Clue(do) ficathon: Chocolate Frog Cards and Owl Droppings (Ginny/Fleur)
Title: Chocolate Frog Cards and Owl Droppings
Character Pairing: Ginny/Fleur
Prompt: Ginny/Fleur in the owlery with the chocolate frog card.
Rating: T
Word Count: ~1400
Summary: Sometimes, having someone else’s phlegm around isn’t all that horrid. Or, at least not a bad as it should be.
A/N: This was written for the Cluedo ficathon at rarepair_shorts . Thanks to skepsis66, who beta’d this, and any remaining errors are mine. Enjoy. ^_^
The loose stones crunched under her angry feet; the noise echoed around, bouncing off the walls. Her flaming hair roared about her shoulders, leaving a gush of air in its wake as tears trailed down her cheeks.
A sob tore at her throat. In her hands she held a chocolate frog card, one of Harry. It was limited edition - worth thousands of galleons, no doubt. Every so often, the green-eyed wonder would vanish, just like he had out of her life.
He wanted to come back; he was a changed man, now. That’s what he’d said, that’s what they’d all said about him. That is, everyone but her; she hadn’t said a thing.
After all, she was still the little baby sister, not a woman, not even a young lady who had survived the war. She was just the girl who waited, forever patiently, for her so-called knight in shining armour to come back to her. The girl who would watch, alone, as Remus and Tonks, Ron and Hermione, as Bill and Fleur paired up in neat little lines down the aisle.
Her family, Ron included, seemed to have warmed to their wedding. They believed - or at least wanted to believe - that the pair were truly in love. Ginny wasn’t a fool; she knew that Phlegm didn’t really love Bill. She also knew that Bill didn’t love the blonde-haired goddess either. Yet she had raised no protest against them - it wasn’t any of her business anyway. Instead, here she was, clamouring up the magically reconstructed steps, which had been designed to resemble the crumbled ones that had been destroyed the year before, to the owlery. The pair was elsewhere, perhaps discussing arrangements for their perfect little wedding.
Ginny shoved the owlery door, letting a bitter smirk slip over her features as it creaked open. No-one had stopped to wonder whether she was hurt, whether she missed her brother, her friends or anyone else lost to the cause. Not one person had considered the possibility that she, as a sensible seventeen-year-old girl who had been abandoned for over a year, had got over him. Certainly, it had never crossed their minds that she may not have even been into him to start with.
Did it not strike them odd how quickly she had ‘gone off’ him and then returned to liking him when he had gained popularity? No, because she was the youngest Weasley. She was supposed to wait around for Harry to finish sorting out the kinks in the community and then marry him, provide him with the perfect nuclear family and then live happy ever after.
She gave a growl, and followed up the infuriated noise by swinging a kick at some old, dust-ridden box. She gained momentary satisfaction from the dirt that flew off it and the owl droppings that scattered around her feet as the startled owls squawked and flapped overhead.
“Ginny,” a clear voice called across the room, “do you not ‘zink ‘zat will only ‘urt your foot?”
“Fuck off.” Ginny muttered under her breath, just loud enough for the French woman to hear.
“Non, I will not do such a ‘zing.” A shaky gasp escaped from her lips. She could hear the steps the blonde was taking, hear them getting nearer. The next thing she knew, pale arms were wrapped around her torso, breasts pressed into her back as they moved with the steady rise and fall of the other girl’s chest.
“Phlegm, what are you doing here?” hissed Ginny, trying to dissuade Fleur from keeping her arms around her. The blonde’s hold was making breathing difficult (her heartbeat sped up in a manner no boy had ever made it). “Go away.”
“You do not mean ‘zat.” Ginny could almost hear the smile in her voice. She was probably revelling in what she was able to do. Another tear trailed its way down her salt-stained cheeks, but she did not brush it away, refusing to let the part-veela know how much it hurt.
“Ginny, mon amie-“ Fleur started.
“What the hell is an ‘am me’?”
“My friend, Ginny.”
“I’m not your friend.” She whispered, though she had meant for it to sound harsh to give herself the upper hand. Obviously, the only reason it hadn’t come out right was because Fleur had caught her at a bad time - when she had let down her guard, or at least that’s what she told herself. It had nothing to do with the fact that the other girl was now facing her, her silver eyes shining somehow, even in the dimly lit room; nothing to do with her perfectly sculpted body, her arms that were encircling her waist or that her t-shirt showed just enough cleavage for her to be under no illusions about its size.
“Ginny,” Fleur called softly, “Ginny, come back to me. I would like you to be my friend, per’aps we have more in common ‘zan you ‘zink.”
“Come. My friend...” She mumbled, suddenly unable to comprehend the sentence fully. Her mind was drifting to thoughts that only served to make her blush more intense.
“Je te veux parce que tu as un belle personnalité,” Fleur smiled.
“What does that mean?” Suddenly, she felt too drained to argue; for this might be the only person who would hold her any time soon.
“’Zere is much time for translations, but now is not one of ‘zem,” smiled the other girl.
“Oh.” Ginny’s stomach dropped, more than she would have ever anticipated it to.
