, gone as quickly as it came. Holding Ginny's eyes, Luna reaches into her bag and pulls out, what is it? A ring? Yes, a ring. A red band – stone or metal or even plastic, Ginny can't tell – in which is set a flower, all pale red and orange and yellow (certainly plastic, if Ginny's any judge at all). If Ginny put it on it would cover almost her whole hand. Ginny has never seen anything more ridiculous.
Luna says nothing else, just reaches for Ginny's hand. Ginny worries for a moment that her heart might actually burst.
She lets Luna lift her hand, put the ring on her finger.
“Oh, Lu.”
But Luna puts a finger to Ginny’s lips, smiles that smile, of such knowing innocence, such warmth. Ginny doesn't know how to deny that smile, how to stay sad in its light. The ache in her heart dissolves, and her doubts? She knows they were there, but for the moment at least there's no room in her for anything that isn't Luna.
Luna knows she has her answer. She turns, hooking up her own bag and Ginny's, and pulls her companion back towards the castle. It's so far past curfew that they'd be as well to find somewhere else to sleep – they have done often enough in the past – but Luna has something else in mind.
Ginny shivers; the warmth of the day is long forgotten, but it's not just the cold. She's a writhing mass of conflicting emotion – has been for as long as she can remember, that's the truth of it – and tonight, finally, she has relinquished control to another. She doesn't have to lock herself down any more, and it feels good.
She laughs. It's a thing of beauty: musical and sweet, but edged and layered with brightness and strength. It echoes through corridors of cold stone, and at any other time Ginny would have been concerned with the whereabouts of a certain cantankerous and vengeful caretaker, and any number of other dangers that the night-side of the castle presented. She doesn't care tonight though. She's young and happy and, if being in love has proven to be so much more complicated, and painful, than she has ever dreamed, still she can't regret how she feels.
Barefoot, shoes in hands, Luna and Ginny half run, half skip – whispering, giggling, outright laughing - down endless corridors, up endless flights of stairs.
“Where the hell are taking me, you madwoman?” Ginny gasps, at the top of the fifth staircase. [She only managed most of that flight because Luna had physically dragged her up it. And here's another thing about her, she never seems to tire; it's probably the most uncanny thing about Luna, and it's not really as if Ginny isn't somewhat used to uncanny].
Luna smirks at her; she actually smirks, which isn't an expression that Ginny has ever expected to see on Luna's face.
“Well, I could tell you, but surprises are so much more fun.” She's not even breathless, and how is that possible?
Ginny straightens, her breathing slower now but still heavy. She raises an eyebrow at Luna - rather glad now for the hours she spent in front of a mirror to master that little trick – and fixes her with a stare that could have been called steely were she not licking her lips in that precise way.
“Surprises? Well if it's surprises you want.”
They're only separated by a couple of feet, but Luna is farther from the wall of the corridor than Ginny, so it's not a simple matter. Still, Ginny is delighted with herself when she feels Luna stiffen and gasp slightly as she backs her into the wall, hands on her shoulders. Her lips on Luna's are insistent; she nips on Luna's lower lip, silently requesting entry. Her acquiescence comes quickly and Ginny chooses to take it as a more general invitation. Her right hand is quick, almost desperate, as it navigates its way down Luna's body, pausing at the waist-band of her jeans; her body is attempting to eliminate even the slightest space between them.
It's not in Ginny to take without giving, and she has unfinished business to attend to.
But Luna's hand clutches at her wrist; she groans into her mouth. And it's not a moan of desire so much as a gasp of horror. Ginny unlocks her lips from Luna's, pulling back and looking quizzically at her. There is a look of panic in Luna's eyes that cuts her to the quick.
“Hey, I thought you liked surprises.”
A snicker from somewhere behind her is the only answer she needs to her unasked question. It's an answer she would have given anything not to hear.
“Oh. Fuck.”
Luna's eyes are closed now, as if she can't bear to look at the expression of the man standing behind Ginny. Ginny takes a step back, straightens her shoulders and draws herself up to her full, not so impressive, height. She turns on her heel, shielding Luna as best she can from view.
