"All the Violet Tiaras," Ginny/Luna, NC-17 Title: All the Violet Tiaras Author:green_amber Rating: NC-17 Warning: teen!sex Length: 2200 words Pairing(s): Ginny/Luna, unrequited Ginny/Fleur, plus mentions of Ginny/Dean, Ginny/Harry, and Bill/Fleur Summary:Luna doesn’t know it’s a secret, not at first. Note: Written for redshoeson, who asked for unrequited emotions, sleeping with one person in place of someone else, sekrit!sex, and post-OOTP, at fem_exchange. For the title, I blame bloodrebel333 who happened to quote Sappho in a post at just the right time. I've made a few minor edits.
Luna doesn’t know it’s a secret, not at first.
Every night that summer she goes down to the stream. She tells Daddy she’s going fishing, and he doesn’t question her, possibly because he’s quite fond of Freshwater Plimpies. She waits as the setting sun paints the water gold and then slips below the horizon. The stars wink at her from the lavender twilight, and she winks back, and on the nights the moon is out, she blows a kiss to it. The crickets sing a greeting and Luna’s heart beats faster in anticipation.
Most evenings, she goes to bed disappointed, alone with her thoughts and her own touch, a painted face on her ceiling her only company. But some nights, Ginny comes.
It’s always at dusk. At first Ginny is just a nearly-invisible speck against the darkening sky. As Ginny flies closer, Luna can make out the broom and the robes that whip around her knees, then the bold banner of red hair, and finally Ginny’s face. Luna always smiles when she sees Ginny. She wishes Ginny would smile back.
It starts the same way every time. Ginny sits down next to Luna by the water’s edge. She talks, mostly about how her brother’s fiancee is driving her mad. When Luna was a little girl, Mum taught her that it’s polite to make conversation, and so she tries to keep up her end, but Ginny doesn’t seem interested in hearing about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks or the plants Luna’s growing, and so Luna gives up. Ginny keeps talking , almost more to the night air and the crickets than to Luna, until she runs out of complaints. Then they both sit silently as the moonlight ripples on the water’s surface, as the Plimpies’ scales shimmer like submerged treasure.
Ginny moves first. This is a rule, though Ginny’s never said it in so many words. The one time Luna reached for Ginny, Ginny brushed her off and went back to staring into the distance. So now Luna waits, though her skin tingles as though made of a million tiny hands, all wanting only one thing: to touch Ginny soon or die of wanting it.
When Ginny closes the space between them, it’s always after closing her eyes tight as if concentrating very hard on something. Luna knows that expression now, and when Ginny goes tense like a snake about to strike, it makes Luna’s mouth go dry, makes her squeeze her legs together in anticipation.
Then Ginny kisses Luna.
***
Ginny kisses Luna, and her blood seems to simmer in her veins, on the verge of cleansing away that other heat, that anger, but not quite. Not quite enough. Ginny’s eyes are shut tight to block out everything but this moment and instead it’s all playing over and over behind her eyelids, all the things Fleur doesn’t know she overhears—
…Ginny and Gabrielle…very sweet togezzer…’orrible with Ginny’s ‘air…
Ginny wants to hex the smug little pout right off Fleur’s face. She thinks I’m just a little kid, and ugly to boot, she thinks, and Luna cries out before Ginny notices how tightly she’s clutching a fistful of blonde hair.
"Sorry, sorry," Ginny murmurs and brushes Luna’s lips with delicate kisses, the kind Luna likes, the kind that don’t do a thing to burn off the rage that’s still wound tight inside Ginny. Ginny whimpers in relief when Luna makes the kiss hard like Ginny likes it, when Luna’s fingers trace circles on Ginny’s breasts.
Ginny is the one who moves first, but it’s always Luna who takes it further, lowering Ginny to the grass, parting Ginny’s robes to bare her hungry skin. The night breeze brushes Ginny’s breasts and she arches, wanting more, more, and whispers "Yes" when Luna lowers her lips to take one taut nipple into her mouth.
