Author: Scheherazade
Title: A Downstage Romance
Summary: It is Ginny Weasley's sixth year at Hogwarts. She has grown into a dramatic, brilliant artist. She petitions Dumbledore to have a play at Hogwarts to distract the students from the dark times about them. Then a person threatens to ruin her plans-Draco Malfoy.
Disclaimer: My "This-is-not-mine" song:
Ladies and gents, da dum, da dum,
The plot is mine, doo wop, shoo wop,
But most of everything else, da dum, da dum,
ISN'T MINE SO DON'T SUE!!! Thank you.
Mild applause for the clinically insane!!!
A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first attempt at a Harry Potter fanfic (check out Beyond the Metamorphosis if you also like LoTR/Middle Earth fics) and it has my favorite pairing: Draco and Ginny! There will also be some H/Hr, too, which is absolutely necessary for the story. I have the entire fic planned out, and so I can definitely tell you: some parts will be funny. Some will be fluffy. Some will be heart-rending. Some will be…ah, who am I kidding, this is probably crap. But I am a slave of the reviews and if the people like it, then so do I. So without further ado: A Downstage Romance!!!!!
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The dust motes drifted in a halo around the red-gold Ginny's hair as she sorted the jumbled mess of papers and books into neater piles on the floor. Late afternoon sunlight poured through her bedroom window at the Burrow, infusing the room with a warm glow. It had been ages since Ginny had seriously dug through her old and battered toy chest, which served as a keep-all for whatever scraps of memories she had neither the heart to throw away nor any other place to store.
Her mother had been right—it was as good a time as any to clean out "that disgusting chest! I can only imagine the dirt that has collected in there!" Ginny smiled at the sound of her mother's voice in her head.
She had woken up late, as she was wont to do during the summer vacation, looking forward to a pleasant day with nothing as her prime objective. The heat had forced an uncharacteristic ennui upon her, so that she wasn't interesting in writing poetry, reading, Quidditch, sending letters, working on her latest clothing creations—none of her usual summer pastimes interested her.
She had just been considering the wonderful possibility of taking a nice long bath when her mother came bustling into her room, filled with energy as usual.
"Come on, Ginny, get up! Harry and Hermione will be arriving tomorrow, we have to get the house ready—the STATE of this room! How do you survive in here! That's it, you are cleaning this room today! And attend to that toy chest, God only knows what's living in there…" Muttering darkly about sloppy daughters and frankly dangerous sons Molly exited the room, spurred by loud shouts from below. To Ginny, it sounded as though Percy had once again served as the butt for one of Fred and George's jokes.
Ginny had begun her task cheerily at first, whistling various tunes as eclectic as Musetta's Waltz from the Muggle opera La Boheme to songs by her new favorite wizarding band, Stupefy. The afternoon had worn away as Ginny scraped away the strata of her years at Hogwarts, starting with the most recently completed fifth year.
As she reached her third year, however, her fingers slowed. The memories associated with the strewn mementos grew darker as she drew farther and farther back toward her first three years. Suddenly, Ginny caught sight of something that made her breath catch in her throat. Her fingers stood poised over a small picture. 'I thought I burned that…' thought Ginny. She picked up the photograph with trembling hands. From its glossy surface waved four figures: Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny herself.
'Well, maybe waving isn't really a correct description for all of them,' Ginny mentally conceded. Her fingers brushed the picture's surface again, and she was drawn deep into the black pool of old hurts and long-dead memories…
Ginny's Third Year Flashback
She stood in front of the mirror in her dormitory, red hair in frizzy snarls around her face. It was the way she preferred her hair, because it hid just how bloated her face had become. Her second-hand robes no longer hung loosely around a bird-like frame, but instead showed lines where their seams had had to be let out.
Ever since Ginny's debilitating episode in the Chamber of Secrets, she had become a compulsive eater, and it had showed dramatically in her figure. Neither tall nor thin, and painfully shy around most people not of the Weasley clan, Ginny had learned to hide herself well. In class, although bright enough to be one of the best students, she sat hunched in the back of the room; more often than not, she was accompanied by the only person in her year she considered a friend: Colin Creevey. He was sympathetic, surprisingly so, and didn't force Ginny to talk about the nightmares that still haunted her sleep. It had taken a long time for Ginny to trust him; it seemed that her ability to place unconditional trust in someone had been damaged by Tom Riddle.
