Hello all! I've had this little plotbless bunny in my head for a while now and finally found some ample time to do it. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything for J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter. Curse her…
Being the only female child of seven siblings, the rest being six boisterous and unfathomably thick brothers, tends to leave you with a knack for insight on things. Especially if those said things are matters of the heart. I am a girl after all, the only girl for the first time in many generations of the Weasley family, and Hermione does always say that the male species lacks a certain quality of tact. Cough! Ron! Cough!
Anyway… The way I see things are completely diverse from the way my brothers see them, that being where my insight comes in. When I look at something, I see its properties, I see its essence, what it's composed of and the emotions at work behind it. We might as well be speaking two different languages, boys and girls. But we're getting off topic, let's move on.
When it comes to Hugs, I see them, feel them and recognize them. And over time, I've come to recognize each one for what its worth, and how to differentiate each one of my brother's hugs from the others.
Bill's hugs were always one of my favorites. He's the tallest one out of the lot and I've really looked up to him ever since I was a kid, still do, now that I get round to thinking about it. He always seemed to know when I was in desperate need of affection (I think of all my brothers, Bill was most intuitive) and would stoop down to scoop me up into his arms, lifting me from the floor and swinging me around until I got dizzy. I remember those times… When I was little, he used to remind me of the old, weathered scarecrow standing tall in the lower fields of Ottery St. Catchpole. When Bill would take off for Egypt, I would go and lie for hours in those fields and pretend that the scarecrow was Bill, simply because the both of them were so tall. His hugs were also one of my favorite because they reminded me the most of my dad's hugs. All warmth, comfort and the smell of the burrow clinging to your nose.
Now Charlie's hugs were different from Bills. Although lovely, you'd soon discover within his arms that he takes the most after Mum and her hugs. They start off nice, and yes there's no mistaking the tides of devotion behind them, but after a few seconds you start to find yourself wanting to be able to breathe again. They're definitely crush-worthy and I often don't fancy having one of my lungs being crushed into the size of a raisin, but Charlie's hugs leave you feeling the most winded, if not, the most loved.
All together, Percy's hugs are the most different, and perhaps the least favorite out of all my brothers. What's there to say that defines Percy's hugs, other than strange. Quick? Stiff? Utterly foreign? Sadly, I'd have to say all of the above. I've always found it difficult to hug Percy, not because I don't love him or anything, don't get me wrong, the guy's a complete git, but I still love him. Part of me always will. But the bloke really needs to lighten up and pull out whomever's broomstick got stuffed up there! No matter how much times I've hugged him, willed him to just relax, it's always turned out to be a total lost cause. It's almost as if he thinks himself too dignified or manly to be loved. Psh, what an idiot.
Now, I know some may find it strange for me to say this, but for the most part, I'm compelled to confess that hugging Fred and George always scared me just a little. Only a teensy, smudge… You could never see their faces when you'd hug them, never see them exchanging predatory grins above your head, and of course, never see them slipping something in your pocket. Needless to say, they've learned over time never to pull any funny business when hugging me at the fear of being bat-bogeyed into next century, courtesy of yours truly if I do say so myself. But their hugs were always laid back, always loose, and if you weren't crying on their shoulders, they wouldn't be embracing you for more than a few seconds at the least. Mum is the only one able to keep them for just tad longer. HA! Little Mummy boys…
If there was one thing to describe Ron, the youngest of my brother's hugs, it would have to be awkward. Ron and I would never hug unless something bad was going on or he was genuinely worried about me, you know, like after what happened in my first year. I can't remember that far back, but I do think that may have been one of the last times he actually hugged me. He doesn't realize, because as Hermione often tells me, he has the emotional capacity of a teaspoon and is the most insensitive wart she's ever met, but his lack of hugs sometimes hurts. We used to be quite close before he started attending Hogwarts and I truly believed that when it would be my first time there, things would go back as to the way they were, and I would be accepted into the golden trio, the dream team. Oh how I had been wrong… I don't really hold it against him the way things turned out in the years that followed, especially with the present situations, but sometimes I still wondered if the pain I felt all those years ago could have been avoided.
But thinking about Ron brings me back to a memory I had when I was twelve, and he thirteen. And when that moment came, I knew no matter how tactless, and how unaffectionate he usually was, that Ron loved me. Truly loved me. It was my second year and I was sitting in Transfiguration class, waiting for it to end. I hadn't been feeling well for the past few days and there was an unpleasant ache sitting in the bottom of my abdomen, like a sharp rock. I thought nothing of it, except that perhaps my lunch wasn't settling well and it was digestion fatigue. That is, until class was dismissed and I got up from my chair. There was a wetness between my legs and streaks of red drying on the seat of my chair. I immediately sank back down and hugged myself, not quite believing what was happening and wishing more than ever that my mum was there. But she wasn't. I felt completely alone. I had no idea what to do. Tears welled in my eyes and Professor McGonagall looked up curiously from her desk to find me still there.
