FIC: Like Riding A Bike (Ginny/Luna)
Title: Like Riding a Bike
Author/Artist: woldy
Prompt: # 104
Prompt submitted by: savvyshka
Pairing(s): Ginny/Luna
Word Count/Art Medium: ~3500 words
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I had fun imagining bikes in the context of the magical world, and how it makes the weather real to people in a way that magical travel often doesn’t.
Summary: International Quidditch player or not, Ginny can’t seem to ride a bike without Luna helping her along.
"What you need is a bike," Luna announces, apropos of nothing.
It’s a crisp autumn day and they’re sitting on the deck of Luna’s houseboat, looking out over the canal. The water is a murky green that speaks of neglect and too many abandoned shopping trolleys, but the ducks quack and squabble happily. Overhead, the trees are a riot of red and orange.
"Why?"
Luna doesn’t seem to hear. She’s watching a shaggy dog bound along the riverbank, with a cross-looking man in pursuit. The dog reminds Ginny of Sirius.
"Why do I need a bike?"
"Bikes are nice." Luna says simply. "I see Muggles riding blue ones past my boat. They’re called Torris Bikes."
As if to demonstrate Luna’s point, two people meander past on blue bicycles, wheels squelching on the muddy towpath. Ginny watches them steer around the man and his dog, and then speed away.
"I’ve never ridden a bike," she says, "but it can’t be that different to a broom."
"We’ll learn together," Luna suggests, and Ginny smiles.
"Deal."
The next week of Ginny’s life is spent frantically viewing flats and packing things into boxes in preparation for starting work as the Daily Prophet’s newest sport reporter. She forgets all about bicycles until Guy Fawkes day, when one nearly runs her over as she’s walking home from the fireworks.
The cyclist shout something at her but his words are lost in the wind, and then he disappears into the darkness.
* * * * *
Ginny spends Christmas at the Burrow just like every year, so it’s not until she gets home on the 27th that she sees the enormous cardboard box outside her flat.
"It arrived on Christmas," says her neighbor, appearing in the doorway as though she’s been waiting by the door to complain about this ever since. "The man buzzed and buzzed to be let in, and had a hell of a time getting it up the stairs. Funny clothes, too."
"Thank you for letting him in," Ginny says, squeezing around the box to get to her door.
"So what is it, then?"
"No idea," she admits, unlocking the door, and wrestles the box inside.
The card attached to the outside says:
Dear Ginny.
Like flying, but with wheels!
xx
Luna
Ginny needs a scissors and two slicing spells to open the lid, which lifts away to reveal a curved metal tube. With another few tugs the cardboard falls aside to reveal a bicycle. It’s big and rather unwieldy, but Ginny has to admit that it’s prettier than most of the bicycles she’s seen Muggles using. It’s not sleek like a broom, but the tubing is curved elegantly and it’s painted mint green. The wheels are covered in knobbly black rubber, and there’s a wide, squishy brown seat.
For a moment Ginny is tempted to test it, but it’s cold and dark outside, plus she’d have to wrestle it down the stairs.
Gingerly, Ginny leans the bicycle against the wall and summons some parchment.
Thank you! she writes back to Luna, it’s beautiful. I can’t wait to ride it.
* * * * *
Her first efforts don’t go well.
Partly it’s the snow, which keeps blowing into her eyes and sending freezing drips down the back of her neck. The black bicycle wheels looked solid in her flat, but they skid about wildly on the slushy road. Partly it’s the Quidditch gloves, which seemed like a good idea at first, but seem to be too thick to grip the bike handles properly. Mostly, though, her problem is that riding a bike is nothing like riding a broom.
On a broom, everything except Ginny’s fingers stay still: her feet on the stirrups, her bum on the saddle, and hands grasping the handle. Balancing is easy; obvious, and she steers where she wants to go. Riding a broom is natural and intuitive. It makes sense.
Riding a bike involves a completely different kind of coordination that makes no sense to her at all. Ginny settles herself in the saddle, but puts both feet on the pedals the bike falls over. After a bit of experimentation she works out how to balance with one foot on the ground and one on a pedal, but then the bike doesn’t move. She prods the dials on the handlebars clumsily for a while, in case there’s an accelerator and a brake like her dad’s old car, before remembering that Muggle cyclists seem to be moving their feet. When she pushes her foot tentatively on a lever - stirrup? pedal? - the bike rolls forwards, but the handles twists treacherously in her hands and she crashes to the ground. An hour later she’s fallen off six times and collided with a dustbin. All over her body there are a sore spots swelling into bruises.
I’ll try again next week, Ginny tells herself, hauling the wet bike back up the narrow stairs to her flat. She knows she won’t.
