Angels Would Fall
Ginny caught a bit of movement out of the corner of her eye, and her hands paused their deft braiding of her hair. She'd gotten good at this, this looking without looking. Hermione was pulling on her jumper over her head, down over her shoulders and breasts and stomach, the knit skimming her body like a lover's touch. She reached up and lifted her hair out of the neckline where it was caught, picked up the brush and began untangling it, and Ginny felt the betraying flush coming over her face. She turned her head down, looked at the floor, and grimly concentrated on braiding her hair, on breathing deeply. Anything, to make the blush go, the heat in her stomach die down. Hermione was veiling herself in her robes. Good.
Lavender and Parvati were chatting on the other end of the room, fixing their hair and finding their books before they went down to breakfast. She waited until the others had left, dawdling through getting dressed herself before she finally picked up her own books and went downstairs. It wasn't going to be a good day, she just knew it. It wasn't that exams were coming up, or that it was snowing too much for flight practice, resulting in much grumpiness, or the normal almost-time-for- holiday restlessness. No, that glimpse of unconscious grace, of soft curves outlined by clinging wool, and that wild fall of burnt-toffee hair was going to torment her all day. And it was no good, it was no use feeling that way. Of course, she thought sourly as she walked downstairs, crushes don't respond to intellect, and lust doesn't make sense. Damn it.
She knew there were...others...at Hogwarts. Professor Snape was equally sarcastic whether he caught two guys snogging or a guy and a girl. And, well, she'd done some reading, some exploring, while she sat in the library, pretending to study but actually just being, aware of Hermione's presence nearby like the warmth from a fire on her skin. She was, after all, sixteen, and had suffered through The Talk from her mother several years earlier. And from a rather embarassed Minerva McGonagall last year, complete with specifics and a booklet of charms that she had shoved down to the bottom of her desk drawer and ignored. She knew all about how her own anatomy worked, and in theory about how a guy's anatomy worked. She grinned to herself. Actually, considering that she'd grown up with brothers, she figured she knew more than the average sixteen year old virgin female about it.
The problem was, although she could recognize perfectly well what this confusion and heat in her face and stirrings in her gut meant...it wasn't happening around boys. She'd tried to see, letting Neville take her to the dance, kiss her... and nothing happened. It went as flat as one of his spells. But when Cho Chang had said hi to her when she was walking back to her dorm all flushed and sweaty from Quidditch practice, she'd gone red as her hair and found an urgent errand in the other direction until she had the blush under control.
Ginny bit her lip. It was sometimes massively inconvenient to have the Weasley coloring.
She was sitting in the library studying. It was normally pleasant... the smell of books, the soft rustle of people moving and pages turning, footsteps now and then as people entered and left. Open the book, study Charms, yes... But with Hermione's presence at the other corner of the table like a bonfire, she couldn't think straight. She'd read that page of her Charms notes three times without processing it. Damn. Look without looking again. God, she's got long lashes. And she bites her lip when she's concentrating, catches it and lets it fall, licks her lips absently as she turns the page...The curve of her cheek is absolute perfection, the angle of her jaw temptingly delicious.... And the way the light falls on her face...it brings up this creamy glow in her skin, lights her caramel eyes with faint golden flickers... Her hair's fallen in her face again, and she raises one hand absently, pushes it back behind her ear, half caress as she brings her hand down ...
Ginny bit her knuckle, and shoved her books into a pile, and left.
She went back up to the dorm, thankfully deserted, threw herself on the bed, and closed her eyes, clenching her fists with frustration at it all. To move would be to say something irrevocable. And, to ask....She didn't even know how to ask, or what to say, or how to say it. And, God, one of her brother's two best friends. She had thought this out before. Better not to speak. Better to just be a friend. Better to hoard to herself the little glimpses of something lovely and lush and too beautiful to touch that were wrapped up in that gorgeous girl who had the bed next to her, and to wait, grimly, painfully, until this went away.
She waited the entire year. It didn't go away.
