phases of falling in love (ginny weasley x fem!reader)
Description: the painful process of reader falling for her Ginny Weasley, her best friend.
Warnings: angst af, I can’t think of anything else specific but please let me know if you come across anything and I’ll add it
Authors note: in love by khai dreams and she by dodie fit this in my head and are worth a listen.( edit, : i have a playlist here that fits this entire fic) .
...
(Y/N) has decided that falling in love comes in three distinct phases: realisation, denial, and acceptance, though with various forms of panic in between.
No one’s ever boasted that falling in love is easy, the bitter angst of doing so the subject of too many pieces of literature to be doubted. Yet, no one’s ever told her it would be this hard, but she supposes the stakes were always going to be higher when it’s your best friend.
Realisation came first during a party, sat in a small group by the fireplace as the cheers and laughter so typical of a Gryffindor victory party raged on around them. They weren't much different from the others, talking loudly and laughing with their heads thrown back dramatically. They were discussing the game, (Y/N) thinks, though she can hardly remember now, nor was she particularly invested at the time.
How could she be with her just across the from her, fair freckled skin aglow from the fire, who's light danced across her face with each flame’s flicker. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders effortlessly, as if it was pulled straight from the ponytail she wore during the afternoon's match.
That was the night she looked at Ginny Weasley and felt something in her heart, longing perhaps, that went beyond mere friendship, the first night Ginny's smile made her chest tighten and her eyes finding hers with a wink made her gulp.
It was the first time she looked at Ginny and saw her best friend but longed for more.
Denial was easy after that, the whole thing flippantly dismissed as a fluke of the evening, blamed on the giddy feeling that accompanied the house’s victory that Ginny played such a vital part in securing. It was nothing more appreciation, awe.
Weeks later though, and the tugging in her chest still lingers, holding her hostage and controlling her every move.
It flares up unexpectedly, from a smile at lunch, a wave during matches or a laugh hidden behind textbooks during classes. There is an endless array of quirks and habits that (Y/N) has never once before paid attention to that now leave her stomach victim to butterflies and her heart to palpitations.
Yet the denial continues, excuses ranging from the outlandish to the self-deprecating. Perhaps an insensitive prank, a love potion slipped regularly into her morning orange juice, or maybe it’s just all in her head, a crush manifested from loneliness, from the desire to be loved by someone.
Excuses are easy to provide, yet even easier to disprove and it soon becomes clear that every attempt to deny her own feelings is fruitless. Acceptance looms over her, unmindful of the heart it’s about to break.
Acceptance comes reluctantly during an evening’s study in the library. There’s no blame to place on atmosphere this time, hidden together at the end of an aisle of shelves, sat across from one another at a desk most certainly made for one.
The characteristic smell of old books lingers in the air and speckles of dust are illuminated by a dim lamp as they float aimlessly around them. The light does nothing to highlight the red in Ginny’s hair the way the flames of the fire had during the party, or to draw the warm brown from her eyes, yet (Y/N) is enamoured.
(Y/N)'s quill hangs limply between her fingers, ink drying on the tip with a word half-finished on her parchment. Across from her, Ginny bites her lower lip in concentration, deep brown eyes scanning each word she writes, occasionally lifting her hands to fix the loose bun holding her fiery red hair from her face, ridding her eyes of the messy stray strands with a frustrated rush of air from her pink lips.
(Y/N) gulps and panics slightly that in the quiet of the library, her best friend might hear the hammering of her heart in her chest. They're so close that their knees touch under the desk and (Y/N) is left unsure on whether to move her legs or not from fear of only drawing attention to it.
She's trying to convince herself to act normal, that this is all normal, a scenario they've been in so many times before with procrastinated essays and last minute deadlines, that she has no reason to act any different, yet her heart races, and she can hear it in her own ears.
It’s terrifying.
She's mid inner quarrel when Ginny lets out a loud sigh of surrender and lets her quill clatter against the desk. (Y/N) blinks out of her daze, dropping her own quill in surprise and frowning at the red head.
"Snape is asking for one of the twin's puking pastilles in his tea." She grumbles.
"They'd give you them for free if you tell them it's for Snape." (Y/N) manages a laugh. "How much more have you got to do?"
Ginny peers at her own parchment, then at (Y/N)'s with a questioning frown, reaching over to snatch it into her hands. She examines it with arched brows and stifles a small laugh at whatever she's read.
"Better than you- You've neglected to finish the word 'assignment', (Y/N)." She snorts softly. "It just says 'ass'."
(Y/N) stands abruptly to grab it back from her amused friend with a quiet 'oi' and a flustered wide-eyed expression that only adds to Ginny's laughter until she's clasping her hand atop her lips to muffle the sound.
"I got d-distracted." She explains embarrassedly. "It's just the first draft."
"Oh no, I think you should hand it in as is." She grins. "I want to see Snape's face."
"I'm not getting detention just so you can get a laugh." She argues.
"Aw, come on." Ginny pouts. "Not even for me?"
A part of her, a shameful part, almost instantly concedes to the offer, despite its teasing nature, just for Ginny's puppy dog eyes, which (Y/N) has until now been immune to. She falters for only a second before fixing her friend with a frown.
"No, not even for you." She decides firmly. "Lets hear yours then, Gin."
Ginny dramatically clears her throat with a grin, something that eerily reminds (Y/N) of her elder brothers, and begins to read aloud before (Y/N) stops her with an eye roll, cautious of the pacing click of Madam Pince's heels as she roams the aisles for the opportunity to evict noisy teens.
