ginny as a little second-year—it’s just her third week into school and she’s already pulling late nights in the library trying to catch up by herself
because she’d ask the professors, but they look at her with this pity in their eyes she can’t stand
and the other kids…well, she may be young but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know they’re all whispering about her behind her back
so she’s like, drowning in this transfiguration text but she’s GOING TO GET THROUGH IT AND WRITE THIS SODDING ESSAY if it’s the LAST THING SHE EVER DOES
and she’s just about to start banging her head against the table when someone plops down beside her and says ‘wow, you’ve got the worst case of wrackspurts i’ve ever seen’
ginny looks over warily to see a skinny blonde girl staring at her with enormous blue eyes. she looks familiar from her classes, she thinks, but most of last year is just so fuzzy (it’s only the parts of it she wishes she could forget that are, of course, horrifically clear)
'not that i can see them,' the girl continues, tucking her wand behind her ear. 'they're invisible, wrackspurts. but you look like you've got a bad case. i'm luna. want to hear a joke? happy thoughts make them go away.'
oh. luna. loony luna. now ginny remembers. the girl with the weird father and the even weirder stories about creatures that don’t exist. the girl whose presence is followed by almost as many whispers as ginny’s.
luna’s staring at her, clearly waiting for an answer. she doesn’t look particularly loony to ginny. in fact, she looks like the one of the first students to be nice to ginny in almost three weeks.
'sure,' ginny says, a timid smile spreading across her face.
luna tilts her head. ‘you might not need a joke anymore. i think you’ve got happy thoughts of your own now.’
ginny leans in and grins more deliberately, and a warmth unfurls in her chest at the smile luna offers in return. ‘tell me anyway.’