* * * * *
Snowdrops are in bloom the next time Ginny visits Luna’s houseboat. They drink butterbeer on deck in the weak winter sunlight, hands warmed by the mugs and with Luna’s bright pink and orange blanket spread across their laps to keep out the chill.
"How’s the bike?"
Guilt twists in Ginny’s stomach. "Great! Beautiful! I love it!"
"You haven’t ridden it," Luna says, with that serene certainty Ginny remembers from the war.
"I tried," she admits. "I, um. I fell off. A lot."
Luna blinks at her, head tilted to one side.
"I want to ride it," Ginny adds quickly. "I love the idea of a thing that’s like a broom, but useable around Muggles. I could ride it to work in Diagon. I just haven’t got the hang of it yet."
"Bring the bike next time," Luna suggests. "We can go pedaling together."
* * * * *
Spring is always the busiest season for Quidditch and there are major matches every weekend in March, so it’s nearly the end of April before Ginny gets a chance to see Luna again. This time, they’re meeting in a park a short distance from Luna’s boat to practice the bicycling.
It’s a typical English spring day, grey and drizzling, as Ginny pushes her bike through London. After a few tries she learns how to use the handles, but she still has no idea how you’re supposed to push it along, balance, and steer all at once. It’s a little dispiriting when she arrives at the park and there’s no sight of Luna, just trees, muddy ground, and thousands of bluebells surrounding the path. The ground is covered in blue flowers as far as Ginny can see.
"Lovely, isn’t it? Luna says, swooshing into sight on a yellow bicycle. She glides to a stop in front of Ginny, and steps off with a smile. "A perfect day for a ride."
Ginny’s not sure how to admit that she hasn’t successfully ridden the bike so far, but that quickly become painfully obvious. It takes her a few attempts to get the bike moving, and then she quickly bumps into a tree. The next effort lands her in a sprawl amongst the bluebells.
There are a hundred unhelpful things she’s sure Hermione would say at this point: you’re an international Quidditch player, how can you not stay on a bike? I thought you were coordinated. You laughed at me for not being able to catch a Quaffle!
Luna doesn’t say anything, just offers Ginny a hand and tugs her upright. She steadies the handles of the bike as Ginny gets back on.
Slowly, in a series of stops and starts and tumbles, they make their way along the short, muddy path that crosses the park. A distance that would have taken five minutes to walk takes many times as long to wobble across by bike, but by the end Ginny is managing to steer and pedal simultaneously. Her final, victorious effort takes her nearly halfway across the park before the wheel hits a bump and she falls off sideways.
"See, you can do it!" Luna says, swooshing to an elegant stop beside her, and reaches down an arm to help Ginny out of another clump of wet and rather squashed bluebells.
Ginny hauls herself upright, and leans in to hug Luna. Somehow, she can’t find the words to explain how special Luna is never judging or laughing, and always believing in her, but she tries to put all those feelings into the hug.
Perhaps Luna knows how she feels, because she hugs back, arms wrapped around Ginny’s shoulders and her nose cold against Ginny’s cheek.
* * * * *
After that day in the park Ginny is determined not to let her bicycling skills slide again. For the next two weeks she wobbles gamely up and down the road outside her flat, ignoring the ire of nearby motorists. It’s not graceful, but soon she’s able to reach the junction without falling off or bumping into anything. Not long afterwards she summons the courage to ride the bike to work.
It turns out that getting to Diagon by bicycle involves much more than just pedaling and steering, because she also has to avoid potholes, dodge thousands of Muggle cars and trucks, and navigate through the London streets. Her plan of biking along the route she usually walks to work quickly goes awry due to a one-way street, and then she can’t turn around. She follows another cyclist for ten minutes in what turns out to be mostly the wrong direction before consulting a bus map, a surreptitious navigation spell, and finally asking a Muggle for directions. In the end, she’s over an hour late for work.
"I didn’t know you could ride a bike," says Hermione, when Ginny recounts the journey over a butterbeer.
"I just started. Luna and I are learning together."
Hermione’s lips purse slightly, and there’s a knowing look in her eye. "You’ve been spending a lot of time with Luna?"
"Some," Ginny admits, looking away. After having people gossip about every detail of her relationship and breakup with Harry, the last thing she wants is more rumors about her love life.
"Well, that sounds nice," Hermione says quickly, taking the hint. "I found it rather lonely having my own flat. It’s good to have friends nearby. You’re always welcome with us, of course. Rose and Hugo would love to see you. Come over next weekend and show them your bike."
