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[...benzene, nitrosamines, formaldehyde...]
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hp_britglish society for helping me out, especially ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
laeb who totally went out of her way. Rum, cigarettes, and live gay porn go to serialkarma and juniper_nyne for serving beta duty. Disclaimer: Characters and locations by JK Rowling, title by Radiohead. Aw00t, yoj.
Despite the presence of pairings, this isn't really about love.
My Iron Lung
Harry Potter. Ginny Weasley/Michael Corner, Ginny Weasley/Tom Riddle. R. Warning: mentions underaged ambiguous consent.
Cigarettes and aftermaths.
Ginny sat on the window ledge of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling over several stories of empty space. If she were to look down, she would see the last of the stragglers trickling into the castle, urged on by the promise of a hot meal. She didn’t look down. Ginny looked at the horizon and its fading golden glow, and smoked a cigarette.
There was a weight in her chest. That was what she told Michael, because it was true, so true that sometimes it felt like she couldn’t breathe and her body would cave in. The light inside would leak out from under her fingernails and dissipate into the sky. That was what she told Michael because he was at the right place (lakeside) at the right time (past curfew). They agreed with their eyes and their silence: I won’t tell if you won’t tell, we were never here.
It was Michael who taught Ginny how to smoke. It was how they met.
Smoke what?
A cigarette. They also call them fags. It’s a Muggle habit.
How’d you know about it?
Justin Finch-Fletchly. Hold this in your mouth.
Ginny wondered under what circumstances Justin had taught Michael to smoke. The tip of Michael’s wand lit up with a whispered incantation. He held it to the tip of her cigarette and told her to suck. Take the smoke into your lungs, he said.
Before Michael put the pack back in his robes, Ginny asked to see it. She examined the packaging, and the first thing that caught her eye was a sticker that said SMOKING SERIOUSLY HARMS YOU AND OTHERS AROUND YOU. How is this going to seriously harm me? asked Ginny. She asked, Why did you give me something that will harm me?
Michael said, They won’t. They’re lying.
Really?
No. I’m lying.
Don’t fuck with me.
I smoke them too, said Michael. They’re good for you and bad for you, like everything else in the world.
Above the warning it said Marlboro, and above that were two golden griffins leaning against a crowned red shield. On the other side of the packet: SMOKE CONTAINS BENZENE, NITROSAMINES, FORMALDEHYDE AND HYDROGEN CYANIDE. They were strange and beautiful words, like another language’s dark magic. Ginny opened the pack and sniffed. Fags smelled sweet and musty, like a rotting Christmas dessert.
What do they do, asked Ginny.
They help you relax, said Michael. They give you something to do. They feel good.
The first time had been less than successful. You’re not inhaling, Michael kept on saying. Yes I am, said Ginny. Trust me you’re not, and Ginny breathed out a curling cloud of smoke into his face. Michael just laughed and offered her another one. She accepted.
In the distance, there was a faint and foggy line that separated the mountains from the sky. Soon it would be dark, and Michael would be late. The winds at this altitude were unkind, and Ginny’s eyes felt dry. When she rubbed them, the nicotine on her fingers stung.
It’s getting easier every week, Ginny had written in her last owl home. It was true, but it was also true that everyday it felt like there was a hole in her chest. She often wondered whether Tom had taken away from her more than her innocence, that in exchange for her blood he instilled in her a little bit of the dark, the kind that was more than an absence of light. Most times she discounted this explanation and blamed adolescent instability. Ginny had seen her brothers grow up and go through mood swings with clockwork unpredictability. I can be better than that, she would think.
(There were still times at night, under her covers, when she would remember Tom. She remembered his tongue, always cold, between her legs, his fingernails leaving red crescents on her hips. She would clench her fists around her sheets, around handfuls of his hair. She would timidly part her legs a little more and push herself towards him, and try not to make a sound.)
