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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Fluff Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 36 Summary: Long one-shot exploring Ginny's changing relationships with Dean Thomas and Harry Potter. Hitcount: Story Total: 6699 |
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Ginny Weasley couldn't draw. Her handwriting was legible and firm; letters not too round or too widely spaced or overly slanted. When she was ten and Ron had been newly absent from her life, his first letter in response to hers had been laced with the old taunts about her masculine handwriting; how she was his favorite brother, the true seventh son, a living sorcerer who could strike even Merlin dumb with awe. Saturday morning chatter floated around her. Across from her at the nearly empty Gryffindor table, her fellow fourth year, Elsa Perch, spoke in low, conspiratorial tones to Mirsche Greensward, who was apparently unmoved by Elsa's words: she merely chewed her sausage and gazed sleepily over Ginny's head. Satisfied that they were safely occupied, she once again examined her mail. It wasn't a letter. She recognized her arms, pale and freckled, and her hands with their short nails and slender, strong fingers. The shirt was her favorite, white and snug with a thick band of lace edging the bottom, and her red hair peeked around her elbow. The artist had not included her face, but Ginny knew it was her. Staring closer, she tried to see if the drawing was enchanted. Was that the flexing of a finger, curled around the end of the green paper cone? Had she just seen the merest suggestion of breath? Was her hair shivering from some slight movement? Were the roses she cradled in her arms slowly blooming? "Hey, what did you get?" Mirsche had finally woken up. Ginny scowled at the lovely drawing. "It's from my brother Percy. He works for the Ministry and thinks Umbridge is the best thing since collapsible cauldrons." She stuffed the drawing back in its envelope as angrily and carefully as she could. "Your brother sounds like a wonderful person," said Elsa, shaking her head. Ginny picked up her fork and stabbed her toast, knowing the other girls would change the subject for her. Predicting where an angry Ginny might lay her wrath was a difficult feat, and thanks to the DA, a potentially dangerous prospect. "Glad that Quidditch is over?" said Mirsche easily. "Yes," she said, putting down her fork. "You have no idea what it's like trying to fill Harry's shoes. Although I think more eyes have been on Ron than me." "He did well enough last night," Mirsche said. "Thank goodness," said Elsa. She saw Ginny's look and bent her head to her plate in a hurry. "Cho Chang didn't look too pleased, though," she tried a moment later. "Absolute temper tantrum." "I'm sure Michael managed to cheer her up," Ginny said, and only half-listened as Elsa jumped to insult him. Her mind wasn't on Michael Corner, who probably wouldn't have lasted much longer as her boyfriend in any case. He didn't have much of a sense of humor. Instead she kept returning to the mysterious drawing, picking over the question of its origins. In the library on the Monday of exam week she received another drawing. She was studying Herbology in a windowed alcove with Luna Lovegood. Or rather, Ginny was studying Herbology and Luna was reading a book with a Crumple-Horned Snorkack on the cover, quizzing her absently. She liked studying with Luna; she found her eccentric nature restful. "What color is bobotuber pus?" Luna asked. Her eyes never left the page of the book in her hands. "Yellow-green." Ginny stared out the window at the sunny grounds, chin in hand. "What does bobotuber pus smell like?" "Petrol." "What would you use to dilute bobotuber pus if you wanted to create a cure for acne, and how would you do so?" "I would mix one part pus to seven parts ammonia or cat piss." Luna blinked, and stared at her as if Ginny had just sprouted antlers. Ever since Luna's hysterics on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the year, Ginny had been trying to provoke a repeat performance, but Luna didn't seem to find her very amusing. She shrugged and looked back at the window just in time to see an owl land on the sill. It tilted its head and watched her expectantly. Ginny looked around. Madam Pince was nowhere in sight, so she leaned over and unlatched the window. Fingers fumbling, she opened the envelope it gave her and unfolded its contents. This time the artist had rendered her walking back to the castle from Herbology. Ginny's hair and black robes snapped around her, frozen in one moment in time; there was no enchantment on this picture. Elsa and Mirsche walked beside her. One of them must have made a joke; Ginny's head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, her mouth was shaped around a shout of laughter. He thinks I'm beautiful, she thought. And she felt herself blush. She was surprised at herself for a moment; she'd thought she was beyond embarrassment, and in many ways she knew she was. But she'd never experienced this kind of pursuit before, knowing and graceful and blatantly romantic. It was like something out of her girlhood dreams, and it was embarrassing to be reminded of that. How many times had she dreamed of being wooed like this? Of course, those dreams had featured one person exclusively, and if there was ever a boy who was incapable of clever romancing, it was Harry. Ginny looked up. Luna wasn't paying the slightest attention to her as far as she could tell, although she hadn't asked another question in the last minute or so. Looking over this second drawing again she felt a stirring in her mind, as though there was something in it she should be seeing. She stared hard at it, but the feeling of having a name at the tip of her tongue did not recede. After several frustrating moments she sighed and said, "Luna, what do you make of this?" She shoved the drawing across the scarred wooden table. Luna examined it briefly. "It's a drawing. Of you." "Yes, I know, but who do you think drew it?" Luna handed it back to her. "Probably Dean Thomas." Ginny blinked. Luna took in her look of surprise and elaborated. "Well, the fifth years have Herbology after us. And Dean's something of an artist, I'm told." She smiled. "He's rather nice, you know." "Is he," said Ginny, knowing what Ron would say. Over the next few days, Ginny mulled over the possibility of Dean Thomas. She didn't know much about him; in fact, she wasn't sure at all that he'd ever even spoken to her, or she to him. She observed him carefully during moments when she knew he wasn't looking. She learned that his best friend was Seamus Finnigan, as one was rarely found without the other, and that Dean had an easy laugh. His skin was brown and unblemished, his hair black and very short. From its fuzzy appearance even at that diminished length she guessed it would stand out all around his head if he allowed it to grow. Eventually she concluded that never