Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Somewhat explicit femmeslash, use of a sex toy, religious imagery, slight angst, mentions of character deaths (not main), post war AU
Disclaimer: Don’t own these characters, not making any profit, etc.
A/N: Written for fem_exchange for el_em_en_oh_pee. Many thanks to my beta, who wishes to remain anonymous.
The ball was a grand affair, held in the great hall of the magnificent manor that belonged to the Minister for Magic. Outside amongst the trees glowed more than a thousand multi-coloured fairy lights – the fairies were, of course, real ones with exquisite gauzy wings. Floating candles in every hue imaginable, and chandeliers that seemed to glitter as if they were carved from ice and diamonds, illuminated the mansion’s interior as the guests in their ornate dress robes laughed and danced, sipped champagne or made conversation in the time before supper would be served.
Ginny Weasley knew she looked her best that night; her red hair was coiled at the back of her neck in a stylish, fashionable braided twist, and her long, flowing dress was of a deep green velvet, cinched tight at the waist and bust to show off her curves. Her sister-in-law Fleur had helped her create the outfit, and had also lent her a seed-pearl choker and dangling earrings made from teardrop pearls. As she entered the main ballroom, she could sense that heads were turning in her direction. Young single men were casting many a speculative gaze upon her; married men who should have known better were glancing over their wives’ shoulders as they whirled around the dance-floor. And those women whose tastes lay in the direction of passion for other females also watched her with discreet, though not entirely concealed, admiration and lust.
But Ginny did not care who was looking at her, or why. Her chest felt tight and her temples throbbed; she was nearly sick to her stomach with a rage and jealousy that made all the splendour around her appear as nothing. She might as well have been back at her parents’ home, the Burrow, for all it concerned her. There were so many at the ball who would have gladly been her partner for far more than a dance or two, but Ginny’s mind was elsewhere. The image of a beauty far greater than even her own was indelibly imprinted beneath her eyelids, which she had rapidly squeezed shut and blinked once or twice to stop her eyes prickling with angry tears.
Gabrielle Delacour… it was in her honour that this splendid occasion was being held, this courageous young woman who had become just as famous as the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, who had grown up to be The Man Who Killed Lord Voldemort. Now Gabrielle was known as the Archangel, the one who had saved so many lives, both magical and Muggle, from the Death Eaters, with her daring and her swift and skilful wand. The whole wizarding world owed Gabrielle a debt of gratitude – it was largely due to her efforts that the long years of war had come to an end – and so many worshipped her as if she were indeed celestial. But for Ginny, the feelings were far more intense – she was in love.
When Ginny had first beheld Fleur’s younger sister, Gabrielle had been merely a pretty little girl. Now she was the most beautiful of women, and Ginny desired her more than anyone she had ever lusted after in the past, male or female. It was not only a physical attraction – Gabrielle was so gracious and gentle, always with a kind smile for everyone whose path she crossed, and possessed none of the vanity that her older sibling was sometimes prone to. But Ginny knew with a sinking heart that Gabrielle could never be hers. It was true that the woman they called the Archangel exclusively preferred female lovers, but she had been seen out and about more than once with Cho Chang, now the famed and feted Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny had been a rather good Quidditch player at school, but she had to admit she was not in Cho’s league. In more ways than one, she sighed to herself, quietly annoyed at her own self-pity.
Applause rang suddenly out around the massive room, and Ginny looked up to see Gabrielle Delacour descending the marble stairway on the arm of the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. She looked positively radiant, her white-blonde hair cascading around her bare shoulders, shimmering like silver moonlight and so glorious that she needed no jewels for adornment. Her gown was of snowy chiffon, and she smiled upon the adoring crowd as if she truly were an angel bestowing blessings upon them. Ginny’s former admirers no longer paid her any heed – all eyes were on the lovely Gabrielle now.
Gabrielle and the Minister halted briefly on the landing as the applause finally died down. The Minister made a short address to the crowd, Gabrielle doing likewise afterward with a few soft words of gratitude. And then, as the orchestra struck up a merry tune, she and Scrimgeour swept down to the ballroom to lead the dancers in a waltz, the Minister’s slight limp not impeding him in the least.
