CHAPTER ELEVEN:  THE YULE BALL

22 November 1994

After Aiden left last night, I called the elements and then I waited, but Mira did not come.  I am worked that perhaps Aiden’s magic interfered with her own, or perhaps it doesn’t matter which of them comes, just that one does.

I can’t believe that though.  Mira has mentioned several times that she is tuned in to me specifically.  This Aiden person seemed more tuned in to the place. 

I have to wonder at what would have happed if, while the forest beyond the circle seemed so changed, as to what would have happened if I had stepped beyond the protective circle of trees.  Would I have walked out of my own world and into that of the First People?  If I had kept walking, would I have reached that clearing that I spotted through the trees?  And what would I have found there, First People perhaps, or creatures that have not been seen by wizards for a millennia?  Or perhaps there would have been heaps of lost treasure or another circle of standing stones?  Or perhaps the answer to the question that haunts me day and night — who am I?  Really?  Why have I been singled out for such trials and triumphs and given talents and powers beyond most wizards reckoning?  I wonder if Harry ever asks himself that same question, especially after last night.

Dragons, eh?  He has to get by a dragon, a nesting mother mind you (they can be dreadfully vicious).  You should hear Charlie tell stories about some of the dragons he’s had to handle.  It makes me sick to my stomach to think of Harry having to face one of those all on his own! 

Regardless, I find myself in a quandary.  How am I going to be able to resist the urge to send my elementals to Harry’s aid?  If I give him help, the elementals could be detected and that could lead to awkward questions, both for him and for me.  So what do I do, sit around on my duff and let him get killed?  Or risk the chance of detection and come to his rescue?  I have to admit that returning the favor (e.g. saving his life, as he saved mine) does have it’s merits, but if the Ministry found out about the powers I have, I have a nasty suspicion that they would not be content to simply let me be.  I have a feeling that they would want to find out how the power works, or worse yet, they would want to use my power for their own purposes.  God, I just felt a family of centipedes travel down my spine.

24 November 1994

God it’s good to be able to eat again!  Harry lost his appetite when he found about the dragons and his roiling and churning stomach (due to nerves, I’m certain) did absolutely nothing to enhance my own appetite.  I’m afraid I rather pigged out at supper.

It’s all over now though, his worries about first task at any rate.  He was phenomenal!  I’ve seen Harry fly before, but not like that!  He looked weightless.  He made getting past a Hungarian Horntail look effortless!  And the power he was generating as he hovered there, willing her to come after him . . .does he realize just how powerful he really is?  Does he realize that he literally willed her to rear up from her eggs?  Nothing else could have convinced her to leave her clutch.

I do, even if he doesn’t.  I was there, in his head.  Merlin, the feeling he gets when he flies, that is exactly how it feels for me; flying and dancing.  Everything else just sort of fades away.

At least the encounter has snapped Ron out of his funk.  He’s talking to Harry again.  I think the shock of seeing Harry risk his life (Harry, who would never do such a thing unless his life, or the life of someone he cared about were at stake) shook Ron up pretty badly. 

5 December 1994

I’m going with Neville to the Yule Ball.  I wasn’t going to go at all, but after watching that scene in the library, well, I couldn’t let his feelings be hurt any more than they already were. The thing is, it’s my fault he got his feeling hurt to begin with.

He and Colin and I were working on the layout of the Christmas edition of the Howler in the library when Hermione breezed in and pulled up the table next to ours.  She then proceeded to pull approximately half of the library out of her bag and spread everything out.

“Do it now,” I hissed in Neville’s ear.  “I’ll keep Colin busy.”  I knew that Neville wanted to ask Hermione to the Ball, he’d only told me so a hundred times at least.  I also knew that as much as Ron likes her, the thought of asking Hermione, or any other girl to the Yule Ball had never even crossed his mind.  He just isn’t interested in balls and dancing.  Especially dancing.

Anyway, I pulled Colin off to look for Angelina, who is supposed to be doing our Quidditch column this month.  Thing is, I knew for a fact that she was sitting in front of the common room fire talking to Alicia about heaven only knows what.

When we got back to the table, Hermione was sitting at her table, talking composedly to Viktor Krum, and I could just make out Neville’s back disappearing into the invisibility section.  I caught up with him just before he could slip out of the door.

“Neville!”

The look he gave me when he turned around froze me in my tracks.  To be perfectly honest, I don’t think that I’ve ever seen Neville angry before, nut just upset or embarrassed, but totally pissed off — at me!

