Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Seriously.
A/N: Please leave a comment if you happen to enjoy the story. Thank you.
When they were much younger, Ginny would always remember to keep her windows on the third floor of the Burrow open and a makeshift rope of hand-me-downs that no longer fit ready at hand. Then she would sit herself neatly by the sill, her eyes eagerly scanning the unkempt grounds surrounding her ancestral home for the familiar shadow. But she sometimes (always) falls asleep, lulled past the gates of dreamland with the soft whisper of the wind and the almost painful (but calming) prick of various trinkets clutched in her tiny hand which her (best) best friend brings her every time she comes for a visit.
She would always (sometimes) wake up though when she heard the sharp hiss just below her, the frustration seeping through as a soft, childish voice let out a string of colourful words that would make even her older twin brothers blush to be on the receiving end.
"I'm up!" she would say hurriedly, a little too loudly and Pansy would glare at her (Ginny would always inexplicably blush). "Sorry," she would add automatically as she lowered the rope.
Pansy would release a long-suffering sigh but then she would tug once at the rope to make sure it was taut and then she would climb. In that first moment when Pansy was about to enter her window and Ginny was about to retreat to make room for Pansy, Pansy would allow Ginny the luxury of seeing her smile and it would always (always) make Ginny's week.
"I miss you," they would whisper in one breath as they leaned closer to see the reflection of moonlight (shadow) in each other's eyes. Then they would break apart with a childish grin (but Ginny would never tell Pansy how adorable she always looks when she smiles after moments like that) and then fall back together in a tangle of limbs.
Ginny loves it when Pansy brushes her hair. She herself is much too clumsy to wield any tools smaller than her ancient broomstick. She doesn't really need to, obviously. Mrs. Weasley makes sure that Ginny's luxurious (flame) red hair is without tangle before she is tucked in for the night (but she obviously doesn't know who her youngest has in her room at night either). But Pansy doesn't point out the obvious when she has been offered the opportunity to be so close to Ginny. She knows how the eight year-old feel about her: a sense of innocent affection that one would feel for an older playmate or an older sister.
The thought angers Pansy and she apparently lets it show as Ginny's little exclamation of pain filters through her thoughts. "Sorry," she whispers gently, patting the side of Ginny's head absently. Ginny should never know how Pansy feels about her (or thinks about her, or dreams about her).
Ginny doesn't really remember how it starts and she doesn't dare to ask Pansy (in case it reminds the older girl that they are never really supposed to have whatever this is they're having). In rare moments when she allows her imagination to take over (and she really shouldn't because she tends to believe them more than reality), she likes to think it all starts with the crook of a finger, the slight twist at the end of lips and the soft, almost indiscernible whisper across her skin.
But Pansy is never so romantic or so subtle and she hates to mark or gets marked. She pulls away whenever she feels Ginny's nails are starting to dig into her skin and she stops to take a calming breath whenever it's her turn to lose control. Sometimes Ginny thinks Pansy's only in this because she likes the feeling of teetering on the edge, her and Ginny both. How else is she to explain why they are always (fucking) in empty rooms, the doors left unlocked so that anyone can walk in anytime (when Pansy is whimpering against closed lips in Ginny's arms or when Ginny is biting her own arm so that she won't say anything that will make Pansy pull away)?
They never make appointment as to the where and the when. When they meet, Pansy rarely talks and Ginny tries her best not to ask how her day has been. Pansy fucks her like she's angry, like Ginny's guilty and somewhere between climbing and falling off a high, Ginny usually (always) becomes convinced that she should indeed be asking for penance (for a crime she's not informed about). But occasionally Pansy gentles and it's so sweet Ginny has to somehow concentrate to keep the tears burning behind her eyes.
Then they're done and Ginny's hugging the pillow (soaked liberally with Pansy's scent) close to her face, trying her best not to peek and see as Pansy gets up without a word, slips back into her robes, inch after inch of her skin disappearing back into clothes that really does nothing to hinder Ginny's imagination (and leaves Ginny on the bed with crumpled sheets, in the room where sex lingers in the air like a tangible temptress).
Pansy never says goodbye and Ginny certainly hopes she won't start.
Pansy doesn't love Ginny. She has known that since they were just children. She likes the idea Ginny represents though: an innocence that really should not survive the rampages of puberty. She likes to stay awake long after Ginny has gone to sleep, braiding their hair together (black and red) and always feels unbearably frustrated (saddened) when they break apart in the end.
She likes leaving marks where Ginny never notices (under her breast, at that blind spot behind her ear) because Ginny is hers and not Potter's. It doesn't matter what people say because she knows whose name Ginny calls out in silence when she comes. She likes all that but that doesn't mean she loves her, does it? Of course not, she tells herself as she holds Ginny closer as she whimpers and shakes through a nightmare.