Author: Hardcore QTpie
Title: Astronomers and Oceanography
Rating: PG 13 (language)
Summary: Femslash! Nothing dirty, just some kissing. But there is a lot of angst. No fluff here, kiddos. Ginny/Luna set in the future after the HP series. Might as well be an AU for all I care. But again, it is FemSlash so don't complain to me about it if you don't like slash.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing except for the bastardized French speak later on. I apologize to anyone who really knows French and read that part. But all the other places mentioned are real.
~~~~~
I've been living for years somewhere in between happy to be alive and unhappy. I believe that I can no longer think in a straight line. I'll feel malicious and depressed in the middle of the day. You can't just break out of the weekly card game or stop working to throw something against the wall or fall to the floor and cry. It's just not done. Just like everyone else, I blame it on the war. I know we won, but it still makes me sad. And anyone who was in the war knows that "makes me sad" is the ultimate understatement.
Many people died in the war. I can't stand apart form that sentence. I can't view it from a distance and forget the people or say, "Oh, how sad," because I knew many of those many people. Knew them, met them, loved them, saw them. It's an ache to say you won a war in which so many of the people you know died. How is that winning? How is losing two of my brothers, my mother, my boyfriend, my friends, and people that have taught me or have known me since I was little winning? I could take all the people that lived and surround them around me to make sure they never leave, like a security blanket, like Harry. But one day something will happen to a blanket, and then the world will come crashing down like a title wave. Except we are not powerful, in the end we're not even that smart; we're human. The world won't crash; it will keep rolling until long after we're dead. So I rolled with it for once.
I still see what's left of my family sometimes. Rarely any people that used to be friends or members of the Order and if I do, it isn't planned. But I feel so distant from them. It feels like they keep getting farther away. However, I'm doing the actual moving. I am jealous of them. And I know I could change my life by myself, but I don't. Sometimes I wonder if all this drifting about will make me flounder, or if I stop I might miss something. It makes me wish I had a mother to help me, but I don't. It incites. People that used to know me tell me that I've changed, that I never smile or show any emotion anymore. But I do, I rage and yell and cry and smile and seduce and imagine and hope and laugh and sing and pull at the roots of my hair and touch myself and touch other people and cool down and heat up and everything everyone else can do. They just don't have to know.
My two favorite things these days are reading and getting high. Two things that make you feel invincible and happy and they don't interfere with trying to forget the real world. In both I can see sparkles and stars in impossible places and know forbidden things and withstand the crashing of the tides, like a craggy rock. In both I see people and know them and touch them without having the harsh reality of them leaving or having them point out that I'm not as perfect as I should be.
Ron turned out to be the pride and joy of the family, the war, and the wizarding world. He and Harry got most of the glory after the war. I cannot say it is undeserved glory, but I am a little bitter because he died. I'm not bitter because of the glory. I'm bitter because everyone now thinks he is more useful dead than alive. And I'm bitter because his undying loyalty caused his death. He didn't do anything stupid like piss off Voldemort or fall into a Death Eater trap. He simply wanted to save the love of his life. I saw it. I saw that tall, strong redheaded man leap in front of the deadly green blast that was headed straight for the lovely, strong-willed Muggle born girl. She was steely, facing down the Death Eater. She didn't have her wand. She knew she was going to die. Except Ron, her last saving grace, died for her. His limp and comparably heavier body fell on top of her. She looked tiny underneath him. Only then did she shake and show fear. It was so beautiful it felt like I was watching a goddamn Fairy Tale unfold before my eyes.
I wanted to stop the fighting. I wanted everyone to watch as the girl wept under my brother's dead body. I needed to cry and scream. And have the filthy Death Eaters watch me. The only urge I had was to collapse and beat the ground and bawl, not to fight Death Eaters. But I had to because curses were flying at me and people were screaming and yelling all around. All I wanted to do was stop. I couldn't.
I sort of hated Hermione for not dying, even though she continued to be my friend. We consoled each other after the funeral and we still do sometimes. Harry joins and we talk and want to cry but simply can't break the silence and distance between us. I want to ask him why he did that. For once in your life Ron, why didn't you try and save yourself instead of someone else? Mum always told you. But she died before you did so must have forgotten. Even if we could break the silence, I wouldn't want to cry with them. They knew the Fairy Tale couldn't finish with a sad ending. So a few years later, they got married. The proper ending. The Prince marries the Heroine. It would seem they did that to forget my brother, but I think that they did it to suck the last bits of Ron out of each other. No matter the reason, Hermione acted as though Harry as the love of her life, but she cried before the wedding and told me that Harry could never be Ron. And Harry had Hermione assume the best friend position and tried to convince himself that he really could not live without Hermione. I just hope that when they have sex Hermione is disappointed by Harry's lesser height and weight and that every morning Harry is disturbed that figure lying next to him isn't muscular and flat-chested with red hair. And that Hermione can't start fights with Harry, because her Ronfights really did make her happy.
