He comes back from the Carrows' office with a bloody mouth and a handful of Gryffindor files in hand and—she has to blink to believe she's seeing straight—a bottle of Viper Vodka. "What in the world?" she starts, and he lifts it up with a little (red) laugh, puts it on the table between them.
"They keep it in their desk. Figured it would be good for, you know, wounds—"
She's laughing, too, in spite of herself, pressing her lips together weakly as if she'd rather keep it in; laughter feels so much like a transgression whenever she stops to think about it, and besides which if she keeps it up so will he and he's bleeding through his teeth badly enough already. "Then your turn first," she says and passes it back to him, curling her legs over the side of the Room of Requirement's hammock to make room for him next to her.
He sips and hisses and she winces for the both of them. Looking next to her, she picks up the files. "Let's see what you've got."
"I just took what I could."
She shushes him. He's still bleeding.
"You did great, you know." She's in here, in the stack; so's he. "You always do." So's—Lavender, Dean (oh, she thinks, gut clenching, and puts it aside), a handful of names she doesn't even know, Creevey—and Creevey again, Dennis. Tiny little Dennis Creevey, who would volunteer and volunteer whenever they gathered up for missions even before he knew what they were doing. Tiny Dennis who got caught last time round, who's been in the hospital wing for a week now. She barely gulps before her wand's out, pointed at the papers. She drops them on the floor.
"Incendio."
"Ginny!" he splutters with a thick tongue, and she turns to him—he's stopped bleeding, the neck of the bottle's empty, and she takes it from him.
"You saw what they did to him, Neville!"
"We were going to read those—"
"Not his. I don't care. I want that gone. All of that, I don't care what it is."
She thinks of Creevey's arm—she can almost encircle it with her middle finger and thumb, and now she's seen it with bone shards sticking through the pale thin skin of the underside. Alecto Carrow had stuck her wand into his arm while they'd watched; she'd hissed Diffindo when it had touched bone. The air smells of burning parchment and there are no apologies in her heart. She wishes she could burn more.
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timeasmymeasure
it's called the life effect (1/2) - ginny/neville - pg-13
Date: 2010-11-24 04:49 am (UTC)"They keep it in their desk. Figured it would be good for, you know, wounds—"
She's laughing, too, in spite of herself, pressing her lips together weakly as if she'd rather keep it in; laughter feels so much like a transgression whenever she stops to think about it, and besides which if she keeps it up so will he and he's bleeding through his teeth badly enough already. "Then your turn first," she says and passes it back to him, curling her legs over the side of the Room of Requirement's hammock to make room for him next to her.
He sips and hisses and she winces for the both of them. Looking next to her, she picks up the files. "Let's see what you've got."
"I just took what I could."
She shushes him. He's still bleeding.
"You did great, you know." She's in here, in the stack; so's he. "You always do." So's—Lavender, Dean (oh, she thinks, gut clenching, and puts it aside), a handful of names she doesn't even know, Creevey—and Creevey again, Dennis. Tiny little Dennis Creevey, who would volunteer and volunteer whenever they gathered up for missions even before he knew what they were doing. Tiny Dennis who got caught last time round, who's been in the hospital wing for a week now. She barely gulps before her wand's out, pointed at the papers. She drops them on the floor.
"Incendio."
"Ginny!" he splutters with a thick tongue, and she turns to him—he's stopped bleeding, the neck of the bottle's empty, and she takes it from him.
"You saw what they did to him, Neville!"
"We were going to read those—"
"Not his. I don't care. I want that gone. All of that, I don't care what it is."
She thinks of Creevey's arm—she can almost encircle it with her middle finger and thumb, and now she's seen it with bone shards sticking through the pale thin skin of the underside. Alecto Carrow had stuck her wand into his arm while they'd watched; she'd hissed Diffindo when it had touched bone. The air smells of burning parchment and there are no apologies in her heart. She wishes she could burn more.
Instead, she drinks, passes it back.
"Let's hope they forget he bloody exists."