A/N This pairing has been messing around with me for a while, so I thought, hell, why not? If you're here to scream at me about how disgusting it is or whatever, you can leave now. Hey, it's femslash, okay? I warned you. Don't like it, don't read it. Do like it, read it. And review it. Really, though, I'm curious as to how people might view this. Anyways. Off we go...

Rated T for language and mild sexual content

Disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter or any associated characters, events, etc.


STRAWBERRIES

Ron Weasley had a huge crush on Fleur Delacour. And it was driving Ginny insane. Fleur was so unbearable, what with her purring French accent and curvy figure, her silvery blonde hair and gorgeous, quarter-veela face. Everything about her was obnoxious and stereotypical. And, to add to that, she had nodepth—she'd finished last place in the Triwizard Tournament, clearly meaning that she possessed neither the strength nor the brains of the rest of the champions. Despite all this, though, Ron considered himself to be heads-over-heels in love with her, which was only to be expected (never mind the fact that she was in a rather serious relationship with his brother).

So when Ron invited Fleur to go strawberry picking one day in the summer of the year Sirius had died, it was only reasonable that Molly insisted Ginny go with them, to 'keep them in line'—she wouldn't get any more specific than that. And so it was that Ginny Weasley found herself tromping through a patch of wild strawberries one hot summer day, arms hooked with three wide, heavy, awkward baskets, with Fleur striding ahead importantly and Ron nipping at her heels like an overly eager dog (neither of them carrying anything).

Ginny harrumphed and shoved a few strands of sweaty red hair out of her eyes, at the same time hoisting one of the containers farther up towards her shoulder and wincing as the wicker rim dug into her side. This was hell. It had to be at least a hundred degrees, and Fleur still couldn't find an area where the berries were good enough for her—they seemed to always be either too pink or too overripe and mushy. It was ridiculous, and a bit of a struggle to fathom that Ron could possibly be having fun. All of us hate this, she thought impatiently, so how about somebody just admits it and we go home!

Immediately, this became her intention. She stumbled a bit faster until she was even with Ron, and then declared loudly, "I guess there aren't any good—"

Just then, Fleur let out a pleased, wordless exclamation and bent down, the slim silhouettes of her legs folding gracefully below the misty fabric of her fairy-tale princess dress. "'Ere—zis patch here, eet is perfect," she declared, running one slim hand over a perfectly ripe, firm, bright red berry.

Ginny felt a surge of frustration rising up in her chest, and struggled to contain it, flopping down in the half-dead grass. Damn strawberries. What business did they have, being alive? She squeezed her eyes shut, let the baskets slide off her arms, and attempted to envision that she was somewhere else—on the grounds of Hogwarts, perhaps, during the early summer term, with exams over and nothing to do but lie lazily on the shores of the lake, tossing bread crusts nicked from the Great Hall to the Giant Squid, snickering at Loony Lovegood's latest getup and being teased about how she fancied Harry Potter, even though she'd publicly announced to the other Gryffindors in her year that she'd moved on. She hadn't moved on, not really. Michael Corner, the Ravenclaw—he was all right, but never interested her all that much. Dean Thomas was something more—but still, as much as she tried, she couldn't make herself forget about Harry… Harry, who had saved her in second year, who had been the sight to greet her when she first blearily opened her eyes, looking quite the hero with dried blood caking his dark hair and a shining, jeweled sword in hand….

Growling faintly to herself, she let her eyelids crack open, just a tiny bit. What she saw caused them to snap wide, and her mouth to fall open a hint, staring in amazed disbelief.

Ron and Fleur each had a basket about a third full of strawberries sitting next to them. And Ron, in a clear attempt to be subtle, was cutting one of Fleur's open… slipping some clear substance into it from a thin flask… tapping it with his wand to seal it up again… and holding it out to her, offering it….

For one horrified, petrified moment, Ginny thought that perhaps the strange substance was a poison—was Ron not Ron at all? Was he a Death Eater in disguise? But why would a Death Eater want to kill Fleur Delacour? And then it hit her.

Love potion.

The mad git….

