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A Day Worth Remembering
By Telwyn Dubois

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Category: Angst Valentine Challenge (2006-1)
Characters:None
Genres: Angst
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 9
Summary: As the day draws to an end, the girls gather in the commons to share stories of woe. It will be a day worth remembering, a day memorable for the feeling of camaraderie and the sharing of compassion and disappointment. Many have been wronged this February 14, and many have been plagued by misfortune, but even the most cynical witch of them all can find happiness in a small bunch of flowers.
Hitcount: Story Total: 7031







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Title: A Day Worth Remembering
Author: Telwyn Dubois
Word Count: 4033
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: Not mine, of course.


Dedication: To Erika Rios, one of my best friends and one of the few people I actually tell things to. This is going to be the only dedication I ever make in the realm of HP fan fiction, unless it‘s dedicated to Erika - she‘s just that special. This is my birthday gift to her.

To make it easier on the judges - I’ve put all of the bonus phrases in bold. I don’t think I used them very well, but I just thought that if I did it this way, it would be easier to count them. I know from past experience that counting can be a trying experience. I took a few liberties with some of them, but I think I got the point across. XD

She shouldn’t be so upset about something so insignificant in the scheme of things, yet still she sits at the foot of the stairs to the Head Girl’s room, diamond tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping to the carpet. He has just left, oblivious as always to her real moods, moods she has concealed behind an ill-conceived veil that would have shattered in an instant. If he’d bothered to press against the fragile glass of her demeanor. But no, of course not. With bitter reflection, she wonders idly why she had to choose to fall in love with a boy who possessed the “emotional range of a teaspoon.”

Why oh why couldn’t Saint Valentine’s Day be the perfect day she’d always dreamed of, a day of whispered affections and feather light kisses rained upon her brow? She looks at the bottle of butterbeer in her hand, turning it over and over as she morosely reflects upon the events of the day. Abruptly, she hurls the fragile object into the wall, watching with grim satisfaction as the brown glass shatters and frothy liquid drips into the carpet, only a few feet from the Head Boy’s dorm room. It does nearly nothing to help her vent her anger.

Still simmering with rage and disappointment, she stands and hurls the nearby bundle of daisies into the still frothing puddle of butterbeer. She hates daisies anyway, who in their right mind would like them? He does, and apparently he thinks she shares his taste in flowers as well. If looks could kill, Ronald Bilius Weasley would have been dead the moment he turned his back on her to leave.

She is still sitting on the steps, crying softly to herself. Deep down, she knows that he doesn’t know better, that sharing February 14 with another person is rather new to him and that she should forget and forgive, like a good girlfriend. But she can’t because it scars some part of her, a part that longs for romance and despises analytical logic. When he’d asked her on a date a month ago, she’d felt so ecstatic, because here was her own hopeless mess that needed her, that had finally realized he needed her…and yet here they were, at an impasse in their relationship, one that she could see but he was blind to, or perhaps he was just ignoring it. She’ll never know, because he’s too thick to tell her anything. He always will be.

But today, today of all days, she’d hoped that he might have finally gotten a clue and seen the light. She’d hoped that he would defy all reason and show her that he actually, really and truly, cared. Perhaps a box of chocolates, perhaps a fantastic arrangement of roses in a delicate glass vase…maybe even an “I love you” from him. No, he gave her a bunch - not enough to merit an actual bouquet - of daisies, of all things in the entire world. He gave them to her distractedly, and she knew he had picked them on his way from Quidditch. She had wanted him to care about her and love her, especially on this day. Instead she was left with a few wilted flowers and a halfhearted “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Of course he wouldn’t know how much it meant to her. How could he, when she had never opened up to him about the part of her that was a romantic? He always saw her as coolheaded Hermione, the girl who could multitask endlessly and still have time to nag him about his Potions essay. We reap what we sow, and the Head Girl had planted the seeds of being a resident know-it-all from her first step onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. With a sad, faint smile, she glances down at the golden watch her father had given to her, hearing its quiet clicking reminding her of something, something she is rather late for. And Miss Granger has never liked being late. She drags her feet to the door and opens it, grabbing a nearby handkerchief as she does so. For another thing Hermione Granger cares about is appearances. Others might whine about the awful day they had with their boyfriend, but she will not. Because she will solve all her problems by herself, and to the rest of the world, Ron will have just slightly forgotten a bit. The girls need never know the full story.