noticing him before had been to her disadvantage. How he had managed to get so much drawing done when O.W.L.s were upon him was beyond her. Perhaps he didn't need to study, or perhaps he was a fast drawer. She hoped he wasn't simply lazy. Or stupid. By the time Thursday arrived she'd decided to go out with him if he asked her. With impeccable timing, she received his note at breakfast, folded around a simple sketch of her face. Ginny- Meet me in the Room of Requirement tomorrow night at seven? There was no signature, but she didn't need one. Later, she could recall perfectly almost everything from that evening and the trip to the Department of Mysteries. The look on Malfoy's face as she hexed him, the unnerving sensation of riding an invisible flying horse through chilly night air, Harry and the others closing in around her, a living shield defending her from Bellatrix Lestrange. The sudden and sickening pain of her ankle breaking had overwhelmed the anger and excitement she felt, focusing her whole attention on not throwing up. She remembered leaning on Luna, Hermione's slack face as she lay motionless on the floor, and Harry rushing by as she was waking from the Stunner, his face white and screwed up with fury. From what Neville told her later, she'd gotten off lightly. The death of Sirius Black had been extremely upsetting. She'd liked him very much. He had been a brave, noble man who had not had the life he'd deserved, and when she thought of the dark years he had spent, she wanted to weep. It was hard to believe that he would never be around again, hanging up Christmas decorations and laughing his sharp laugh. She was glad she'd seen him laughing; it tempered her pity a little, that he'd known some small happiness toward the end. Ginny felt terrible for Harry too, and could only imagine what he must be going through. He'd been very quiet since the Department of Mysteries, and strangely erratic. He'd jump up from his seat and leave with the most perfunctory of excuses, only to return minutes later, having obviously not completed his errand. But oddly, the person she felt for most was Professor Lupin. She'd thought of his careworn face and patchy robes in the bathroom and had broken into unexpected tears. It tore her heart to think of the hand he'd been dealt. Afflicted with a painful malady, desperately poor, shunned by most of the wizarding world, and thinking for years his few friends either betrayed and dead or imprisoned. Discovering Sirius's innocence only to have him snatched away so soon was a cruelty. She hoped he'd get the chance to kill Peter Pettigrew, if Harry didn't get to him first. She was walking along the lake with Neville Longbottom on Monday when she suddenly remembered Dean Thomas and the Room of Requirement. "Oh!" she said, stopping dead in her tracks. "And she said we'd get a new wand straightaway when I got home. It was weird. She's never looked at me like that before." Neville finally realized that he'd left Ginny behind. He turned and gave her a curious look. "Listen, I just remembered something. I'll see you later?" Neville nodded and gave her a careless wave. She burst into the Gryffindor common room a few minutes later and looked around. Dean was absent, but Seamus Finnigan sat at a table near the wall, playing Wizard Chess with Lee Jordan. She hurried over to him and said, "Seamus, have you seen Dean?" Seamus scowled as his knight was dragged from its horse. "No." Ginny exhaled violently, and bent over to speak in his ear so that Lee wouldn't hear. "Well, will you tell him to meet me in the Room of Requirement tonight? At seven?" Seamus looked at her askance. "All right, I'll tell him. Keep your knickers on." He was obviously in a foul mood, but Ginny beamed at him anyway and raced up the staircase to her dormitory. She had a date, and she'd best get ready. Ginny arrived at the Room of Requirement at seven o'clock sharp, having skipped dinner, but Dean wasn't there. She stared around the empty room, trying to think of what she'd need. Really, she just needed a place to talk to Dean without being interrupted. But it would look stupid if he showed up and the room was bare. Surely he'd set something up for her last Thursday. She cringed, thinking of him waiting for her. How long had he stayed before he gave up and went to bed? Closing her eyes, she thought that a fire would be nice. Immediately she heard the crackle and snap of flames. Two comfortable armchairs. Her stomach growled. Something to eat. A table to put it on. Ginny opened her eyes. The room was smaller now, and cozy. It was furnished with two outrageously magenta armchairs complete with matching ottomans. A small table stood between them, and there was a silver tray with sandwiches and a carafe of pumpkin juice upon it. Sinking down into one of the chairs, she wished she had a copy of Witch Weekly to keep her occupied while she waited. Dean was slightly late, but he did appear not long after she started flipping idly through the copy of Witch Weekly she had discovered underneath the tray on the table. She shoved it down into the chair hastily and turned as she heard the door open. He wore a guarded expression. Seeing it, her insides squirmed uncomfortably. "Hi," she said. "Hi," he said. They looked at each other. Ginny reached into her pocket. She drew out the sketch of her face and showed it to Dean. "I'm sorry about Friday. I spent all day in the hospital wing." Dean's expression cleared. "It's all right. I heard about it. I just wasn't sure…" "You weren't sure about what?" "I wasn't sure if you had just forgotten in all the fuss, or if you hadn't wanted to come in the first place." He was staring at her intently. "I wanted to come." "Well, good." Dean grinned suddenly and rounded the other chair, folding his long limbs gracefully into it. He kicked the ottoman away from him a bit and crossed his ankles on it. He looked at her, smiling a bit, and said, "So what exactly happened that night? Rumors are flying but nobody seems to know the details." Ginny looked at Dean's mischievous expression and laughed aloud, but inside she was already editing the story, omitting Sirius and the lost prophecy. No matter how much she liked Dean, there were some stories that weren't hers to tell. The rest of the summer term passed too quickly for Ginny's liking. After those first few seconds alone together there were no awkward moments. Dean was easygoing and surprisingly fun to be around. He joked with her, something that Michael had never done, and was entirely unembarrassed in revealing how much he admired her. With Dean it was simply a matter of course to let her know that he thought she was beautiful. Ginny found this casual honesty refreshing and very appealing. They played Exploding Snap, went for walks, teased each other mercilessly. Every day he gave her a sketch. She marveled at his talent, and at the subjects he chose. Dumbledore's eyes seemed to twinkle in charcoal, McGonagall's stern countenance thawed a bit in simple pencil, and Harry actually