When I wake up and someone is lying next to me, I keep my eyes closed. The part of me still believing in fantasies and happy endings will picture Dean. His dark and my light will mingle. He'll smile as the morning light shines on my hair and whisper, "I'll never be able to get over how much color is in your hair. It's so passionate. Like you." I open my eyes only to remember that he is dead. No matter how hard I try I can't picture him again. If I could only keep my eyes closed forever, he'd always be resting, mesmerized by my hair. But someone I don't know, and never will, is there. He won't care about my hair and will most likely call me fat. I only go for the bastards who want a quick lay. At least they won't criticize my lack of emotion.
I travel for my job. I work for the Department of International Magical Regulatory Laws. I collect stats and papers and send them back to the Ministry back home. It is the most boring job ever created on the face of the planet. I picked it myself after the war. The work is boring and tedious, but easy. The benefits are crap. There's no room to move up and I don't get paid extraordinarily well. But I will never give up this job. It allows me to remember when I thought London was huge and amazing. I get to stay in exotic places and see foreign things and stay in nice hotels for naught a sickle.
But I'm in Russia. I finished my papers and now I have two days left to finish. I think I'm going to sight see and just let the papers sit in my hotel room for two days. The hotel is gorgeous. It's very old and very classy. St. Petersburg is great altogether, but the hotel has classic Russian designs and art on the walls and gold chandeliers. The chairs in the lobby are better than any I'd ever sat on. It's wonderful and full of well-off people. Yet there are millions of really poor people outside. I think I'll go and see the Kremlin tomorrow.
But today I'm in an art museum. Pretentious, intellectual guys who are interested in me because I'm in the museum and I speak English, but I'm not American. But I'm not interested in them, they're just pretentious, not bastards. One of them might be nice. So I keep walking. The art is wonderful and amazing. It shows so much passion and anger and amazement. Unlike me.
Then I see something far more amazing. Stars where they shouldn't be. Oddness. Glittering lights under skin. Long nights of forgotten comfort. And eyes like the moon.
Luna.
She's wearing a fabulous, rust red wrap, with golden stars and moons sparkling, that display part of her midriff and a slender, pale arm. Her dirty blonde hair is like stretched out curls, but thick as always, but past her waist now. There are ancient letters in gold etched on her brown linen skirt. And she's wearing thick soled, schoolmarm brown shoes. She looks every bit as solemn, indifferent, yet slightly amused as she did when I saw her last. She is stiff-backed as always, staring at a young Russian intellectual. He is making generous hand gestures to the art all around and laughing occasionally. Luna doesn't even crack a smile. She takes she gleaming, staring eyes off the man and glances at me. She smiles.
"Ginny! Merlin's beard, Ginny!"
I don't, can't say anything and let her run over to hug me. My stomach lurches when we hug. She is vibrating with warmth and tanned skin. Her breath is hot by my ear. She takes a hold of each of my elbows and kisses me on the lips. My stomach churns again like choppy ocean water and her warmth rubs off on my cheeks. And it seems, as she closes her eyes and turned back to the Russian man, without letting go of me, that there might be glitter on my lips.
I am sort of spinning when she speaks in Russian to the man. She addresses me, but I keep looking at her pouty lips talking to me.
"It's great to see you, Luna," I say quietly.
She frowns for a second, then smiles brightly, "It's great to see you too. How long are you in Russia?"
"Two more days."
"That's it? Well, then you are absolutely coming to the ballet with me tonight. I was going with him, but you are much better company."
"No, I couldn't take somebody else's place. We could do something tomorrow, though."
"Ginny, you are the one I want to see," she said in her classic Luna voice. "He's a male. Simply an expendable male. You are Ginny Weasley, the one and only, who just happens to be in Russia while I am, so you are going."
"I don't have any nice clothes with-"
"No problem. We'll shop."
"Luna, you know I'm not rich-"
"Christmas present."
"It's September."
"An early Christmas present, then. Face it, Weasley, you're not getting out of this."
Something is feeling very unsettling in my stomach. It feels light and like pattering against the walls and a tickle from the inside. It makes my fingers tremble as I put my hair behind my ear. And for no apparent reason I think, 'I am an adult. This is not child's play.'
The pounding in my chest echoes.
"Yeah," I smile. "That'll be fabulous."
Earlier, Luna had taken me all the way to the west of Russia for shopping in Moscow. She bought me a dress, shoes, a fur coat and hat. I told her not to buy it all, practically begged her, but she threatened to hex me if I kept it up. I stopped, because deep down I wanted the clothes, but they were so expensive. I hate getting handouts, but Luna wanted me to have them so much. It makes my stomach feel even more unsettled.
The dress is gorgeous. It's a simple, dark green silk that simply seems to glide over my body. It's cool and feels positively orgasmic. It's sleeveless with a modest display of cleavage and slit on one side that comes a little past my knee. The only part of it I am a little insecure about is the four inch expanse of hunter green lace below my bust. I don't have a flat or tanned stomach, and though dark the lace is; you can see through it. Luna looked at me with her sparkly star eyes, slightly glazed over, when I tried it on. She smiled and said I looked gorgeous. I knew I had to have it. The shoes match, nothing spectacular about them. They just make me a little taller. And Luna insisted, grabbing and petting my hand in a very friendly way, that I get a fur coat and hat for the bitter cold. The coat is long and white and softer than anything I've ever felt before. The hat is of the same texture, but like the hats wealthy Russian women wear. The fineness of the attire nearly made my eyes water.
