A/N: Awww, I LOVE This chapter. It's so sweet, and also so sad… and sort of cliché. GAH! I need to get my own ideas… anyway. Um. I had something else to say… what was it… um… oh yeah! In here, it mentions Astronomy stuff – I've NEVER done Astronomy, okay? Or anything close to it. I made it all up, so don't chase me with pitchforks and telescopes, please.
NOTE: This chapter can be improved if you listen to Bubbly by Colbie Caillat while you read it. Or just anything sort of slow and fluffy.
Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Sixty-Four: P is for Pay No Attention
"It's fairly simple!" Tom suddenly burst out – not shouting, as he hardly ever did. But his voice was raised and strained, as it often was when he was upset and trying to stay calm. "Just answer the bloody question! Why? Why? Why me? Look at you, for God's sake! You're smart and you play Quidditch and you're popular and you're brave and you're loyal and you don't care about other people's outside-shells because you can practically read their minds anyway and you're bloody beautiful, okay? You could have had anyone in this school. You could have even had a teacher, so help me God, if you'd decided that was who you'd set your sights on, but – but – you didn't. You – chose – me."
The dark-haired young man in front of her smirked. "Oh?" he said softly, stepping closer still, angling his head so that his face was inches from hers. "I think we're fine here." Ginny grinned.
xxx
April was passing. And with every day, Ginny knew that she was twenty-four hours closer to leaving this world behind. How was she supposed to sit around and pretend that everything was okay? Just attend lessons… go to Hogsmeade… as if she was going to stay here forever. It was stupid. And it was painful.
She was sitting on the top of the steps into the Entrance Hall, watching as the others students slowly grew cold and filtered back into the castle… until only she was left, curled up under the glow of the setting sun.
It seemed impossible that anything could last forever in balanced serenity, never-changing, always identical to the last time you saw it… and yet, the sun was living proof. Each time it rose, you could count on it. It would be round and orange and warm and happy. It wouldn't one day rise missing a piece, or a different colour.
And as she looked at it, hanging in the darkening sky and spreading its dying rays, with tears glowing in her eyes, she knew that she wanted to hold onto this moment forever.
The redhead leapt to her feet and ran towards her dormitory. She barrelled past people, skidded to a halt beside her bed, ripped her blankets off, and sprinted up back to the grounds.
She was through the grand wooden doors, barely five minutes before curfew, five minutes before those doors would close and lock and-
"Where are you going at this time of night?"
Ginny froze. Then, biting her lip at being caught, spun to face him. "Um."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "With blankets, no less."
Nervously fidgeting with the frayed hem of her quilt, she mumbled, "I want to sleep under the stars-" She hastily cut off the rest of the sentence: while I still have the chance.
"Right," said the Head Boy, folding his arms. "And, you're going to pay no attention to safety or security or the fact that paedophiles and prisoners might get into the Hogwarts grounds and attack you… because you want to sleep under the stars."
Ginny scowled. "I can look after myself."
"I know you can," said Tom. "However, in Dippet's eyes, every student has the mental capacity and maturity of a ten-year-old, and must be coddled and looked after at all times."
"But-"
"Just… do what you like," Tom interrupted. "I'm not really bothered. Sleep outside if must. I'll see you tomorrow." He gave her a short nod, and a quirk of the lips that was a slight smile, and then turned to head back indoors.
"Come with me," Ginny blurted out, before she even ran the words through her brain and thought about what they meant.
He stopped. And then he continued to walk again. And then he stopped again. And then he turned.
There was a funny expression on his face. It was a sort of mingled disbelief… and something else. That something else that Ginny saw more often than not.
Her heart was pounding in her chest.
What the hell did I just say?
"Please," she tried.
Reluctance flashed in his eyes. "I… I don't want to get in trouble," he said.
Or are you just scared that you're falling in too deep?
She blinked. Where had that thought come from? And, more importantly… who was it addressed to?
"Neither do I," said Ginny.
Tom frowned. "You're not making any sense," he told her.
She smiled. "I know."
He looked stubborn as ever. He wasn't going to do it. He was just going to walk away and-
"If we caught, I'm blaming you," Tom told her, and, with a last wary glance into the Hall, closed the doors. Then he looked back down into her face and gave her an eyebrow-raised look of well? Now what?
She didn't remember how or why, but suddenly they were hand in hand, and they were spinning, and they were dancing, and she was lost in his arms, and then they were sitting on the quilt under the willow tree, looking up at the stars.