looked happy, eyes crinkling with his crooked smile. The last, she surmised, he had drawn from memory. Harry hadn't smiled for days. But most of the sketches were of her, smiling or pensive, even dozing, curled in a chair in the common room with Crookshanks in her arms. The night before their return trip to their homes, he asked her once again to meet him in the Room of Requirement. She found him there, sitting at a bench, sharpening a charcoal pencil. Ginny sat down next to him and glanced at the paper in front of him. It was blank. "What are you going to draw?" Dean glanced at her and smiled vaguely. He seemed nervous for only the second time since they'd really known each other. She guessed that allowing her to watch him draw was somehow more personal than just giving her the end result. She didn't quite understand, but she supposed watching the work in progress might reveal flaws that were invisible in the finished piece. Surely he knew she wouldn't care about that, though? Dean stared at the white expanse of paper in front of him, pencil poised, and then all at once he touched the tip to the paper. He drew quickly, pencil dipping and lifting as he sought a wider or thinner line, left hand hovering gracefully over the paper, ready to dart down and deftly smudge a black line, and Ginny saw that he couldn't have been nervous about displaying mistakes, for there were none. He worked flawlessly and impossibly fast, frowning in concentration. By the time Ginny got over her astonishment at the remarkable skill of his drawing, he was almost finished. In sooty charcoal, she and Dean sat on a bench, backs to the viewer. She was leaning toward him, her hand on the bench between them, his hand over hers. The clean line of her throat smoothed into the angle of her jaw, and continued upward until it became his own jawline. Dean set the pencil aside and looked at her. His nervousness was gone, and he watched her quietly as she absorbed the picture. He wanted to kiss her. She tore her eyes from the drawing and looked up at him. She tilted her chin, and gravely he kissed her, his hand finding hers on the bench. His lips were warm, and his hand over hers was dry and smooth. His thumb moved over the back of her hand and she felt a thrill go through her. Then she couldn't help it; she giggled. They broke apart, looking at each other. Ginny guessed that the slightly foolish, dazed expression she spied on Dean's face was mirrored on hers. She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. "Can I write you over the summer?" he said, smiling. "Of course," she said. His face suddenly lost its smile, and a worried expression fixed itself there instead. "Your brother… should I say something to him?" Ginny laughed. "Oh no, he'd hex you into next week. Please don't." Seeing the alarmed look on Dean's face, she added, "Look, I'll mention something to him when we get home. He'll have the whole summer to get used to the idea." She screwed up her face thoughtfully. "I think he'll have calmed down by September." The expression on his face was priceless; Ginny giggled again. Ginny loved being at Hogwarts, but it was good to be home. Mum had lost more weight, and there were lines around her eyes that had not been there the previous summer, but it was obvious she was elated to have her children home. Fred and George stayed at the Burrow most nights as well, but Percy was still living in his London flat. He did not visit. Dad was gone most of the time, and when she did finally see him after being home for almost three days, she was alarmed at how little hair remained on his head. Both her parents looked their actual ages. The war was taking its toll in wrinkles, and while Ginny hated this, she knew she'd rather watch lines etch themselves into her parents' faces than attend their funerals. Ron was uncharacteristically quiet, and Ginny guessed he was worrying over Harry, but he never said anything to her. They spent a lot of time together, playing mock Quidditch in the back yard. She'd told him she'd decided to go for Chaser next year, and Ron had immediately offered to practice with her, as, in his own glum words, he needed all the practice he could get. Ginny loved summer even though it brought out her freckles, and she did have to admit that extra freckles were a decent trade-off for the gold threads in her hair. For the first few weeks of the holidays, she went to bed after midnight and rose late. Her days were full of warm weather, Quidditch, and sleepy afternoons spent dozing in the sun. Twice a week, she received letters from Dean. At first his letters consisted of idle chat about his plans for the summer, but soon evolved, with a bit of prompting, into interesting descriptions of his family, which was very similar to hers in size and geniality, but differed from hers in that no-one apart from Dean was magical in any way. And of course he sent drawings of them. Ginny thought they looked very friendly and happy, and was surprised to see in one group portrait that Dean towered over all of them. He in turn was very interested in her family, and they spent a lot of time discussing the similarities and differences between wizarding and Muggle families. They didn't discuss the war. The weeks passed, and at the beginning of July, Ginny caught herself singing in the shower, much to the amusement of her brothers, and staring into space a lot, twirling a lock of her long hair around her finger. Dean entered her thoughts many times a day, and on those days when she didn't receive a letter from him she actually moped. When she realized this she became disgusted with herself. In past years, the arrival of Harry Potter at the Burrow had been an event she'd both looked forward to and dreaded all summer. This year, however, Harry arrived just three weeks after the end of term and Ginny hardly noticed. A week after Harry settled himself in Ron's room, she was on her bed, leafing through the scrapbook she had made of Dean's drawings, when a knock came at her door. She stowed the scrapbook underneath her pillow quickly. "Come in." The door opened and Ron edged into the room, dragging a trunk. His ears were very red. Ginny wondered why, and then saw Hermione behind him. "Hermione!" she exclaimed. "Hi Ginny!" said Hermione breathlessly. "How are you?" "Wonderful," she said. "You won't believe this--" She stopped and glared at Ron, who rolled his eyes and left the room. After the door was shut, Hermione crossed the room and sat down on the bed. She looked very tan and her bushy hair seemed much lighter. Ginny drew out the scrapbook and showed it to Hermione, who leafed through it, looking impressed. "Wow, Ginny, I had no idea he was so talented." Ginny lifted the scrapbook from Hermione's lap and beamed fondly at the last picture, which was a portrait of Dean's mother. "I know," she said, and hugged the scrapbook to her chest. "I really like him." "That's lovely," said Hermione. "What about you?" She looked startled. "Me?" "Yes, you," Ginny grinned. "Anyone