Teddy Roosevelt's Guns

Stephen Colbert/Jon Stewart. Sorry my voice is insane.

Pop

The first part of a Ginny/Pansy fic I wrote a little while back, and mainly just a little experiment in recording. If this goes well there may be more, less stupid fics aloud. Ooh. Also, I'm really sorry for the horrible quality of my voice in this post, but it was mostly a test and I'll be better next time. If you want to read along, then here's the fic (only the first part is read).

Pop.

The thing Ginny hates most about Pansy is how damn butch she is. No, not like Millicent –all square shoulders and unisex haircut – but butch none the less. Like she’s not taking that shit from anyone. Like do you want to step outside for a minute. Ginny has a bizarre daydream sometimes, where she’s the bar girl and Pansy just blew in like bad dust from out of town and Dodge City won’t never be the same again.

Sometimes Pansy wears the boys’ uniform. It doesn’t make her look boyish.

Sometimes Pansy sits with her legs spread wide apart and her shoulders slouched. Ginny tries not to look at her those days, especially if she isn’t wearing the boys’ uniform.

Sometimes Pansy comes in wearing heavy mascara and grayish pink lipstick, her skirt three inches above the dress code regulations and her shirt riding up over her pale stomach, snapping peppermint gum to hide the scent of cigarettes. On Tuesday Ginny can’t help staring at the flat strip of skin between the layers of fabric. Pansy arches an eyebrow and blows a large pink bubble.

Six.

Ginny has advanced Divination with Pansy every Wednesday at half past one. It’s the only class they have together. Pansy looks intrigued by something in the murky crystal ball today, shifting her hands over it as if she’s wiping off cobwebs. When she looks up her eyes meet Ginny’s at once and don’t move away.

Ginny’s own crystal ball didn’t tell her much. It never does. She prefers the tea leaves, which once predicted she’d receive an important offer. It turned out to be an owl from the Daily Prophet asking her to renew her subscription, but just the same, it’s something concrete.

On Thursday there are six days until Wednesday and Ginny decides there are too many days in a week.

Squish.

“Going somewhere, Weasley?” Pansy drawls. She’s wearing some weird combination of boys’ and girls’ uniform: trousers and her top is too tight. Ginny can’t take her eyes off the other girl’s purple lips. They smile. “Why don’t you and me skip next period? I’ve got something in the Astronomy Tower I want to show you.”

It’s a ham-handed seduction but Ginny hates her next period class.

“Ten minutes,” Pansy says, advancing until Ginny’s back hits the wall and she’s caught between a rock and a very determined Slytherin. “Meet me in ten.”

Ah ah.

Ginny finds out later that Pansy did actually get caught by Filch. It still takes three days and a whole lot of convincing before she’s willing to forgive being stood up.

Cicero.

In some ways she’s glad Harry and Ron and Hermione aren’t here. There are empty places in the air where they should be standing and little silences where she waits for the words they should be saying. But overall it would be too hard to explain. Hate and love, she thinks, easy. It’s two sides of one coin. And then there’s the other thing. Nature and all that shit. Ginny doesn’t do philosophy.

Pansy does. She does reams of it in bed every night, writing Lord knows what in some heavy old leather bound journal that smells like it’s been exhumed from the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny can only speculate on its contents. Sometimes Pansy gets to talking and it’s just another thing to forgive her for. The spontaneous bursts of long winded existential questioning. Ginny gets used to it, forgives it, and decides she kind of likes it because it’s something Pansy does.

Lipshits.

In five years Ginny will say she liked the skirts better than the trousers and she liked the kissing better than the sex. She will say she like spooning in bed more than discussing the war and she liked snow ball fights more than Pansy did.

She plans now, in case of questions. We noticed each other in class. I liked her legs. She liked my hair. We caused a scandal at school. We’ve been very happy ever since.

In five years she will still be kissing purple lipstick off Pansy’s small mouth, slurring words when she drinks too much of the Dwarfish Vodka stashed under Pansy’s bed, and wearing her hair in braids when she goes to bed.

Pansy thinks, someday, she’d like to move to the coast and own a bed and breakfast by the sea, make eggs every morning and hang lace from the windows and decorate the living room with annoying little doilies like some crazy old lady and grow her hair long and have sex in the ocean. She thinks, someday.