“What would my name be? If I went to Chalcioecus?”
The girl’s blazing red curls were splayed out in the grass. She played with them in an absent-minded sort of way, taking a small strand and twirling it between her index, thumb, and middle finger. She was rather pretty if you didn’t think about it too deeply. If you only ever got a glimpse of her bathed in sunlight, forest fey would pale in comparison. At least, that’s what the girl next to her thought. But being pretty wasn’t something Antiope knew about all that much. It wasn’t what attracted her to this girl, anyway.
“Think for yourself. Or do you not know the stories well enough?” she taunted. There was no malice in the words. Her head was propped up on her elbow as she lounged next to Ginny, her forehead briefly brushing against the other girl’s soft locks. Back when she was younger and far less intelligent, Antiope had wanted hair like that. But now, she felt no envy. She felt no need to compete with someone she was interested in for the affections of practically no one. No one ever wanted what they themselves had, so there was no reason to be jealous of Ginny and her pretty hair because Ginny wouldn’t like Antiope more if she had it. If anything, Antiope was grateful to be different.
Ginny smiled. When she did, her mouth stretched widely and happily, but her eyes never matched. They only sparked at the tone of a challenge.
“I do know! I just want you to tell me what you think of me.”
“Aye, I’ll play the game.” Antiope grunted, although she did like having conversations in grass for all to see. Two redheads to rock this silly school to its core, Ginny once told her.
“For example,” the girl continued, holding up the strand of dark crimson hair in front of her face. “I don’t know much about Antiope, but I do think you could pass for a Medea.”
Antiope scowled. There was nothing good-natured about her expression now unless you had taken care to know her. “Medea drowned her own children and lost her mind because of a man.”
“Jason,” Ginny supplied pleasantly.
“I know the story,” Antiope snapped. She wasn’t truly angry and Ginny would know that. Ginny was never afraid. It was one of the many things Antiope liked about her. It was also one of the many things that made Antiope worried for her. But to that particular thread of thoughts, she would never admit.
“Fine, fine.” She waved off Antiope’s scoff. “I still think she’s a viable option for you. Say what you will about her, she accepts insults from no one.”
Antiope froze, gaping at her. Her next words spilled forth mechanically. “To the extent that she killed her own children in spite.”
Ginny shrugged, a small gesture that made Antiope’s heart do something similar to a gulp. “So she has a significant disregard for human life. That doesn’t make her any less impressive. If anything, she’s got ambition for miles and she does anything she can to get what she wants.” Ginny had now moved on to loosely braiding the strand of hair between her fingers with no care for which side of her head it came from nor for which direction it grew. “She was called an enchantress and criticized for being violent. But in a lot of ways, we have her to thank for the everlasting image of why all should fear women scorned.”
She considered this while a pleasant hum filled her chest. Ginny was good at surprising her. It wasn’t like her to be so deep, Antiope thought unkindly. While it was true that Ginny did have this side to her, she usually disguised it behind sardonicism and a general disregard for niceties.
It really wouldn’t be so bad to be named after one of the most famous scorned women in Greek mythos, Antiope found herself thinking. Especially since Medea was considered by Athenians to have male and female traits, making her sort of an enigma of her time. She wasn’t a warrior, but she was formidable.
Antiope thought for a moment that Ginny must’ve read up on the myths to get closer to her. Then she shook away the notion. Ginny would maybe be as manipulative, but Antiope couldn’t imagine her going so far as to put effort like that into their relationship. They were casual and cool and occasionally they were less so. And that suited Antiope just fine.
“Now do me.” Her words brought Antiope back to the present. She fought and won against the blush that found double meaning in the other girl’s words.
“Hmm. You would be…”
Helen of Troy , she wanted to say. Or at least, she thought Ginny would have appreciated the comparison to such a person. A life wrapped in drama and tragedy and all because men were falling on their swords for her.
There were a lot of accounts of Helen, and most did not agree on her persona. In some, she was helplessly in love. In others, she sought pleasure in making men dance with swords for her. In others still, she was the ghost of a person, not really anyone important but rather a symbol of something else.
Ginny was the seventh child of a seventh child. Power radiated from her like a small sun. And there were conflicting reports of her persona. Some, like Antiope’s fellow champion Rigel Black, would consider her harmless and intentionally discourteous. Others, such as Black’s friends, would consider her a menace and a prime example of how blood-traitors were responsible for the downfall of pureblood nobility. Others still, such as her friends, would describe her as a lioness through and through: loyal to a fault, aggressive without apology.
Antiope didn’t know what to believe. So she promised herself she’d discover the answer one day, one way or another.
But what she did know was that Ginny was prideful.
“Arachne,” Antiope said finally.
Ginny’s nose wrinkled as if she’d smelled something unsavory. “The spider-woman?”
“Originally, she was a weaver. And she competed with the goddess of crafts.”
“And lost!”
“Well… the legends don’t actually say.”
“What do you mean?”
“She might’ve won. The point was that she had insulted Athena in order to make herself look better.”
“And you think I’d do that.” Oh no. Deadpan was not a good sign. Antiope was beginning to imagine Ginny sprouting four other appendages and pincers from her jaw. A Ginny-spider crawling across Hogwarts grounds was nothing short of a terrifying image.
“No, not that you would . Only that your unfiltered nature might lead others to perceive you as something other than who you are.”
Her lips relaxed from their pursed position. “Fine. I’ll let you get away with it–”
“See? It’s not that ba–”
“But only if you kiss me.” A wicked glint that kept Antiope up at night flashed in Ginny’s critical gaze. Antiope resisted the urge to shiver. She leaned forward on her elbow until she was inches away from the other girl’s nose. For a moment, sunlight danced across her freckles and her entire face glowed with its warm embrace.
Their lips met, and not for the first time. But whereas it had usually been rough and urgent and fast before, followed by a sharp yet slow yearning to which she would never admit, it was now incredibly soft. She swallowed the lightest of sighs, pressing her lips gently against Ginny’s. She was so close she could feel her lover’s pulse rising steadily as their movements became more earnest and their breaths mixed. Antiope’s head felt light and feverish as though Bacchus himself had paid a visit.
Antiope fell back first, plopping on her back. She held the back of her hand, cool and steady, to her reddened cheeks. She fought the “wow” that bubbled up to her tongue and threatened to tumble out of her mouth. As her breaths slowed and stabilized, she looked up at the bright blue sky. Mixed feelings of excitement and nervousness battled for dominance in her chest. For all that she was terrified of the young lioness and her intentions, a small, soft, sincere part of her hoped that they’d make it. The faintest of prayers made its way to Venus that day, sent by a young Scottish ginger with a warrior’s heart.