interesting in your life?" "Not really," Hermione said slowly, and she got the impression that this wasn't entirely true. "Really, it's okay," she said. "I saw how Ron was looking at you, I promise I won't hex you if you want to go out with him." "Oh, he won't ask me," Hermione said with what could only be satisfaction. "He won't?" "No. I've been really careful not to encourage him. He has no idea if I'd say yes, you see. He won't risk it." Ginny gaped at her. "But don't you like him?" "Of course I like Ron," she said matter-of-factly. "I love him, he's been one of my best friends for years." "That's not what I meant." "Well," said Hermione slowly, "to be honest, I wouldn't mind." A pink flush settled across her cheeks. "But it's just not a good idea." "Why not?" Hermione gave her a look that plainly said the answer was obvious. "Harry." "Harry? What does Harry have to do with it?" "Well." Hermione frowned. "It's just that Harry's always had the two of us to rely on, and if something changed between us, I think he would -- not feel left out, exactly, but… he already feels alienated from almost everyone else. I couldn't do that to him, not with… whatever may happen." "What do you mean?" Hermione hesitated. "Well, I was thinking. You remember the prophecy that Voldemort was trying to get? Those globes… that prophecy about Harry and Voldemort was glowing, I saw it. I think that must mean the prophecy is unfulfilled. So then I started to wonder what it could be about, and I can only think of one thing, really." She shook her head. "I think Harry has to kill Voldemort. I think he's the only one who can." Ginny frowned. She'd never really thought about it before, but what Hermione was saying made all too much sense for her. She hoped Harry hadn't come to the same conclusion Hermione had. "Anyway," Hermione said brightly, "I can't wait for the party tonight. Harry doesn't know, but we've invited a few people from school and most of the Order should show up." "Party?" Hermione gave her a surprised look. "It's Harry's birthday today." "Oh yeah," said Ginny, who was hastily trying to think of a decent gift she could give on very short notice. Ginny woke the next morning all at once, feeling well and completely awake. It was still dark out, and she wondered how early it was. She rolled off her cot and pulled on her robe as silently as possible so as not to disturb Hermione, who was asleep on her bed. After finding what she needed in the dark room with a minimum of fumbling, she slipped down the staircase, careful to avoid certain creaking boards, and made her way into the kitchen. She helped herself to a glass of orange juice and settled herself at the kitchen table with parchment, quill and ink. Opening her scrapbook, she leafed through it until she came to the one of Professor Lupin. He was sitting in an armchair before a fire, book in lap, but he was not reading. Instead he looked into the fire, and while his expression was as mild as ever, it was unguarded, and the melancholy on his face was plain. Dear Dean, How are you? I'm good. It's very early here, still dark. I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd write you and tell you about last night. I don't know if I mentioned it, but Harry's here, and yesterday was his birthday. We had a party for him. You know, I'm almost sure that he's never had a birthday party in his entire life. In my family there's always a big fuss over a birthday. Is it the same with yours? Anyway, he seemed embarrassed about it, but I think he liked it. I totally forgot it was his birthday, but luckily I had a big bag of Dungbombs so I gave him that. A board creaked in the hall and Ginny looked up. Harry came into the kitchen, wearing tartan pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. His feet were bare and his hair was standing up in all directions. "Good morning," she said. Harry started and blinked at her from behind his glasses. "You're up early," he said, and his voice was clear, unfogged by sleep. "Just writing a letter," she said brightly. Harry got a glass of milk and sat down across from her at the table. "Is that Professor Lupin?" he said, peering at the scrapbook. Ginny beamed at the picture and turned the book around so he could see properly. "Yeah. Dean drew it. He's really good, isn't he?" Harry looked closely at the drawing. "Yeah." She bent her head to her letter again as Harry turned the page. Well, like I said there was a party. It was a small one, but Neville Longbottom and one or two people from school came. If I'd remembered I would have invited you, sorry about that. Maybe we can get together in Diagon Alley when we get our school things. Do you know when you're going? Dumbledore came as well, which surprised me. He's got to have a lot on his plate, doesn't he? But he came. It was sort of weird. Harry didn't really seem all that happy to see him, and I know he's always liked Dumbledore very much. I wonder if something happened. You'll be happy to know that Professor Lupin came too. He gave Harry a book, which he seemed to like. He looks really tired and his hair is grayer, but his clothes are a lot nicer. He must have a job. She knew Lupin was almost certainly still unemployed, but she couldn't explain about Sirius and her suspicions that he had left money to his friend. The sun was rising. Searching for her next words, she raised her head and bit the end of her quill. Harry had left the kitchen without her noticing. The scrapbook was closed neatly, its edges perfectly parallel with the boundaries of the table. The summer passed quickly and before she knew it their letters arrived from Hogwarts. To her annoyance, there was a shiny prefect badge enclosed in hers. She had half suspected she'd be made a prefect, but had sincerely hoped they'd pass her up. She was planning on making the Quidditch team and as this was also her O.W.L year, prefect duties would be onerous and only add to a heavily strained workload, not to mention that she had little liking for telling others what to do. On the other hand, her mother was pleased beyond belief, and while this was heartily embarrassing, Ginny, like Ron before her, got the latest Cleansweep as a reward. She had hoped to meet Dean in Diagon Alley before the start of the first term, but as her mother went alone to get their things, she didn't have the opportunity, and didn't see Dean until the first of September on the Hogwarts Express. He gave her such a look as she passed with Ron, Hermione, and Harry that she found herself wondering if there was any chance of dragging him somewhere private for a quick kiss. As it was, it was much later that evening after the feast before she was able to wrangle private time with Dean. They sat next to each other at dinner, and dawdled so much that their friends finally got exasperated and left them there. They looked at each other and grinned, and then made their way out of the Great Hall and into an unused classroom, where they spent a quarter of an hour getting better acquainted. Two weeks