We talked, mostly Luna, getting ready in my hotel room. She ordered room service and, having a fairly large sense of entitlement, ordered a bellhop to go down the block and get us hot chocolate from a very nice coffee shop. She didn't comment on my lack of emotion, she merely said once I was looking pale. I felt pale. My stomach continued to wriggle in undesirable way. But she began to do my hair and put on my makeup, mostly the Muggle way.
I have to admit, it was very titillating the way the cold liquids and powers smoothed out between my face and her fingers. It heightened the pattering in my stomach to creatures climbing in my chest cavity. Is this what Hermione felt when Harry touches her? Or when Ron did? For a long time during the millisecond caresses I could not ask: "Is this what I felt when Dean touched me?" No. I never felt cold or nervous. I felt warm and happy. What does that mean? Did Luna's hands feel better twisting my hair than Dean's? Inside my head, tears fell like a river, because I couldn't remember. I never wanted to forget. Outside, in the hotel room, I closed my eyes so as not to make my mascara run.
After Luna left to get ready herself, I looked in my dresser. For an unreasonable amount of time, I stared at my undergarments. It shouldn't take longer than three seconds to decide what kind of knickers you want to put on, yet I was there for nearly ten minutes. I picked the only matching bra and panties set I had. They were barely there black lace things and sexy with ties for the stockings. They made me look even paler, but the bra pushed my breasts together and panties complimented my bum. I looked at myself in the mirror and shrugged. No need to worry about it any way.
Jittery and feeling combustible I wanted to smoke, but I decided against it when I saw the twists and turns of my hair in the mirror. I was to be going to the ballet. I sat on the bed in the dress that floated on my skin for another half hour before Luna came back. I stood as my breath floated in the air. It formed a glistening shield in front of my eyes that I couldn't see straight through.
She had on a white and black sequined dress that glittered and blinded me as she spun around in it for me. It had to have been kept on by magic because it was strapless and had quite a low back and looked painted on down to her hips. The slit on one side went clear up to her hip. It flared around her knees and swirled around her sequined black heels. Her necklace had several layers of beaded onyx and winking diamonds on the center of each string. Her hair was simply curled and down, fondling the delicate diamonds in her ears. Her pink lips even shined glossily in the light. But none of that was as bright or beautiful as her eyes.
She smiled, "You are blushing, Ginny."
I swallowed the nervousness, "I'm underdressed."
She held up a finger and walked towards me with a small black purse. She took out long dark green gloves. They were velvet and slid on my shaky hands snugly. She took out a long piece of green lace. It matched the midsection of my dress and she wrapped it loosely around my shoulders and tucked it in the crux of my elbows where the gloves stopped.
"Now for the piece de resistance," she uttered taking a necklace out of the bag.
It was a small, ivory Cameo with a tinge of pink. It was a beautifully structured profile of a woman's face, with her hair pinned up, but some of it trailing down. The earrings were the same ivory with pink tinge, but shaped liked shells. They must have been handmade. They were so precise and gorgeous.
"Oh my god," I said, short of breath. "They're beautiful."
She stepped closer to me and put the Cameo on me. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger for a moment, and then looked at me with her lustrous eyes.
"The woman is Nerthus, a Teutonic goddess of the sea and fertility. The shells of course just fit. They did belong to one of my great aunts. I've never been one with the classic beauty. They looked horrible on me. So now, they're yours."
My jaw dropped. "Oh, no, Luna. I couldn't! It's too much! The ballet, the clothes! It's all too expensive. How could I ever repay you? Now these? No, Luna-"
"You could repay me by never talking about money or gifts again. Really, Gin, don't worry about it. Think of it as a cumulative present from the time you've known me, from me to you."
To keep Muggles away, the ballet is outside of Anadyr. Anadyr is a city on the far eastern coast of Siberia. The oddly, Kremlin-looking building has a magical sphere around it to deter Muggles and a good portion of the seemingly constant snow and biting cold weather. The inside of the Maison d'Ballet is classically and austerely decorated. Luna and I have a box in the balcony and old fashioned, opera-viewing binoculars. The ballet itself is wonderfully performed, the costumes are a bit magic, and the ballerinas tiny and graceful. But my favorite part was a very slow, very sad part. The singing was in Russian so I had no idea what they were saying, but I knew what was going on in that part. The woman with black hair and very strong legs had lost her lover. Everything drifted away from her. She felt nothing but despair, so she threw herself into the ocean. Her death was very beautiful.
Luna is grinning madly as we leave the Maison d'Ballet, while all the other wealthy, well-dressed people are trying to look reserved, walking quickly and Apparating quickly. She circles around me in a mock ballet twirl. She flounces with a smiling, childlike air only she can pull off. She laughs and grabs my elbow, slowing to a stop.
"It's like a snow globe. I feel like I'm walking in a snow globe. It's horribly gorgeous!" She frowns at me and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. Her hands are cold. And I no longer know what to think.
"Ashes... A burnt out light is what you are. You're not pale, Ginny, you're faded. You're a shell of Ginny Weasley."
