Chapter Five
"Halloween""No, I said two shots of espresso, not three!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll remake it!"
"You wouldn't have to if you did it right the first time."
"Yessir, sorry, sir."
Ginny glared across the café floor at the Muggle who was tapping his fingers impatiently as Sophia, the newest addition to The Sipper, shakily pumped mocha and caramel into a cup. The seventeen-year-old's brown hair was slipping from her short ponytail and coffee stains splashed her white blouse and black apron. As the espresso machine began to bleep plaintively and the Muggle began sighing loudly, Ginny had every intention in mind to stomp over and clearly, distinctly, and ever-so-courteously call him a wanker.
"How much whip cream, sir?" Sophia asked breathlessly as she poured dark brown beans into the espresso machine.
"No whip cream."
"Right. Yes." Sophia's eyes swept the room and found Ginny. She looked helpless and panicked, and Ginny wanted badly to help her, but she was on her break, and Maggie had distinctly instructed everyone that Sophia needed to learn to cope better. Besides, Benjamin was in the back, probably just finishing the cookie sheets for the oven.
"Ignore him," Ginny mouthed, hoping she looked encouraging. What else could she do? Maggie wouldn't be happy to discover Ginny had called a customer a wanker, even if he deserved it.
Sophia did not look calmer, but she did return to her flighty task of finishing the double-shot. "Here you are, sir," she tried to say cheerfully, but her voice quaked.
The Muggle grunted and quickly exited the shop, muttering something about wanting Starbucks.
"What did I miss?" Benjamin Straton sang cheerily as he came through the swinging doors from the backroom. He was balancing a large cookie sheet on each hand, easily raising his arms to pass over Sophia's head.
"Only my third panic attack of the day," Sophia sighed mournfully.
"Ah, now, buck up. It's only three." Benjamin began sliding the freshly baked cookies onto their platters. "You're not nearly up to your usual."
Ginny felt a smile tug at her lips, shook her head, and took a sip of her chai tea. Then, brushing stray wisps of hair from her eyes, she returned to the notebook that lay out in front of her. She stared at her inconsistent scrawl, which seemed to alter between sharp and slanted, round and curved, and something not quite cursive. A character description of Sophia filled the top half of the lined page, but as Ginny's eyes flickered back to the counter, where Benjamin was nonchalantly cleaning Sophia's mess while quietly chatting, she had the sudden urge to elaborate and delve deeper.
As the blue-ink tip of her pen pressed onto the paper, Ginny felt a small twinge of guilt. Speculating over people and writing about them had become her past-time at the café during breaks. It was especially fun with the regulars: Ms. Crockford always came on Tuesdays and Thursdays with a thick library book; Alfred revealed nothing about himself and always wore a faded gray jumper; Wynette Benning wore blue and had stickers all over her laptop computer, which she brought on Sundays with her newspaper. Sitting quietly at a corner table, Ginny would observe these people and let her imagination take hold. It brought her back to her first days of writing.
"Come on," Benjamin said quietly, motioning Sophia to come closer. "I'll show you how to make my secret drink."
"The Benjamihma?"
Ginny kept her eyes averted, in case either of her co-workers glanced her way. But she couldn't resist a peek. Tall, strawberry blonde Ben was standing behind Sophia's petite form, calmly directing her which syrups and shots to mix. The girl bit her lip in concentration, and a soft blush appeared on her cheeks. Instantly, Ginny began to write, feeling as if she were intruding, but unable to stop herself.
Most of the time, her speculating developed into fictitious scenarios, and the characters separated themselves from real life. However, Ginny highly doubted that too many people would appreciate her journal entries.
When Sophia giggled, Ginny couldn't help but look up. She felt a lump form in her throat as Benjamin teasingly wiped the whip cream off Sophia's shoulder. Both of them looked so happy, so at ease . . . Ben was her age, Sophia just a year younger, but Ginny felt so much older. Like a spinster watching her debutante niece flushing with excitement for an enchanted evening.
I've been reading too many Muggle books, Ginny chided silently, giving her head a shake.
