Chapter Text
The first time that Ginny knew she was different was when she was eight years old.
It was a Friday, which meant that her class had to do their weekly spelling test. She had come in prepared from looking over the words the night before, getting her mother to test her on them. She had found a sense of satisfaction when she received good grades, her parents smiling that smile that was usually directed and her big brother, Chet.
When she would manage to get full marks on one of her tests, or act out something that had happened in class, accompanying it with funny voices and impressions, Her mother would smile fondly at her and say “You’ll make a great wife to a very lucky man someday.” At which Ginny would frown, she doesn’t want to get married to some boy. Boys were smelly and dirty and mean to all the girls in her class, she definitely didn’t want to marry one.
But when she would voice this her father would laugh and say “Oh you’ll grow into it.”
Ginny didn’t think she would, actually.
And so that fateful Friday came around and Ginny was revising some of the words in her copy that the teacher had told them to learn when she heard a sniffle beside her and felt a tap on her shoulder.
At first she was frightened, because, well, no one really talked to her much. And when they did it was to talk about her older brother, which was usually one of the boys in her class. So, naturally, she was surprised to see Chris Noel with red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks looking at her with almost pleading eyes.
Chris sat to Ginny’s right and she was almost always trying to get Ginny’s attention. She was always trying to make a sarcastic comment about what the teacher was saying to get her to laugh. Which got them both in trouble more times that Ginny could count, and she could count to 100!
Ginny thought she didn’t like her, because when Chris would lock eyes with her to try and catch her attention, or brush hands with her, or offer to paint her nails that pretty pink colour she always had on, bursts of butterflies would erupt in Ginny’s chest and her cheeks would turn red and, just, everything she did made her feel weird.
So one day, when she came home from school she asked her Mom about it. She just couldn’t take one more day of Chris Noel asking her to come over to her for a sleepover and for her to stutter and be unable to look at her.
“There’s this girl in my class who makes me feel…..umm odd?” She blurts out one day after dinner.
Her mother looked confused for a second before responding “Oh, in what way?”
“Oh well sometimes she says stuff that makes me feel….nervous? And makes me feel really embarrassed and um I don't know why.” She says looking at her shoes.
“Is this girl making inappropriate or rude comments to you, Ginny?” Her mother replied, sounding concerned.
“No it’s nothing, forget about it.” She answered feeling a flush begin on her cheeks. “Ginny, darling, what have I told you about those rude responses of yours?” Her mother said, disappointment clear on her face. “Oh! Sorry Mom, may I be excused?”
She sighed “You may Ginny.”
And so she came to the conclusion that she hated Chris Noel, well hated was a strong word, but at least disliked her, she hated her perfect pink nails, and her bright smile, and her soft-looking blonde hair. She hated her, yes, that must be it.
So why did she feel such a strong surge of sadness as she looked into her tear-filled blue eyes as she explained how she just couldn’t get the words right for the test?
“An-and my d-dad will be so disappointed in m-me if I don’t do well on this one, but, but I just don’t understand. Oh, will you help me Ginny puh-please?” She hiccuped through her sobs. “It’s just that you're so so so smart and I see that you get f-full marks every friday and I just really need-” Ginny felt the familiar flush creep up her neck.
“Yes I’ll help you,” She rushed out, feeling, oh, she didn’t really know did she?
“Oh Thank you thank you thank you Ginny!” She smiled and quickly wrapped her arms around her. “Um okay,” Ginny winced as her voice cracked.
As she helped Chris with the spelling, she started to wonder how she could ever think she hated this girl. They’re hands brushed much more times in fifteen minutes then they did in a week (Yes, Ginny had counted, for educational purposes only, obviously!) and Chris’ side profile made Ginny want to hold her hand forever and maybe, kiss her cheek and-
Wait what. That didn’t sound very normal, that didn’t sound very normal at all. That actually sounded very unnatural, but maybe girls wanted to do that with other girls? In a friendly way, right? Right?
Ginny highly doubted that.
Suddenly, the teacher called everyone to get their pages out to begin the test and Chris pulled away from Ginny mouthing a “Thanks!” While everyone got their ink and pens out.
Ginny spent the entire test trying to not think about Chris and her holding hand, Chris and her hugging, Chris giggling, Chris leaning in and kissing her cheek, Chris- well you get the picture.
And when she walked home with a test buried at the bottom of her school bag pretending she wasn’t thinking about a certain blue-eyed blonde, and when she told her mom that the teacher cancelled the test today because a dog ate her sheet with the correct spelling because , “seriously mom how would anyone know what the right spelling is without it?”
She did feel different; she felt very different indeed.