Part 3: Snowballing Feelings

Ginny stared at the canopy of her four-poster bed and tried not to think about it. The canopy was too featureless to distract her. Frowning, willing the thoughts away from her mind, she surveyed the dark silhouettes of the third year girls' dormitory. The scarlet drapes of her bed, thrown open because she always felt trapped otherwise, were black in the moonless night. All the third year Gryffindors, excepting her, had gone home for the holidays. She was barely able to make out the dark shapes of her roommates' empty beds and even the starlit sky appeared darker behind the age-worn glass windows. Everything was dark and still.

Her heart hammered furiously against her ribcage. But it wasn't because of the darkness, or the stillness. She shut her eyes tight but she knew it was futile. The question that she had been evading throughout the night now invaded her thoughts, refusing to let her sleep.

Do I like him?

She did not know. She did not want to know.

It wouldn't make sense at all. He was only Harry, her brother's best friend. He was her friend too. Well, sort of. They didn't hang around with the same group of people, but they went flying every Saturday. They were friends, but not quite. They were flying buddies, but not just.

Harry was an amazing flier. He could give some of the League's best players a run for their money. She liked watching him fly. He was never clumsy on the ground, but in the air he was in his element. He radiated a sort of charm that made it difficult to take her eyes off of him. The look of concentration on his face as he chased after the Snitch or geared for a flying trick fascinated her. His jaw set in determination, his jet-black hair whipped backwards by the wind, his green eyes intense behind those glasses—

His eyes were beautiful. She remembered that it was the first thing she had noticed about him. Those striking, emerald eyes….

Ginny held on to her mum, holding back tears, as they followed her brothers down Platform Nine and Three Quarters. She gripped her mum's hand tightly, terrified that her mum might also go to Hogwarts without her and afraid that she might get lost in the hustle and bustle of the Platform. Percy had gone on ahead, saying something about prefect responsibilities. Fred and George had also gone ahead, joining their friends from school.

Ginny was left with her mum and Ron. She looked at them as her mum tried to wipe dirt off Ron's nose. She bit her lip, trying not to cry. She did not want to cry in front of her brothers. But it was so unfair! Why couldn't she go to Hogwarts with them? She was going to be all alone now. She still had her mum, but unlike her brothers, she knew her mum wouldn't play dress-the-gnome or chase-the-chickens or hide-and-seek or other kinds of games with her. Why did she have to stay for one more year, anyway? Why do the boys get all the fun? Why—

"Mum, why can't I bring my Nimbus to Hogwarts?"

Ginny's ears perked up at the mention of the broom model. She turned around towards the direction of the speaker and saw a small family standing just a few feet away from her. A dark-haired, bespectacled boy was frowning up at a woman whom Ginny guessed was his mother. The boy's mother had long auburn hair and Ginny wondered briefly if she was a Weasley. The woman's hair, however, was a much deeper shade of red than any of the Weasleys'. Standing on the boy's other side was a man who, judging by the similarities in appearance, could only be his father. The man was standing in front of a trolley loaded with a huge trunk and a beautiful white owl in a cage. Next to the messy-haired man was a taller man wearing a black, dragon hide jacket. The three grown-ups looked slightly familiar to Ginny.

"For the last time, Harry," said the auburn-haired woman, clearly exasperated, "First years aren't allowed to bring brooms to school. It was in your letter."

"But Dad told me he brought his broom to Hogwarts when hewas in first year," debated the boy—Harry, apparently.

The boy's mother rounded on his father, who looked guiltily at her, and she started saying something to him in a fierce whisper. Ginny caught the words 'bad-influence' and 'rule-breaking'. The boy—Harry—looked hopelessly at his mum and dad, then at the man with the dragon hide jacket, probably for support, but the man only shrugged and gave him a commiserating look. The boy heaved a sigh and looked around, his gaze falling on Ginny.

Now that the boy was looking at her, Ginny saw that he had the most startling green eyes. On a whim, she smiled encouragingly at him, hoping that he could convince his mum to let him bring his Nimbus to Hogwarts and wondering if it was the latest Nimbus model. The boy blinked, looking at her in confusion. A moment later, a small smile slowly spread across his face.

"Molly Weasley?" the boy's mother called.

Ginny tore her eyes from the boy and looked up at his mother, who was now looking back and forth between her and her own mother, whose attention was still on Ron. Ginny's mum stopped fussing over Ron and turned around.

"Lily Potter!" her mum exclaimed, smiling in recognition at the auburn-haired lady.

