Pink Mittens

She was a girl with red hair and too many brothers who had hair like hers; a girl who played in her home garden so much she had earth beneath her fingernails; a girl who played jokes on and with her brothers. Back in the day when Ginevra Weasley was too young to understand numbers, she imagined she had one for each finger and each toe. Later she learned the difference between six and twenty among other important lessons in life.

The fact was, quite often Ginny didn't feel like the Girl Weasley she was always seen as. In both bad and good, Professors and family friends told her she resembled her brothers. They wouldn't just tell her, 'oh, you've a nose just like Percy's' or 'counting your freckles, I noted you have the exact same count as Bill had when he was your age'; the characteristics went beyond the Weasley looks. She had the temperament of Charlie, her mother often told her, but the rationality of Percy. She owned a sense of humor like the twins', but was careless in the same way Ron was. Ginny had always felt like just another Weasley boy. People rarely underlined her gender.

There were things Ginny liked and things she absolutely resented about herself. Like a cursed mirror, she was often annoyed by the negative qualities she recognized in both herself and a brother of hers. She hated Ron's laziness layered in carelessness and how she found herself in the library, not studying, but reading stories instead; she disliked Bill's loud, sparkling laughter that sounded high and irritating when she was the one laughing it.

Always defined through her brothers, Ginny had never known many girls. Mum didn't count. Mum, who was often too busy with the too many brothers. Mum, who didn't force Ginny to wear anything, but made it apparent how handy it would be if she could just use her brothers' old clothes. And there stood little Ginny, in Percy's old sweater and Charlie's old jeans, watching her mother knit her a pair of mittens. Pink mittens; just so that all would see she really was the Girl Weasley.

Ginny went to a school and met girls. Met boys, too. A boy with messy black hair and green eyes, slowly raising one hand to greet her. "Hi Ginny," he'd say. "Hello, Harry," she'd reply. He was the one she'd heard so much about all her life and he intrigued her more than the rest. In the nights she'd have tiny dreams about Harry, dreams she soon found Harry would never be having about her. Saddened by this, she gave up and soon came to realize that all boys were boys like her brothers were boys. Horse-like laughter, silly games and jokes about disgusting things: worms and toads. And while she loved spending time with her brothers, she wanted a change. Girls, she found, were gentle and more tolerable creatures than boys.

Girls came to her early on in her first year and offered their friendship, like a small treasure chest on the palms of their little hands, ready for Ginny to open and discover them. And Ginny took those precious gifts and cherished everything that came with them - the tiny fights, the endless giggling and the gossip whispered in the middle of the night under thick blankets. All these new things she hadn't experienced before.

One girl was different. Ginny spelled her name on a piece of old parchment once, just for the fun of it, when she should've been doing homework. Hermione Granger. She was different from all the rest, different from Ginny. She wasn't redheaded with all the spice that came with it, but had a brown shade in her thick hair; she could control her anger where Ginny would've thrown a Weasley-styled bellowing fit at everyone who ticked her off. Hermione had careful hands and neat fingers whereas Ginny's were clumsy and messy in the usual way a 13 year old girl couldn't keep her hands clean. Her chest was rounder than Ginny's, who felt like such a stick figure at times, getting all messed up in her own feet. In Ginny's eyes, even the way Hermione moved was graceful and beautiful. Even with her imperfections, her slight bossiness and her bucked teeth, she seemed all elegant.

In some strange way she noticed her feelings for Hermione were different than the ones she had felt towards Harry. She never wanted to be like Harry; he had gone through too much for her to even imagine. She'd wanted to be there for him, a supportive friend, the kind you could never have too many and the type you could depend on. Hermione didn't need anyone to be there for her, so Ginny just wanted to be with her. And maybe in a way, she wanted to be like her and for once, not be just a Weasley.

The more Ginny thought about these emotions that felt too mature for someone her age, the more she wanted to get her mind on something else. Shaking the thoughts like snowflakes stuck on her hair while she'd been outside during winter, she entered the library. The brown-haired girl loved nothing more than books and Ginny was always sure to find her there. Ginny would've loved to adore the library but she had to admit to herself that she'd never liked it much. Too many facts surrounding her, piles of books, endless shelves, timeless information and it was always too quiet there. She made her way over to the other girl, almost shivering in anticipation of being with Hermione again. Quietly she put her books down on one of the large, wooden tables and whispered hesitantly to the girl sitting opposite her:

"Hermione?"

Hermione raised her head, her expression relaxing considerably when she saw Ginny.

"Go ahead, sit down," she smiled. Ginny returned that smile. One of the other things she appreciated about Hermione was that Hermione didn't know her brothers well enough to define Ginny through them. She was just Ginny to Hermione and even though Hermione knew Ron well, she never ever compared the two Weasleys. She knew better.

Ginny sat down and opened her books, trying to make as little noise as possible. She watched Hermione's thin, nimble fingers, her efficient hands as they leafed through pages and as they pressed against the hard wood of the table or the smooth leather of the book's covers.

When they were together in silence, Ginny thought of things she'd like to do with Hermione. She'd think about touching Hermione's skin. Wrapping her hands around the clean, soft hands of Hermione. She may or may not have thought about these things where Harry was concerned. Probably not. Touching Harry would just be touching, touching Hermione would be... Ginny couldn't quite explain it, but she wanted to, oh dear, she wanted to.

She had tried, but Hermione would push her away or avoid her lips. She'd say, "Stop it, Ginny," or simply, "Don't." Because that's Hermione for you. So rational as to assume this was just one of those things Ginny did, a silly, meaningless prank the girl had thought up.

This was Hermione's mistake which Ginny never noticed. Ginny wasn't just Ginny, Ginny was the Girl Weasley and therefore a reflection of her brothers. And what Ron could do just to annoy Hermione or what the twins could do just to annoy anyone, Ginny could do as well. Ginny was a girl of jokes and pranks, not serious, desperate shows of affection.

Ginny didn't see any of this, was never aware of it, because she was in love with Hermione, even though the words sounded so strange even to herself. She would try and try and try, but she'd miss and instead of Hermione's lips she'd get Hermione's cheek or hair or, worst of all, air, plain, unsatisfying, frustrating air. Air separating them, always.

Just thinking about it killed Ginny, but not as badly as it killed her when Hermione would dodge Ginny's lips, an annoyed wrinkle between her eyebrows and her homework forgotten. Hermione's mistake might've not meant a thing to herself, but to Ginny, it was like a knife turning in the stab wound, over and over again. Rejection after rejection Ginny felt annoyed and a bit hopeless, but so loyal to her Weasley character, she never gave up. It pained Ginny when Hermione would get irritated and stand up, leaving Ginny alone in the library.

And then Hermione would walk away. Hand in hand with a boy: a Weasley boy. Not the Girl Weasley, never the silly Girl Weasley, so like her brothers.

~ update 7/20/2004: Thanks for the wonderful reviews, but this is a one shot and I'm not going to continue. Don't you all know that sequels just written for the sake of having a sequel tend to be really awful? In my eyes, there's nothing to write about, anymore. Sorry.