"Ms. Weasley? Is there a problem?" She asked, standing up. I couldn't speak for a moment and it was getting harder to blink back my tears. She was coming over to me now, her tartan robes swishing around her legs and my nails bit into the skin of my arms crossing over my stomach.
"Ms. Weasley?" She prodded again, this time her voice much softer. Moisture blurred my vision and I managed to croak out.
"I… my… Got my…" Was all I was able to say before tears began to pour down my cheeks. I wanted to brush them away but my stomach was hurting so bad. It took the professor a moment to understand what was happening before realization filled her eyes and her mouth parted in surprise. She bent down beside my desk then and laid a uncharacteristically congenial hand on my arm.
"Would you like for me to take you to the hospital wing?" She asked, but I shook my head. I didn't want to get up, and I didn't want to go to the hospital wing. The last time I'd been there was in my first year after having come back up from the chamber and it didn't leave me with good memories. I just wanted to go home. Mum would know what to do, she would take care of me and make the pain go away. I could only bury my head in my arms and begin to sob. I heard the professor sighing and them moving away from me. And then a moment later I heard the door of the classroom close behind her. As soon as I was alone my shoulders began to shake and my body trembled with the effort of holding back my cries.
But after a few minutes had passed, I heard the door of the classroom open again and footsteps began to approach me. I wished the professor would just leave, I knew it was her classroom and everything but I just needed to have a few more minutes. It was them that a hand touched my shoulder and a familiar voice pierced the quiet.
"Gin?..." My head snapped up to meet the eyes of my brother Ron. Professor McGonagall was no where in sight; it was just the two of them, brother and sister. Just seeing him there made more tears come, no matter how hard I tried to hold them back and before I knew it, I was hugging him. I was shaking and sniffled against his robes and my heart warmed when his arms closed clumsily around me. Hugs were like that with Ron. Awkward and usually involved him patting you on the back. But for that one moment, he seemed to realize that I didn't want to be patted on the back, just held. And when we pulled away, I saw his eyes follow the streaks of red on the seat of my chair and the back of his neck turn pink with embarrassment. But despite all of that, he dug around in his pockets for a handkerchief and handed it to me. Even now I still have that handkerchief. And then he was scooping my schoolbag up from the floor and looping it around his arm, the other beckoning me toward the door of the classroom.
He even walked close behind me so that no one would see the mess on the back of my skirt. All the way to the hospital wing. And what was even better was that he stayed with me too, even when Madam Pomfrey was explaining all that I need to know about becoming a woman and how I would meet it head on. He never did mention what happened between us to anyone else, not even the golden trio, and I know he never will. It's our little secret.
But I'd have to say that despite having six different kinds of hugs to choose from, each one more distinctive than the next, that none of them can contend or compare with someone else's hugs… His hugs… It took him a bit of hard work and practice before he got the whole hugging thing down pat, but when he did… Oh, it was like coming home to a warm fire after a long day out in the biting cold. I shiver at the mere thought of his arms. Have you ever had that feeling of being at home, not the burrow kind of home, but that sort of homey sensation that completely and utterly encompasses your heart? That's what it's like when he pulls me to him, this sense of things being right. And there just wasn't a home or rightness that I found in his arms, but also completion. It was as if God himself molded us to fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle, being put back together again. Yeah, I know, the feeling is indescribable. There's warmth, and love… So much of it, until you're swimming in it, drowning, not wanting to breathe. Not ever again. When he enfolds me in his arms, nothing could touch me, because he's protecting me from the world. He doesn't realize it, but he does. And I love him for it.
Harry's hugs, I think, will forever be my favorite. At first, as I said, his hugs were often like Ron's. Awkward, and that blasted patting on the back, as if he's not exactly sure where to put his arms and hands. But then after a bit, he began to hold me, and then he was hugging me just a little bit longer than normal friends should be touching. It wasn't so long after that, that the kisses followed. A peck on the cheek, the whisper of lips on my forehead. But just as I'll never forget that day back in my second year during Transfiguration, I'll never forget that one moment when Harry's head dipped just a breath's lower than the forehead and cheek and touched his lips to mine. I'm glad he was hugging me, no, holding me then, because on that day I had at last learned the true meaning behind the word swoon.
Sigh… Nostalgia…
Being the only female child of seven siblings, the rest being six boisterous and unfathomably thick brothers, tends to leave you with a knack for insight on things. My insight on hugs is a perfect example of that.
I think you'll agree.
A/N: Hey, I hoped you enjoyed this little plot bunny of mine. Reviews would be very much appreciated. It's a bit different from my normal writing style but I hope u liked it nonetheless.