Leave it to Luna to put the truth out there like a stab wound.
"Why don't you smile any longer?" She says quietly when I don't respond in the time she wants me to. I do nothing but stare at her pouty lips, slowly turning blue.
Without really thinking about it, I croak, "I'm tired of death being so goddamn picturesque."
She looks at me with her shining blue moon eyes in the slowly drifting snow as the people depart around us. I know she wouldn't say anything, but she wants me to continue anyway. It's amazing really, how we can read each other considering how long it's been since we've seen each other. But that is simply something easier to think about than the aesthetic death that seems to stick with me.
"I've seen too many people die," I whisper. "And the ones I haven't, everyone tells me that they were so valiant, that they died with little pain, or they died proud. God, I don't know why I'm doing this now! It was years ago."
She bats her eyes sympathetically and pouts, "Yet it feels like just yesterday we were sitting at school, talking, eating. Doing the things that corpses can do no longer."
I shudder with the cold, "And they look the same when they die. You have to guess. Call out their name. It's so. fake. You can't believe that they aren't coming back until a few years later when they really aren't there. I. I just don't want to see it anymore. I don't want to see peaceful faces and glazed over eyes. It doesn't do justice to how they felt. And it."
"It makes you feel that they're better off in serenity. And lonely that they look happier without you," Luna says quietly.
And everything's just been let through the floodgates. I was holding back for a long time and now I just can't. I feel weak, like all the muscles in my body are useless. I close my eyes and suddenly it feels colder than normal. I pull the fur coat closer around me, but it's fake. It's not me. I rip off the hat with my tired arm and snag a piece of hair that was so carefully twisted and put into place. My eyes feel hot, but the rest of me shakes. An overwhelming urge inside me wants to blame Luna. For anything. Just to get her away from me so I don't have to think these thoughts about people who have died or feel anything else anymore. I throw the coat on the ground and try to walk away, but she stops me.
"You can't go anywhere," she says, holding my arm. I know she means that I can't leave the conversation.
"Why did you have to be here? I don't like seeing people from my past."
I want to say something different, but it comes out that way. It's unstoppable.
She looks hurt, "Your past? No room now, of course. Is that what you're hiding from?"
"No!" I scream. My voice is desperate and angry and sad. "Oh god, Luna, don't look at me like that, goddamn it! I-I can't. I just can't do this."
I try to walk away again, but she grabs my arm and digs her nails into it. She pulls me closer her to her and I can see the desperation in her eyes. I don't know if it's a reflection of mine or if she really needs me.
"That's impossible! There is no "can't." You went your whole Gryffindor life without it. You went through the war and carried yourself and me and other people when I though I would collapse from the sheer mental weight. I'm not going to accept that! You have to tell me why! Why? Why did you leave yourself, Virginia?"
She is crying now and clutching on to me. It is hard to tell who is more messed up and who is really trying to find the answer now. Though I feel light-headed, I stay put.
"I told you," I gasp. The cold and emotion are starting to take over my body. "Too many de-"
She slaps me hard across the cheek. It stings in the cold. A little of the desperation leaves her eyes now and she hardens. She is indignant and I'm being abused.
"Lies, Virginia!" She sucks a breath in through her teeth and pulls me closer. "Tell me the truth. I need to know."
I push her away to her shock. She almost falls over.
"Because of the goddamn responsibility, Luna! I don't want the responsibility of dealing with this shit anymore! The sodding grieving, the funerals, the loss. I never in my life wanted to know what real desperation was. And I never thought there would be so much fucking responsibility in mourning correctly! People judge you for shutting down. They call you heartless. They say you've gone 'round the bend. Well I guess I fucking am! I am heartless, because I don't think it's humanly possible for it to break anymore.
"I've given everything I have to give and it flew back in my face. I left because I can't possible take anymore unhappiness. I can not possibly imagine anything hurting anymore than all of this and there could be. There could be something else that fills all the holes, that makes life seem wonderful again and I don't want to come in contact with that! It will just wind up breaking in my hands. I had to shut down so /I/ didn't completely fall apart!" I wail.
Luna sobs a little, steps forward and nods her head.
"That's what I thought. Now I have another question. Why didn't you ask me for help when you felt that bad? Did you think I wouldn't? Did you think I couldn't relate or understand? It's horrible losing people to death, but it hurts a whole lot more when you lose them and they're still alive."
A lifetime of emotion is weighing me down. It feels so heavy and bitter and I just have to spit, "What if you are that wonderful thing, Luna? What if you turn out to be what makes me whole? Can you guarantee that you won't leave me?"
"I can guarantee you that there are no guarantees. And for the record, you left me, and I'm still here. What does that mean to you?"
I envelop her. I touch her hair. I taste salt tear kisses and desperation. I taste love and harshness and anger and innocent girl things. I taste and I touch Luna in the wafting, fluffy cotton in the snow globe. Behind each salt tear and girl kiss is a shared funeral and a shared hot chocolate at Hogwarts. It is something I've never done before. I know I'm not thinking clearly and neither is she, but who, in the history of time, has ever thought clearly? This is entirely new and comfortable, with a tinge of hysterical butterflies in the stomach.
I am willing to try it until the tides ebb a little.
