Title:  The Ginny Chronicles

Author: Casca mailto:Casccara@yahoo.com

Classification: H/G, Ginny POV

Summary:  Ginny and her conscience battle out her life.

Spoilers: Eventually, yes, through "Goblet."

Rating: PG (for now)

Disclaimer: All characters and names used in these fics are the legal

property and creative work of JK Rowling and/or Warner Bros. 

I'm just having some great fun with them. :)

Note: Ten points to whoever can come up with the fictional red-headed young girl who originally said the last three words of this fic!

           ~The Ginny Chronicles~

           I wake up the morning after my "Revelation to Harry" episode not feeling quite as horrid as I imagined I would.  Last night after making my escape from the confines of the common room, I laid in bed contemplating either running away from Hogwarts, faking ill, or committing suicide.  Now, being the smart girl that I am, I only gave the last contemplation one tiny passing thought, but the other two seemed quite honestly very possible and the various ways of going about each of them plagued my dreams.

           However, at this moment, I am getting out of bed, adjusting my robes, and staring at my reflection in the oval mirror that hangs over my bed.  A freckly face, rather plain brown-eyed girl looks back at me and I wish the vision held more appeal and, to use a phrase I overheard someone say about Madam Rosmerta once, more "za za zing."  I fear that looking ordinary is not good when you've just declared your undying love to the boy who's unwillingly held your heart in his hands for the past seven years.  I worry that freckles and plain brown eyes just don't fit with a girl who is brave enough to announce her feelings to her heart's desire in front of the entire Gryffindor House.

Brave? That overzealous voice in my head begins.  Was that really bravery you showed last night?

I'd like to think so. I am in Gryffindor, after all, and bravery suits all Gryffindors.

So, Harry may appreciate it, then?

"Ha!" I say aloud and cause several of my friends to glance my way.  They probably think I've gone insane, for I never spoke to them after my "Stand Up and Declare" episode last night.  For all they know, I have no clue what in blazing hell I said down there and was acting under the influence of some crazed love potion.

Oh, well.

I am back to the mirror, back to plain old Ginny Weasley and I am shocked by the furious disgust I feel at my reflection. I have never once been angry about my looks because they are mine and there isn't anything I can do about them.  They were fine when I could be invisible to the important people, mainly Harry.  However, I had to go and open my stupid mouth and unleash my feelings onto Him.  He who has never looked at me, never seen me and because I had to go have another one of my Episode's, he just may look today. 

I groan inwardly, the old butterflies finding their way into my stomach as they always do.  I reach for my hair band and automatically begin pulling my curse of siren-red hair back into it's usual ponytail when I pause in mid-motion, my eyes still on my reflection.  Slowly, as if I am testing myself, I let free the hair I've pulled away from my face and watch it tumble to my shoulders.  I've been leisurely growing my hair back to it's original length after a very scary, scissor-happy episode of Ginny Needs A New Hairstyle two years ago. My carrot-head was now past my shoulders and part-way down my back, something between wavy and strait and full and flat.  I grab the comb out of my trunk and began yanking it through the long locks mercilessly and after counting fifty of these eye-watering strokes; I give my head a hard shake and watch my wavy mane fall into place.

The butterflies have started up again, and this time about thirty of their friends have joined in.  I look pretty, I think and take a shaking breath.  Prettier than I did yesterday, at least.  Too bad it takes Harry to bring out my pretty side.

Is that why you're making yourself pretty?  Because of Harry?

Well, duh.  Why else would I chose today of all days to let my hair down?  If he's going to be looking at me, at least let him look at the pretty me.

So you're wondering what he'll think about your "new look?"

Well, it's not a 'new look.' After all, Harry's seen me with my hair down before, plenty of times.

Yes, but never knowing what he knows now.

He's always known.  He's always chosen not to look.

Has he really known?

Of course he's known! Everyone's known for years and any thoughts that may have lead them to believe otherwise are now null and void.

My heart sinks into my stomach to join the butterflies as I grab my bag and open the door to head down to the breakfast table where he awaits.

I enter the Great Hall minutes later, hair spilling over my shoulders in what I hope is a wind-blown, effortless fashion.  I am shaking down to the bone, however, not showing my feelings have been a sincere part of me for quite a few years now and I have no troubles hiding my trembling hands.  I can see the Gryffindor table and my heart sinks even further in the pit of nerves.  Harry is sitting with Ron and Hermione and there are many, many seats free around them.  I realize that I had been sub-consciously hoping that there would be no seat within a ten mile radius of Harry available, but as fate has often illustrated, I never get what I hope for.

