Snapshot 2: Ginny's Sexy Little Satin Number

After getting over his initial shock, Flitwick took action by chasing the Camera around the room in a general attempt to recover and contain it. He gave up when the Camera reached the point of running between his legs and snapping a picture of him bending over and glaring at it upside down. Flitwick retired to the massive couch at the end of the room; originally intended for students who had danced or drunk themselves to exhaustion—to plot his next offensive or merely to sulk; the Camera didn't really care which. It had much more interesting things to do.

The Potter entourage was mostly gathered near the laden tables. Colin's Camera had a good many scores to settle with that group; it had wasted more films on them than it cared to count and tonight was payback time.

Not all were there, though. Potter himself was absent, and he was the largest thorn in the Camera's photographic pride. Not photogenic at all, with that scruffy mop atop his head and the silly round glasses. The number of negatives Colin had wasted on him was an injustice to the world, especially since the boy wasn't ever actually doing anything worth photographing in them.

So the Camera scurried across the room, passing right through the Bloody Baron who was arguing with Nearly-Headless Nick over his right to taunt first-years. It slid under the table to bide its time, and to eavesdrop. At least Colin had a few good habits.

'How much longer is Harry going to be with Pavarti?'

'He owes her another dance, Ron. Then you can talk Quidditch to your heart's content.'

'Hey, Herm, I want to dance with you too. Anyway, I don't think we'll get much out of him tonight—wow, look at Seamus and Cho go! Ow! What was that for?'

'It's not polite to ogle someone else's girlfriend, especially when you're tied up yourself. Now pass me the hors d'Oeuvres, please.'

The Camera sniggered under the table.

'I still don't understand why they're going together if they're not going out,' came another, slightly younger voice.

'Look, it's quite simple, Ginny—yuck, Hermione, don't try to talk with your mouth full. Here, have some more. Now, the thing is, Pavarti likes being seen with him. Boy Who Lived and everything, I bet she's hoping for a Skeeter article. It means he doesn't have to come to the Ball alone and after a few dances they can go their merry ways. Besides, you can talk. You're not going out with Neville.'

'That's…different. Hermione, could you pass me a glass of Butterbeer? Thank you. Hi, Harry. Good dance?'

'Pavarti liked it. Ah, Butterbeer. My saviour.'

The Camera glanced at the lengthy skirt and deep blue shoes that were, from this vantage point, Ginny. Its shutter widened in an imitation of a smile. She really was wearing satin.

'Come on, Gin. Why'd you go out with him, really. You could have had your pick this year.'

'I…'

The Camera allowed itself a small giggle. It could hear her blushing.

'You like him, don't you?' Hermione didn't bother to hide her amusement.

'Well…'

A peal of laughter rang out; Ron's from what the Camera could surmise. 'Neville? You actually like—ow, Mione, stop kicking me! Ginny, surely you're not serious! He's a terrible dancer for a start, stutters all the time—'

'He does not!'

'He does and you know it. And his idea of romance is a day spent out in the grounds weeding!'

'Collecting specimens! And sometimes it's nice to see thought being put into the bouquet!'

'Come on…'

One of the blue shoes stamped imperiously on the ground. 'Neville is a great big hunk of burning love! I don't know why the rest of you can't see it.'

For a moment there was complete silence from the group. Then the Camera heard Harry's voice, utterly serious: 'Have you been into Snape's cupboards, Ginny? Because I know for a fact he keeps a bunch of love potions.'

'Fine. He's a medium-sized spark of love.'

More silence. The Camera snorted into its hand.

A sigh from on high. 'Cho's really stunning tonight, isn't she?'

'Have another drink, Harry.'

'I'm serious. I really am.'

Ron chuckled. 'We know, Ginny. That's what's so unbelievable.'

Ginny ground her teeth together. 'Neville is a red-hot ember of love, all right? Can you live with that? I'm going to find him now, and drag him out, and—and we'll dance longer than any of you!'

The skirt and shoes swept away as the clock above the doors struck eight o'clock. The Camera sighed. It would have liked to have got to know that little satin number better.

Someone else sighed above it. 'You know, as much as I like Butterbeer, there's just not enough kick in it. Ron, pass me the rum balls. Winky made them, I can trust her taste.'

The Camera chose its moment carefully; estimated the focus range and depth of field…it rolled out from under the table just in time to see Harry cramming a handful of rum balls into his mouth, lifting a full glass of Butterbeer to follow.

Perhaps the boy wasn't completely un-photogenic after all.

—CLICK!—