Title: Astronomers and Oceanography
Rating: PG 13 (language)
Summary: Femslash! Nothing dirty, just some kissing. But there is a lot of angst. No fluff here, kiddos. Ginny/Luna set in the future after the HP series. Might as well be an AU for all I care. But again, it is FemSlash so don't complain to me about it if you don't like slash.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing except for the bastardized French speak later on. I apologize to anyone who really knows French and read that part. But all the other places mentioned are real.
~~~~~
I've been living for years somewhere in between happy to be alive and unhappy. I believe that I can no longer think in a straight line. I'll feel malicious and depressed in the middle of the day. You can't just break out of the weekly card game or stop working to throw something against the wall or fall to the floor and cry. It's just not done. Just like everyone else, I blame it on the war. I know we won, but it still makes me sad. And anyone who was in the war knows that "makes me sad" is the ultimate understatement.
Many people died in the war. I can't stand apart form that sentence. I can't view it from a distance and forget the people or say, "Oh, how sad," because I knew many of those many people. Knew them, met them, loved them, saw them. It's an ache to say you won a war in which so many of the people you know died. How is that winning? How is losing two of my brothers, my mother, my boyfriend, my friends, and people that have taught me or have known me since I was little winning? I could take all the people that lived and surround them around me to make sure they never leave, like a security blanket, like Harry. But one day something will happen to a blanket, and then the world will come crashing down like a title wave. Except we are not powerful, in the end we're not even that smart; we're human. The world won't crash; it will keep rolling until long after we're dead. So I rolled with it for once.
I still see what's left of my family sometimes. Rarely any people that used to be friends or members of the Order and if I do, it isn't planned. But I feel so distant from them. It feels like they keep getting farther away. However, I'm doing the actual moving. I am jealous of them. And I know I could change my life by myself, but I don't. Sometimes I wonder if all this drifting about will make me flounder, or if I stop I might miss something. It makes me wish I had a mother to help me, but I don't. It incites. People that used to know me tell me that I've changed, that I never smile or show any emotion anymore. But I do, I rage and yell and cry and smile and seduce and imagine and hope and laugh and sing and pull at the roots of my hair and touch myself and touch other people and cool down and heat up and everything everyone else can do. They just don't have to know.
My two favorite things these days are reading and getting high. Two things that make you feel invincible and happy and they don't interfere with trying to forget the real world. In both I can see sparkles and stars in impossible places and know forbidden things and withstand the crashing of the tides, like a craggy rock. In both I see people and know them and touch them without having the harsh reality of them leaving or having them point out that I'm not as perfect as I should be.
Ron turned out to be the pride and joy of the family, the war, and the wizarding world. He and Harry got most of the glory after the war. I cannot say it is undeserved glory, but I am a little bitter because he died. I'm not bitter because of the glory. I'm bitter because everyone now thinks he is more useful dead than alive. And I'm bitter because his undying loyalty caused his death. He didn't do anything stupid like piss off Voldemort or fall into a Death Eater trap. He simply wanted to save the love of his life. I saw it. I saw that tall, strong redheaded man leap in front of the deadly green blast that was headed straight for the lovely, strong-willed Muggle born girl. She was steely, facing down the Death Eater. She didn't have her wand. She knew she was going to die. Except Ron, her last saving grace, died for her. His limp and comparably heavier body fell on top of her. She looked tiny underneath him. Only then did she shake and show fear. It was so beautiful it felt like I was watching a goddamn Fairy Tale unfold before my eyes.
I wanted to stop the fighting. I wanted everyone to watch as the girl wept under my brother's dead body. I needed to cry and scream. And have the filthy Death Eaters watch me. The only urge I had was to collapse and beat the ground and bawl, not to fight Death Eaters. But I had to because curses were flying at me and people were screaming and yelling all around. All I wanted to do was stop. I couldn't.
I sort of hated Hermione for not dying, even though she continued to be my friend. We consoled each other after the funeral and we still do sometimes. Harry joins and we talk and want to cry but simply can't break the silence and distance between us. I want to ask him why he did that. For once in your life Ron, why didn't you try and save yourself instead of someone else? Mum always told you. But she died before you did so must have forgotten. Even if we could break the silence, I wouldn't want to cry with them. They knew the Fairy Tale couldn't finish with a sad ending. So a few years later, they got married. The proper ending. The Prince marries the Heroine. It would seem they did that to forget my brother, but I think that they did it to suck the last bits of Ron out of each other. No matter the reason, Hermione acted as though Harry as the love of her life, but she cried before the wedding and told me that Harry could never be Ron. And Harry had Hermione assume the best friend position and tried to convince himself that he really could not live without Hermione. I just hope that when they have sex Hermione is disappointed by Harry's lesser height and weight and that every morning Harry is disturbed that figure lying next to him isn't muscular and flat-chested with red hair. And that Hermione can't start fights with Harry, because her Ronfights really did make her happy.
