Current mood:	calm
Entry tags:	fic, ginny, pansy, xmas fic

Candy Canes - Pansy/Ginny
1. Happy birthday, valentina_marie!!!!

2. bribitribbit: How are you dahlink?
jazzyjello: good good
jazzyjello:writingish
bribitribbit:Writingish is fun. Except when you keep being interrupted by parents, which happens to me a lot.
jazzyjello: OR INTERRUPTED BY PEOPLE ON MSN
jazzyjello: KIDDING I LOVE YOU
bribitribbit: *G*
bribitribbit: YOU MEANIE. YOU ABUSE MY LOVE FOR YOU.
jazzyjello: I'M WRITING YOUR FIC DEAR. THAT'S NOT ABUSING
bribitribbit: OH RIGHT. *STOPS INTERRUPTING/ASKING "WHERE IS THIS RELATIONSHIP GOING?"
jazzyjello: what relationship? ours? or Pansy and Ginny's?
bribitribbit: Both.
jazzyjello: Swell :D
bribitribbit: Whee.

Title: Candy Canes
Pairing: Pansy/Ginny
Summary: She's eating one of those Muggle peppermint sticks again.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Length: 1,150 words
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for bribitribbit, who requested "Pansy/Ginny, Candy canes." Hope you like it, Britt! ♥


She's eating one of those Muggle peppermint sticks again. It's bad enough that she's a blood traitor, but eating Muggle candy on top of that?! You watch her in disgust

(as she swirls it in her mouth absently, in-out, up-down. Her lips look red and sticky, and her pink tongue darts out to lick them. You lick your lips too. Her hair is red and curly and getting in the way. She pushes it back behind her ears. She's smiling, laughing. You feel weak and feverish and you try to look down and concentrate on your dinner but you think she's put a spell on you perhaps and)

you hate her. Despise her. Loathe her. Bloody Weasley. She doesn't deserve to even look at you

(with those piercing blue eyes that make you feel like she knows everything about you. She knows that you've been staring, so with great effort)

you look down at your plate and try to pay attention to Millicent. Your plate looks empty and lonely.

~*~

"It's a candy cane," you hear Ginny tell one of her stupid Gryffindor friends. You're outside, and it's bitter cold, but you try not to shiver or shake or clutch your cloak about you, because that would be looking weak.

She's wearing a scarf and mittens and a faded, bright red cloak that matches the candy cane sticking out of her mouth (and her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and there's a dusting of snow in her hair and on her shoulders. As she walks past you her eyes meet yours)

and you glare back at her, trying to look coolly uninterested. Her clothes are mismatched and distasteful. You eye them in distain and smirk down at your matching silk cloak and gloves. Your clothes are worth ten times more than hers

(but secretly you like her clothes better, as they look comfortable and warm and cheerful. They have character, unlike yours, which feel dead.)

Dead. You feel dead.

~*~

You hate yourself

(because you dream about her, red hair, pale skin, red freckles, long legs, short skirt, hard candy canes, soft lips; everything swirling and swirling until you wake up dizzy)

and furious because of your embarrassingly stupid (crush on her).

~*~

You haven't heard from Draco in months. You don't know if he's safe, or even alive. You miss him; you miss his touches and his sneers. But most of all, you miss the feeling that you were needed, that you meant something to someone.

He hasn't written yet, but since it's almost Christmas you think he surely will, so you mount the steps to the owlery Saturday afternoon.

Ginny is there, at the window, her head in her arms, and at first you think she could be crying but then you realize that she's sleeping. You look around, but no one else is there. Hesitantly you step forward.

Should you wake her up? You stare

(at her neck, pale and long and exposed, and at her chest, rising up and down slowly. She looks so peaceful and innocent like this and you don't want to disturb her and she's probably dreaming of something pretty and happy as she's smiling slightly)

but then an owl gives a particularly loud screech and she jerks awake. You arrange your face into a bored smirk.

Her teeth clatter and she pulls her cloak closer to her and looks up at you. "What time is it?" she asks.

"A little after noon," you say (and you hope she's not too cold and you wonder how long she was there by the window with the open air like that. She could get sick.)

"Oh." She looks out the window, up at the sky hopefully.

You look around the owlery for the Malfoy owl, or any owl that would have news from him, but they hoot and shuffle on their perches or sleep, taking no notice of you whatsoever. Fucking owls.

You reluctantly sit down next to her at the window.

She raises her eyebrows at you.

"I'm waiting for an owl," you say defensively.

"Me too," she says.

Several long minutes pass. There's not an owl in sight. You glare at the sky as though willing an owl to come, even though you know it's hopeless: it's far too dangerous for him to send anything here.

As you watch Ginny stare at the sky sadly, you suddenly realize something: "You're waiting for an owl from Potter, aren't you?"

Slowly, her eyes meet yours, understanding dawning. "You're waiting for one from Malfoy," she says quietly.

There's a connection; you can't look away. You understand: she's lonely too.

After a long silence, Ginny reaches into her book bag and pulls out a candy cane. She watches you as she pulls off the wrapper and sticks the candy cane into her mouth. She swirls it around seductively, deliberately, watching you for your reaction.

Your cheeks feel warm. Shit, you're blushing. You don't blush! Never!

"I hate you," you mutter.

She smiles.

"Fuck. Stop it."

She continues sucking at the candy cane. Her eyes seem to be saying, I dare you.

You lean in, until you're so close you inhale the peppermint scent and your breathing is too shallow and too loud and she's staring at your mouth and damn –

Suddenly the door to the owlery bangs open and you lean back hurriedly, eyeing the door angrily.

Colin Creevey enters, looking lost, and you want to kill him, kill him and all his ancestors, until there's no such thing as a bloody Creevey. You fucking hate Colin Creevey for his horrible timing. You inwardly hurl every curse you know at him as you stand up, brush yourself off, and leave the owlery, fuming.

~*~

Later on your prefect's rounds

(you kiss Ginny against the wall, fiercely, eagerly, cupping her chin with your hand. She's so warm and soft and she tastes like peppermint. You can't possibly get enough of her lips and tongue and her hair, tangled yet soft. You feel flushed and hot and happy and your clothes are rumpled. Ginny's hands dig into your back and you moan. It's almost too much for you to handle. You part, breathless, and stare at her, unable to believe your luck. She smiles at you faintly. The light's flickering, casting an eerie glow, and everything looks hazy and dreamlike except for Ginny.)

~*~

She gives you candy canes for Christmas: a box of a dozen all in a row. (Just looking at them makes your knees feel weak.)

~*~

"Muggle candy?!" Millicent demands. "Why the hell are you eating Muggle candy, Pansy?!"

You shrug. "Oh, they're not bad. They're actually rather addicting."

You're not looking at her. (You're looking at the spot of red at the Gryffindor table.)

~*~

(Later Ginny kisses you hard under the mistletoe and you still can't get enough of these peppermint kisses.)