into term, just when the leaves on the trees were turning Gryffindor gold and red, Harry sat down next to her in the Great Hall as she was starting her shepherd's pie. "Hey." Ginny was starving. Having just stuffed a huge amount of food into her mouth, she merely grunted a greeting. Harry looked amused. "Learned that from Ron, did you?" She glared and threatened him with her fork, still chewing. "Listen, I just wanted to tell you I've been made Captain of the Quidditch team." "That's great, Harry," she said, having finally swallowed. "Yeah, well, tryouts are going to be this Friday at five o'clock. We've lost Angelina and Alicia, so I hope you'll be there." "Count on it," she said, and dug once more into her pie as Harry rose and headed over to Seamus Finnigan. Quidditch tryouts went exactly as she had thought she would, and she easily won a place on the team as a Chaser. Practices started immediately after that, and to Ginny's immense satisfaction, the Gryffindor team smashed Ravenclaw flat in the first match of the season. At the days grew shorter and colder, reports of Voldemort's activity became more frequent in the Daily Prophet. Mostly these reports concerned the fates of Muggles and the Ministry's struggles to sustain the Statute of Secrecy, but in December two events made the front pages that made Ginny feel the first real threads of fear. On the first day of the month, the Prophet reported that Death Eaters had assaulted Azkaban en masse, and that several Aurors had died in the unsuccessful attempt to prevent them from freeing their friends. Tonks was not one of the unfortunate Aurors, for which Ginny was grateful, but the announcement that several convicted Death Eaters had indeed escaped, Lucius Malfoy among them, chilled her. Draco Malfoy was hexed at least ten times during breaks in the week that followed, but his superior, knowing smile never wavered. And on the tenth of December, the Dark Mark spread itself over the Diggorys' house. Ginny went to bed early that night, shivering, remembering Cedric, and it occurred to her to wonder if his parents had even resisted when Voldemort came visiting. Had they fought him, or had they just waited for the end? Their house was not so far away from the Burrow, and she shuddered all over when she thought of the Dark Mark shedding its green light over her home. The news was received at school with a mixture of outrage and terror. Predictably, Cho Chang cried. Harry was missing from the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for two days, and on the third, Ginny found out where he had been. The Sunday Prophet covered the Diggorys' funeral services, and the front page photograph showed Harry in stark black robes, looking unhappy among the onlookers, Dumbledore at his side. A week later, Ginny had done a Hermione and read her entire Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, as well as Jinxes for the Jinxed and The Dark Arts Outsmarted. She'd already faced off against Death Eaters, and knew the war was going to get worse before it ended, if it ever did. She wanted to be ready. Snow fell, and Christmas came and went in a flash of gleaming ornaments and icicles. Dean got her a copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and she gave him a set of magical oil paints that would mix themselves when told. In January the temperature dropped and the wind picked up, driving dusty snow over the grounds at such speeds that almost everyone's face was chapped, until finally, to the displeasure of Filch, the students were allowed to spend breaks inside. On a freezing Thursday, Ginny emerged from History of Magic feeling fuzzy and not really awake, which was understandable because she had fallen asleep again in class. She had woken up just in time to hear Binns announce a two-foot essay on the Goblin Wars, and after the muted sounds of students talking in the halls sharpened into energetic chattering in her ears, she realized with dread that she had absolutely no notes to refer to. Between Quidditch practices, which were hell in this cold weather even though Harry had been cutting them short, prefect duties, preparations for O.W.L.s, and her own private studies, Ginny wasn't getting enough rest. She thought about it and calculated that she had not properly paid attention in Binns' class since before Christmas. Furiously she resigned herself to wasting that evening in the library, finding out as much as she could about the Goblin Wars and trying to come up with enough facts and theories to fill two feet. She hated the class and couldn't wait until she could drop it. History was boring and useless, and she'd much rather spend her time learning something useful. So when Dean found her after dinner in the library, sitting alone at a table covered in books and papers, she was already in a very bad mood. "Hey," he said, and sat down next to her. "Hey." She frowned at her parchment and scribbled out a line. Then she started muttering and looking for her textbook, which was hidden somewhere underneath the mess. Dean extracted the book from underneath a pile of parchment and handed it to her silently. She flipped through it. What was that damned date? 1767? She had just found it when Dean spoke. "Ginny?" "Yes?" she said, scribbling again. "Can we talk for a minute?" "Sure," she said absently. "Um, somewhere private?" Ginny gave him a pleading look. "Dean, I really need to get this done. Can't we talk later?" There was a silence in which she reached for another book. "I want to break up," he said quietly. Ginny froze. "Look, let's just get out of here, okay?" he muttered. In the hallway, her bookbag slung over her shoulder, she turned to him. "I don't understand." "I'm really sorry, Ginny. It's just that…" He looked at her unhappily. "I know you've been pretty busy lately, but…" "But what?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You don't seem to have much time for me anymore." She stared at him. "Dean, this is my O.W.L. year. You realize that, right?" "Yeah, but I seem to remember having some spare time when I was in mine." Ginny, who knew full well what the answer was, said coldly, "And how many O.W.L.s did you get?" "Enough," he said shortly. "The point is that I haven't seen you properly since before Christmas, and while I really like you, I don't think there's much point in us going out anymore." Twenty minutes later she climbed through the portrait hole and collapsed into the soft armchair next to Ron's. She let the strap of her bookbag slip through her fingers until the bag thumped on the ground, and slumped low in the chair until her chin was on her chest. "Are you all right?" said Hermione with concern from the chair adjacent to hers. Ron leaned forward in his chair until he could see around Ginny's hair. "Yeah, you look terrible." Ginny wondered if she should tell them what had happened, then decided that they would know soon enough anyway. "Dean broke up with me," she grunted. "Oh no!" said Hermione. "You're joking," said Ron flatly. "Not