It was the year of the Triwizard Tournament, and she had watched Harry desperately compete against the other three contestants. Her crush on him had not lessened since first year; she still "put her elbow in the butter dish" (or the equivalent of thus) while around him. And now she stood, staring in the mirror, getting ready to go down to watch the Third Task.
She had been thrilled to see that her mother and Bill had come to watch Harry as well; it gave the event a sense of occasion, detracting from the palpable aura of dread lingering around the school. Lunch and dinner had been enjoyable for Ginny, for all that it felt like being at home with her family, happy and safe. She did notice, however, her mother's slightly disapproving glance at the amount of food she took to eat. Defiantly, Ginny cleaned the plate of food, savoring each bite of her kidney pie.
Hermione poked her head into Ginny's dorm room, drawing her out of her reverie.
"Ginny? You ready to go? Everyone's going down to see the task." Ginny nodded and followed Hermione down the stairs to the common room. Hermione talked non-stop along the way.
" I hope Harry will be all right. All the hours we spent practicing curses and counter-curses, I only hope he'll be prepared. He's been lucky so far, but I have a bad feeling about tonight. Are you okay, Ginny? You're awfully quiet."
"Just worried, too. To say the truth, I'm terrified. I don't have a good feeling about this either." Hermione nodded her assent as they found seats in the stands with Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron, Fred, and George.
The time Harry spent in the maze seemed to pass inordinately slowly, as if it were being funneled through an impossibly small hourglass. Bagman's magically magnified commentary did not hush the cheerful and amiable conversation in which most of the occupants of the stands indulged. Their words became less animated, however, as the night grew darker, and stars bloomed brilliantly overhead. The air grew colder, as well as the chill that suddenly seemed to settle in Ginny's bones. Something was wrong…it shouldn't have taken this long…something was wrong…
Suddenly a scream rang out across the packed stands, drawing everyone's attention to the two small figures that had just appeared by the edge of the maze…
And all hell broke loose.
Ginny remembered Hermione sobbing as she watched Moody pull Harry upright, Ron's exclamations that under different circumstances, would have earned him a reproving glare from his mother, and Mrs. Weasley's frantic efforts to get to Harry…Ginny herself could only sit in shock. Bloody, bruised and clutching what appeared to be Cedric Diggory's corpse, Harry Potter looked worse that Ginny herself had when she had emerged from the Chamber. The thought occurred to her that he looked like Death was holding him close, clutching him to her bosom, ready to take him at the slightest provocation.
People were running around her, screaming, sobbing to the night that Diggory was dead, Cedric Diggory was dead—Ginny was frightened. She grasped for Hermione and Mrs. Weasley's hands, both of whom held on tightly, following the path on which Moody had taken Harry back up to the school. Upon reaching the hospital wing, Mrs. Weasley had summoned all of her considerable power and demanded to see Harry.
"Where is he? Poppy, please, let us see him at once!" she had declared, close to tears."
"Molly, I don't know where the boy is myself! I have Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum in here, both sustaining injuries—and Diggory—Cedric Diggory's—body," Madam Pomfrey replied lamely, "But I do not have Harry. And I can't admit you like this, I need the Headmaster's permission at this point—please Molly, just listen to me and go back to the stands."
"I will wait here until he comes." Mrs. Weasley said resolutely, setting her mouth into a grim line. Hermione, Ron, and Bill nodded behind her.
"Fine." Said Madam Pomfrey crisply. She none-too-gently shut the door. George let out a sigh.
"Mum," he murmured, touching her shoulder, "Do you want us to take Ginny back to the common room? Me and Fred, I mean?" Mrs. Weasley turned around and looked at her daughter.
"Yes, take her back, and make sure she goes to bed," she said quietly. "I don't know how long we're going to be here, and this has been quite enough excitement for one day."
Ginny knew better than to make any kind of protestation. Silently she gave Hermione's hand one more reassuring squeeze, then turned and followed the twins back up the corridor. The three of them were silent as they walked, but Ginny's head roiled with thoughts.