“Did you do it on purpose?” he spat.

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Did I do what on purpose?”

“Have me ask her when you knew that she was going with someone else?”

“You mean she’s-”

“Going with someone else to the Yule Ball, yeah.”

“Who?”  I hadn’t meant to be such an insensitive arse, but the question slipped out before I could stop myself.    The effect that one single word had on Neville was amazing.  He deflated, wilted, right there in front of me.

“So —so you didn’t know?” he asked sadly.

“Oh god, Neville, I’m so sorry!  I had no idea, honestly!”  I felt horrible.  “I would never have encouraged you to ask her if I’d known that she was already going with someone.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Neville heavily.  Still,” he added, his head lifting and an odd spark jumping into his eyes.  “It is your fault.”

“Neville, I told you, I didn’t know, she didn’t tell me!”

“You owe me,” he insisted.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Tell you what.  Come to the Yule Ball with me and we’ll call it even.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded.  Had Neville Longbottom just asked me out on a date?

“Any port in a storm, eh Neville?” I said before stopping to think.

“Don’t be stupid, Ginny.  We’re friends, aren’t we?  Who says I can’t ask a friend to the Yule Ball?”

“No one, but Neville, aren’t you supposed to ask someone you . . . well . . . like?”

“I like you,” said Neville stoutly.

“Not like that, I mean, aren’t you supposed to ask someone you’re, ah, interested in?”

“I am interested in you.”

“But you don’t like me the same way that you like Hermione, Neville.”

“I like you better than I do Hermione,” said Neville.

“Don’t be stupid, Neville, I see you moon over her.”

“So what if I do,” said Neville.  “But I don’t really know Hermione, not really, Ginny.  She and I aren’t friends the way you and I are.”

“So, why did you ask her then?” I said rather uncertainly.  His comment about us being friends touched me more than I cared to admit.

“Because you pushed me into it.”

“Come off it, Neville!”

“Well you did!  You’re fingerprints are all over my back.  I may have been crushing on Hermione, but I haven’t done anything about it.”

“But -”

“And I wouldn’t have asked her even, if you hadn’t kept going on about it.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it again when I realized that he was right.

“So come on, Ginny.  You owe me.  Besides that, I have it on good authority that Harry’s going to ask Cho, so there’s no point in waiting around.”

He didknow me!  Damn,but I’d been had.  And he also had an advantage.  Third years don’t go to the Yule Ball if not asked by an older student.

“All right then, you prat.  You win.  I’ll come.  But don’t expect much, I don’t even own dress robes!”

He shrugged and grinned.  “Wear your bathrobe then, Gin, you’ll still be the most beautiful girl there.”  And without another word he walked off down the hall, leaving me to the joys of Colin and the next edition of the Howler.

12 December 1995

Oh my god!  I feel so stupid!  I knew that Harry was planning on asking Cho out today.  He’s been screwing up his courage all week, so I purposefully went out of my way to do all sorts of rally involved and complex stuff so that I wouldn’t have to hear him.  I worked pretty well too. I finished an essay for Snape, studied for our Transfiguration final, worked out a new rune translation and two worksheets for astronomy.

Just as I was getting ready to go down to dinner and congratulating myself on achieving my goal, Ron stumbled into the common room looking as if he’d been punched in the gut.

It took me a few minutes, but I finally worked out that he, Ron, had for some inexplicable reason asked Fleur Delacour out to the ball.  And he didn’t just ask her out, he asked her out in front of God and everyone in the Entry Hall.  I sat with him for a while, trying to help him sort out why it was he’d even bothered.  Then Harry came in looking as bad, if not worse, than Ron.

Shit.  It never occurred to me that Cho would turn Harry down!  Nor did it occur to me that Ron would suggest that I go with Harry.  Damn, damn, damn!  I felt like sinking right into the floor and disappearing forever, especially when I had to admit to my brother and the love of my life that I had already agreed to go with Neville!

Harry would have gone with me, too.  He was desperate.  In fact, he was so desperate that when Parvati and Lavender came in he went right up to Parvati and asked herif she’d go with him.    He doesn’t even like her!  When he asked her, he was hoping against hope that she’d say yes just he wouldn’t look stupid as the only champion without a partner.  But she accepted, and I guess that’s all that matters.  That and my blush induced sunburn.