She sighed and studied the new paragraph. She didn't feel like writing about Ben and Sophia anymore. Why should she? It wasn't as if she had the right to, anyway. Frowning, Ginny flipped over her notebook and flipped back several pages. She chewed the end of her pencil thoughtfully, ignoring the metallic tang.
It was the thirtieth of October. She'd been working at The Sipper, playing Quidditch on the Ashwinders, and living in London for nearly two months now. Although her mother wouldn't agree, she felt somewhat settled now, even if the restlessness and desperate urge to break away constantly plagued her. She had a routine and was busy enough that she could collapse into bed, exhausted, and fall asleep within an hour after reading a book or scribbling in her journals. Working two jobs was helping with the financial situation as well, and for the first time in her life, Ginny didn't feel poor. She was scrupulous with her money and saved, but she had a little extra spending money for the two times she actually went shopping with Alyson in Camden. Dean had taken her out twice to dinner and a movie, but she wouldn't call it dating. Due to her busier schedule, she had also managed to wriggle out of Saturday lunches at the Burrow.
Ginny glanced down again at the scribbled passages.
"Excellent! Couldn't have made it better myself."
"Oh, you're just saying that."
"No, really. It's upsetting. Someone else can make my secret drink better than me!"
"Shut up!"
A wistful sigh escaped her. Her break was nearly over and she would have two more hours of work.
The door chimed again, distracting Ginny from where her thoughts were about to lead. An elderly couple carrying shopping bags shuffled in, looking slightly haggard and in need of caffeine. Ben and Sophia's teasing quieted; there was a clearing of throats, and then the hiss of the espresso machine. Ginny vaguely recognized the customers, both graying, but could not put a name to them. Instead of writing a small entry, she doodled thoughtfully in the margin, her eyes seeing without really reading what was written.
After the first miserable week in September, Ginny had decided she was truly tired of pretending to be perfectly all right. It seemed pointless to bother, what with her mother, George, and Alyson all but saying they knew perfectly well she wasn't happy. Alyson's makeover had enchanted Ginny; it was darker, more daring, and definitely different. Working and living in the Muggle world, Ginny could separate herself from the darkness that had surrounded her in the wizard world. She lived in two different worlds, but had found a sort of compromise between them.
In the Muggle world, no one knew her past, and she felt freer to be herself. Alyson said her look was edgier and mysterious, but Ginny didn't mind. She could shake her melancholy, embrace dry wit and sarcasm, but also just be normal without feeling like she was putting on a show. As a witch, she had given up appearing to be fine, but neither did she elaborate on it. Dramatics were not for her. Since she hadn't seen much of her family lately, they didn't really notice; Fred and George would drop comments every now and then, but she knew they wouldn't bother their mother, and Ron was simply too busy with Hermione and his training.
Not making an enormous effort to hide her true self somehow made it easier. No one commented on it. She didn't have to struggle now.
"Ginny!" Benjamin called. "Your siesta is over, sweet pea!"
"May I remind you that I am not a vegetable?" answered Ginny, earning a chuckle from Mr. Farges, who was particularly fond of Oscar Wilde. The man tipped his floppy wool cap to her and scratched his scruffy chin. She smiled at him and scooped up her notebook, pen, and teacup.
"You could," said Ben as she weaved through the scattered tables, "but it won't do any good."
"Prat." Ginny pushed through the double-doors to the little cubbyhole full of her things and deposited her notebook. She refastened her hair with a claw-clip, tied her apron around her waist, and returned to the counter. Sophia was still blushing under Ben's flirtations. Ginny smirked, remembering how disgruntled Ben, a nineteen-year-old university student, had been frustrated with her gentle but firm rebukes. Oh, she'd flirt a bit, but she wasn't serious.
"Hey, Gin, any plans for tomorrow?" Ben asked. "The campus is hosting a party, costume and everything. The American exchange students have been lobbying for one. It's huge over there, Halloween."
"Oh, yeah?" Ginny grabbed a rag to wipe the tables down. "It was big at my old school. I'm just going out with a couple of friends."
"Cool. Leaving already, Sophie? . . ."