When I wake up and someone is lying next to me, I keep my eyes closed. The part of me still believing in fantasies and happy endings will picture Dean. His dark and my light will mingle. He'll smile as the morning light shines on my hair and whisper, "I'll never be able to get over how much color is in your hair. It's so passionate. Like you." I open my eyes only to remember that he is dead. No matter how hard I try I can't picture him again. If I could only keep my eyes closed forever, he'd always be resting, mesmerized by my hair. But someone I don't know, and never will, is there. He won't care about my hair and will most likely call me fat. I only go for the bastards who want a quick lay. At least they won't criticize my lack of emotion.
I travel for my job. I work for the Department of International Magical Regulatory Laws. I collect stats and papers and send them back to the Ministry back home. It is the most boring job ever created on the face of the planet. I picked it myself after the war. The work is boring and tedious, but easy. The benefits are crap. There's no room to move up and I don't get paid extraordinarily well. But I will never give up this job. It allows me to remember when I thought London was huge and amazing. I get to stay in exotic places and see foreign things and stay in nice hotels for naught a sickle.
But I'm in Russia. I finished my papers and now I have two days left to finish. I think I'm going to sight see and just let the papers sit in my hotel room for two days. The hotel is gorgeous. It's very old and very classy. St. Petersburg is great altogether, but the hotel has classic Russian designs and art on the walls and gold chandeliers. The chairs in the lobby are better than any I'd ever sat on. It's wonderful and full of well-off people. Yet there are millions of really poor people outside. I think I'll go and see the Kremlin tomorrow.
But today I'm in an art museum. Pretentious, intellectual guys who are interested in me because I'm in the museum and I speak English, but I'm not American. But I'm not interested in them, they're just pretentious, not bastards. One of them might be nice. So I keep walking. The art is wonderful and amazing. It shows so much passion and anger and amazement. Unlike me.
Then I see something far more amazing. Stars where they shouldn't be. Oddness. Glittering lights under skin. Long nights of forgotten comfort. And eyes like the moon.
Luna.
She's wearing a fabulous, rust red wrap, with golden stars and moons sparkling, that display part of her midriff and a slender, pale arm. Her dirty blonde hair is like stretched out curls, but thick as always, but past her waist now. There are ancient letters in gold etched on her brown linen skirt. And she's wearing thick soled, schoolmarm brown shoes. She looks every bit as solemn, indifferent, yet slightly amused as she did when I saw her last. She is stiff-backed as always, staring at a young Russian intellectual. He is making generous hand gestures to the art all around and laughing occasionally. Luna doesn't even crack a smile. She takes she gleaming, staring eyes off the man and glances at me. She smiles.
"Ginny! Merlin's beard, Ginny!"
I don't, can't say anything and let her run over to hug me. My stomach lurches when we hug. She is vibrating with warmth and tanned skin. Her breath is hot by my ear. She takes a hold of each of my elbows and kisses me on the lips. My stomach churns again like choppy ocean water and her warmth rubs off on my cheeks. And it seems, as she closes her eyes and turned back to the Russian man, without letting go of me, that there might be glitter on my lips.
I am sort of spinning when she speaks in Russian to the man. She addresses me, but I keep looking at her pouty lips talking to me.
"It's great to see you, Luna," I say quietly.
She frowns for a second, then smiles brightly, "It's great to see you too. How long are you in Russia?"
"Two more days."
"That's it? Well, then you are absolutely coming to the ballet with me tonight. I was going with him, but you are much better company."
"No, I couldn't take somebody else's place. We could do something tomorrow, though."
"Ginny, you are the one I want to see," she said in her classic Luna voice. "He's a male. Simply an expendable male. You are Ginny Weasley, the one and only, who just happens to be in Russia while I am, so you are going."
"I don't have any nice clothes with-"
"No problem. We'll shop."
"Luna, you know I'm not rich-"
"Christmas present."
"It's September."
"An early Christmas present, then. Face it, Weasley, you're not getting out of this."
Something is feeling very unsettling in my stomach. It feels light and like pattering against the walls and a tickle from the inside. It makes my fingers tremble as I put my hair behind my ear. And for no apparent reason I think, 'I am an adult. This is not child's play.'
The pounding in my chest echoes.
"Yeah," I smile. "That'll be fabulous."
Earlier, Luna had taken me all the way to the west of Russia for shopping in Moscow. She bought me a dress, shoes, a fur coat and hat. I told her not to buy it all, practically begged her, but she threatened to hex me if I kept it up. I stopped, because deep down I wanted the clothes, but they were so expensive. I hate getting handouts, but Luna wanted me to have them so much. It makes my stomach feel even more unsettled.
The dress is gorgeous. It's a simple, dark green silk that simply seems to glide over my body. It's cool and feels positively orgasmic. It's sleeveless with a modest display of cleavage and slit on one side that comes a little past my knee. The only part of it I am a little insecure about is the four inch expanse of hunter green lace below my bust. I don't have a flat or tanned stomach, and though dark the lace is; you can see through it. Luna looked at me with her sparkly star eyes, slightly glazed over, when I tried it on. She smiled and said I looked gorgeous. I knew I had to have it. The shoes match, nothing spectacular about them. They just make me a little taller. And Luna insisted, grabbing and petting my hand in a very friendly way, that I get a fur coat and hat for the bitter cold. The coat is long and white and softer than anything I've ever felt before. The hat is of the same texture, but like the hats wealthy Russian women wear. The fineness of the attire nearly made my eyes water.