17 December 1994

The question remains; what the hell am I going to wear to the Yule Ball?  I don’t have dress robes and I know mum and dad don’t have the money to buy me any, which is why I haven’t bothered to ask them for help, or even to tell them that I have a date, because you just know that the subject would come up.

There is one option open.  I suppose I could temporarily transfigure a set of my school robes.  It’s not a difficult charm, though we haven’t covered them yet.  I’d keep it simple, just change the color, and maybe shorten the sleeves a little.  I think I could handle it.

Mum referenced transfiguration charms several times this summer.  And no, I don’t plan on suddenly developing a liking for the bulk of those stupid householdy charms (although I must admit, my “Scorgify” and “Pack” charms are pretty good.  I’ve used both of them several times since coming back to school). 

I refuse to be treated different because I may one day have children!  Being a mother, or the possibility of me one day being a mother, should not be allowed to define my entire existence!

25 December 1994

Ginny turned slowly as Lisa surveyed her from every angle, giving a tweak here, a pat there, tucking in a ribbon, flicking off a stray bit of lint.

“Perfect!” she announced finally.  “You look lovely, Ginny, really!”

“Well, better than I did, anyway,” said Ginny, grinning. 

The robes she was wearing were exactly what she’d been wishing for — and she hadn’t had to transfigure a thing.  After she’d called the elements the previous night, she’d explained the entire situation to Mira, who had suggested that she call them up again and ask them to help her out.

“Be specific,” Mira had told her.  “Color, length, shape, size, material.  They will give you exactly what you ask for.  If you leave something out, they will fill in the gaps themselves.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “It can be quite disconcerting to find that you have the perfect angora cardigan, but that there are no buttons but buckles or something to hold it shut because you didn’t specify.”

Ginny had done as she’d suggested, and had come back to her dorm room to find the perfect robes drapped across her bed and Mandy gibbering in the doorway.

“They — they just appeared!”  she’d said when Ginny had calmed her down enough so that she could speak.  “Out of thin air!  One moment the bed was empty, the next they were there!”

The robes Ginny had requested didn’t resemble robes so much as they did a dress with a sheer, calf-length jacket over it.  The under dress was made of a shimery, amber-brown material that just matched her eyes.  The over-robe was of a sheer, cream-colored fabric with satin trim around the hem, neckline and sleeves of the same shimmery amber-brown material as the under dress, only shot through with gold embroidery.

“I wish I was going,” said Mandy (who had recovered and was now taking an active interest in the proceedings).  She stuck out her lower lip in her trademark pout.

“Hey, you’re the one who had to pick a third-year boyfriend!” retorted Lisa.

“Well, Jack is rather dishy,” agreed Mandy readily, tossing her curls.  “In fact, we’ll be having a private dance of our own.”

“Ooh!  Where are you going then?” asked Laura Marchbanks, who was watching Ginny’s preparations while sprawled across her own bed.  “Andrew’s taking me up to the top of the Astronomy tower!”

“Hey, that’s where Jack said we’re going!”

“Isn’t the Astronomy tower supposed to be off limits?” asked Lisa curiously.

“Well, everyone who could get us in trouble is going to be at the ball now, aren’t they?”  said Laura haughtily.  “Besides,” she added in an undertone to Mandy.  “I’d rather be up in the Astronomy tower with Andy then go to the Yule Ball with a complete dweeb!”

Ginny’s insides went icy.  She could feel the familiar tingle of her elemental power in her fingertips.  This was Neville they were putting down!

“Don’t listen to them,” advised Lisa, pulling one of the ringlets from behind Ginny’s ear so that it could lay by itself against her face.  “You look lovely, and Neville is a good friend, so go on, enjoy yourself and bring me back a butterbeer!”

The tingling mercifully receded.  Is that all it took?  Ginny wondered, a good friend to help me diffuse my temper?  Laughing, Ginny made her way to the common room which looked very odd with all of the multi-colored robes flitting about.

Neville was waiting for her by the fireplace. 

“Gosh, Gin, you look beautiful!”

“Thanks, you look good yourself,” said Ginny, and indeed he did.  His hair was severely parted and he was wearing navy blue robes which, while rather boring in and of themselves, were neatly cut and obviously of good quality.

“Please, my Gran picked them out.  I told her I wanted blue robes, nothing fancy, but I was thinking of something that would make me appear less like — an accountant,” he said with a snort.

“Well, she’s got good taste, your Gran.”

