It's little Ginny's third year. Neville asked her out to the Yule Ball. She
agrees for the bothersome reason that no one else has even looked her way.
True, he isn't much to look at, and it's not like he's famous like Harry
Potter or sadistic like Him. He is Neville and he represents fumbling
safety in his own clumsy way.
He takes her to the ball and she gets a moment of elation as she enters. Eyes are on her as she looks ravishing in her dress. Neville is overjoyed. He leads her through the crowd and, for a second, she's happy, not just content. This is the first sign of possessiveness that he's shown to her. She likes the feeling of being watched over. Not that they have been dating, oh no. She agreed to go with him as a friend, not as a lover. But his arm around her just goes to show how he feels to her.
He is mute when it comes to expressions of love and she, in turn, has nothing to say to him. She does not feel the same way and maybe Neville knows this deep down. He dares not say anything for fear of rejection and his fear is justified. But not for tonight. Tonight, he feels he can be possessive if he so wants and she willingly goes along with it. She likes the feel of someone surrounding her, consuming her with his presence.
But her happiness ends when Neville says that he can't dance. She so desperately wants to dance, you see. She wants to glide between those bodies on the floor because it means more to her than just movement. It means fluidity, gracefulness, becoming one with the crowd and immersing herself within them.
It is within the crowd that she can hide from herself.
So she tries to get him to dance, tries leading him out onto the floor and tries a few steps, but he's clumsy and awkward and uncomfortable out there. There is no fluidness in their movements, there is no comfort in this shuffling. There is only her and him as two individuals and that is not what she wants. Instead of this mockery of a dance, she leads him off the floor. He is still uncomfortable and feeling stupid, not wanting to displease her. So he tells her she may dance with another if she likes.
She looks about the ball, searching for a potential partner. There is Harry, but he doesn't look as though he's good at any dances. There are many others, but they are partnered and she feels jealous, not of the companionship, but of the embarrassing feeling that she is alone in a sea of people moving, twirling, gliding around her, as though to mock what she desires most. These people cannot be worthy of their own dancing. These people do not feel the joy that she would feel were she in their place.
So she hates them and wishes to join them at the same time. She searches for a partner and finds none. Those who are not partnered will not give her a second look and she soon finds herself more alone than before. For not only does she lack a dance partner, she is also more aware of her status amid these students.
She stands at the edge of the dance floor, her toes touching the firmness of the floor while her heels caress the carpeting of the other side. She stands and she waits. She knows that she's waiting in vain, she knows no one will ask her to dance. She feels ashamed that she came, for this was only a mockery of herself in this flowing gown, just waiting for someone, just waiting to be swept up amid those people and twirled around and maybe even dipped.
And then there were pale hands touching her own from behind, sliding down her arms, taking her hands in his own. And she was moving towards those people, pushed from behind and she doesn't want to go at first. She does not want to risk embarrassment. She no longer feels her dream is worthy, but she lacks a choice now. And there is something about those hands that demand her obedience, so she allows herself to be pushed. She finds herself in the middle of the floor, the other students dancing around her.
Those hands move down her waist then back up, taking her hands, holding them out at first as though she may fly, and then one goes to her waist, the other straight out and she finds herself moving. Dancing with him cheek to cheek. It seems an old-fashioned dance but, for some reason, she adapts readily to it. Her feet move in unison to his own and she feels his presence, so close to her.
And then he tugs this way on her arm, letting go of her with the other and she is twirling along the dance floor. Another light tug and she is twirling back towards him, coming to rest in his arms. She catches a glimpse of darkness but nothing substantial. All too soon, she is moving again, dancing in front of him, being spun about and them made to follow his body's movements as he leads her through the complicated rhythm of her own power.
She follows him, unsteadily at first, but all too soon becomes quite the expert. He spins her and his arm is around her waist. Odd how it feels so right there. She sees him, but doesn't. Her mind, along with her body, is awhirl and she notices so little. The bodies around her become nothing but a blur, colors fading into colors, becoming nothing but senseless patterns that no longer mean anything to her. There is nothing but her now. Her and him. And she is happy once again.
And then she is dipped, the world moving almost upside down as her long hair almost brushes the ground. Her hand is touching his arm. One of his own is still around her waist, the other is supporting her back. He makes it all so effortless. She sees him then, perfectly clearly, for he is no more transparent than she, herself, is. It is the other people around them that now blur at the edges. It has always been the other people that fade so easily. She realizes this now.
And as the world comes back into play and she is let back up, she knows that she had been dancing with a memory, and nothing more. This revelation comes as no big shock to her, nor does it bring her down. Memories live on so long as one person can remember. Whether he was truly there or not does not matter. What matters is that he is still in her mind, still with her, as he would always be. She can return to Neville now, her dream fulfilled but not yet over.