“So, what is ‘zis you ‘ave ‘ere?” Fleur moved her hands away from the younger girl’s side, leaving her wanting to grab them in order to regain the sensation of soft skin against her own. The break in contact was not long-lasting though, as soon, the blonde cupped Ginny’s hand, moving it to give herself a better view of the card.
She felt Fleur tense a little as she peered at the crumbled card.
“I couldn’t bear to look at it,” she mumbled, aware that most of their world would see this as a great sin.
“Do you like ‘zis?”
“Did you not hear what I just said?” It was out now, and she was no coward.
“Non, I did not.”
“I couldn’t bear to look at it,” she repeated.
“Oh, but don’t you love ‘im?” Her voice was musical, and as much as Ginny knew she should lie, she felt compelled to tell the truth regardless. Besides, if worst came to worst, she could always deny it. No-one liked Fleur, anyway (apart from her, and those under the allure - but they didn’t really like her).
“You are not wi’z me, again.”
“I, I-” and she was unable to articulate herself, despite her longing to. What the hell was wrong with her?
“’Zere is no’zing wrong wi’z you.” She was definitely amused now.
“I...” She decided to start again. “It’s, it’s been...” This had never happened before, she scowled; Ginny had always been the outspoken one.
“It ‘as been a year,” prompted the blonde.
“Yeah,” she whispered, finding herself reacquainted with the prickling at the corner of her eyes. It was the owls - sometimes people developed late-onset allergies, she was sure of it.
Then, she felt a soft brushing across her lips which caused her to jump back in shock.
“Pardon!” The French girl exclaimed, “pardon, I ‘ope you can forgive me.”
“I-” Once again she was unable to speak. Perhaps it was a case of those pigmy lumpumpkins, or whatever it was that Luna had been rambling about the last time she saw her. “I, I-”
“I must go,” the blonde sighed wistfully.
Ginny wanted to say something, anything, to stop Fleur from leaving, but her mouth refused to do more than squeak out a strangled noise, though she had intended to shout “NO!”
Her arms wouldn’t grab at the French girl. Instead, she watched as Fleur crossed the room and listened as the door opened with a drawn out groan.
“Je t’aime beaucoup mais il faut arrêter maintenant,” was her parting message, the same lofty air radiating about her as always. The stones crunched beneath her feet.
As Ginny lowered herself onto the box, she realised that nothing was going to change. No matter how much she longed that it would. Once again, tears leaked from her eyes. This time, however, she jerkily wiped them away, before reaching for the chocolate frog card from where it had fluttered down to the floor.
She carefully straightened the card out and unhappily resigned herself to the truth; Harry was back in the picture again.
Character Pairing: Ginny/Fleur
Prompt: Ginny/Fleur in the owlery with the chocolate frog card.
Rating: T
Word Count: ~1400
Summary: Sometimes, having someone else’s phlegm around isn’t all that horrid. Or, at least not a bad as it should be.
A/N: This was written for the Cluedo ficathon at rarepair_shorts . Thanks to skepsis66, who beta’d this, and any remaining errors are mine. Enjoy. ^_^
The loose stones crunched under her angry feet; the noise echoed around, bouncing off the walls. Her flaming hair roared about her shoulders, leaving a gush of air in its wake as tears trailed down her cheeks.
A sob tore at her throat. In her hands she held a chocolate frog card, one of Harry. It was limited edition - worth thousands of galleons, no doubt. Every so often, the green-eyed wonder would vanish, just like he had out of her life.
He wanted to come back; he was a changed man, now. That’s what he’d said, that’s what they’d all said about him. That is, everyone but her; she hadn’t said a thing.
After all, she was still the little baby sister, not a woman, not even a young lady who had survived the war. She was just the girl who waited, forever patiently, for her so-called knight in shining armour to come back to her. The girl who would watch, alone, as Remus and Tonks, Ron and Hermione, as Bill and Fleur paired up in neat little lines down the aisle.
Her family, Ron included, seemed to have warmed to their wedding. They believed - or at least wanted to believe - that the pair were truly in love. Ginny wasn’t a fool; she knew that Phlegm didn’t really love Bill. She also knew that Bill didn’t love the blonde-haired goddess either. Yet she had raised no protest against them - it wasn’t any of her business anyway. Instead, here she was, clamouring up the magically reconstructed steps, which had been designed to resemble the crumbled ones that had been destroyed the year before, to the owlery. The pair was elsewhere, perhaps discussing arrangements for their perfect little wedding.
Ginny shoved the owlery door, letting a bitter smirk slip over her features as it creaked open. No-one had stopped to wonder whether she was hurt, whether she missed her brother, her friends or anyone else lost to the cause. Not one person had considered the possibility that she, as a sensible seventeen-year-old girl who had been abandoned for over a year, had got over him. Certainly, it had never crossed their minds that she may not have even been into him to start with.
Did it not strike them odd how quickly she had ‘gone off’ him and then returned to liking him when he had gained popularity? No, because she was the youngest Weasley. She was supposed to wait around for Harry to finish sorting out the kinks in the community and then marry him, provide him with the perfect nuclear family and then live happy ever after.
