~ Angel, Unbreak My Heart ~
* Part One
*********************************************************
They say the heart of a dragon is where it is most vulnerable, but also inpenetrable by even the sharpest, most valor of blades. For you see, a dragon's heart is only hardened by the slashes of attempts to destroy, never mending, only getting filled by the anger and hatred that so long had filled its medieval reputation. But a dragon has feelings too. It's stereotypical bitter nature and fiery temper does not further encourage this, but deep down hidden beneath the marks of pain and wounds of flesh and spirit. It too, can hate. It too, can feel remorse. It too, can feel sympathy.
And like anyone...it too, can feel love.
*********************************************************
She lifted her quill from the shabby, string-bound book. Virginia Weasley, known as Ginny for short, sighed for lack of another expression that would allow her to vent her frustration. She's been in the Gryffyndor common room for quite a bit now as the dying flames crackled and sparked in the fireplace. It was not yet winter, only early November, but the chilly air brought an early omen of what was to come. Ginny pulled the collar of the robe closer to her shivering body, but it was too small to overlap more than two inches. If she tugged the worn material any further, she knew she'd rip the seams again, just like last year, when the sides split. Pushing the thoughts of her less than rich family from her mind, she blew the ink dry from the coarse parchment and held it at a distance from her, her brow furrowed as if contemplating and observing the modest script.
"Damn this writer's block!" she exclaimed softly, afraid to wake anyone up. Truth was, it was really late and she should be in bed. But somehow inspiration had hit her in the middle of the night and she had crept downstairs clutching her precious book to her chest. After scribbling for what seemed like a fleeting moment, her quill stopped, her hand unable to go on. Skimming quickly over her paragraph, she smiled in satisfaction after critically thinking over. Then she scribbled a phrase, making sure it didn't look like just another sentence.
"And like anyone...it too, can feel love," she finished, a hint of satisfaction in her voice for thinking of such a clever line. Standing up and closing the book she knew to be her only friend and comfort during the lonely years at Hogswarts, she slipped it into her robe pocket, patting it proudly. Yes, it would do for now. Yawning, she turned around to scurry up the stairs and head to her dormitory for a peaceful night's rest, remembering (and dreading, for that matter) her Potions class the next morning.
*********************************************************
She sank under Professor Snape's cold, distant stare. She was trying to pay attention, she really was. But how could anyone on the face of this earth possibly concentrate on brewing potions with complicated formulas with those malicious, critical eyes boring holes in you? It wasn't that she was horrible at Potions either, in fact, she knew she was excellent. But she was clumsy and nervous under Snape's glare, and found that it was impossible to do anything without messing up. She fumbled with the jars of wolfsbang, trying to get the lid open. And like she always did, she got hopelessly nervous and ended up dumping the whole thing in, causing the potion to turn from a deep turquoise to a light, fluffy pink to match the blush of her face. She groaned inwardly, waiting for the bell to indicate that this torture, this horrid inprisonment, could be over!
Snape walked over to her for his usual inspections and raised his eyebrow at the pink concoction. "Well, well, well, Miss Weasley..." he said, directing the attention of the whole class upon her. If humanly possible, or wizardly possible, she couldn't have lowered herself in her chair further. She barely hid a whimper as she looked up, frightened. Oh, how she hated potions...
"Ten points from Gryffyndor for your inability to open a jar of wolfsbang," he said simply, sounding sadistic and amused at the same time. She flushed a deep crimson so red, it could even rival the color of her distinctive markings.
The bell rang then. Ginny hurried through the halls, trying to get away from her daily humiliation in Snape's class. She wanted to be anywhere but there. Lifting the small book from her pocket and clutching it in her hands, heading down the stairs to the frost covered gardens to delve herself in a fantasy world where there would be no laughs, no embarrassment and thank Merlin, certainly no certain professor by the name of Severus Snape. She wanted to embed herself fully in her stories, tales and poetry of love, hope, sadness...longing and loneliness. That was her only escape from reality.
Glancing nowhere in particular, she wondered how the lovely angelic maiden would tame the dragon in her story after all the valiant knights and braves had failed and died trying. She knew not what phenomenon would possess the dragon to not eat the girl and burn her to a toasty crisp for dinner. That was what she had to ponder about. How do you get a dragon to...well, to put it rather simply, be nice? To be kind and caring, to let go of the shield that breaks the barrier of a well-protected, geniune heart? She screwed up in face in thought and was so deep into it she didn't realize where she was going.