---


A whole bunch of daisies! Not roses? Or chocolates? Or even sunflowers? I can‘t believe it!” She snorts derisively and tosses the messy plait over her shoulder, dark eyes sparkling. They are all together now, the girls of the Tower, grouped in the common room around the fire as they sip stolen butterbeer and trade stories of both laughter and frustration. It does not matter if they are a wee first year or the Head Girl herself. All that is required of them is that they belong to the Tower and are of the female gender. Perhaps the boys are trying to eavesdrop, and perhaps not. They’ll never know because a certain Weasley placed a well crafted Imperturbable Charm, barring all the lion-hearted boys to enter their domain, which is what the commandeered common room has become on the night of this Valentine’s Day.

“Mhmm. That was all.” Hermione smiles quietly and flicks a fly away from her hair. From the way she discounted the almost nonexistent events of her special day, one would think that she was not upset at all. But she was. She was simply cried out. But this girl does not know that. All she sees is the outer appearance, because she has never learned to look beyond, to penetrate through the outer layer. For she is naïve in the ways of many things, as most seventeen-year-olds are. While only a few of their year have been touched by the forbidding hand of war, she is not one of them. The only truth of an adults’ world that she has ever been close to experiencing is love, and today she learned another: the regret and the disappointment that can sometimes come from it.

Parvati turns away from Hermione’s studiously calm face and stares back at the innocent expressions of the others, the silent expressions of the others. She is the unconsciously elected leader of the group, a girl who is not afraid of sharing her bad experiences because she has always been outspoken, always been the one to stand up for what she believes for. Yet today she is at a loss for what to do, for the one thing she has never learned to stand up for is herself and what she feels she deserves from a boy named Dean. The others are contemplative, and she supposes that most of them must have had awful days. This usually happens on this day, which is how their circle came to be formed, many years ago. At first it was just Parvati and Lavender in first year, but it grew to contain Hermione, Ginny, and other previously unknown girls like little Dreama Crockford and Tabitha Kensington, this year’s fifteen-year-old prefect. As she scrutinizes the others, she spots Natalie MacDonald beaming from ear to ear. Clearly, the little fourth year with the bright flaxen hair and laughing eyes must have had quite a day with Dennis Creevey. But Dennis was always mindful of special dates and took extra care with them, a curious trait in one so energetic.

“Harry’s hopeless.” Ginny breaks the uncomfortable silence as she drains her bottle of butterbeer and reaches for another one from the pile in the center of butterbeer and chocolate fudge. A couple of gossips’ ears perk up at any news of the Boy-Who-Lived. She ignores them as she goes on, speaking softly like she’s speaking to herself. “I don’t think he even remembered today was Valentine’s Day, I really don’t. The Quidditch game against Slytherin stole all his attention. Ron’s too, I wager.”

She helps herself to a piece of fudge as she tells her story to the attentive audience. Her cheeks are smudged with dirt from the game still, her Chaser gloves sticking out from a pocket in her robes. “Sure, I wanted to beat Malfoy’s skinny white ass and watch him suffer public humiliation yet again, but it’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” She leans back, languishing and basking in the warmth of the flames. Ginevra always was a bit of a drama queen. “I seriously have no idea what he was thinking, at all. I mean, I‘ve lived among boys all my life, but even George remembered to give Angelina something. And they were only going out for a few weeks. Harry and I picked up the pieces back in December.” She remembers that day fondly and with no regrets, not even now. When they ended things last year, she had never forgotten him. He in turn made things rather awkward at the beginning of this year, but afterwards…everything was alright afterwards. Until now. Truth be told, she doesn’t mind really. Ginny has always been more pragmatic and cynical than Hermione. While she too has a part that is quite the romantic, she recognizes that Harry believes in what he is fighting for and little circles like the one the girls are currently in are entirely useless for the Duration, for the Cause.