“Care to dance, Gin?” a familiar voice said in Ginny’s ear. Normally she would have been more than willing to take to the floor with this particular old friend, but with her emotions tying her stomach up in knots, dancing was the last thing that she wanted to do.
“No thanks, Harry,” she told him rather abruptly, and made as if to turn away, but he caught her arm.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” His voice rose ever so slightly above the music. “Would you like a drink or something? You’re looking a little pale.”
“I’ll be fine – I think I just need to go sit somewhere quiet for a bit.” Her gaze flickered briefly to Gabrielle, and then back to Harry. “You go on and have fun,” she added quickly, in case Harry decided to follow her. In her grim mood, she did not want company, and felt it would be unfair of her to spoil Harry’s evening by bending his ear with her problems.
Ginny swiftly left the ballroom and made her way to a small, dimly lit chamber along the corridor. It was just what she needed – a restful atmosphere, free from the noise and merriment in the great hall. She sank down on a chaise longue and slipped her feet out of her high-heeled shoes, leaning back slightly. A row of fine china figurines on a nearby shelf caught her attention; she found herself intently studying the closest one. It was a tiny sculpture of a pure white dove, no bigger than her little finger, its minute wings outstretched as if in mid-flight.
The little room was very warm, and Ginny began to feel distinctly drowsy. Better to rest, she decided with a yawn, than to sit around all evening feeling sorry for herself. Gabrielle was probably twirling around the ballroom in Cho’s arms by now – Ginny had seen Cho arrive shortly before Gabrielle’s entrance, resplendent in violet satin and sparkling amethysts.
“Wish I could fly away with you,” she muttered to the dove as her eyes grew heavier and finally closed.
She awoke, convinced she must be dreaming as soft lips descended on her own, a warm tongue sliding into her mouth and gently but insistently caressing hers. Slim fingers tugged at the front of her ball-gown, pulling the bodice down so those pale and graceful hands could cup her breasts and stroke the hardening nipples. Her eyes widened as she felt a silken curtain of platinum hair fall across her skin and the feather-light lips moved slowly down to kiss her throat. A haunting voice with only the slightest trace of a French accent whispered, “I’ve warded the door, so no one can disturb us…”
“Gabrielle?” Ginny choked as the circlet of pearls was plucked from her neck and laid aside. Her seductress purred and giggled, pushing Ginny firmly backwards as she vainly tried to rise. “But – where’s Cho? Aren’t you two - ?”
“Cho, I hope, is asking the widow Lupin to dance right now,” Gabrielle chuckled warmly, her tongue-tip flicking lightly over Ginny’s pulse. Ginny moaned as Gabrielle’s hot mouth moved slowly and exquisitely along her yearning body, covering the rose and cream of her exposed skin with kisses. She surrendered as Gabrielle began to remove their clothes with a strength and swiftness that belied the delicate appearance of her hands.
“Do you know how long it’s taken me to persuade my crazy friend to ask Tonks out?” Gabrielle breathed as she bent to kiss both Ginny’s nipples, then fleetingly suckle each one in turn. “Almost as long as it’s taken me to get you alone…”
Ginny tried to speak, but could only moan as Gabrielle rose to claim her lips in a deep and burning kiss. Those tender hands of Gabrielle’s were touching her everywhere and making her melt inside; she ached with arousal, longing to be Gabrielle’s completely.
“I’ve wanted you for so long, Ginevra, and you’re mine at last,” Gabrielle whispered as she reached for her wand, and appeared to cast some form of Transfiguration spell. The little dove transformed into something sleek and silver, something slipped over Gabrielle’s left forefinger and between Ginny’s spread thighs and slick, damp folds. Wings now fine and silky as a butterfly’s brushed against Ginny’s clit; she sighed and whimpered, lifting herself towards the fluttering and lightness, her curls all dewed with moisture as Gabrielle caressed her and bent to kiss her again.
“Yes, yours,” Ginny gasped between the wild, sweet kisses; she reached for Gabrielle’s small but perfect breasts as the tiny wings pulsing between her legs brought her to climax. She almost sobbed with rapture as she felt the fingers of Gabrielle’s other hand thrust into her wetness.
“Open for me, ma belle,” Gabrielle purred as Ginny raised her hips, biting back a cry as she was filled completely. Lost in sensation, she felt like she was flying, lifted by those softly beating wings.