Then she felt herself bump into something and making contact with the hard floors shocked her back into the harsh reality she was so eager to run away from. She looked around and saw herself staring into the face of the second to last people she ever wanted to see...Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. He sneered, of course, she wondered if he was born with his face like that. It seemed fitting. As she thought this, she barely stifled a concealed snicker, but thought better of it.
"Watch it," Pansy said in disgust, brushing off her green robes as if Ginny had some contagious disease hovering about. "Stupid git."
"Sorry," she mumbled, trying to gather her things. She didn't need to find herself in another predicament where she'd end up getting the worse of things. Her merciless insulting was practically the last thing she needed.
"Well, Weasel, I finally see that you have figured out exactly where you belong." He was looking down at her, his pale, lifeless grey eyes stone cold with sick amusement at seeing her tremble. He was referring to her position on the floor, that is.
"Along with your other mudblood muggle-lover friends of yours, that is. Or do you not have any friends at all, hm?" Pansy laughed cruelly, stepping on her already disastrous robes and tearing part of it. The sides of Draco's mouth twitched as she said this, but Ginny's eyes were too blurred with her salty tears to see anything too clearly. Then they left, letting the words cut in before proceeding down the hall in their customary Slytherin manner; arrogant and uncaring.
She ran blindly towards the entrance to the gardens outside the castle, not worrying who or what she bumped into. She wasn't going to give that stupid bastard the satisfaction they was looking for...at least, not in front of them anyways. Ginny hated to be bullied around, but what could she do about it? She sniffed and looked down at her torn, disheveled robes and flung open the door to the garden, where indeed it was covered with soft frost. And there, she knelt down, sobbing, her flaming head buried in her hands, trembling with cries that shook her whole body.
She knew that she supposedly should've been used to it by now, there was never anything new to the tradition. She practically memorized every insult, from the whole "flaming red hair and freckles low-class Weasley" bit to the "You're so obsessed with Potter, he's NEVER going to notice you" sort of teasing and humiliation. And yet, it hurt her more than anyone could ever know, mainly because of whatever they said had a certain degree of truthfulness to it. It wasn't that she didn't mind however, it was just the truth. And from her very beginning Ginny Weasley was taught how to accept truth, no matter how painful it to admit that yes, her family was poor and could only afford to dress children in second hand robes and yes, it was also true that she didn't have too many friends, if any at all. Wiping her eyes, and telling herself that it was useless to cry over such petty things, she sat down on the chilly frost, and just stared at the frosty grass around her, reveling in the fact that they looked so much like frozen tears.
*********************************************************
"I fear dark times are coming, Minerva. We're going to need all the help that we can get before Voldemort becomes too strong for us to handle." The weary headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry turned his pale, worn face to glance briefly outside the window. His expression was burdened with worry and seemed to be deep in thought. Albus Dumbledore heaved a great, heavy sigh and turned to his companion. Everyone felt this coming, it had been looming in the air regarding the Ministry like a calm before a disastrous, unrelenting storm. Voldemort was no longer something forgotten; rumor was that he had arisen and was once again gathering his assets and allies to repeat history once again. Dark times, those were, and dark times they were going to be, he feared. Already Dumbledore had done quite a bit of planning, but there was a problem involving the state of the school.
"Of course." McGonagall agreed, nodding her head indicating so.
"And we'll, of course, need as many healers as possible, including the best ones that we know." He paused glancing at her face as if she would hint on to what he was getting to and not have to say it out loud.
"And I think Madam Pomfrey is the only one we can trust for this job, and as she is well qualified. She doesn't work for the Ministry and she has no particular loyalties tied to Cornelius Fudge. But, of course, that does come up with some interestingly difficult consequences, as you can see." He twisted his beard, and looked back through the window.
"Hmm...well, perhaps we can get a replacement, temporary of course," she suggested, trying to follow Dumbledore's gaze to find out just what was so interesting outside the window. But she didn't see much of anything, just a blanket of frost over the view.
