Title: Inner Monologue (or, How Ginny's Little Problem Led to Good Things)
Pairing: Ginny/Gabrielle
Rating: NC-17 (sexual content)
Disclaimer: HP belongs to other people, not me!
Spoilers: Very slight nods to DH, but not canon, clearly, g
Summary: Ginny blamed the damn Veela powers—or maybe it was the Bludgers to the head?
Notes: My first attempt at Ginny/Gabrielle... frakking scary. Not helped by how I wrote this while I had the flu. Written for the Happy Endings Exchange on LJ.


Officially, Ginny's problems began when the damn war ended— which was depressing all by itself.

Up until then, she'd had what she liked to think was a good plan for her life post-war— she'd finish school, marry Harry and pop out a handful of children that would eventually repeat this cycle. Then the war ended, and while she did go back to school, the rest of the plan pretty much fell through. Harry dumped her, got her back and then she dumped him, deciding with a stutter in the deepest part of her that this wasn't what her life was supposed to be.

Unofficially, Ginny knew that if she truly listened to the tiny but completely mature voice inside of her, she'd be presented with the simple truth that the end of the war did not abruptly make her want to spend her life playing Quidditch instead of having a herd of children that her sister-in-laws could pop out just as easily.

Nor did the end of the war turn her gay.

Ginny had never been one for too much self-realization without being smacked in the face with it and so, partly in an attempt to salvage what was left of her sanity and partly through her natural stubborn streak, she blamed the Veela powers for how impossibly cynical she was at the age of twenty-two.

Even though Veela powers didn't work on other females— and didn't have the ability to make anyone cynical.

At least not directly, Ginny always added privately with a roll of her eyes at her own inner monologue.

But a Veela heritage did lead to interesting coloring so there, indirectly, it all made perfect sense.

It was the damn Veela powers that gave Gabrielle Delacour disgustingly shiny silver-blonde hair and blue eyes that were entirely too brilliant when they met hers across a room, even when the room was full of celebrating Weasleys and sulky exes.

It was the damn Veela powers that first made her a dirty old lesbian pervert when the barely fifteen year old had met her eyes that night (startling clear jewel eyes that met hers for just a heartbeat) and sent Ginny dropping her gaze and staggering hastily back into a wall. That was when the nonsense had started, she remembered, and she'd tried (and failed) to excuse herself out of every family gathering since that celebration two years before.

It was the damn Veela powers that made every single family gathering that included the Delacours her personal hell because she spent it lurking around the edges of the group with a firewhisky— and looking like an idiot when she inevitably wound up crashing into one of her Delacour in-laws.

To her own great exhaustion, Ginny couldn't muster the strength to just skip them since she knew how much her Mum had begun to fret about her, worried that she wasn't "enjoying life to its fullest."

What her mother failed to realize (not that she could reasonably be blamed since Ginny had never been stupid enough to let those dirty thoughts slip out) was that it wasn't easy to enjoy life to its fullest when you were a dirty old pervert.

Stuck in the predicament she was right now, lurking around the edges of Gabrielle Delacour's outdoor graduation party from Beauxbatons, Ginny blamed the damn Veela powers for putting the whole damn thing in motion.

And she didn't care how bitter it made her sound— mostly.

"You don't need more firewhisky."

Ginny blamed the Veela powers for Percy being a git, too.

"Give it to me," she ordered, gesturing hard with her empty glass and then biting back a growl when her older brother shook his head with all the conviction of a one-time Head Boy. "Percy, stop being yourself and top me off," she groused, aware of how devious they probably looked talking in quiet furious voices in the corner of the yard and the attention they would attract if they didn't move soon.

"I'm beginning to worry about you—"

She stopped listening, reaching past him to make a grab for the bottle he held behind him and letting out a huff when he smacked her hand as if she were some child. She wasn't just an adult, damn it, she was a celebrity the wizard world over for her thrilling and horrifying blend of stubbornness and stupidity. Women wanted her and men wanted to be her. She'd broken records in her first year that hadn't even existed yet.

People come to me for autographs!

"That doesn't make you that special."

Wait— what?