“Oh, the robes are good enough,” said Neville heavily, offering her a pudgy arm, “But they’re not me, you know?”

“We still haven’t found your look, have we?” said Ginny teasingly.

“How about great boring prat?” asked Neville gloomily.

“Damn it, Neville, not tonight!”

“Ginny, what?”

“Do me a favor, Neville, and just for one night, don’t put yourself down, okay?”

Neville gave her a lopsided grin.

The Great Hall was almost unrecognizable with its shimmering trees and individual tables in place of the long house tables.  Each of the huge, arched windows in the Hall had been charmed to give off a soft, golden glow, so what with the thousands upon thousands of candles floating overhead, the inside of the Great Hall shown as brightly as the grounds on a summer afternoon.

Neville steered her to a table where Seamus and Lavender were whispering quietly together.  A moment later, Dean had taken the empty chair between Seamus and Neville.  Then, looking thoroughly disgruntled, Ron flopped into the chair next to Ginny, not even bothering to hold out Padma’s chair.  Padma took the seat next to Ron looking rather sulky.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” A deep, unfamiliar voice echoed throughout the Great Hall.  It sounded rather as though a Muggle game show host had been transported her e direct from London.  “Everyone please put your hands together for the Triwizard Champions!”

The doors to the Entrance Hall (which had been closed after the last of the students had entered) were now thrown open and the champions and their partners filed into the Great Hall to tumultuous applause.

Ginny tried not to stare.  She’d caught a glimpse of Harry in the Entrance Hall, but now she could see him properly.  His robes were an emerald green, the exact same shade of his eyes.  She’d known the robes were green.  Her mum had bought them for Harry last summer after all, but she hadn’t realized that the shade was so precisely the color of Harry’s eyes, and the way it off-set his hair . . .Ginny had to force herself to breathe.

As Harry and Parvati (who looked stunning in her filmy robes of shocking pink) swept by the table at which Ginny and Neville sat, Harry’s eyes met hers and Ginny felt her breath catch in her chest as he smiled and the overwhelming feeling of familiarity swept over her as it had when she’d read the letter from the future.

His emerald gaze outshone even the breathtaking green of the surrounding hillside and the look of smoldering passion in them pinned her, even as his hands had pinned her wrists in place. 

“What I need, Ginny, is you,” he said, and his voice was gruff with need and longing, but his lips were soft and warm, and the tingle that went up her spine at his touch was worth every moment that she’d had to wait . . .

~*~

His eyes, dark green now with passion, were just inches from her own as their bodies joined seamlessly. Deep green pools of passion.  She was drowning . . .drowning in his body . . .drowning in his soul . . .

~*~

“My God, Ginny, I killed them!”  His eyes clung to hers, filled with anguish and despair, begging her for understanding. The vividness of them contrasting dramatically with the blood smeared across his face, glistening in his hair. “Ginny, what have I done . . .?”

~*~

He had refused to wear dress robes for the wedding.  He’d liked the way that the tuxedo he’d worn to the Nationals had looked on him and would settle for nothing less.  But he had worn an emerald green bowtie and cummerbund with the pearl-white tux and as they’d exchanged their vows for the second time, it seemed to Ginny that a day, a life, just couldn’t be any more perfect than what she had right now . . .!

~*~

“Ginny, are you okay?”  Neville’s voice in her ear brought Ginny back to earth with an unpleasant lurch and, for a fleeting moment, she felt a rush of anger surge through her, aimed at the boy who was leaning over her in concern, and was rewarded by a yelp from Neville. She pulled her hand away from him before she could shock him again.

Fuck it all!  She was still only thirteen and she was still and school, and here she was watching as the love of her life paraded into the Great Hall with another girl on his arm.

I don’t know how much more of this I can stand!  Ginny thought wildly as Harry sat down beside Percy and Parvati, smiling around at all the faces turned toward them, took her seat beside him.  I’m having flashes of a future I share with this prat, and right here and now I have to watch him go out with someone else!  How fair is that?

Ginny wrenched her jaws apart (she hadn’t even been aware that she’d been clenching them) turned to Neville, determined to be nice, only to find him staring stupidly at the couple who had entered behind Harry and Parvati.  It was Victor Krum, and floating along side of him in the robes she’d agonized over, was Hermione.

“Shite!”  spat Ron from her other side.  Ginny glanced at him and then looked again and her heart paused between beats.  She’d seen Ron mad before.  His towering tempers were legend, even at the Burrow where flaming arguments were an everyday occurance, but this was beyond mad.  Ron was absolutely furious.