"All the good ones like Poppy are already being called and testified. I'm afraid the duty will have to go to a student here at Hogwarts. Preferably at sixth year, seventh years are also being sought and trained to join with us as it is. But of course, the question remains as to who will."
"Who did you have in mind, Dumbledore?" she inquired, still looking at the old man curiously. "Someone from Ravenclaw? Or Hufflepuff? I rest assure you that anyone from those houses would be quite suitable for the job, in my opinion."
He shook his head no, and then stared at her seriously.
"They are not real healers, Minerva. We need someone who has the nature to heal, something like that must come natually, it cannot be developed in such a time of short notice. I was more thinking along the lines of..." He nodded to the window he was staring at and moved so she could get a better view.
"I don't see anything," she started to say, but then noticed a small flash of brilliant red locks almost hidden among the trees that towered over her small figure, immediately recognizing the person Dumbledore was referring to.
"You don't mean..." she drifted off, shifting her glance from the window to Dumbledore, a mixed expression on her face.
"Ginny Weasley."
"But that's preposterous! She's but a mere child!" she sputtered almost losing her regal conformity and posture.
"I expected that," Dumbledore sighed. "But observe her for a bit, Minerva, outside of the classroom, hm? I think there's more to the Weasley traits then one would might expect out of this girl."
"No, it's not that I don't think she would be a good healer, but she's so perfectly...innocent! Anyone could take advantage of her, or worse, she could fall into the wrong hands! You and I both know that You-Know-Who has many connections and it's only a matter of time...have you forgotten her first year? That incident?"
He held his hand up for silence. "It would be best for the school, and for her...although she doesn't know it yet."
"But Dumbledore..." she faltered, then closed her mouth till it made a fine, thin line. She knew then that there must have been an ulterior motive to having Ginny as the replacement nurse. Knowing his secretive personality, she left it at that and sighed, resigned.
"Virginia Weasley it is, then."
*********************************************************
She bit her lip anxiously and twirled the ends of the quill between her index and middle finger expertly. Writer's block was getting more than just an annoying habit to her nowadays, she seemed stumped. And it was no wonder; even though she was alone and among beautiful landscape, it lacked the spark that would usually ignite her fiery spirit. There was no inspiration here. What she thought would be a winder wonderland retreat just seemed suddenly so ordinary. Today, not like any other day, the frozen tears didn't sparkle with the traces of Jack Frost's nightly visit. There was no aura of peace and silence. Something was missing here, but Ginny just couldn't place her finger on it. Biting her lower lip gently had now become a side effect to her habitual writer's block and she decided to take a last resort and let her thoughts just randomly wander.
Something she hadn't dared to do since her first year.
She shivered in memory of herself, and not only because of the cold. Whenever she thought back to her first year, the only thing she could remember was hurt, betrayal, the feeling of being used at her own expense. She remembered the feeling of being alone and forgotten. She could recall back upon how happy she had been when she'd finally made a friend in Tom Riddle...but never Tom again, just Lord Voldemort. And last of all, the numbness she felt when she had lost her first real friend...who never was really one in the first place at all she would later discover. And from then on she had been alone, seeking bittersweet and temporary solace upon herself and she had again turned to a journal Charlie had given her before the school year started, finding it to be the best friend she could ever have.
Friend.
The word make her sink back into the hallway incident, the bitter words that Pansy Parkinson girl had said about her. Perhaps Pansy was right. Ginny mused about this for awhile, so deep and lost in her collective thoughts and she didn't hear the crunch of ice made by footsteps behind her.
"Hello there Miss Weasley," the gentle voice said behind her. "How are you doing on a fine, lovely morning like this?"
Her head whipped around to find to her relief that it was only the headmaster. She got up quickly and straighted her raggedy robes, looking down at the tear disdainfully. She was quite surprised, since no one usually noticed her, especially not someone as important as Albus Dumbledore!
"Good morning, Headmaster," she greeted quietly, forcing the sides of her mouth to curl up slightly. "I'm doing fine, and you?"