Stepping back, she tipped her head back to stare warily at her brother, realizing with a sudden wince that she had said it aloud. The wince became an outright grimace when Percy's eyes widened abruptly in realization, leaving him looking like he was torn between snickering and rushing her to St. Mingo's for the mental breakdown he was clearly sure she was experiencing. "No more for you, not tonight."

"I can hold my whisky."

"So the Prophet says," he sniffed, and she snapped her mouth shut, feeling cornered.

A smart person would give up now, she knew, but everything about her life was defined by her stubbornness, her refusal to listen to her own instinct even when she knew it was right. It was what kept her lurking at her own family gatherings, and it was what kept her from actively dating because she knew what she would do if she let herself go out and look for more than a fun night.

She'd do something stupid, and show Gabrielle how big a pervert she was—

Infuriated at the panic the thought caused in her, unwilling to fight a stupid git any longer, she spun and stalked through her family, trying to make a beeline for the kitchen door without any of them actually managing to pull her into any groups. Finally reaching the door, she pushed her way into the still overheated kitchen, hissing out a breath as her hair instantly went limp around her face.

Ginny Weasley wished her hair was as glorious as the rags said, she really did.

But five hours a day of rigorous training and the less than impressive amount of time she spent on her own hair care did its damage, left it hang down when the slightest change of temperature hit the spells she kept it up with when she was attempting to look presentable.

Eh, at least now she matched how she felt.

And at least now she had a good wall separating her from the object of her perverted old desires.

"All for the best," she told herself, nodding to make the point stick. She kicked off her heels as she shuffled through the house, sure that it wouldn't be long before at least one brother came in to peek on her, that brother without a doubt being either being Ron or Percy, knowing them as she did. "Don't want to look like a dirty old woman, Ginny."

"I do not understand why you imagine this to be a bad thing."

Shit.

Ginny thought of a dozen things she could do, all of which she quickly dismissed as useless and ridiculous— dropping and rolling under a table would no doubt leave her looking pathetic, and turning and bolting wouldn't be much better; throwing something in Gabrielle's face to distract her before running was another one that couldn't possibly end well—

Feeling ambushed and helpless, she risked a glance and found the young woman sitting on the bottom step of the staircase looking relaxed in a way that made Ginny want to shake her out of pure jealousy. There she was, with her irritatingly long hair and her shockingly clear eyes, cradling a bottle of wine between delicate hands as she stared at Ginny.

"What?" Ginny sputtered, unsure what to do to break the girl's stare.

"You're going to give away my hiding spot," Gabrielle shrugged unhappily, and lifted the bottle in what seemed to be an offering to a fellow victim of an overexcited family. There was a horrible tense moment then, and Ginny tried to tell herself to turn around and walk back out because she was going to do something stupid—

But she had alcohol.

Ginny worked very carefully not to touch slim fingers as she plucked the bottle from small hands, twirled it in her palm and then took a heavy swig. It was stronger than she expected, burned a bit, and she gave Gabrielle a sharp suspicious glance that was returned only with a too innocent to be innocent blink of wide eyes.

"Isn't this stuff illegal?" Ginny demanded, taking another swing anyway.

"The French are not so paranoid," Gabrielle shrugged, stretching back and leaning on her palms, making the material of her dress robes shift in very interesting ways across her chest. It was bad— and then it got worse as she stretched out her legs and wriggled bare toes.

Ginny desperately wished she'd stop moving and then took another long swallow of the wine, closing her eyes as she let out a long breath.

"You're too old for your age," Gabrielle announced then, in a tone that suggested that this was a very important announcement. When Ginny glanced up at her, she instantly regretted it, noticing that her robes had dipped between her legs to show off bare skin and—

Oh, god, she was going to hell.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she sputtered, and stared at a spot behind Gabrielle's head to avoid looking at the sheer stockings and black garter belt, to avoid noticing the slight sparkle of something that suggested silver thread that decorated the lace. "Nothing," she repeated more hysterically— because Gabrielle had moved again, heaving a sigh.

If she was a smart person, she'd run—but instead she stood here like an idiot nursing a bottle of wine.

"I didn't know you liked wine so much… I always got the impression you were a fan of whiskey."

"I like all kinds of things."

"So do I," the young woman stated as she shifted her shoulders and stared right at Ginny.