Put your head up, the voice snaps and for once I am glad it's there. 

Chin up, I walk to the table, past the first, second and third years, past my fellow sixth years and right down to the end where Hermione is sitting across from Harry and Ron.  She smiles up at me as I approach and scoots over slightly on the bench to indicate that she wants me to sit next to her.  Not for the first time in my life, I feel a surge of gratitude towards Hermione. It may have been a very subtle gesture, but it meant everything to me at that moment.

I place what I hope is an effortless, carefree smile on my face and slide onto the bench next to her.  My brother looks as if he's about to explode and as his eyes dart from me to Harry to Hermione and back again.  I really wish I could take out my wand and cast a very deliberate, very foul curse on him.

Harry's looking at me. There is no mistaking the source of the shivers racing down my spine and my heart beating against my ribs.  I order the blood to stay far away from my cheeks as I glance up and look directly in his eyes. He doesn't look away and even though I can hear the thudding of my heart in my ears, I know that he cannot.

"Hi," I say in a very clear and very kind voice, my eyes never leaving his. 

Harry stays silent but continues to look at me, those liquid green pools staring right into my soul.  My face is now burning and as the true embarrassment of last night begins to creep up on me, my gaze falters.

Put your eyes back on him and make him look away first!

But I don't think I could bear it if he looks away-

Do it!

So I lock my eyes on his and Harry gives me a little nod, his eyes crinkling slightly, his mouth turning up at corners in

a tiny smile. 

"Hey," he says.

My heart splits into two, and I can practically see the pieces fall onto the table for everyone to witness.

"Wow, Ginny, I had no idea your hair had gotten so long!"

I swallow hard and turn to Hermione.  "Yeah," I say and want to scream at my stupid voice for shaking even if it was only faintly. 

"I like it," Hermione is saying. I meet her eyes and they give me strength.

"I do, too," I say and she smiles at me knowingly. It feels simply lovely knowing I can share this with her, even if I am about to faint from the intensity of The Look.  

The rest of the Gryffindors arrive at breakfast and every last one of the girls glance in my direction before their eyes take an unmistakable tour to Harry.  They notice our positions directly across from each other and the wheels in their heads are no doubt turning.

I barely see them; I am in another world.

He looked at me.  He actually looked at me.  Not a glance.  Not a glimpse.  A real look that lasted more than a split second. 

So why am I not happy?  I glance over to Harry and Ron who are now talking very animatedly about why they hate Potions and I can't get the look on his face out of my mind.  Why am I not grinning stupidly or giggling or doing something other girls would do when the boys they like smile at them?  Why do I feel closer to tears than I ever have before?

Are you scared?

Scared of what?  What could I possibly be scared of?  It's Harry and I've wanted him to look my way for so long. 

Well, he looked.

I know.  He looked and I will never be the same again. 

Why?

WHY?!  Because it's Harry!  And now I have no clue what to do!

Perhaps you can talk about it with him?

WHAT!? Never, oh, never!

Shouting it out in front of a whole slew of people, you can do, but a simple conversation is NEVER?

That sounds a bit right.  Last night was a fluke- if I had been in my natural mind-

You regret saying what you did last night?

NO. No, I don't regret it.  I needed to say it.  No matter what happens, he needed to hear those things from me.

So…

So… I… I'm afraid…There, I said it, I'm afraid.

Of…

Of… I honestly don't know. 

I glance up as the benches began to scrape the tiled floor and Harry, Ron and Hermione stand.  "Bye," I mumble without looking up and they do the same.

Except for Harry.  "Bye, Ginny," he says as he looks at me again. 

My eyes are raising to meet his and I have no idea how it's happening. "Bye, then," I say in a soft, pretty little voice that has Harry's eyes lingering on mine for a moment before he turns to leave.

My heart has sunk into my stomach and is doing very deliberate flip-flops.

Twice. That's twice he looked at me, twice he deliberately looked at me and kept looking after he'd seen me.  How am I supposed to deal with this?  And how am I to rationalize that Harry finally looking at me has thrown me headfirst into the depths of despair…?

To Be Continued…

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mailto:Casccara@yahoo.com