"Pleasant, as well, I assure you," he said cheerfully. He then looked at the book Ginny was clutching to her, eyeing it with remarkable interest. "Writing again, have you? Very good, very good. I'm sure the other professors would endorse that." His eyes twinkled as he said this. She flushed slightly and fidgeted with the book. Only then did she notice how much it looked like the old diary Lucius Malfoy had slipped her. She didn't say anything, only bowed her head further, shoulders sagging at the returning memory. If Dumbledore had noticed, however, he didn't seem to acknowledge her actions as he explained her assignment as they walked back towards the castle.
*********************************************************
"So, the Yule Ball's coming up." That was a rhetorical statement in Ron's ears, and he merely said "Yup." and continued with his chess game against Harry.
"Who're you going to go with, Ron?" he asked, stifling a barely concealed grin. Ron liked Hermione and everyone else knew it but them. Oh, the drama that would unfold in the next two weeks before the ball!
"Dunno. Perhaps I'll get around to asking anybody last minute," he said nonchalantly, eyes lighting up as he made a move to take Harry's queen. "Checkmate," he pronounced triumphantly. Then he looked up at Harry. "Why so interested all of a sudden, Harry? You never cared about those things before. Maybe you're afraid I might ask Cho Chang?"
Harry felt himself grow red and sputtered, then glared at him mockingly as if daring him to do so. "No," he denied. "Not really. Just curious, is all."
"Ah. I see." Ron stretched luxuriously on the couch in the Gryffyndor common room. As a revenge for pushing his buttons, Harrily smiled evilly and turned to ask him, "So, when are you going to pop the question to Hermione?"
Now it was Ron's turn to sputter and in doing so, his face turned pink.
Harry laughed. "I meant ask her to the ball, not to marry her!" He snickered at Ron's aghast and flustered expression.
"I...I...I knew that," Ron replied indignantly, the shock still not having worn off. "I don't know if I'm going to ask Hermione though."
"Ask me what?" her head popped out from the stack of library books she was carrying as she entered the common room.
"Nothing! Nothing at all!" was the quick reply.
*********************************************************
Author's Note: Okay, this is my first attempt at a Harry Potter fanfic...Please review and tell me what you think! (By the way, when I uploaded this I was more thinking that this would be my warm-up piece, and it'd be great if you could send feedback. I'm trying not to make it OOC ^_^ )
* Part One
*********************************************************
They say the heart of a dragon is where it is most vulnerable, but also inpenetrable by even the sharpest, most valor of blades. For you see, a dragon's heart is only hardened by the slashes of attempts to destroy, never mending, only getting filled by the anger and hatred that so long had filled its medieval reputation. But a dragon has feelings too. It's stereotypical bitter nature and fiery temper does not further encourage this, but deep down hidden beneath the marks of pain and wounds of flesh and spirit. It too, can hate. It too, can feel remorse. It too, can feel sympathy.
And like anyone...it too, can feel love.
*********************************************************
She lifted her quill from the shabby, string-bound book. Virginia Weasley, known as Ginny for short, sighed for lack of another expression that would allow her to vent her frustration. She's been in the Gryffyndor common room for quite a bit now as the dying flames crackled and sparked in the fireplace. It was not yet winter, only early November, but the chilly air brought an early omen of what was to come. Ginny pulled the collar of the robe closer to her shivering body, but it was too small to overlap more than two inches. If she tugged the worn material any further, she knew she'd rip the seams again, just like last year, when the sides split. Pushing the thoughts of her less than rich family from her mind, she blew the ink dry from the coarse parchment and held it at a distance from her, her brow furrowed as if contemplating and observing the modest script.
"Damn this writer's block!" she exclaimed softly, afraid to wake anyone up. Truth was, it was really late and she should be in bed. But somehow inspiration had hit her in the middle of the night and she had crept downstairs clutching her precious book to her chest. After scribbling for what seemed like a fleeting moment, her quill stopped, her hand unable to go on. Skimming quickly over her paragraph, she smiled in satisfaction after critically thinking over. Then she scribbled a phrase, making sure it didn't look like just another sentence.
"And like anyone...it too, can feel love," she finished, a hint of satisfaction in her voice for thinking of such a clever line. Standing up and closing the book she knew to be her only friend and comfort during the lonely years at Hogswarts, she slipped it into her robe pocket, patting it proudly. Yes, it would do for now. Yawning, she turned around to scurry up the stairs and head to her dormitory for a peaceful night's rest, remembering (and dreading, for that matter) her Potions class the next morning.
