Disclaimer: It is not mine. You know that by now. Nothing gained but satisfaction, yada yada.

"Spinning Between Constellations & Dreams"
- In and out of the crowd like a glance -
(So She Dances, Josh Groban)
IX
Ginevra Weasley/Theodore Nott
-:-

Ginny crept quietly up to the portrait guarding the entrance to the kitchens and tickled the pear, slipping inside with nary a noise and only breathing out when she heard it click shut behind her. Umbridge and her cretins were everywhere these days; one couldn't be too careful.

She saw Dobby scuttling about and was about to call him over when another voice cut piercingly through the midnight silence: "Who's there?"

It was a boy, standing by one of the wobbly wooden tables, wand clasped loosely in his hand, waiting until needed. He was wearing a pair of midnight blue pyjama pants slung low on his hips and a ratty grey shirt with a whole near the neck.

"Hey, relax!" she hissed, slipping into the better lighting. For once she was thankful of the baggy hand-me-down shirt that had once belonged to Bill. It almost reached her knees. "Sneaking about in the kitchens is about not getting caught, idiot, keep it down!"

He could see her properly now, and she wouldn't be surprised if he'd also realised who she was, courtesy of her Weasley-red hair and overabundance of freckles, but he didn't say anything, merely glancing at her bed-hair and shirt-dress before he sat back down, placing his wand within easy reach and picking up the book he'd been reading, continuing from where he'd left off.

In the meantime, she'd come to Dobby's attention.

"Miss Wheezy!" he cried joyfully, making sure to keep his voice down. "What can Dobby be doing for you? Biscuits? Cake? A slice of strawberry tart?"

"Hi, Dobby," Ginny whispered. "I'd love a piece of strawberry tart, if you donn't mind."

"Of course, right away, Miss Wheezy," Dobby nodded in agreement. "You can sit with the young master over there."

She would have argued, but one messy table was better than two, so she wandered over to other student. Strangely, she didn't recognise him, though he had to have been in either Ron's year or the one above.

"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" she asked.

"Not at all," he answered, not looking up from his reading.

Sitting with her legs crossed on the seat of the chair, Ginny discreetly observed the boy while she waited for Dobby to prepare her midnight snack.

He was fairly plain at first glance, with brown hair that stuck up at awkward angles at the back hanging just a little too long over the eyes. His unassuming figure was lightly muscled to make him broader than Harry, but not quite as wide in the shoulder as Ron, who, after years of shovelling food into his stomach, had finally started to fill out like Bill and Charlie. She ran her gaze over his arms and then stared happily as he stretched, pulling the grey shirt up to reveal a rather nice set of abs.

"It's six sickles for a show, you know," the boy said, amused, and Ginny blushed beetroot red. Thankfully, the dim light hid most of it in shadow. She went to defend herself, but he continued before she could come up with a response: "And don't try and deny it – you were definitely looking."

"Well, excuse a girl for enjoying the view," she said on impulse and then bit her tongue in shock.

The boy laughed. "Firecracker," he said almost fondly. "Well, seeing as we're already communicating, what are you doing up in the middle of the night?"

"Couldn't sleep; felt like dessert," she told him by way of explanation, ignoring the fact that she still had no idea who he was. Midnight meetings didn't work the same way as daytime ones, everyone was the same in the dark.

He nodded in understanding as Dobby appeared by the table, two places carrying a slice of strawberry tart in hand.

"Here you are, Miss Wheezy," the house-elf beamed, "and one for the young master, too."

He disappeared back into the hushed bustle of the kitchen and Ginny took a bite.

"Right on the spot, Dobby," she murmured under her breath in delight. "Merlin, try some," she ordered her companion. "It's like heaven on a fork."

Somewhat to her surprise he complied.

"That is actually damn good," he agreed, helping himself to the rest of the dessert. "I should've chosen it before. It's better than hot chocolate and shortbread."

"Not scones, though," Ginny pointed out, "with jam and cream-" she let out a low, drawn out yuuuuum just at the thought- "nothing beats scones."

The boy chewed and swallowed his last piece of tart, a pensive look on his face, before he suddenly pointed his fork at her. "Macarons," he put forward with an air of finality, and Ginny's brows knitted together, her mouth making an impressed 'o'; he was good.

"I wonder if Dobby will give us a tasting plate?" she inquired thoughtfully. The boy shrugged, his lips hinting at a smile.

"We can but ask."

"Dobby!" she called and the little elf appeared near her elbow. "Would you be able to make us a collection of desserts? Macarons – tartines – cakes; things like that?" she asked him politely.

Dobby nodded in House-Elf bliss. "Of course, Miss Wheezy," he affirmed with pleased, wide eyes. "Is this plate to be for sharing with the young master?"

"It is," the boy answered, "thank you."

They watched as the eager House Elf scurried off to do their bidding.

The alacrity of the kitchen elves rings true, and in five minutes, there is a delectable platter of desserts placed before the two students; colours of all kinds, cakes, ice-creams, fruits, gelatinous substances are presented to them on the plate – all looking incredible – and Ginny shares a bright, cheeky smile with her midnight snack partner in crime.

"Bon appétit," he tells her jokingly and offers her one of the pink and white speckled macarons.

The night passed even more quickly after that, the pair tasting and swapping and exclaiming over the goodness of the fancy desserts, Ginny privately thinking that she hasn't had such a carefree, fun time in a long while.

"So, mystery boy, what's your name?" she asks casually as they demolish a hefty piece of tiramisu. He looks up at her through long, dark lashes, and says 'Theo' and she knows that's all she'll be getting from him this night. She smiles and nods in acknowledgement, and they spend the rest of the tasting in companionable silence.

And at three am, when she leaves, Theodore Nott wonders if the night would have gone quite so well had she known he was a Slytherin. He doubts it, but the tiniest sliver of hope washes in on the tide of subjunctive history as he imagines what could have been between a Slytherin prince and a Gryffindor princess over the sweetness of midnight desserts.

End.

Well, this was a long time coming. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. If I was at Hogwarts I think I'd live in those kitchens. YUMMEH YUMMEH. And I'm craving macarons from Zumbo. Genius patîssier that he is.