The last time Ginny visited Hermione and Ron wasn’t exactly relaxing: Hugo had a screaming fit, and Rose threw mashed potato everywhere before being sick in her lap. It took three different charms to remove the smell of vomit from her trousers. In hindsight, Ginny has decided that Weasley children are only enjoyable to be around when you are a Weasley child who can enjoy the chaos, instead of a supposedly responsible adult who isn’t allowed to throw potato back at them.
Ginny blurts out the first excuse that comes into her head: "There’s nowhere for me to put the bike."
"Lock it up outside. You have a bike lock, don’t you?"
"Er, no. Is that a Muggle thing?"
"Where did you put the bike while you were at work?" Hermione asks, frowning.
"I attached it to a tree with a Sticking Charm."
"Subtle," Hermione says, rolling her eyes. "About a thousand Muggles probably tried to steal it. That’s an obliviator callout waiting to happen. Just buy a bike lock."
"A bike lock?"
"You can get them from any bike shop."
"Okay," Ginny says, and something in her tone must convey how much she does not want to spend her next free day searching for a Muggle bicycle shop, because Hermione sighs at her.
"Fine. I’ll get you a lock."
True to her word, a huge owl carrying a parcel swoops through Ginny’s window two days later.
Much better than a charm the note says. Visit us soon.
* * * * *
On the last Sunday in June Ginny is woken by sun streaming through her bedroom window, and it takes a moment to remember that she has no Quidditch match to attend. The day is her own.
She rolls out of bed and pads to the kitchen in search of caffeine. Gradually her brain starts to function properly as she sips the coffee, watching Muggles wander past her building in the sunshine. It’s a beautiful day. The kind of day one ought to be outdoors.
London is far too big to explore in a few months, so there are a million things Ginny hasn’t done yet. She hasn’t visited the Tower of London or the Globe Theatre, seen the exhibitions at Magical London Museum, or eaten at the witch-run sushi place in Kensington. Today, none of those really appeal, but she remembers Luna mentioning the Brick Lane market.
"It’s my favorite place for food," Luna had said. "So many flavors and colors!"
Ginny doesn’t know where Brick Lane is, but she’s sure Luna will be able to tell her.
Two hours later, Ginny is pedaling through East London. As she nears Brick Lane there are more and more Muggles walking in the street, and eventually she gets off the bike and locks it to a lamp-post.
When she reaches Brick Lane she finds a huge crowd of people in every manner of clothing. There are men in long white robes, women in black robes and veils, and hoards of young people in jeans, tiny shorts, and bright dresses. Two skinny guys walk her past wearing the tightest trousers Ginny has ever seen, and one is sporting a scarlet top hat. It’s clear that neither she nor Luna will stand out. Even the absurd outfits worn by wizards whose only knowledge of Muggles came from Marvin the Mad Muggle comics wouldn’t be out of place here.
Just when Ginny is starting to wonder how she’ll find Luna in the packed street she spies a blonde head and an egg-yolk yellow dress. Luna emerges out of the crowd and beams at her.
"Lovely, isn’t it?"
"It’s…a bit overwhelming," Ginny says, honestly.
"You get used to it," Luna assures her, and takes her hand.
The crowd jostles them as they walk past the market stalls, but with their fingers entwined Ginny’s never at risk of losing Luna. It’s loud and bright, with far too much to take in, but everyone seems friendly enough.
"Are we going anywhere particular?" Ginny asks, leaning close to Luna can hear her above the hubbub of market traders and chatting Muggles.
"That would spoil it, don’t you think?"
Ginny shrugs, and lets Luna tug her away to look at a selection of illustrations from old Muggle books.
The street is only a few hundred yards long, but there are warehouses to either side packed with more stalls. They wander past people selling varieties of food that Ginny has never seen before: delicious-looking soups and cakes, dumplings and curries in all sorts of colors.
"Are you hungry?" she asks, pausing by a particularly-tempting Moroccan stall.
"I can be," Luna agrees serenely, and goes off to find some Tibetan food while Ginny queues for her couscous and lamb tagine. The food is worth the wait: rich, satisfying, and somehow it tastes all the better for being eaten at the side of the road.
They walk slower after finishing the food, exploring warehouses where they meander past Muggles selling hats, music, dresses, and posters. A lot of the clothing looks absurd to Ginny’s eyes, but then she glances again at her Luna’s bright yellow dress and radish earrings, and is glad that nobody looks twice. It’s rather nice to find a place where everything, even absurdity, feels normal.
"What do you think?" Luna asks, pausing by a stall selling t-shirts. She’s looking at a bright t-shirt with an illustration of a fat bird that looks like a diricawl.
"I think it’ll suit you."
Luna beams, and selects a shirt from the rack.
"People like those dodos," the stall-holder tells them as Luna hands over her money. "Sad really, but that’s history for you."