*********************************************************
She sank under Professor Snape's cold, distant stare. She was trying to pay attention, she really was. But how could anyone on the face of this earth possibly concentrate on brewing potions with complicated formulas with those malicious, critical eyes boring holes in you? It wasn't that she was horrible at Potions either, in fact, she knew she was excellent. But she was clumsy and nervous under Snape's glare, and found that it was impossible to do anything without messing up. She fumbled with the jars of wolfsbang, trying to get the lid open. And like she always did, she got hopelessly nervous and ended up dumping the whole thing in, causing the potion to turn from a deep turquoise to a light, fluffy pink to match the blush of her face. She groaned inwardly, waiting for the bell to indicate that this torture, this horrid inprisonment, could be over!
Snape walked over to her for his usual inspections and raised his eyebrow at the pink concoction. "Well, well, well, Miss Weasley..." he said, directing the attention of the whole class upon her. If humanly possible, or wizardly possible, she couldn't have lowered herself in her chair further. She barely hid a whimper as she looked up, frightened. Oh, how she hated potions...
"Ten points from Gryffyndor for your inability to open a jar of wolfsbang," he said simply, sounding sadistic and amused at the same time. She flushed a deep crimson so red, it could even rival the color of her distinctive markings.
The bell rang then. Ginny hurried through the halls, trying to get away from her daily humiliation in Snape's class. She wanted to be anywhere but there. Lifting the small book from her pocket and clutching it in her hands, heading down the stairs to the frost covered gardens to delve herself in a fantasy world where there would be no laughs, no embarrassment and thank Merlin, certainly no certain professor by the name of Severus Snape. She wanted to embed herself fully in her stories, tales and poetry of love, hope, sadness...longing and loneliness. That was her only escape from reality.
Glancing nowhere in particular, she wondered how the lovely angelic maiden would tame the dragon in her story after all the valiant knights and braves had failed and died trying. She knew not what phenomenon would possess the dragon to not eat the girl and burn her to a toasty crisp for dinner. That was what she had to ponder about. How do you get a dragon to...well, to put it rather simply, be nice? To be kind and caring, to let go of the shield that breaks the barrier of a well-protected, geniune heart? She screwed up in face in thought and was so deep into it she didn't realize where she was going.
Then she felt herself bump into something and making contact with the hard floors shocked her back into the harsh reality she was so eager to run away from. She looked around and saw herself staring into the face of the second to last people she ever wanted to see...Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. He sneered, of course, she wondered if he was born with his face like that. It seemed fitting. As she thought this, she barely stifled a concealed snicker, but thought better of it.
"Watch it," Pansy said in disgust, brushing off her green robes as if Ginny had some contagious disease hovering about. "Stupid git."
"Sorry," she mumbled, trying to gather her things. She didn't need to find herself in another predicament where she'd end up getting the worse of things. Her merciless insulting was practically the last thing she needed.
"Well, Weasel, I finally see that you have figured out exactly where you belong." He was looking down at her, his pale, lifeless grey eyes stone cold with sick amusement at seeing her tremble. He was referring to her position on the floor, that is.
"Along with your other mudblood muggle-lover friends of yours, that is. Or do you not have any friends at all, hm?" Pansy laughed cruelly, stepping on her already disastrous robes and tearing part of it. The sides of Draco's mouth twitched as she said this, but Ginny's eyes were too blurred with her salty tears to see anything too clearly. Then they left, letting the words cut in before proceeding down the hall in their customary Slytherin manner; arrogant and uncaring.
She ran blindly towards the entrance to the gardens outside the castle, not worrying who or what she bumped into. She wasn't going to give that stupid bastard the satisfaction they was looking for...at least, not in front of them anyways. Ginny hated to be bullied around, but what could she do about it? She sniffed and looked down at her torn, disheveled robes and flung open the door to the garden, where indeed it was covered with soft frost. And there, she knelt down, sobbing, her flaming head buried in her hands, trembling with cries that shook her whole body.