Benjamin turned away, and Ginny was glad. She didn't want him to see her shudder. Tomorrow was Halloween. She was all too eager to find something to occupy her mind, to help her forget that wonderful night.
That night Harry kissed her.
"Hello, Joe. Can I stay awhile?"
"Yeah, sure," Joe Parsons said even as Ginny tiredly shuffled through the door. "Have a seat," he added as she flopped onto his brown, torn leather couch. "Rough day?"
"Same as usual," Ginny sighed, closing her eyes and letting her body slouch into the cushy, sinking furniture. She felt and heard magazines slide into her thigh, but didn't bother pushing them away. Listening to the sound of Joe's footsteps and the squeaking of his computer chair, Ginny relaxed into her little sanctuary. A wry smile turned her mouth: how odd it was to find sanctuary in her roommate's cousin's flat.
The soft but distinct clicking of computer keys filled the silence, and Ginny let out another sigh and stretched. After another minute, she opened her eyes and surveyed the wreckage around her. Joe was a twenty-year-old with a Muggle teen's dream job and it showed. Being a 'computer nerd' as Alyson called him, Joe had managed to become a computer programmer for the gaming industry. At first, Ginny had been at a complete loss, but after meeting Joe and listening to his endless babble (and seeing his apartment), she had a fair idea. Basically, Joe was paid a comfortable sum of money to play computer games, find their problems, fix them, and rate them. Had Ron or the twins been Muggles, they would have been drooling at the very idea of it.
Ginny pushed away the Gamer magazines but didn't sit up. She shook her head at the haphazard boxes that held cartridges, CDs, and whatever else a computer game specialist needed. Along with games, Joe was a music enthusiast, and so Ginny was constantly watching where she stepped, so as not to crunch a plastic case under her heel.
"Oh, bugger," Joe swore softly as his computer let out a loud buzz and the screen exploded into digital flames.
"Engulfed in Computerized Flames of Doom again?" snorted Ginny.
"Well, your presence is so distracting."
"Huh." Ginny smiled and slid off the couch to rummage through the mess of CDs on the floor. She knew Joe was grinning.
"Oh, yeah, I'd just finished one before you came in." Joe swiveled around in his chair and pushed across his uncarpeted floor. "Try Violent Femmes," he suggested, pointing his green-socked toe at a white CD cover under Cake's Fashion Nugget. "They're grungier and not so depressing—"
"Hey, it's your fault," Ginny protested, examining the album. "You're the one who introduced me to this stuff." She uncurled her legs, careful not to trip over her flowing broomstick skirt, and went to the rather impressive black sound system. Two seconds after she hit play, guitar, drum, and vocals blasted into the flat. Quickly, she turned the volume down a few notches and then scooted back to listen.
"They've got some attitude," said Joe, sifting through his CD collection and setting a couple aside for Ginny. "Not as tuney as Green Day or the Goo Goo Dolls, but I like them. Sort of like Oasis, I guess."
Ginny nodded absently to the music as she looked through Joe's suggestions, watching him out of the corner of her eye. When Alyson had called her cousin a nerd, Ginny had expected to find someone awkward like Neville had been, or at least, quiet and reserved without much for physical attraction. Joe Parson definitely wasn't dorky-looking, but neither was he strikingly handsome. Average-height with brown hair and hazel eyes, Joe was cute without a lasting impression of being so. What impression he did leave was of someone relaxed and happy with life.
Perhaps, Ginny thought, that was why she had taken to stopping by after work or on a spare afternoon. He was her emotional opposite and it soothed her.
"You still smell like coffee," teased Joe when he caught her eye.
"I've been told it's a good smell," Ginny scoffed, shifting her legs under her.
Joe raised an eyebrow and grinned slyly. "And who said this, may I enquire?"
"Dean, and you've asked me this before." Avoiding his gaze, she studied the cover of Oasis's What's the Story Morning Glory. She'd have to ask to borrow it . . . again.
"Hmm." His computer beeped. Apparently whatever he had been loading was now complete. "Try the Katies after this," he called.