Hissing between her teeth, Ginny lunged forward in a motion to knock away the berry, but Fleur, laughing, had already slipped it between her perfect lips, was biting down on it with her straight white teeth, and the pale, pink-tinted juice was filling her mouth….

"Ron!" Ginny snarled, redirecting her flailing arm so that it slapped her brother heavily across the face. He yelped and toppled over to land in the grass with an oomph.

"What was that for?" he protested, trying to pull himself up.

"You—you—you slipped her…." Ginny spluttered.

His whole face went red, clashing awfully with his hair and almost hiding his smattering of freckles, which had grown over the summer. "Shut up, I wasn't—"

"You weren't what? Don't be ridiculous, there's no excuse for—"

"I was just—"

"Just what?" She bent down until they were nose to nose. "Just what? I dare you, I double dog dare you, Ronald Weasley, to give an excuse for slipping your brother's fiancée what was—don't lie to me—undoubtedly a love potion!"

"Geroff me!" he growled, shoving at her.

She jumped back, landing crouched and fuming. "You…." She slipped her wand out of her jeans pocket and raised it threateningly.

"You wouldn't! It's not allowed! We can't use magic over the summer!"

"Didn't stop you, did it?" Ginny shrieked, fully prepared to launch a full-blown Bat-Bogey Hex at him, and to hell with the Ministry's rules. But Ron, ever the coward, scrambled to his feet and dashed off in the other direction. Eyes narrowing, she took aim, opened her mouth to speak the incantation—

"Ginny…?"

Shit shit shit. Fleur's voice. Hopefully the potion wasn't taking effect already, but then… no, Ron was getting away. She clutched her wand tightly. Here goes—

"Oof!" she gasped as a hand grasped at the back of her T-shirt and pulled, resulting in her falling back heavily to the ground. Ouch. She blinked dazedly, and Fleur's face came into focus above her, upside-down, watching with an odd sort of curiosity. Slowly, Fleur reached out a hand and traced it along Ginny's jawbone. Ginny struggled to get away, but Fleur, a slight frown creasing her perfect face, held her in place.

"What the hell are you doing?" she choked as Fleur leaned in closer, until they were nose-to-nose. Waves of silvery blonde hair—good God, it was so light, so—so silky—ticked her throat, and she breathed heavily, trying to keep a hold on herself.

"Your 'air," Fleur breathed wonderingly, and Ginny realized with a pang of disgust that she was running it through her fingers, sweaty tangle though it was. "Eet… eet is like ze strawberries…."

"Hell," she groaned, once again attempting to escape and failing. "Listen—I don't know what that bloody love potion did to you, but…"

"Love potion? Zer was no love potion…."

Leave it to Ron to mess things up so badly. Of course. There was no escaping now… Fleur was actually surprisingly strong, it seemed, and Ginny's wand had been knocked aside when she'd been pulled over. So now I'm stuck here with a dazed Phlegm, who seems to be getting me mixed up with Ron… unless…clear, the love potion had been clear. That particular variety… hadn't Professor Snape said something… a hair from the head of the one that the drinker was to fall in love with….

Horrified, Ginny was suddenly very, very aware of her flaming red hair, the exact shade of Ron's. There was no way, was there? Wouldn't he have been careful? But then….

Before her thoughts could progress any farther, Fleur leaned down and kissed her.

Ginny let out a muffled shriek, fighting harder than ever, but the French girl seemed completely oblivious to her efforts. And the worst part—the worst part was that, undoubtedly, Fleur was a good kisser, a very, very good one, which shouldn't have been a surprise. It wasn't a surprise, not really. But it was mind-wiping. Ginny felt her struggles go weaker. All she could feel were Fleur's lips and tongue gently teasing hers. She tasted so sweet, too… like strawberries… an unearthly smooth hand cupped the left side of her face, and it felt so good, cool and soft and sleek….

"Fuck," she gasped when Fleur drew back. "What—the hell—was that?"