She knows that he puts her first and while little trifles are nice, she doesn’t need them. Not like the others. The summer between 6th and 7th was too life-changing for her to be anything but cynical. Sarcasm is said to be the tool of weak people, so perhaps she is weak. She certainly doesn’t think so. Putting on a sardonic front is the only way she knows of to prevent from crumpling in a heap of tears. Now the derision in her voice has become a part of her, something she will not let go of until Voldemort is defeated. Because while Harry will occasionally remember to say “Hello” and kiss her lightly upon the nose, he is always distracted by the ever close shadow that looms over them all. The Shadow that took away Dumbledore, that created traitors out of loyal friends, that wove a tangled web of lies that they all tightrope walk upon…

So she spins a little tale, elaborating a bit for the benefit of her target audience. “We walked down to breakfast together and…nothing. Nothing at all. Well, I couldn’t believe that he was actually deigning to even speak to Romilda Vane, you know. She’s still after him. I thinks she tried to give him more chocolates spiked with Love Potion, but he’s smarter than that.” Cynical Ginny smiles indulgently at the younger girls, who seem awed that someone would actually do such a thing to get a guy. Breaking the rules, how dare they? Their heads were still filled with young romance and adventure, full of dreams and childhood innocence. Not that Harry had actually been talking to Romilda Vane. No one had seen Vane all day - presumably, she actually was in a dungeon attempting to brew love potion. “Yes, so that was pretty much it. Then we had Quidditch, and well, after we won there wasn’t really much chance for us to talk.”

A stunned silence greets this quiet, definite pronouncement, as if they aren’t quite sure if she’s done speaking. But after a moment when she says no more, Tabitha’s melodious voice enters the silent arena. “I nearly got my first kiss today.” She too is soft, but, unlike Ginny, Tabitha is hesitant to share her tale of sadness and woe. “Warren Richards tried to make everything perfect. He took me on a picnic at lunch and gave me flowers and chocolates. Afterwards, we hugged and he tried to kiss me on the lips, but Warren ended up with my nose instead. He kinda…squashed it ‘cause his eyes were closed.” She sighs in remembrance and pauses for a fleeting moment. “I couldn’t help but mutter under my breath, ’You missed my lips by a Kilometer, dork.’. I don’t think he heard anything, he was just so busy blushing and trying not to look awkward. It didn’t work. I think I just ditched him by the lake and walked away.” She glances around at the supportive faces and feels the weight of her best friend’s arm upon her shoulder. “I feel bad about it now, but at the time, I was just embarrassed. I’m fifteen and I still haven’t been kissed. Ever.”

Immediately, clamors for her attention burst forth, as if a dam has suddenly given way under the increasing pressure. Here at last is something that most, if not all of them can sympathize with. Even Hermione joins in, glad that there is something that distracts her from her brooding. But the voice that carries over the rest is that of Parvati Patil, the girl with the dark pleat and unusually somber eyes. All of them have somber eyes tonight. For somber eyes and a sad demeanor are on the menu for every single girl except a lucky few. “I didn’t let Dean kiss me until this summer.”

Tabitha looks up from the floor, her pale blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Really?” Everyone knows about the quiet rumor someone had spread at the beginning of this year, a story that Parvati and Dean had already shagged, had already gone where most of them hadn’t. The rumor isn’t true of course, but it implied the meaning that they’d at least gone to second base the previous year. Now Parvati shakes her head and tells them that they are all wrong, and she does it proudly, nobly. “He’s a boy, of course he wanted to kiss me practically on our first date to Hogsmeade and everything, but,” she faltered momentarily, “My father is, shall we say strict? He’s very strict. So I wouldn’t let Dean touch me at all.” Bold and brazen now, she meets the eyes of every girl defiantly, letting them know that though her story might sound pathetic to them, it is flooded in thick meaning for her, a sign that she is winning independence from her father. “At our three month anniversary, I finally let him kiss me, but it was quite chaste, if you must know. Father didn’t quite approve, but he’s loosened up somewhat since Padma came home with Seamus in tow for the summer.” Tabitha looks slightly relieved that someone else was a late bloomer in the kissing department, and Parvati smiles gently, a smile just for the younger girl. Then Parvati lapses into quiet contemplation, her thoughts drifting back to Dean. She looks up at them all and changes the subject rather brusquely. “Dean ignored me today, just like all of your boys ignored you.”