Ginny hadn't thought that it was possible for Filch to look more repugnant. The look on his face now though – undisguised lust mixed with total hatred – shows her exactly how wrong it’s possible to be. Her temper flares for the second time that day, and this time the outcome is unlikely to be quite so pleasant. She decides to brazen it out. What do they have to lose?
“What the fuck do you want, Filch, you fucking pervert? Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to creep up on people?” She doesn't need to feign outrage. It bubbles up from her gut, fills her mouth with bile.
She feels Luna relax slightly behind her, chuckle quietly. She knows that Filch can too easily call her bluff but she has given Luna a chance to collect herself, gather her dignity around her. It's something; the most important thing.
Luna steps from behind Ginny now, smiles her miraculous smile. Ginny doesn't understand how she can display such warmth in the presence of someone so foul.
The effect is remarkable. Perhaps he is thrown by the juxtaposition of Luna's smile with Ginny's open aggression, but he drops his eyes to the floor, reddens, shuffles backwards. But he has one trump card. He knows he's in the right.
“Sorry ladies, but I'm going to have to take you to the headmaster. You know you shouldn't be out of bed at this time of night.”
His tone is not at all apologetic, though, and Ginny is sure that she sees the shadow of a sneer on his face.
The knowledge that he has even the slightest power over them, this vile little man, bothers her so much more than the thought of having to explain themselves to Snape. A midnight interview with the headmaster she can deal with but not like this, not trailing behind Filch with their tails between their legs.
Really, fuck that.
She curses herself for having dropped her bag [and she knows by now that she should keep her wand in easy reach all the time, but just this once her hormones had clearly had other things on their mind]. She begins to edge slowly towards it, takes a sharp breath, casting desperately for that killing blow, the verbal barb that that will so debilitate him that the charm she has planned will be more for her own satisfaction than out of any real necessity. But for once it doesn't come, and for the second time that night she is left floundering. She opens her mouth, willing the words to come, and as she does so Luna steps forward. Ginny has no idea what Luna has in mind; she never really could read Luna, thinks of her as her own little mystery. It doesn't matter now though. Whether she intends it or not, Luna has provided all the distraction that Ginny needs. She steps backwards until she is hard against the wall, bends down, reaches for her bag, all the time staring at Luna's back and the caretaker in front of her.
She grabs her wand, flipping it over as she straightens up. And freezes, horrified, as Luna stands on tiptoes, her hands on Filch's shoulders, to whisper in his ear. His colour, already high, would do a beetroot justice now, and when she kisses him, Ginny is certain for a moment that he's going to pass out. She winces, feeling almost personally violated. Her wand twitches in her hand, itching to take out her outrage on Filch in the most violent manner she can manage.
Luna is still on her toes, her cheek almost brushing Filch's as she continues speaking. Ginny forces herself to take several deep breaths; she trusts Luna, is sure she knows what she's doing. Calmer now she looks more closely at the man before her, sees the mask drop. She sees, for the first time, past the bitterness, the disappointment, the anger and resentment. And Filch smiles. He roughly wipes his eyes, not quickly enough to obscure the tears that have gathered there.
“Well, go on then,” he says, his voice gruff but, almost, affectionate. “Get to your beds. The headmaster'll have my hide if he hears about this.”
Luna kisses his cheek one more time and steps back, whispers “Thank you”.
Filch's smile widens; he tries to hide it in a cough. “Ach, be off with you.”
He turns, walks away without looking back, but Ginny would swear that he is, very quietly, whistling to himself.
She looks at Luna, her eyebrows so high they almost reach her hairline, and for the third time that night, words fail her.
“Wh?” She takes a breath, tries again. “How did you do that? What did you say to him?”
Luna smiles, shakes her head; for the briefest moment there is sadness in her eyes.
“He's lonely. He doesn't deserve to be. No one deserves to be.”
This time, as she gathers Luna to her, hugs her for all that she's worth, Ginny is certain her heart will burst. She's amazed, a couple of minutes later, to discover that she's still conscious, still standing.
They separate and Luna reaches up, tweaks her nose.
“Come on, you. We'll be late.”
Ginny knows there's no point in asking again, has decided that she's rather enjoying this ride. After all, surprises are so much more fun.
Another flight of stairs, and another. They're on the seventh floor now and realisation slowly begins to dawn on Ginny. And with it, a second realisation. She couldn't say how long they've been there, couldn't even begin to understand how she could have failed to notice them before but,
“Church bells. How on earth?”