"Shh, eet is all right," Fleur purred, and Ginny realized with a kind of blank, mute terror that she wasn't pulling away completely, but rather rearranging herself, so that she was straddling her. What's going on? Love potion, there was a love potion… but why am I… and then it hit her. Veela power, veela power!Fleur was seducing her… she had a sudden urge to scrub off her entire body, mouth especially, with the scourgify charm, but not before Fleur was in position, meeting her eyes again, and she faintly recognized that she was being pulled back under before Fleur's lips were on hers once more, and everything was gone, just gone, because things felt so good… why does it matter how this happened, she thought vaguely, or what effect it'll have afterwards….

This time around, things were a bit fiercer, a bit hungrier, and Fleur's tongue—just as smooth as the rest of her body—slid under Ginny's, curling it up and back, then racing around the edges. Ginny joined in the little game of tag, and they played like that for a while, chasing their tongues in and out of each other's mouths, all the time with their lips pushing back and forth and in and out and around, so that there were two simultaneous games going on in that small space. Ginny acknowledged slowly that her eyes were closed to allow more focus on her senses of touch and taste, and the lids burning as they shielded her pupils, rolled up slightly, from the fierce sun. Even more gradually, it came to her that Fleur's hand was doing something, sliding down under her shirt, down her back, tickling the skin and tugging gently at her bra strap. Ginny moaned through all the action of their lips and tongues and teeth, and felt a light, silvery wisp of a giggle from Fleur in response. She was mindless. Completely mindless. All she could really feel was Fleur's smooth, still clothed body, the scratchiness of grass against her back where her shirt had hitched up—such a contrast—and the thickly sweet light of the sun dripping over it all like glutinous honey.

After a moment of struggling, the strap was undone, and Ginny accompanied the tension's release with a long, low sigh. Her eyes opened a hint, and she realized with an unfocused sort of wave of surprise that, somehow, Fleur's clothing had been reduced to nothing but a rather lingerie-like, lacy, low bra and skimpy pair of underpants. There was so much smooth, glowing skin, everywhere… Ginny's head was so fuzzy, like cotton had been stretched over it, and she thought that perhaps she should work on getting her clothes off, too—her loose bra was nothing compared to how far along Fleur was….

"What the bloody HELL are you doing?"

Fleur's thin, pale eyebrows pulled together a hint, the spell was broken, and Ginny became very aware that she was lying with an unclipped bra under a near-naked Fleur Delacour, and that their lips were still pressed together, though the tongue-chasing game had ceased.

So, naturally, she shrieked at the top of her lungs and shoved Fleur away with all her strength. This time, the part-veela fell back, and then Ginny was on her feet, doing anything she could to put distance between herself and Fleur, who was now sitting on the ground, looking confused.

"Ginny?" Ron's voice contained an overload of disbelief, as if he thought the girl standing before him to be Ginny's doppelganger rather than his actual sister.

"You," Ginny breathed, boundless fury contained in the single syllable. "Ronald Weasley, you put my hair in that love potion! You—" The insults that streamed from her mouth lasted a solid twenty seconds, and turned Ron's ears bright red.

"You're the one who was snogging her! You could have resisted, but no! No, instead you—"

"She has veela powers, you idiot! I didn't want to!"

Ron's gaze slowly shifted from the disheveled, burning Ginny, to Fleur, now standing, blinking in the bright sunlight, which glinted off her mostly bare body.

"What—what was zat?" she asked, disbelief coloring her accent. "Ginny, what did—'oo made me do that? Was it you?" She pointed a threatening finger at Ron, whose flush spread to the very tip of his long nose.

"Love potion gone wrong," he croaked. "Didn't mean to…."

"You bloody liar!" Ginny screamed.

Looking from one furious girl to the other, Ron slowly backed away, until he was running flat-footed for the Burrow, which was barely visible on the horizon, the two of them tearing after him (Fleur still mostly unclothed), the baskets abandoned.

When the three strawberry pickers returned in such a state and gave no explanation, the rest of the Weasleys assumed the situation they were returning from to involve something one-sided between Ron and Fleur, and even Bill dismissed it with a chuckle when his fiancée ran straight into him and buried her face in his shoulder. None of them would ever get near guessing the truth.