Autumn
by Dulcinea

Ginny's rage begins to build the moment he steps through the front door and she sees that he has not changed in the slightest.

Thin, pale lips chiseled into the same coldly formal smile; the same stiff curls carefully arranged atop his head like coiled strips of bronze; the same eyes, devoid of emotion but replete with smug self-righteousness behind the same ridiculous glasses, perched precariously on the same slender, upraised nose.

The prodigal son, one hand offering a hollow apology while the other, empty hand demands everything he has always been given and never deserved. She has hoped against hope that there might be some sign of repentance in him, the tiniest shred of shame that she could cling to in her struggle to still think of him as a human being.

"Ginny. So wonderful to see you again, dear sister."

She stares blankly at the center of his forehead, trying to ignore the painful throbbing of her pulse in her ears.

Her mother's response only serves to further infuriate Ginny; she twitters and flutters about like an overexcited finch, fawning over the son who she lavished with such love and support only to have it cruelly thrown back in her face. As though she never lay awake at night sobbing into her pillow, never sat for hours on end with a portrait of him in her hand while her family's comfort fell on deaf ears.

"Don't mind Ginny, dear. She hasn't been sleeping well, what with everything that's happened in the past year, and it's made her a bit remote."

But she did not create this monster, and she does not deserve Ginny's wrath. Molly Weasley, ever the sweet and loving mother, only wants everything to be okay again.

Ginny has never been so forgiving. When it comes to him, nothing will ever again be okay.

He has not returned alone, however; a slight figure stands uneasily at his side, twirling one long, dark curl around her finger. Her presence is a surprise and a disappointment to Ginny, who sincerely hoped that the girl had broken free of her brother. At the same time, it is strangely pleasant to once again look upon her, admire the dark eyes beneath stately chestnut brows, the ivory skin and delicate pink lips, the wild cascade of glossy ringlets.

Then Ginny's eyes fall upon her left hand, and her blood runs cold when she sees a plain gold band upon the third finger.

"Well, Mrs. Weasley -"

"Please, Molly."

"Well, Molly, we haven't exactly chosen a date yet, but -"

"Oh Penny, don't be foolish. We've chosen the 23rd of August so that we can squeeze it in this summer, since it is Penny's favorite season."

Summer is not Penelope's favorite season. She is smitten with autumn, with the vibrant explosion of reds and yellows and golds: a brilliant wildfire of decay attempting to fight off the frigid season which will erase all colour from the earth. At least, Ginny is sure this is what Penelope would respond were she actually asked; it shows in the melancholy sheen of her eyes, the downcast line of her mouth. Only joyful people love summer.

Autumn is Ginny's favourite season as well.

Penelope's eyes, which have been flitting nervously around the kitchen since she arrived, suddenly catch Ginny's, and Ginny has to clutch at the sides of her chair to keep from being toppled over by the sheer weight of sadness, confusion, hurt. A transcendent understanding passes between the two girls in a fraction of a second: Penelope is much more than melancholy. She is a bird, too curious and trusting for her own good, who has soared into a cage and is hunting desperately for an opening. Or a wild animal, only a breath away from chewing off her own foot to free herself from the teeth of a hunter's trap.

At that point Ginny's rage finally reaches a singing crescendo, and she knows she must leave immediately. Before... before...

Leave. Now.

"That's quite alright, mother. Ginny's always been a bit high-strung, hasn't she? I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to catch up."



Ginny knows that Penelope will come to her. She knows the moment her mother tells Percy that she realizes that they are both adults, and that they are engaged, and informs him that they are more than welcome to act the way engaged adults do when they are in their own home. Percy, of course, is far too refined to accuse his mother of being old-fashioned and backward, so he acquiesces and retires to his own bedroom.

Just as the sun dips below the horizon, Penelope appears in the doorway, radiant and nymphlike in the golden light which pours through Ginny's window. Her bare feet whisper across the floor, bringing her to the bed where Ginny sits, enraptured with the girl's fluid movement. Only when she is seated on the bed, cross-legged in front of Ginny, does the youngest Weasley break the spell with her voice.