joking," she said. "He said I wasn't spending enough time with him." "Where is he?" Ron looked around furiously. "I swear--" "Hospital wing, probably," she said glumly. "I hexed him." Ron dropped back into his seat at once. "Good for you," he said approvingly, but from the look on his face Ginny thought he might just send a few hexes of his own Dean's way. "Ginny, I'm so sorry," said Hermione anxiously. "It's all right. It doesn't matter." "So wait," Ron said suddenly. "You don't have a date for Valentine's Day then?" Ginny stared at him. "There's a Hogsmeade visit on Valentine's Day. You're not going now, are you?" He frowned at her. "Or do you already have another boyfriend?" "No, Ron," she said. "I think I might stay single for another five minutes or so." Ron leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Listen, since you aren't planning on going with anyone in particular, would you do me a favor?" Ginny looked at Hermione, who was watching Ron with a look of deepest suspicion. "What is it?" "Look, Harry's having a rough time of it." He waved his hand. "Girls chasing him all over the place. It's really taking a toll on him. You know Harry, he hates hurting people's feelings." She could feel her own look of suspicion growing on her face. "Ron--" He cut her off. "I know you don't like Harry that way, I really do. That's why--" "I'm not asking Harry out," she said flatly. "That's not what I'm saying. I just wanted to know if you'd please, please, say yes if he asks you to go with him." Ginny stared at him. Then she laughed. "Harry's not going to ask me to go into Hogsmeade for Valentine's Day, Ron." Stubbornly, Ron said, "Harry told me that if one more third year asked him out, he was going to crawl in a hole somewhere and die. Ginny, you're one of the only girls that's safe, except for Hermione," he shot Hermione a scathing glance, "and who'd want to spend a whole day with her?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "So will you?" Ron said. Ginny sighed deeply. "Ron, I really don't think he'll ask me." "Then it won't hurt to promise you'll say yes, will it?" "I guess not." She looked at her brother, who bore a sudden resemblance to a spaniel puppy. "Fine. If he asks me, I'll go." Ron fell back into his chair, again, looking satisfied. Ginny didn't trust the look on his face and had half a mind to take it back, but her head was aching now, a low, throbbing pain behind her eyes. What did it matter? Even if Harry did ask her, it would be just as Ron said: an escape, not a real date. For that matter, once the news about Dean hit the school, she'd probably get asked too, and that idea definitely made her head pound harder. Yes, it would be nice to be able to tell people she was already going with someone… "I'm going to bed," she said, and struggled out of her chair. Halfway up the staircase, she started thinking about Dean again and a wash of guilt came over her. She knew she'd overreacted, and that she should find him and apologize. It had been her fault entirely, and knowing that she could probably have talked him out of breaking up and instead had given him a demonstration of the Bat-Bogey Hex was eating at her. Maybe she should just stay single. She really didn't have all that much free time, and anyway, she'd be able to study now without feeling guilty about ignoring anyone. Even with this rationalization, she still had to quell tears once she was finally in her four-poster. Between schoolwork and feeling awful over Dean, who hadn't spoken to her or even looked at her since that night outside the library, Ginny completely forgot about her promise to Ron until nearly a week later in the common room. Ginny was rereading The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Hermione was seated next to her, working on what looked to be a very difficult Arithmancy paper, tutting occasionally and shooting nasty glances at Ron and Harry, who were playing chess instead of doing homework. Harry seemed to be losing this match. He looked put out, which was unusual because he generally didn't seem to mind losing to Ron. "Who was it today?" Ron was saying as he prodded a pawn forward. "Orla Quirke," Harry muttered. "Decided where you want to dig that hole?" Ron said cheerfully. Harry scowled. "Your move," said Ron just as Harry picked up a knight, and the long silence after this unnecessary statement was what attracted Ginny's attention. Ron seemed to be studying the chessboard, but his eyes were not moving over the pieces. Harry was looking at him, frowning, one hand closed around a struggling knight. He seemed to realize what he was doing after a moment and put it back down. "Ginny," Harry said. She started and looked at his face. It looked very much like Harry was extremely annoyed and trying hard not to show it. "There's a Hogsmeade visit next weekend. Are you going with anyone?" "Er, no," she said, taken aback. "Will you go with me, then?" She thought about the pile of homework that would be waiting for her and grimaced. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him no, Ron caught her eye, and she remembered her promise. There was a long pause in which Ginny managed to restrain herself from going for her wand. "All right," she said finally, and tried hard not to glare at her brother. "Good," Harry said. "I'm tired, I'm going to bed," he added abruptly, glancing at Ron. He went upstairs, abandoning the chess game without a further word. Ginny opened her mouth to say something scathing to Ron, but stopped. Hermione was staring at Ron in shock, her mouth open slightly. Ron's face was lacking the smugness she'd expected to see; instead he was watching Hermione intently. It occurred to her that her brother had a motive for wanting Harry out of the way on Valentine's Day, and suddenly her fury with him was gone. He wasn't plotting and trying to get her together with Harry at all. He wanted to spend the day alone with Hermione. And she wondered how on earth Ron had gotten Harry to ask her out. The next week was the worst Ginny had had at Hogwarts since her first year. On Tuesday she screwed up her courage, tossed her pride, and found Dean after dinner in the Great Hall. He listened to her apology with a somewhat closed expression, but accepted it with good grace and a grin, and immediately asked her to go into Hogsmeade with him. The only thing worse than having to turn him down was seeing the disbelieving and contemptuous look on his face when she told him why she couldn't go. She hexed him again and wasn't sorry a single bit, not even when she got detention. On Wednesday evening, Neville caught up with her outside the common room, and to her horror, he also asked her go with him to Hogsmeade. Turning down Neville was not anything like turning Dean down. She looked at his hopeful, sweet face, thought of how much taller and more confident he was, and burst into tears when she remembered him showing her the broken pieces of his father's wand. Neville, confused and dismayed, let her cry into his shoulder without