Luna blinks at him. "Perhaps one day they’ll turn up," she says lightly, taking the t-shirt from him. Ginny has to stifle laughter at the man’s confused expression as they walk away.
It’s not long before they reach the edge of the warehouse and emerge again into the sunlight. The crowds are thinner now, and people seem to be drifting away.
"I’ll need to go soon," Luna announces, "but thank you for inviting me along."
"No, thank you for suggesting it. It’s been an experience. I can see why you like it."
Luna smiles, and reaches out to squeeze her hand.
"I liked it even more with you," she says.
Ginny finds herself smiling all the way home.
* * * * *
The following weekend Ginny attends the birthday party for George and Angelina’s youngest, which in characteristic Weasley fashion involves a full day of food, laughter, and minor mayhem. It’s a relief to wake up to the quiet of her own flat the next morning, without hyper-active children stampeding around or mum’s fussing.
Ginny lies in bed for a while, enjoying the sense of idleness, until the faint tap-tap-tap sound in the background starts to get annoying.
With some reluctance, Ginny gets up and traces the sound to the living room window, where Luna’s tiny owl is pecking at the glass. The owl has a put-upon expression, but when Ginny pulls up the sash it steps inside and proffers it’s leg.
"Thanks," Ginny says, untying the parchment.
Come to breakfast? I’m here all day.
xx
Luna
"Just give me a sec," Ginny tells the owl, and pads off to find a quill. She gives the owl a couple of cheerios to munch while she scribbles a reply.
Love to! I’ll bike over once I’m dressed
The owl soars away, and it’s only afterwards that Ginny notices the grey sky and drizzle outside. Well, that can’t be helped. Surely it’s possible to ride a bike in the rain?
Cycling in the rain turns out to be possible, but also decidedly damp. Water from the road sprays up around her bike wheels, making her trousers wet, and the light rain gradually soaks her hair. At the canal Ginny turns left to pedal along to Luna’s boat, and her tyres squelch in the mud. By the time she arrives Ginny is thoroughly wet and spattered with mud.
"Oh dear," says Luna, when she sees her. "Come inside!"
Ginny leans her bike against the hedge, and steps carefully onto the boat, which rocks a little. She ducks her head to step inside the low doorway into the cabin.
"Here." Luna holds out a steaming mug filled with bright pink liquid.
"Er, thanks," Ginny says, and takes a tentative sip. The taste is peculiar - sort of fruity and acidic, but with a herbal tang she can’t identify.
"It’s one of daddy’s recipes," Luna explains. "Good for damp days, and of course it keeps the nargles away."
"Glad to hear it," Ginny says, taking another sip. It’s not bad, and the warmth is very welcome.
"I’ll get you a dry jumper," Luna offers, moving away towards the back of the boat where her bedroom is.
"No, it’s fine. I’ll dry."
"A blanket then," Luna says, grabbing the pink and orange one. She extends her arms to open the blanket and wraps it around Ginny’s shoulders in way that’s half cosy blanket and half hug. Ginny can feel Luna’s breath warm against her cheek.
"Have you been watching the rain?" she asks, turning to catch Luna’s eye, and Luna smiles.
"Perhaps."
"I like the sound of it pattering on the water, with the ripples and-"
Luna kisses her. It’s a gentle kiss, just a press of soft lips, and then she pulls away.
"And the scent?"
"Right," Ginny says, head spinning a little as Luna’s thumb brushes her cheek.
"May I kiss you again?"
"I…er…" Ginny stutters, because her brain doesn’t seem to be working at the moment and who asks questions about these things? Then some part of her over-rides all the confusion and waffly excuses and Ginny hears herself saying "yes!"
Luna kisses her. It’s slower this time, but when Luna’s tongue brushes against Ginny’s lower lip it sends little shivers through her. She tilts her head, mouth opening, and reaches for Luna’s waist to pull her closer.
Luna pulls away slightly. "You should put that down before you spill the rest," she says seriously, and Ginny looks down to see her mug of pink tea at a precarious angle.
"Sorry," she says, placing it on a low table, and turns to face Luna. "I’m not very smooth at this. It’s been a while since Harry and I broke up, and I’m a bit out of practice."
"I’m sure it’ll come back," Luna tells her, lips quirking into a lopsided smile. "Like riding a bike."
There are a thousand things Ginny could reply to that: jokes about her gracelessness and collisions, about bad weather and Muggle traffic, but right now bikes are not the point.
"Then you know I need you to help me do it properly," she says, closing the distance between them.
They never do eat breakfast, but Luna makes scrambled eggs and toast for supper. That night Ginny wraps her arms around Luna and lets the gentle sway of the boat and the sound of the rain drumming on the roof lull her to sleep.