Ginny remembered being introduced to the Potters and Sirius Black after that. It was obvious that her mum knew them from somewhere. She later learned, during the summer before her second year, that Mr. Potter and Sirius had had some business with her father concerning a flying motorbike which belonged to Sirius. Her mum also told her that Mrs. Potter had been her Healer back when she was three and had gotten really sick after eating something during a Weasley gathering. It wasn't until Ron and Harry started staying over each other's house, however, that her family got really close with the Potters and Sirius.

Ginny had immediately realized, after being introduced to him, that Sirius Black was the famous musician, which explained why he had looked so familiar. But it wasn't until she had got back home to the Burrow with her mum that she realized that Mr. Potter was actually the Quidditch Hall of Famer who perfected the Elbow Pass, a very difficult Chaser trick which required the ability to fly no-handed. Ginny's knowledge of professional Quidditch had been limited to the Holyhead Harpies when she was younger, which was why she did not immediately recognize Mr. Potter, who used to play for the Appleby Arrows and the Montrose Magpies. She remembered being quite angry with herself for not getting an autograph from a Quidditch Hall of Famer (and a Chaser at that). Now, it seemed weird and somewhat laughable that she would ask for an autograph from Harry's dad.

Ginny did not really remember having Mrs. Potter as her Healer, but it explained why Harry's mum also looked familiar to her. Of course, she did not think of that while still on the Platform. She had been far too preoccupied with the fact that all her brothers were going to Hogwarts without her….

A whistle sounded throughout Platform Nine and Three Quarters and Ginny watched sadly as Ron, Fred, and George quickly clambered onto the Hogwarts Express with Harry Potter. Ron and Harry quickly disappeared into the train but Fred and George turned back to wave goodbye to Ginny and her mum. Ginny started thinking of how quiet the Burrow would be without her brothers and, unable to hold the tears back any longer, she began to cry, not caring if her brothers would laugh at her.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls," Fred said reassuringly. This only made Ginny cry harder.

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, mum," said George, giving Ginny a conspiratorial wink.

Ginny waved at the twins and at Ron, who had leaned out of another window, as the train began to move. A moment later, she dropped her hand and chased after the train, half-laughing and half-crying, until she couldn't keep up any longer. Her gaze fell on Harry, who was standing beside Ron. He was staring at her, his striking green eyes reflecting the wonder and curiosity she was feeling. Ginny absently raised her hand and waved at him. He waved back, and they stared at each other until the train rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

After the train had gone, Mrs. Potter suggested having lunch with Ginny's mum and Neville's parents, whom they also met at the platform. Her mum had reluctantly agreed and Ginny, of course, tagged along with the grown-ups. She remembered Mrs. Potter being very nice to her and not treating her like she was five, and Mr. Potter and Sirius being really funny and trying to cheer her up because she was still a little upset about being left behind. She also remembered developing a bit of a crush on Sirius, which went away on the summer before her first year when she learned that they were related. They weren't closely related, but still related. And he was years older than her.

Harry, on the other hand, was only a year older than her. And, as far as she knew, the Potters were nowhere near the Weasley family tree—

Of course, that information was irrelevant. She did not like him. No. Definitely Not.

Keep telling yourself that, said an unwelcome voice in her head.

It's true. I don't like him. He's just a friend. Who happens to be very, very—

Ginny vigorously shook her head. No. She definitely did not like Harry Potter.

The rays of the morning sun crept into the third year girls' dormitory and pierced through Ginny's eyelids, forcing her out of slumber. But she did not want to wake up. She was having a very good dream. Grumbling at the rude sun, she put a pillow over her head and went back to dreamland, where she was dancing with Harry.

The lights were dim, but his eyes glowed. The music was slow, but her heart was beating rapidly. There were people around them, but their eyes were locked onto each other and he was all that she could see. She was floating. Her heart was soaring—

Ginny's eyes fluttered open and she sat bolt upright. She fought the blush that was creeping up her cheeks as her dreams—for there was more than one of them—came to her. She bit her lip, frowning.

She did not like him. Not like that. It was probably only because of the Yule Ball that she was having those dreams. It didn't mean she had feelings for him. It was just an effect of going to the Ball with him. It would pass. She was sure of it.

Certain that she was right, Ginny dressed and headed down the girls' staircase. The common room was empty. Guessing that everyone had gone down to breakfast, she headed for the Great Hall.