Luna just winks at her as they come to a sudden stop, beside that bloody stupid tapestry. Ballet dancing trolls, indeed. What the hell was he thinking?
The door in front of them is huge, double-leaved, a simple pointed arch. It resembles nothing so much as the door to a church. Luna reaches for both handles, opens both sides wide, offers Ginny her arm and, when Ginny takes it , she leads her, laughing, with tears in her eyes, into the brightness and warmth of a summer's day.
Ginny watches.
Harry's face is serene in the moonlight. Ginny knows his features so well that she doesn't need to look, not really, and anyway she can hardly see through her tears. She hears Albus whimpering through the wall – a nightmare probably – and she gets up to check on him, reaching almost unconsciously for her phone. She speed dials 3 as she pulls on her dressing gown and pads into Albus's room. The answer isn't long in coming, and even now her heart beats out of her chest at the sound of her voice.
“Luna?”
Title: Memento Mori
(Part 2 of Giving Up These Kisses)
Sequel to Blue in Green.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Ginny/Luna
Rating: R (for swearing, drugs)
Summary: On the anniversary of Fred Weasley's death, Ginny visits her brother's grave.
Word count: 3200
Warnings: Fluff!
Disclaimer: Obviously all the characters and pretty much everything else belong to JK Rowling. This is just for fun!
The opening quotation is from a poem by Mervyn Peake
Again, unbetad.
A/N: In part, this was written in response to the suicide of an old friend, so I guess I was using both Ginny and Luna's words to express some thoughts on grief and loss. I hope it's none the worse for that.
Memento Mori
“To live at all is miracle enough.”
It loomed.
4 feet tall, 3 feet wide, pale grey granite; yet still it managed to entirely dominate Ginny's vision. She stood, breathing deep and hard, trying to ignore the feeling she got every time she saw it, that feeling she could only describe as being akin to a punch to the gut; sharp, agonising, debilitating.
The words were simple enough.
“Frederick Weasley
April 1st 1978 – May 2nd 1998
Beloved son, brother and friend.
Missed, always.”
Ginny still found it difficult to grasp the import of those words though, refused to accept, in at least a small part of herself, what they truly meant.
She sighed, and stepped forwards, placing one hand on the cold stone before turning and sliding, with her back to it, to the ground.
Ginny swore as the damp of the early morning soaked through her jeans.
“Jesus Fred, you fucker. What sort of a greeting's that, and after I came all this way too?”
Pulling her wand from her bag she dried herself off, accioing a sheet from a nearby clothes-line – hell, she could always return it later, and no one would believe the little boy playing there when he tried to tell them that it had literally flown out of the garden – and sat again, more gingerly this time.
Ginny closed her eyes, felt the cold in her bum and back, and just breathed. Inhale, exhale, repeat and over. The noise of the early morning rush – and the shouting of that child. “Muuum. It flew. Honest” – did their best to intrude on the serenity of the old cemetery, but with little effect. The mostly old and ramshackle stones, standing at all angles in inebriated ranks, flaking and ivy choked; the yews and beeches and sycamores – variously brooding, and joyous in their spring growth; and the twittering of the birds – and Ginny had come close to hexing one of the little bastards after it had greeted her in the least welcoming way imaginable, making her wish that she'd taken notice of the more domestic spells in the magical repertoire – all these conspired to draw down an atmosphere of peace on the place that nothing could shatter.
And Ginny needed peace. God knew that was the first thing she wished for, and the last thing that she ever got.
“Ten years, hey? Fuck. Where did it go?”
Ginny leaned her head back until it bounced gently against the gravestone, sat as she was for a few minutes, just staring into the distance. The morning mist had burned away, leaving a blue, cloudless sky in its wake. It was going to be hot, unreasonably and unseasonably so, and Ginny didn't relish the thought. Magic notwithstanding, her family's expenditure on sun block was pretty eye watering, and it clearly wasn't going to get any smaller.
Ginny smiled, staring at her own hands for a moment.
“Oh fuck it. Do something useful will you?”
