𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐲 ᵍⁱⁿⁿʸ ʷᵉᵃˢˡᵉʸ

𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐲

i want a love that falls as fast as a body from a balcony

and i want a kiss like my heart hitting the ground !

( ginevra weasley x felecité léandre )

( acquaintances to frenemies to obsessions )

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

in which loving is a disease that can't be cured, no matter how hard you push someone off a balcony.

felecité léandre often liked to say that she put the hot in psychotic.

felecité was, if anything, psychotic. in her first year at beauxbatons, she killed seventy-five familiars without getting caught. in her second year, she ripped someone's eye out with a spoon and a butter knife. in her third year, she accidentally called a dragon on a guy before slaying it. in her fourth year, she tried (only tried, because she was a good enough liar to frame her death as a suicide) to kill a girl twenty-eight times. that was, of course, the final straw for madame maxime, and she got expelled.

and no one who had seen her could deny that felecité was hot. her hair shot in curls to her shoulders, a soft brown like her skin and the milk coffee she sipped every morning. her eyes were a chocolate brown- if it was true that eyes were a window to your soul, it was a wonder that her eyes were not pitch black. but it wasn't her looks that made her so hot. it was her energy. everything about her gave it off. her eyes that were made for that wild sparkle, her skin that was made for blood to be splattered against it, and that simple look that could drive anyone to insanity. and for ginny weasley, it did.

when felecité moved from france to england, she caused quite the commotion.

it was ironic how in the night while ginny whispered her name like it was a prayer (felecité, felecité, felecité), she whispered promises. promises of something more, of a legacy (one day). yet after all of it, no one discussed the tragedy that was ginny weasley.

she had sobbed for hours, her family would recall. she had sobbed and sobbed and locked herself in her room, only letting harry in. they had thought it was because of what she went through, about what felecité did, and it was only later that they had known. it was them. it was what they did to her that made her sob. felecité had never made ginny sob, or cry. she had only made her smile, made that shiver run down her spine, made her feel like no matter the fact that she was just a girl in a family of boys, she was the most wonderful, beautiful person of the world. ginny would have done anything for felecité. and that was the problem.