A small squeak comes from Dreama Crockford, the little girl with two golden brown pigtails, scuffed elbows, and a peaky nose. “I wish Edward would even look at me that way. At least you all have boyfriends. He still thinks I’m just his best friend.” Her little voice is sad and grave as she curls up against a supportive best friend, a girl Parvati seems to remember as Fiona Johnson. Sympathetic glances rove from the tall Indian witch to the next hapless victim of St. Valentine’s Day. Just as the rumor that Parvati and Dean had “done it”, so to speak, is public domain, so is the fact that Dreama, a little tomboy, has had a crush on her childhood friend Edward Grogan for as long as anyone can remember. Everyone knows this except for Edward, of course, for isn’t that how it always works out?

“It’s just…I don’t think he even sees beyond the Quidditch robes.” Third year Dreama is their newest addition to the Gryffindor team, a quick and agile Chaser capable of dodging past the larger teenagers. “All I wanted for Valentine’s was a card…or a smile, or even a hug - though that’s too much to hope for. Just…proof that I’m a girl and not just a Chaser, you know?” Dreama sighs and leans her head onto Fiona’s shoulder. “Whatever. Nothing ever happens today except for disappointment.” Fiona quietly offers the other girl a bit of treacle tart, and Dreama takes it, chewing as she mulls over the sorrows that all of the girls have faced. How could boys be so insensitive? No wonder they often call it Singles Awareness Day.

“I know what you mean. If I’d danced starkers on Colin’s bed, he’d only see a new angle to take photos for, and then, next thing you know, he’d be after me to pose in the nude for him all the time.” Chortles of laughter break out as Linea Jordan’s scathing statement cuts in, her voice entering the close-knit circle for the first time this night. No one knows why a pretty girl like Linea likes skinny little Colin Creevey (certainly not for his looks!), yet they are usually encouraging nevertheless.

Ginny herself is glad that Colin’s finally gotten over his childhood crush on her and has begun to focus his attentions upon Linea. As her thoughts continue to wander, the petite redhead glances over at Natalie, just like Parvati before her. It’s hard to miss the healthy glow of happiness around Natalie’s angular face. She doesn’t seem to be hearing the tales of woe the others are spilling. As Natalie fingers a silver necklace, her eyes gaze at the flickering tongues of flame, daydreaming in a small pocket of the world all her own. Like Parvati, Ginny surmises that Natalie alone must have had a marvelous day. She doesn’t know why. Usually, Hogwarts is like a giant sieve. Today, however, it shuts down, all the gossips in their own fantasy worlds and too excited/miserable to listen to other people’s conversations and distort rumors beyond recognition.

Suddenly seized by an irrational thought and a bout of weariness, Ginny interrupts them all to ask loudly, “Natalie, why don’t you tell us how your day was? So we can at least have something wonderful to hold onto before bed?” She looks at the clock a split second before it chimes midnight. Ginny continues. “We’ve still got class tomorrow, all of us, so make it quick, Natalie.”

“Hmm?” Natalie stumbles from her stupor, eyes wide in confusion as all the other girls turn to look at her. If they didn’t notice her brilliantly ecstatic smile before, they certainly do now. “Oh, it was just wonderful,” she breathes, the moment after Ginny repeats her request. “Dennis might not be handsome, but he’s certainly sweet. I’m so glad he remembered - we went on a little picnic for lunch and it was…perfect! He gave me roses and Honeydukes’ finest chocolates…Dennis even went out of his way to buy me a necklace, see?” She touches the pendant as it catches the light, sparkling brightly and drawing the eyes of many. Tabitha looks on enviously as Natalie continues to beam and go into further detail about the glorious day she had. One can almost see a golden aura surrounding her, and the others sit wondering if she’ll ever have that glow about her.