She reached into her bag, pulled out a battered old wooden box – a present from Luna, swirling rainbow decorations forming their two names, intertwined – and prised off the lid, still tightly fitting after all these years. Inside were tobacco, papers, lighter, and a block of hash the size of her little finger nail. Ginny slid a nail under the tape sealing the tobacco and reached inside, taking a pinch between thumb and forefinger. Yep. A year old, and dry as dust, but she'd planned for the eventuality and a new pouch of tobacco joined the old in the box.
She began to roll.
Ginny didn't even enjoy smoking the things, could never really see the point, but she enjoyed the ritual of it. It had become a habit now. Every year, on the anniversary of her brother's death, she would sit on his grave and get really fucking stoned.
It didn't help. Nothing ever helped. But, for one morning a year, it was what she had.
She rolled - papers, a little too short, and the glue less than fresh, so it took a little tearing and licking to make a base large enough for her needs; bathe the resin in the little yellow flame of her lighter (blue plastic with the rather chipped and forlorn crest of her Quidditch team) and crumble a thin line onto the paper; add tobacco and roll; lick, stick, roach and light; and for all that she did this only once a year, there was a comforting, comfortable sensation that came with all these steps, a form of physical meditation, perhaps. And as she went through the motions, she spoke, the river of her consciousness barely disturbing the peace around her.
“So, then. Well, I know you've not been up to all that much – sheesh, I don't know why I bother visiting sometimes, you're not exactly the best conversationalist. But, you know, if the mood ever takes you, just chip in. I won't be annoyed, I promise.
“No? Fair enough. Looks like it's all on me again.
“Well, first things, first. Things aren't that great with Harry. And don't you dare say I told you so. Even though I know you did, and if you'd still been around to keep telling me... Fuck it, you know, maybe if you'd been there, it wouldn't have all been so overwhelming. And maybe I wouldn't have been such a bitch. And don't say you don't believe it, because you know it's true.
“What was it you always said? There's only one girl good enough for your little sister. I never got how you knew. It's not like we didn't try to hide it, but you just got it. How did you get it when I didn't? How did you know when no one else had a fucking clue?
“Did you ever try to have an argument with Luna Lovegood? Geez. The most frustrating experience ever. It was like, fuck, I don't know, trying to argue with the birds or something, or trying to persuade the grass not to grow. She'd just stare at me with those bloody eyes of hers and tell me that it was fine, maybe I should sit down, I looked a bit flustered; have some cake. Nothing seems to faze her, you know?
“Fuck. You know what? I was trying to make her fight for me. I should've known that she's above that.
“God, I was so fucking confused. And you were gone, you little fuck. Just when I fucking needed you to kick some sense into me.”
She paused, staring at the spliff poised between her fingers, mesmerised momentarily by the curling of the smoke, the gentle glow, the way that it never, ever burned down evenly. She tore at the little piece of paper that had managed to escape the fire, flicked it away; raised the spliff to her lips and inhaled deeply. She felt the heaviness sink into her limbs as the smoke invaded her lungs, and settled back further against the hardness of the gravestone, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Ron and Hermione aren't doing much better.
“I bet you could have seen that coming a mile off too, you smug bastard. You wouldn't have said anything though, would you? You always did let him make his own mistakes.
"Not like me, god, none of you could ever stay out of it with me, could you? Just cos I'm the youngest. Do you have any idea how annoying that is? 6 older brothers always on my fucking back about something, and only you and George ever had anything useful to say.
"And mum. Always on at me to try harder to make it work. Like he was ever the one. But fuck it. I snagged myself a hero, what mother's not going to love that? Forget that he was never the one I really wanted, he's Harry fucking Potter, what girl wouldn't want to marry him, right?”
She felt the heat of the spliff as it burned down to the roach and, pushing a hole into the soft earth of the grave, buried the butt an inch deep, to join the handful already there.
Ginny felt the change in atmosphere a moment before the crack of a twig alerted her to the presence behind, perhaps a couple of seconds before that familiar perfume reached her nostrils. She stiffened, her heart racing, before she forced herself to relax, wilfully expelling the tension from her limbs.
“Luna. What are you doing here?” She didn't turn; remained with her head resting against the stone.
She could almost feel the slow, quizzical smile spreading across the face of the woman behind her.
“Looking for you, silly. Where else would you be today?”