The sky was a dark blanket, seamless and creaseless, smooth as though it had been ironed, and then silver sequins sparkled of different sizes and different angles. The moon was the button, white as snow and glowing as though tonight was the moon's night, and it wasn't just the two people underneath the willow tree who were ecstatically happy.
"Do you do Astronomy?" Ginny asked suddenly.
"No," replied Tom smoothly. "I have never done it, and never will."
"Why not?" she twisted sideways to look at him.
"It is," he said slowly, drawing the words out, "a stupid subject."
"No, it's not!" Ginny protested.
"Prove it," said Tom, and from the little light that the moon gave, she could see amusement in his pale features.
"It's really interesting," she informed him. "See that star there? That's called Ariel."
Tom dropped his head onto her shoulder and pretended to be asleep.
"Hey!" Ginny elbowed him in the ribs. "You've at least got to pay attention, you berk."
"Ow," he grumbled. "Yes, yes, Ariel, stars, got it."
"It symbolises good luck and wealth… it makes a formation with six other stars that looks like a big shoe. Or at least, I think so. Professor Rowney says that it looks like a spade, but it's a bit of a weirdly-shaped spade if it is… and it can only be seen once every two-hundred years," Ginny finished.
"Hm. So this is the one and only time we'll ever see it," mused Tom.
"Well, unless you live to be two-hundred-and-seventeen, then yeah, basically," Ginny said softly.
"I might," said Tom, and stretched his mouth in a yawn.
"And we could the longest-standing relationship that the world has ever seen," Ginny said with a smile.
Tom looked at her, his eyes glowing again with that emotion that Ginny couldn't place, as well as a sort of hopeful pride. "Would you stay with me for long?" he asked quietly.
She hadn't thought of it that way.
She curled both of her arms around one of his and rested her head on his shoulder. "Definitely." As the word settled in the air, from her position on Tom's shoulder, she felt him sigh, his breath rushing out next to the top of her head, ruffling her fringe.
Despite the serenity of the moment they shared, curiosity was building up inside Ginny, like a builder piling up mortar and bricks. "Tom?" She twisted around to face him, looking up slightly into his face.
"Yes?"
She felt slightly awkward and mean for wanting to mention Tom's misfortune, but her interest propelled her forwards. "Sorry for bringing it up… but… why does it happen?"
A frown creased between his dark eyebrows.
"No, wait, hang on. I didn't phrase that right." She pondered for the right wording. "I meant… like sometimes… like, now, you're fine. And then, a few weeks ago…" She trailed off, hoping he understood.
Tom was still frowning. He didn't look very comfortable with discussing this. "Well…" He seemed to struggling for words. "I worked out that… it's – it's…" He drew in a deep breath. "Emotions. I think."
Ginny tried to imagine how that would work. She couldn't. "I don't get it," she admitted.
He was silent for a moment. Then, very quietly: "If I'm angry, or upset, then it's easier, for… for… it to happen."
A rush of understanding flooded through the redhead next to him. Tom was like an impassive statue. He always hid his feelings. He didn't open up to anyone because it made him fragile. It made him vulnerable. He wasn't aloof and distant because he wanted to be – though, she suspected, that was probably seventy percent of the reason, but at least twenty-five percent of the reason why he pretended to hate everyone was because of this susceptibility.
"A few weeks ago… what happened then?"
Tom tensed. "Yaxley."
"What about him?"
His reluctance was casting his eyes downward, not letting him meet her gaze. "Nothing."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tom…" she said threateningly, "whatever trouble Yaxley may be in for what he said will be nothing compared to what I'll do to you if you don't tell me."
"He… he called you a Mudblood. He also said… he said that I was little better, and least we could only contaminate each other."
Ginny's face darkened like a sudden storm-cloud. That arrogant idiot, Ilivan Yaxley… Why, she'd like to… She was finding that breathing evenly was becoming difficult. "Right," she fumed. "Right. Right. Come on, Tom."
He blinked at her. "What? What's happening?"
She sat up. "We're going to murder him. The whole castle's asleep. No-one will find out." Her tone was murderously furious.
"Ginevra, calm down."
"No! Did you hear?"
"Yes, because I was the one who just told you, Ginevra."
"I'm going to kill him! Filthy, stupid pureblood with his beautiful, untainted blood!" She realised with some shock, that, until recently, she had been one of them. This only fuelled her anger. "Come on, Tom!"
"Calm down!"
"What's your problem? You've killed people befo-"
She froze solid before the words had even come out of her mouth. She hadn't even completed her sentence when Tom had flinched back, away from her, and she realised what she'd said.