He takes her to the ball and she gets a moment of elation as she enters. Eyes are on her as she looks ravishing in her dress. Neville is overjoyed. He leads her through the crowd and, for a second, she's happy, not just content. This is the first sign of possessiveness that he's shown to her. She likes the feeling of being watched over. Not that they have been dating, oh no. She agreed to go with him as a friend, not as a lover. But his arm around her just goes to show how he feels to her.
He is mute when it comes to expressions of love and she, in turn, has nothing to say to him. She does not feel the same way and maybe Neville knows this deep down. He dares not say anything for fear of rejection and his fear is justified. But not for tonight. Tonight, he feels he can be possessive if he so wants and she willingly goes along with it. She likes the feel of someone surrounding her, consuming her with his presence.
But her happiness ends when Neville says that he can't dance. She so desperately wants to dance, you see. She wants to glide between those bodies on the floor because it means more to her than just movement. It means fluidity, gracefulness, becoming one with the crowd and immersing herself within them.
It is within the crowd that she can hide from herself.
So she tries to get him to dance, tries leading him out onto the floor and tries a few steps, but he's clumsy and awkward and uncomfortable out there. There is no fluidness in their movements, there is no comfort in this shuffling. There is only her and him as two individuals and that is not what she wants. Instead of this mockery of a dance, she leads him off the floor. He is still uncomfortable and feeling stupid, not wanting to displease her. So he tells her she may dance with another if she likes.
She looks about the ball, searching for a potential partner. There is Harry, but he doesn't look as though he's good at any dances. There are many others, but they are partnered and she feels jealous, not of the companionship, but of the embarrassing feeling that she is alone in a sea of people moving, twirling, gliding around her, as though to mock what she desires most. These people cannot be worthy of their own dancing. These people do not feel the joy that she would feel were she in their place.
So she hates them and wishes to join them at the same time. She searches for a partner and finds none. Those who are not partnered will not give her a second look and she soon finds herself more alone than before. For not only does she lack a dance partner, she is also more aware of her status amid these students.
She stands at the edge of the dance floor, her toes touching the firmness of the floor while her heels caress the carpeting of the other side. She stands and she waits. She knows that she's waiting in vain, she knows no one will ask her to dance. She feels ashamed that she came, for this was only a mockery of herself in this flowing gown, just waiting for someone, just waiting to be swept up amid those people and twirled around and maybe even dipped.
And then there were pale hands touching her own from behind, sliding down her arms, taking her hands in his own. And she was moving towards those people, pushed from behind and she doesn't want to go at first. She does not want to risk embarrassment. She no longer feels her dream is worthy, but she lacks a choice now. And there is something about those hands that demand her obedience, so she allows herself to be pushed. She finds herself in the middle of the floor, the other students dancing around her.
Those hands move down her waist then back up, taking her hands, holding them out at first as though she may fly, and then one goes to her waist, the other straight out and she finds herself moving. Dancing with him cheek to cheek. It seems an old-fashioned dance but, for some reason, she adapts readily to it. Her feet move in unison to his own and she feels his presence, so close to her.
And then he tugs this way on her arm, letting go of her with the other and she is twirling along the dance floor. Another light tug and she is twirling back towards him, coming to rest in his arms. She catches a glimpse of darkness but nothing substantial. All too soon, she is moving again, dancing in front of him, being spun about and them made to follow his body's movements as he leads her through the complicated rhythm of her own power.
She follows him, unsteadily at first, but all too soon becomes quite the expert. He spins her and his arm is around her waist. Odd how it feels so right there. She sees him, but doesn't. Her mind, along with her body, is awhirl and she notices so little. The bodies around her become nothing but a blur, colors fading into colors, becoming nothing but senseless patterns that no longer mean anything to her. There is nothing but her now. Her and him. And she is happy once again.
And then she is dipped, the world moving almost upside down as her long hair almost brushes the ground. Her hand is touching his arm. One of his own is still around her waist, the other is supporting her back. He makes it all so effortless. She sees him then, perfectly clearly, for he is no more transparent than she, herself, is. It is the other people around them that now blur at the edges. It has always been the other people that fade so easily. She realizes this now.
And as the world comes back into play and she is let back up, she knows that she had been dancing with a memory, and nothing more. This revelation comes as no big shock to her, nor does it bring her down. Memories live on so long as one person can remember. Whether he was truly there or not does not matter. What matters is that he is still in her mind, still with her, as he would always be. She can return to Neville now, her dream fulfilled but not yet over.