Ginny merely nodded and returned to her place on the couch. The stereo had ceased with its loud vibrating and had switched to a slower, wistful song. She closed her eyes, feeling all of her aching wash over her in one warm, heavy wave. Every sad song seemed to be sung for her, but instead of compensating through upbeat tunes, she was compelled to live her worst bouts through mournful lyrics. But once a sad song was finished, she did feel relief in something snappy and fast.
"You're rather contemplative today," Joe said quietly. "You're wearing that sort of maroony-purple lipstick."
Ginny closed her eyes again. Song number 3, All I Want, definitely was hitting her hard. "Tomorrow's Halloween," she mumbled. "And then the next day is November first."
"I see you know your calendar."
Ginny tried to muster a laugh, but she simply couldn't. Her chest was tightening up, and nothing about Joe's ridiculous assemblage of blasting computer games could ease it. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, but most of all, she wanted him.
"Hey," Joe said softly. Ginny sensed him approach, and then the sofa sank a little more, and she agreeably laid her head on his shoulder as his arm came around her. "You look like you need a hug."
She just nodded, incapable of speech.
After awhile Joe turned on the television.
It was just after midnight, but Ginny wasn't aware of the time. All was cozy in the quiet, nearly empty common room, and the fire crackled merrily, casting a warm glow across the scarlet cushions and lumpy chairs. Ginny felt content and somewhat sleepy as she lounged lazily on the couch, picking out the stuffing and nudging Harry's side with her foot. Ron and Hermione had both just decided they should 'sleep.' Although she could barely keep her eyes open, Ginny didn't want to leave her comfy position on the couch or Harry, who had been in the best of moods in a long time.
"Stop that," Harry scolded teasingly, snatching her foot and pushing it away. He was still wearing that crooked, subtle smile he'd been wearing all through the Halloween feast. "I happen to know Weasley feet smell."
"Ron's feet, you mean." Ginny nudged him again. "I don't know how Hermione can take it."
Harry grabbed her foot again, but this time held on, and poised his fingers threateningly close. "I haven't the mind to ask her, really." His eyes, glinting in the firelight, dropped down to her stockings, and then he gave her a wicked smirk. "What sort of socks are these, anyway?"
"Mum made them," Ginny shrugged, trying hard not to shiver as his fingertips brushed lightly over the red and gold stripes spotted with witches' hats. Why on earth was he touching her feet? Earlier he had brushed his fingertips through her hair. Lately Harry had seemed bent on avoiding physical contact, and Ginny wondered if his sudden change was from the butterbeers he'd had at the feast. Or maybe he was trying to push the darkness away by being playful.
"They're funny," Harry decided, flicking his fingers just so; Ginny bit her tongue to keep from squealing.
"Want me to insult your socks, Potter?" said Ginny, pulling her foot back just as his eyes lit up. It wouldn't do for him to know she had ticklish feet (and sides and knees and neck). "How many times has Dobby darned your socks because of holes?"
Harry just shrugged and stretched an arm over the couch back. She watched as he tilted his head back, sighed, and closed his eyes. Worried he would revert to his pensive, inverted brooding, she sat up and leaned forward, this time nudging him with her hand.
"Hey, guess what?" she said with a quick glance at her watch. "This was your first Halloween that something bad didn't happen."
Harry opened his eyes, raised his eyebrows, and smiled at her. "Yeah . . . I guess it is." He sat up and leaned toward her, pushing his glasses up his nose. The mischievous glint slipped into something thicker, darker, and Ginny was suddenly very aware how his arm almost curved around her along the sofa's back and how her knees bumped against his thigh. She shivered involuntarily at the brush of his fingertips at her knee.
"Ginny."
He gazed at her, and she couldn't tell if his soft, hoarse voice had said her name in question or not. Harry leaned forward slightly, and her heart quickened, wondering, hoping . . . but then something struggled on his face, she'd seen it a dozen of times, and he said thickly, "Want to play chess?"
"Sure," she said, fighting disappointment. What did she expect?
