Dancing
Chapter Two
In which Ginny is late for potions, and has a near-breakdown in an empty classroom.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be, unless by some freak of nature and/or the universe I somehow a) marry into JKR's family or the Warner domain, b) I suddenly wake up one morning and have enough money to buy the aforementioned bodies out, or c)….wait, there is no c). Damn. Guess I'm outta luck. Oh, wait, no…the plot and Jason (Thibeault) are mine. *CELEBRATE!!!!!*
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An uneventful if overlong Transfiguration lesson followed Charms, and Ginny only just had time to drop her books in her room before heading down to the Great Hall for lunch. Slipping into her customary seat beside Hermione and across from Harry and Ron, she couldn't help but notice Jason at his normal seat just down the table, just as she had noticed him at every meal since the ball. Ginny sighed and began to push her mashed potatoes around her plate in a hopeless, miserable sort of way. It would be bad enough seeing him only at Quidditch games and at a distance once in a while, she thought almost bitterly for at least the fifth time that week. But nooooo, he has to be in my House, hang out constantly in the Common Room, and sit less than four feet away from me at meals three times every bloody day!
She punctuated this last unspoken remark by chomping down violently, but missed the unfortunate morsel of food and viciously maimed her tongue instead. She let out a high-pitched yelp of pain before blushing furiously and clamping her hand over her mouth. Looking up, and still testing the inside of her mouth for serious wounds, Ginny caught a pair of deep-brown eyes watching her for a moment with amusement and maybe a bit of grudging concern before flicking their attention back to the ongoing conversation about the Kestrel's recent win over the Harpies.
Hmph. Boys and their Quidditch, Ginny thought mutinously.
"Gin? 'r you okay?" asked Ron, narrowly missing Harry with bits of fried chicken.
"Yeah. Just a few small problems with the whole chewing number. I'm getting a little rusty," she answered drily.
"You've been really distracted lately," announced Hermione in her very best 'you've-got-a-problem-I-can-probably-fix' voice. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"
"Uh – no," Ginny replied in her very best 'conversation-closed' voice.
Ron looked ready to pursue the subject, but Harry interrupted with the very unrelated topic of the next Hogsmeade visit, which was scheduled for the following weekend.
"…It's about time, too. I have quite a few presents I still have to buy for Christmas."
Ginny nodded her grateful assent, while Hermione piped up with the (helpful) comment of "Oh, really, you lot. I did most of my shopping in Muggle London before term started, and the rest I'm getting mail-order. It's much easier, and my presents will be a bit more original than a box of Chocolate Frogs." She said this last comment with a pointed glare at Ron, who merely rolled his eyes and attacked another chicken leg.
Watching out of the corner of her eye as the crowd or seventh-year Thibeault-followers rose and left, Ginny let go of a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Following her gaze, Harry leaned forward and said in a low, conspiratorial tone, "That bloke, Tybalt or whatever, really isn't all he's cracked up to be. His flying skills are mediocre at best, his aim is questionable, and his strategies are more complicated and half-assed than either Wood's or Angelina's were."
Ginny smothered both a smile and a correction regarding Jason's name. Ron, having caught the general idea of Harry's mutinous mini-tirade, added, "That, and the git let his unbelievably uncoordinated mates take over beater and he stole Harry's rightful captainship. Ever since he transferred here from – where was it? Beauxbatons? – he's been acting like the team's always been his, even though Harry's been on it for, what, six years now? Stupid exchange program."
"It's only six if you count fourth and fifth year, Ron, and we hardly had Quidditch then…" Harry's correction was, for the most part, ignored, as Ron, now a keeper on the Gryffindor team, continued to mutter darkly under his breath. Ginny, thoroughly disgusted, rose and left the table, heading upstairs to collect her books for her afternoon class.
Hurrying down towards the dungeons for double Potions, Ginny was rummaging through her bag looking for her favorite quill when she ran into a rather large moving object that had just propelled itself from around a rather sharp corner and directly into her path.