She knew that she supposedly should've been used to it by now, there was never anything new to the tradition. She practically memorized every insult, from the whole "flaming red hair and freckles low-class Weasley" bit to the "You're so obsessed with Potter, he's NEVER going to notice you" sort of teasing and humiliation. And yet, it hurt her more than anyone could ever know, mainly because of whatever they said had a certain degree of truthfulness to it. It wasn't that she didn't mind however, it was just the truth. And from her very beginning Ginny Weasley was taught how to accept truth, no matter how painful it to admit that yes, her family was poor and could only afford to dress children in second hand robes and yes, it was also true that she didn't have too many friends, if any at all. Wiping her eyes, and telling herself that it was useless to cry over such petty things, she sat down on the chilly frost, and just stared at the frosty grass around her, reveling in the fact that they looked so much like frozen tears.
*********************************************************
"I fear dark times are coming, Minerva. We're going to need all the help that we can get before Voldemort becomes too strong for us to handle." The weary headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry turned his pale, worn face to glance briefly outside the window. His expression was burdened with worry and seemed to be deep in thought. Albus Dumbledore heaved a great, heavy sigh and turned to his companion. Everyone felt this coming, it had been looming in the air regarding the Ministry like a calm before a disastrous, unrelenting storm. Voldemort was no longer something forgotten; rumor was that he had arisen and was once again gathering his assets and allies to repeat history once again. Dark times, those were, and dark times they were going to be, he feared. Already Dumbledore had done quite a bit of planning, but there was a problem involving the state of the school.
"Of course." McGonagall agreed, nodding her head indicating so.
"And we'll, of course, need as many healers as possible, including the best ones that we know." He paused glancing at her face as if she would hint on to what he was getting to and not have to say it out loud.
"And I think Madam Pomfrey is the only one we can trust for this job, and as she is well qualified. She doesn't work for the Ministry and she has no particular loyalties tied to Cornelius Fudge. But, of course, that does come up with some interestingly difficult consequences, as you can see." He twisted his beard, and looked back through the window.
"Hmm...well, perhaps we can get a replacement, temporary of course," she suggested, trying to follow Dumbledore's gaze to find out just what was so interesting outside the window. But she didn't see much of anything, just a blanket of frost over the view.
"All the good ones like Poppy are already being called and testified. I'm afraid the duty will have to go to a student here at Hogwarts. Preferably at sixth year, seventh years are also being sought and trained to join with us as it is. But of course, the question remains as to who will."
"Who did you have in mind, Dumbledore?" she inquired, still looking at the old man curiously. "Someone from Ravenclaw? Or Hufflepuff? I rest assure you that anyone from those houses would be quite suitable for the job, in my opinion."
He shook his head no, and then stared at her seriously.
"They are not real healers, Minerva. We need someone who has the nature to heal, something like that must come natually, it cannot be developed in such a time of short notice. I was more thinking along the lines of..." He nodded to the window he was staring at and moved so she could get a better view.
"I don't see anything," she started to say, but then noticed a small flash of brilliant red locks almost hidden among the trees that towered over her small figure, immediately recognizing the person Dumbledore was referring to.
"You don't mean..." she drifted off, shifting her glance from the window to Dumbledore, a mixed expression on her face.
"Ginny Weasley."
"But that's preposterous! She's but a mere child!" she sputtered almost losing her regal conformity and posture.
"I expected that," Dumbledore sighed. "But observe her for a bit, Minerva, outside of the classroom, hm? I think there's more to the Weasley traits then one would might expect out of this girl."
"No, it's not that I don't think she would be a good healer, but she's so perfectly...innocent! Anyone could take advantage of her, or worse, she could fall into the wrong hands! You and I both know that You-Know-Who has many connections and it's only a matter of time...have you forgotten her first year? That incident?"
He held his hand up for silence. "It would be best for the school, and for her...although she doesn't know it yet."
"But Dumbledore..." she faltered, then closed her mouth till it made a fine, thin line. She knew then that there must have been an ulterior motive to having Ginny as the replacement nurse. Knowing his secretive personality, she left it at that and sighed, resigned.
"Virginia Weasley it is, then."