Just as she turned her head to Summon their pieces, she felt him lurch, and something soft, warm, and wet pressed against the corner of her mouth. She froze. The pressure remained a moment more, hesitated, and then gently lifted. But she could feel his breath hotly on the spot that seemed to burn through her. Trembling, she barely turned her head towards the hovering presence of his mouth before she felt his lips slide tentatively over hers.
Harry . . . She couldn't think, but she could feel. Slowly, the moist warmth of his lips thawed her, and she felt an indescribable confusion between joy, desire, disbelief, and fear. Just as his lips started to lift from hers, she parted her lips, not caring if she breathed in his breath or not. Gently, his lips parted, and suddenly Ginny was awakened.
Unable to stop it, she moaned softly against his lips and felt him shudder.
"Ginny," he whispered in her ear, his breath trailing from her mouth and across her cheek. She felt him suck in a breath, and wondered if she had just felt his lips brush her neck. Had he really just kissed her? She could still taste him on her lips . . .
"Harry," she breathed, wanting to confirm what had just happened but also fearing she would find it all her imagination.
He pulled away slightly, but his fingertips brushed her cheek. Her heart pounded in anticipation for his mouth. Now she knew what that certain darkness in his eyes meant, the one look she couldn't read.
"Ginny . . ." Harry trailed off and swallowed hard. "We . . . should go . . . you know . . ." He gestured awkwardly at the staircase to the dormitories.
Ginny closed her eyes, feeling an overwhelming coldness wash over her. "I know," she whispered. She felt him kiss her forehead, his mouth lingering.
Then he was gone. Getting off the sofa, heading silently for his dormitory, away from her.
Tangled in her bed sheets and wrapped in darkness, Ginny buried her face in her pillow and cried quietly.
"Well, look at you!" Alyson whistled as Ginny emerged from her bedroom in her Halloween costume. "I don't know how Dean can keep his hands off you tonight."
"Shut up. I bet Colin will wet himself," Ginny retorted, gesturing at the slinky black dress Alyson had acquired. "I still can't believe you picked him for your date."
"Why? Colin's a nice bloke. A bit enthusiastic sometimes, but I don't mind. It's Colin, after all." Alyson smoothed the thin fabric over her flat torso, her silver, manicured nails flashing in the light. She had a black Muggle version of a witch's hat adorned with silvery spider webs to complement her dress. A few years ago, several Muggle-born wizards and witches had decided to host a Halloween ball in a salute to the Muggle tradition of the holiday; basically, they decided on a costume ball. Apparently, it was popular with the younger magical population a year or two fresh out of Hogwarts.
"What's Colin going as?" Ginny asked, checking her image out in the long mirror.
She had settled on a medieval-style version of a witch that she had seen in a used costume shop near Camden. It was more promiscuous than anything she'd ever worn, with dropped shoulders, a low neckline, slashed sleeves, and a sheer torso. The fabric was made of mostly a deep purple silk with silver embroidery. Alyson had curled Ginny's long red locks into luscious, almost lazy curls and tendrils that cascaded around her shoulders. Her make-up was darker than it had ever been with smoky eyes and dark red, nearly purple lipstick. Ginny had worried that all the dark colors would make her look overly pale and washed-out, but now that she examined herself, she rather liked the effect as her freckles seemed to disappear.
"I don't know," Alyson sighed worriedly. "He wouldn't say. Probably something overly extravagant and generally outrageous."
"Well, it is Colin," Ginny conceded with a smirk. She reached for the thin black cape that came with her costume and pulled it around her shoulders. The flow of her sleeves, cape, and skirt was beautiful, and she stood a little taller. It made it easier to use her imagination, made it easier to believe that tonight would be fun.
"They better not be late, either," said Alyson, motioning to the clock on the kitchen counter. She was bent-over adjusting her open-toed shoes that weren't exactly witch-quality, but definitely accentuated her seductive dress.
"I'm sure they won't—"
A buzz sounded and Alyson hobbled over to the speaker box to let Colin and Dean in. Ginny took a deep breath. It was seven o'clock, and that meant Halloween was nearly over. Just five more hours. But then she had to deal with the first week of November.
Shut it out, just shut it out, she ordered as one of their dates knocked on the door. She was going to be a good date for Dean and enjoy herself.