Author/Artist: woldy
Prompt: # 104
Prompt submitted by: savvyshka
Pairing(s): Ginny/Luna
Word Count/Art Medium: ~3500 words
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I had fun imagining bikes in the context of the magical world, and how it makes the weather real to people in a way that magical travel often doesn’t.
Summary: International Quidditch player or not, Ginny can’t seem to ride a bike without Luna helping her along.
"What you need is a bike," Luna announces, apropos of nothing.
It’s a crisp autumn day and they’re sitting on the deck of Luna’s houseboat, looking out over the canal. The water is a murky green that speaks of neglect and too many abandoned shopping trolleys, but the ducks quack and squabble happily. Overhead, the trees are a riot of red and orange.
"Why?"
Luna doesn’t seem to hear. She’s watching a shaggy dog bound along the riverbank, with a cross-looking man in pursuit. The dog reminds Ginny of Sirius.
"Why do I need a bike?"
"Bikes are nice." Luna says simply. "I see Muggles riding blue ones past my boat. They’re called Torris Bikes."
As if to demonstrate Luna’s point, two people meander past on blue bicycles, wheels squelching on the muddy towpath. Ginny watches them steer around the man and his dog, and then speed away.
"I’ve never ridden a bike," she says, "but it can’t be that different to a broom."
"We’ll learn together," Luna suggests, and Ginny smiles.
"Deal."
The next week of Ginny’s life is spent frantically viewing flats and packing things into boxes in preparation for starting work as the Daily Prophet’s newest sport reporter. She forgets all about bicycles until Guy Fawkes day, when one nearly runs her over as she’s walking home from the fireworks.
The cyclist shout something at her but his words are lost in the wind, and then he disappears into the darkness.
* * * * *
Ginny spends Christmas at the Burrow just like every year, so it’s not until she gets home on the 27th that she sees the enormous cardboard box outside her flat.
"It arrived on Christmas," says her neighbor, appearing in the doorway as though she’s been waiting by the door to complain about this ever since. "The man buzzed and buzzed to be let in, and had a hell of a time getting it up the stairs. Funny clothes, too."
"Thank you for letting him in," Ginny says, squeezing around the box to get to her door.
"So what is it, then?"
"No idea," she admits, unlocking the door, and wrestles the box inside.
The card attached to the outside says:
Dear Ginny.
Like flying, but with wheels!
xx
Luna
Ginny needs a scissors and two slicing spells to open the lid, which lifts away to reveal a curved metal tube. With another few tugs the cardboard falls aside to reveal a bicycle. It’s big and rather unwieldy, but Ginny has to admit that it’s prettier than most of the bicycles she’s seen Muggles using. It’s not sleek like a broom, but the tubing is curved elegantly and it’s painted mint green. The wheels are covered in knobbly black rubber, and there’s a wide, squishy brown seat.
For a moment Ginny is tempted to test it, but it’s cold and dark outside, plus she’d have to wrestle it down the stairs.
Gingerly, Ginny leans the bicycle against the wall and summons some parchment.
Thank you! she writes back to Luna, it’s beautiful. I can’t wait to ride it.
* * * * *
Her first efforts don’t go well.
Partly it’s the snow, which keeps blowing into her eyes and sending freezing drips down the back of her neck. The black bicycle wheels looked solid in her flat, but they skid about wildly on the slushy road. Partly it’s the Quidditch gloves, which seemed like a good idea at first, but seem to be too thick to grip the bike handles properly. Mostly, though, her problem is that riding a bike is nothing like riding a broom.
On a broom, everything except Ginny’s fingers stay still: her feet on the stirrups, her bum on the saddle, and hands grasping the handle. Balancing is easy; obvious, and she steers where she wants to go. Riding a broom is natural and intuitive. It makes sense.
Riding a bike involves a completely different kind of coordination that makes no sense to her at all. Ginny settles herself in the saddle, but puts both feet on the pedals the bike falls over. After a bit of experimentation she works out how to balance with one foot on the ground and one on a pedal, but then the bike doesn’t move. She prods the dials on the handlebars clumsily for a while, in case there’s an accelerator and a brake like her dad’s old car, before remembering that Muggle cyclists seem to be moving their feet. When she pushes her foot tentatively on a lever - stirrup? pedal? - the bike rolls forwards, but the handles twists treacherously in her hands and she crashes to the ground. An hour later she’s fallen off six times and collided with a dustbin. All over her body there are a sore spots swelling into bruises.
I’ll try again next week, Ginny tells herself, hauling the wet bike back up the narrow stairs to her flat. She knows she won’t.