She couldn’t tell if he was mad at the fact that Hermione was there with Krum, or that she had been telling the truth when she said she was going with someone else, or the fact that she looked so beautiful (which she did) but he absolutely crackled with propriatorial jealousy and sexual awareness.

He wants her, Ginny thought dumbly, still staring at her brother.  The great git wants her, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what exactly it is that he’s feeling.  He’s all full of lust and anger and jealousy and he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. 

Whatever the problem, it had worked a profound transformation on Ron’s physique.  He was sitting up straight now, not slouching.  His cobalt blue eyes were sparkling dangerously and even his hair seemed to crackle with fury.

On Ron’s other side, Ginny could just see Padma stirring, reacting almost instinctively to the pure maleness radiating off of her brother. A nudge in the ribs brought Ginny’s attention back to Neville.

“Finally figured it out, has he?” asked Neville, his eyebrows raised.

Ginny grinned.  She and Neville had talked about this before, how it was obvious that Ron was attracted to Hermione and how it was equally obvious that Hermione was attracted to Ron.  Neville always got depressed after talking about it, but their mutual unacknowledged attraction seemed to hold a sort of morbid fascination for him.

“Give him time,” whispered Ginny.  “He’s a dense one, my brother, but he’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Yeah, I just hope I’m there to see it when he does.”

“Neville, you promised not to put yourself down tonight!”

“I’m not!”

“By wishing to see Ron and Hermione finally get their act together, what with you still drooling over Hermione, it comes to the same thing!”

“I don’t drool as much as you think, Ginny! I told you, I’ve been crushing on her, yeah, but I’ve always known she and Ron would end up together, so my drooling was nothing more than a wishful fantasy really.”

Ginny snorted with amusement at the thought of what Hermione would think if Ginny were to tell her that she, Hermione, was the object of Neville’s wishful fantasies.

Padma looked around at her with a reproving sort of glance and Lavender said, “Ginevra, really!”

“Oh lighten up, you lot!” said Ginny brightly, still trying to shake the odd familiarity she had experienced when she’d met Harry’s eye.  “It’s a Yule Ball, not an inauguration ceremony!  Why is everyone so serious?”

“This is why the ball is only supposed to be for fourth years and above,” muttered Padma.

“We’re in the Great Hall, not Windsor Castle,” continued Ginny, as if she had never heard Padma.  “So let’s have some fun!  Double desert to the first person who can manage to get the kitchen to send up the most food to their plate!”

That broke the ice, but things didn’t really start to loosen up until Ginny managed to sneak a canary cream into Dean’s chicken casserole.  The sight of a giant canary sitting sedately at a table full of prim and properly dressed witches and wizards sent the entire table into peals of laughter.  In fact, by desert (during which Ginny — with judicious help from her elementals — had managed to spike the entire table’s coffees with Fire Whisky) they were the loudest table going, with the possible exception of the table where Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were in full swing, singing twisted renditions of The Name Game and making bizarre faces at anyone who gave them reproving looks.

“Takes a Weasley!”  Seamus Finnegan noted when Padma pointed out the fact that their table was being stared at.

“I’ll drink to that!” Dean Thomas said brightly, grinning and raising his glass to Ginny.  “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this laid back Ginny.  What’s got into you, anyway?”

“I’m in training,” said Ginny, grinning back at him and lower her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“For what, the most unladylike behavior at Hogwarts?” asked Padma frostily as Ginny took sixteen brownies off of a tray that had appeared in the middle of their table, and began using them to build a fortress on top of her desert plate.

“Training to take over the Weasley throne I expect,” said Seamus, leaning across Dean and Neville to add three éclairs to Ginny’s structure in lieu of a roof.  “That it, Ginny?  Are Fred and George preparing to pass the torch?”

“Something like that,” said Ginny, eyeing her creation critically.  “It’s missing something.”

“Snow!” said Neville, spooning whipped cream onto the éclair roof.

“A turret!” said Dean, upending his fork and sticking its handle down through the center of the construction so only the tines showed.

“How about taste?” said Padma acidly.

“Lay off of my sister, Padma, at least she knows how to have fun!” snapped Ron, speaking up for the first time since supper had begun.  “What its missing, Ginny, is a flag.”  He took the maraschino cherry off of the top of his hot fudge sundae and impaled it on one of Dean’s fork tines.

