The second time Ginny saw the girl was in an art history lecture. Ginny honestly was incredibly bored. She didn't mind art, but she didn't feel the need to learn about it. She had actually picked this class at random, as she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. In addition to her lack of interest, the professor had an incredibly boring voice. Monotone and flat.
Ginny sighed and tried once again to pay attention. She was quickly distracted by a glimpse of the pretty girl she had spilled coffee on the week prior. The girl was drawing on her textbook. Ginny smiled, and spent the rest of the lecture watching her. She was very concentrated, so her brow was furrowed and she kept twisting her hair. It was really cute. She was wearing a white blouse and a clearly homemade patchwork skirt with white tights. Ginny sighed. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about the girl since the coffee shop. Couldn't stop thinking about how soft her hair looked, how interesting she seemed, how nice it might be to kiss her... no! Ugggg. This girl! You're straight! You love Harry! You're probably just confused. You don't really want to kiss her, you just think she's pretty. Girls can think other girls are pretty without being lesbian. Girls can think about kissing girls without being lesbian. YOU ARE STRAIGHT! Just as Ginny was mentally yelling at herself, the girl looked up and they made eye contact. Damn it! Why did she have to have such beautiful eyes. Ginny blushed and looked determinedly at her textbook.
After the lecture, Ginny was packing up her things and when she looked up, the pretty girl was standing right in front of her. "Hello." The girl said. Her voice was dreamy and quiet. "You're the girl with the coffee."
Ginny blushed and nodded. The girl gave a pretty half smile and wandered away, now reading a novel upside down.
Ginny stared dreamily after her, her thoughts turned to candy floss, sweet and soft and light. She suddenly realized she was noticing the girl's arse, something she should not be doing, and hit herself in the head, sighing dramatically.
Ginny was a dramatic person. Made of extremes. All the pain had made her that way. She either cared too much or not at all, loved or hated. It meant she didn't cry often, but when she did she couldn't stop. And Ginny Weasley cried that night. She cried because she was lesbian, and she shouldn't be. She always thought If she tried hard enough, she could push her feelings away, if she kissed enough boys, one day she would feel the way she was supposed to. But this girl, a girl she didn't even know, had done something to her. Ginny has never believed in love at first sight. Yet she didn't even know the girl's name, and she couldn't think about anything else. So Ginny Weasley cried, because she was filthy and disgusting and would burn in Hell. She cried and cried and fell asleep and dreamed she was sitting with the girl on a cloud made of candy floss, and that cloud was raining tears.
