for Kelliann
I hadn't seen her before.
Not really, not above me. Not flying, not soaring like she is now. I hadn't seen her before.
I see her now.
She is where she belongs; she's set far above my head, whipping like the wind in spring, her braided red hair lashing after her, though she doesn't seem to care. She flies loops and chases imaginary snitches; tonight, she couldn't steal one. She must be cold; she wears only her dark robes over her clothes—she manages to slink through the shadows and sneak out, even without an invisibility cloak. Her eyes, when I see them, show her love of flight; she's in her natural element. I wish I could join her there.
This is the second night I've watched her as she practices flying clandestinely. The first time was an accident; I thought I had seen a bird, or one of Hagrid's creatures, escaped, but her face revealed her. I had never thought it could be her, gliding like a hawk.
She was beautiful in the air. She still is, tonight.
So I waited in the common room in the biggest shadowy chair until I saw her leave, and I followed. It was difficult. I hadn't expected her to be so stealthy, so devious. She was my best friend's little sister. Honestly.
And now I watch her. She looks so happy, like flying is all she ever wants to do, for the rest of her life. Maybe if she stays up there long enough, her wings will come and I'll never see her again. She's just above me now, though she doesn't know it, and I feel as though I could simply stretch my entire self and touch her. She's too high up, though.
I like to think about Ginny flying. It makes me happy, though I'm not sure why, and a bit sad, even though I've got worse things to worry me. Why should a red phoenix make me sad, really? A red phoenix who soars and lives at night, and returns to earth every day to wish freedom from the ground that buries last night's wings?
Because I see her, I see her wings, above me, each night as they come to her. Because I feel as though I could stretch my entire self and touch her, but she's always too high.
Because I wish I could fly with her, my wings and hers.
Right, here's a question for anyone in fandom: what does sporfle mean?
And now for this evening's main attractions:
You Know You've Been Reading Too Much of copperbadge's Fan Fiction (Popularly Known as Crack) When…
you read the word "sublimation" on a vocabulary test, and your mind reflexively adds "and the Snitch".
viewing the sudden surplus of dog-collar necklaces worn in the hallways, you are overtaken by the urge to giggle.
the words "ooh, shiny" manage to escape your mouth upon viewing/hearing/reading something pleasant before you have time to pause.
you have an urge to try humbugs, even though you've never had them before.
the once seemingly sane and normal friends who surround you are now all newly-converted slash addicts.
you make a list such as this while you should be doing something normal, upright and respectable, such as homework. Or sleeping.
Right, now off to do respectable things. Don't move, Keats—I'm on my way…