Ginny scanned the Gryffindor table for familiar faces. She was the only Gryffindor third year who had been invited to the Yule Ball, so all her classmates, having gone home for the holidays, weren't around. Fred and George sat in the middle of a group of loudly laughing sixth years while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville sat on one end of the table, talking quietly. Not wanting to feel out of place with the sixth years, Ginny immediately made her way towards the four fourth years. She was a few steps away from them when Harry turned around and caught her eye.

"Hi, Ginny," he greeted brightly.

Suddenly feeling shy, Ginny gave him a bashful smile and he returned it with a brilliant grin. She tried, and failed, not to blush as all coherent thought left her brain and she forgot what to say next. Thankfully, Ron, Hermione, and Neville chose that moment to say their greetings, sparing her from having to say something. She nodded mutely at her friends and took the seat beside Hermione.

Ginny ducked her head, careful not to let anyone see her red face, and tried desperately to will the blood away from her cheeks. The boys did not seem to notice anything and had turned back to their breakfasts, but Hermione was looking at her like she was a particularly interesting Arithmancy problem. Ginny ignored the older girl's curious stare and absently started piling food on her plate.

Harry, Ron, and Neville began—or most probably, continued—discussing the current Quidditch season and the chances of the participating teams but Ginny was too distracted to join in their conversation.

I don't like him, she thought stubbornly.

Of course you don't, said that annoying little voice in her head, dry and sardonic. You just blush and get tongue-tied around him. So yeah, you don't like him, concluded the voice, more sarcastic than she could ever be.

This is only because of that stupid Ball, she thought.

You're a good liar, but you can't lie to yourself.

I'm not lying.

He looked really handsome in those dress robes.

That proves my point. I'm only having these… 'feelings' because we went to the Ball together. It'll pass. I don't have feelings for him.

Watching him on a broom is fascinating.

I only watch him as someone who appreciates the beauty of flying tricks.

He is beautiful, isn't he?

Yea—No!

The way he leans forward on his broom when he chases after the Snitch.

The way his hair dances to the wind.

The look on his face when he speeds up on his Firebolt.

His smile—wait, no—just because I think he's cute—

Ah…. Busted. You think he's cute.

That doesn't mean—

"Right, Ginny?" a voice to her right said loudly, interrupting her internal debate.

Ginny snapped her head to the direction of the speaker, then began to color when she realized that it was Harry, who was sitting on Hermione's other side.

"Wh-what?" she stammered, grateful for Hermione's bushy hair that hid most of her red face from Harry.

"Ron here says that during the European Cup back in 1983, the Harpies played against the Vratsa Vultures for their last match," Harry explained with a nod at Ron, who was sitting across the table. "It was against the Grodzisk Goblins, wasn't it?"

On a normal day, Ginny would be able to answer that question in a heartbeat. On a normal day, she would be able to tell anyone the Harpies' standings both in the European League and the British and Irish League from the year she was born up until the current season. But now, try as she might, she couldn't remember which team the Harpies had defeated during the final match of their first ever European League win in thirty years.

"Er," she began, not really knowing what to say. Her mind had gone blank. "1983, right? Er, well…."

Harpies. 1983. First win in thirty years. Who were they playing against?

Harry's hair looks really soft from this angle.

"The hair—"

The Goblins!

"The G-goblins," she stammered. "I mean," she swallowed, "the Harpies played against the Goblins. Yeah, you're right Harry."

Ginny sighed inwardly and relaxed her shoulders, relieved that she was able to complete a whole sentence.

"No he isn't," argued Ron. "I'm telling you, it was the Vultures. The next year, the Harpies played their last match against the Goblins and lost."

Oh wait. He's right.

"Oh yeah, you're right, Ron," said Ginny, not really wanting to admit her mistake but knowing she didn't have a choice—Ron would definitely look it up. "I remember now. The Harpies were playing against the Vultures."

"And you say you support the Harpies," Ron muttered in a sarcastic but good-natured manner.

Ginny didn't really have anything to say to this. Fortunately, Fred and George chose that moment to approach them and save her from further embarrassment.

"Hello children," Fred greeted jovially, draping an arm around Ron's shoulder as George moved to stand between him and Neville.

Ron looked suspiciously at the twins. "What do you want?" he asked, taking Fred's arm off his shoulder.

"Is that a way to say good morning to your older brothers?"

"Handsome older brothers—"

"And right after Christmas—"

"Have you forgotten what Mum taught you?"

"Respect for your elders—"

"The spirit of Christmas—"

"Speaking of," said George, his eyes flicking pointedly to the windows and to the enchanted ceiling. "Nice day for a snowball fight, don't you think?"

Betaed by: NancyDrewGirl