* * * * *
Snowdrops are in bloom the next time Ginny visits Luna’s houseboat. They drink butterbeer on deck in the weak winter sunlight, hands warmed by the mugs and with Luna’s bright pink and orange blanket spread across their laps to keep out the chill.
"How’s the bike?"
Guilt twists in Ginny’s stomach. "Great! Beautiful! I love it!"
"You haven’t ridden it," Luna says, with that serene certainty Ginny remembers from the war.
"I tried," she admits. "I, um. I fell off. A lot."
Luna blinks at her, head tilted to one side.
"I want to ride it," Ginny adds quickly. "I love the idea of a thing that’s like a broom, but useable around Muggles. I could ride it to work in Diagon. I just haven’t got the hang of it yet."
"Bring the bike next time," Luna suggests. "We can go pedaling together."
* * * * *
Spring is always the busiest season for Quidditch and there are major matches every weekend in March, so it’s nearly the end of April before Ginny gets a chance to see Luna again. This time, they’re meeting in a park a short distance from Luna’s boat to practice the bicycling.
It’s a typical English spring day, grey and drizzling, as Ginny pushes her bike through London. After a few tries she learns how to use the handles, but she still has no idea how you’re supposed to push it along, balance, and steer all at once. It’s a little dispiriting when she arrives at the park and there’s no sight of Luna, just trees, muddy ground, and thousands of bluebells surrounding the path. The ground is covered in blue flowers as far as Ginny can see.
"Lovely, isn’t it? Luna says, swooshing into sight on a yellow bicycle. She glides to a stop in front of Ginny, and steps off with a smile. "A perfect day for a ride."
Ginny’s not sure how to admit that she hasn’t successfully ridden the bike so far, but that quickly become painfully obvious. It takes her a few attempts to get the bike moving, and then she quickly bumps into a tree. The next effort lands her in a sprawl amongst the bluebells.
There are a hundred unhelpful things she’s sure Hermione would say at this point: you’re an international Quidditch player, how can you not stay on a bike? I thought you were coordinated. You laughed at me for not being able to catch a Quaffle!
Luna doesn’t say anything, just offers Ginny a hand and tugs her upright. She steadies the handles of the bike as Ginny gets back on.
Slowly, in a series of stops and starts and tumbles, they make their way along the short, muddy path that crosses the park. A distance that would have taken five minutes to walk takes many times as long to wobble across by bike, but by the end Ginny is managing to steer and pedal simultaneously. Her final, victorious effort takes her nearly halfway across the park before the wheel hits a bump and she falls off sideways.
"See, you can do it!" Luna says, swooshing to an elegant stop beside her, and reaches down an arm to help Ginny out of another clump of wet and rather squashed bluebells.
Ginny hauls herself upright, and leans in to hug Luna. Somehow, she can’t find the words to explain how special Luna is never judging or laughing, and always believing in her, but she tries to put all those feelings into the hug.
Perhaps Luna knows how she feels, because she hugs back, arms wrapped around Ginny’s shoulders and her nose cold against Ginny’s cheek.
* * * * *
After that day in the park Ginny is determined not to let her bicycling skills slide again. For the next two weeks she wobbles gamely up and down the road outside her flat, ignoring the ire of nearby motorists. It’s not graceful, but soon she’s able to reach the junction without falling off or bumping into anything. Not long afterwards she summons the courage to ride the bike to work.
It turns out that getting to Diagon by bicycle involves much more than just pedaling and steering, because she also has to avoid potholes, dodge thousands of Muggle cars and trucks, and navigate through the London streets. Her plan of biking along the route she usually walks to work quickly goes awry due to a one-way street, and then she can’t turn around. She follows another cyclist for ten minutes in what turns out to be mostly the wrong direction before consulting a bus map, a surreptitious navigation spell, and finally asking a Muggle for directions. In the end, she’s over an hour late for work.
"I didn’t know you could ride a bike," says Hermione, when Ginny recounts the journey over a butterbeer.
"I just started. Luna and I are learning together."
Hermione’s lips purse slightly, and there’s a knowing look in her eye. "You’ve been spending a lot of time with Luna?"
"Some," Ginny admits, looking away. After having people gossip about every detail of her relationship and breakup with Harry, the last thing she wants is more rumors about her love life.
"Well, that sounds nice," Hermione says quickly, taking the hint. "I found it rather lonely having my own flat. It’s good to have friends nearby. You’re always welcome with us, of course. Rose and Hugo would love to see you. Come over next weekend and show them your bike."