She gave a growl, and followed up the infuriated noise by swinging a kick at some old, dust-ridden box. She gained momentary satisfaction from the dirt that flew off it and the owl droppings that scattered around her feet as the startled owls squawked and flapped overhead.
“Ginny,” a clear voice called across the room, “do you not ‘zink ‘zat will only ‘urt your foot?”
“Fuck off.” Ginny muttered under her breath, just loud enough for the French woman to hear.
“Non, I will not do such a ‘zing.” A shaky gasp escaped from her lips. She could hear the steps the blonde was taking, hear them getting nearer. The next thing she knew, pale arms were wrapped around her torso, breasts pressed into her back as they moved with the steady rise and fall of the other girl’s chest.
“Phlegm, what are you doing here?” hissed Ginny, trying to dissuade Fleur from keeping her arms around her. The blonde’s hold was making breathing difficult (her heartbeat sped up in a manner no boy had ever made it). “Go away.”
“You do not mean ‘zat.” Ginny could almost hear the smile in her voice. She was probably revelling in what she was able to do. Another tear trailed its way down her salt-stained cheeks, but she did not brush it away, refusing to let the part-veela know how much it hurt.
“Ginny, mon amie-“ Fleur started.
“What the hell is an ‘am me’?”
“My friend, Ginny.”
“I’m not your friend.” She whispered, though she had meant for it to sound harsh to give herself the upper hand. Obviously, the only reason it hadn’t come out right was because Fleur had caught her at a bad time - when she had let down her guard, or at least that’s what she told herself. It had nothing to do with the fact that the other girl was now facing her, her silver eyes shining somehow, even in the dimly lit room; nothing to do with her perfectly sculpted body, her arms that were encircling her waist or that her t-shirt showed just enough cleavage for her to be under no illusions about its size.
“Ginny,” Fleur called softly, “Ginny, come back to me. I would like you to be my friend, per’aps we have more in common ‘zan you ‘zink.”
“Come. My friend...” She mumbled, suddenly unable to comprehend the sentence fully. Her mind was drifting to thoughts that only served to make her blush more intense.
“Je te veux parce que tu as un belle personnalité,” Fleur smiled.
“What does that mean?” Suddenly, she felt too drained to argue; for this might be the only person who would hold her any time soon.
“’Zere is much time for translations, but now is not one of ‘zem,” smiled the other girl.
“Oh.” Ginny’s stomach dropped, more than she would have ever anticipated it to.
“So, what is ‘zis you ‘ave ‘ere?” Fleur moved her hands away from the younger girl’s side, leaving her wanting to grab them in order to regain the sensation of soft skin against her own. The break in contact was not long-lasting though, as soon, the blonde cupped Ginny’s hand, moving it to give herself a better view of the card.
She felt Fleur tense a little as she peered at the crumbled card.
“I couldn’t bear to look at it,” she mumbled, aware that most of their world would see this as a great sin.
“Do you like ‘zis?”
“Did you not hear what I just said?” It was out now, and she was no coward.
“Non, I did not.”
“I couldn’t bear to look at it,” she repeated.
“Oh, but don’t you love ‘im?” Her voice was musical, and as much as Ginny knew she should lie, she felt compelled to tell the truth regardless. Besides, if worst came to worst, she could always deny it. No-one liked Fleur, anyway (apart from her, and those under the allure - but they didn’t really like her).
“You are not wi’z me, again.”
“I, I-” and she was unable to articulate herself, despite her longing to. What the hell was wrong with her?
“’Zere is no’zing wrong wi’z you.” She was definitely amused now.
“I...” She decided to start again. “It’s, it’s been...” This had never happened before, she scowled; Ginny had always been the outspoken one.
“It ‘as been a year,” prompted the blonde.
“Yeah,” she whispered, finding herself reacquainted with the prickling at the corner of her eyes. It was the owls - sometimes people developed late-onset allergies, she was sure of it.
Then, she felt a soft brushing across her lips which caused her to jump back in shock.
“Pardon!” The French girl exclaimed, “pardon, I ‘ope you can forgive me.”
“I-” Once again she was unable to speak. Perhaps it was a case of those pigmy lumpumpkins, or whatever it was that Luna had been rambling about the last time she saw her. “I, I-”
“I must go,” the blonde sighed wistfully.
Ginny wanted to say something, anything, to stop Fleur from leaving, but her mouth refused to do more than squeak out a strangled noise, though she had intended to shout “NO!”
Her arms wouldn’t grab at the French girl. Instead, she watched as Fleur crossed the room and listened as the door opened with a drawn out groan.
“Je t’aime beaucoup mais il faut arrêter maintenant,” was her parting message, the same lofty air radiating about her as always. The stones crunched beneath her feet.
As Ginny lowered herself onto the box, she realised that nothing was going to change. No matter how much she longed that it would. Once again, tears leaked from her eyes. This time, however, she jerkily wiped them away, before reaching for the chocolate frog card from where it had fluttered down to the floor.
She carefully straightened the card out and unhappily resigned herself to the truth; Harry was back in the picture again.