“Perfect!” said Ginny, clapping her hands together delightedly.

Padma sniffed, and turned her attention back to the champion’s table where Dumbledore was now getting to his feet.  The Headmaster motioned for everyone else to stand as well.  In an instant, Ginny’s fortress had melted away, leaving a clean, white-clad table, which promptly zoomed away to line the edge of the Great Hall in order to make way for the dancing.

“I think I’m going to cry,” said Ginny in a mock-strangled voice as the Weird sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune and the champions began to dance.

“Why, because Harry asked my sister and not you?” said Padma haughtily.

“Actually, because I just realized that I spent the entire time playing with my desert and never got around to eating any!”

Neville snorted with amusement and even Ron was smiling slightly.  Ginny noticed, however, that the smile wiped itself off of his face as Hermione and Krum waltzed past, both of them chatting animatedly.

“Come on, Ginny, let’s dance,” muttered Neville.  “That’s what we came for, isn’t it?”

Neville was a terrible dancer, but Ginny managed to keep her feet out his way for the most part. Their conversation more than made up for his lack of skill, and soon they were laughing and making jokes about the other couples on the floor.

After two dances they made their way out of the Great Hall and into the fairy grotto that had been magicked into place outside of the front doors in order to get some air and to talk without interruption.

“Wish I was a better dancer, Ginny.  You’re toes alright then?”

“They’re fine, Neville, really.”

“You’re a really good dancer Gin.”

“You would be too if you’d been taking lessons since you were four!”

“Great, just perfect!  Of all the girls at Hogwarts, I have to pick the dancing diva, me, Mr. Clumsy himself!”

“Neville!” said Ginny warningly.  “You promised!”

“Yeah, I know.” 

They’d paused on the edge of a spectacular display of entwined roses and sparkling fairies.  “Can’t help it sometimes.  It’s sort of second nature now.”

“Cut it out, Neville!”  I want you to promise me that you’ll stop thinking of yourself as inferior to everyone else.  You’re not you know.”

There was a sudden movement beside her.  Ginny turned just in time to see a fiture coming straight at her.  She inadvertently took a step backward and Neville tripped and sprawled heavily on the gravel at her feet.

“Merlin, Neville, are you okay?”  Ginny got a hand under Neville’s elbow and pulled him to his feet.  “What happened?”

“I — I tripped!”

“I saw that bit, but why?”  To her astonishment, Neville went scarlet and suddenly Ginny had a very good notion of what Neville had been trying to do.  Poor, bumbling Neville!

“Fess up, Neville,” she said, grinning broadly.  “What were you trying to do?”

Neville looked at her, beet red with embarrassment, and grinned sheepishly.

“I — I was trying to — to kiss you,” he admitted and went, if possible, even redder.  “I’m sorry, Gin, I don’t know what came over me, really.  You, well, you just look so beautiful, and the stars and roses and everything . . .I just . . .”

“Neville?”

“What?”

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Neville nodded, not meeting her eyes.

“Then don’t apologize,” she said quietly.  “Just do it.”

Neville hesitated only an instant before leaning in toward her.  Ginny closed her eyes and tipped her head slightly to the side.  Neville, however, must have done the exact same thing because an instant later they both squealed in pain as their noses collided.

“God, Ginny, I’m sor-”

“Neville, if you dare apologize for trying to kiss me I’ll hex you into the middle of next year!” Ginny warned.  “Tell you what, I’ll hold still, you move, that way neither of us will get hurt.”

Ginny held perfectly still as Neville hesitantly leaned in and brushed his lips against her own.  His lips were warm and dry and gone too quickly for Ginny to register anything other than relief over the fact that he hadn’t hit her nose this time.

“Better?” asked Neville hopefully.

“Much,” said Ginny, grinning, “but I think we both need more practice.  What do you think?”

Neville grinned back at her.  “Want to try again?”

“Why not?”

Neville leaned in again and Ginny raised an arm, thinking to pull him in a bit closer, but caught her robe instead on a rosebush.

“Aargh!” she leaned forward to pull herself free of the painful thorns and clunked her forehead against Neville’s.

“Damn!” said Ginny eloquently, rubbing at her tender head.

“Was that you or me?” groaned Neville.

“Me, I caught my hand on a rosebush,” said Ginny with a grimace.  She raised her torn hand to her mouth and sucked on the cut.  “Real romantic, wouldn’t you say?  Guess it’s my turn to apologize.”

