Title: A Taste for Vocabulary
Characters: Fred, Ginny
Word Count: 1532
Summary: Fred gives Ginny a language lesson.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
"Oi! That's a naughty book!" Fred exclaimed, jerking it out of Ginny's hands and staring avidly between the spread legs of the black-haired witch on its pages. "Nice quim, she's got, too—what are you doing ogling it?"
Ginny turned as red as the charmed Muggle Gobstoppers that Mr. Weasley recently had seized in a raid and hissed, "Givethatbacktomenow!" making an unsuccessful attempt to grab the book.
"Nuh uh. Not until you tell me why you've got it, sister of mine," Fred said, holding the book above his head, fending her off—which was made easier due to the fact that Ginny obviously did not want to wake the household—and allowing the pages to flip down so that he could see more of the contents. "This is prime stuff. I could spend hours looking at such nice, wide, wet cunts like these!"
"Would you stop saying things like that?" Ginny demanded. "You're being disgusting."
"Saying what?" Fred asked, shoving Ginny back and tossing the book into the air, and then casting a charm to make it hover. "You mean 'quim' and 'cunts'?"
"Fred! Get my book down right now."
"So it is your book?"
"You know it's my book. You took it from me!"
"Yep, so I did—your cunt book," he teased, throwing himself down into a chair at the kitchen table. "Ow! Why'd you kick me?"
"You're a filthy prat, Fred Weasley," Ginny told him, beginning to climb up onto the table.
Fred caught Ginny by the arm and pulled her down. "Sit and talk to me a minute, all right? And then I'll give you your book back."
Glaring, Ginny did.
"Now then, what's so filthy about a cu—"
"I'm not going to talk to you if you don't stop saying such awful things."
"But you're looking at 'such awful things'. Besides, cu—girl parts aren't awful. They're beautiful."
"Maybe they are, but those words for them aren't," Ginny said mutinously.
"You're having me on, right? What should I say—vagina? flower? love box?"
"You shouldn't be saying anything. You should give me my book back and forget I have it!"
"Ginny, are you a dyke?" Fred asked, sounding gently and genuinely curious.
"And that's another one!" she exclaimed, horrified.
Fred raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How is it that you can be one and hate the word?"
"I . . . I don't hate the word, it's just . . . ."
"It's just what?"
"Those words—they sound vulgar. They cheapen it."
Ginny mumbled something.
"What was that?"
"They cheapen what I am," Ginny whispered, lowering her head.
"Bravo, little sister. You've almost admitted something. Now try again. What are you?"
"You know very well—"
"That isn't it."
"Nope. We've established that you are not a 'Fred'. Say it, Ginny. Tell me."
"I'm a . . . I'm a lesbian."
"Right, then! You're a dyke, a carpet-muncher, a Sister of Sapho, a—ow!" Fred yelled, as Ginny punched him. "A virgin," he said in a damning tone, rubbing his arm.
"Who says I'm a virgin?"
"Don't look so scandalized. It's nothing to be ashamed of—and the condition is correctable. But how are you ever going to have sex with another bird if you can't tell her what you like and where you like it?"
"You can't be serious. You don't talk during sex!"
"Says the girl who's never shagged before," Fred teased—after he had pushed himself a safe distance away from his sister.
"There's talking?" Ginny asked worriedly. "Really? But . . . but that's indecent."
"Why? Because you might have to say 'twat'?"
"Look, Ginny, there is talking involved. There has to be if you want it to be good, and there's no reason to be ashamed of your . . . parts."
Ginny shook her head. "I can't. It seems wrong."
"Maybe I should get George. He—"
"Don't you dare!" Ginny ordered, her face flaming in mortification.
"All right, I won't—but only if you'll agree to practice."
"'Practice'?" Ginny asked, suspicious.
"I can't have my little sister going about with other girls and asking them to stroke her sex, you know. That would be wrong."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to become more comfortable with the necessary terms."
"Fred, I told you—"
"Twat," he interrupted, leaning tentatively forward in his chair.
"Fred, what if Mum should—"
"Twat, cunt, pussy, hole, slit—"
"Stop it!" Ginny demanded, covering her ears.