"Why, Penny?"

Penelope bristles; she does not yet know why she has come, but it is certainly not to be questioned in such an accusatory tone by a girl she has hardly even spoken to until this night.

"Your brother is a good man, Ginny, in spite of everything. He's just very ambitious, very driven to succeed. I know he'll give me a good life -"

"So that's all you want? Money? A pretty house full of pretty things?"

The moment the words leave her lips, Ginny wishes she could have them back. But there is no stopping the silent tears that stream down Penelope's face like rivers of liquid fire in the dying daylight. All she can do is take Penelope's small, delicate white hands in her own and hold them as she cries.

"I'm sorry. I know that isn't what you want at all, and that's why I don't understand."

"What do you know about what I want?" Penelope laughs hollowly.

"Enough that it was me you came to tonight."

A sigh leaves Penelope's lips, lingers on the air between the two girls with all the weight of a thousand words.

"What you have to understand -" Penelope's hands tighten around Ginny's almost painfully, but Ginny doesn't dare utter a protest, lest it stem the flow of Penelope's emotions. "- what I want doesn't matter. I can never have what I truly want, so I - I have no choice but to do the best I can with what I have. Do you see?"

Glassy, pleading eyes are raised to Ginny's, but despite Penelope's words, she is not begging for understanding at all. She desperately needs to be questioned, to have someone find the flaw in the impeccable logic that first drew Percy to her as a mate.

With a mournful ache in her chest, Ginny smiles sadly and places a hand on Penelope's soft cheek.

"What do you want, Penny?"

Penelope stiffens, looking for a moment like she is poised for flight; then something finally shatters inside her and she dissolves into heart-wrenching sobs. Ginny takes her in her arms like a child and strokes her disheveled curls, humming a soft, tuneless melody that her mother once used to lull her to sleep.

Once her tears have dried, Penelope raises her head and lifts a shaking hand to Ginny's face, gently tracing her jawline with one finger. "You've really grown into a beautiful young woman," she murmurs. "I always knew you would. You were such a beautiful child."

It's wrong, the whole situation is wrong, but Penelope is so lovely and her caress feels so good and her words are glowing warm and sweet in Ginny's stomach like Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and she just can't help but nuzzle her cheek against that gentle hand. It continues down her neck, light and delicate as a soft breeze, then along her collarbone and down to the neckline of her silk nightie.

Ginny gasps as Penelope roughly shoves her hand under the thin fabric and grasps her breast. The desperation is back, the frantic hunger for something she has always longed for and thought to deny herself for eternity. It shocks and alarms Ginny, and excites her in a way she has never imagined.

She puts her hand over Penelope's and guides it in slow circles over her breast, each one sending an electric thrill through her body. Penelope's breath comes in ragged gasps as she slides the thin straps of Ginny's nightie over her shoulders and down to her waist, then replaces her hand with her mouth. A delirious moan escapes Ginny's lips - there's never been anything like this, not with Michael or Dean or anyone, nothing like Penelope's tongue hot and clumsy and ravenous against her nipple while her hand explores every bare inch of Ginny's torso.

This is need. Pure, carnal need for another human being, completely undiluted by thought or logic. Ginny should be frightened, she should be fighting the hunger building in her own body before it takes her over and she - Merlin, this is her brother's fiancee, she can't -

Her brother.

Cold smile. Rigid hair. Empty eyes.

That - that creature has done this, has drained this poor woman of her spirit until she is left stumbling blind down an unknown corridor, searching for any comfort, any affection she can find.

How can Ginny, implicated by their common blood, deny her?

She wriggles out of her nightie and lays herself before Penelope, awed by the wonder in Penelope's eyes as she gazes upon the slender, waif-like Weasley daughter. Ginny is like an autumn day, all red and copper and gold, offering comforting breezes and nourishing rains, and catastrophic storms if she is taken for granted. Of course she has never thought of herself in such words, but her reflection in Penelope's eyes is so breathtakingly beautiful that she wonders if she will ever look at herself the same way again.