Ginny had been the only one in her year who wasn’t a virgin. No one else knew that but it didn’t matter. Three years later, Ginny knew for a fact that she wasn’t the only non-virgin anymore, but it still didn’t matter. She was learning to smoke fags and she was going to meet Michael Corner in the Astronomy Tower; she counted these little victories.
She nearly screamed and fell when she felt someone’s arms encircling her from behind. The stranger yelled in surprise. Ginny recognized Michael’s voice, and they laughed as he pulled her away from the window.
You scared the shit out of me.
You scared the shit out of me.
He held her face in his hands and she started. Michael’s face was pink with winter cheer but his fingers were cold. Ginny jumped out of his arms. You’re horrible, she said. Michael just laughed again. This time Ginny blushed.
She was getting better at being happy. Her letter home hadn’t been a lie; it was getting easier every week. She had her moments. Ginny was only happy some of the times, but because she knew that no one was happy all the time, she contented herself with the fact that she was just fine.
Michael had blue eyes that offset his Ravenclaw tie. He had soft lips but rough stubble that would scrape Ginny’s face when he kissed her. He had a way of holding her that made her feel protected and warm. He had cigarettes. Michael Corner was a large sign declaring to the world that Ginny Weasley was getting on with life.
They went through a pack and a half between them, trading jokes and drags. Michael told her that fags weren’t the only thing Muggles smoked. He told her about cigars. Overrated, he said. And once you’ve actually learned to inhale, I know where we can get marijuana. Who’s she, Ginny asked. Michael replied, A very gracious lady.
Afterwards, the room reeked of smoke. Neither could remember any air-freshening charms, so they left it was it was, holding hands as they went down the stairs and out the door. When the time came for them to go their separate ways, Michael kissed her again and Ginny felt her heart go ta-thump ta-thump. She watched Michael leave until he disappeared around the corner, then continued on her way, a sweet taste on her lips and a gust of wind snaking up the back of her legs, making her shiver.
singer, sing me a given/singer, sing me a song/standing on the shoulders of giants everybody's looking on
there's time to teach/point to point/point observation/children carry reservations
rem, 'king of birds'
[end.]
hp_britglish society for helping me out, especially laeb who totally went out of her way. Rum, cigarettes, and live gay porn go to serialkarma and juniper_nyne for serving beta duty. Disclaimer: Characters and locations by JK Rowling, title by Radiohead. Aw00t, yoj.Despite the presence of pairings, this isn't really about love.
My Iron Lung
Harry Potter. Ginny Weasley/Michael Corner, Ginny Weasley/Tom Riddle. R. Warning: mentions underaged ambiguous consent.
Cigarettes and aftermaths.
Ginny sat on the window ledge of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling over several stories of empty space. If she were to look down, she would see the last of the stragglers trickling into the castle, urged on by the promise of a hot meal. She didn’t look down. Ginny looked at the horizon and its fading golden glow, and smoked a cigarette.
There was a weight in her chest. That was what she told Michael, because it was true, so true that sometimes it felt like she couldn’t breathe and her body would cave in. The light inside would leak out from under her fingernails and dissipate into the sky. That was what she told Michael because he was at the right place (lakeside) at the right time (past curfew). They agreed with their eyes and their silence: I won’t tell if you won’t tell, we were never here.
It was Michael who taught Ginny how to smoke. It was how they met.
Smoke what?
A cigarette. They also call them fags. It’s a Muggle habit.
How’d you know about it?
Justin Finch-Fletchly. Hold this in your mouth.
Ginny wondered under what circumstances Justin had taught Michael to smoke. The tip of Michael’s wand lit up with a whispered incantation. He held it to the tip of her cigarette and told her to suck. Take the smoke into your lungs, he said.
Before Michael put the pack back in his robes, Ginny asked to see it. She examined the packaging, and the first thing that caught her eye was a sticker that said SMOKING SERIOUSLY HARMS YOU AND OTHERS AROUND YOU. How is this going to seriously harm me? asked Ginny. She asked, Why did you give me something that will harm me?