"Oh my . . . Colin—what are you wearing?"
Ginny stepped towards the door, carrying her satin hat. Standing on tiptoes to see over Alyson's shoulder, Ginny saw something that was very dark and rather rubbery grinning madly at them. She blinked. Colin was dressed as a rather odd . . . thing that seemed to lend muscle definition and give him pointy ears at the top of his head. Across his waist was a yellow belt with an assortment of . . . gadgets? . . . and his chest sported a yellow, sideways oval with the silhouette of a bat on it.
"Like it?" Colin laughed, spinning around so his black cape swirled around him. In one fell swoop, he grabbed the swirling cape and drew it over his face, so only his laughing, squinting eyes were peering through his mask. "I am . . . Batman!"
Alyson was laughing so hard that she needed to grab the doorframe. Ginny only raised her eyebrows and smirked, feeling slightly confused about who or what Batman was, and how on earth Colin managed to get into a full rubber body suit. If he mentions anything about butter, Ginny thought, now slightly repulsed, amused, and worried.
"You're mad, Colin," she said, shaking her head. "Where'd you get such a thing?"
"From a very gentlemanly butler." Colin swooped down on Alyson's shaking form, lifted her by her elbows, and said in a voice much deeper than should have been possible for any Creevey, "Do not fear, m'lady, for you are safe in the arms of . . . Batman!"
"Y-y-you . . ." but whatever Alyson tried to say was lost in another fit of giggles. However, she was standing on her own feet and poking the rubbery costume, of which, Ginny noticed, Colin seemed to be encouraging.
"I tried to get Dean to come as Robin," Colin told Alyson, poking his head out the door, "but the spineless prat wouldn't have any of it."
"Well, you get rubber and he would have tights," Alyson reasoned, trying to stifle her giggles.
"And that," said Dean, finally entering the apartment, "would be unacceptable and completely unfair."
This time, both Ginny and Alyson burst into laughter. Having just witnessed the muscularly-rubber clad Colin, Ginny thought Dean's Musketeer costume seemed both saner and more hysterical all at once. Especially since Dean obviously had weighed his feathery hat more masculine than tights.
"Ladies," said Dean in a bad French accent as he tipped his hat and bowed, "you look positively ravishing."
"You're both idiots!" Alyson giggled, swatting at Dean's enormous feather.
Dean straightened and his eyes fell on Ginny. She felt her cheeks begin to warm under his gaze and fidgeted with one of her sleeves.
"Well, let's get going, then," Alyson commanded briskly as she looped her arm through Colin's. "Come along, my hero in rubber."
Dean rolled his eyes as the couple waltzed out the door before offering his elbow. "Shall we?"
Although Ginny had been to Billywig's twice before, she had never been there on an official date, or for a specially set-aside occasion as a Halloween dance. Having only been to one actual dance event before and celebrating Halloween at Hogwarts with a feast, she wasn't sure what to expect. Certainly the Weird Sisters weren't playing as they had at the Yule Ball, and she knew from Alyson that there was no feast.
So, fighting her nervousness and melancholy, Ginny forced an anticipating smile on her face and tried to push her memories behind her. No sense in being a bad date to Dean.
By eleven o'clock, Ginny was thinking she was doing both a terrific and terrible job of it. It had been somewhat of a relief to discover that the dance club had barely undergone any transformation for the occasion, except to add floating pumpkins, an extra refreshment table, and pumpkin-colored tablecloths and pumpkin center pieces, filled with an assortment of hard candy, on the few tables bordering the dance floor. She was rather relieved, however, to discover there were alternative drinks to pumpkin juice and Butterbeer.
Arriving around eight, Dean and Colin had instantly submitted their entries to the costume contest, sampled the food table, and then dragged their dates onto the dance floor. It somewhat amazed Ginny to see so many witches and wizards, not all Muggle-born, eagerly embracing the Muggle influence for costumes and Halloween traditions. Of course, now that the Ministry had created awareness against blood discrimination, many witches and wizards were eager to prove they were not prejudice or in any way connected to the last remnants of Dark wizards.