*********************************************************
She bit her lip anxiously and twirled the ends of the quill between her index and middle finger expertly. Writer's block was getting more than just an annoying habit to her nowadays, she seemed stumped. And it was no wonder; even though she was alone and among beautiful landscape, it lacked the spark that would usually ignite her fiery spirit. There was no inspiration here. What she thought would be a winder wonderland retreat just seemed suddenly so ordinary. Today, not like any other day, the frozen tears didn't sparkle with the traces of Jack Frost's nightly visit. There was no aura of peace and silence. Something was missing here, but Ginny just couldn't place her finger on it. Biting her lower lip gently had now become a side effect to her habitual writer's block and she decided to take a last resort and let her thoughts just randomly wander.
Something she hadn't dared to do since her first year.
She shivered in memory of herself, and not only because of the cold. Whenever she thought back to her first year, the only thing she could remember was hurt, betrayal, the feeling of being used at her own expense. She remembered the feeling of being alone and forgotten. She could recall back upon how happy she had been when she'd finally made a friend in Tom Riddle...but never Tom again, just Lord Voldemort. And last of all, the numbness she felt when she had lost her first real friend...who never was really one in the first place at all she would later discover. And from then on she had been alone, seeking bittersweet and temporary solace upon herself and she had again turned to a journal Charlie had given her before the school year started, finding it to be the best friend she could ever have.
Friend.
The word make her sink back into the hallway incident, the bitter words that Pansy Parkinson girl had said about her. Perhaps Pansy was right. Ginny mused about this for awhile, so deep and lost in her collective thoughts and she didn't hear the crunch of ice made by footsteps behind her.
"Hello there Miss Weasley," the gentle voice said behind her. "How are you doing on a fine, lovely morning like this?"
Her head whipped around to find to her relief that it was only the headmaster. She got up quickly and straighted her raggedy robes, looking down at the tear disdainfully. She was quite surprised, since no one usually noticed her, especially not someone as important as Albus Dumbledore!
"Good morning, Headmaster," she greeted quietly, forcing the sides of her mouth to curl up slightly. "I'm doing fine, and you?"
"Pleasant, as well, I assure you," he said cheerfully. He then looked at the book Ginny was clutching to her, eyeing it with remarkable interest. "Writing again, have you? Very good, very good. I'm sure the other professors would endorse that." His eyes twinkled as he said this. She flushed slightly and fidgeted with the book. Only then did she notice how much it looked like the old diary Lucius Malfoy had slipped her. She didn't say anything, only bowed her head further, shoulders sagging at the returning memory. If Dumbledore had noticed, however, he didn't seem to acknowledge her actions as he explained her assignment as they walked back towards the castle.
*********************************************************
"So, the Yule Ball's coming up." That was a rhetorical statement in Ron's ears, and he merely said "Yup." and continued with his chess game against Harry.
"Who're you going to go with, Ron?" he asked, stifling a barely concealed grin. Ron liked Hermione and everyone else knew it but them. Oh, the drama that would unfold in the next two weeks before the ball!
"Dunno. Perhaps I'll get around to asking anybody last minute," he said nonchalantly, eyes lighting up as he made a move to take Harry's queen. "Checkmate," he pronounced triumphantly. Then he looked up at Harry. "Why so interested all of a sudden, Harry? You never cared about those things before. Maybe you're afraid I might ask Cho Chang?"
Harry felt himself grow red and sputtered, then glared at him mockingly as if daring him to do so. "No," he denied. "Not really. Just curious, is all."
"Ah. I see." Ron stretched luxuriously on the couch in the Gryffyndor common room. As a revenge for pushing his buttons, Harrily smiled evilly and turned to ask him, "So, when are you going to pop the question to Hermione?"
Now it was Ron's turn to sputter and in doing so, his face turned pink.
Harry laughed. "I meant ask her to the ball, not to marry her!" He snickered at Ron's aghast and flustered expression.
"I...I...I knew that," Ron replied indignantly, the shock still not having worn off. "I don't know if I'm going to ask Hermione though."
"Ask me what?" her head popped out from the stack of library books she was carrying as she entered the common room.
"Nothing! Nothing at all!" was the quick reply.
*********************************************************
Author's Note: Okay, this is my first attempt at a Harry Potter fanfic...Please review and tell me what you think! (By the way, when I uploaded this I was more thinking that this would be my warm-up piece, and it'd be great if you could send feedback. I'm trying not to make it OOC ^_^ )