At the sound of her voice, Ginny relented. It was still lilting; still, as often as not, dreamy, although pain and bitterness and loss had affected even Luna, left an edge – discernible only rarely – that had simply not been there before. Ginny still couldn't deny that voice, though, just as she could deny nothing else about her, had never been able to. Except that once, and that had been a denial she had lived to regret, so many times.
Ginny opened her eyes and turned to look at her visitor, finding it necessary to crane her neck virtually back on itself, and even then she could really only catch the yellow of her hair. She waited for a moment for Luna to position herself less awkwardly, but in vain. She sat up, cursing, and shuffled forward on the sheet. Spinning around on her bum she leaned back on her hands.
Luna's smile – bright, open, sincere – was as luminous as Ginny had ever seen it, and in that moment she felt everything that had been so wrong inside her for so long drain away. Although she had known, deep down, that it had been both wrong and horribly unfair, she had been determined to run Luna off in the quickest and most brutal way possible. Her resolve vanished in that instant, though, as she saw her standing, dressed in the most unLuna-like manner imaginable – black pencil skirt; white blouse; black pumps; muted, tasteful bag – before her.
Ginny smiled back. It was all she could think to do.
Something – something horribly inappropriate [God. Not here. Not now. Jesus] – twisted deep inside her.
The seconds ticked by as Ginny mentally berated herself. Luna's smile slipped slightly to be replace by the slight quirk of an eyebrow, a quizzical twist of her lip.
The realisation that she was going to have to say something – and soon – dawned on Ginny. How long had she just been sitting there, grinning like an idiot, staring?
God, girl. Say something.
“Hey you.” Ginny felt herself relax now, but there was that feeling, still, the one that she was trying so hard to ignore. “It's good to see you. Sit.”
A rather graceless folding of limbs – and Ginny loved her, if possible, even more for that, that behind these strange clothes she was still the same Luna – and a slight ripping sound (“S'okay. Not as skinny as I used to be. It'll mend”) , and Luna was on the sheet in front of her. So close.
Luna picked up the box that still lay beside Ginny's bag, smiling in remembrance, and rifled through its contents.
“Does it help?”
Ginny grimaced.
“Honestly? Not really. Mostly it just makes me lethargic and anxious. It's just... Oh, I don't know. It's just a thing to do, you know? Something to mark out the day, this day. To set it apart, yeah?” Ginny leaned further back on her hands, closing her eyes.
“I find it hard to stop, you know that. And mostly I don't want to, cos stopping means I just think too much, and gods know, I don't want that. But it's the least I can do really, just this one day. He deserves that, at least.”
There was silence. Opening her eyes again, Ginny watched as Luna picked the roughly rounded little sphere of resin from the box, rolling it in her fingers. She raised it to her nose for a moment and sniffed. Ginny shook her head in amused disbelief as Luna pinched off a speck and placed it between her teeth, biting down hard. She coughed slightly, using her finger nail to remove the remains if the resin from her mouth, and wiping it on the sheet.
“God, Luna, I love you, but you're such a dork sometimes, you know that?” Ginny said, smiling to soften her words.
Luna smiled back, and winked; became instantly serious again.
“Why do you come here? It's one day a year. What does it change?”
Ginny felt her disbelief returning, tinged with anger this time. She clamped down on it, desperate not to argue.
“It's Fred's grave, Lu. How do you even need to ask that? Jesus. You're as bad as the others.” She took a slow breath, fighting to keep her words conciliatory.
“Look at the place. Do you know how many people come here?”
There was no reply; there didn't need to be. Luna already knew the answer. She leaned forward, gently placing a finger to Ginny's lips.
“Do you feel him? Is he here?” She continued, not allowing Ginny to answer, as certain of the answer to this question as she had been to Ginny's. “Of course you don't. He's not here. He's never been here.”
Ginny stared at her, stunned, unable to respond, as she continued, raising a hand to Ginny's temple - “He's here” - to her heart - “and here.” Her hand lingered on Ginny's chest. “He's not dead, not really. No one ever is, not while there's someone to remember. And when there's not, what does it matter?”
Ginny was frozen, a statue, unwilling to break the moment, as her heart sped against Luna's hand.
“He's with you, Ginny, you know that. You don't come here to be with him, you come here to escape. You come here because you're not happy.”
