Sunset ^beta

Hogwarts felt bigger and emptier after the war.  The students who chose to return the next September found the rebuilt school much the same as ever, all traces of blood and destruction scrubbed from the ancient, pocked stones.  But they all knew they walked among ghosts.  There were fewer beds in the dormitories, friends and enemies alike missing from the long tables in the Great Hall.  

The school had always been a second home to Ginny, but now she knew that just like her first home, it would never be the same.  She no longer felt quite at ease in the cavernous halls, not even in the Gryffindor common room.  The thick tapestries on the walls felt suffocating and the armchairs were the color of blood.  

Now she spent as much time as she could outside.  She liked watching Neville work in the greenhouses, because neither of them minded companionable silence.  And she and Luna passed many hours on the shores of the Black Lake.  Luna was learning Mermish and it was easier to practice with your head submerged in fresh water, or so she said.  Ginny sat pretending to study, mostly listening to her girlfriend’s chatty, odd gurgling and looking at Dumbledore’s tomb.  Many of the other students avoided the grim slab of white marble, but Ginny found it comforting.  There ought to be a tomb at Hogwarts, not just for Dumbledore but for everyone and everything they had lost.  It was nice to have a place designed for mourning. 

When she heard Luna’s Mermish slowing to a trickle, Ginny always made a point of pressing her eyes into the heels of her hands and turning a few pages of whichever textbook was splayed over her lap.  She suspected Luna was not fooled; there must still be a telltale ring of red around her eyes and a nasal note in her voice that wasn’t usually there. 

But Luna never said anything, instead allowing Ginny to bustle about making her comfortable.  Ginny liked to use a warming charm on a towel and wrap it around Luna’s shivering frame, her fingers lingering over Luna’s creamy, goosepimpled skin.  Then Ginny would comb her fingers through Luna’s tangled hair and braid it as they chatted about this or that.  Finally, they always snuggled under a blanket until the sunset was kissing the edges of the lake.  By the end of this little ritual Ginny always felt much more like herself, emptied by the crying and filled up again with comforting, exciting new feelings.  

They would pack up and make their way back to the castle for dinner - they ate most of their meals together now, alternating between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables.  Then they would find a quiet corner in some corridor or other for a good night kiss before parting ways and heading for their own common rooms.  

Compared to her previous relationships, Ginny had learned that it was much easier to be discreet when you were in separate houses.  There was none of the usual common room PDA for her and Luna, no draping over each other’s laps in armchairs, no sock on the door of the dormitory.  In fact, because she and Luna had spent so much time together before, no one suspected anything at all.  They all knew firsthand that many friendships had grown brittle or broken after the trauma of the war, but just as many had been renewed with a new intensity.  

Because no one asked about it, Ginny never mentioned it.  And as the weeks melted into months, Ginny found it easier and easier to keep it secret.  She told herself it was no one’s business, which was true.  There was a deeper truth, though, casting a shadow over Ginny’s miraculous, stolen moments of happiness with Luna.  She dreaded the questions that others would ask - questions she was too frightened to ask herself. 

The battle had tainted Hogwarts Castle forever, but Hogsmeade Village still felt exactly the same to Ginny, like it had been encased in amber. Ginny was spending her Hogsmeade weekend wandering aimlessly, drinking in the nostalgia of the untouched little hamlet.   The cobblestone streets were just as quaint, the brightly colored storefronts just as enticing, all lit in the same buttery light.  

When she bumped into Dean, she flashed him a grin and elbowed him gently as if no time had passed.  He asked her if she fancied a catch up over a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, and she said yes without thinking.  Here with the giggles of Hogwarts students daring each other to approach the Shrieking Shack and the smells of Madam Puddifoot’s cloyingly sweet cakes wafting through the air, it was easy to forget that what they had to catch up about was the war they had both survived. 

“So, how are you doing, Gin?” Dean asked as they set their drinks down and settled in at a small table near a window. 

“I’m good,” she said automatically, as she usually did these days. 

“Gin, c’mon.”  He raised his eyebrows and waited for her real answer.

“Well, you know.” She tapped her fingernails rapidly on the table. 

“Okay, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” Dean had this quiet, measured way of speaking that used to infuriate Ginny when they were dating.  She always said he was being condescending, or trying to bait her into an argument.  She knew now that wasn’t true, that her fiery nature needed more than his even-keeled calmness could give her.  But even now she still felt the urge to bicker rising inside of her, her constant immature quest to have the last word. 

“Well what do you want me to say?  I’m terrible. I’m fine. I’ll never be fine again.  I’m doing about as well as can be expected.  Take your pick; they’re all true.”

“Fair enough,” he raised his hands in front of him defensively, as if to ward off her acerbic verbal blows.

“Ask stupid questions, get stupid answers,” she shrugged, “How are you doing, then?”

“I guess I could say the same.  All of the above.  I was mostly asking because I don’t see you around the common room much.” 

“I don’t fancy it much,” she said shortly.  It felt unnatural, being so secretive with Dean.  Even after their break-up, they had remained good friends.  Ginny felt herself curling tightly within herself, like some tender creature in its shell.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t, you know, avoiding me.” 

“Avoiding you? Why on earth would I be avoiding you?” Ginny spluttered mid-sip of butterbeer.

“Well...I don’t know, leftover feelings or something.  It’s been hard for everyone, after everything.  People are feeling lots of...feelings.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Thomas,” Ginny reached across the table to rap her knuckles playfully against his forearm.  He chuckled and she saw his shoulders relax.  

“Well, good.  Because I have something to tell you.  We’ve tried to be quiet about it, but I want to tell you now so you don’t feel awkward or uncomfortable or anything.  But, well...Seamus and I are dating.” 

