I read the label of the gin bottle in my hands. I wish I could feel another Gin instead of this liquid, I wish I could touch that creamy white and hot woman that I love so much. I yearn to caress her with my fingers, to bite the skin behind her ears, to smell that precious smell that's just so Ginny's. But I can't. Instead, I have this poor replacement that reminds me so much of her.
The gin label says it is a spirit which derives its predominant flavour from juniper berries, scientifically called Juniperus communis. Gin already told me that. She loves the fact that her nickname is the same as an alcoholic beverage, so she memorized almost everything about gin. That's her thing. She makes small talk to strangers about gin and then smiles, saying the beverage is only called gin because of her. She's flirty like that. That's one of the reasons I love her. That's also the same reason I hate her so much.
I continue reading the label. It says that, from its earliest origins in the Middle Ages, gin has evolved from an herbal medicine to an object of commerce in the spirits industry. I also already know that. Ginny used to hug me and whisper on the shell of my ear things like "Do you know I can cure almost every kind of disease? Do you need me to take care of your sickness for you?". I hate to say this, but what a bitch. I bet she could feel my breath catching when she said that kind of things to me. I wonder if she knew how much I wanted her to do exactly what she was offering me. Or maybe she just sincerely wanted to help me, as she would help any friend, and I misunderstood because I am so in love with her. That's the reason our relation is so fucked up. I never know if she really wants me as a lover or if she just sees me as a friend. Or worse, not even as a friend.
How I wanted this redhead to be clear, but I know I'm wishing in vain. Gin loves to have this ethereal aura around her, where everybody must guess what she really means when she says all these dubious things. I know where these manners come from: She's the best disciple Fred and George Weasley could have. She's just like them in that, acting like a poker player and keeping all the cards to herself. Sometimes she seems to pity me and all the other idiots who surround her and shows us one or two cards that she's holding, but never the whole hand. I hope she can read me as bad as I can read her. It would be a shame if I was an open book to this devious woman. Unfortunately, when she looks me with that amber eyes of her, I feel totally exposed. I'm afraid I can't hide much from my red lady. I wonder what she hides from me.
The gin label also says it is one of the broadest categories of spirits, represented by products of various origins, styles, and flavour profiles that all revolve around juniper as a common ingredient. Gin is also one all kind of woman. She can be tender and gentle if she likes, but also has a freaking nerve that makes her explode and cuss like a sailor when she's angry. She can be gracious when she's on a dancefloor or in the air, flying in a broom, but she sometimes has two left hands in potions class and can't walk a straight line to save her life after a dose of her namesake brew. I should know about that, considering how many times I've seen her drink it. I can't say she's not determined. Even though she's a lightweight, she's always tried to overcome what she considers a flaw of her body. Maybe she's actually a strong drinker and she only acts drunk for everybody to pity her and trust her with their secrets. I know I trusted her with mine.
"There are more classic cocktails made with gin than with any other spirit". Everyone wants a piece of my Ginny. Maybe that's why she keeps her cards so close to her chest. Maybe she's afraid we all will crush her free spirit if we get too close. I can't lie: sometimes what I really want is to do just that, to eat her until she's totally obedient to me, until she's fully mine. Then I come to my senses and realize that she wouldn't be my Gin if I owned her like that. The problem is that I know I'll always have to share her: with her family, with her friends, with her freaking fans, even with her enemies. For a girl that shares so much of her possessions, she couldn't care less about being shared. She probably even loves the attention we all give to her, considering how she fucking flirts with every living being. She plays all of us or, at least, she plays me. Maybe the others know the rules of her game and also keep their cards to their chests. Unfortunately, I can't help it. Ginny has my heart.
The bottle label says gin's secret to success is using traditional, artisan methods, lovingly distilling in small batches with copper stills. The copper reacts with the alcohol and removes any impurities, producing clean, perfectly pure liquids. Ginny laughed hard when she discovered that. "Of course they had to use copper to distil it!" It had to be a material of that sweet colour, just like her hair. A colour that I've come to love and cherish because it reminds me of her. Just to look at the colour of copper I smell her floral scent, I feel the touch of her curls on my hands. It's a ghost feel, because I'll never be able of forgetting how she feels against my skin. I always told her how amazing her hair colour is. It's so unique! The majority of copper curls have some shades of strawberry, of blond, of blood. All intertwined result in the most beautiful hair I have ever seen.
"Gin is silky smooth on the tongue and less likely to result in hangover than other spirits". Ginny would say that, even though she is silky smooth on the tongue, her namesake drink can too give a hell of a hangover. What I can say is, even when she's hangover, she's silky smooth. I can't remember a time when she didn't have that luscious and tender skin, her complexion so pale and warm all I want to do is taste her neck, her firm breasts, her clit and her legs with my tongue. Maybe I should stop drinking right now. The gin, or my thoughts of Gin, are making me aroused and there's nothing I can do about that right now, so the best I can do is stop thinking about her. But I don't want to.
The label bottle ends its explanation saying that each gin is special and unique and the factories invest all their love, care and attention into every drop of it. Gin is a complex drink, made by combining a neutral spirit with an array of botanicals. That's my Ginny. Even though she's made of some plain, ordinary characteristics, born into a simple and common family and raised as an unpretentious girl, the woman that stole my heart developed into a special and unique person, the only one like her in the world. Any other person like her would be too much. Her inner fire, that she often shows in her ember eyes, makes me combust inside and I'm afraid she'll one day bring the end of the world because of her fire.
But I don't care. I hope one day we'll burn together until the end, because I'm already lost if I'm not with her. I need one more drink.
Hi! I hope you liked the first chapter of my new fic! It was just an Intro. I've never written any smut and I'll try with this fic. I plan on writing about some characters POVs regarding their feelings and memories of Ginny Weasley.
So... what do you think? Please, send me reviews so I can know what to do better. I'd like to tell you that English's not my first language, so I'm sorry in advance for my mistakes.
XO,
Anne