The last time Ginny visited Hermione and Ron wasn’t exactly relaxing: Hugo had a screaming fit, and Rose threw mashed potato everywhere before being sick in her lap. It took three different charms to remove the smell of vomit from her trousers. In hindsight, Ginny has decided that Weasley children are only enjoyable to be around when you are a Weasley child who can enjoy the chaos, instead of a supposedly responsible adult who isn’t allowed to throw potato back at them.
Ginny blurts out the first excuse that comes into her head: "There’s nowhere for me to put the bike."
"Lock it up outside. You have a bike lock, don’t you?"
"Er, no. Is that a Muggle thing?"
"Where did you put the bike while you were at work?" Hermione asks, frowning.
"I attached it to a tree with a Sticking Charm."
"Subtle," Hermione says, rolling her eyes. "About a thousand Muggles probably tried to steal it. That’s an obliviator callout waiting to happen. Just buy a bike lock."
"A bike lock?"
"You can get them from any bike shop."
"Okay," Ginny says, and something in her tone must convey how much she does not want to spend her next free day searching for a Muggle bicycle shop, because Hermione sighs at her.
"Fine. I’ll get you a lock."
True to her word, a huge owl carrying a parcel swoops through Ginny’s window two days later.
Much better than a charm the note says. Visit us soon.
* * * * *
On the last Sunday in June Ginny is woken by sun streaming through her bedroom window, and it takes a moment to remember that she has no Quidditch match to attend. The day is her own.
She rolls out of bed and pads to the kitchen in search of caffeine. Gradually her brain starts to function properly as she sips the coffee, watching Muggles wander past her building in the sunshine. It’s a beautiful day. The kind of day one ought to be outdoors.
London is far too big to explore in a few months, so there are a million things Ginny hasn’t done yet. She hasn’t visited the Tower of London or the Globe Theatre, seen the exhibitions at Magical London Museum, or eaten at the witch-run sushi place in Kensington. Today, none of those really appeal, but she remembers Luna mentioning the Brick Lane market.
"It’s my favorite place for food," Luna had said. "So many flavors and colors!"
Ginny doesn’t know where Brick Lane is, but she’s sure Luna will be able to tell her.
Two hours later, Ginny is pedaling through East London. As she nears Brick Lane there are more and more Muggles walking in the street, and eventually she gets off the bike and locks it to a lamp-post.
When she reaches Brick Lane she finds a huge crowd of people in every manner of clothing. There are men in long white robes, women in black robes and veils, and hoards of young people in jeans, tiny shorts, and bright dresses. Two skinny guys walk her past wearing the tightest trousers Ginny has ever seen, and one is sporting a scarlet top hat. It’s clear that neither she nor Luna will stand out. Even the absurd outfits worn by wizards whose only knowledge of Muggles came from Marvin the Mad Muggle comics wouldn’t be out of place here.
Just when Ginny is starting to wonder how she’ll find Luna in the packed street she spies a blonde head and an egg-yolk yellow dress. Luna emerges out of the crowd and beams at her.
"Lovely, isn’t it?"
"It’s…a bit overwhelming," Ginny says, honestly.
"You get used to it," Luna assures her, and takes her hand.
The crowd jostles them as they walk past the market stalls, but with their fingers entwined Ginny’s never at risk of losing Luna. It’s loud and bright, with far too much to take in, but everyone seems friendly enough.
"Are we going anywhere particular?" Ginny asks, leaning close to Luna can hear her above the hubbub of market traders and chatting Muggles.
"That would spoil it, don’t you think?"
Ginny shrugs, and lets Luna tug her away to look at a selection of illustrations from old Muggle books.
The street is only a few hundred yards long, but there are warehouses to either side packed with more stalls. They wander past people selling varieties of food that Ginny has never seen before: delicious-looking soups and cakes, dumplings and curries in all sorts of colors.
"Are you hungry?" she asks, pausing by a particularly-tempting Moroccan stall.
"I can be," Luna agrees serenely, and goes off to find some Tibetan food while Ginny queues for her couscous and lamb tagine. The food is worth the wait: rich, satisfying, and somehow it tastes all the better for being eaten at the side of the road.
They walk slower after finishing the food, exploring warehouses where they meander past Muggles selling hats, music, dresses, and posters. A lot of the clothing looks absurd to Ginny’s eyes, but then she glances again at her Luna’s bright yellow dress and radish earrings, and is glad that nobody looks twice. It’s rather nice to find a place where everything, even absurdity, feels normal.
"What do you think?" Luna asks, pausing by a stall selling t-shirts. She’s looking at a bright t-shirt with an illustration of a fat bird that looks like a diricawl.
"I think it’ll suit you."
Luna beams, and selects a shirt from the rack.
"People like those dodos," the stall-holder tells them as Luna hands over her money. "Sad really, but that’s history for you."