“...Oh!  I’m happy for you!  Er, I won’t tell anyone, of course, if you don’t want me to,” Ginny said.  Was that what you were supposed to say in this situation, when your ex-boyfriend and current friend tells you about his new boyfriend? Congratulations and the promise of secrecy seemed appropriate, but she hadn’t the faintest idea. 

“It’s not a secret or anything, but I just didn’t want it to be sprung on you out of the blue, if you saw us together in the common room or something.  And once we go more public, people will probably have lots of dumb questions for you.  I just wanted you to be prepared.” 

“Questions for me ? About you and Seamus?”

“Well, because we’ve dated before.  People will probably want to know if you ‘turned me gay’ or whatever, or if you knew I was into guys.  And...do wizards know what a beard is?” 

“A beard, like…?” Ginny mimed a big, bushy beard on her chin like Dumbledore’s.

“No, no,” Dean laughed, “I swear, Muggles aren’t nearly as backwards as you lot make us out to be.  It’s this idea that gay men date women to hide that they’re gay.  People will probably go around saying you were my beard.” 

“Oh.  So...I wasn’t your beard?” 

“No!  I dated you because I liked you, and I wanted to.  And now I’m dating Seamus because I like him and I want to date him.” 

“Oh, right.  Sorry, this is all sort of new to me.” 

“It’s okay.  But that’s why I wanted to talk to you.  So you don’t think I was using you, or that I didn’t fancy you.”

“As I recall, you fancied me quite a lot,” Ginny kicked him under the table and they dissolved into fits of giggles remembering their various misadventures finding secluded nooks for clandestine snogging.  On one particularly memorable occasion, they had come moments away from Filch catching them in a broom cupboard. 

“Thanks for being so supportive, Gin.  Really,” Dean said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. 

“Of course.  And hey, I guess there’s something I can tell you, too.  I’m...I’m dating Luna now.  Luna Lovegood,” Ginny clarified rather unnecessarily, as if Luna wasn’t one of a kind.  

“Oh, Ginny!  That’s so wicked!  Good for you!  You’re perfect for each other,” Dean whooped, nearly spilling his butterbeer. 

“You think so?” Ginny smiled shyly, “I mean, it’s going well, like really well, so far.  But I sort of...I know that people will have dumb questions, like you said.  And it’s not that I didn’t fancy you or Michael or Harry.  I did, and I still think you’re fit, no offense to Seamus.”  Dean mocked brushing himself on the shoulders and bowing to crowds of adoring fans. 

“But I don’t know if this means I only like girls now.  I’ve only dated boys before, but now I like Luna best of all, what does that mean?” 

“Well, it’s not my place to tell you who you are.  But maybe you’re just bi like me. You can fancy whoever you like, boys or girls, whoever you want, really.  You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.”

“Oh my god, there’s a word for that?  Bi?”

“Bisexual, yeah.  It doesn’t have to be either or.”  

“Merlin. That’s what I am!” Tears welled in Ginny’s eyes, and she wiped them away with the ragged sleeve of her jumper.  Something was swelling inside her, a warm feeling of belonging and recognition.  For the first time in her life, she saw herself for what she was, and she named herself.  

She remembered listening to one of Professor Binns’s tedious lectures about the magic of naming.  It was ancient magic, very ancient, and it existed in cultures and religions all over the world.  To know a person’s true name was to have power over them.  Ginny, who had never felt particularly attached to her own name, remembered thinking it was silly.  A name was just a name. Did that mean that she was constantly at risk of being kidnapped by a fairy every time Mum yelled her name? But now she felt the power of this new true name, this identity.  Bisexual.  And she realized that to have a name for yourself was to have power.  

“Hey, are you okay?” Dean was smiling, but his brow was furrowed in concern.  Tears were still streaming down her freckled face, and Dean knew that Ginny never cried.  Not when she twisted her ankle during Quidditch practice, not when they lost a Quid match, and certainly not when she broke up with a boyfriend. 

“Yes!  These are happy tears.  I just… I feel so full,” were the only words Ginny could muster. 

“Did you really not have any idea about any of this stuff?  No one ever talked to you about it?” 

“No!  I mean, I knew gay people existed, but I didn’t realize there was this...this name for how I feel.  What I am.”  

“Cor. Madam Pomfrey's Young Witches and Wizards module is in sore need of a revamp, I'll tell you that much."

“Psh, good luck getting that past the board of governors.  But hey, I have an idea.” 

Dean made the posters for the first meeting of the Hogwarts Bisexual Society, in vibrant shades of blue, pink, and purple, which were apparently the Muggle colors for bisexuality.  Ginny plastered them all over the castle and secured nibbles from the house elves in the kitchens.  The two of them planned the activities together: ice breakers, then a short presentation entitled Bisexuality: Fact and Fiction followed by craft and snack time. 

When Ginny arrived a few minutes early to set up the food, there were already people waiting outside the door.  More and more trickled in as the clock struck the hour, and she recognized many of them.  From her own year, there was Luna, Hector Fawcett, and Elspeth Abercrombie.  From Dean’s year, she recognized Padma Patil and Blaise Zabini.  And there was a smattering of younger students, most of them shuffling their feet and averting their eyes self-consciously.  Well, Ginny would do her best to make them feel welcome and comfortable. 

She had volunteered to convene the meeting, but now that she was standing at the front of the room her heart was fluttering in her chest like a pixie’s wings.  Luna was smiling encouragingly, but Ginny’s eyes lingered on Dean, who gave her a thumbs up.  She tried to recapture how she had felt that day in the Three Broomsticks, the rush of relief and joy.  It had been a gift that Dean had given her.  She wanted to do everything in her power to pass that gift on, to give anyone who needed it the words and support and love to name themselves.  She nodded and took a shuddering breath. 

“Hi.  My name’s Ginny Weasley, and I’m bi.”