Her eyes widened in horror. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.
From a distance away, Tom looked at her through his fringe of thick hair. For the briefest second, hurt echoed like a foghorn in his intense eyes, then it disappeared and she could read nothing in his face. He didn't speak. His lips were pressed into a very thin line.
"I'm sorry…" She swallowed. "That was totally out of line, I'm sorry. That was stupid. I'm just… a bit emotional."
Ever since Dippet had informed her of her present-time trying to drag her back, she'd been sensitive and ridiculously emotional about everything. The tiniest sarcastic remark would make her explode, or a single similar remark would make her burst into tears. It was humiliating, and she hated it.
For a while, there was nothing. Then, very quietly, Tom said, "It's fine." His words were strained.
She didn't dare to ask more. She was curious, but she couldn't run the risk of saying something horrible again.
You can do it. It's alright.
After a moment of self-encouragement, she plucked up the courage to ask. "Why doesn't it happen so often now?" Her words were soft, but he heard them.
He sighed, and dropped back into his original seat, right up next to Ginny. "I'd have thought that would have been obvious," he mumbled, closing his eyes.
Ginny said nothing. She hoped that her silence conveyed the message of 'yeah, well, it's not obvious to me, so out with it' as she had intended, as she was still too hesitant that she might offend him again.
"It's because I'm… happy," he said tentatively, as though he was trying out the word, not quite sure if it was the one he was looking for. "It's… it's because you're here."
Her eyes were filling with tears of joy and affection. "Oh," she breathed, and then she just flung her arms around the Head Boy, burying her head into his shoulder.
They lay there like that, cuddled together under the stars in silence. It was a few minutes before Ginny realised that he wasn't breathing weirdly, as she had originally thought… he was talking very quietly. And as she tuned carefully into what he was saying… he wasn't even talking. He was singing under his breath.
"I would join in, but firstly I don't know the song, and secondly, my singing is best compared to that of a cat being stood on by someone in spiked football-boots," she said.
He abruptly stopped. "Sorry."
"No, it's nice."
"It's strange having someone who knows what football is," said Tom softly.
Ginny chuckled. "It's strange having so many people who don't know what football is."
"I keep forgetting that this is only your first year here," said Tom with the smallest of laughs.
And my last.
"Fit in that well, do I?" Ginny quipped.
Tom didn't answer. She looked up to see if he was okay, and saw that he was fine… he was just watching her, almost sadly, yet the happiest sadness that she'd ever seen. It was weird and complicated and yet so simple. When he saw that she'd noticed, he looked away.
"You know, you don't have to pretend that you don't think I'm pretty," Ginny teased.
But, with a serious look in his eyes, and pink on his cheeks, he said quickly, "You're not pretty, you're so much than even beautiful." Then he gained that familiar look of thinking he'd done the wrong thing, like an awkward nine-year-old boy trying to hand over a box of Love-Heart candies to his crush, instead of a seventeen-year-old young man.
She didn't really have anything to reply with. What was she supposed to say? Thanks? Nah, I'm not? That was corny? She wasn't really the type of person who dealt with ridiculously romantic situations very often.
Deciding that her safest option was to not say anything, the seventeen-year-old red-haired Prefect moved closer to her beau, curling her arms around him comfortably. She was surprised but pleased when he plucked up the courage to shyly hold her around the waist, the majority of his arm resting softly on her stomach, his chin leaning against the top of her fluffy-haired head.
"Goodnight," she said gently, closing her eyes and floating towards that inner peace that was slumber.
"Goodnight," whispered Tom in reply. And he didn't cut off the word 'good'.
xxx
A/N: AWWWWWW. I don't really have much to say here. Um. I'm listening to Colbie Caillat on repeat… yay me. SUMMER HOLIDAYS! I'm trying to finish posting the WHOLE story before I go away… which probably won't work… because there's still a few to go… but yeah. I'm trying, 'kay? NEARLY FINISHED. But really… not at all. Anwho. REVIEW!
Next Time:
PAIN.
Ginny sat bolt upright. Gasps wrenched from her mouth like puffs of smoke from a steam-train. Agony was coursing through her chest, like something was ripping her heart in half. She looked around at the dormitory. Silent. Sleeping. She looked across at the clock. Ticking, it quietly spoke of five minutes past two in the morning. She squeezed her hazel eyes closed. It was actually excruciating. And she knew exactly what it was, somehow, without the slightest edge of doubt to blur any thoughts. The hole in time was big enough now. She was going to leave.
XXX
Q: What's red and shaped like a spade?
A: A red spade!