We talked, mostly Luna, getting ready in my hotel room. She ordered room service and, having a fairly large sense of entitlement, ordered a bellhop to go down the block and get us hot chocolate from a very nice coffee shop. She didn't comment on my lack of emotion, she merely said once I was looking pale. I felt pale. My stomach continued to wriggle in undesirable way. But she began to do my hair and put on my makeup, mostly the Muggle way.
I have to admit, it was very titillating the way the cold liquids and powers smoothed out between my face and her fingers. It heightened the pattering in my stomach to creatures climbing in my chest cavity. Is this what Hermione felt when Harry touches her? Or when Ron did? For a long time during the millisecond caresses I could not ask: "Is this what I felt when Dean touched me?" No. I never felt cold or nervous. I felt warm and happy. What does that mean? Did Luna's hands feel better twisting my hair than Dean's? Inside my head, tears fell like a river, because I couldn't remember. I never wanted to forget. Outside, in the hotel room, I closed my eyes so as not to make my mascara run.
After Luna left to get ready herself, I looked in my dresser. For an unreasonable amount of time, I stared at my undergarments. It shouldn't take longer than three seconds to decide what kind of knickers you want to put on, yet I was there for nearly ten minutes. I picked the only matching bra and panties set I had. They were barely there black lace things and sexy with ties for the stockings. They made me look even paler, but the bra pushed my breasts together and panties complimented my bum. I looked at myself in the mirror and shrugged. No need to worry about it any way.
Jittery and feeling combustible I wanted to smoke, but I decided against it when I saw the twists and turns of my hair in the mirror. I was to be going to the ballet. I sat on the bed in the dress that floated on my skin for another half hour before Luna came back. I stood as my breath floated in the air. It formed a glistening shield in front of my eyes that I couldn't see straight through.
She had on a white and black sequined dress that glittered and blinded me as she spun around in it for me. It had to have been kept on by magic because it was strapless and had quite a low back and looked painted on down to her hips. The slit on one side went clear up to her hip. It flared around her knees and swirled around her sequined black heels. Her necklace had several layers of beaded onyx and winking diamonds on the center of each string. Her hair was simply curled and down, fondling the delicate diamonds in her ears. Her pink lips even shined glossily in the light. But none of that was as bright or beautiful as her eyes.
She smiled, "You are blushing, Ginny."
I swallowed the nervousness, "I'm underdressed."
She held up a finger and walked towards me with a small black purse. She took out long dark green gloves. They were velvet and slid on my shaky hands snugly. She took out a long piece of green lace. It matched the midsection of my dress and she wrapped it loosely around my shoulders and tucked it in the crux of my elbows where the gloves stopped.
"Now for the piece de resistance," she uttered taking a necklace out of the bag.
It was a small, ivory Cameo with a tinge of pink. It was a beautifully structured profile of a woman's face, with her hair pinned up, but some of it trailing down. The earrings were the same ivory with pink tinge, but shaped liked shells. They must have been handmade. They were so precise and gorgeous.
"Oh my god," I said, short of breath. "They're beautiful."
She stepped closer to me and put the Cameo on me. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger for a moment, and then looked at me with her lustrous eyes.
"The woman is Nerthus, a Teutonic goddess of the sea and fertility. The shells of course just fit. They did belong to one of my great aunts. I've never been one with the classic beauty. They looked horrible on me. So now, they're yours."
My jaw dropped. "Oh, no, Luna. I couldn't! It's too much! The ballet, the clothes! It's all too expensive. How could I ever repay you? Now these? No, Luna-"
"You could repay me by never talking about money or gifts again. Really, Gin, don't worry about it. Think of it as a cumulative present from the time you've known me, from me to you."
To keep Muggles away, the ballet is outside of Anadyr. Anadyr is a city on the far eastern coast of Siberia. The oddly, Kremlin-looking building has a magical sphere around it to deter Muggles and a good portion of the seemingly constant snow and biting cold weather. The inside of the Maison d'Ballet is classically and austerely decorated. Luna and I have a box in the balcony and old fashioned, opera-viewing binoculars. The ballet itself is wonderfully performed, the costumes are a bit magic, and the ballerinas tiny and graceful. But my favorite part was a very slow, very sad part. The singing was in Russian so I had no idea what they were saying, but I knew what was going on in that part. The woman with black hair and very strong legs had lost her lover. Everything drifted away from her. She felt nothing but despair, so she threw herself into the ocean. Her death was very beautiful.
Luna is grinning madly as we leave the Maison d'Ballet, while all the other wealthy, well-dressed people are trying to look reserved, walking quickly and Apparating quickly. She circles around me in a mock ballet twirl. She flounces with a smiling, childlike air only she can pull off. She laughs and grabs my elbow, slowing to a stop.
"It's like a snow globe. I feel like I'm walking in a snow globe. It's horribly gorgeous!" She frowns at me and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. Her hands are cold. And I no longer know what to think.
"Ashes... A burnt out light is what you are. You're not pale, Ginny, you're faded. You're a shell of Ginny Weasley."
Leave it to Luna to put the truth out there like a stab wound.
