Different
by The Eighth Weasley
She is used to her own body, small, shapely, every curve carefully honed by years of Quidditch and six older brothers. The one underneath her (now on top, now beside, now kneeling between her legs and between whose legs she now kneels) is unfamiliar, pleasurably unfamiliar. The curves are soft, careless, and the proportions all different. She thinks perhaps it's the differences that keep her here, in these arms, touching the unfreckled skin, running her hands through the straggly blonde hair.
"Luna?"
"Yes."
"You're very different."
"I know."
"I like it."
They kiss, and Ginny's world turns to velvet snow.
--fin--