"Hey, watch it! Some of us actually have places…" The chastisement died on her lips as she noticed those eyes. Those eyes. Damn. She mustered a rather fake annoyed sigh and tried to push past.
She had only taken a couple of steps, though, when she heard him say, "No, that had a prmising ring to it. What were you going to say?"
Ginny whirled to face him and his half-mocking smile, angry at her own reaction to him, but also quite worried about being late to Potions.
"Stuff it, Thibeault. Stuff it up where your broomstick is lodged, so far you can't ever get it back!" she spat, before practically running down the corridor towards the dungeon.
Slipping silently through the classroom door, Ginny saw only Snape's back as he scribbles complicated formulae on the blackboard. Hoping against all hope he would not acknowledge and/or comment on her tardiness, she crept forward towards her usual seat.
Without even halting his writing, Snape growled "Ahh, Miss Weasley. How nice or you to join us. We'd better make it – 7 – points from Gryffindor."
Ginny ungracefully lowered herself into her seat, face flushed. "Damn him! No, both of them!" she muttered to her parchment and quill. Colin Creevey, her partner and close friend, shot her a vague questioning glance, which she dismissed with a slight, equally vague head movement. For the rest of lesson, she had to force herself to concentrate on the Amplifying Draught they were supposed to be making.
Emerging from class 173 minutes and 1½ loud lectures later, Ginny chuckled slightly to herself that, ironically, most of Snapes' volumes had been caused by the Draughts' malfunction, not its intended result.
"Good to see you're in a better mood," Colin commented good-naturedly, easily lengthening his strides to match Ginny's rather clipped paces. "When you came into class, you could practically see the anger falling off of you in waves. Red and orange."
"Really?" Ginny asked, slowing slightly and allowing Colin to get ahead of her in the corridor.
"No," he replied, turning and flashing her a mischievous grin, "but we're studying auras in Divination and I wanted to see if you fell for it."
Ginny pretended to glare menacingly at him before cuffing him lightly on the back of the head and settling back into an easy, matched pace. Colin could always cheer her up somewhat, even if he normally messed up by…
"You were pretty upset, though. Wanna talk about it?"
…trying to be sensitive.
"No."
"Oh. 'Cuz, y'know I'm here…"
"I know."
"Oh."
They walked in silence for a while before Ginny deliberately lost him in a crowd of chattering fourth-years and ducked into a conveniently appearing empty room. She watched from the doorway until Colin was nearly out of sight, as yet unaware or her absence. He's a nice guy, thought Ginny of her friend, but a little bit of a dolt sometimes.
Closing the heavy wooden door, she closed her eyes and slid down against it, resting her head in her arms.
Ah, confusion. She had once seen, through the window of a Muggle taxi on the way to King's Cross, a denim skirt in a Muggle shop window. 'Confusion is Sexy', it read in messy letters near the cuff. Ginny allowed herself a tiny smile as she realized she had two distinct opinions of the sentiment. "Whoever wrote that obviously has never met Neville Longbottom" and "If only…"
She sat in relative immobility and thoughtlessness for a while, the pure lack of anything concrete relieving. When she started to get numb from sitting on the stone floor, Ginny lifted her head to glance at her wristwatch, which was now flashing in large orange and green letters – YOU'RE LATE – VERY LATE
"Shit," she hissed under her breath, quickly gathering her books and shoulder bag and rising to leave the room. She was in such a hurry she didn't notice the tabby cat sitting stiffly in the corner, tail twitching only very slightly.
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To all my reviewers - THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU!!!!!!!!
(That's at least two each, so don't let me hear any fighting J)
Unfortunately for me, this story does indeed involve a semi-real account of an…experience I had/am having. Damned teenage hormones. They airbrush reality, did you know that??
Anyway, whoever said writing was therapy was a genius. And, since I'm not entirely sure anyone's ever said it before, I must be the genius. Yay!
Anyway, plzplzplzplz r/r!!!!
LUV Y'ALLZ!!