Ginny caught a bit of movement out of the corner of her eye, and her hands paused their deft braiding of her hair. She'd gotten good at this, this looking without looking. Hermione was pulling on her jumper over her head, down over her shoulders and breasts and stomach, the knit skimming her body like a lover's touch. She reached up and lifted her hair out of the neckline where it was caught, picked up the brush and began untangling it, and Ginny felt the betraying flush coming over her face. She turned her head down, looked at the floor, and grimly concentrated on braiding her hair, on breathing deeply. Anything, to make the blush go, the heat in her stomach die down. Hermione was veiling herself in her robes. Good.
Lavender and Parvati were chatting on the other end of the room, fixing their hair and finding their books before they went down to breakfast. She waited until the others had left, dawdling through getting dressed herself before she finally picked up her own books and went downstairs. It wasn't going to be a good day, she just knew it. It wasn't that exams were coming up, or that it was snowing too much for flight practice, resulting in much grumpiness, or the normal almost-time-for- holiday restlessness. No, that glimpse of unconscious grace, of soft curves outlined by clinging wool, and that wild fall of burnt-toffee hair was going to torment her all day. And it was no good, it was no use feeling that way. Of course, she thought sourly as she walked downstairs, crushes don't respond to intellect, and lust doesn't make sense. Damn it.
She knew there were...others...at Hogwarts. Professor Snape was equally sarcastic whether he caught two guys snogging or a guy and a girl. And, well, she'd done some reading, some exploring, while she sat in the library, pretending to study but actually just being, aware of Hermione's presence nearby like the warmth from a fire on her skin. She was, after all, sixteen, and had suffered through The Talk from her mother several years earlier. And from a rather embarassed Minerva McGonagall last year, complete with specifics and a booklet of charms that she had shoved down to the bottom of her desk drawer and ignored. She knew all about how her own anatomy worked, and in theory about how a guy's anatomy worked. She grinned to herself. Actually, considering that she'd grown up with brothers, she figured she knew more than the average sixteen year old virgin female about it.
The problem was, although she could recognize perfectly well what this confusion and heat in her face and stirrings in her gut meant...it wasn't happening around boys. She'd tried to see, letting Neville take her to the dance, kiss her... and nothing happened. It went as flat as one of his spells. But when Cho Chang had said hi to her when she was walking back to her dorm all flushed and sweaty from Quidditch practice, she'd gone red as her hair and found an urgent errand in the other direction until she had the blush under control.
Ginny bit her lip. It was sometimes massively inconvenient to have the Weasley coloring.
She was sitting in the library studying. It was normally pleasant... the smell of books, the soft rustle of people moving and pages turning, footsteps now and then as people entered and left. Open the book, study Charms, yes... But with Hermione's presence at the other corner of the table like a bonfire, she couldn't think straight. She'd read that page of her Charms notes three times without processing it. Damn. Look without looking again. God, she's got long lashes. And she bites her lip when she's concentrating, catches it and lets it fall, licks her lips absently as she turns the page...The curve of her cheek is absolute perfection, the angle of her jaw temptingly delicious.... And the way the light falls on her face...it brings up this creamy glow in her skin, lights her caramel eyes with faint golden flickers... Her hair's fallen in her face again, and she raises one hand absently, pushes it back behind her ear, half caress as she brings her hand down ...
Ginny bit her knuckle, and shoved her books into a pile, and left.
She went back up to the dorm, thankfully deserted, threw herself on the bed, and closed her eyes, clenching her fists with frustration at it all. To move would be to say something irrevocable. And, to ask....She didn't even know how to ask, or what to say, or how to say it. And, God, one of her brother's two best friends. She had thought this out before. Better not to speak. Better to just be a friend. Better to hoard to herself the little glimpses of something lovely and lush and too beautiful to touch that were wrapped up in that gorgeous girl who had the bed next to her, and to wait, grimly, painfully, until this went away.
She waited the entire year. It didn't go away.