'Harry…my God, what happened to Harry? It must have had something to do with You-Know-Who…Harry will never be safe as long as You-Know-Who is still alive in some sense of the word…Harry has more demons to contend with than anyone else I know, I think…And Cedric! Dead! I can't believe any of this…and Dumbledore, how could he have let this happen? I wish I could help, in some way…help Harry…'
A little voice spoke up at the back of her mind.
'But you can't, can you?' it said softly. 'There is nothing you can do about any of this. You are only Ron's younger sister, after all…your job is to wait to be rescued. Harry doesn't want the kind of help you want to offer…'
Ginny shook her head hard, trying to clear it of the doubtful thoughts.
She fell asleep that night with the little voice's words echoing in her ears: 'Nothing you can do…Harry doesn't want you…"
A few days later, Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat in the courtyard, talking quietly before the start of the leaving feast. Ginny and Colin sat nearby, Colin playing with his camera, Ginny watching the trio out of the corner of her eye. Harry's drawn expression that wouldn't have seemed out of place on someone very old no longer shocked her, but it hurt her all the same.
'He looks so tired, so sad,' she thought. 'Always having to battle his demons…' And then it hit her so hard that Colin looked up at her vehement exhalation. 'This is his journey, for him to take, and I don't play a part in it. I'm sitting around, waiting for someone to rescue me, for what? Harry needs to fight his own battles…and I need to fight mine…who am I, anyway, apart from a Potter fan girl?' the phrase brought a smile to her face, and it was at that moment that Colin clicked the shutter of his camera. Laughing, Ginny pushed him.
"Hey! Don't take candid shots like that, I don't want to have to keep stopping people from beating you up!" She grabbed the picture as it fluttered to the grass under their feet. As she picked it up and looked at it, her smile faded. In focus was Ginny's profile—a rare shot of her, as she hated her appearance and any record of it. In the background were the three moving figures of Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ginny sat staring at it. There, clearer than the cloudless sky above here head, was Ginny's ultimate dilemma: who was she, apart from them? Who was Virginia Weasley, a missing person?
It was at this moment that she decided her life would change.
End of Flashback
Ginny sat in silence on her creaky floor, her old blanket wrapped around her shoulders despite the heat of the summer sun still streaming through the window. Funny, how even after years had passed, memories still remained sharp…old pains still endured…
It had been ages since she'd had a crush on Harry Potter. Her belief that the main purpose in his life would be bringing down the evils of his past and the wizarding world's present had been correct; Harry had continued to combat the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters during his fifth and sixth years, although Ginny was a little fuzzy on the details. No matter how much she changed, she was always still "Ron's little sister".
And change she had. Ginny had seen to it that no one would ignore her again. She was no longer the shy, overweight girl whose only distinctive feature was that she worshipped the ground on which the Boy-Who-Lived walked. Like Ron and her father, she had grown tall and slender, shedding the weight she had gained after her first year. While not the curviest or most beautiful girl at Hogwarts, Ginny was the most noticeable in a crowd due to her flamboyant sense of style. Using scraps left over from her mother's sewing, Ginny had begun to design her own clothing. Most of her designs were neither conservative nor demure, but put even less strain on the frugal house budget than her previous choices in apparel. She had also worked to establish her reputation for writing, and was easily one of the most respected and well-known students in school.
But now, seated on the floor of her room, staring down the proverbial memory lane, Ginny was once again her thirteen-year-old self. Her shoulders hunched over and a strand of her shoulder-length wavy hair came threateningly close to her mouth as an old habit fought to resurrect itself.
Then Ginny shook her head, stood up and stretched. The moment was gone, and so was her lethargic feeling from earlier that day. Abandoning her cleaning, she leapt down the stairs to challenge her brothers to an evening game of Quidditch. She wasn't sure she was ready to face any more memories that night.
Back in her room, as evening turned to night, the picture fluttered in the cooling breeze. The long-ago Ginny in the picture sighed, wiped away a tear, and left the edge of the frame.
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A/N: So! You like? You dislike? Tell me and I'll be your friend forever. Flames are welcome, as long as you tell me why; constructive criticism is a necessity for all writers. If you're planning on telling me I'm wonderful, go ahead; you don't need a reason. Ego-fluffing is gooooooood. ^_~