Fred did, but only because he could see the tears in Ginny's eyes. He got up and joined his sister on her side of the table and said, "Look, they're just words. They're not bad, just descriptive, and they're only dirty—or wrong—if you think they are. You don't think there's anything wrong with you for being gay, do you?"
"N—no," Ginny sniffled.
"I . . . I guess not—but it's not fair!"
"You get good words—prick, cock, pole—that's what's not fair!"
Fred threw back his head and howled with laughter until Ginny pressed her hands against his mouth and kicked him again.
"Do you want Mum to hear?"
"Oh, that's it, isn't it? You're worried about what Mum would think."
"Mum wouldn't approve of words like twat."
"Probably not," Fred agreed, "but she wouldn't think any less of you for liking one."
Stunned, Ginny froze.
"What?" asked Fred. "Oh. Oh! No, I'm not going to tell her."
Visibly relaxing, Ginny asked, "Do you really mean that?"
"I do, but tell me: is it Mum's possible reaction or saying the words that's bothering you?"
"Both, I guess," she admitted. "I wish . . . I wish you'd get my book down."
"That's actually a good idea," Fred said, removing his spell and catching the book as it dropped. He opened it to the page Ginny had been examining when he had entered the room and asked, "Now what would you call this lovely young witch's . . . equipment?"
Ginny stared at the picture for a moment and then said, "Luna's always saying 'juicy nether region of love'."
"Oh, so it's Luna you're trying to impress."
Ginny flushed again.
"You know, she probably wouldn't have time for so many syllables if your tongue was working her."
"Freh—ed!" Ginny fussed, shoving him.
"It's true! That's why we've got so many delightful words to choose from. Try one," he urged, his eyes straying back to the page.
The picture of the witch wriggled invitingly.
"I don't know," Ginny said doubtfully.
"Go on. Give it a try."
"P—pussy," Ginny said, her hand reaching out to trace one of the moving thighs.
"Like that one, do you?" Fred asked, amused.
"It's not so . . . it reminds me of—"
"Petting? Because that's what you'd like to be doing to Luna's pussy?"
"Yes," Ginny squeaked.
"So what's been keeping you from doing it?"
Ginny mumbled again.
"What was that?"
"She's always talking, Fred. She talks and talks and talks about . . . parts, and I don't think I've got enough . . . vocabulary to know what to do to her!"
"Ginny, my dear, what Luna's really saying is 'suck my clit', 'stick your fingers up my quim and rub my'—ow! Damn it, stop hitting me. It's true! She wouldn't be talking about it with you if she didn't fancy you—and she wouldn't be talking if she were doing it at all."
"You mean Luna's not—"
"Having 'relations' with all the Ravenclaws in her dorm? No, I'm sure of it. She's trying to gauge your interest—or make you jealous, I'd imagine—so why not just kiss her quiet in some dark corner, and lift up whatever ridiculous skirt she's wearing under her robes? You'll feel much better about language afterward, you know. I promise."
Ginny considered Fred's words for a moment before replying, "So, it doesn't bother you?"
"That I'm a dyke?"
Fred grinned. "There's a clit-licker in all the best families—hell no, it doesn't bother me. You're my sister," he said, turning and enfolding her in a bear hug.
Suddenly, the door flew open and a sleepy looking Molly entered. "I heard a noise. What are you doing up at this time of night? Ginny, are you all right, dear? Did something happen?"
"No, Mum," Ginny said, at once grabbing her book off the table before her mother could see its title.
"'Course not," Fred said, giving his sister one more reassuring squeeze before pulling away. "I was just helping our Ginny with a project, is all."
"If you're looking for homework help, dear, you should probably ask Hermione in the morning," Mrs. Weasley said, pulling a mug down out of a cupboard. "What's so funny?" she asked, turning to find her children laughing.
"I uh, I don't think Hermione knows much about the subject," Ginny said, trying not to laugh again as her mother began to chide her for doubting Hermione's vast knowledge on most of Hogwarts' subjects.
"You'd be surprised," Fred whispered, smirking as Ginny's eyes widened. "But I doubt that Parkinson chit would let you 'study' with her girl."
Cunt, Ginny thought of the Slytherin.
But when Molly and Fred had left her again, she opened her book and looked again at the black-haired witch, wondering how Pansy's would taste.
I need to 'talk' to Luna. I don't have words for tastes, yet. "But there's no accounting for Hermione's."