Ginny was blinking furiously now, utterly determined not to allow release to the the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Fuck's sake, Lu. What are you doing? You know we can't do this. There are too ..”
“Too many people to hurt? And how does this help them?” For a moment, the softness in Luna's face wavered, and there it was, the edge.
Ginny smiled through her tears, a mess of conflicting feelings. “What? You're going to fight for me now? You couldn't have done that ten years ago? Jesus, Lu, what is it with you? Fucking Jesus.
It wouldn't have taken a lot. Christ, I wasn't asking you to fight a duel for me. Just for a sign that you wanted me, you know, that you cared that you might lose me.”
Luna's answering smile was sad.
“Ginny, I married you. Don't you remember? Or did you think that was just a game? Something to while away a summer's evening?” She raised her left hand, palm inwards, to display the ring she still wore. She reached forward to stroke her cheek, the soft lilt of her voice affectionate. “You poor, clueless girl.”
“Well, yeah. You should know by now that you need to be pretty direct with me.” Ginny laughed, bitterly. “Why didn't you just tell me? Would it have been so sodding hard?”
Something changed between them then. Luna's smile slipped once more; in its place was a look that froze Ginny in place, and simultaneously melted her.
Luna's voice was low, intense.
“I'm telling you now.” She let the hand that still rested over Ginny's heart – and Ginny had almost forgotten it, couldn't believe that Luna had managed to keep it still for so long – slide downwards to palm her breast. Luna circled her nipple with her thumb through the thin material of her top as Ginny's breath hitched.
“Oh fuck.”
Sitting as she was – legs stretched out in front of her, hands supporting her on the ground behind, Luna on her knees beside her – Ginny felt more vulnerable than she had ever been. She stared at Luna, eyes wide, breathing heavily, and waited. Her eyes fixed on Ginny's mouth, Luna leaned forward, lifting her hand from Ginny's breast. Ginny's whimper of complaint - high, breathy and incredibly frustrated - was followed by her left hand, grasping at Luna's right, returning it roughly to its previous position. Ginny squeezed Luna's hand hard, and lifted her right hand from the ground to place it behind Luna's neck and pull her to her lips.
Ginny's miscalculation became apparent a moment later as Luna, unbalanced already and unable to use either of her hands to stabilise herself or support Ginny, toppled forward.
Their two bodies, faces nose to nose, came to rest mere inches from the gravestone. Ginny, breathing hard from more than simple desire now, giggled. Her left hand still holding Luna's right firmly in place, her right at the back of Luna's neck, she gasped, simultaneously managing to laugh and wince .
“Of all the places to break your fall. Jesus, Lu! Also, ouch!”
For all her discomfort, though, Ginny's smile was warm. She wriggled out from underneath the weight pinning her down, finally releasing Luna's hand and, when Luna had pulled it away, replacing it gingerly with her own. Luna watched, a chastened look on her face, a look that was quickly replaced by one of surprise when Ginny pushed her onto her back and straddled her.
Ginny looked down at Luna, whom she had loved from the moment she saw her, and had never stopped loving in the long years since.
“Promise me something, will you?”
Luna looked up at her, ever patient, but now, perhaps, just a little smug. She nodded.
“If I'm ever being an idiot, just tell me, yeah? Don't expect me just to know, because I never do, and I don't want to waste another ten years while I bloody figure it out for myself.”
Another nod, as Luna reached up and grasped the neckline of Ginny's top.
“Also, if you remember any of those spells we used to use at school, you might want to give them a whirl, because this is probably going to get quite loud.”
Luna was smirking now.
“Ginny, you idiot. Just shut up and kiss me, will you?”
Ginny crushed her mouth to Luna's, thinking to herself, in the brief time before she became incapable of lucid thought, that the unhappiness of the last ten years had all been worth it, for this one, perfect moment.
*****
And that's it for tonight. I thought about posting part three, but while it's quite romantic it's also very explicit, so it would rather change the character of this post xD
I hope you're all well!
♥
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Date: 2011-07-19 09:05 pm (UTC)I'll look forward to flailing with you :)
Ooh, you should write some SIrius/Remus! And well, if you've never written HP fic before, well, you've got to start somewhere. You love the characters, that's the most important thing :)