Luna blinks at him. "Perhaps one day they’ll turn up," she says lightly, taking the t-shirt from him. Ginny has to stifle laughter at the man’s confused expression as they walk away.
It’s not long before they reach the edge of the warehouse and emerge again into the sunlight. The crowds are thinner now, and people seem to be drifting away.
"I’ll need to go soon," Luna announces, "but thank you for inviting me along."
"No, thank you for suggesting it. It’s been an experience. I can see why you like it."
Luna smiles, and reaches out to squeeze her hand.
"I liked it even more with you," she says.
Ginny finds herself smiling all the way home.
* * * * *
The following weekend Ginny attends the birthday party for George and Angelina’s youngest, which in characteristic Weasley fashion involves a full day of food, laughter, and minor mayhem. It’s a relief to wake up to the quiet of her own flat the next morning, without hyper-active children stampeding around or mum’s fussing.
Ginny lies in bed for a while, enjoying the sense of idleness, until the faint tap-tap-tap sound in the background starts to get annoying.
With some reluctance, Ginny gets up and traces the sound to the living room window, where Luna’s tiny owl is pecking at the glass. The owl has a put-upon expression, but when Ginny pulls up the sash it steps inside and proffers it’s leg.
"Thanks," Ginny says, untying the parchment.
Come to breakfast? I’m here all day.
xx
Luna
"Just give me a sec," Ginny tells the owl, and pads off to find a quill. She gives the owl a couple of cheerios to munch while she scribbles a reply.
Love to! I’ll bike over once I’m dressed
The owl soars away, and it’s only afterwards that Ginny notices the grey sky and drizzle outside. Well, that can’t be helped. Surely it’s possible to ride a bike in the rain?
Cycling in the rain turns out to be possible, but also decidedly damp. Water from the road sprays up around her bike wheels, making her trousers wet, and the light rain gradually soaks her hair. At the canal Ginny turns left to pedal along to Luna’s boat, and her tyres squelch in the mud. By the time she arrives Ginny is thoroughly wet and spattered with mud.
"Oh dear," says Luna, when she sees her. "Come inside!"
Ginny leans her bike against the hedge, and steps carefully onto the boat, which rocks a little. She ducks her head to step inside the low doorway into the cabin.
"Here." Luna holds out a steaming mug filled with bright pink liquid.
"Er, thanks," Ginny says, and takes a tentative sip. The taste is peculiar - sort of fruity and acidic, but with a herbal tang she can’t identify.
"It’s one of daddy’s recipes," Luna explains. "Good for damp days, and of course it keeps the nargles away."
"Glad to hear it," Ginny says, taking another sip. It’s not bad, and the warmth is very welcome.
"I’ll get you a dry jumper," Luna offers, moving away towards the back of the boat where her bedroom is.
"No, it’s fine. I’ll dry."
"A blanket then," Luna says, grabbing the pink and orange one. She extends her arms to open the blanket and wraps it around Ginny’s shoulders in way that’s half cosy blanket and half hug. Ginny can feel Luna’s breath warm against her cheek.
"Have you been watching the rain?" she asks, turning to catch Luna’s eye, and Luna smiles.
"Perhaps."
"I like the sound of it pattering on the water, with the ripples and-"
Luna kisses her. It’s a gentle kiss, just a press of soft lips, and then she pulls away.
"And the scent?"
"Right," Ginny says, head spinning a little as Luna’s thumb brushes her cheek.
"May I kiss you again?"
"I…er…" Ginny stutters, because her brain doesn’t seem to be working at the moment and who asks questions about these things? Then some part of her over-rides all the confusion and waffly excuses and Ginny hears herself saying "yes!"
Luna kisses her. It’s slower this time, but when Luna’s tongue brushes against Ginny’s lower lip it sends little shivers through her. She tilts her head, mouth opening, and reaches for Luna’s waist to pull her closer.
Luna pulls away slightly. "You should put that down before you spill the rest," she says seriously, and Ginny looks down to see her mug of pink tea at a precarious angle.
"Sorry," she says, placing it on a low table, and turns to face Luna. "I’m not very smooth at this. It’s been a while since Harry and I broke up, and I’m a bit out of practice."
"I’m sure it’ll come back," Luna tells her, lips quirking into a lopsided smile. "Like riding a bike."
There are a thousand things Ginny could reply to that: jokes about her gracelessness and collisions, about bad weather and Muggle traffic, but right now bikes are not the point.
"Then you know I need you to help me do it properly," she says, closing the distance between them.
They never do eat breakfast, but Luna makes scrambled eggs and toast for supper. That night Ginny wraps her arms around Luna and lets the gentle sway of the boat and the sound of the rain drumming on the roof lull her to sleep.