She closed her eyes with a swear, pressing her free palm against her forehead and struggling to get a grip on herself because she was not supposed to be staring at this hard or admitting that she was an idiot. Her attention was jerked away when fingers brushed hers, a hand pulling the bottle from hers.

When she opened her eyes, Gabrielle smirked up at her, eyes impossibly large.

She's trying to get in your robes, Ginny.

"Finally figure that out?"

She'd have to deal with this problem of saying her private thoughts aloud, wouldn't she?

There was a long awkward moment then, Ginny horribly aware of how any one of her family members could come in and find her here visually molesting an innocent seventeen year old part Veela girl who happened to be her sister-in-law. She needed to slowly back away and go outside, place as many family members as she could between herself and this girl—

"Did you know that Veela are natural predators?" Gabrielle murmured softly, peering intently at Ginny and fluttering her fingers across the bottle. When Ginny just stared back at her blankly, frozen in place, Gabrielle cocked one feathery eyebrow. "I'm only part Veela, of course but… It's one of the quirks we develop as we mature, predatory instincts— of course, we don't actually have to hunt anymore, so they're more sexual instincts now."

"Oh?" she asked slowly, not quite sure whether her heart was pounding from excitement or from the sudden mental image of tiny Gabrielle Delacour lunging at her like some kind of big cat and tackling her to the ground. Or maybe that was excitement, too, because the image wasn't entirely horrible, not with what she could see of Gabrielle's legs and the way Gabrielle was staring at her—

"My mum could wander in at any moment," she blurted, hoping that Gabrielle would help her control herself.

This was yet another sign of her stupidity.

"I would have thought you'd have figured it out when I left the shower nude last year and knocked on your bedroom door when everyone else was downstairs," Gabrielle commented, head tilted and studying Ginny as if she was the most pitiful creature she'd ever seen.

"You said you just wanted a towel."

Gabrielle just stared at her.

Right, Ginny—you're as bad as Ron, aren't you?

"You're just going to keep standing there, aren't you?"

"I'm too old for you—"

"It's only a few years," the younger girl said shortly, waving it away with a quick flick of a slender wrist.

"You're too young—"

"If we were in France, I would have had you two years ago."

"Your sister is married to my brother— Wait, really?"

Gabrielle just gave her that same 'why do I put up with you when you're so stupid?' look again.

"Really?" she sputtered yet again, not sure why it mattered but suddenly fascinated with the comment, stepping a bit closer to the younger woman, looking down at her more intently. "When you say two years ago…"

"I repeat, Ginny: I would have thought you'd have figured it out when I left the shower completely nude last year and knocked on your bedroom door when everyone else was downstairs."

Oh.

"Oh," she said, and let herself think on that for a long minute.

After a moment, she decided that she liked the shift it presented to her in regards to this strange attraction to this irritatingly arrogant French girl—even if it left her feeling like an idiot. But still, garter belt or not, nude girl asking for a towel or not, there was a problem she couldn't wrap her mind around.

"What about the family?"

"We're already family."

"That's the point."

"It's not like we're siblings, Ginny."

"But my brother and your sister are married—and we share a niece!"

"Did you see my stockings?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you still arguing with me?"

Ginny wasn't sure, not completely, and only found herself baffled when she tried to figure it out.

"I just…" She paused, stared down at Gabrielle, feeling flustered, heart beating impossibly fast in her chest.

Although that was probably the damn stockings, she knew.

"I work all the time, don't have time for a relationship."

"Then I will stay home and buy beautiful things, and when you come home, I'll be waiting wearing these—" delicate fingers slid playfully along sheer black material, lips twisting into a smirk, "—and nothing else."

Oh.

"Oh?"

"If you'd like."

"I'd like," Ginny assured her, floundering as she found herself drawing a blank as to what else she could throw at this suggestion. There were all kinds of problems, she knew, all kinds of facts that demanded she leave right now and go find someone else, get over this thing—

If we were in France, I would have had you two years ago.

Something low in her belly that had already went hot ignited even further, caused her to swallow and shift her hips, thrown even more at the sudden pleased look that settled over Gabrielle's fine features. Shaken, not thinking, she stepped forward and eased down to sit beside Gabrielle, taking slow easy breaths, horribly aware of how her body was reacting.

She remembered the look from the family celebration two years before, remembered shockingly blue eyes that had met hers across a room, and closed her eyes, overwhelmed.