When at last Natalie ends her story, there is a moment of silence. Unlike the previous moments of silence, this one is restful and contemplative, not tense and awkward. Once again, Ginny tersely suggests, “Off to bed with us all, girls.” She watches as younger girls than she yawn and stretch, helping others to their feet before trundling sleepily off to their beds. And then she is alone by the fire, with even Hermione and Parvati leaving. “Won’t you come with us, Ginny?” Parvati still looks upset, but sharing her tale with others has lessened the feeling of disappointment that cloaks nearly every girl’s aura. Others are the same way, from the smallest first year to the always dignified Hermione. It is another February 14th that all will remember until the end of their years, a day memorable because of the feeling of camaraderie, the sharing of compassion and depression all at once.

“Mhmm, I’ll be up in a bit.” Ginny’s voice is soft and rather dreamy, smoky brown eyes staring at the hearth, all decorated in red and gold. In this moment after midnight, Ginny lets down her barriers, the barriers that keep her from acting like a needy girlfriend who craves the touch of her significant other. It is a minute or two that she grants herself to mourn, because it’s not fair that she and Harry will never be the same again. There is always something they have lost prematurely, and perhaps it is the innocence that children ought to have. Because they’re still children seemingly playing at an adult’s job. Life’s not fair, she knows that. But why has destiny plagued their puppy love with grief and soberness already? They’re too young for it, yet the burden has been thrust upon them.

A loud thumping noise interrupts her musing quite unexpectedly. Confused, Ginny blinks as the noise continues, as her barriers rise once more. Muffled voices can be heard, and the girl belatedly realizes that she has left her Imperturbable Charm in place, and no one knows where the boys have gone. Her lips twitch in a half smile as she takes out her wand and mutters the spell to end the charm. The moment the light blue barrier dissipates is the moment thirty boys tumble into the common room in a heap of black robes, parchment flying everywhere and books soaring in all directions. The girls were being quite selfish when they commandeered the room for their purposes, and presumably the boys have been sitting outside or stuck in their dormitories the whole while.

“Help me up, Ginny?” She can’t help but laugh a bit at her boyfriend’s attempt to plead with her. “C’mon mates, up and at ‘em - big day tomorrow, eh?” As Ginny pulls him to his feet, he continues to cajole the younger boys into going to bed, being firm as need be, in such a way that befits a well liked Head Boy. They groan and moan as the young witch watches them lurch up to their beds in a ragged procession.

“I thought you girls would do the open discussion thing in a dorm room again, certainly not in the commons,” Harry explains as he surveys the room with its empty butterbeer bottles and plates of half eaten treacle tart. “Once we learned we were locked out, Seamus and Dean organized a Quidditch celebration party in the Room of Requirement.”

“I’m sorry - we tried to do it in the dorms, but we didn’t all fit,” she responds, her voice quiet.

“I see.” Harry turns to leave, and despite Ginny’s attempts to squash it, the hope that he’ll kiss her and say something rises in her throat, choking her attempts to speak. “G’nite, Gin.” Of course he does not do what she wants him to- he is a boy carrying the burden of a man, and yet still a boy in so many ways.

“G’nite.” The normally fiery tempered Weasley looks away, cursing the tears that spring unbidden into her eyes. As she composes herself much like Hermione Granger did mere hours before, she hears Harry’s heavy footfalls echo as he walks up the stairs. Only when she is completely calm does she face the stairs again, no fewer than ten minutes after Harry is completely gone. As she tiredly makes her way to the stairs and climbs them, Ginny trips on something in her weariness. To her surprise and slow delight, the object she picks up can only have been left by the Boy-Who-Lived - a small bouquet of bachelor’s button, an ironic name for a flower that signifies devotion and love. They’re not roses, but they are her favorite flower, the light blue gleaming gently in the firelight.

Ginevra Weasley may not insist on paltry trinkets from Harry Potter on St. Valentine’s Day, but even the most cynical witch of them all can find delight in a truly thoughtful bouquet of flowers.

Oh my, that was long! Well, it rather rambled at the end, but I’m a bit happy with it overall. Good luck to the other Challenge authors, and I hope everyone has a lovely Valentine’s Day!
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