"You'll be surprised to hear I finished all my words and never once spoke about my arse."
"Sod off." (Y/N) rolls her eyes again.
"Well, what’s got you so distracted you felt the need to conclude that you 'learned lots about counter curses from this ass'?"
"You memorized it all ready?"
"Of course." She beams cheekily. "How else am I to tell the rest of our friends?"
"You are the worst."
"You love me really though."
(Y/N) worries when she can't laugh that off, when she falters for only a second, but enough to remind herself of this new and scary situation. She forces on a smile and hope she's been quick and convincing enough to seem normal, though something in Ginny's eyes tells her otherwise.
"Are you okay, (Y/N)?"
"Fine."
"Hmm, you look nervous." Ginny hints. "What are you hiding? Is it a girl?"
(Y/N) is exposed instantly by the involuntary widening of her eyes and Ginny grins menacingly at her from across the tiny desk. She leans over, palms flat against the desk and head so close to (Y/N)'s that their foreheads almost touch.
(Y/N) forgets to breathe.
"Who is it?"
"No one." (Y/N) manages, edging back as subtly as possible. "It's not anyone."
"Aw, c'mon." Ginny rolls her eyes. "Tell me."
"You're going to make Madam Pince kick us out again."
Ginny tuts, rolling her eyes and returning to her seat, allowing (Y/N) to drop her shoulders in relief. She sighs as she picks her quill up again, soaking the tip in ink with a rejuvenated intent to write, motivated by the chance to change the topic of conversation.
"You're no fun." Ginny mumbles. "I'll find out."
“There isn’t anything to find out.” (Y/N) exhales, not daring to look up from her parchment, knowing once again her expression will betray her. “Or anyone.”
“Oh, but there is.”
(Y/N) doesn’t need to look up to know the red-head is grinning, it’s evident in her voice. All she can do in response is take a deep, calming breath and continue with her work.
It’s not long before she can feel Ginny’s eyes on the top of her head and she freezes again, not sure when this became a talent of hers, to tell just from some new sixth sense that Ginny Weasley is staring at her.
“Can I help you?”
“Is it Willow Kings?”
“Been there, done that.” (Y/N) mumbles with a sigh. “She’s nice but talks about her owl too much.”
“Hmm.” Ginny hums in contemplation. “You’re not crushing on Pansy again, are you?”
In every single way, (Y/N) wishes that was her current shameful crush, rather than the girl currently interrogating her. When (Y/N) denies it, Ginny begins to hum again in thought.
“Luna?”
“Luna’s just a friend.” (Y/N) sighs, distinctly trying to convince herself the same thing about Ginny at this exact moment. “I’m not telling you, Gin.”
“Ugh, why not?” Ginny grumbles loudly.
The red-head’s face pales when the methodical clicking of the Librarian’s heels halts, wincing at what is soon to follow. The sound begins again, quicker and sharper as it approaches the pair.
“Shit.” Ginny curses, already gathering her work into her arms. “Here we go.”
“You two.”
The girls turn sheepishly to the other end of the aisle, where Madam Pince stares them down, one hand on her hip, other extended outwards to point at them with a disapproving look.
“We’re just leaving.” Ginny assures.
Ginny stands, reaching out innocently for (Y/N)’s hand and clasping it in her own to drag her to her feet as she splutters out protests, flustered instantly by the action. Ginny only gives her enough time to gather her things before pulling her towards the exit.
“S-low down, Ginny.” She pleads. “Sorry, Madam- “
The librarian scowls at them with an icy look as they squeeze past her towards the exist, Ginny’s laughter barely concealed as they go. (Y/N) can barely focus on anything other than the hand in her own.
Once in the corridor, convinced of their own escape from the strict librarian, Ginny flings he rhead back in a laugh, bun bouncing on her head at the action, cheeks flushed from the excitement of it.
“Every time!” She exclaims. “We get chased out every time.”
“I-“
(Y/N) is too stunned to form a sentence, stunned not by their actions, one’s regularly performed to avoid Madam Pince’s wrath, but rather how suddenly loud her heart is in her own ears.
She could blame adrenalin, it would be so easy to do so, but she knows it’s not. It’s many things, but not adrenalin. Instead Ginny’s laughter, her free and proud laughter so cheerful on her ears, it’s the baby hairs framing her face, endearingly messy, and it’s most certainly the hand still clasped in her own, warm and soft.
Acceptance, that final phase. No amount of excuses in the world could hide it now, that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is undoubtedly, and most terrifyingly, in love with her best friend.
In this moment, watching Ginny’s grin, that infectious smile that has (Y/N) own lips pulling into a smile of her own, she’s about ready to risk it all for her, to tug her closer and ask, even beg, to kiss her.
“Ginny- “She starts
“Harry!”
Like that, the spell is broken and Ginny’s hand is slipping from (Y/N)’s and her feet carrying her towards the red faced boy-who-lived at the other end of the corridor, flinging herself eagerly into conversation with him and leaving (Y/N)’s smile to drop.
The tugging feeling in (Y/N)’s chest returns, and she finds herself back in reality. Ginny likes Harry, she always has, it’s been the topic of so many late-night teasing, how could (Y/N) possibly forget. It hurts though, in a way it never has before, a painful stab of reality sent straight to her heart.
(Y/N) has just learned for herself that falling in love is never easy, even if her heartbreak isn’t one likely to be documented as a great tragic romance in future. No one told her it would be this hard, but as she watches Ginny grinning up at the boy across the hall, her heart twists with the reluctant acceptance that, not only is she in love, but that her best friend is in love with someone else.