Then Luna bites, and that’s even better. Luna’s hovering over her now, the garland of flowers at her brow almost like a crown in this light. Her butterbeer-cork necklace trails over Ginny’s belly, and Ginny thinks, pearls.
Ginny closes her eyes again when Luna slides her hand between Ginny’s thighs. Luna dips her fingers into Ginny’s heat. Ginny wriggles to draw Luna in deeper, but it’s too late; Luna’s fingers are slipping easily over Ginny’s clit, and oh, Merlin, it’s all over and Ginny comes, silver fire flashing through her blood.
When she opens her eyes, Luna’s frowning, her eyes wider even than usual. "I’d better make you some Pepper-Up Potion," she says. "I think you might be catching cold."
Ginny shakes her head, bemused.
"You said something about phlegm."
***
The train is as crowded as ever, but the students are all a blur to Luna this year, and they fade to grey in the face of one streak of red. "Ginny," she calls, thinking about how lovely it’ll be, sitting with Ginny on the train, sharing sweets and holding hands and maybe sneaking a caress when no one’s looking.
But Luna’s voice is lost in the noise of the crowd, while Ginny’s carries through the whole compartment, and there’s no mistaking her words.
"…I said I’d meet Dean."
Luna pushes through the crowd, hoping Ginny doesn’t mean what she sounds like she means, but before she can reach Ginny, Dean is there, and he and Ginny are holding hands, and then Ginny turns and says, "Oh, hello, Luna," like nothing ever happened, as if the nights by the stream had never been.
This is when Luna realizes it’s a secret.
She feels sick to her stomach, and stupid. She should have known.
***
As if Christmas hadn't been bad enough, what with Fleur caterwauling horribly in imitation of Celestina Warbeck and flinging snide comments about, Ginny has to concede that Boxing Day is worse still. At least Christmas was spent in the relative spaciousness of the Burrow, with plenty of other people around to talk to. Today Ginny is closeted with Fleur, just the two of them and an elderly seamstress, in a tiny dressing room at Gladrags.
And to cap it all, Fleur's got Ginny trussed up in a dress made of some kind of gold material, so shiny that Ginny thinks she resembles a Christmas parcel instead of a bridesmaid.
"What do you think, Miss Delacour?" the seamstress asks. She always addresses Fleur, never Ginny, and Ginny's beginning to feel like a mannequin. She has a new sympathy for the gnome tied to the top of the tree back home.
Fleur purses her lips and fiddles with the cloth at Ginny's neckline. Her hands, perfectly manicured and so pale Ginny can see the blue interlace of veins beneath her skin, linger for a moment over Ginny's decolletage. Ginny feels Fleur's fingers brush her nipples through the silky material. Ginny bites her lip, sure Fleur can feel the nubs hardening at her touch, and wills her body to ignore Fleur's ministrations. It doesn't work very well.
"I think," says Fleur, "that zees is a leetle too low-cut for a girl of her age."
Ginny just stares. The bitch toys with Ginny's breasts, long enough to feel her response, and she still thinks she's a bloody girl, a child like that stupid little Gabrielle? Girl of her age. Ginny wants to slap Fleur, leave an ugly red welt against that translucent skin, and at the same time she wants to hitch up her skirts and ask Fleur's opinion of how well her knickers fit.
"As you say, Miss Delacour," says the seamstress.
"Look," says Ginny. "Do you lot mind giving me a bit of privacy? I'd like to change back into my real clothes now."
Fleur and the seamstress leave in a rustle of fabric and chatter. Ginny leans back against the fitting room wall and hates herself as she rakes her fingers over her nipples, biting her hand to keep from moaning as they grow hard again. She imagines it's Fleur doing it, except this time Fleur keeps touching her, pronounces the gown a perfect fit, then pushes up Ginny's skirts and…
Ginny's knickers are soaked through already, and her clit is throbbing a cry for attention. Ginny rubs herself hard and fast, knowing she's only got a few minutes before Fleur thinks to check on her. And what then? What if she walked in, and I was doing this, and what if she joined in…
She tries to think of Dean, then of Harry, but all she can see is Fleur's hands, Luna's breasts, and she imagines that well-kept hand lingering over her chest again, pinches her own nipple and strokes her clit harder. She comes, the wave pounding her again and again until she slides jelly-legged down the dressing-room wall in a heap of satin.
