Ginny hates to admit it, but Fleur is right-Gabrielle is fucking gorgeous in the pink dress. Normally Ginny wouldn't have a problem admitting that-girls can admit other girls look good, right? Nothing wrong or, well, shameful about that. But this time, admitting Gabrielle looks good in that dress means admitting to the thing that is wriggling in her chest, the way her lungs feel compressed as she struggles to breathe. And this is something that Ginny doesn't want to share with anyone, partially because of the horrible gnawing sensation that this is wrong wrong wrong and partially because this feeling, it's-freeing, maybe, it's light and fluttery and warm like good wine, and she wants it to be all hers. Just as she comes to that conclusion, Gabrielle catches her eye and smiles. "So, it is pretty, yes? I will not be looking silly at Fleur's wedding?" Her accent is just there, whirring slightly underneath her carefully practiced English, her vowels softer and stretched out in a way that makes something inside of Ginny tighten painfully. "Um, y-yeah. I mean, no." She blinks and feels her cheeks heat in embarrassment. "Uh, you, you look great." Gabrielle laughs and her nose and eyes scrunch up in amusement, and the thing in Ginny feels like it's stretched too far and is about to break. Fuck, she thinks, this changes everything.