complaint. When she told him she couldn't go with him, he was obviously disappointed. He said he didn't mind, but Ginny felt terrible and suspected this was partly because she would have said yes if not for Harry. On Friday morning, Ginny caught Harry's eye accidentally at the breakfast table and he promptly looked away. They hadn't spoken since he had asked her out, and knowing that he really hadn't wanted to ask her in the first place, she decided to take pity on him. She cornered him at the end of lunch. "Hey, Harry," she said, just as he was getting up from the table. "Got a second?" "Sure," he said, but he was looking after Ron and Hermione, who had just left without him. "Can we walk, though? I don't want to be late." They left the Great Hall together and as soon as they were out of earshot of anyone else, Ginny said, "Listen, Harry, I know my brother put you up to asking me to Hogsmeade. If you don't want to go, that's fine with me. Ron just wants to take Hermione, you know." "Yeah, I know," said Harry, looking surprised. Then he looked at her. "Why, did you want to go with someone? You can if you want, it's no big deal." "No, it's not that. I just figured you didn't really want to go." "Well," he said, shifting his bookbag, "Honestly, I'd like to get out of the castle, and I don't much fancy going by myself." "I know what you mean," she said. "Let's go, then," he said. He looked at her sidelong and grinned. "I hope you don't mind if I don't take you to Madam Puddifoot's, though." Ginny laughed and made a face. "I'll forgive you. Tomorrow, then?" "Yeah," said Harry and he waved as she about-faced and headed off at top speed to Herbology. The next morning, as they were queuing up to leave for Hogsmeade, Ginny had the giggles. Harry was next to her, and she couldn't stop looking at his hands. He was wearing mittens, which she would have found hilarious under any circumstances, but these mittens were special. One was gold and red, proper Gryffindor colors, but the other was white and covered with small, black-haired, green-eyed faces. Harry caught her looking and glanced down at his hands. "These were a Christmas present from Dobby," he told her, so solemnly that she had to clap her own gloved hands to her mouth to try and stifle the shrieks of laughter that wanted to escape. "Going out with Weasley now, are you Potter?" came a drawling voice from their left. Draco Malfoy stood next to Pansy Parkinson, looking disgusted. "Couldn't get her brother to go out with you?" Harry glanced at Ginny and then at his mittens again. "Which one should I slap him with?" "Neither," Ginny said, stifling laughter. "You don't want to get them dirty. Come on," she said, and started down the path to Hogsmeade, laughing freely. The sky was a bright, clear blue. It had snowed heavily the night before, and by the time they reached the outskirts of the village they were both flushed red with cold and exertion. "Where do you want to go?" said Ginny, looking down on the Hogwarts students milling in the main street. Harry gazed at all the people in the street, reluctance on his face, and was quiet for a long moment. "Have you ever been sledding?" "Yes, Harry," she said, rolling her eyes. He grinned at her. "I haven't." "You've never been sledding?" "Never. Do you want to?" "There's a big hill by the Shrieking Shack," she suggested "All right," he said, and they set off again. The landscape around the shack was deserted, the snow unblemished except for their own footprints. There was a long, steep slope right behind the Shrieking Shack, and they stood at the top and looked down for several moments before Harry drew out his wand. "Okay," he said vaguely, and brandished his wand in the air. Two orange plastic sleds appeared out of thin air and settled lightly onto the snow. Ginny tried not to be impressed at this perfect display of N.E.W.T.-standard magic, and while she was doing this, Harry threw himself onto one of the sleds and disappeared in a cloud of snow. A few seconds later he yelled, and Ginny rushed to the edge of the hill looking for him. Harry lay on his back in the snow at the bottom of the hill, his sled several feet away from him. He was laughing, and the sound echoed up to her. Following his lead, Ginny threw herself on her sled and realized partway down that the hill was steeper and longer than she had thought. She whooped, and then she screamed, and finally ended up a few feet away from Harry, covered with snow and giggling. "That's a big hill," said Harry. His voice was loud in the silence and snow. "I want to go again," she said. "But I don't want to walk up there even once." Harry lay where he was for a moment, then scrambled up, shedding snow. "You don't have to," he said, and vanished silently. Astonished, Ginny clambered to her feet and looked up. Harry was standing at the top of the slope. Almost at once she felt her feet leave the ground, and she was flying through the air, up the hill toward Harry. He caught her by the shoulders and set her on her feet. "There," he said, grinning. Ginny stood there with her mouth open, feeling poleaxed. "You can Apparate?" she said when her brain started working again. "Er," said Harry. "You didn't make a sound! Where did you learn to do that?" Harry looked uncomfortable. "Dumbledore. He's been teaching me… things." "Harry!" she exclaimed, realization flaring inside her. He jumped. "Did you just use the Summoning Spell on me?" "Was that wrong?" he said, looking worried. "That's- that's-" she sputtered. "That's very rude, Harry!" Harry looked at her, totally nonplussed, and she couldn't help it. She giggled. She giggled so hard she was laughing, and then she was bent over, her hands on her knees, laughing and trying to breathe. "Accio Ginny!" she said when she had her breath back a bit, which set her off again. She could hear Harry laughing too. One of his hands was on her elbow, keeping her from falling over, and she caught a glimpse of mitten and thought she might die if she didn't stop laughing. Finally the laughter died down a bit and she stood upright again. She looked at Harry's bemused face and giggled weakly, wiping tears from her face, and then Harry's bare hands were on her face and his cool mouth was on hers. Ginny froze. Then her hands found his chest and she shoved him. She staggered away from him, slipped in the snow, and landed flat on her back. She couldn't breathe for a moment, and when she felt less stunned, she saw that Harry was on his knees in front of her. "Harry," she gasped. "Are you all right?" he said anxiously. "I think so," she said weakly, and pushed herself up onto her elbows. Harry looked furious with himself. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I'm such an idiot. I don't know what came over me." He held out his hands and helped her to her knees. She looked at him, still shocked, and said, "It's all right, Harry, really. You should just give a girl some warning maybe, that's all." He gave her an annoyed look and said, "What? Like, ‘look out, I'm about to plant one on you?'" "No," she said. Her heart was still racing. Harry's eyes were very green. Ginny shook her hair out of her face and shuffled forward on her knees until their legs were almost touching. She leaned closer and tilted her chin until her mouth was an inch from his. "Like this." Harry went very still. She could feel his breath on her cheek. His green eyes, startling at this proximity, flicked over her face. Feeling like she was doing something totally insane, she closed her eyes and made good her warning. Harry's mouth was still cool, and this time she had the opportunity to appreciate the way his mouth fit against hers, the way his fingers felt on her face. She ran her hands through his wild hair and broke away. He blinked at her. "That's how you're supposed to do it," she said, trying to sound casual. "I see," said Harry, looking at her as he had never, to her knowledge, looked at anyone in his entire life. Like she was the only person who existed on the entire planet. Dinner that night in the Great Hall was a noisy affair, with students showing off their purchases and shouting across the hall to each other. Ginny sat with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who was uncharacteristically quiet. Harry and Ron were in high spirits, laughing and telling jokes. Ron's were filthy. Ginny told exactly one joke, which caused Ron's mouth to drop open and Harry to choke on his pumpkin juice. He caught her eye and they grinned at each other. Later, she was getting ready for bed when Hermione came into her room. "Hi, Ginny," she said. "How was Hogsmeade?" "It was fun," said Ginny. "He kissed me." "That's good," said Hermione, who was obviously distracted. Ginny snorted. "How about you?" "Oh, it was all right." Hermione climbed onto Ginny's bed and motioned for her to join her. She did, and Hermione drew first the curtains and then her wand. "Imperturbatus," she muttered, and then looked around at Ginny. "You won't believe what happened." "Ron kissed you," said Ginny promptly. Hermione stared at her. "How did you know?" Ginny shook her head, grinning. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, Ron?" "Well, he asked me ages ago to go with him and I'd told him that we were both going to go with Harry. But then Harry went with you so we just kind of went to the Three Broomsticks. He bought us some butterbeer and sat me down and told me that he's liked me since our fourth year. And then he told me what he went through to get me alone today, talking you into promising to say yes to Harry, getting Harry to ask you." "Hold on. I want to hear that part." "Oh. He told Harry that you were being asked out by pretty much everyone, that it was upsetting you, and that he was worried about what kind of guy you'd pick, especially having just broken up with Dean, and wouldn't Harry please take you so that he didn't have to worry about his sister while he was trying to finally tell me how he felt. And he bet Harry that another third year would ask him out. If one did, Harry had to ask you." She said this very quickly. "I see," she said darkly. "And if Ron lost?" "He didn't tell me. But in any case I have my suspicions about Orla Quirke. That girl has quite a few Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for a thirteen year old with no income." Ginny laughed. "All right. And after that?" "Well, I told him what I told you this summer, about Harry. And he knows I'm right because Harry told-- well, he knows I'm right." Ginny's stomach suddenly felt like there was an icy brick in it. "And?" she said slowly. "Well," said Hermione, looking flustered. "He said that Harry doesn't care if we go out." "He doesn't," Ginny confirmed. "And then?" "And then he kissed me. Right in the Three Broomsticks!" "Did you like it?" "Well, I…" Hermione blushed. "Yes, of course I did." She looked seriously at Ginny. "But I still don't think we should be kissing each other when there's so much at stake. Harry--" "Hermione, Harry doesn't have a problem with kissing." Ginny watched as these words sank in and Hermione's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me?" she exclaimed. Ginny laughed. "I did, but you were too busy being silly over Ron to listen." Hermione frowned suddenly. "I should tell you something. I didn't say anything before, because… well, just because. But he was looking at you. Harry. Really looking at you. Toward the end of the summer." Ginny raised her eyebrows. "You know what I mean. Harry looks at people, but he doesn't always see them." Later, after Hermione had gone to bed and Ginny was alone, she thought about what Hermione had said last summer, about the prophecy, Harry, and Voldemort. It seemed clear that Harry had heard the prophecy after all, and had eventually told Ron and Hermione about it. She itched to know the wording, but knew she mustn't ask. Was there a possibility that Harry could die? Ginny stared at the canopy of her bed in the dark, thinking about the horrible burden that he was surely carrying. It made her insides ache. How could Harry stand it? She understood now why he had so often been quiet and reserved this year. She'd never consciously considered before the consequences of being Harry Potter's girlfriend. But it wasn't ‘Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived' that she wanted to spend time with. Just Harry. He made her laugh, and he was kind and fierce and had that wonderful crazy hair. And it hadn't been that famous boy, the savior of the wizarding world, who had laughed and kissed her earlier, but again, just Harry. Ginny rolled onto her side and stared at the curtain. On the other hand, Harry would always carry the stigma of his name, and however much she wished she could just date Harry for himself, she knew that she would also be forced to accept The Boy Who Lived as part of him. She, too, would be forced to carry his burden if things went any further. And she knew they would. Harry would not leave her for having little time for him; he never took relationships lightly. She wondered how long he had been watching her, and whether he had ever felt frustrated, as she had done when she was younger and their roles were reversed, that she had not noticed. Screwing up her face in the darkness, she sent a plea up to whatever or whoever might be listening. Please don't let there be a price. Over the next few days, Ginny caught only glimpses of Harry and talked to him not at all until Wednesday, when on her way to Potions an arm snaked out from behind a tapestry and pulled her into a corridor she hadn't known was there. It was dark and she struggled for her wand until Harry's voice came out of the darkness. "Lumos." His wand tip ignited and she saw him. He looked extremely shifty. "Hi Harry," she said, puzzled but glad to see him. "Listen," he said in a low voice. "I have to get to Transfiguration, so I only have a minute, but I need to warn you. I'm about to kiss you." And he did. |
| Reviews 36 |
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