***
Luna believes in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Blibbering Humdingers, and the Rotfang Conspiracy. She believes in Father Christmas, despite the fact that everyone says it's stupid to believe in him when you're sixteen, and she believes in peace on earth. She doesn't believe Ginny, however, when she comes back from hols swearing that she regrets blowing Luna off all fall term.
Luna is calmer than she thought she'd be when she imagined this moment. She decides she must be almost over Ginny even if she's not quite there. "It's not nice to lie to me," she says coolly. "We're supposed to be friends."
"I'm not lying--"
"I saw you and Dean. Everyone's seen you and Dean."
"Can’t have my mum knowing I fancy girls, can I? She'd have kittens. Luna…I like girls. I like you."
Luna suddenly feels very sorry for Dean, even as a rush of elation fills her. "He's a very nice boy, you know. You shouldn't--" Luna's protest dies in her throat as Ginny slides a hand inside her blouse.
"I'll deal with Dean," says Ginny.
Luna stares into Ginny's deep brown eyes, trying to scry sincerity or its lack there, but Ginny's fingers on her flesh drive away sense and reason, and when Ginny covers Luna's mouth with her own, Luna knows she's not really over Ginny at all.
They meet whenever they get the chance throughout the term. Ginny breaks up with Dean. Then she starts going out with Harry, and though everyone says Ginny's been mad about Harry since her first year, Luna knows better. Luna holds Ginny's secret close to her heart. She's sure that she alone knows whom Ginny truly cares for.
***
So Auntie Muriel doesn't like my little adjustment to the dress. Ginny grins. Harry catches her eye and she winks at him, hoping to feel a little thrill at the thought of him looking at her cleavage.
Nothing.
Instead she finds her gaze drawn back to the bride. Fleur, radiant in her flowing white gown, diamonds and moonstones glinting in her tiara. Fleur, who never even noticed that Ginny changed the dress. Fleur, who's marrying Ginny's brother and will never, never, look at Ginny, not in that way.
Ginny clutches her bouquet tighter and tries to hold the smile. Harry's still staring at her. She'd thought maybe with him--maybe with the boy she'd admired since she was a little girl--maybe he could make her feel something and maybe she'd be normal.
Now, faced with what she really is, Ginny wants to run away from this festive crowd and hide somewhere, somewhere so far away she can hide even from herself, but she stays there at the altar and forces herself to look happy as the woman she loves marries someone else.
What do I do now?
***
Luna doesn't usually enjoy dancing, but for a waltz she'll make an exception. It makes her think of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and the time she'd spent in Sweden with Daddy, humming a waltz into the depths of the forest.
Swaying alone, Luna sees Ginny threading her way through the crowd toward the dance floor, and waves a greeting. Surely Mrs. Weasley wouldn't begrudge them one dance. But Ginny doesn't seem to notice her, and takes her brother Charlie's hand instead. Luna remembers now, vaguely, that the people who are in the wedding usually dance with each other first. Maybe later…
Luna keeps spinning, keeping her eye on Ginny, hoping to see the same longing there that she's feeling. Ginny's looking over Charlie's shoulder, scanning the crowd. Luna waves again, sure Ginny's looking for her, but Ginny stares past Luna. Luna follows the line of Ginny's gaze, feeling a sinking in her stomach. Harry, she thinks. Maybe Ginny loves him after all.
It's not Harry playing the flame to Ginny's moth, though, but Fleur Delacour Weasley, dancing with her new husband, and when Luna turns back to Ginny, Ginny looks like she's being devoured from within.
Luna remembers Ginny's eyes squeezed shut, and how she never wanted anyone to know. Luna's always been good at seeing connections, at noticing the things other people miss. She understands now.
She tears her eyes from Ginny. It must be Wrackspurts, she decides, filling her mind with thoughts like these on what's meant to be a happy occasion. Luna dances more furiously than before, flailing her arms about to drive the Wrackspurts away.