This time Penelope begins at Ginny's feet, gently suckling each small toe until Ginny can barely take anymore, then licking and nibbling her way up one pale, freckled leg until she reaches the silky skin of Ginny's inner thigh. Ginny whimpers and begs, bucking her hips as the mounting heat between her legs threatens to drive her mad, but Penelope simply switches her tender ministrations to the other thigh.

"Penny, oh Penny please, please.."

Ginny has never known such utter, crushing desperation; this single moment is Penelope's whole life, all she has known and ever will know, and suddenly her tongue is stroking Ginny's clitoris and one finger, then two sliding right into her core and it's too much, exquisite pain and excruciating pleasure entwining and becoming one even as their bodies do the same, like dying and being reborn...

And suddenly the world is exploding all around her, a blinding supernova of heat and sweet, indescribable sensation, and she doesn't care who hears her cries because she's never experienced such sheer ecstasy as this sublimely beautiful girl between her legs. And in her heart she almost wants Percy to be here, to see what he has been foolish enough to marginalize and overlook in his fierce ascent to his own horribly flawed vision of perfection.

Then, far too soon, it is over. Ginny wishes she could stay suspended in that moment just before orgasm, that spiraling rapture that feels as though she is being lifted above her body, above the earth, above the clouds to another, more beautiful world, forever. But nothing so pure can last for more than but a second, and when she rejoins her body she finds Penelope still crouched before her, a horrified expression on her face.

"Penny?" she whispers, panic rising in her throat. "Penny, what is it?"

"I didn't. I can't. No, no.."

This isn't right at all. Penelope has come to her for affection, for love, and Ginny has taken. Taken like Percy has taken, with no regard for the broken girl she has stolen from.

"Penny, please don't go. Stay here tonight, you can sneak out before daybreak..."

"No. No, Ginny, I was never here. This - this is all some sort of sick dream..."

She staggers backward, wild-eyed and trembling, limbs loose and weak like a rag doll's. Frantically, Ginny leaps from her bed and grabs Penelope roughly by the arms.

"You can't just go back. Do you hear me? You can't, Penelope, he'll drain every last bit of life from you -"

"He's my fiancee -"

"He doesn't love you! He doesn't even know what love is! You know now what you want, what you need, you can't just go back and hide your head in the sand."

Penelope is suddenly stiff and cold, her mouth fixed in a determined line, and Ginny is horrified by how much she looks like Percy in that moment.

"I've made my choice, Ginny. It's mine to live with, not yours. Forget this. Forget me."

With that Penelope is gone, and Ginny knows with absolute certainty that she will never see her again.



Penelope and Percy are gone when Ginny rises the next morning. Penny wasn't feeling well, her mother explains, and Percy decided it was best if they returned to their own home until she healed.

But Ginny knows better. Penny will never heal.

And when she picks up a copy of the Daily Prophet a month later and sees Penelope's graduation photo on the front page, beaming with barely contained pride and excitement for her future, Ginny does not even need to read the headline to know what has happened.

Clearwater found hanged in home one week before wedding

Her mother is sobbing for Penelope, and for Percy, but Ginny is strangely calm. She does not cry as she takes Percy's portrait from the wall and hurls it into the fire. She does not cry as her mother follows her all the way up the stairs hurling furious words at her back. She does not even cry once her bedroom door is closed and she is curled on her bed, the musky aroma of sex still embedded in the sheets.

It is a cool October day, the trees afire with leaves in their last moments of life and the air heavy with the promise of rain, when Ginny's sadness and rage finally overcome her. Harry and Hermione and Ron watch helplessly as she falls to her knees, gathers up handfuls of dead leaves and brings them to her face, inhaling the dry, pungent smell of autumn that will forever remind her of dark eyes beneath stately chestnut brows, ivory skin, delicate pink lips, glossy ringlets, and the girl she was unable to save.

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