Michael said, They won’t. They’re lying.
Really?
No. I’m lying.
Don’t fuck with me.
I smoke them too, said Michael. They’re good for you and bad for you, like everything else in the world.
Above the warning it said Marlboro, and above that were two golden griffins leaning against a crowned red shield. On the other side of the packet: SMOKE CONTAINS BENZENE, NITROSAMINES, FORMALDEHYDE AND HYDROGEN CYANIDE. They were strange and beautiful words, like another language’s dark magic. Ginny opened the pack and sniffed. Fags smelled sweet and musty, like a rotting Christmas dessert.
What do they do, asked Ginny.
They help you relax, said Michael. They give you something to do. They feel good.
The first time had been less than successful. You’re not inhaling, Michael kept on saying. Yes I am, said Ginny. Trust me you’re not, and Ginny breathed out a curling cloud of smoke into his face. Michael just laughed and offered her another one. She accepted.
In the distance, there was a faint and foggy line that separated the mountains from the sky. Soon it would be dark, and Michael would be late. The winds at this altitude were unkind, and Ginny’s eyes felt dry. When she rubbed them, the nicotine on her fingers stung.
It’s getting easier every week, Ginny had written in her last owl home. It was true, but it was also true that everyday it felt like there was a hole in her chest. She often wondered whether Tom had taken away from her more than her innocence, that in exchange for her blood he instilled in her a little bit of the dark, the kind that was more than an absence of light. Most times she discounted this explanation and blamed adolescent instability. Ginny had seen her brothers grow up and go through mood swings with clockwork unpredictability. I can be better than that, she would think.
(There were still times at night, under her covers, when she would remember Tom. She remembered his tongue, always cold, between her legs, his fingernails leaving red crescents on her hips. She would clench her fists around her sheets, around handfuls of his hair. She would timidly part her legs a little more and push herself towards him, and try not to make a sound.)
Ginny had been the only one in her year who wasn’t a virgin. No one else knew that but it didn’t matter. Three years later, Ginny knew for a fact that she wasn’t the only non-virgin anymore, but it still didn’t matter. She was learning to smoke fags and she was going to meet Michael Corner in the Astronomy Tower; she counted these little victories.
She nearly screamed and fell when she felt someone’s arms encircling her from behind. The stranger yelled in surprise. Ginny recognized Michael’s voice, and they laughed as he pulled her away from the window.
You scared the shit out of me.
You scared the shit out of me.
He held her face in his hands and she started. Michael’s face was pink with winter cheer but his fingers were cold. Ginny jumped out of his arms. You’re horrible, she said. Michael just laughed again. This time Ginny blushed.
She was getting better at being happy. Her letter home hadn’t been a lie; it was getting easier every week. She had her moments. Ginny was only happy some of the times, but because she knew that no one was happy all the time, she contented herself with the fact that she was just fine.
Michael had blue eyes that offset his Ravenclaw tie. He had soft lips but rough stubble that would scrape Ginny’s face when he kissed her. He had a way of holding her that made her feel protected and warm. He had cigarettes. Michael Corner was a large sign declaring to the world that Ginny Weasley was getting on with life.
They went through a pack and a half between them, trading jokes and drags. Michael told her that fags weren’t the only thing Muggles smoked. He told her about cigars. Overrated, he said. And once you’ve actually learned to inhale, I know where we can get marijuana. Who’s she, Ginny asked. Michael replied, A very gracious lady.
Afterwards, the room reeked of smoke. Neither could remember any air-freshening charms, so they left it was it was, holding hands as they went down the stairs and out the door. When the time came for them to go their separate ways, Michael kissed her again and Ginny felt her heart go ta-thump ta-thump. She watched Michael leave until he disappeared around the corner, then continued on her way, a sweet taste on her lips and a gust of wind snaking up the back of her legs, making her shiver.
there's time to teach/point to point/point observation/children carry reservations
rem, 'king of birds'
[end.]