“Maybe we should get back to the castle before anything worse happens,” Neville suggested, fishing a paper napkin out of a pocket and handing it out to her. “Thank you, Ginny,” he said quietly.

“For what, making a complete arse of myself?” asked Ginny wryly.

“For not laughing at me,” said Neville, taking her arm and leading her back towards the castle.  “For being my friend.”  He paused, deftly twisted a soft, creamy-white rose off the nearest bush.  He touched it with his wand, smoothing out the thorns before tucking it behind her ear.  “For the kiss.”

“No, Neville, thank you.”

Ginny found, much to her amazement, that she really meant it.

*     *     *

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur.  Ginny was peripherally aware of Harry and Ron talking animatedly about giants in a far corner, but didn’t pay the conversation more than a cursory glance.

She danced twice more with Neville.  He really was awful, and he knew it, apologizing profusely after each dance.

“It’s okay, Neville, honestly!” Ginny said tiredly, refusing to wince as he trod on her toes once again.

“No, it’s not.  You deserve to have at least a couple of good dances.  I know!” he added brightly and tugged Ginny over to a corner where Dean Thomas was sitting with a couple of Ravenclaw fourth year boys.

“Hey, Michael, can I borrow you for a minute?”

A tall, olive-skinned boy with an unruly mop of glossy brown curls and vividly blue eyes acknowledged him by nodding his head.

“Would you mind giving my date a turn on the dance floor?  I swear, all I have is a series of left feet.”

“You must have one hell of a shoe bill,” murmured the boy.  He stood smoothly, looking Ginny up and down as he did so.  “It would be my pleasure, Neville.

“Ginny, this smooth mother is Michael, Michael Corner.  He’s in my year, but in Ravenclaw, and if I had to pick someone, I’d have to say that he’s probably the best dancer at Hogwarts.  Michael, this is Ginny Weasley.”

“I figured as much,” said Michael quietly.  “Sure you want to risk her with me, Neville?”

The boy, Michael, had addressed Neville, but was still looking at Ginny.

“Mike’s got quite the reputation as a lady’s man,” said Dean, addressing Ginny in a stage whisper.  “He goes through girlfriends like water.”

“Only because I have yet to find a wine to my tasting,” countered Michael.

Ginny blinked.  Neville, Dean and the other Ravenclaw boy (Ginny thought his name was Terry) all groaned.

“Shall we?” he held his hand out to Ginny.  She stole a sideways glance at Neville.  He was grinning broadly.  He met her eye and gave her the smallest of winks and Ginny let Michael lead her out onto the dance floor.

Michael Corner didn’t live up to Neville’s boast of being an excellent dancer, he exceeded it.  Short of Bill, she’d never danced with a better partner.

“You are good,” Ginny admitted as Michael initiated a small pause step to avoid running into Fred and Angelina. 

“You’re not bad yourself,” Michael countered.  “And you’ve picked up on every one of my leads.  You take lessons then?”

“Since I was four,” Ginny said, grinning.

“I’ve been dancing since I was six,” Michael said, grinning back at her.  “My mum teaches the Foxtrot andd Charleston and other odd dances in retirement homes.  She needed a partner to practice with, and, well . . .” He spun her out in an underarm turn just as the music ended.

“Care to try something a little more exotic?” Michael asked as the weird sisters struck up their own version of a tango.

“Do you think you can handle it?” Ginny countered.

Michael grinned.  “Is that a challenge, woman?”

“Maybe, or perhaps I’m wondering just how good of a dancer you are.”

“Careful, Miss Weasley.  You may get more than you bargained for,” he warned her even as he held his arms out in invitation to begin the next dance.

Ginny tilted her head to one side, observing him critically.  She was so tired.  So tired of the tantalizing tidbits her bond with Harry allowed her.  Glimpses of things so far away that she couldn’t rightly believe that she would ever actually experience them.  Michael was cute.  Tall, dark, handsome and, well, she had an entire year to kill after all, perhaps longer, and at least he could dance!

“the question isn’t if I’ll get more or less than what I bargained for,” said Ginny finally, surprising herself with her own boldness, “but whether or not you can handle what I have to offer.”

Michael’s eyebrows lifted into his hairline even as a wide grin slipped onto his face.

“Shall we dance then?”

Ginny came into his arms then, willingly.

“I’d love to dance.”

~*~