And so the party, packed with so many people between eighteen and twenty-five that Ginny and Dean lost track of Alyson and Colin, was a clutter of Muggle and wizard culture, making for a wide variety of music and costumes. Susannah Holmes, from Ginny's year, even had come as a combination of a banshee and a harlot.
With such a loud, festive atmosphere, Ginny found herself able to smile and laugh with former classmates and somehow not make a complete fool of herself on the dance floor. Yet whenever there was a slow song and Dean took her by the waist to the floor, Ginny felt a stiffening in her body, a tightness in her chest.
"Finally," Dean murmured just as the pounding beat of something definitely Muggle eased into a slow Celtic ballad, "I was wondering when they'd play another slow one."
Ginny smiled and agreed, though she felt a small tremor as she stepped into Dean's arms. "Yes, I was starting to get tired," she said, hoping he hadn't noticed.
"We can sit if you need a rest."
"No, no, I'm fine." Ginny smiled up at him and tightened her hands on his shoulders slightly. She caught the pleased look in his eye and tried not to feel guilty. She'd been doing this all night, encouraging him, allowing him to touch her even when they weren't dancing and drop a kiss or two on her cheek. If she sat out a dance, all of her memories of this night two years ago would come tumbling back to her. But if she stayed with Dean, allowed his touch to overrule Harry's memory, then she knew she could survive the night.
And I'm supposed to do this, anyway, she thought as she let her cheek rest against Dean's shoulder, so he couldn't see her sadness. I need to move on. Get Harry out of my mind.
But as the memory of kissing Harry enveloped her, Ginny was quite sure it would be impossible. Closing her eyes tightly, she fought back potential tears, knowing it wouldn't do to smear her make-up or embarrass Dean.
"Stop being a whinging, self-pitying little prat." Draco Malfoy's disgusted face appeared in her mind, sneering at her now as he had in the woods around Malfoy Manor.
Ginny's eyes snapped open and she raised her head, half-expecting Draco to be standing just over Dean's shoulders.
"Gin?" Dean was gazing at her questioningly. "Are you all right?"
"Hmm?" Ginny stared at him. "Oh . . . yes. Sorry, I was just thinking."
"About what?"
Ginny let her eyes sweep the abundance of pumpkin, slowly dancing couples, chatting friends, and flickering candles. "Oh, just about how this is such a lovely evening, and however awful a discredit this is to Neville, I'm having a better time than at the Yule Ball." But I'm still wishing I was with Harry.
Dean smiled and kissed her forehead and drew her a little closer. Ginny closed her eyes again, concentrating on the feel of his lips as he kissed her cheek, forcing the comparison of his kiss to Harry's out of her mind. When his lips left her, she let her eyes flutter open long enough to find his mouth, and then she kissed him, seizing the opportunity before she could give it thought.
Kissing Dean was always something comfortable to Ginny, if somewhat embarrassing, even if they had done so sparingly. She'd liked it, but she hadn't known how different a kiss could be until Halloween of her sixth year. With Dean she wasn't bombarded with emotion, but relaxed and somewhat curious, somewhat reserved and cautious. It was comforting to find that again, to feel without really feeling . . .
"Well, that was unexpected," Dean chuckled lowly when she broke away.
"Sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks burn slightly. She pressed her lips together and looked down between them, her heart suddenly pounding.
"Don't be." He tilted her chin up, smiled, and kissed her chastely. Then he looked around them as the slow ballad came to an end and a few people clapped politely. "What do you say we get out of here, go for a walk or something? I don't think I could manage another fast dance or another limbo."
"But what about the costume announcement?" asked Ginny, as they headed back to their table, where Alyson and Colin were engrossed in a thumb wrestling match. Alyson was obviously winning.
Dean shrugged. "I'm not going to win. Someone took my hat."
Ginny bit her lip, hoping her conflicted feelings didn't show. She was still shocked by what she'd just done and wasn't sure she should trust herself with Dean. But neither did she want to stay at Billywig's any longer or go home alone.
"Let's go," she nodded, reaching for her cloak.