"I can actually hear the rusty little wheels in your skull turning," Gabrielle murmured, the heat that flared against Ginny's neck matching how close her voice sounded. Fingers slid across her wrist, drifted slightly down across her knuckles, and the redhead opened her eyes, glancing down to watch those fingers dip even lower, a palm pushing hard against her stomach through her robes.

"Are you really always this obvious?"

"Mm," the younger woman hummed and then twisted closer, mouth brushing the slightest bit against Ginny's, a slow touch that deepened when Ginny parted her lips to drag in a strangled breath. Their first kiss was harder than she would have expected, Gabrielle moving in slow steady ways that were impossible to deny, the palm against her middle pushing until Ginny toppled backwards against the staircase, jerking in surprise.

But knees settled on either side of her hips and when she pulled away, she found herself pinned by a tiny girl that she could have broken in half without too much trouble. "How are we going to explain this if somebody comes in?" she demanded, ashamed of how breathy her voice sounded, how pitiful she probably looked.

"It's fine— you are the victim, and I seduced the innocent Quidditch player."

"You overpowered me?"

"Who is on top of whom?"

Oh.

"Oh," she admitted, glancing down more intently at the legs that straddled her, well-formed thighs encased in dark cloth and, yes, there was silver thread decorating the lace, sparkling dimly as Gabrielle shifted on top of her, smoothed palms up her middle and brushed teasingly across her breasts.

Even though the robes, it made Ginny react, hissing in a breath and dropping her head back against a step.

"You're so easy."

"No, I'm not—"

But she didn't get any farther because Gabrielle shifted again in a sharp decisive way, hand moving fast down Ginny's form to tug in irritation, finally forced to sit forward on her knees to drag them up. Ginny had a second to prepare herself, to imagine how ridiculous she must look but then fingers dipped between cloth and skin and the thoughts burned away, flared and then faded as fingers slid teasingly through wet heat.

"Oh, god—"

"You can call me Gabrielle," the younger girl smirked and Ginny's groan had an edge of a laugh, a chuckle bubbling up inside her as she squirmed, not even caring at how a step dug into her arse. She'd feel it later, she knew, but right now there was just this, the painful ache that flared and flared again with each stroke of fingers, the thighs that felt smooth when she reached down and cautiously got a grip on them, found the muscles strong beneath the skin.

"That's not funny—" she managed, annoyed despite herself.

Fingers pushed and then dragged as they withdrew and Ginny groaned, fingers knotting into slim hips as Gabrielle did it again, a hard push and drag that made her jerk and shudder inside. A palm pushed against her shoulder, keeping her down, and helping to brace the smaller form and then Gabrielle did it again, hips grinding down to match the move as fingers pushed and dragged.

It sent a jolt through her, igniting between her legs and threading up her spine.

There was a noise from the girl on top of her, and when she glanced up, she found that those damn blue eyes were wide and darker than before, soft lips parted as the noise spilled from deep inside her.

The tightness was getting worse (better) and she struggled to take a breath, pulling the body more tightly against herself and feeling fingers curl harder than before, searching and stroking and finally twisting in a way that made Ginny jerk back against the steps, utterly thrown.

"Oh, god—"

A sound that might have been a laugh exploded out of Gabrielle as the torture increased, a palm curling viciously into Ginny's shoulder as she moved hard, ground and stroked and somehow kept going, head falling forward as she whispered something, murmured something that sounded frighteningly tender, soft words that left Ginny stricken.

The words were somehow just enough and she tumbled over the edge, came apart as she tightened around slick fingers, closed her eyes and shuddered with the sensation, vaguely aware of sounds against her neck, legs that locked viciously around her hips.

Long heartbeats later, she blew pale hair from her face, blinked a few times as she adjusted to the body settled comfortably atop hers. Feeling loose and lazy, she finally shifted, smoothed a hand carefully up a thigh and then traced a spine through robes, counting each knot of bone with her fingers, only dimly aware of how damn territorial the damn move was.

"I'm stuck with you now, aren't I?"

"I would have thought you'd have figured that out when I pinned you to the stairs," Gabrielle purred into her collarbone, dragging a weak shiver out of her. "Or even when I ambushed you in here…"

"It's the Bludgers."

-

4/24/08