"Why don't you smile any longer?" She says quietly when I don't respond in the time she wants me to. I do nothing but stare at her pouty lips, slowly turning blue.
Without really thinking about it, I croak, "I'm tired of death being so goddamn picturesque."
She looks at me with her shining blue moon eyes in the slowly drifting snow as the people depart around us. I know she wouldn't say anything, but she wants me to continue anyway. It's amazing really, how we can read each other considering how long it's been since we've seen each other. But that is simply something easier to think about than the aesthetic death that seems to stick with me.
"I've seen too many people die," I whisper. "And the ones I haven't, everyone tells me that they were so valiant, that they died with little pain, or they died proud. God, I don't know why I'm doing this now! It was years ago."
She bats her eyes sympathetically and pouts, "Yet it feels like just yesterday we were sitting at school, talking, eating. Doing the things that corpses can do no longer."
I shudder with the cold, "And they look the same when they die. You have to guess. Call out their name. It's so. fake. You can't believe that they aren't coming back until a few years later when they really aren't there. I. I just don't want to see it anymore. I don't want to see peaceful faces and glazed over eyes. It doesn't do justice to how they felt. And it."
"It makes you feel that they're better off in serenity. And lonely that they look happier without you," Luna says quietly.
And everything's just been let through the floodgates. I was holding back for a long time and now I just can't. I feel weak, like all the muscles in my body are useless. I close my eyes and suddenly it feels colder than normal. I pull the fur coat closer around me, but it's fake. It's not me. I rip off the hat with my tired arm and snag a piece of hair that was so carefully twisted and put into place. My eyes feel hot, but the rest of me shakes. An overwhelming urge inside me wants to blame Luna. For anything. Just to get her away from me so I don't have to think these thoughts about people who have died or feel anything else anymore. I throw the coat on the ground and try to walk away, but she stops me.
"You can't go anywhere," she says, holding my arm. I know she means that I can't leave the conversation.
"Why did you have to be here? I don't like seeing people from my past."
I want to say something different, but it comes out that way. It's unstoppable.
She looks hurt, "Your past? No room now, of course. Is that what you're hiding from?"
"No!" I scream. My voice is desperate and angry and sad. "Oh god, Luna, don't look at me like that, goddamn it! I-I can't. I just can't do this."
I try to walk away again, but she grabs my arm and digs her nails into it. She pulls me closer her to her and I can see the desperation in her eyes. I don't know if it's a reflection of mine or if she really needs me.
"That's impossible! There is no "can't." You went your whole Gryffindor life without it. You went through the war and carried yourself and me and other people when I though I would collapse from the sheer mental weight. I'm not going to accept that! You have to tell me why! Why? Why did you leave yourself, Virginia?"
She is crying now and clutching on to me. It is hard to tell who is more messed up and who is really trying to find the answer now. Though I feel light-headed, I stay put.
"I told you," I gasp. The cold and emotion are starting to take over my body. "Too many de-"
She slaps me hard across the cheek. It stings in the cold. A little of the desperation leaves her eyes now and she hardens. She is indignant and I'm being abused.
"Lies, Virginia!" She sucks a breath in through her teeth and pulls me closer. "Tell me the truth. I need to know."
I push her away to her shock. She almost falls over.
"Because of the goddamn responsibility, Luna! I don't want the responsibility of dealing with this shit anymore! The sodding grieving, the funerals, the loss. I never in my life wanted to know what real desperation was. And I never thought there would be so much fucking responsibility in mourning correctly! People judge you for shutting down. They call you heartless. They say you've gone 'round the bend. Well I guess I fucking am! I am heartless, because I don't think it's humanly possible for it to break anymore.
"I've given everything I have to give and it flew back in my face. I left because I can't possible take anymore unhappiness. I can not possibly imagine anything hurting anymore than all of this and there could be. There could be something else that fills all the holes, that makes life seem wonderful again and I don't want to come in contact with that! It will just wind up breaking in my hands. I had to shut down so /I/ didn't completely fall apart!" I wail.
Luna sobs a little, steps forward and nods her head.
"That's what I thought. Now I have another question. Why didn't you ask me for help when you felt that bad? Did you think I wouldn't? Did you think I couldn't relate or understand? It's horrible losing people to death, but it hurts a whole lot more when you lose them and they're still alive."
A lifetime of emotion is weighing me down. It feels so heavy and bitter and I just have to spit, "What if you are that wonderful thing, Luna? What if you turn out to be what makes me whole? Can you guarantee that you won't leave me?"
"I can guarantee you that there are no guarantees. And for the record, you left me, and I'm still here. What does that mean to you?"
I envelop her. I touch her hair. I taste salt tear kisses and desperation. I taste love and harshness and anger and innocent girl things. I taste and I touch Luna in the wafting, fluffy cotton in the snow globe. Behind each salt tear and girl kiss is a shared funeral and a shared hot chocolate at Hogwarts. It is something I've never done before. I know I'm not thinking clearly and neither is she, but who, in the history of time, has ever thought clearly? This is entirely new and comfortable, with a tinge of hysterical butterflies in the stomach.
I am willing to try it until the tides ebb a little.