[A/N] August 2nd, 2016 || Welcome to the beginning of FemSlash weeks! This started on tumblr, and the week fo July 31st to August 6th is dedicated to Linny, Luna x Ginny. This is inspired by a photoset of fanart that I cannot for the life of me find to credit the artist (when I find it I will update the chapter to add the info), but I wanted to expand on the gorgeous moment between two friends and maybe-something-mores.

Thank you for reading! XOXO -d9

The summer air was scorching the ground of Ottery St. Catchpole, drying the daring blades of new grass peeping up in the early morning before they had a chance to tickle the soles of a child's foot or shade an ant ambling by. Tall weeds, rough against palms, rustled in the slight winds, rubbing against each other in tired music, their whispers praying for relief from the burning heat day in and day out.

Ginny didn't mind when her shoulders burned red hot from slouching too long over the circles she drew in the dirt. She would spend the night wincing with murtlap essence and aloe making her fingers sticky as she worked the cooling gel onto her fiery skin, and the following morning would find trails of her freckles peeling away on the Burrow's porch. She didn't mind the burn, or the peel, or the dozens of extra freckles on her skin that refused to tan; she didn't mind because the pain and itch reminded her she was alive.

Fred always peeled more than she did when he'd burned in the summer sun.

Tonks would never rub suntan lotion on Teddy's back, before he sprinted to the pond, like she watched Harry do with equal parts joy and sorrow tearing his face apart.

Lavender's hair wouldn't turn into a blonde to rival Malfoy's on the train back to Hogwarts that September; instead the golden hair was covered by six feet of rocks and soil.

Her feet were calloused enough she barely felt the cut of rocks on her toes anymore, the boiling sun drying up the dirt so any bit of wind blew it away to uncover the heavier rocks beneath. Those rocks soaked up the heat, relished in it, greedily drinking it in, until they were also embers for the forsaken living to tread upon.

Ginny found salvation in the pain, like biting your nails into your palm to distract from the pain of stubbing your toe, or drawing blood from your lip as your father carefully removed a splinter the length of his pinkie out of your palm. He wasn't as good at removing splinters, but he was better at understanding why she'd snuck onto a broom at the age of six.

"Anything your brothers can do, so can you, Ginny," he would assure her, wincing as he noticed a bit of the broken broom handle left in the thinnest place on her hand, below her fingers. "Breathe, babygirl. You're brave and strong and I will buy you another broom to practice on."

Ginny knew her father didn't have the money to buy a new broom, or even another broom, the sad reality a six year old living in poverty understood. She understood every Christmas and birthday when her brothers got new shoes or jackets, and she received more books and toys, but there was no broom under the tree. She knew what disappointment tasted like; it was a more common seasoning than salt on their table.

Her hands were tough enough now to resist the stray splinters from her broom handles, hardened by hours of practice and by war.

They weren't soft enough to smooth away a length of hair from someone's eyes or to hold another's heart, sure and strong but warm and safe.

"I've found aloe fits best on kitchen windowsills," a soft voice said above her.

Ginny looked up from staring at her palms, her calloused ruined palms, to squint into the sun. Not the sun. Luna.

"Succulents bring a bit of hope into the heat," Luna said, kneeling beside Ginny so her shadow cast protection over the freckled shoulders beginning to burn again. Her pale fingers stroked the constellation on her shoulders, cool and damp from her time spent in the rapidly shrinking pond between their homes. "And when you think there's nothing left, if you break away even one piece, it can regrow again. Sometimes more beautifully than before."

Her burning skin sought out her cool touch, leaning towards the fae girl next to her, still unspeaking. Her fingers, dragging up stones, dug down until they found the uppermost layer of the earth's skin that still was damp and full of life. When the pad of her pinkie hit the skin of an earthworm, she drew her hand back in surprise. After a summer of scratchy beetle's wings and the sting of bites, the soft pale underbelly of a rapidly descending creature held her entire attention.

Luna blocked the sun when she looked up, her chin resting on Ginny's shoulder, watching the signs of life crawl away from the cruel fingers of the sun.

"It might take a little while," Luna whispered, her lips brushing the shell of her ear, the words balm against her scorching thoughts, threatening to burn guilt through every layer of her soul. "But they grow again."

Instead of her own hands sticky with aloe and balm, kneading relief she still did not believe she deserved for the simple act of living, Luna's hands rubbed penance around and through her.